#primary heat exhaust | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nilsavatar · 7 months

Text

DAY 31 - A/B/O

Parings: Neteyam x Fem!Avatar

Genre/Warnings: NSFW/MDNI +18, no use of Y/N, ANGST, SMUT in the end, love bites, rubbing, sexual tension, olfactophilia (they both turn on by smelling arousal/pheromones), P in V, manhandling, oral (f receiving), face fucking, fingering, praising, cursing, pet name (ma’uniltı`ranyu - my dreamwalker), rough, knotting, dirty talk, overstimulation, edging, strangers to lovers, first time (first heat, loss of avatar body virginity), begging, difference in power (alpha-omega dynamics), soft-dom Neteyam (mention of marking, possessive behavior but he’s kind and caring), Jamie Flatters cameo. All characters are AGED-UP.

Summary: Living in the body of an avatar is not as simple as one might think.

Little note: OMG! You have no idea how happy I am to have finally finished this fic. It has been on hiatus for so many months that I thought I would never publish it. The more time passed, the more the pressure to write something worth the long wait increased. I rewrote it so many times, but it never seemed good enough, and the editing was exhausting. I hope with all my heart not to disappoint your expectations. Please be forgiving: this is my first Omegaverse. Thank you🥰

If you would like to be tagged in future fics, please write it in the comments. I will be happy to add you all💕

Word Count: 7,6k

Masterlist - Request a fic

Aubree’s knowledge as a xenobiologist fell short in front of the challenges of living as a dreamwalker among the Na’vi.

The presence of a secondary sex was fascinating, fictional in the eyes of a human being, accustomed to a binary system. But on Pandora, things were way different. The natives displayed their primary sex (male or female) from birth, and their roles in the clan were influenced by signs that emerged during puberty. Alphas, predominantly men, possessed a massive physiognomy. Tall, muscular, strong-willed, controlled in character, yet predisposed to irascibility. Betas were the largest group, with an equal proportion of females and males, and the most human-like. Omegas, mostly women, were known for their petite and delicate build, along with a calming demeanor.

When she arrived on Pandora, she had no particular expectations of what her avatar’s designation would be. Still, no one would ever have considered a potential alpha looking at her features. Aubree was a spitfire who was unlikely to be pushed around and knew her stuff in professional terms. Someone who won’t let you get away with nothing. However, her dainty physique and conflict-avoiding tendency were clear indications she would be an omega (or beta at best). The moment she connected with the hybrid, clarity rained down on her like a burst of sunlight breaking through the clouds. Her own body erupted in a chorus of sensations, each one clamoring for attention. It was as if every nerve ending had awoken from a deep sleep, demanding to be felt. The omega within seemed to mold itself to her presence, wrapping around her with the natural warmth of a long-lost sibling's affection. Its voice, like a lullaby, soothed tenderly in her ears, caressed her senses, evoking a bittersweet nostalgia. It had waited for her for a lifetime, patiently biding, though she felt as if it had always been there; their destinies entwined for eternity. The connection felt familiar as if it had always been an integral part of her existence, hidden deep within her soul, longing to be seen. A joyous reunion with her inner essence, theirs, rather than a discovery of something new about herself. As her eyes fluttered open, the blinding white light of the hospital room assaulted her vision, her first instinct was to cry. Overwhelmed by the pent-up emotions that had been building within her.

Yet another factor played a role — a negative note. The recognition wasn’t exclusive to her; everyone around her, from the very moment she had awoken as an avatar, had sensed, smelled what she was. And this made it obvious why omegas often experienced such a designation as a condemnation.

Alphas’ attentions may be... excessive.

From a human perspective, Na’vi were naturally intrusive. The concept of personal space between the two species was totally at odds; they were prone to be close, to touch each other, to smell each other. A fundamental part of their socialization techniques. Aubree could have learned to tolerate it as a cultural trait if her alpha-designated colleagues didn’t engage in the same behaviors. They couldn’t help themselves.

“It’s the pheromones,” said matter-of-fact Max, not having any other scientific explanation. Studies on the subject were stalled. Without a vomeronasal organ connected to the brain, or terrestrial examples to refer to, they couldn’t describe the phenomenon. The only thing palpable to both of them, equally inexplicable, was that her wake was inviting. Alphas were almost reduced to a primal state around her. “You should talk to the Tsahìk about this,” Aubree mentally berated herself for not thinking of it sooner. Who better than the Tsahìk, the spiritual leader of the clan and the highest authority among healers, to provide her with the answers she sought? And maybe even help in dealing with the symptoms.

The healers’ tent wasn’t large. Quite the opposite, it was indeed small. The room appeared even tinier with the disorganized heap of things stacked on top of each other in a jumbled mess, creating the feeling it could burst at any time. An imminent threat to be fair. However, under scrutiny, one could discern an order in the distribution of the items. To her right, tools of various types and sizes covered the entire wall. To the left, on shelves arranged by color, were terracotta jars filled with powders and ointments. Some were large, others tiny; some had regular shapes, others were bizarre, tongued, or angular. Engraved on the bottom of each were symbols. An early form of writing, considering the People were still oral.

A little further down, the counter ran around the entire interior of the room to the nearest post of mattresses where sicks could rest. Behind the cupboard was the massiest shelf of all. Ampoules, mirrors, rolls of cloth, baskets of bandages, needles, and flowers stuffed somehow. That place was a unique contradiction, ranging from manic order to disturbing chaos. Despite the dimness and the oppressive atmosphere, the tent also emitted a serene, welcoming feeling, akin to the mystical aura of a shaman’s lair.

But one not was out of place. Post-its here and there written in… English? What were post-its doing in the Tsahìk tent? They were so out of context.

“I see the human touch doesn’t go unnoticed.” Aubree gasped, more at the dull sound of something heavy being moved across the counter than the surprise itself. A woman emerged from the myriad of baskets scattered across the floor, placed one on the wooden shelf, and emptied its contents. Her hair, just above her chin, was straight but messy. The tswin, displayed in front of her chest, obscured the huge needle that hung from her slender neck. At every movement, the beads of the intricate shawl that covered her shoulders and breasts jingled, as lively as a child’s laughter. A streaked cerulean complexion set off lemon-yellow irises fixed upon her like those of a cat.

How old was she? Her face appeared youthful, almost adolescent, yet her eyes betrayed wisdom and worldliness far beyond her years.

“You must be Aubree. I was waiting for you to show up.” It seemed as if the healer’s pupils flickered at the sound of her name. The avatar stepped forward. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Kiri te Suli Kireysi’ite, Tsahìk of the Omatikaya.” Acting on impulse, she extended her hand, but when the young woman didn’t shake it, she hastily corrected the gesture into the typical bow of greeting and reverence. She looked amused.

“No need for formality here. We are the same age and are both researchers. We have more in common than you might think.” A smirk curved her plump lips as she put her fists on her sides. “To what do I owe the glee of your visit? I suppose you need to ask me something.” Her sudden remark made her jolt. The Na’vi woman stopped arranging the shelves and turned to look at her with anticipation. “Well?” “I wouldn’t know where to even start. It’s something I don’t fully understand,” she confessed. “Is it related to your dreamwalker body?” She nodded. “But humans cannot help you.” It wasn’t a question, but the scientist nodded anyway. Kiri drew a smile and disappeared behind a curtain that separated the room from the next one — a laboratory. After several minutes, she reappeared with a small box full of tea filters. “Have one in the morning and another in the evening. It’s a suppressant; it will quell your pheromones.”

Aubree blushed furiously. How…?

“I might be just a beta, but your wake is so strong that it knocked me out for a sec. I dare not imagine the effect you have on alphas.” “Not pleasant.” “Much too pleasant, you mean,” she chuckled. “Be careful not to abuse the drug. You wouldn’t want to find out about the side effects. And remember, it is a temporary remedy. Useless on the verge and during estrus.”

Estrus.

The idea hadn’t crossed her mind at all when she accepted her Ph.D. and joined the AVTR Program. She was so thrilled to pursue her dream she would have accepted any job proposal. And who was she to deny she had always felt a fascination about natives? Na’vi estrus cycle was highly articulated and varied by secondary sex designation. Beta females, like humans, had a menstrual cycle and were potentially always fertile, exhibiting no visual, behavioral, or olfactory signals announcing impending ovulation.

Quite a different story for omegas and alphas.

The former went into heat three times a year, about four months between cycles, and could last up to seven agonizing days in the absence of a partner to care for them. This was their peak fertility period. The latter rutted once a year, and the length of the inter-anestrus was unpredictable. In mated pairs wasn’t uncommon for one’s heat to trigger the other’s.

“What should I do when it happens?” “Well, the most natural advice would be to spend it with a playmate, preferably an alpha, as theirs are the only pheromones that have a calming effect on omegas. There is no risk of conception for those who are not mated, so as long as your kuru’s are not entwined, let go.” “Mm, alternatives?” “Lock yourself in a shelter until it ends, away from everyone. But that is the least desirable option. It’s terribly painful to face heat alone.” “I could stay disconnected as long as my avatar is in this state.” “Risking dying of dehydration and starvation in the meantime? Or worse, that some alpha will have fun at your expense?” Kiri hastened to say, noticing the scientist’s horrified expression. “Yes, it has happened, and I assure you that the physical memory of the trauma remains, even if consciousness was not present.” “But I’ll still have to log out myself. My human body needs care, too.” “All the more reason you should find someone to look after you, and quickly. Your first heat is approaching.”

As if that were a small thing.

“My intuition tells me you’ll be fine. Now go. And drink your infusion.” She was about to leave the tent when one last question left Aubree’s lips: “How will I know I’m in heat?” “Oh, trust me, you’ll know.”

She was so absorbed in Kiri’s words that she didn’t even notice the hungry glances she was catalyzing. Especially that of a distinguished man wearing a feathered cloak. The young Olo’eyktan followed her figure as she made her way back to the human outpost until she was swallowed up by the thick undergrowth.

“She doesn’t have a mate if that’s what you’re wondering,” a voice to his left exclaimed. As he turned, he came face to face with the Tsahìk, whose penetrating stare revealed a cunning expression that hinted at a deeper understanding. “I don’t see why this indiscretion of yours should interest me.” “Mm, I don’t know. Seems like she caught your interest.” “Hard to ignore with the trail she carries.” A corner of Kiri’s mouth twitched: Neteyam had just been trapped in the net. “She’s not the first omega with such a scent passing under your nose, but you’ve barely noticed the others.” The young man’s back straightened. “What's your point?” “I’m just surprised. That’s all.”

Neteyam’s gaze was again lost in scanning the spot where the avatar had vanished, lost in a thousand thoughts. Unaware of the bright, wide smile that now graced his sister’s beautiful face. The satisfied smirk of one who sees three moves ahead.

Upon entering the research division’s canteen, some may have felt as if they stepped into Goldilocks’ fairy tale. Everything in there was big, big or small, small, except for the stove and tables, which were set at an intermediate height so that both avatars and pilots could use them.

Aubree stared at the teapot brewing the concoction Kiri had given her; her nose stung by the pungent yet fresh smell of nettle wafting from the spout. Carefully, she poured the liquid into a cup without straining — Ingest the leaves — and drank it. Immediately, her throat burned and a tremendous itch seemed to want to tear it open.

Shit, even worse than anticipated.

She took a seat on the plush sofa, its velvety fabric enveloping her frame. As she pressed play on the remote, the screen flickered to life, casting a soft glow on the dimply lit room. Her eyes followed the vivid images of a movie for distraction, but her mind was eaten up by the searing prickle that intensified with each passing moment. The discomfort became all-consuming, shielding her from the outside world, as if the itchy sensations had woven a barrier around her, isolating the woman in her own thoughts. She was oblivious to her colleague’s presence until he sank into the cushions beside her. His arm hung weakly on the backrest, almost brushing against her shoulder. But it was his sudden loud snort that jolted her back to reality. Aubree jumped as she turned to her right and found Jamie. His left knee wedged into his opposite ankle, his foot dangling in her direction. His head rested an inch from the wall, eyes half-closed in a drowsy state.

“You look tired.”

The guy let out a low, rumbling laugh in his typical mumble before replying that he felt like a bulldozer had run over him. Fatigue weighed heavily on him, evident in the strain it put on his distinct British accent. She surreptitiously watched him, taking in the details of his avatar that closely resembled the human it was created from. His gaze remained the same, although his blue irises had now turned a striking shade of yellow. His lips and teeth mirrored the original, except for the canines. When he smiled full-mouthed, two dimples appeared on his cheeks, causing his eyes to crinkle at the corners, as if they were smiling, too. His slightly protruding incisors gave his face a boyish charm, contrasting with his strong, masculine features. He radiated a sense of gentleness.

That last remark had the same effect as lightning illuminating the night. They were conversing freely, as they would have if they were humans.

An alpha and an omega.

Aubree had gotten into the habit of avoiding alphas as much as possible when she was in this body; head down, shy look, walk fast. Never within nose reach. But Jamie did not lose his cool in her presence. He didn’t sniff the air greedily. His gaze didn’t become insistent as it passed over her face. He didn’t moisten his lips endlessly or clench his jaw and fists as if to keep himself from jumping on her. Nor did hold his breath and make excuses, running for his life as he was wont to do.

The suppressor was working!

The success of the next days was enough for the unknown estrus to recede into the background, in the darkest and most hidden place in her head. Who could blame her? Her life was finally back to normal. After all, her avatar's first heat couldn't have been so terrible, could it? Just stick to this simple recipe and everything will be fine, repeated as a mantra.

Remember, it is a temporary remedy. Useless on the verge and during the heat.

Time passed, and days turned into weeks. The taste of the medicine became more tolerable as her throat grew accustomed to its piquant flavor. Even if it wasn’t, the end justified the means. Aubree took the doses with obsessive precision, but after a few months, she noticed the effects wearing off, though she couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it began. The first warning came in the form of mild dizziness when she logged in, accompanied by a lingering feeling of fever. Then, her appetite waned, alternating with sudden bouts of hunger. Finally, twinges settled in her iliac fossae. She chalked it as harmless PMS, nothing she hadn’t already experienced. Most importantly, not a cause for alarm regarding her host’s performance or health; the hybrid was fully functional.

Wait a minute. Premenstrual syndrome?

As she walked down the hallway leading to the medical area, her mind wandered back to her last period. Her forefinger swiftly navigated the tablet, selecting the calendar app she used to track her menstrual cycle. She was still a long way from the start of the next one, a full two weeks, right in the middle of her fertility window. Maybe I’m ovulating. The symptoms she had been going through lately aligned with that assumption. Breast sensitivity, a slight increase in discharge, heightened lubrication, and libido.

This would have been enough to reassure her, if not for the steady, soft beeping coming from the hospital room, serving as a haunting reminder. Her stare roamed beyond the glass, taking in the circle of Link Units surrounding a pair of desks in the center, a total of eight. It settled on the last station on the far left. Number 3. Her lucky number. Well, not so lucky, given how things were going. The monitor next to it showed the status of the machine, the vitals of the subject inside, the neural activity of the two interconnected brains. The real-time image of the pilot's unconscious face.

Aubree’s face.

And so she realized the symptoms were none other than the avatar's. Ovulation, PMS, cravings were all alarm bells that the heat was near. But who gave her the coup de grâce was Jamie himself.

The guy was running towards her, calling out and weaving, eager for something he was about to share if he didn’t put the brakes on his run. With his palm up to cover his mouth and nose, he said, “Woah Bree... You stink.” His pupils showed a hint of dilation. “It’s time, isn’t it? The suppressant isn’t working anymore.” “Guess so.” “Um, I don’t wanna freak you out or anything, but...” He scratched nervously at the back of his head, no longer holding her gaze. “... if you ever need help dealing with… that. I mean, if I were in your shoes, I’d prefer a friend taking care of me over some random dude. So...” “Thanks, Jamie, for the offer. I know it’s from a genuine interest, and that you’re not trying to take advantage of the situation. I appreciate it, but maybe the Tsahìk can help me out while I’m in the shelter.” “It could last for days.” “I still haven’t come to terms that intercourses are the only way. She's possibly making it sound worse than it actually is.” “Possibly not. Thinking you’ll be locked up somewhere suffering...” "I'll log out for the night," Aubree giggled. “Besides, it would be kinda weird, don’t you think? We work together.” Now he couldn’t help but laugh. “I do science. Stuff like that won't faze me. You better hurry, based on the scent you're giving off, you could be in heat any minute. If you change your mind...” With a last playful wink, Jamie left.

Free to return to her concerns, Aubree’s smile turned into a taut line. She had to find Kiri. Quickly.

As she battled the relentless fever, the seemingly endless and overwhelming path to Hometree stretched out before her. Every step was a struggle, her trembling hands clutching onto the rough tree trunks for support. Fatigue weighed heavily upon her, her eyes squinting against the blinding rays of the sun as it dipped below the horizon. The intense heat made her perspire profusely, the dampness seeping through her clothes, clinging to her body like a second skin. She wished she could strip off her garments; the discomfort unbearable. The thought of dying of shame seemed trivial compared to the fire that consumed her from within, leaving her skin burning and blistering.

Sounds of prolemuris filled the air, their calls echoing through the dense canopy. The heavy, rich, damp bouquet of lush vegetation mingled with the freshness of rain and whiffs of her scent, alerting a hunter nearby to her presence. His senses heightened. With narrowed eyes, he tasted the air, as if savoring a fine wine. The particles rose into his nostrils, painting a vivid image of Aubree in his mind. Her sweet face, adorned with sparkling eyes, and sinuous curves stood out against the dry features of the People.

As he continued to track her trail, his pupils dilated, his senses enticed by the lingering aroma. Every step he took, he could feel the dampness of the forest floor beneath his feet, the rough texture of the leaves brushing against his fingertips. The air was alive with anticipation, as if holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable. But as quickly as the scent had captivated him, the hunter’s instincts kicked in. He realized that if he could smell her, others could too. The realization sent a shiver down his spine, a reminder of the dangers that lurked in the rainforest. With a determined resolve, he pressed on, his senses alert, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

He left his prey to almost run the distance that separated him from the woman. His omega. The moments it took him to reach her seemed like hours when they were a handful of minutes at most. He found her at the foot of a plant, curled up in a ball, her cheeks stained with tears as she whispered incomprehensible words under her breath. The man staggered, his senses assaulted by the unmistakable pungent smell of her heat stench. A wake so overpowering that left him breathless and struck, unlike anything he had ever smelled before. Teeth gritted and jaw clenched to the breaking point, he bravely advanced towards her, finally falling to his knees. If only he had resisted his natural urges. He could not allow himself to give in. Not him.

With a gentle touch, he cradled her jaw in his palm and soothed her with slow, reassuring strokes along her side, repeating, “It’s alright, it’s alright. You’re safe now. You're not alone; I'm here for you. You’re going to be okay.” Her cry-streaked face trembled as she whispered, “Please... I can’t take it any longer,” cheeks dampened by an endless stream of tears. “Just take care of it.” He cursed in frustration, powerless that he couldn’t even bring her to his sister. Kiri was assisting a primipara in childbirth. “Please!” Before taking her in his arms and laying her gently against his chest, the Na’vi sighed, his voice filled with resignation, “Yes, whatever you need.”

Walking backward towards the nearest shelter, he kept his gaze fixed on the path, his piercing eyes fully focused on his surroundings, scanning for any signs of danger. The very direction he had originally come from. Not that anyone could have stood up to him under those circumstances. Regardless of whether he had reached the woman first, no one would have been foolish enough to challenge the clan’s top warrior.

Groaning, Aubree nuzzled against him, finding solace in the familiar and calming scent that emanated from his skin. Like lowered into a light, peaceful bubble, his soothing alpha pheromones everywhere. An alpha she couldn’t recognize, her vision too blurry, but to whom the omega inside her was singing a serenade. In this foggy confusion, she could only hear the beating of his heart against her ear and the oh-so-big, firm hands holding her up. And though she could not see him, starry eyes appeared in her mind’s eye, looking tenderly at her.

Her fantasy drifted away, picturing him holding her close, his lips exploring every inch of her body, and their lovemaking leaving her in a state of euphoric surrender. A shiver ran down her spine and made her throbbing quicken at the mere thought of being touched where the tremendous burn concentrated the most. The brush of his lips on her forehead and the tip of her nose made her believe, if only for an instant, that reality had merged with her imagination. His voice lingered in the air, like a gentle gust against her mouth, hinting that they were just moments away from their destination.

Where, she would have inquired, but there wasn’t much room for consistency in her head right now, her perceptions too chaotic to form a coherent question. She would have gone to the ends of the Universe, as long as it meant she could be near him.

Next to her, on her, inside her. Her heart raced with anticipation.

As the hunter laid her down on the mattress and went to fetch water, it was no surprise that her expression crinkled, her eyelids opened slightly, and a low moan eluded her parched lips.

“You need to drink,” he said softly, his voice filled with concern, as he offered out a small bowl. The liquid inside shimmered, reflecting the soft glow of the room. However, she shook her head, causing the contents to spill onto the floor, the sound of the liquid splashing echoing through the silence. A flicker of frustration crossed his face, but it quickly melted away, replaced by a deep-seated worry as he watched her. Her arms opened towards him, inviting him into her embrace. He had never encountered such desperation and helplessness in an omega before.

Calmly, he laid down beside her, pulling her gently towards him. As he hugged her, she could feel the tension slowly leaving her body. But it wasn’t enough. Aubree craved more, she needed more. And so he leaned in and kissed her. His lips were soft and tender, like a delicate caress. When she bit into them, the taste exploded on her tongue, a blend of sweet honey and warm sunshine. The flavors danced and mingled, delighting her senses. Closing her eyes, she felt a rush of sparks and stars illuminating her mind. His tongue explored her mouth with a gentle touch, mirroring the soothing sensation of his hands as they massaged her tense shoulders.

She felt perfect, cocooned in the strength of his embrace. The soft glow of candlelight danced across their entwined bodies, casting a warm, intimate atmosphere. The warmth of his arms, his faint scent mingled with her own, enveloped her, creating a sweet, comforting haven from the outside world. Yet, an intoxicating sensation filled the air as she nestled against his chest, hearing the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. A soothing melody that resonated deep within her. Every touch, every caress, sent waves of bliss coursing through her body. In this moment, she found solace and contentment, knowing that she had found her rightful place - in his loving arms.

She was exactly where she belonged, complete and fulfilled.

When he let go, she was panting, her lungs desperate for oxygen, her heart pounding in her chest. All she could see were his eyes, lost in darkness. Delighting in her exquisite taste, surpassing his wildest dreams, he pressed his lips against her face and kissed her deeply. The overwhelming passion seemed to consume her, suffocating her with its intensity. He gently moved away, giving her a chance to catch her breath, and as he did, he positioned himself on top of her, taking off the thin t-shirt she had on.

As much as he longed to press his skin against the avatar's, the Na’vi couldn’t help but be drawn to her curvaceous physique, a stark contrast to the ruggedness of his own kind. He took his sweet time to admire her; the naked breasts, the rounder hips, he could not resist stroking them with his fingertips. Aubree’s scent brainwashed him, a slave to the instinct to take her where she was, but in the back of his mind, there was still enough clarity to realize that he was truly amazed by the wonder of the woman before him. He liked her. He really liked her. He had liked her from the first moment he had noticed her, her trail so enchanting that it could not be ignored.

Once again, he yearned to taste her, to hold her. He placed his lips upon every reachable inch, leaving his mark with his intoxicating scent. He lavished attention on her face, caressed her eyes, nibbled on her ears, traced her collarbones, and claimed her neck, burying his nose in her skin, his tongue tenderly exploring the hidden depths behind her shoulder. It was a remarkably sensitive spot, causing her to surrender to pleasure, her corneas tilting backward in ecstasy. The surge of pheromones transformed into a primal growl, resonating deep within her core; uncontrollable shivers coursed through her body. He pressed harder against her hips, releasing a second wave that intensified their connection.

Aubree wrapped her limbs around him, squeezing him in a fervent embrace. The sound of their mingling breaths filled the air as their lips met once more, a symphony of desire. Overwhelmed by the sensation of his body against hers, she reveled in the way he effortlessly fit into the curves of her form. Each kiss and caress he bestowed upon her skin brought a cascade of relief that engulfed her senses.

Through the graceful dance of their bodies, she felt the weight of his longing against her. Every movement spoke volumes of his desire to please her, to alleviate her anguish. As his lips explored her skin, a low, guttural moan escaped her throat, resonating with a mixture of gratification and pain. In the air, a spice of raw passion intertwined with a hint of vulnerability. In his touch, she could sense the depth of his caring, his soulful dominance.

She realized how similar they were: two people subjected to their nature.

Equally desperate, her lungs aching, she reached a trembling hand towards his tail, fingers brushing against the coarse texture of the loincloth. The tightly cinched knot resisted her efforts, causing each tug to reverberate with a faint sound of strained fabric. The hunter, his muscles trembling with anticipation, propped himself up slightly, his breaths mingling with hers in the dimly lit room.

Time slowed to a torturous crawl as he painstakingly unraveled the knot, his fingers working with meticulous precision. The sensation of the fiber slipping through his grasp sent shivers down his spine, a mix of alleviation and frustration intertwining in his chest. The weight of the tewng around his ankles became a physical reminder of the barriers they both longed to shed. Almost on the verge of tears, he yearned for liberation from this confining cloth, craving the proximity and warmth they shared. With a swift motion, he freed himself from the bindings, the garment rustling quietly as it fell to the ground. In an instant, he pulled her back into his embrace, his arms blanketing her with a renewed fervor.

As their bodies tangled, a rush of emotions flooded their senses — the scent of their shared desire hung heavy in the air, mingling with the musky aroma of sweat. The touch of their skin, now unencumbered, ignited a fire that burned with an intensity they could no longer deny.

The scientist loved every moment; his piercing, smoldering gaze fixated on her, lolling in every tender touch, every flattering word, but she reached her limit, and he could sense it. Suddenly, the biting cold dusk shrouded her exposed form. Her garments were violently ripped away, leaving her vulnerable. The icy sensation lasted only a fraction of a second, though, for that was all the time it took for the stranger to plunge into her doused core. His intricate braids tickled against the satin-like skin of her inner thigh. The balmy breeze of his breath danced upon her as she rolled up her sticky legs around his head. “No need for that,” she giggled, her voice trembling. The sharp edges of his canines teased her, causing a playful tingle to spread across her lips. His smile showing both desire and mischief.

With exasperating slowness, he inhaled in a long sniff, his expounded pupils pulsating as they reopened. He dove in to guzzle the juicy nectar at its source, emitting a hoarse moan with the initial sip. She gasped, feeling the vibration against her quivering lips, as a blissful wave rippled through her soul, intensifying her arousal. Gripping her silky hair, he nestled his face, exploring every crevice, nuzzling her thoroughly. His insatiable tongue and eager lips caressed the velvety walls of her intimate entrance, skillfully teasing the supple skin and delicate clitoris. His left hand, loving and firm, cupped her slender ankle, his touch sending shivers up her bone. Slowly, he trailed his hand up her smooth thigh, his fingertips tracing every contour, igniting a fiery anticipation within her. With a whispered whoop, he sank his index into her swollen, drenched core, the wetness coating his digit. There was no resistance, only an overwhelming urge for more. In sync with her ragged sighs, he added a second finger. The sound of their combined panting saturated the air as her grip tightened around his relentless, plunging fingers.

At this point, Aubree was trembling with need as every fiber within her begged to be fucked. The alpha’s dominant pheromones beguiled her, while his languid, deliberate movements captivated her gaze. His hungry eyes, dark and all-consuming held her spellbound by the way he devoured her. The crushed combination of his present and skill left her subdued, infatuated even. As her back arched in pleasure, a primordial scream tore through her open windpipe. Excitement was so intense, a fiery mixture of ecstasy and release so gratifying and flawless, that her omega felt a devastating love than just heat. In that instant, he hit her G-spot with caustic precision one final time, causing her to pour forth in a torrential climax. A violent, passionate eruption met by the man’s eager mouth, which drank her essence like a thirsty beast.

However, something unexpected happened as the orgasm subsided. Aubree burst into tears.

Copious tears streamed uncontrollably down her cheeks; wet, hot streaks that burned almost as scorching as the new, unbearable fire festering in her belly. Sobs rang through the shelter as he called her back, holding her tightly in his protective embrace, now curled against his chest seeking consolation. “Shushu... ‘Upe kemwiä? (What is it?).” He murmured, his lips resting on her temples as he futilely wiped away her tear-strained cheekbones. “It doesn’t go away, it doesn’t go away.” She cried, her nails scratching his chest, desperately trying to hold on to something. Her nose rubbed against his rib cage, then his jaw to impregnate him with her perfume, his heart pounding wildly.

In a frenzy of kisses and bites and touches, he let her vent, his digits grazing along her spine, confused by the speed with which the urge had reassembled in her. The Na’vi was confused by the speed with which the itch had reassembled within her. Normally it would take a few hours after such a powerful first orgasm. Time to rest, eat, drink. Aubree badly needed hydration to combat the incessant fever that plagued her and the fluids she was losing.

“Take a moment to rest. You need to drink.” “Screw the water, I want you,” she confessed, her misty eyes fixated on him. They shimmered with unstoppable tears and thirst. Her face flushed with a violent purple. It was the most powerful heat the man had ever witnessed, and he wondered what had triggered it. That it was her first heat? Had the suppressors made her high? It was because of him? The alpha in him reprimanded him with the natural mildness of primal appetites. Just take her, she’s pleading for it. But he shook his head. It wasn’t him. He was better than that. He had been raised to care for others, not to use them. Alphas protect, that was what gave them purpose; he would do anything to protect his mate, even from herself.

Even though she wasn’t technically his mate.

Despite not being bonded in the traditional sense, their connection was undeniable. Aubree, unbeknownst to her, held a special place in his heart from the very moment they met. It was clear from the start that this outcome was unavoidable. Calling upon anything that could keep him sane, he held some sort of energy drink under her nose. “Näk (drink).” The omega sounded at this command. It was as if by speaking in his native language, he was able to assert himself a thousand times more forcefully, even if she didn't get his words. The omega knew for both of them. “Can you do this for me? Drink this and I'll give you everything you want.” She had never heard anything more beautiful. She swelled the entire contents in one gulp, her head dizzy from the sudden amount of sugar. She fell back between the pillows with a quickening pulse, even if he was stroking her hair comfortably. The fall brought a fresh whiff of her needy wake, filling the entire hut as well as his nostrils. Instinctively, the hunter took a deep breath. A breath, that stopped halfway as his brain registered the source of the trail between the woman’s legs. A shimmering fountain that caused him to let out a guttural roar of defeat. He was so weak to her.

As he settled between her groin, the tip of his erection brushed against the warrior’s waistband, still clinging to his torso. The only garment Aubree had allowed him to keep. The sight of him, breathtakingly elegant and athletic, thanks to Eywa’s mercy, overshadowed the idea of how many other omegas had the privilege of having him inside them before her. But now he was all hers. That thought alone ignited a fresh wave of excitement to blossom. He pressed his full weight onto her, and she wasted no time running her hands over his taut, strong, muscular back. Every contour, every sinew, was exquisitely formed and enticing under her touch. The closeness they shared, their bodies pressed against each other, sent a thrill through her. He smelled so damn good, hard and bothered for her. The way he responded to her advances only heightened her desire, flaring up a foreign heat in her veins, surpassing even her own natural instincts.

His shaft, long and thick, glided inside her, stealing her a gasp as he filled her in one fluid motion. Pleasure trembled through her, evident in her labored breathing and tightened walls. The barriers of her depths easily acclimated to his divine cock, satisfying even her smallest wishes. It was almost embarrassing to realize how every aspect of him was designed to please her — the texture of his body, the touch of his skin, the taste of his lips, the sound of his voice, his tantalizing scent.

She couldn’t help it and was somehow ashamed of her weakness. Her intimacy clenched at some point, in response to the blows he gave her, the few but deep sounds he made. So securely he gasped at the faint pain before rushing to her mouth in a ferocious kiss. Demanding, needy. He bit and pulled at her lip, pushing his tongue to lick the arch of hers, to suck her teeth, making her vibrate around him. Had she mentioned that his lips were amazing? Yes, she had, but who cared? She would have repeated over and over again how unworldly they melded with hers in such a sublime way that they would have stunned her if she weren’t for the crazy pheromones already. Aubree didn’t even know who this man was. Her senses tangled, preventing her from recognizing his face or voice, despite a nagging suspicion of familiarity. Her mind sporadically focused before touch or smell overpowered it. Now taste. His lips felt like fresh fruit, sweet and full-bodied. She would have spent hours luxuriating in them, but the impression she was about to burst grew and grew, driving and unbearable.

She moaned uncontrollably as the Na’vi drew back his hips until only the tip rested against her core to thrust again before effortlessly thrusting again. Each new point of contact stung inside her. The avatar felt an insatiable desire to take all of him, to never let go. Her heart filled with euphoria — little bites, caresses, kisses ran through her body, which now smelled like his. She tugged at his hair as he made his way back to her mouth, her wet thighs encircling his waist, her heels nestled in the dimples of Venus. Clinging to him as if the contact of his epidermis, his chest, his arms weren’t enough. She craved more. Their hearts pounded in unison, like furious galloping horses, their passion untamed. “Tsahey, sı`ltsan’efu (oh hell, feels good),” he grunted, his timbre low and gravelly. Kind of a dirty move whispering praise in Na’vi into her ear. His words danced to the tips of her toes from the dull joy it gave her to feel appreciated, as the sound of their frames colliding echoed in the hut, a symphony of lust and devotion. Her cries grew shrill, a melodic chorus that fueled his every thrust. He was so hot, his skin flushed and glistening with sweat, as he moved faster, the friction intensified, sending sparks shooting through all of her body. Aubree clasped her legs around his waist, hankering for everything he offered. His grip on her shoulders steadied, his fingers digging into her skin. The force of his thrusts increased, each one hitting her with a mix of pleasure and pain. Her nails dragged along his back, leaving red trails in their wake.

The man rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingled; his lukewarm exhales covering her face and his ears full with her gasps. The smell of their passion hung heavy in the small space, a heady mixture of steam and need. He watched her in both ecstasy and disbelief. The sight of such intensity in his gaze overpowered her, but she clung to it, relishing every moment when his dick struck a sensitive bundle of nerves.

As she felt his knot dwell, alpha pheromones crept into her subconscious, drowning her omega in the musky aroma of dominance and submission, an exhilarating fog that pushed her further into surrender. The place seemed to darken as her soul naturally responded to him; her pulse hastening with trepidation. Each frantic gasps for oxygen a struggle against the sweeping emotions. She had no choice but to capitulate, to cry out for him. It felt as if her very DNA had been written to covet him, to lock him inside, but the native held her back, prolonging the exquisite torture.

“That’s not a good idea. It’s your first time.”

A new growl escaped her windpipe, vibrating hungry rage. A rumble that allowed no response, a warning that made him bend his ears back and sink to the point of no return. His stare fixed on her with a longing that knew no bounds. Now only orgasm could free him from her clutches. His expression seemed pained, a flicker of hesitation, but it lasted only a second before the most animalistic and savage sounds she had ever heard rose from the back of his throat. The researcher bit his neck to stifle a moan louder than the others, desperate to repress the burden that threatened to consume him. The last thing she wanted was for him to stop for concern of hurting her. He gasped, his grip on her hips toughening as he plunged more fervently, the rhythmic slapping of their bodies reverberating through the room.

“Don’t ever come out. Stay in forever,” she stammered in confused, fading whimpers. His reaction was harsh, his hips digging with such force that the knot scraped hard against her walls, inducing her to writhe in ecstasy. “Nga tsun ke pawm fula tsonta oe… Nga zir fìtxan tsìltsan (You can’t just ask me that… You feel so amazing).” His voice strained with lust. In response, the woman gyrated her hips even deeper against him, moaning with abandon until he filled her completely. His burning seed spread inside her, as he released a final wave of pheromones that triggered an orgasm so powerful it knocked her unconscious — her frame succumbing to the overwhelming fulfillment that exhausted her. “Are you okay?” He kissed her temple, but she could barely nod, still breathless. “Good.”

Amid that swirling sea of dizzying, carnal lechery, the Na’vi caught a whiff of her enticing trail, drawing him in like a magnetic force. He twisted her neck gently, planting kisses and licks behind her ear, where it released all sorts of fragrances that blended with the aftermath of their passionate encounter. Aubree shivered, her skin tingling as he grazed his teeth over her sensitive flesh. The aroma of her essence intensified here, so potent it could dance on his tongue, so tantalizing to explore further.

As he indulged in a small taste, her partner’s presence surged within her; his dick twitched, and automatically her inner walls throb around him. Just as her apprehension grew, fearing his bite, his lips found her ear where he murmured: “Don’t be afraid. I won’t mark you until you ask me to.”

Suddenly, a clarity washed over her, as if the dense intoxication of hormones had dissolved, leaving her lucid in its wake. The researcher pushed her lover away, panic coursing. Her narrowed eyes hinted at a revelation, now that she could finally name the alpha who had guided her in her very first heat, still mating with her with a satisfied and dangerous grin.

Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan. Olo’eyktan of the Omatikaya.

Her eyelids suddenly grew heavy. Aubree fought not to close them, but with each blink it became harder and harder to keep them open. She felt his fingertips brush the hair from her face, then caress one cheek as he lowered himself to place a light kiss on her forehead.“Hahaw, ma’uniltı`ranyu. Nga kin ne tsurokx. Tätxaw ngeyä tawtutetokx. Oe veaywng nga kay sìn. (Sleep, my dreamwalker. You need to rest. Return to your human body. I’ll take care of you from now on).”

Special thanks to @pandoraslxna for the prompt!

@neteyamssyulang @layla2-49

318 notes · View notes

defrosted69 · 11 days

Text

MY Laker Star 3.5 (Huh Yunjin)

Okay this was a request from @dav1233555 that took way, WAY too long so sorry about that lol. also, this preety much answers what had happened why our mc went from Lesserafim to New Jeans

heads up, Its angsty enjoy

Yunjin moved away from the window glass, watching the sight below her as her feet landed in the elevator. The elevator only kept her busy with her palm on the button because the stillness was so deafening. Her mind keeps replaying the memories till it deafens her. She repressed her tears, feeling the anger in her heart grow stronger. She had just watched her own happiness be chosen by someone else, and she didn't want to cry.

She was aware that all she was doing was convincing herself that your heart was with her. She wanted to think that there was love between you and her, therefore she disregarded the indicators that were in front of her face.

Perhaps there was once love between

Or was it just nostalgic love.

She hurried out of the elevator as soon as the door opened, not even caring that she was drawing stares. Her plate was already piled high with the issues facing both her own group and herself. Right now, all she needed was a safe haven where she could be herself without fear of judgment. However, there is a cost associated with celebrity.

She instinctively followed her legs to the women's restroom, where she noticed her own reflection. Her tears had dried up and formed their own consciousness, cascading down like waterfalls and making her wonder how much of her life she can still manage.

"Shit..."

The only term that could adequately characterize her current state of mind was a quiet growl. She got the impression that her life was being held back by her own transgressions, and that everything she had done up to that point had only made things worse. She was alone with herself, everything was going wrong, and it was suffocating.

Since everyone was against her, she had no one to turn to as her own barricade. There was that performance that everyone chose to pick apart and felt would shatter their self-esteem. Their defenses crumbled and their reputation was damaged. Even their own admirers doubt their ability to be idols. Everything went south after that, causing a ruckus throughout the Kpop business.

When they could not demonstrate why the Silver spoon should have been placed on an idol in the first place, people started to wonder what use it served. People started to wonder if the idols of this new generation had not experienced the same hardships as their predecessors in order to retain the motivation to keep improving and honing their profession. People started to wonder who created and who was merely handed the Silver spoons as more and more organizations appeared around..

As a performer herself, it was a major gut punch for her because, even though you are a performer, having your confidence in yourself undermined by being asked if you are truly one. It's exhausting to consider how many more people joined in to criticize you and how they nitpick all your mistakes.

While the fire was raging fiercely, they were placed on hold and forced into the basement to hide. Although their company made every effort to reduce the heat, the power of the media served as fuel to fan the flames. There are articles popping up everywhere, most of which have no connection whatsoever to the primary issue. And people change sides so quickly.

From loving them to turning against them.

From praising them to bad mouthing them.

From being loved, to being hated.

From their perspective, everything they do is flawed, and their words have lost significance. Nothing about them seems right to them.

When Yunjin looked in the mirror, she could no longer see the girl who had such a deep love for both her followers and herself. Standing in front of the mirror served as a depressing reminder of the frail girl she really was—a girl who tries her hardest to improve but is never successful.

She opened the faucet and used water to clean her face, giving her hands a slight shudder. She detested seeing the shattered and sad girl in her reflection as he rubbed water over her face.

"Why... Why.. Why..."

She repeatedly cleansed and massaged her face, but no matter how many times she does so, nothing will be able to erase the anguish that is written all over her face because all she can do is let the tears fall. She can't get that grimace off her face no matter what she does.

Making sure there would be no disturbance in this room, she wept quietly by herself in the restroom. She wanted to make sure that her personal issues didn't need to disturb others. Ultimately, this was her own issue to resolve.

She allowed her eyes to speak for a few minutes before covering her identity and the inner turmoil she was experiencing with a mask and baseball cap. She wanted to spend some alone time with herself, but as soon as she left the room, she observed that you and Haerin were holding hands and laughing joyously.

Yunjin could tell you were happy with her because of the contented and cheerful smile on her face. Upon witnessing the person who brought her joy turn into someone else's happiness, her heart broke into a million pieces.

She feels so hurt by your happiness since it seems like all of your shared memories have vanished from her life. She hurried out of the building, looking down while clutching her headgear. She walked aside, her eyes containing another flood of tears as all she could see was the harsh concrete. She continues to feel so unwelcome in this world with every step she takes.

She did not realize it, though, that she had arrived at the park. The trees were gently swaying in the breeze. People chatting, laughing, and taking in their surroundings. She was undoubtedly in the city park.

She takes a seat beneath a wooden bench and closes her eyes, allowing her heart's story to be revealed by her recollections of the past.

FLASHBACK: A FEW MONTHS AGO

"That's right Y/N. It's not just me who's in love with you..."

As Yunjin was speaking, Kazuha was informed of his direct messages. Yunjin was already aware that she and the other members of her band had grown fond of you. particularly Kazuha. She was the first to express admiration for you, after all.

She therefore didn't want to seem conceited and ignore her friend and bandmate. Even if Kazuha is already in love with you, she preferred for her to give you a chance. She was open to letting Kazuha have fun while she was with you.

Since everyone in her group outperformed her in every category, she was already coming to terms with the possibility that she would not even be chosen. Yunjin isn't as flexible or cute as Kazuha or Chaewon. Each of them has an incredible quality, such as her only being able to express her feelings for you in the past.

She called it a trader of nostalgia. Her only tool for winning you over is that, and even she admits that using such tactics was quite pitiful. However, all of her memories of you are in the past, and that's all she has to hold to.

To her surprise, though, you quickly pierced her heart with a lightning bolt as you closed your phone and gripped her hand. Her pulse was pounding and swaying to the same tune—love—that she was unable to control.

"Yunjin. I don't need anyone else but you."

Yunjin was the happiest woman alive after hearing those words alone. She was living out her daydream. She never would have imagined that the story would become true. She wishes she could stop waking up if she was asleep and dreaming right now.

Nothing but herself could sense the love and real delight in her eyes. She was a young woman who was madly in love. She ran to put an end to her feelings and rushed to put her arm around you.

"R-Really? You mean it?"

"Yes. I mean it."

She had enough to rejoice over the realization of her dream with just few words. You chose to step back and offer her a smile that said a thousand words when you were both singing songs of love. And you observed that there was still some time left before nightfall and that the sky hadn't yet grown really dark.

So you set up your official date, hoping to see her grin even more and maintain it throughout the day.

"Let's go on a date."

"Eh? But it's getting dark and-"

"Don't worry about it. I got this. After all, I want to see that smile of yours further Yunjin."

Your remarks made her even redder, if she wasn't already. She was surprised to learn that your flirtatious behavior wasn't all bluster. She gains even more points because the guy she previously thought of had a flirtatious side.

"Alright. Lead the way"

You seized her hand and hurried across the crowded Los Angeles streets without even waiting a second. Yujin could only look at you because it seemed like everyone was commenting on the two of you.

It's been stated that when you're with someone you love, everything stops. It's been stated that when you love someone, everything else fades away and your attention is solely focused on them.

That's what Yunjin was feeling right now.

One youngster in particular sticks out among the throng of people; he was the one holding her hand and grinning lovingly at her. Yunjin experienced a feeling of being pampered like a princess, and everything seemed like something out of a fairytale.

Their feet stopped at a place you were both familiar with, laughing filling their ears. When they both walked into the restaurant, Yunjin's smile never faded.

With you visible to the staff's eyes, they immediately all smiled as they know what they should know.

"You seem known here Y/N."

"It's my favorite go to restaurant. They make the best food around here in downtown LA."

"I'll be the judge of that."

The staff greeted you like you were one of their own employees, and you both laughed. She found that incident to be quite touching because it gave her the impression that you were loved and revered not only for your basketball prowess but also for your enormously compassionate heart.

She was happy that it was paying off since she knew you were always polite and that it was in your nature to be friends with everyone.

She was a little uncomfortable to be asked who she was because she didn't know what to say. She was getting ready to be referred to as just a friend in front of everyone because she was still a little surprised that she was already your girlfriend.

"She's my girlfriend."

Well throw that out the window and call her beloved because with your announcement just made her land into the clouds of nine. Your smile only topped up her dreams as she wished to melt right now at the spot.

And it continued further when the staff of the restaurant treated the place like their own world. They reserved a seat just for the two of them and even added candles to add to the romantic ambience.

"They didn't have to go all out."

"Trust me Jen, I didn't know it too."

Their hearts were so satisfied with each other that they laughed together. Yunjin thought that everything was too good to be true, and she didn't want the day to end. However, it was evident from her indicators that today was indeed a great day.

She was reminded of their earlier days of simply enjoying each other's company while eating and conversing about uninteresting topics by the meal that was given to them. She appreciates the small things about you, and she's happy that they haven't changed over time.

After dinner, there was just one more location to show her. You took her hand and led her to a spot overlooking the city without saying a word. a place you learned about while out on your own at night. There were innumerable evenings when you believed no one would ever understand you and you felt alone in the world.

Even though it was far from the city, the effort paid off because the view of the city was stunning and overwhelming once you two arrived. When Yunjin saw the splendor of the city at night, all she could do was softly gasp. The city felt livelier than it did when the sun was out, despite the time.

"Yunjin. I hope that our hearts will be stringed together forever."

She started crying because she was unable to hold back her happiness when you spoke to her in a sincere and caring manner. She responded by giving you a hug, but all you could hear were muffled cries. Nevertheless, she was still able to speak.

"I will. I promise to be with you.. Always... I love you"

Truly it was a great love story that broke down many romance narrative. But that was pointed towards the past and not into the future.

Because as time went on, our connection, which had previously blossomed, began to deteriorate every moment.

There wasn't even a hint of the smile you so desperately wanted to see on her face right now. It was like winning an award that was locked away.

Yunjin was likewise unable to locate the guy who gives her the feeling of freedom and love and keeps her up at night.

It was as though a knot in the thread had suddenly become loose, and when they attempted to loop it up once more, it broke.

When their love for one another began to fade in their lives, they were completely unaware of it. That once-strong kindling of fire has faded, turning everything into a miserable ash that is useless on a cold winter's night.

She found it painful to witness how everything went from being ideal to eventually becoming lost. Simply put, the gestures and spark had vanished. It hurt Yunjin especially since you weren't just a stranger standing in front of their sweetheart, who was simply a stranger they had formerly known.

You were her friend.

You were there all the time for her

You were her wall when she leaped into her destiny.

You were her once everything turned to nothing. That has completely broken her heart and undermined her self-esteem. And just when things weren't getting any worse, they did, for everyone in her group as well as for her.

That terrible performance was in no way a justification for how she feels about her intimate relationship. Her job as a performer was to take the stage and kill it. Rather, their supporters and detractors slaughtered them.

This was supposed to be the perfect time to have your shoulder, your voice and your heart for her but where were you?

You were nowhere to be seen.

She didn't want to get in touch with you because every game matters during the playoffs and you were in that stage. You still reach out to her even if she made the decision to keep her problems to herself. And once more her smile appeared.

But when the voice she was expecting didn't sound the same, it vanished. It had lost its loveliness. Rather, it was the concern-only voice of a friend. She realizes her partner is no longer with her.

She shouldn't have held onto it for so long considering how long ago it vanished. She was grasping only air, no longer a rope of their affection. She couldn't have imagined losing you, which is why it was so upsetting to her.

It's because of you that she thought love was genuine. She had never experienced pure love this close to him, and she had it with you.

Sadly, she also lost it to you.

Because you loved her before she did, did she truly love you? Or did she just tell herself lies to make it seem and feel genuine?

You no longer made the effort or attempt to ignite the spark. You personally witnessed it. That Yunjin you saw and fell in love with then was a different Yunjin. No matter how much you wanted it to, your heart didn't scream her name. It disapproved of the notion.

In an instant, all that has transpired between you and the memories you both shared vanish in the same manner. The affection vanished.

When Yunjin opened her eyes, she had no idea that the day was coming to a close and that the sky had turned orange. She shed a tear on her left, but didn't give it any attention because she had to go back to her room with her friends.

Her members was the one thing she could always count on, no matter what challenges she encountered.

In their worst moments, they supported one another. She wouldn't be here at all if it weren't for their support, which enabled her to overcome her personal struggles. In another universe, there's a good chance she lost it and vanished from this world.

However, because she felt the love and concern from her members, it didn't happen in this universe. For her, the fact that they remained together at this difficult time was sufficient to enable her to go on and lead a fulfilling life. Although that might not be the perfect story for her, you know what they say.

One door opens while another shuts. All you have to do is wait for them to show themselves.

Yunjin took a deep breath and turned to face whatever lay ahead of her. Why should she give up now that she has persevered this far? She moved backward into the arms of her members, whom she might joyfully refer to as..., a slight smile spreading across her face.

her home

#kpop fanfic #le sserafim #fanfiction #kpop #angst

134 notes · View notes

starstruckmoony · 1 year

Note

Hello! May I request a muggle AU with Theodore, with this meet-cute prompt: "they're on opposite sides of a wedding party to the bride and groom" (prompt is from @/thewritersafterglow on Instagram). Thank you! I know this request is in good hands :)

aaaaaa thank you anon! <3 this is the first request i've got in a while (again tysm it made me very very happy <3<3) and i had lots of fun writing it so i hope it meets your expectations!

can't help falling in love.

masterlist , requests

pairing - theodore nott x reader

trope/tags - muggle!au, strangers to lovers-ish, fluff (side note - this isn't particularly realistic because i don't really know how weddings work in different parts of the world, so i kind of just went by how they function in my country and some bits and pieces i've managed to pick up from movies and such. i know it probably won't be accurate for everybody but i tried my best LMAO)

word count - 3k

warnings - language, drinking, smoking, cheesy at the end

when you recieved an envelope in your mail one fine morning in late may, you never would have expected it to be an invitation to your primary school classmate's wedding in the english countryside. you could still recall the wonderful memory of choking on your coffee and scaring the life out of your poor cat when you saw her name plastered in big letters in the center of the paper, right below a picture of her and her fiancé. it was a miracle how she remembered you existed. to be frank, you were kind of honoured, and you made sure to confirm your arrival almost immediately. hell yeah, you were coming. free food and alcohol? who in the right mind would pass on that?

so about three months later, sometime in mid-august, you found yourself inside of a crowded venue, sweating buckets in your silky green dress, without a fan, or anybody to keep you company. a few of your old classmates were there too, but not a single one of them bothered to offer you a greeting. what a bunch of arseholes.

you stood leaned against the wall in the very back where there were fewer people, attempting to cool yourself down by fanning the air around you with your hands as you waited for the godforsaken ceremony to finally start. to nobody's surprise, the bride was a little late, and the groom's family was in a mild state of disarray. it was kind of funny, but not as funny as it would have been if you weren't feeling so bloody hot. do they not have air conditioning in here? how do people get married in these conditions? and why does the best man look more terrified than the groom?

the loud sound of somebody's shoes scraping against the tiles right next to you shook you right out of your train of thought, and you placed your hand against your chest in horror, "jesus christ." you muttered under your breath, the unfamiliar man attempting to catch his breath scared the life out of you.

he glanced at you for a split second, appearing rather exhausted (aftermath of sleeping through five alarms and having to run to the venue because his friends were too lazy to wait for him), "sorry." he offered you an apology breathlessly, leaning back against the wall to steady himself. you thought that you were being overdramatic when it came to the heat and the current atmosphere of the wedding, but this man seemed to have surpassed you. he was rather handsome though, despite being drenched in sweat from what you assumed was running, also paired with the humid air inside. his eyes were strangely captivating, and he looked a little too good in that suit of his for it to be considereded legal. were you staring? you were probably staring. you trailed your eyes away, pretending to be entertained by the groom's father who was attempting to explain the situation to the guests. you cursed inwardly, realising that you'd be stuck in there for a long time.

you turned to the pretty guy again, deciding that you should, perhaps, talk to him, "you don't look like you wanna be here." fantastic start. those probably weren't the words he wished to hear in those circumstances, but your observations didn't seem to annoy him at all. he actually chuckled instead, "am i that transparent?"

"quite." you responded a little too nonchalantly than intended, taking a quick glance at the door in hopes that you'll see the bride come in. nope. you returned to your original position. how wonderful that was, more waiting.

"do you have any water in there?" the man spoke again, pointing at the purse you had tucked under your arm.

you took it in your hands and peeked inside, knowing that you most likely wouldn't have what he was asking for, "no," you shook your head, but continued rummaging through it, "i have this, though." you pulled out a tiny bottle of liquor and shrugged before shoving it into his face.

he didn't hesitate to grab it, he would have taken anything that was liquid enough. he drank it all, not that there was much, before handing the bottle back to you with a scowl. he coughed a little as the alcohol burned his throat, and you couldn't help but snort.

"i don't know how smart that was." it wasn't, really, since it would only dehydrate him more, but it worked for the time being. he coughed again, falling back against the wall, finally able to breathe somewhat normally.

"you'll find out in a few hours," you didn't miss the smile that painted his features, and it encouraged you to carry on, "how do you know the bride... or the groom?" you questioned, wanting to keep the conversation going to kill at least some of the remaining time you had. you were bored out of your mind.

"the groom," he nodded briefly, "we went to college together, funny bloke, he invited me and my two other friends who are... somewhere in here," he stretched his neck as his eyes scanned the crowd for a short moment, "eh, whatever." he shrugged, and then reached into his pocket, but quickly retrieved his hand. it was still empty. you had assumed he reached for a cigarette before he was able to remember where he was.

"you won't go looking for them?" you queried, finding his neutrality over the whole situation slightly bemusing. it wasn't every day that a hot guy like him ditched his friends for you, and it was rather pleasant to think about. he was hoping he wasn't being so obvious about it, but you read him a little too easily.

"what, bored of me already?" he questioned, a hint of playfulness in his tone.

"i might be, now that you said that." you scowled in pretend disgust, drawing a breathless laugh from him. you shortly sunk into a not overly uncomfortable silence, both internally debating with yourselves about whether you should keep it going or not. you were kind of drawn to each other, after all. the consequence of attending a wedding without a date must have had an influence on it, you told yourself. he mustered a similar, lame explanation.

"i'm theodore, by the way." he decided to break the ice after a while, and you almost sighed in relief, "y/n." you shook his hand politely.

"nice wedding." he added, his face scrunching at the sight before him. the sarcasm in his tone was obvious.

"delightful, isn't it?" you offered the older lady that passed by you a forced smile, and then eyed her giant pink hat judgementally. you and theodore resembled a mean high school couple who had an opinion on absolutely anyone and everything, just standing there, laughing amongst yourselves and making fun of all the other guests and their stupid pastel outfits. it made sense why your classmates hadn't approached you, but you didn't let them occupy your mind any longer. you found yourself a like-minded companion for the night, one that was ten times funnier, and the prime example of eye-candy.

"imagine she never shows up." theodore said after you shamelessly fed one another with some interesting past gossip about the bride and the groom. judging by what he had told you, those two were a match made in heaven. and you could say that with your whole chest.

"god, don't plant that idea into my head. i spent my last three paychecks on this bloody dress." you snorted, dusting it off when you noticed that it had got a bit dirty.

"it looks perfect on you, though." theodore's little compliment took you off guard, and he must have noticed judging by the way he grinned.

"thanks." you felt yourself blush a little at his comment, and just as you were about to open your mouth to speak again, the bride's mother burst through the door, announcing that her daughter would be there shortly. you exchanged a relieved glance with theodore, fucking finally.

despite the long wait, the ceremony played out quite beautifully. the couple exchanged their vows, humourous and tear-jerking all at once. people laughed, people cried, somebody's baby did both. the best man hadn't forgotten to bring the rings, and the maid of honour looked happier for the bride than the bride. nobody backed out last moment, and nobody objected after the infamous "speak now or forever hold your peace". you left the venue with a smile on your face, pleasantly surprised.

theodore and his friends offered to give you a ride to an even larger venue where the reception was being held after you told them that you had arrived with a cab, and you happily accepted their offer. the two idiots he came with were just as unserious as he was, and you had soon found out that they all attended the wedding with the same intentions as you. eat food, get drunk (and then sleep in the car because mattheo wants to get wasted but doesn't want to run them off the road and kill somebody in the process).

the reception, thankfully, moved a lot faster than the ceremony. by some sheer dumb luck, you had been instructed to sit at the same table as theodore, lorenzo and mattheo. your shitty classmates were there too, so you assumed that the table was designed specifically for that - old friends from school that the newly weds didn't talk to very much, but still liked them enough to invite them.

so, after the grand entrance, loud clapping and cheering, a cute speech from the bride, more clapping and cheering, the best dinner you had had in a while, a few more emotional speeches, and even more clapping and cheering (hollering this time, too), the dj finally showed up. it was the part of the night you had been the most excited for. the first dance was absolutely beautiful and even brought a few tears to your eyes, but god, the moment you heard an onset of lower-than-nightclub-quality music blast from the speakers, your hopes had all gone down the drain.

the dance floor filled up in a matter of seconds, and you had never been more appreciative of the existence of wine. not a single song that was played in the span of fourty-five minutes was your cup of tea. and as different people's requests kept incoming, it only got worse.

theodore seemed to be having the same problem. mattheo too, considering he had about five shots in less than half an hour. lorenzo wasn't doing much better either. he was entertaining himself by making paper planes out of tissue paper and leaving them on the table like a strange art project.

"this music is terrible." theodore's voice was completely drowned out by the godawful sounds coming from the speakers, you couldn't hear a thing he was saying.

"what?!" you shifted a bit closer to him, covering one of your ears with your palm to subdue at least some of the noise.

"i said that this music was terrible!" he tried not to shout, but it would have been impossible for you to comprehend whatever he had said if he hadn't done so. yes, it was fucking awful. many people would disagree, considering how many of them were still on the dance floor, either fully wasted already or slowly getting there. at least the newly weds were having a good time, both slightly tipsy too.

"tell me about it!" you yelled back, rolling your eyes. you considered asking him to accompany you outside, for a smoke or something, though you didn't really need an excuse. anywhere would have been better than in there. but you chickened out before you were able to speak, continuing to sip on your wine in silence. silence, that was funny, mostly because of how unbearably bloody loud the music was.

lorenzo suddenly stood up, and he yelled something into mattheo's ear. the other stared at him in confusion, and then burst out laughing into his face. he turned to you instead, and you saw his lips move, but didn't understand a thing he was saying.

"huh?!" you and theo yelled out in unison, and lorenzo waved his hands dismissively at you, defeated. he pushed his way through the crowd on the dance floor and shuffled over to the dj. he threw an arm around the man, probably trying to make some friendly conversation. they seemed to be getting along.

perfect. you reached for the wine bottle, refilling your glass and taking large gulp. you were hoping that lorenzo had enough charm to sway the dj into playing something else. it took about twenty minutes of insignficant chit-chat for the man to finally nod and give him a thumbs up, and that's then the beginning of dancing queen blessed your tortured ears.

you gasped in shock, immediately getting up onto your feet and latching onto theodore's arm. he didn't really protest when you tugged at his sleeve and pulled him to the dance floor which got even more crowded than it was before. mattheo managed to fall out of his chair, but he followed the two of you and joined you in the mass of people.

"thank me later!" lorenzo yelled your way before a pretty girl grabbed his attention. the night got so much better from then on. the dj appeared to have whipped up a large playlist of abba's work, since the songs were playing one after another, each one bringing your mood up. you had completely blocked out anything that had happened before you heard the tune of the first song, and you had only returned to the table with theodore to refill your glasses before running back to the dance floor.

you couldn't recall the last time you had that much fun, singing your heart out, jumping up and down, showing off some ridiculous moves, letting theodore hold your hand and spin you around. the dj stuck to the same genre for a while, playing old pop songs, keeping everybody on their feet. some of them you didn't know, but you weren't about to sit back down after doing so for almost two hours, so you danced to them too nevertheless.

that is, until your legs started hurting a little too much for it to be tolerable and your throat had got a bit sore from belting several songs with the bride. your head was spinning too, courtesy of having so much wine. theodore took the opportunity to ask you to accompany him outside (because he really needed a cigarette) after some slow tune neither of you were familiar with had been put on.

you nodded your head took a hold of his hand as he led you out the door. you clumsily made your way down the stairs, laughing as you did so. the effects of alcohol were beginning to show themselves.

as fun as it was, getting out of there for a short while was a need. you slumped down onto one of the stone benches placed outside the venue, sighing comfortably as the chilly breeze of the night cooled you down.

you immersed yourself into another casual discussion, not a very significant one, as neither of you could even stand properly for too long without stumbling, but it was nice breather from the wild atmosphere inside. you liked talking to theodore, and even with your clouded thoughts, you knew you'd want to see him again after this. there wasn't a doubt in your mind.

"i thought i'd have to leave early." theodore laughed to himself as he took the last drag from his cigarette, and then tossed the burnt out stub onto the concrete.

"and make me stay here all alone?" you teased, although you probably would have left too if it wasn't for lorenzo and his skillful flirtation tactics or whatever the hell that was.

"who said i wouldn't bring you along?" his response made heat rush to your cheeks, and you put your head down with a breathless chuckle. you were quiet for a moment, trying to recollect your thoughts.

"you know, this might sound a little weird, but," you chewed on the inside of your cheek, not really able to think straight. you were tipsy, after all, "i'm glad i met you today," you tilted your head to the side, drunkenly observing him, "you're nicer than i anticipated." as backhanded as it sounded, that was the best you could do.

it was theodore's turn to blush after you said the words, and it didn't manage to go past you, despite him trying his hardest to hide it.

"yeah, i mean no– it's not weird, i'm uh," he trailed off, contemplating whatever it was that he wanted to say next. honestly speaking, he didn't know how to put it into words, "i'm glad we met too, you're–"

one thing that theodore hated was tripping over his words and not being able to be blunt with somebody he took a liking to, which is why he was so, very grateful to hear elvis' can't help falling in love coming from the inside of the venue.

you looked up at him when you realised which song it was, waiting to see if he'll ask you to dance. and he did, but he didn't lead you back in through the door like you thought he might. you stayed outside in the light wind, slowly swaying to the music, his hands on your waist and your arms around his neck.

you liked it better that way, just the two of you in your own little world with nobody else to disrupt you. you let your head rest on his shoulder, and his grip on your waist tightened just a little bit, like he was making sure you won't leave him. you smiled to yourself, god, that was the last thing you were planning on doing.

#theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott scenarios #theodore nott smut #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott headcanons #theodore nott fanfiction #mattheo riddle #lorenzo berkshire #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction

606 notes · View notes

savorypink · 28 days

Text

inferno

you aren't over him, and the feeling is mutual.

some smut, some angst, all cowboy!al. + takes place after buckle bunny.

Every fibre of him is on fire. It’s not a rewarding burn; he doesn’t feel like he just curled weight. However, the exhaustion is all there. Instead, as the seconds tick, he can feel his body dissolving into ash. His tongue darts to lap the sweat trickling down his face, the taste of char lingering on his lips.

Alex’s fingers falter; each attempt to hold her growing more futile, more painful than the last. The sweat blanketing their bodies isn’t helpful either. His digits quiver as if it’s their primary function. It’s carpal tunnel on steroids—a new, unwavering pain; his hands feel as if they’re withering away.

He’d be better off decaying, too. A pile of ash is numb, only knowing the sensation of being whisked by the wind. Alex could get lost in that idea—of being somewhere else.

Anywhere but in this body.

His temporary partner is a band-aid over a gaping wound, but he’ll press on until he bleeds out. Numbness is the mission, though it feels like he’s chasing a distant planet. His legs carry on despite broken ankles and sore feet. Regardless of everything, only his chest remains painless.

Unlike in the past, his heart won’t break once she leaves. Whoever’s on the receiving end of his inferno is irrelevant. The toil he’s putting himself through grants him the right to selfishness.

Along the walls, the sound of colliding skin fills the air. His “lover’s” moaning is equally ear-splitting. The bulbs in the motel lamps threaten to shake. This isn’t music to his ears; rather, the opposite of encouraging. In truth, Alex wants it to be over—all of it. Amidst the flames licking at his skin, fragments of thoughts flicker through his mind.

He questions if this is worth it. How much more can he endure for something fleeting? Is this his sole purpose? Alex’s notion of being superior to her is mistaken—they’re both equally dispensable. For him, the gears no longer turn; whatever is left of him has rusted. Time has covered any remnants of silver.

As the heat intensifies, his frustration does the same. The blood rushes to his face as his movements get faster, his hips refusing to stutter. The noises grow cruder; as the headboard slams into the wall, her moans morph into calls of his name.

Under him, she’s melted wax, unravelling by the minute. Their common trait is greed; while Alex picks up the pace, her hands dart to her clit. His manic speed is beyond her grasp, but like him, she goes until she’s sore. The warmth begins brewing in both their bellies; they’re almost to the shore.

Finally, her walls hug him tight, and with a low grunt, he finishes. He quivers as he spills inside the rubber, clutching her thighs as if he’ll topple. The orgasm quickly fades as expected, leaving behind a throbbing ache.

The quiet they soak in makes him want to squirm. His skin begs to leave his body. They aren’t well acquainted, but Alex can’t deny that she can feel everything diffusing off his skin. The scent of discontent with his body — himself — makes the room rancid. It’s unbearable to breathe. Nevertheless, she’s concerned enough to stay by his side.

Her embrace is sweaty and slippery, but his edges soften at the contact. The soreness won’t fade. He knows she can’t fix that, but she can give him what he wants: a body against his.

She rests her head on his shoulder—the bad shoulder—and his eyes shut tight. She kisses his jaw before he can make a paling fist. Her breath is warm against his ear as she coos praises, but Alex is an unworthy recipient. And she’s the wrong messenger.

“I think you were amazing, you know?”

“Yeah. You too.” He utters into a void more than he speaks to her.

Alex pulls the condom off and chucks it into the bedside garbage. He turns his attention to the desk, littered with distractions: takeout boxes, condoms and, more importantly, his medication. As the months since his injury pan out, he’s been sceptical about how well they work. Her lips twist into a pout as he gets up, dismissing her entirely.

“Do you want me to stay?” She asks.

“If you want.”

He lacks the heart to tell her no. The words are enough. Alex doesn’t glance in her direction as he turns to the bathroom. Upon entering, he averts his gaze from the mirror, aware and ashamed of the softening muscles of his forearms.

His weathered body bears the toll of hard years spent on the ranch. Painfully, he’s aware of everything; every crease under his eyes and hints of silver in his beard and hair. This is all inevitable; he knows this, but it’s happening too soon.

What happens when he actually ages? There isn’t much to him now.

Turning the faucet handle, he allows the tap to run cold. He can’t bear any more heat. The tension in his muscles dissipates as the frigid water cascades over him. The cold isn’t his only peace. Amidst the steady, unchanging flow of the tap, he finds solace.

Under the cold’s grip, the inferno extinguishes. His body becomes statue-esque, frozen in time. Here, there’s no decay crawling up the walls. There’s no ache—only him and the water. The embrace of the water is a vice grip; he wheezes as he exhales. Alex needs a little longer—more time.

Alex rests his eyes, allowing the water to wash away the day’s weight. The sound of the water hitting the tiles is steady, drowning out his thoughts of decay. In this moment, he can pretend the years haven’t reared its ugly head.

But when he steps out, he knows the aches will return. He’ll be as stiff as a board. Though, for now, he’ll cling to this illusion. He’s too young to feel this old, but Alex can believe otherwise in this impromptu fountain of youth.

He can’t spend his entire holiday getting baptised, can he?

---

The only sweetness in your life could be the gum between your teeth. You smack away while you skim the pages of your magazine, blowing bubbles in your wake.

Your phone going off breaks through the soft hum of the desk fan, yanking you from your universe of celebrity gossip and skincare advice. What annoys you most is your knowledge of who's on the other end.

We got a noise complaint in Room 210. They’re not answering the phone. Lovebirds again.

Your chances of getting out of this are slim. That doesn’t stop you from trying.

Who am I to interrupt a moment of passion between two guests?

You brace yourself for the following message, rehearsing the groan you’ll release in your mind.

A good employee and a great daughter. Go up there and give them hell.

You’re an actor incapable of missing a cue. You groan as you leave the front desk. Be glad you aren’t cleaning a toilet.

As your summer trudges on, you realise working under your father is minimal in perks. Bordering on non-existent. From the beginning, he had emphasised that he’d treat you like an equal, which is understandable. But is there any harm in a little ‘boss’s-daughter privilege?’

To your dismay, nepotism isn’t at your rescue when Room 114 has a clogged sink or if a kid pisses in the pool. On days when you could be under all the AC your sweaty skin desires, you’ll find yourself elbow-deep in murky water, wrestling with stubborn pipes or scrubbing away at grimy pool tiles.

“Something, something. I want to teach you the value of hard work. Character building or whatever. You can’t expect everything for free since you’re my kid.” You’re unsure of what that conversation consisted of. Perhaps you were reading a magazine. Shortly put, you were looking for a job and found one. Heaven knows just how miserable you are now.

Once you hit the outside world, it’s stupid hot. Palm trees whisper and rustle as a breeze rolls in, wicking away the sweat already forming above your brows. Upon reaching the balcony, the pungent scent of chlorine from the swimming pool wafts through the air while the harsh sunlight glistens around the surrounding green tile.

Flamingo pink hues, your favourite, conceal the cracks while brass-stamped room numbers label each door. It’s fireworks on the Fourth, popsicle craving. The town often feels like a harsh winter, but the motel feels like an endless summer.

With each step, the pavement beneath your feet grows warmer. Seagulls caw through the skies above you, and one side of you envies their freedom. But as you approach the infamous room, you hear nothing besides the noises of their independence. That firm knock you practised may not be helpful today.

207, 208, 209, and you’re there.

Alex is there as well. Time feels like a still image.

“It’s you.”

You shrug. “I guess.”

His voice offers a hint of relief, while yours carries uncertainty. Alex can see the cogs turning in your head; you’re wondering how long it’s been, whereas he knows exactly how long it’s been. Your eyes don’t linger as much as he fancies. But he should be grateful. He’s in no condition to stand before you.

Alex extends a reluctant hand in your direction, offering you a cigarette from a silver case. You dismiss it. He offers the burning one between his fingers, and how quickly you snatch it is embarrassing.

He notices the dried stains of popsicle dye still clinging to your shirt, and a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. It’s more endearing to him than hilarious—the pinch-your-cheeks type of cute.

“You’re not here to borrow some sugar, are you?”

Your cheeks tint at the memory, but your eyes avoid him in favour of the sizzling pavement.

“No. There was a noise complaint. Is everything okay?”

Alex is itching for the concrete to morph into lava, to swallow him whole. His face flushes a deep shade of red; he can’t look at you anymore. It’s a pure, shitty alignment of the stars.

“Yeah. Great.”

“Okay.” You lean awkwardly to the side. “I guess that’s it then.”

This isn’t a film, so Alex doesn’t stop you once you pivot your heel. As your heart pounds, each step you take feels heavier than the last. The surrounding air thickens, almost suffocating you, while the thoughts in your head become migraine-inducing.

In actuality, it’s laughable — beyond juvenile.

Your infatuation is still…there.

He stood before you, his eyes imploring, much like a wounded puppy. While the unmistakable odour of sleep deprivation clung to him, his dishevelled hair hinted at a frail state of mind. Alex is as pitiful as he is adorable, a prince charming despite rust tainting the armour.

Even though you two are strangers once more, your concern lingers. There’s a conflicting tug at your heartstrings; it makes you want to suppress it all.

The bittersweet realisation tortures your tongue. You gave your body to the person you longed for. He’s since moved on.

Your veins are on fire; you’re seething at his ease of moving on while you lay abandoned. What were you looking to gain, anyway? Your phone hasn’t chimed since the day you left his trailer. He’s made it clear; he wants nothing to do with you.

You ball your fists, pleading with your body to spare you from anger. God, a transfer of emotions would make you whole. While his current suffering is evident, and guilt gnaws at you for this wish, you want nothing more than to haunt him the way he’s haunting you, even for a fleeting moment.

As your footsteps fade, the fiery tongue of his inferno laps at his skin. This time, it’s not a signal of distress or anger—envy is a ten-ton weight on his chest. You remain untouched by decay and time, the opposite of him. You’re pristine and undamaged, while he’s deteriorating by the second. The contrast makes him grit his teeth until his temples throb.

Why can’t he be you?

His clammy palms fidget with the air, his mind restless. Sparks ignite in his fingertips, and it isn’t pain for once. He can feel you all over again. You grazed his lousy shoulder that day. Your pouty lip and furrowed brow spoke of genuine concern. He wonders if your care is still unwavering, unlike his own care for himself.

You’re younger than him by half, aren’t you? He’ll set you ablaze before you get to glue him together.

Alex’s hands race, diving into his pockets for his room key. The ache in his stomach and trousers is unbearable. He’ll have a wank and a cry about you in the shower, more bandaids to cover up gaping wounds of longing.

Surely, he can’t show you these wounds. He’d rather wither away—he’d rather ruin you first.

His keys are not there. The weight of the clouds bears down on his shoulders as they turn grey. As a cool breeze brushes against his flushed face, the scent of an oncoming storm hangs in the air.

Raindrops pitter-patter against the pavement, their splashes echoing as the rain becomes heavier. Alex rests his head against the door in anguish. He’ll have to face you again.

---

When you return to your desk, you realise the cigarette remains in your hand. You didn’t even smoke it. Sighing, you toss it in the nearby bin and sink back into your chair.

Mother nature must’ve caught wind of your emotions. The rain thrashes hard against the windows, a relentless assault on the glass. It’s reminiscent of your brain, thoughts colliding and clashing against your skull.

The lobby, safe from the rain’s wrath, is eerily mute. Your desk, adorned with your usual distraction—a cell phone and a magazine—offers no solace. Your brain ignores any attempt to concentrate on them. Alex occupies your every thought despite your wishes to haunt him. It’s a cruel twist of fate.

In a different life, you’d appreciate no calls or visitors, but now, silence only magnifies your thoughts’ noise.

“You’re gonna think I’m an idiot.”

In another twist of fate, your saviour is none other than your prince charming. The squelching of his footsteps fills the lobby, each step forming small puddles as he approaches the desk. His appearance is void of urgency; his hair is matted on his head, and his clothes cling to him like a second skin. Your heart couldn’t care less; it beats erratically.

“I locked myself out. Need a key.”

How should you approach this? You could be a brat; stay in the back office for ten minutes and make him wait for his key. Or give him the wrong key. Have him sulk in the rain for a few hours. But Alex easily chips away every mean bone in your body. You can’t do it. Not to him.

“How’s your shoulder?”

His footing readjusts at your words as if their weight rocked him. You think you’re being civil, but to Alex, you’re only twisting the knife further.

“Not too good. The doctor said I got Ligma.”

“I’m not falling for that.” Your lips curl into a smile despite your best efforts. “How are you treating it?”

You form another dent in his armour, but he comes out unscathed once more. “My doctor wouldn’t approve of my methods, to say the least.”

“I’m not your doctor. You can tell me.” You lean in; your curiosity is pure. It annoys him.

Though a glint in his eyes signals he wants to keep the conversation going. Despite this, his attention turns to the wall behind you, showing his inability to handle the current topic.

“Is that you up there?”

Behind you is a framed photograph of you and your father. You look like you don’t want to be there, but you’re smiling. Dad’s arm is firm over your shoulder as if he’s lugging precious cargo underneath it. You believe it’s from your first day here. Remind him to get rid of it.

You shrug. “I guess.”

“You look cute.”

The blood rushes straight to your face. While the charm is a diversion, you hold on to the hope that he means every word.

You fiddle with the hem of your shirt as if the butterflies in your stomach hide beneath it. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

“I look like a wet dog.”

“Not to me.”

Your words soften his posture. The air is less thick, but his heart pounds like he’s about to take his final breath. Those giddy teenage boy feelings are bubbling to the surface. Alex can’t have that.

He props his elbows on the counter, his wet hair soaking the guest book. “You’re too kind,” he places a hand on his chest. “As a man, this is the closest I’ll get to…being wet.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah! Oh!” He whisper-shouts, mocking your bewilderment. “That’s what most people say when I get ‘em wet, too.”

How he looks at you is mirrored in his tone, devoid of any shame. His eyes devour the curves underneath your shirt; all the while, a smirk adorns his handsome features.

Conversely, you feel twice as small; he’s laying it on thick, per usual. Alex knows you’re not stupid. You know what he wants from you.

“I don’t believe that.”

Alex draws back from the desk, his hands on his hips in mock amazement. “I only lie to two people: God and whoever does my taxes. You don’t believe me?”

You shake your head, still unconvinced. When he returns to the counter, his face is closer than what would make you comfortable. Alex can feel sparks igniting in his fingertips, though he’s unsure if this is a warning or a sign that he needs to touch you. He cups your face regardless.

“Let me behind the counter. I’d love to prove you wrong.”

Even though he doesn’t need approval from you especially, you still utter a faint “okay”. He drops your face and saunters behind the counter. His heavy footsteps resonate through the silence, the shivers down your spine frosty and erratic.

His footsteps persist as the distance between you is no longer. Your heart dead ends once he’s trapped you into a wall.

Your breaths mingle; the proximity is dizzying. Alex’s dripping wet face is a mere kiss away from your own, while the earthy scent of rain still blankets him. It’s all blissfully nauseating.

“Do you want me?”

His delivery betrays his hardened exterior. Alex is trembling, just above a whisper. This is a plea.

“Of course.”

His lips meet yours. You’re on fire.

It’s no storybook kiss. Any tenderness you expected isn’t present. Alex doesn’t want to get attached; each tongue movement is reckless, driven solely by hunger, while your teeth and noses collide in chaotic form. His hands are no different—they’re calloused—the way you remember them, and they move with something that transcends fervour.

His hands remain greedy, exploring every inch of your waist, hips, and breasts. Kneading. Groping. Anything. While your body responds in arousal, sharp jolts of pain shoot through his fingers, urging him to stop.

“That’s an awfully short skirt you’re sporting.” As he pulls away, you can feel the onset of a rash from his goatee against your face. “Daddy let’s you wear that ’round the workplace? He might murder you before he massacres me.”

You shutter as his icy hands roam beneath your shirt, squeezing and fondling until your nipples stiffen. “A fashion icon once said a skirt should be the size of a belt. I read it in a magazine.”

Your breathless tone elicits a growl from him, his hips pressing hard against your bare thigh. “My love, you’re wearing a shoelace.”

A hand darts underneath your skirt, vigorously rubbing away the ache between your moist folds. Alex’s hips rut against your leg again—you’re just about drowning his fingertips.

“All this f’me?” His fingers remain restless against your folds. “You’ve made me the luckiest cowpoke in this city, y’know?”

You can hear the seams of your panties shred as he pulls them aside, delving his fingers into your core. Before you can moan, Alex clamps his free hand over your mouth.

“You better fuckin’ not.”

As a warning, Alex’s fingers plunge deeper into your heat. You’re praying to whoever that you can hold your tongue long enough.

While his swift fingers pump in and out of you, his mouth latches onto your neck, alternating between kisses and sharp bites, attempting to mask his sounds of agony and delight.

He’s an icy, sopping-wet mess against your overheating body. It’s oddly refreshing. The chills dancing down your spine are more than delightful; they make your hips snap into his touch, allowing his palm to graze your clit.

Your hands ache to explore. They venture inside his damp shirt, his skin responding in goosebumps. It’s a reply out of timidness; it’s been a while since you last saw his body. As your hands glide along his soft tummy, you can feel the warmth radiating from his face.

Intertwining your fingers with his belt loops, you knead your thigh between his legs. Alex’s noises are as pretty as him; he trembles against you, knees close to buckling. When you remove his hand from your mouth, it quivers as soon as it leaves your skin.

“How’s that feel, cowboy?” You’re low in his ear. Gravel, teasing. You tug on his hair and groans, withdrawing his fingers to work on removing his belt. If he lets you keep at it, you’ll be the first woman to bring him to his knees.

“Don’t say such things. I’m wearing very tight pants.”

His mouth crashes onto yours before you can laugh. The clinking of his belt is melodic; the cool metal against your thigh makes your skin break out in goosebumps, but you convulse as his cock drives into you. This time, you don’t need a hand over your mouth. You catch your lip between your teeth, suppressing a yelp.

As the taste of copper fills your mouth, Alex takes hold of your legs, pinning further into the wall. He knows he shouldn’t be carrying you. It’s as painful as when you grazed his shoulder. Yet, much like your previous encounter, he’s more than willing to go through the wringer to make you feel good.

Alex’s hips snap into yours in heavenly, harsh thrusts. Your daze is immediate; as his cock thrusts within your slick, aching walls. Your hands tightly grasp his shirt, their strength gradually waning as the movements become repeated.

When he presses his head against yours, it’s painful, more of a headbutt. His unwavering gaze remains fixed on your fluttering eyelids, and even in your cloudy state, you can recognise the flames dancing within his eyes.

“Listen.”

Your head droops to the side, and his head only follows yours. His hips grow more impatient, his tip hitting your most sensitive bits even as he attempts to level with you. Your core greedily embraces each thrust, heels digging into his jeans to deepen the sensation.

“I’m not interested in anything I could…destroy.”

You aren’t hearing it. His words leave one ear and exit the next. His hips collide with yours with heightened force, likely aiming to grab your complete focus. You’re all ears now.

“I just,” he pants, but his voice trembles with the antithesis of arousal. “Don’t wanna hurt anybody.”

“Then don’t.”

Alex grips your chin, his cock twitching at the sight of your glazed eyes. “You’re making it sound easy.”

The heat swelling in your stomach becomes intolerable. It’s comparable to the moment he first kissed you. You’re fully engulfed in flames; anything tangible has the potential to disintegrate, and Alex is no exception to that. Neither are you.

You both dissolve. His final thrust taps sharply against your g-spot, and a tidal wave of everything washes over you. Your walls convulse in sync with your body, your back contorting away from where Alex has you pinned.

Just as he finishes, Alex almost drops you. Trying to maintain his balance, he stumbles with you in his arms, his legs unsteady and his vision hazy as he spills inside you.

In the end, his legs give way, causing both of you to collapse onto the floor. You attempt to steady your breathing, but the high still lingers, and it shows no sign of dissipating.

Alex continues to overwhelm you in the best way possible. His hands, still frigid, caress your slumping head. Kisses are sprinkled in the mix, but without a clear destination. They’re all over your face for the hell of it.

Alex gently slips out of your embrace, leaving a bittersweet warmth in its wake. Your hand hovers, extending as if in search of something to cling to, but you come back with nothing in your grasp. When you lock eyes with him, you notice the absence of stars in his gaze. Still, you plea.

“Can we…stay like this? For a little longer?”

He’s unacquainted with the sensation, but a gentle warmth spreads through his chest. For now, he’ll ignore it. But a low pang in his guts tells him the feeling isn’t fleeting; it will persist as long as you're around.

You're his fear in pure form. He can’t have you for the long run. But for now, you'll have to do.

“No. We can’t.”

—

tags: @lily061208 @yourstartreatment @wexxiied @sstar-ggirl @gracieghost3695 [thank you all for waiting! i will never set a deadline again.]

#mickey is typing…#alex turner fanfic #alex turner smut #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #yeehaw!alex

105 notes · View notes

madaqueue · 3 months

Text

eternally, yours

chapter 7 | servitude

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

pairing: vampire!choso kamo x f!reader

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

word count: 6.3k

a/n: sorry this took me AGES lmao been in a real gojo brainrot moment the past few weeks but i hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me xoxo

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

Choso is a patient man. Part of it is innate, sure, but more than that, his patience was carefully crafted, curated through experience. He was made into the man he is today, a good man. But even good men get pushed to their limits.

Which is why he has moments where it takes everything in him not to scream; he wants to grab anyone who dares to walk past him by the shoulders, nails digging into their skin, and force them to listen. He wants to create a captive audience, any outlet for the unfamiliar feelings constantly bubbling over inside of him, a volcano threatening to erupt. It’s too hot, too violent.

Sometimes, he thinks there must be something other than blood coursing through your veins - something mysterious, something addicting. That’s why he can’t stop thinking about you, that’s why his heart pounds and hands shake when he’s with you.

Since the day he met you, you have slowly overtaken his soul, his thoughts, his very being, watering the garden of his life until it’s overgrown. He would profess his love to every person who could hear it, a proclamation of his undying dedication. Every moment without you he feels empty, as though a piece of his soul is missing, only completed when your warmth bleeds into his.

And you, you don’t seem to notice; or, at least you don’t mind if you do. It’s peaceful, to blend into another person like this, to let him see you and be seen by you. Of course there are hurdles, but he easily lifts you over them without a second thought, letting you run forward into the future together.

One recurring challenge you’ve come to note is his diet. As winter settles, the two of you become increasingly creative to work around the less tasteful components of vampirism, the primary one haunting the back of your thoughts: blood. He’s always careful to avoid letting you see him feed, rinsing any remaining crimson from his teeth before rejoining your company. Outings to restaurants become increasingly exhausting, growing tired of explaining to strangers that he just “isn’t hungry.” Instead, you opt to stay inside under the comfort of your home, simply content in each other’s company. It’s easier here, there are fewer risks, it’s safer, both for you and him.

Which is why it comes as a surprise when Choso arrives at your apartment one morning after his overnight hospital shift, letting himself in with the key you had given him a few weeks ago out of ease due to his disruptive work schedule, grinning ear to ear. “I have an idea,” he whispers as he climbs under the covers of your bed, careful to not jostle you as you rouse yourself from sleep.

“Oh?” you murmur, tiredness still clouding your vision as you rub your eyes.

“It’s a surprise,” he smiles, “but whenever you’re awake enough, get yourself ready, and wear something cute.” Nuzzling into you, he wraps his arms around your waist, heat radiating off your body. “Oh, and warm,” he remembers before pulling himself away. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he hums, pressing a gentle kiss to your head, “love you.”

“Love you,” you hum as your eyes flutter closed, the depths of sleep pulling you back. The bed shifts as Choso removes himself from it, rustling echoing through your apartment before you hear your front door close again as he leaves.

You’re awoken again a few hours later to the sweet scent of coffee hitting your nose, Choso’s deep voice humming some song you don’t quite recognize from the kitchen. As the sheets rustle beneath your movements, he suddenly appears at your side, a sweet grin plastered across his face. “G’morning,” he whispers, gently kissing your forehead. Your skin is warm under his lips, his cool fingers resting against your cheeks still flushed from sleep. Setting down a mug atop your bedside table, he continues, “I got your favorite from that coffee shop down the street.”

You tiredly smile up at him, his small acts of devotion a consistent light in your life. Every chance he gets to show you how much he thinks of you he takes, your presence a constant hum in the back of his mind, every thought punctuated with you.

Slowly rising, he never leaves your side as you get ready, his arms wrapped around you while you brush your teeth, his fingers lazily combing through your hair as you style it, his lips trailing every bare inch of your skin as you get dressed.

When you finally pull on a sweater and skirt, fuzzy socks lining your calves, he feels his heart flutter in his chest. Absolute, utter perfection. There’s a softness to you, a tenderness that resides within your body. It contrasts his sharpness, the harsh edges he’s been forced to develop; every moment with you he feels them wearing away, dulling into a gentleness he’s never known. Yet, one he has grown to crave.

Walking hand-in-hand through the snow-covered city, his grand surprise is revealed as he leads you to a small lake hidden behind brick facades of unfamiliar buildings. The snow crunches beneath your feet as you continue down the thin gravel path until you’re met with a freshly-shoveled bench along the outskirts of the pond. Setting the gym bag that had been slung over his shoulder onto the ground, he gestures for you to sit. Complying, he unzips one of the side compartments, revealing a crisp, white pair of ice skates.

“May I?” he asks with a hesitant smile, placing the skates onto the ground. A grin tugs at your lips as you nod, a blush forming across your cheeks. He planned this? When did he have the time to find this place, to prepare all of this? Removing your boots he replaces them with the ice skates, meticulously tying them snugly up to your ankles.

Kneeling on the ground he pulls out another pair, black and much less pristine, as he settles next to you on the bench. Lacing up his own skates, he rises, holding his hand out to you. As your fingers intertwine with his, the coolness of his skin sends a shiver through your spine.

“Oh,” he hums as his gaze covers your body, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he rummages through them. When he pulls them out, they hold something unfamiliar: small black and orange packets rest in each palm. Closing his hands into fists he shakes them before rejoining his fingers with yours. Heat pricks at your skin where your palms rest against his, your fingers interlaced between the mysterious objects as understanding suddenly clicks.

“Hand-warmers?” you ask, tightening your grip around them as warmth courses through your body.

Choso nods. “I saw them at the store and figured I’d pick some up.” Joy exudes from him as a lopsided grin plays across his face. “And now we can hold hands without me getting you cold.”

He seems almost giddy as you rise from the bench, guiding you to the frozen lake. You’re too lost in the simple happiness of the moment to recall your utter lack of experience with ice skating, until the ground suddenly falls from under you as your skates slide against the ice, landing you flat on your ass.

As the shock settles, both you and Choso erupt into a fit of laughter. The frozen ground is cold under your skirt, forcing you to attempt to stand before slipping and falling forward onto your knees.

“Okay, okay, I got you,” Choso chuckles, extending his arms for you to grab. Pulling yourself up, you manage to stabilize yourself enough to temporarily balance. Wrapping his arms tightly around you, he holds you in place.

“Don’t laugh,” you dramatically pout, “I’ve never done this before!”

“That’s why I’m gonna teach you,” he smiles, pulling you closer into him. “Just trust me, okay? I’ve got you.”

The next few hours are spent with your hands tightly gripped around his arms as he coaxes you across the ice. Eventually you learn how to stand on your own without slipping and can even manage a few glides forward. The sun begins to hang low in the sky as evening settles, casting a warm glow over the small lake.

“Okay, you ready?” Choso prompts, skating backwards slightly and holding his arms out.

You nod, determined, as you lock your gaze ahead. Pushing off on one foot, the blade carves through the ice - your ankle wavers, but just in time you place your other skate down, catching yourself. Another push, and you land in Choso’s waiting embrace through an excited cheer.

“I did it, I did it!” you exclaim through giggles, throwing your arms into the air. He effortlessly lifts you up, twirling you around on the ice.

“I’m so proud of you,” he exhales through a grin, still holding you above him.

Gingerly setting you down, his heart feels full as the setting sun reflects golden hues off your face. Pulling you into him, his lips crash into yours, a familiar hunger behind his motions as lust overtakes him. Before you realize it, the cool brick of one of the surrounding buildings hits your back as his hands roam your body.

“I’m so proud of you, you’re so talented, so strong,” he murmurs praises against your skin as his lips trail down your neck. Searing kisses light his path as he moves, covering every exposed inch of you in his love.

Warmth begins to spread inside you as his fingertips slowly make their way up your thighs, his palms groping at the soft flesh of your ass. He easily hoists you into the air, your legs wrapping around him as he pushes you further up the wall behind you. Struggling to balance yourself, your hands land on his shoulders as he adjusts lower and lower until he’s settled in between your legs, calves dangling in the air as you carefully position the blades away from his back.

Wet kisses tingle up your inner thighs as he draws closer and closer to where you need him, but hesitation overtakes you as you struggle to keep your skates from piercing him. Sensing your apprehension, the hand against your calf pushes you against him as he murmurs into you, “It’s okay, you won’t hurt me.”

Recollection floods your thoughts: oh, right - the inhumane strength, impenetrable flesh. Tentatively, you lower your legs as they rest against his shoulders, allowing yourself to pull him closer.

There’s an awe behind his gaze, a gratitude to whatever gods of fate blessed him with you. Sometimes, he still can’t believe it, that you’re his, that he’s yours. As he slowly makes his way closer to your aching cunt, his eyes land on the wet patch forming against your panties: he still can’t believe you get this wet, all for him. Finally, his head ducks under your skirt, placing gentle kisses against your clothed core.

“Cho, please,” you whine, lowering your hands into his hair to tug him into you.

And that’s all he needs to hear. Hot breath hits your cunt as he exhales contentedly, willingly acquiescing to your shared desires. With one hand he pulls your soaked panties aside, easily supporting you with one arm. You mewl as he licks a slow stripe up your slick folds, the cool air biting against the heat of your skin.

“So perfect,” he breathes into you, “s’soft, s’pretty.” Everything about you seems crafted by the heavens, perfectly melded, all for him. He’s lost in you, in your thoughts, in your body. It intoxicates him as he allows himself to fade into the quiet hum of your soul.

A soft giggle escapes your throat at his lust-drunk praises, the sound transforming into a moan as his lips attach to your clit. Reflexively, your heels dig into his back, serrated skates piercing his clothes. Choso groans at the slight pain lighting a fire beneath his skin.

Two opposing senses, the hot and cold, soft and sharp, overwhelm his body in a blissful haze. As your grip in his dark hair tightens, the stinging air burning his lungs, he finds respite in the oxygen-deprived space between your thighs.

Nothing had ever, and could ever, truly harm him. Blades can’t scratch the surface of his skin, but as they dig through the denim of his jacket, they attack like cold pinpricks of rain. And it feels so, so fucking good - refreshing, almost. A part of his desire claws its way out, begging you to hurt him, begging you to try.

Shared moans fill the air as your back arches off the brick wall behind you, grinding your hips against his tongue as he flicks over your sensitive folds. Gliding his tongue into your aching entrance you gasp, cold air filling your senses against the burning fire of lust within you.

He babbles incoherently into you, muffled proclamations of his love etching into your core. Heat begins to fill your body, your cheeks flushing, chest warming as tension builds in your abdomen.

“C’mon, pretty,” Choso murmurs into you, a quiet plea. “Let go, lemme feel ya.”

Picking up his pace, his tongue relentlessly circles your clit, alternating between needy suction and patient motions of the wet muscle against you. Despite the flurries of snow beginning to fall and swirl around you, all you can feel is hot.

Grabbing into his hair, your skates dig into his shoulders as you come undone. Through whines of pleasure, he greedily laps at every ounce of your essence, his hot breath fanning across your skin. So fucking good.

After a moment, both of his hands return to your hips, adjusting your weight to gently lower you to the ground. Legs shaking beneath you, your arms instinctively reach over his shoulders as he holds you up, a smug grin on his face overcompensating for his blown-out pupils and flushed cheeks. As he leans in to kiss you, the taste of you still lingering on his lips, warm air fills the space between you.

“I’m so proud of you,” he hums into you through a grin.

As the haze of your ecstasy finally begins to clear, you muster your strength to respond. “For the ice skating?”

“Amongst other things,” he smirks, pressing his lips against yours once again.

Admiration swells in his heart as you walk home, fingers intertwined over the heat of his newly-purchased hand warmers. Everyday you surprise him with your dedication, your talent; yet, you remain unendingly humble. He’s never seen you brag, never boasted about your immeasurable smarts, kindness, or strength. So of course, he takes it upon himself to do it for you, singing your praises at every opportunity.

Just as you’ve changed him - allowing him to soften, to find comfort and love in his life - he’s begun to change you. Hearing his compliments, receiving his veneration, you almost start to believe him, believe that maybe there is something special about you. To date, your life has been filled with service to others, prioritizing caring for your family, but maybe you hold your own unique worth, too. Until you truly feel it, understand your place in the world - in his world - Choso will tell you, every single day, until the end of time. If only you could see yourself how he sees you.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

Choso was never bothered by the cold. He felt a certain peace in the stillness of snowfall, allowing his thoughts to wander, as though the world was truly quiet for a moment. Maybe now, in its silence, the universe would have to listen to him, a captive audience to his prayers.

Watching the blanket of white cover the landscape from your apartment balcony, he suddenly feels the heaviness of an avalanche, nearly suffocating. The bright warmth of the sun is buried under it, the flowers of summer long gone, the trees having shed their final leaves, a now barren wasteland. Yet, they don’t seem to mind; instead, they allow the cold air to become a part of them, to change them. It’s not the sun’s fault it couldn’t protect them indefinitely, nor was it a responsibility. But does the sun not wonder if it should have done more to keep life safe?

Warm puffs of steam leave his parted lips as he exhales, a fleeting glimmer of proof that he is here, that he is alive. Yet, as snowflakes land on his open palm, they pause before melting, a hesitation in the forces of nature. Blood courses through his veins, his cells grow and die, but is that enough? Where does the burden of proof lie when deciding what is human?

Where is the boundary between human and humanity?

It’s in devotion.

Dedication.

Servitude.

He is human because he serves, he protects. Since he was born he swore himself to save those who could not save themselves, to shield them from harm.

In the silence of the night, the gusts of wind howling against his ears, he nearly mistakes the sound for screams. Kechizu. Eso. Flames burn under his skin, surrounding him, his lungs closing, filling with smoke.

No.

Tightening his grip on the railing, the cold metal scalds his palms, veins pulsing against his arms.

He failed to save them.

He wasn’t strong enough.

But now, he will do anything, everything, to ensure that it doesn’t happen again. He will never, ever, fail to save those he loves.

“Choso?”

Your voice cuts through the air, it’s softness cradling him. The momentary tensing of his muscles is immediately soothed as he registers your presence, turning to face you. Under the gentle illumination of the moonlight as it reflects off the freshly fallen snow, you look picturesque. Sleep hides behind your eyes, the slight mess of your hair haloed around your face, as your hands grip onto the blanket shrouding your shoulders. Slowly padding across the balcony, a gentle crunch punctuating the steps beneath your slippers, you find your place next to him, resting your head against his body. His arms instinctively wrap around you, pulling you into his warmth.

The pale skin of his bare arms seems to glow softly against the darkness of the night sky. “Aren’t you cold?” you murmur into him, instinctively wrapping the blanket around his torso. As soon as your hands make contact with his cool skin, you hear him lightly chuckle above you.

“I don’t exactly get cold,” he smiles, “but I appreciate the gesture.” Placing a gentle kiss to your head, he allows a silence to fall between you, praying you don’t ask him what he’s doing. He wants to protect you - needs to protect you - and if he tells you the truth, it would only do more damage. He can’t hurt you; you don’t deserve to be held under the weight of his fears.

“Why are you out here so late?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitates for a moment as he formulates an answer, navigating his thoughts to avoid unnecessarily worrying you. “Sometimes I like to come out here and think,” he responds truthfully.

“Think about what?”

Concern laces your tone, interwoven with your love for him. Was he okay? Was something wrong? You’ve caught him out here before, shrouded in the comfort of the night. Sometimes you’d be awoken to the porch door latching, despite Choso’s best efforts to close it softly, or sometimes you’d catch his shadow moving across the curtains lining the window. You never pressed him on it, waiting for him to feel comfortable enough to tell you, but you couldn’t help but worry when he’s been coming out here more and more, seeming more and more detached.

You noticed it the first time when you were out with Yuji and Megumi, the two boys running through nearby snowbanks while you and Choso rested on a covered bench. Choso sat next to you, hands folded in his lap, as he watched them. Yet, when your eyes caught his, something seemed off. He was far away, somewhere deep in the tortuous maze of his thoughts. Gently reaching out your palm, you rested it on his thigh, slowly rubbing circles into his skin. It took a moment, maybe two, before he seemed to register your movements, his attention flickering as he returned to reality with a soft smile.

You wanted to ask, but you knew better than to push him. After the tears he shed, the pain he felt, the last time he talked about his past, you were hesitant to force him to relive it anymore than he already does. Yet, in the back of your mind, you wonder: where do you go, Choso?

A weak sigh escapes his lips, warm breath circling in the freezing air pulling you back to the present. “I think about my family,” he finally murmurs. He pauses, gaze far away as he looks into the darkness ahead. “I think about how I failed them.”

Your chest feels like it’s cracked open, your heart bleeding at his words. Your soul aches for him; you wish you could take his pain away, carry his grief for even just a moment. You’ve heard the words of his history, seen the outlines of his past, but it suddenly hits you that he truly lived it.

A familiar sadness forms between your ribs, the dull ache of regret. Before you can think, you speak. “Sometimes, I look at Megumi and I get this pang, right in my stomach. It feels like I just got punched, like I can’t breathe. For a long time I don’t think I really knew what it was, but now I think I know. It’s guilt.” You don’t know where the words come from, pulled from the depths of your mind, but as you say them, there’s a weight behind them, a truth.

Taking in a steadying breath, you continue. “I feel like I’m not doing enough for him, like all I do is let him down over and over and over again. The worst part is that he doesn’t seem to notice, because he loves me anyways, he’ll love me no matter what.” A dark chuckle bubbles from your lips. “I’m pretty sure I could literally punch him in the face and he’d still be smiling, still hug me afterwards and apologize for making me hurt him.”

Tilting up, your gaze meets Choso’s, his eyes glassy beneath the tears that have begun silently covering them. Your voice threatens to shake as you speak, suddenly overcome with the shared connection, your emotions melding with his. “His love has cursed him. It blinds him to the cruelty in the world, to the people who would hurt him. But then I get stuck thinking ‘who would I be if I wanted him to see that?’ I don’t know, it’s like, I want him to be able to protect himself, but does that mean I failed at doing so in the first place?”

Choso smiles weakly, a tired understanding behind it. “I get that sometimes with Yuji. I know it’s not the same, but I can’t help but feel like he’ll never have a normal life just because of the circumstances he was dealt. It’s not his fault, he didn’t ask for this, to be raised by Sukuna and me. And sure, he seems okay with it now, but what about when he’s older, when he learns his place in the world? If he was given the chance, would he choose the same life again?”

A soft grin graces your lips as you breathe in, cold air burning your lungs. “I can’t say for certain, but it sounds like he has a life with two people who love him, almost too much. If I were him, I’d choose that every single time.”

Finally, the warmth returns to his eyes, his body relaxing into you as his lips meet yours. Your eyelashes flutter closed, stray snowflakes landing on them as you softly kiss him. It’s slow, a patience to his motions as his tongue swipes against yours, hot breath filling the space between you.

When you finally pull away, you’re both glowing under the fading moonlight.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you too,” he smiles, one that finally reaches his eyes.

“But can we go back inside now? I’m freezing,” you giggle as shivers begin to rack your body, the cold reaching its fingers into your bones.

Without another word, he wraps his arms tightly around your torso, picking you up as you mold yourself around him. Resting your head on his shoulder, he carries you inside. Settling under the blankets covering your bed, you finally begin to warm up as Choso intertwines himself with you, his fingertips rubbing small circles into your lower back.

Yuji is so lucky to have him, you think. It feels impossible that Choso would think, for even a moment, that he was letting Yuji down - every moment they spend together you see the pure adoration Choso feels for him, the sense that he would give anything to see his brother happy.

A sudden thought pops into your mind as it begins to cloud with sleep.

“Can I meet him?” you murmur, eyes remaining closed as you speak into the darkness. “Sukuna?”

Choso is grateful you couldn’t see him react, a momentary fear flashing across his face. He hopes his hesitation wasn’t noticeable as he blurts out an answer. “Of course,” he states, silently pleading you don’t hear the way his voice wavers.

In response you simply release a pleased hum, nuzzling your head into his chest. His grip tightens around you, as if it could keep you here with him forever, frozen in this moment.

He knows you’re strong; all he can do now is hope it’s enough.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

“Come in,” a gruff voice calls from behind the door before Choso swings it open.

The warm smell of cinnamon and spices fills your senses as you step inside, eyes scanning the surroundings. Sukuna’s home is clean, grey and white tiles lining the open kitchen, simple yet sophisticated art hanging around the walls. High-pitched screams echo through the halls as Megumi and Yuji careen towards you. Your brother’s arms wrap around you in a tight hug as the boys babble about the movie they had watched earlier in the day, something about worms? Their chatter blurs into the background as a man steps out from the same hallway, leaning against the off-white walls.

He’s tall, probably around Choso’s height, but something about him, the way he carries himself, feels almost ancient, especially in contrast to the grey t-shirt and black sweatpants currently adorning his body. Striking tattoos line the contours of his face, their path continuing across his arms and presumably down his chest from what you can see beneath the collar of his shirt. Pink hair, an uncanny match to Yuji’s, seems to glow against the warm light of the living room. When his gaze meets yours, a chill runs down your spine as red irises bore into you.

“Hey,” he mutters, his voice rougher than Choso’s, the absence of any softness in it. “I’m Sukuna. Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” you wave, clinging to the shreds of your strength that seemed to disintegrate the moment his crimson eyes met yours.

Choso’s arms instinctively wrap around your shoulders, pulling you close to him, his presence steadying. “Did they eat already?” he asks, gesturing to the boys who had run off and currently bounce on the couch cushions, pillows being tossed back and forth over giddy squeals.

“No, I was just about to feed ‘em,” Sukuna trails off, marching into the kitchen. Pulling open the fridge, he tilts his head back, turning his attention to your still-frozen frame in the doorway. “You can eat, too. Hope you like sushi.”

“I-I do,” you stammer, finally taking a full step inside, cheeks flushing in embarrassment at your inability to muster a full sentence. “Thanks.”

Sukuna just hums in acknowledgement, pulling out a tray of delicately hand-crafted rolls from the refrigerator.

As he moves across his home, the silence weighs on you, amplifying your nervousness. “So, um, Sukuna, what do you do?”

Without turning to you, he huffs a curt response. “History professor.” Before you can say anything else, his loud voice crackles through the space. “Food!” he calls into his home, summoning the boys to the dining room table. Placing three plates down, the white ceramic contrasting against the dark wood, he allows you and the boys to feast.

Hesitantly grabbing the nearest roll, you pop a piece into your mouth. “Oh my god,” you mutter through a full bite of food, “this is incredible.”

Sukuna simply grunts before Choso fills in the conversation. “Sukuna is an amazing cook, he’s actually the one who taught me,” he muses.

Your eyes widen slightly in surprise: the idea of the man in front of you, his gruff demeanor, his stoic strength, standing in the kitchen patiently chopping vegetables almost makes you giggle. “I wouldn’t have guessed that,” you manage to get out through a stifled smile before shoving another bite into your mouth.

“What, you don’t think I’m talented enough?” Sukuna asks, his tone serious.

You nearly choke on your food as the implication of your words processes in your mind. “N-no, not that, I just-”

Suddenly his boisterous laugh fills the space, something in it deeply haunting. “Oh, you humans are so fun to tease,” he practically giggles. Choso reaches out to smack his arm, his gaze darting to the two boys sitting across from you, as if to silently say shut up. “It’s fine, the brats aren’t even listening,” Sukuna continues, gasping in air through his nose to quiet his laughter.

As if on cue, Megumi and Yuji shove the last remaining pieces of sushi into their mouths before pushing their chairs away from the table. “All done!” they proclaim, cheeks puffed out and full of rice before they run back to the living room.

Sukuna quirks an eyebrow at Choso, as if to taunt him. “See?” he smirks.

Choso just rolls his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “Whatever,” he mutters under his breath.

Leaning onto his elbows, Sukuna’s maroon-tinted eyes land on your face, making your blood run cold. A fire seems to rage behind his gaze, an aura of control exuding off his body. As his mouth curls into a smile, sharpened canines poke into his lower lip. “So,” he begins, “how did a little human like you manage to get tangled up with him?”

“Um, well,” you stutter, struggling to form coherent thoughts under the pressure of his watchful eyes, his presence overwhelming you, “he helped Megumi when I had to bring him to the hospital.”

“Oh, I see,” Sukuna muses through a devilish grin. “You fell for the saviour complex then, right, sweetheart?”

“Don’t call her that,” Choso grumbles, shooting daggers at the man across from you.

“Fine, fine, no need for the theatrics, Kamo,” he giggles in response, an unseriousness underlying his very essence. Before he can continue, childlike screams echo through the room as Yuji and Megumi burst in, chasing each other in some complex game of tag. “Will you brats shut up already?” Sukuna growls, grabbing a nearby pillow from the couch before hurling it at the boys.

“Ha, you missed, old man!” Yuji taunts before running out of the room, Megumi following closely behind.

Sukuna rolls his eyes, but you can’t help but notice the genuine smile flash across his features before they darken again, returning his attention to you. “Anyways, I have to ask - what will you do when it comes time to die?”

“Sukuna,” Choso chokes out a stifled yell, agitation brewing under his skin.

“What?” he feigns. “I can’t be the first to ask - after all, I’m sure you understand the implications of our lifestyle, the immortality it entails.”

Heat fills your body as your hands begin to shake, nervousness drowning out your thoughts. “I, um, I hadn’t really thought about it,” is all you can get out before your eyes start to sting. You truthfully hadn’t given it much thought beyond the nagging questions lingering in your mind, ones you worked hard to shove down. You tried to reason them as irrational, yet here you were, being confronted with them head on.

“That’s enough,” Choso growls, the sound of his chair sliding against the wood floor filling the silence as he stands. Reaching out an arm, he takes your hand in his as he pulls you to your feet. “Thanks for dinner, let me know when you need me to watch Yuji again.”

“Aw, leaving so soon?” Sukuna taunts, yet he makes no motion to stop him as Choso drags you to the front door. “It really was nice to meet you, little human!” he calls after you. As the door slams shut behind you, you swear you hear his giggle echoing through the empty halls.

The drive home is…uncomfortable, to say the least. Choso’s hand never leaves yours as he drives in silence, eyes fixed on the road ahead. Rage bubbles inside him, threatening to overflow at any moment. When a car suddenly cuts him off, he lays on the horn, profanities muttered under his breath.

You had never, ever, seen him this angry - annoyed at work, sure, even a little grumpy when you beat him at whatever video game you picked out - but never like this. He was absolutely seething, his entire body practically vibrating with wrath.

“Choso?” you whisper into the silence - you had been sitting outside your apartment for a few minutes, yet he had not made any move to get out of the car, his eyes screwed shut as he rests his head against the steering wheel.

Exhaling a shaky breath, his eyes flutter open; any remaining shreds of resentment seem to fade away as he looks at you, replaced with something closer to despair.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, his shoulders collapsing inwards. “I just…fucking hate him sometimes.” Squeezing his hand, you wait for him to continue. “He’s just so purposely cruel to people, it’s not fair. He shouldn’t have said that shit to you.”

Reaching your free hand over to him, you slowly rub your palm up his back, a small comfort against the raging storm inside him.

“I’m sorry for bringing you there. I know how he gets, and I shouldn’t have let you anywhere near him.”

Your motions falter for a moment as you trail your hand over to his jaw, forcing him to face you. “I asked to meet him, remember? If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

Sadness flashes across his features at your words. “No, no, it’s not your fault at all.” He sighs, struggling to hold your gaze.

“Choso?” Somber eyes meet yours as you take in an uneven breath, the questions from earlier in the night swirling through your thoughts. “What is going to happen when I die?”

His stomach drops, eyebrows knitting together as dread overtakes him. “I don’t know.”

Body trembling, you find the strength to verbalize the words you’ve been mulling over for months, their shape engraved in the back of your mind. “Would you…would you ever turn me? Make me a vampire, like you?”

He inhales sharply. “No.”

Pain ripples through your chest, an open wound from his verbal knife. Mouth curling downward, your eyes begin to sting. “Oh.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “I just…I can’t.”

“Cho, I know you want to protect me, but-”

“No.” The intensity of his voice takes you aback at first, the finality of it. There’s a silent detestation behind it, an unspoken resentment. Resting in his lap, his palms ball into fists.

“But…why?”

Before the question can land, he’s already speaking. “I have a grave.”

The wind is sucked out of the car, suddenly too quiet, too tense, a vacuum of your thoughts. “What?”

“I don’t visit it, I barely did even before we moved here. But I have a grave, a tombstone, the whole deal.” Silence once again falls, this time painfully so. Any bite left in his words is now gone, replaced with something akin to agony. “They didn’t find my body after the fire, obviously, so they buried an empty casket next to my family.”

“Oh.” It’s the only sound you can get out, barely a word, more of a sigh.

“I just…I always know it’s there, an empty tomb of the life I used to have. I can’t dig it up, I sure as hell can’t go back to it, I can’t reclaim it. Do you have any idea what that’s like?”

Your voice is stolen from you, shaking your head as his glassy eyes meet yours.

“It’s like the universe’s cruel joke, like it’s waiting for me to die, begging me to rot in that hole, but I can’t. I physically can’t.”

A wave of sorrow hits you, knocking the wind from your lungs. To you, immortality always felt like a blessing, a way to ensure your survival long enough to protect the safety of those you love. It was never feared, always sought after, but now his suffering digs at your soul, tearing cracks through your ideals. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “You deserve to rest.”

Finally breaking his gaze from yours, it turns to his hands, consciously unclenching his fists. Silently, he vows to protect you, but never to change you. When he finally inhales to speak, his voice comes out low, taught against the strings of his pain. He wants - no, he needs - you to understand: you can never be like this, like him; death would be a more merciful end. Lifting his eyes, they meet yours as crystal-clear tears pool along his lash line. “Eternity isn’t always a gift.”

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

#eternally yours #q writes #choso kamo #kamo choso #choso #choso x reader #choso kamo x reader #kamo choso x reader #jjk choso #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #choso smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk fanfic

89 notes · View notes

hometoursandotherstuff · 4 months

Text

Very nice 1963 mid-century modern A-Frame in Rhododendron, OR. 2bds, 1ba, asking $649K.

Very nice. A-Frames usually have nice spiral stairs and cozy fireplaces. This one has a nice stone one. The living room is a pretty good size.

The fireplace has a nice heat insert.

Washer and dryer are tucked behind the stairs. Not an ideal situation, but I'd rather have them there than not at all.

The dining area is roomy and has a cute little heat stove in the corner plus doors to the patio and hot tub.

Nice, but small, kitchen along the wall. I like the shiny gray cabinets, but there's no dishwasher or exhaust over the stove.

For $649K I would like more of a kitchen.

The single bath is a shower room. Very standard sink.

On the 2nd level there's the primary bedroom. It's a fairly small room and for privacy it has curtains.

There's nice stone on the right and full-size stairs to a 3rd level.

They've got this room set up as a sitting room. A smaller set of stairs goes up to a 4th level.

They've got a mattress in there.

So, this would be the 2nd bedroom. It's cute.

With this sitting room, it's like a suite.

Looking down at the living room from the stairs.

There's a deck in front of the house.

And, a patio with a hot tub in the back.

There's also a large shed on the 4,791 sq ft lot. I'm not so sure that I would pay $649 for this.

https://www.redfin.com/OR/Rhododendron/25240-E-Tiger-Lily-Dr-97049/home/56832571

#A Frames #houses #house tours #home tour

126 notes · View notes

difficultdomains · 5 months

Text

waking up next to gojo satoru

satoru is an avid admirer of the fine arts.

he still remembers the feeling of running his fingertips over the golden ridges of a certain vase back in the gojo compound. a rare, invaluable piece, passed down from generation to generation for several hundred years and decidedly off limits to tiny children’s hands. with every scolding it had become more irresistible to him, he was inexplicably drawn to it, the shape, the colours, the texture - so much that he still never visits his childhood home without sparing it at least a glance.

he doesn’t recall his first visit to the tokyo metropolitan art museum - he had probably been of primary school age, more interested in what the gift shop had to offer than whatever was hung up on the walls. but he remembers the first time a piece had resonated with him, shortly after graduating from jujutsu tech. he was quick to wrap one of the museum’s curators around his finger - a middle aged woman, wooed by nama chocolate and his eyes - granting him after hours access whenever he felt like it. he would go there, before or after missions, wandering through empty spaces or spending all his time in front of the same artwork until he was running late for yet another assignment.

but none of that is what he has in mind when he tells people about his love for the visual.

what he means is you, right now, sleeping in his bed.

the inward curve of the small of your back where he delicately runs his hand up and down, separated from you only by the alabaster coloured sheets you are wrapped in.

the shape of your spine that he traces all the way up to your shoulder blades, taking a detour to paint endless circles on your heated skin, his touch unhurried and light, careful not to pull you from your deep sleep.

the back of your neck where he follows the lines of your muscles, feeling the tension and stress before trying to soothe the exhaustion embedded in them with a gentle massage.

satoru can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of his lips when he seemingly hits the right spot and you let out a deep sigh, melting further into the pillow you’re hugging to your face. his fingers brush up the nape of your neck and tangle in your sleep tousled hair that spreads out like brushstrokes against a canvas, his blunt nails steadily scratching your scalp and brushing back stray hairs that threaten to tickle you awake.

he freezes in place like a child caught in the act when all of a sudden your brows furrow and your nose wrinkles. his mother’s scolding words ring distantly in his ears again, the gentle timbre of her voice trying to make him understand that certain works of art are simply not made to be touched. only when you stir does he notice the sliver of sunlight that had crept through the windows of his bedroom right across your face.

you mumble his name like a question, voice heavy with sleep and eyes barely open to the sun-soaked sculpture of a man next to you.

“hey you,” he whispers, palm resting on your warm cheek. “finally you’re awake. i’ve been dying for some pancakes for hours now.”

you chuckle, wiggling closer to him and haphazardly pressing your cheek to his chest.

“not awake.”

“not awake?”

“mhmm.”

“and what about my pancakes?”

“yours always turn out better than mine anyways,” you grumble into his chest.

“that is so very true.”

there’s no need for you to see the faux smug expression on his face to know that it’s there when you instinctively go to pinch his side. he yelps, swiftly grabbing your wrist and holding it as far away from him as he can but you laugh like a cartoon villain, twisting out of his grasp and grabbing his wrist in turn.

he looks at you expectantly, ready for your next attack but you use your leverage on his arm to guide it to your waist. before you even manage to let go, his arm wraps around you, pulling you closer to him, open palm resting on your back.

you sigh contentedly, pushing your knee between his thighs and letting your eyes fall shut again.

“don’t you dare move your hand away for another hour.”

you miss the way he smiles to himself.

guess there’s a loophole after all.

#i wrote like half of this in my head last night bc i couldn’t sleep #i just like imagining this man completely and utterly whippED SKSKS #noon.writes #opal.suite #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo fluff #gojo headcanons #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #dividers by @/cafekitsune

115 notes · View notes

sw5w · 8 months

Text

R2 Gets Loaded

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:47:35

1 note · View note

devildom-moss · 10 months

Note

I recently finished reading the third season of OG!OM and I had a miniature idea... How would Lucifer, Diavolo and Barbatos react if amab!MC told them that when the problems with the three worlds were resolved, he would like to marry them? (I may write with mistakes because I am using a translator, I apologize in advance ☆ｏ(＞＜；))

Thanks for the ask. I wrote based on the assumption that Lucifer, Diavolo, and Barbatos are already in an established relationship with MC where marriage is a possibility, (but honestly, it'd probably be fun to write a less serious version, too). I don't know if these are headcanons or just poorly constructed shorts in headcanon format (oops), but I hope you like it.

M!MC tells them he wants to marry them when the three realms are at peace (Lucifer, Diavolo, Barbatos)

(MC/reader referred to as "man" "husband/future husband" "boyfriend" "fiance") (Diavolo will only be in red for ease of reading in this post primary colors woo)

(Lucifer x m!MC) (Diavolo x m!MC) (Barbatos x m!MC)

(Suggestive in for some parts)

Word Count: +1,900

Lucifer

You told Lucifer you wanted to marry him during one of his softer, more vulnerable moments: when you woke him up after he fell asleep during a long night of paperwork, exhaustion widening his smile upon seeing your face; on one of those rare mornings when he allowed himself to laze around in bed, pulling you in close and savoring the feel and scent of your body; or one of those other long nights when Lucifer’s breath hitched and the sweetest noises left him – it was all for you.

“When things are peaceful –” “Things are never peaceful with my brothers around.” “– when the three realms are stable and at peace, then, we should get married.”

“Oh?” he asked you with a gentle chuckle.

He didn’t believe you at first – not because he had never thought about marriage before. Lucifer assumed it was more likely that you wanted to tease him than that you would beat him to a marriage proposal. His adorable, handsome, wonderful boyfriend would never surprise him by doing something so endearing and unexpected. It just wasn’t – shit! Is he really proposing to me?

Lucifer waited for a teasing “just kidding” or some kind of retreat on your part. When it doesn’t come, his eyes widen, and the heat rises visibly on his cheeks. You really want to be his husband? He already suspected as much, but to have you take the initiative and ask him to marry you was more than he expected.

When Lucifer falls, it’s hard and deep. He knows you so well. He’s so certain of his love that it doesn’t even cross his mind that it could be too early in the relationship to get married.

He glosses over the entire “when the three realms are at peace” thing, because he’s too pleased. Lucifer buries himself in the nearest part of your body he can get to – likely your chest or neck. In part, he’s trying to hide the grin on his face and the blush on his cheeks, but even with his face hidden, you can see the pink tint painting the tips of his ears.

“We already have a pact, and now you want my hand?” he murmured against your skin, sounding almost shy. “Yes. When things are –” “Why w–” “Would you stop fucking interrupting me when I’m in the middle of proposing?!” “Sorry. Do it again. I’ll behave.” His eyes softened seductively. “Asshole.” “Only when you top – and only if you’re being degrading. Usually, I’m your adoring partner.” “Do you want me to propose again or not?” “I do. Try again.”

“Lucifer, when the three realms are united, will you marry me?” Lucifer stared at you, patiently. “Well?” “Why wait?” “What do you mean?” “Why wait for peace and unity? It doesn’t matter what state the realms are in. I want to be with you. I want to be your husband, and I want you to be mine. Marry me now.”

Lucifer would be so earnest and make his argument sound so logical – but maybe it’s easier to justify something you want, too. “I’m serious. I have faith in us – in Diavolo’s plan – but if anything happens, if it takes a long time, I don’t want to wait. I want you to be my husband.”

He would kiss you tenderly and hold you close until you agree not to put off your wedding for some indefinite amount of time. He’ll be ready to go tomorrow morning if that means he can start calling you his husband sooner. How did your proposal to Lucifer turn into a proposal from him?

He’s so possessive and pompous, of course he would be excited to make you his in a more official setting.

Diavolo

You would tell him when he was already on cloud nine: after another successful event that had incorporated elements from all three worlds or after a business deal that would further entrench the Devildom in human-world culture. He had just furthered his goals. You were proud of him. You loved him, and you knew you were going to stand by his side as he achieved his dream for peace and unity, so you told him, “When you succeed – when the realms are united in peace, I want to marry you.”

“Hahaha. You’re full of surprises.”

Diavolo laughs, but it isn’t to mock you. He’s delighted by the proposal – well, admission. He’s gotten requests for marriage before, but he’s never been so happy to hear that someone wanted to marry him. It was unexpected, but he adores that you can surprise him.

It isn’t lost on him that you didn’t actually ask him to marry you or that you were willing to wait an indefinite amount of time. Who knew how long it would take him to realize his dream, but you believed in him enough to wait. The fact that you just told him what you wanted without asking him felt like you were giving him the space and time to think about it, come back, and meet you with his own feelings about marriage. Maybe he was reading into it too much, but he didn’t feel pressured, and that was a comfort. You made him feel so free, supported, and loved.

Of course, he would love to make you his – give you the whole grand royal ceremony, mark you as his partner for the whole world to see, and give you the title of “king” to match his own (because in this speculative future, the throne is his by then; he’ll have earned it.).

You both understand why it would be best to wait for his success. It can be difficult enough to get approval and ensure your safety when everyone just thinks the Demon Prince has taken a human man as his lover. Marriage might cause more instability.

Furthermore, although he doesn’t expect his workload to disappear once peace is achieved, Diavolo hopes that ensuring peace takes more effort than maintaining it. If he’s going to marry you, he wants plenty of down time to travel with his new husband after the wedding. He wants enough free time in his day to cherish you and remind you of the love he holds for you. He wants to make sure he can kiss you, and hold you, and make love to you to both of your hearts’ content. (In other words, if Diavolo commits to being your husband, he needs to meet his daily physical affection quota or he will pout for a week.)

After taking a minute to process your words, Diavolo would pull you against him and press his forehead to yours. It wouldn’t matter if you were in public, either (not to Diavolo, at least. Barbatos would scold him about it being “inappropriate” later.). With a soft, sweet smile, he would tell you, “I better work harder then. I don’t want to keep you waiting too long.” Even if everyone was staring in your direction, he would take that moment to lean in and kiss you tenderly.

Suddenly, Diavolo would feel his ambition renewed. He’d even feel motivated to get home and start on some important plans and initiatives – unless you wanted to go home with him; in which case, he would take you to bed and resume his work in the morning. Nothing could light a fire under him like his beloved partner.

After your proposal, he may occasionally flirt with you by calling you “my fiancé” or “my future husband,” but he’ll only do that in private.

Barbatos

There is no ideal time to drop the news on Barbatos that you want to marry him, which probably plays to your benefit when you tell him while he’s working. You were shadowing him – probably assisting in the kitchen or giving him a hand with some light chores (dusting, organizing, laundry, etc.). “When Lord Diavolo succeeds in uniting the three realms, do you think we could get married?”

Barbatos’s eyes would widen, and he would stop his work for a second. Even if he had used his powers, he never would have believed that this would be the path you would follow. Barbatos took in a deep breath and released it along with the tension in his body before he resumed his work. “No.”

It was your turn to pause. You hadn’t expected such a flat-out rejection, and it hurt. “Oh.” “I’m sorry, MC.” “No, it’s fine. . . but, do you mind if I ask you why not? Are we – do you not love me enough for marriage?”

Now, Barbatos felt hurt. It’s not that he didn’t love you deeply; in fact, Barbatos imagined his love for you was more eternal than most marriages claim to represent. He would vow his love to you under the moon and swear to that celestial body that his love would outlast it. The truth was much sadder.

Barbatos has a duty to serve Diavolo. It seems like the logical conclusion that he would never commit to marriage before Diavolo’s goals were achieved. You were willing to wait, but Barbatos knew that, and he was reluctant to let you.

Without using his powers, Barbatos has no idea how long it would take for that to happen. In the meantime, he wants you to enjoy life. He doesn’t want you waiting around for him for decades or centuries (because he has no intention of allowing you to limit your life to normal human lifespans). If you want to get married, and he doesn’t feel able to do that for you, Barbatos would rather see you marry someone else – certainly, you have no shortage of suitors. (We can all ignore that this is an idiotic reason, right?)

However, the main reason he turned you down is because he believes you deserve the world. Even after the realms are stable, Barbatos will still be bound to Diavolo. Maintaining that peace takes effort as well. Furthermore, Barbatos enjoys his work, and he would never give it up. His time for you would always be lacking. Surely, you would expect more from him after marriage. That wasn’t something Barbatos could give you.

He would tell you as much. “. . . That is why I must decline your proposal.” “Why? Because I’d have to wait, and you would still work for Diavolo?” “Those are not ideal conditions for a husband. You deserve more.” “First of all, we fuck under your boss’s roof. Second, we are different species from different realms. Nothing about our circumstance is ‘ideal.’ Third, I love you, and I love how our relationship works. I would never take you away from Lord Diavolo’s side. I just wanted to cement my love for you with a silly little ceremony – it’s not that important. I will stand by you, and I’ll love you then as I do now – regardless of marriage.”

Barbatos could feel his face flush with heat. He was overjoyed and overwhelmed. “We have yet to even form a pact.” “Yet? And we don’t have to have a pact if you don’t want one.” “Goodness, you are far too accommodating. May I make a proposal of my own?”

Barbatos would pull you into his arms (he had ceased working altogether after “your boss’s roof.”) and whisper into your ear. “I was wrong. I want all of you for myself. Wait for me. When success is in our grasp, I will mark you, and seal our pact. After that, I’ll make you my husband.”

He’ll sound so tender and seductive. So of course, it’s the perfect time to tease him by saying, “Then I can fuck my husband under his boss’s roof.” “Not if I take you out in the garden. After all, you look stunning in the moonlight.”

#requests #moonly-hides #lucifer #diavolo #barbatos #m!mc #ask #obey me headcanons #I think? I'm calling them headcanons okay #I hope that I wrote Lucifer as the most down-bad pathetic whimpering baby boy like he deserves #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos

213 notes · View notes

pro-mammonologist · 2 years

Note

how abt mammon and MC who gets super clingy/needy during PMS/their period?

Mammon was burning alive under your warmth, plus your heated blanket, plus the fact it’s the middle of winter and the heat is on blast. But it was worth it since you were finally resting after a long day of bathroom trips, overwhelming emotions, and just… stress. Just stress.

You were clinging onto him, clenching your eyes shut, trying to nap while your stomach was in knots. You pressed the heat into your stomach and pursed your lips, Mammon saw your expression and stroked your hair.

“It’s okay, I gotcha.” He kissed your head.

“I love you.” You told him. “I really really really love you.” You rubbed your face against him almost like how a cat would. He was red, either from the heat or your claims.

“Love ya too.” He said softly, heart warming as your smile stretched across your face. “Whatcha makin’ that face for?” He teased you, hoping he didn’t step too far.

“Because I love you.”

Man, if you weren’t as cute as a button right now. He hates seeing you in pain, but your face was absolutely adorable how you nuzzled into him. “Ya gonna just answer all my questions with that?”

“I love you.” Was your answer, albeit, confirming his suspicions. You went from laying on your side with your hand and face on his chest to just plopping on top of him. He can’t believe that he wishes for a fan now in arctic like weather. He rubbed your back, slipping his hands underneath your top. You let out a little noise, approving of his actions. “Your hands are cold, it’s nice.”

“I dunno how they’re cold, but if you like it.” He reminded himself that the furnace (you) on top of him was his partner, someone he loves dearly, and for you to be this clingy, you must truly be suffering.

Mammon could barely feel your heartbeat syncing with his. He had turned off his tv and every other sound so you could nap and he could only hear your breathing and his. He could feel how you wiggled your feet, moving the blanket around and he could also tell when you were bracing for another cramp, your body tensing up. Mammon felt as though he was fully in tune with you and that nothing else was there. Just you and him.

He remembered when he got up this morning and went to go get water and then returned to find you looking distraught. You were embarrassed to tell him that you were sad that he left but he was even more humiliated when he found out that you upset about that. Also, yesterday, when you were in class and decided to text him every 2 minutes, begging for his attention. Mammon, of course, indulged, how could he not? Or last night, when you kissed him and wouldn’t stop even after he, yes the avatar of greed, was exhausted. He was somewhat familiar with the menstrual cycle, but he wasn’t surrounded by demons with uteruses all the time let alone humans, so you really educated him fast.

Now, he had you down to a T. All that mattered was that you needed to be on him 24/7 and that you needed comfort. He was so used to being material and to buy you everything you wanted, to get you every bit of chocolate or every French fry or every pair of fuzzy socks you wanted. You loved that but you loved him more. Truth be told, nothing made him happier to know that he was your primary comfort. He was what you needed.

He looked down at you, angling his neck awkwardly to peek at your eyes. You were asleep, finally. He smiled to himself and kissed your head, still tracing his hands up and down your back. “Love ya, treasure.” His voice was lower than a whisper, only for him to hear. “I love ya so much.”

Note: this is literally me. This ask is me.

#obey me #mammon x mc #obey me shall we date #mammon #currently under mammons bed #obey me mammon x reader #mammon fluff #shall we date mammon

762 notes · View notes

allzelemonz · 11 months

Text

After: Charles Smith X Male Reader

Pronouns: None Mentioned, implied masculinity Primary Sex: None Mentioned Secondary Sex: Omega Rating: M/References to sex Warnings: Alpha Charles Smith, a/o, mating cycles/in heat, scenting, kissing, cuddling, aftermath of heat, heat recovery, begging, referenced anal sex, soft Charles Smith, references to breeding Summary: After your first bonded heat, Charles wakes up with his omega still fast asleep.

Charles feels warm when he opens his eyes. He feels warm and comfortable. A pleasant scent fills his nose as he takes a deep breath. Then he’s reminded. He looks down at his sweet smelling Omega curled into his chest, face buried there. Poor thing, such a long heat. Charles thought it would never end, he had started to worry last night after he’d knotted you for the… he’d lost count of just how many times he’d done it at that point. You begged so sweetly each and every time, no way he could deny you. But seeing you so exhausted, scent strong in his nose but void of that enhanced hint of heat, he can’t help but think he might’ve been a little rough.

And somewhere in the back of his mind he worries about how long Hosea’s mix of herbs lasts. He doesn’t think anyone could have this long of a heat, this intense and heavy. Something to talk about once he’s sure you’re okay. He can feel the dampness around him now, the soft blanket of the nest weighed down by slick and sweat. It makes the Alpha part of him proud that he brought so much out of you, but he still worries about so many things. This is your first heat since you bonded afterall. Maybe that’s why it was so intense. He hopes his rut isn’t this harsh, he doesn’t want to push you into something so intense. He knows how his instincts can make him act when he’s not thinking clearly. Of course he knows you’re strong, an outlaw in your own right, if you knew his thoughts you’d argue with him.

For now he focuses on your sweet scent that’s returned to normal. He’s always loved it, from the moment he first met you he couldn’t get enough of it. Sometimes he’d volunteer to help on jobs with you just so he could enjoy it. He knows he’s not the only Alpha in camp that did things like that, though he might be the only one that feels a little guilty about it.

You stir against his chest, your limbs stretching out as you wake up and settle back against him. He reaches down and tilts your head up to look at him. Your eyes are still full of sleep, a bit of that heat bliss lingering there too. It makes him smile.

“Feeling alright?” He murmurs, careful to be soft in your sensitive post-heat state.

You hum pleasantly, situating yourself so you can rest closer to his face. He doesn’t hesitate to press a kiss to your lips once you’re close enough. Both of you have a bit of a swell to your lips, spending most of the heat using kisses to keep whimpers and moans from traveling back to the others a few yards away in camp. But he kisses you all the same, your scents mingling in the air as you do. Even when he’s done, he presses soft little residuals until he finally settles his head against yours.

“Nothing hurt?” He asks softly.

You snuggle closer to him. “Not right now.”

He hums, settling again. His questions and worries can wait for later, after all this heat scent has faded and you’re more awake. For now, cuddling is perfectly fine for Chales. His sweet Omega, all bliss and warmth in his arms.

#omegaverse #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption x reader #red dead redemption x male reader #x reader #x male reader #charles smith #charles smith x reader #charles smith x male reader

108 notes · View notes

prototypelq · 11 months

Text

So, me and the ever-wonderful Raven @whitebeakedraven have been discussing the twins (S)DT forms, and quite a number of details were noticed by us over the course of that conversation, plus some worrying headcanons were born! I felt the need to compose them into a tumblr post for mutuals, especially since I have not seen them be discussed by the fandom at large.

To start off on a high and very shaky note: I believe Vergil’s horns were broken!

The coolness factor and the amount of ‘exhaust pipe horns’ jokes kind of desensitized me a little, but if you look closer at the horns’ model - it is clear they suffered a lot of damage. The ‘exhaust pipe’ itself is my primary evidence for this - the horn structure around the power-flames looks sponge-y. That kind of bone structure is found in the innermost layers of the bone, right around the marrow. It is not built for sustaining pressure, but instead to support the living tissue of the bone and to allow for its growth.

It is not built to sustain pressure or forces of any kind, it should not be the outer layer of any bone. Yet, Vergil’s Final Form shows it clearly on display!

If we go back to the previous DT models we have of Vergil’s trigger - namely his triggers in DMC3 and DMC4 - we can see that his horns…have not changed since then. At all.

(the growth sizes are very approximate, but I think the pictures convey my meaning here)

Now look at how much Dante’s horn crown has changed from his original DT - that is a very, very sizeable growth spurt right there, his horn crown pretty much grew three or so times the size it was, plus he got the neck-/gill-guard second set of horns, same as Vergil. What I’m saying here is - it is mighty suspicious that Vergil’s horns remain unchanged since his teenagehood. Also, as Raven lovely pointed out - the damage done to horns is too symmetrical to be a natural occurrence or a simple mistake.

And where did Vergil spend his time in between his last appearance in DMC3 and his return in DMC5? In the hands of a professional demon torturer. I’ll just quote Raven here:

Horns seem to me like a point of pride for demons, which could be the reason Mundus targeted them and Vergil internalized that targeting. So his horns didn't develop much further except cracking open to show his power and having extra defenses in case they are targeted again.

Some other supporting evidence for this theory:

- uneven ‘cut’: the horns look curved a little, the inner layer having died off and unable to grow out, while the outer layer tried it’s best to grow out again after the damage was done, but with limited success

- the DMC5 DT Vergil concept art horns have a small inner part growing out - which I would interpret as the damage fully healing and the horns beginning to grow properly again. you can also see that the ‘powerline’ in the horns is straight, and not uneven as in SDT render in-game, plus they look more sleek and elegant.

- from the front the horn crown looks very, very rough. If we compare to Dante, his horns are long, smooth, and the ‘powerlines’* of the horns can only be found on the inner side and are glowing.

[* btw Dante having long thin appendages around his head that exert a lot of heat makes me think of long-eared animal adaptation to hot climates, which are used to let the animal cool down faster. in demonic biology terms, I imagine having a ‘powerline’ being rerouted around the head like that to the horn crown instead might allow twins to remain in SDT without constantly frying and regenerating their brains back]

Vergil’s horns from the front look to be cracking from the power that is fed into them, like they should be able to contain it but cannot and it is ‘leaking’ out of the front cracks and result in the ‘side flamethrowers’ he got instead.

I admit, this theory is very SSDP (Syndrome of Search for Deeper Meaning - СПГС, an extremely handy term in ru), and can be explained in two simple words - Stylistic Choice, plus, as Raven pointed out - any damage should have been healed during Vergil’s resurrection... However, I had fun figuring this out, and the details align way too neatly into a single picture for it to be simply coincidence in my opinion. An alternate explanation for this - or a counterargument, provided by the lovely Raven - would be that Vergil chose this current form, one way or the other. He did not evolve a huge horn crown ‘cause that’s an easy grab appendage, and instead he influenced them to be more practical with smaller horns, getting himself some sick flamethrowers as a bonus. The ‘exhaust pipe’ design being either an intentional or a more subconscious display of Vergil remembering the torture and reacting accordingly to protect his horns from further damage, by making them literally untouchable.

Another interesting part of Vergil’s SDT design is his tail and wings. I admit, I was quite salty that Vergil got four wings and a tail, while Dante only has wings, but we might have found an explanation for that.

First, let’s take a look at Vergil’s SDT back…. It’s a goddamn mess!

He has a full-range-of-motion shoulder girdle (1.) , plus, five additional limbs sprouting from his back (tail (2.) plus four wings (3.)). The tail making it all even worse, because it is placed between the upper wingset shoulder blades!

If you know anything even remotely about birds or flying, you know that the wings need a lot of space to rotate and function properly, and having a tail right in between them is not a good idea at all. This is a mess, but let’s start simple - wings.

Interesting bit about Vergil’s wings is that, aside from one extremely stupid flying freight lizard attack (seriously, what was Vergil thinking, making a big show and parading like he did, only to have an attack itself be telegraphed miles ahead and very easy to dodge?...makes you think...), Vergil does not fly. Actually, he doesn’t use his wings at all, except as a flourish/added hit at the end of some big combos, so only when he knows he is safe and ready to deliver maximum pain. You can argue he prefers instantly teleporting around as his main movement tech, but still, it’s weird that even his jump doesn’t have at least *some* wing movement involved - he doesn’t even instinctively try to slow his fall or anything with them!

(here is a screenshot of a fall part of jump animation - wings are kept low and close to the body, just as they are when Vergil is standing normally or attacking)

Another look at his back might provide the answer to that. Here we see that the bones connecting the wingset to the chest are protruding out of the body so much, they are, anatomically speaking, tapered on, and very poorly at that. If not for demonic resilience, those wings should have been torn off from the body by their own generated take-off force.

So, the twins' wings are not built very well, mayhaps this is why Vergil is so protective of them and doesn’t use them too much, except for situations when he is sure it’s safe.

His tail in that case, is a great addition to offer protection for his wings! The tail is long enough to be an effective counter from all sides (imagine if Vergil’s parry was not with the sheathed Yamato, but with his tail… that pointy end does not look friendly at all), and its placement between the wings now makes sense, because the tail is actually a guard for his back.

During my previous photomode experiments, I found out that Urizen’s multitude of eyes track the camera movement. Even in photomode Urizen does not feel safe enough to be still, apparently. Raven interpreted that as a clear manifestation of Vergil’s paranoia and trust issues, and I completely agree... The tail then, is another feature that reflects this. Also, y’know, Vergil did spent a few decades in hell, where he had a very bad, no good, absolutely horrible time… and I’ll just quote Raven here:

And I mean, what better way to enforce the fact that escape, that freedom, is impossible towards a prisoner, than by ripping their literal wings off…

The poor connection of the wings to the main body could in that case also be a reaction to this trauma. If someone gets to them, they're easily removed without too much further damage, so that they can start regenerating immediately. But before that, any attacker will have to get by the tail that’s got a sharp enough end to provide ample amounts of protection.

Another reason why the tail fits Vergil so nicely is because of the speed and balance it provides.

DMC5 introduced us to lovely lizard demons like Riots, Chaoses and Furies, all of which are known for having a tail. Interesting bit here is that the higher back attachment makes the tail act as a great balancing tool for bipedals. All of the lizors mentioned above sure do love their speedy attacks, so it makes sense they developed the tail to counteract their erratic and swift movements. And Vergil’s SDT seems to have adopted that feature too.

As for Dante, as much as I would have loved for him to get a tail as well, Raven pointed out another detail here. If Dante had any control whatsoever over the SDT evolution... he definitely wouldn’t want any more demonic features. The four-winged and big horned flying form is probably the inherited template from Sparda that neither Vergil nor Dante would have been able to stray away from too much, but the tail is clearly a Vergil-only development. Dante might have gone ‘minimalistic’ in that sense, since he has no additional features of his own (anatomically speaking... technically speaking you might count his Luce, Ombra and Demolition ranged magic moves as special features)

Now, since we’re already on the topic of Dante, we have found another interesting tidbit - his DT face evolution.

We know that in DMC3 Vergil helps his brother unlock his demonic heritage, finally giving Dante his Trigger. The detail that made me curious here is that the DMC3 face is very similar to the face the SDT form has - specifically the lack of human features and the demonic jaws. Let’s have a look here at the evolution of Dante’s DT faces over time (in more ways than one…):

In DMC3 his DT face is pretty much the template from which the SDT form will later evolve, since it lacks any human features that are present in other forms (save for SDT). This DT form is adaptable and changes depending on the Devil Arm Dante is using, showing that he clearly doesn’t have too much control over it yet. The most noticeable example would be the horns - they change form significantly... Also the horns Dante has sprouting here from the back of his head might be the neck-guard horns and the main crown he will fully develop later on. Unlike Dante, Vergil’s form seems much more stable in the sense that his horn shape changes as well, but not nearly as much, and nothing else is affected by the Devil Arms in his appearance.

DMC1, now THIS I almost overlooked, and I sure am glad that I didn’t. The DMC1 DT forms are also affected a lot by the Devil Arms Dante is using in the moment. The weapons seem to ‘overwrite’ Dante’s innate form a lot here, and without their induced features, his face in DT is actually…blank. There is just a blank head until the Devil Arms give him some additions… I have a feeling this might be connected to Dante’s twin-related trauma in the game, they have the same face, after all…

In contrast to everything that comes before, the DMC2 form is a mix of both Dante’s strive for humanity and his ever-growing powers, because his face in DT is - for the first time in the series - completely human. He can’t however, escape the transformation entirely unchanged, and the dark scales and skin color... they make him look a lot like Nelo, or at least to me it seems that way. This is also the game where the SDT makes its first appearance as a Majin form, which is a low-health DT transformation. The Majin form has all the classic features of an SDT - four wings, developed horn crown and even arm-blades like the ones SDT Vergil has. The Majin form is also my big evidence for the ‘SDT forms have a template twins were always supposed to evolve into’ argument.

DMC4 is the ‘mature’ phase where Dante’s DT finally stabilizes and stopped evolving (before SDT was thrown on the table). None of the Devil Arms alter his appearance anymore, the horn crown is finally developed properly, and his facial features are demonic, but the face as a whole still reads as human.

Additional stuff I have noticed but have nowhere else to place:

- Vergil had undergone extensive torture in his time as Mundus’ captive. His horns were broken, wings - ripped out, and if we keep going down that route the V-cut on the SDT chest bears quite a similarity to a badly done dissection scar.

- Alternatively, the V-shape could be seen as the V signature Vergil used to mark his things. In DMC5 he is pretty much picking up the torn and scattered pieces of himself, so that characteristic shape might also be him Reclaiming his name, as one well-known song might have said

- Meanwhile, Dante’s ‘chest rupture’ shape reminds me simultaneously of the numerous stab wounds Dante has been subjected over time, but also a literal bleeding heart pattern, speaking of the heartbreak physical, and the metaphorical one he suffered and never recovered from. This is made worse, if you remember that Dante got his SDT form before the final battle with Urizen in mission 17, so it is also a manifestation of his inner conflict and hurt at that moment in time and story, as he had yet to kill his brother. Again.

- to end on, at least somewhat positive note - the twins’ scales are iridescent!!! Some scales make this more apparent than others, but ultimately all scales have this quality and it brings me much joy)))

Aaaaand the final piece of wisdom I have for today. It is no secret that the DT wings mimic the series-standard leather coats the twins love so much, but I have not seen much of a reverse read on this connection - the twins loving their long leather coats because they mimic the feel of DT wings. The wings have an intricate swirl pattern on the inside and there is a lot of power going through them, so they should be warm, and the pose the twins normally have their wings around - the coats might give them a similar feeling. They are, obviously, leather, they should be good at reflecting warmth, the coats cover the same ‘forward hug’ area like the wings, they are heavy, and they whirl around the back and legs like the wind one would be feeling if they were to move.

This, just might damn be, why V(ergil) stuck to wearing that horrific goth clothing for the entirety of the almost two months he was alive (I say this because I don’t like that outfit, also because V is Vergil and I hope we can all agree Vergil himself would never wear that).He was alone on the street, had no power, no weapons, no money or anything on him and was painfully human, only to have a leather coat thrown his way in a merciful turn of fate. Vergil did not care how passable he looked at that moment, he stated that multiple times himself.What he cared about was the feeling of comfort the leather coat gave him. It reminded him of his better days, of days where his own wings were just one trigger away. And that might be why he didn’t change his clothing from literally the first stuff that was handed to him.

Sooo, that would be it for the post. This one was in the works for a while xD. Again, immense thanks to Raven for rambling about this with me, it was super fun and her contributions to that conversation have been ginormous. Thank you dear reader, for finishing this monster of a post too! Text your family you love them to avoid ending up as these losers here please.

p.s. the DT different forms over the series photos were taken from the dmc wiki, everything else was captured by me in-game

#prepare your tinfoil hats it's gonna be a longread #thank you tumblr for not crashing while posting this too #hellsite (affectionate)#dante sparda #vergil sparda #dmc #the sparda loser twins #devil may cry

116 notes · View notes

heliads · 2 months

Note

Hi! Congrats on 10k, that is incredible! Can I request a 💌 from the Darkling? I'm a hospital pharmacy technician. I'm loyal to a fault, stubborn, feisty, and I find I care a lot. Even about people I don't know. I spend my free time either reading, writing, or gaming. I prefer the cold over the heat. Ummm I can't think of anything else lol hopefully this is enough! If not, let me know and I'll try again 🥰

thank you so much!

masterlist

Moonlight dapples the grounds of the Little Palace as you stroll through the darkened paths of the surrounding gardens. You’ve just emerged from a long session in the medical rooms of the Grisha; as one of Ravka’s best Healers, you’re constantly kept busy. It’s good to be needed, but it’s also good to be alone, for once, allowed to breathe deeply and let the stress of the day fade away the farther you walk.

As it turns out, you won’t be able to take some time to yourself after all. At the end of the garden path, shadows under a sturdy oak coalesce into a dark-robed man who strides out to greet you. Were you any other Grisha operating under the fine roofs of the Little Palace, the sight of the Darkling on a night like this would startle you. However, he’s grown on you since you first arrived in Os Alta, and you find yourself more willing to let your guard down around him than expected.

Indeed, it seems the Darkling feels the same way. He turns to walk by your side, letting out a dry chuckle as he does. “You know, every other exhausted Grisha is currently seeking refuge in front of a roaring fire, yet here I find you purposefully keeping yourself out in the cold.”

You smile. “I like the cold, moi soverenyi.”

“And it likes you,” the Darkling muses. “I cannot blame you for seeking peace beyond the walls of the Little Palace. I value all of the souls in the Second Army, but it does grow quite busy, does it not?”

“It does,” you agree. “Still, I’ve grown fond of how busy our halls can be. Our soldiers are good people.”

“Just our soldiers?” The Darkling asks. He keeps pace perfectly, as if he had made your every movement the primary focus of his studies.

“Some more than others,” you admit.

It’s too dark to see clearly, but you swear the Darkling’s quartz eyes flash with something you cannot name. “Oh? Which ones?”

You smile to yourself, deliberately savoring the silence over a few steps before you reveal yourself. “Perhaps the ones I walk with, late at night. Do you think they’re to be trusted?”

Something distinctly like triumph appears on the Darkling’s face. “I do. You had better keep them close, however, so you can determine if that trust is warranted.”

“That,” you drawl, “is exactly what I plan on doing.”

Overhead, the stars wheel through the sky. On the moonlit ground, the Darkling leads you further into the gardens. It has been a long day, but at last, you have peace.

requested by @mattmurdocksscars, i hope you enjoy!

grishaverse tag list: @blondsauduun, @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @mxltifxnd0m, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed, @gods-fools-heroes, @bl606dy, @auggie2000, @baju69, @crazyhearttragedy, @budugu, @aoi-targaryen, @a-taken-url

all tags list: @wordsarelife

#the darkling #grishaverse #10k celebration

22 notes · View notes

hepbaestus · 5 months

Text

Coming home to my family afterward makes the work richer, easier and more fun.

Day 1 of the Hideduo Kiss Week Event by LazyCat

Day 1 prompt: Kiss on the cheek

1.6k words|stardew valley au family fluff| no TW's apply|ao3 link

After a long day in the mines, all Fit wants to do is sit at the fire with his husband Pac and their three kids, Richarlyson, Ramón and Rosa. This is him doing exactly that and what comes after.

Fic under the read more

The sun set slowly as Fit was walking back to the farm from the mountains, having gotten up early to go mining for a quest put up by Shane on the questboard at Pierre’s shop. He was tired and he hadn’t seen Pac all day, both of them having important things to do, on and off the farm. Despite his exhaustion, he still felt like walking back to the farm instead of taking the rickety minecart that he had given away bars of copper, iron and gold to the community centre for its repair. He didn’t yet trust that it wouldn’t break down mid journey, so he took the scenic route; past Linus’ tent and the Carpenter’s Shop.

Pac, the night before, had insisted that he’d stay at the farm the next day, wanting to spend time with their sons Ramón and Richarlyson and daughter Rosa, wanting to get the new animals that they’d bought recently from Marnie to get acclimated to the farm. Fit smiled to himself, despite being the primary owner of the farm, it having been his grandfather’s before him, he would not have thought to try to acclimate the farm animals personally. He’d have just let them do their thing until they were comfortable enough for him to shear them or take their eggs. But that was very in nature for Pac, especially when he, while Fit went mining or to Calico Desert for the Skull Caverns, looked after their two boys and the newest addition to their family. Though that’s not to say that Pac didn’t also do those things, they took it in turns to go mining while the other spent time at the farm.

Reaching the northernmost point of the farm, Fit made a pit stop to the water bowl outside the house, refilling it with water from his watering can. It was a task that normally they’d let the kids do but Fit noticed it to be empty. He didn’t like their cat, at first; it being a mangy old thing that Ramón had fallen in love with when it had made its home underneath the covering over their small orchard. He ’d succumbed to the puppy dog look that his three boys pulled when he suggested moving the cat somewhere else. Having filled Katos’ bowl and emptied his items in their assorted chests, he headed into the house.

Their house was laid out in a pretty standard way, Fit thought, with the first room you entered from the front door being the living room with kitchen on the left, in an open plan design. On the furthest wall from the front door was a fireplace that he and Pac had built together, as the house when he first moved in had no central heating. It wasn’t built well, clearly having multiple repairs made to it over their time living on the farm but he loved it. It was a show of their love of their home. Of their life spent together.

Shouts too loud for the time it was could be heard from the armchair in front of the fire, followed by little footsteps that could only belong to his two sons. He crouched down, reaching their height as they bulldozed their way into his arms, feeling the full force of two young children slamming into his body.

“Well isn’t it good to be back home eh? I hope you boys have been behaving yourselves for your Pai,” Fit looks at the two boys in his arms, having stood up with a child in each arm.

They both nod before, in almost unison, rambling about what happened while he was gone, voices getting muddled as they spoke on top of one another. Fit nods as if he’s understanding the two, when in reality, their voices blend into one amalgamation that no one would be able to understand. The young boys don’t notice this however, both too engrossed in informing their dad of the day’s events.

He walks to where Pac was still sitting with their youngest child Rosa leaning on his chest, sleeping soundly. He gently lowers each of the boys back onto the armrests of the chair, ruffling Ramón’s wavy hair, knowing that it wouldn’t have the potential to badly affect the boy’s hair like it would Richarlyson’s tight, curled hair.

“Oi Fitchie. Tudo bem?” Pac talks quietly, aware of the sleeping toddler, eyes quickly taking in any visible injuries on Fit’s person. Fit smiles to himself at the action, feeling Pac’s love through his searching eyes. He had no injuries for Pac to treat but he allowed his husband to look for some anyways.

“Oh you know, the usual. Too many slimes and cave flies,” Fit reaches a hand out to cup Pac’s face before kissing his cheek, “I’ll let you continue the story while I shower and get ready for bed.” He emphasises the end of his sentence, knowing that his boys do not like the preemptive part of going to bed, but adored the actual act of sleeping greatly. Pac, as if their relationship was brand new and not several years old at this point, blushed scarlet at Fit’s action, still not fully used to the initially stoic man showing such affection.

He heads off to shower and as he walks away, he can hear Pac picking up from where he left off, midway through telling a story of an adventure of him as a teen with their Tia Bagi and Tio Cellbit. The trio were known as the ‘troublesome trio’ growing up, having grown up in Pelican Town unlike Fit.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Feeling fresh and mostly rested after his shower, Fit walked back into the living room to see Pac having finished his story with their two boys on the verge of sleep, resting their heads on his shoulders. Picking up Richarlyson softly, so as to not rouse him from his almost slumbering state, he leads Pac holding both Rosa and Ramón in his arms to the children’s bedroom. As the two boys were still young they shared a room while Rosa got the smallest room that connected to Fit and Pac’s room. Once the two grew older, they’d commission Robin to build another room in the house for whichever of the kids to move into.

Fit took off Richarlyson’s prosthetic, knowing the boy would be too drowsy to unhook the little bands and clasps, before tucking him into his bed. He also tucked Richarlyson’s hair into his bonnet, preventing the potential for his hair to frizz as he slept. His side of the room was a lot messier than Ramón’s, with a mural in its beginning stages being painted on one wall and paint supplies and sketches strewn across the floor. As Pac had told him once, if it had happened at the orphanage where he grew up, the culprit would’ve been forced to get rid of it themselves; sanding away the paint and giving the wall a fresh coat of whatever bland off-white they’d decided to paint that specific room.

To Fit’s right, he could see in his peripheral vision that Pac was doing the same with Ramón, tucking him in tightly and leaving a kiss on the top of his head before exiting the room. Fit followed after him, having leaned Ricarlyson’s leg against his bedside table so that it was in arm’s reach for when the child woke up. Ramón’s side of the room was no less messy, more it being an organised mess. He knew where everything was despite the numerous pieces of machinery he’d been tinkering with scattered across any available surface.

They go back to the lounge after having put Rosa in her crib, sitting together on the armchair despite them clearly not being able to fit comfortably. Speaking in quiet voices, they tell each other of their days; who they spoke to, what fofoca Pac managed to get and other such things. As they spoke, the crackles of the fire faded into background noise, the two solely focusing on each other with a slight ear out listening for the potential of Rosa waking up.

It’s late into the night when their conversation dwindles down, the need to sleep finally taking hold of their bodies. Pac kisses his cheek before lightly tapping his ass, signalling him to get up from his lap so that they could go to bed. It’s not a common motion for Pac to do, so it causes Fit to stutter and stumble slightly as he lifts himself from his husband’s lap and walks to their room, glancing briefly at all of the different adventures the family had been memorialised in a gallery wall.

Their room was decorated simply. With framed birth certificates for each of their children and the deed to the farm pinned to one wall. Their bed rested against another wall and was a successful experiment of Robin’s, and was kindly given to the pair as a wedding gift when she had heard Pac jokingly complain about Fit’s old bed. They walked to the bed, each choosing a side, before getting comfortable. They were both quite specific on how they slept; Fit needed flat pillows for he slept on his back, having needed to sleep that way when living in a rundown area of Zuzu City, and Pac needed fluffy pillows for he slept on his side facing away from the wall, needing to be aware of his surroundings at all times because of the hostility in the orphanage he grew up in. They fell into a deep sleep quickly, the events of the day fully catching up to the pair.

With the sound of chickens clucking and their other animals waking up, Fit rouses to a weight on his chest. Expecting it to be Pac, he rests his hand on their hair, only to feel the bonnet that he’d gotten Richarlyson to wear not even twelve hours prior. He lifts his head up slightly, looking to his side to see his position replicated but with Pac and Ramón, his heart warming at the sight.

This was home, Fit thought.

#hideduokisswk #fitpac #fitpac fic #qsmp fic #stardew valley au #hep writing #hideduo fic #sv!fit #sv!pac #sdv au

42 notes · View notes