#this is supposed to be in the same 'universe' as my fic for fate but im like

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Honey Girl.

Synopsis - The Universe shows you your soulmate when it feels like you need them most. When you least expect it, you're given yours - Bucky Barnes. Your Dad's best friend. You can try to refuse it all you like; but the Universe wants what it wants. There's no denying fate.

Pairing - Dad'sBestFriend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 5.1k

Warnings - cursing. sexual content towards the end. mild alcohol consumption. age gap. smut in next chapter(s).

Author's Note - part one is finally here!! thank you so much to everyone who asked to be tagged, and who liked and reblogged the masterlist. i am SO excited to share this with you. i've built this world in my head and trust me it is gorgeous - salty ocean breezes, sunsoaked sailboats and billowing white linen shirts. i hope you can lose yourself in my little seaside town with bucky for the time it takes you to read this, just as i did while writing it. i can't wait to write more of this series for you x

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Requests. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

next chapter (two).

Tethering /tɛð(ə)rɪŋ/

An event in which two soulmates are bound together forever. Only occurs when the Universe decides it is time. No sooner, no later.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The gentle ocean breeze gives you a moment of respite from the scorching sun that's beating down. You're half asleep, laying on the cool tile of your balcony when your phone rings.

"Babe! Babe! Babe!"

"Lacie? Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"I am freaking out right now, oh my god. I didn't know who to call. You'll never guess what just happened to me!"

You can guess. In fact, you already have.

Lacie's Tethering. It's finally happened.

You're taught, growing up, that your Tethering is the biggest moment of your life. It shapes who you are forever. Sets you on your eternal path. You're presented with your soulmate in a big display of love and affection and metaphorical fireworks. It's supposed to be magical.

You wish people would shut up about it.

The World seems to be split into two categories - the people that have been Tethered, and the people that haven't.

You fall into the latter.

You're repeatedly told it'll happen one day. It'll happen when the time is right. It'll happen when you least expect it.

You're not sure you ever want it to happen.

The idea that the Universe determines the person you're with forever has never sat right with you. What happened to free will? What happened to personal preference? You believe you should at least have a choice in the matter. It's your future, after all.

Not everyone shares the same sentiment.

"Babe, you still there?"

Lacie's excitement filled voice pulls you back to reality.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Are you busy? Can you meet me for coffee, like, now?"

You take a deep breath and plaster a fake smile on your face.

"Sure. I'll see you in ten."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Oh my god babe, it was just incredible! You won't even believe it. There's nothing like it, truly."

You remind yourself quickly that Lacie is your best friend, and that you owe it to her to be happy for her. Personal feelings about soulmates aside.

"Tell me all about it, Lace!" you encourage, grabbing a hold of her hand excitedly.

The blonde girl squeals before shuffling closer to you, pressing her knees against yours.

"Okay, so. Picture this. I'm at my gym, doing my usual routine. I'm wearing my super cute pink Lulu Lemon set, you know the one with the flowers?"

She waits for you to nod in affirmation before she continues.

"So, I accidentally drop a weight on the ground, and it makes the biggest noise. I'm super embarrassed, and I'm trying to pick it up, but it's so heavy. And then, the hottest guy I have ever seen appears. Like, seriously gorgeous."

As much as you despise the whole soulmate thing, you can't deny how happy Lacie seems. She's almost vibrating with it, bouncing up and down in her seat.

"He comes over and picks it up for me, sets in back on the rack. And then he introduces himself, and shakes my hand, and it happened."

"What was it like?" you smile, eager for her to carry on.

"Like fucking magic."

You've heard that before. A million times. From literally everyone. Surely it can't be that magical if billions of people have experienced it.

"Magic?" you prompt.

"It is indescribable, babe. It's like... it's like everything just falls into place. Like everything finally makes sense!"

She jumps out of her chair, hugging you tightly. She's practically sat on your lap in the coffee shop, but neither of you really care.

"So, what's his name? What's he like?"

"His name is Cameron. He's new in town, he just moved here for work. He's a personal trainer, so he's like, super fit. And gorgeous. Did I mention gorgeous?"

"Maybe once or twice," you laugh.

"I'm so happy," Lacie whispers, emotion choking her voice. "I can't believe it finally happened. This is the day I've been waiting for since I was a little girl."

You hug her tighter, and ignore the look you get from the barista.

"I love you," she declares, suddenly serious. "You know that me being Tethered now doesn't change that, right?"

"I know," you confirm. "I love you too, Lace. I'm really happy for you."

You genuinely mean it. Lacie has talked about meeting her soulmate every day since you met her in the 3rd grade. You may have never quite shared her enthusiasm, but you admire her passion. And you adore her, more than anyone.

"So, what now? Are you gonna get married tomorrow and run off into the sunset?"

"I'm choosing to ignore your sarcasm because I know you're using it as a coping mechanism," she tells you pointedly. "And I know that there's a tiny part of you that wishes you'd been Tethered already, so you don't have to deal with everyone talking to you about it."

Jackpot. She's read you like a book.

"No, we're not getting married tomorrow," she rolls her eyes before continuing, "but we are going on a real date tonight. We're gonna get dinner and get to know each other. Isn't this crazy? I'm going on a date with the guy I'm gonna be spending the rest of my life with!"

"That is kinda crazy, actually," you laugh. "What are you gonna wear?"

"It doesn't matter - we're going to be together forever anyway!"

You make Lacie promise to send you a picture of her outfit as you're leaving the coffee shop, which she agrees to with glee. On your way home, you pick up some of your Mom's favourite wine, and prepare yourself for another soulmate based conversation that will inevitably happen when you tell your parents the events of the day at dinner tonight.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Hi, sweetheart!" your Dad beams as you step through the front door of your childhood home.

"Hey, Dad," you greet, allowing him to pull you in for a hug. "Where's Mom? I brought wine."

"Kitchen," he gestures with a nod of his head. "She's making that mango dessert you like."

Walking into your Mother's kitchen is like dipping your feet into a pool on a scorching hot day. The windows are propped open, curtains billowing softly in the wind. The ocean breeze drifts through the room, ruffling your Mom's dress and floating the hair away from her face. The evening sun beams in, illuminating the space with a golden glow. It smells like fresh fruit, mint, and salt water. It's a haven.

"Hi, Mama."

"Oh, my love! Just in time. I was about to call you to see if you were alright."

She makes her way over to you and kisses you on the head swiftly, before walking to the cabinet to grab wine glasses.

"Sorry I'm a little later than I said. I changed my outfit three times - it's warmer than I thought it was going to be."

"I know! Summer, finally. We've been waiting long enough."

She takes the bottle of wine from your hand and pours it into the glasses.

"You've poured four, Mama."

"Didn't your Dad tell you? Bucky's joining us for dinner."

"Oh. No, he didn't mention anything."

"He's back from his vacation. He promised he'd show us all of the pictures he took!"

She grabs the glasses and floats out of the room, leaving you alone in the kitchen, thoughts of Bucky Barnes swirling around like dust in the sunlight.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky.

Your Dad's best friend.

They met a few years ago, when Bucky moved to town. He said he was looking for something quieter, sick of city living. He wanted to slow down a bit, finally take a breath.

He was out for a run around town, getting his bearings, when he stopped your Dad on the driveway to ask about his car. They bonded over their love for motorcycles and vintage vehicles, and the rest is history.

Bucky's been a regular fixture in your life for so long, you can't remember a time before. All you know, is that it was probably a little more peaceful. His boyish charm is infectious, bringing out the youth in your Dad. They're like teenagers, when they're together. Long lost frat brothers, your Mom jokes.

She's got a soft spot for him. Most people do. It might have something to do with the fact he's devastatingly handsome.

It's no secret that Bucky Barnes is a ladies man. He is without even trying. He's charming, gorgeous, funny in all the right ways. He's mysterious, but not disarming. Tough, but not scary. Rebellious, but not a liability. He's a catch.

A catch, with a taste for beautiful women.

Your Dad always jokes that he's the towns most eligible bachelor. You can't count on two hands the amount of women you know that have dated him - but nothing seems to stick. He isn't Tethered, after all.

Some people choose not to date, if they haven't met their soulmate. They wait and wait, and when the time comes, they're complete. Others take pleasure in dating before it happens. Might as well make the most of the freedom, Bucky said once. You can't help but agree.

Might as well make the most of the freedom.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Hey, buddy!" you hear from the hallway. You make your way out of the kitchen to be met with the sight of Bucky, sun-kissed and practically glowing. His hair has a few light streaks from the sun, and the faint freckles on his cheeks are more prominent now. His steel blue eyes meet yours, mischief rife in them.

"Hi, honey," he greets, draping an arm around your shoulders. He kisses you on the cheek, light stubble scratching your skin. You throw an arm around his back and look up at him.

"There's no way this tan is natural," you tease, nudging him slightly.

"It makes me even more gorgeous, doesn't it?" he jokes, winking at you. He squeezes your shoulder before letting go, grabbing a bottle of wine from his bag.

"I brought your favourite, Lori."

"So did I," you echo, laughing.

"Great minds, honey. Great minds!"

"You can never have too much wine," your Mom yells out from the kitchen doorway. "Bring it in here, Buck. I'll put it in the refrigerator."

"Yes ma'am," he obliges, making his way to her with a smile on his face.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Guess what happened today," you begin, in between bites of your strawberry salad.

The three of them look at you intently, urging you to continue.

"Lacie got Tethered."

"How exciting!" your Mom squeals.

"That's a long time coming," Bucky chimes in. You look at him and smirk.

"Tell me about it."

"Here we go," your Dad smiles. "Our two anti soulmate protestors."

"Don't make it sound so political," Bucky laughs. "She's the only one that gets it."

"I've said it a thousand times, and I'll say it again. Just. You. Wait," your Mom lectures. "The two of you don't get it."

"Magic, fireworks, eternal love, blah blah blah. Trust me, I get it."

"She gets it," Bucky echoes. "And so do I. The Universe decides our fate, and we get no choice whatsoever. I don't believe in it, is all. I have no faith in the system. I should get to choose."

"But you feel like you are choosing," your Dad defends. "It didn't feel like it was being determined for me. It's hard to explain."

"It's just so... backwards," you justify. "I can't believe we live in a Universe where we have all the choices in the world, but don't get to choose the person we spend the rest of our lives with."

"It's worked out pretty well for us," your Mom smiles.

And it has. The first thing anyone notices when they meet your parents is that they are undeniably in love. You've never met two people more perfect for each other - which should solidify your belief in the Universe, really. But it doesn't. You can't explain where your lack of faith in it came from. It just appeared one day, and you haven't been able to shake it since. You're grateful every day to have two Tethered, happy, smitten parents. You've seen how hard it is for people with Untethered Mothers and Fathers. The judgment, the uncertainty, the hushed whispers. It sounds unbearable.

"Yes it did," your Dad confirms, shaking you from your thoughts. He reaches for your Mom's hand and kisses the back of it tenderly, eyes never once leaving hers. You look to Bucky next to you, who smiles at you gently. Feelings about soulmates aside, the both of you love these two people sat across the table with all your heart.

"Trust me, sweetheart," your Mom begins. "I know you're against the idea now - God knows I was the same at your age. But when it happens, you'll forget about all of your rebellion. You'll just be happy."

You nod in agreement, praying for the conversation to be over. As if he can read your mind, Bucky pipes up.

"Let me show you some pictures from Italy. I did promise I would."

You shoot him a grateful look before picking up your empty wine glass and making your way to the kitchen for a refill.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The dining room is now lit solely by candlelight, wax dripping onto the white lace tablecloth like condensation on a cold glass. The sun fell asleep hours ago, the four of you enjoying each others company with no regard for time.

"Oh, shit. It's late," your Dad says suddenly.

"You got big late night plans?" you tease.

"We have Clara and Mike's wedding at the weekend, so we're flying out tomorrow. We should probably get some sleep, so we're not exhausted."

Your Mom rises from her chair and kisses you on the head, before grabbing the dessert bowls from the table. Your Dad helps, smiling every time his hand brushes hers accidentally.

"Thanks for coming, kiddo. Your place next week?"

"Of course. I think I'll try that salmon recipe you sent me."

"Can't wait," your Dad assures you, giving you a one sided hug. He squeezes you once before letting you go to grab your shoes.

You can hear your parents saying their goodbyes to Bucky as you tie your laces, smoothing out the skirt of your dress as you stand. They all join you in the hallway, Bucky leaning over to grab his jacket from behind you. Fuck, he smells good.

"Have a great time at the wedding, you guys. Send me pictures, please!" you say as you hug your Mom goodbye.

"We will! Drive home safe, the both of you!"

They shut the door softly, leaving you and Bucky stood on the porch. The evening air chills your bare legs, salt in the breeze sticking to your lips.

"Where's your car?" he asks, looking around.

"Oh, I walked. It was a nice day, and I'm trying to be a little greener. Save the planet, and all," you chuckle.

"You want a ride, then?" he offers, leaning against the side of his truck.

"Uh - maybe," you hesitate, shifting your weight from foot to foot. You feel antsy, for some reason. There's a buzz flowing through your veins, making you a little restless.

"Maybe?" he smirks.

"I just, I'm not sure if I wanna go home yet. It might be that I've had three glasses of wine, but I'm kinda... jittery? Think I need to burn off some energy. Maybe I'll walk home."

"Like hell you will," he grumbles.

You quirk a brow in confusion.

"It's dark, and all those college kids are in town on their break. I don't trust 'em."

You fight to keep the grin off your face. You weirdly like it when Bucky gets protective. He's always so calm, so relaxed - it takes a lot to rile him up. He looks hot with a clenched jaw.

"Why don't we go somewhere?"

"Where?" you ask tentatively.

"I don't know," he thinks for a second. "How about the beach?"

You smile, gazing at him with a twinkle in your eyes.

"I fucking love the beach."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The ocean waves break the shore steadily, the repetitive pattern calming you both. You're sat on the sand, grains slipping through your hands where you're pouring it out through your fingers. The light of the moon reflects off the surface of the sea, illuminating the abandoned cove. It's just you, Bucky, and the night sky.

The alcohol in your system has evened you out, warm buzz keeping you sheltered from the chill. Bucky's stretched out next to you, strong arms folded underneath his head. His shirt rides up slightly, exposing a slither of sun kissed skin. You pretend not to notice his Adonis belt, or the little trail of hair that leads down into his waistband.

The silence is easy, comfortable. You don't get to hang out like this often, just the two of you. It's nice.

A notification on your phone breaks through the tranquility. You both flinch.

"Sorry," you mutter, checking the screen. "It's Lacie, telling me about her perfect date."

He chuckles lowly at your tone, sitting up to look at you.

"This is hard for you, isn't it?" he asks. "You hate the whole soulmate thing, but you like seeing her happy."

Bingo. It's like he's read your mind.

"I don't know why I hate it so much" you confess quietly. "It's a part of life. I can't avoid it. I just think - what if... what if I'm like, the exception, or something? What if I never meet my soulmate - or - what if I meet them when I'm like, seventy? That happens, you know! And then I'll be fucking cursed to spend my entire life feeling like this."

"And what is this?"

"Hopeless. That's what this is. I just feel pretty fucking hopeless."

You're not sure why you're baring your soul to Bucky tonight. You could blame the wine, but you know that's not what it is. Maybe it's because he seems to be the only one that understands.

"Me too," he whispers.

You whip your head around to stare at him in shock. He laughs at the look on your face, and continues.

"You're young - you have time. I'm forty in a couple of years. Every single one of my friends is married to their soulmate - except for me."

You bite at your lip nervously, but refuse to tear your eyes away from his steel blue ones. His face is lit by the glow from the moon, and it takes your breath away for a second. He looks almost ethereal.

"You always act so... unbothered. I didn't realise... I guess I just, I didn't -" you try to gather your thoughts before continuing. "This fucking sucks, huh?"

He laughs with his whole chest, and you're convinced the sound is so special, so rare, that you should bottle it. Sell it as medicine. It'd cure anything, you're sure of it.

"Yeah, it does," he agrees with a chuckle. "It's the waiting around that's the worst part. The unknown. It could be minutes, it could be decades. I just don't know."

"At least for now, we have each other," you joke.

"Every cloud has a silver lining, huh?" he teases, nudging you with his shoulder.

You allow your weight to press into his side a little, leaning in. He's warm, and he's familiar, and in this moment, he understands you better than anyone else in the world.

"We'll be okay, honey," he murmurs. "It'll all work out the way it's supposed to."

You close your eyes, and allow his words and the breaking waves to calm your nerves. Bucky wraps an arm around you, and all the tension melts from your muscles.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You're not sure if it's the honest conversation, or the brisk ocean breeze, but you've sobered up in record time. Your body registers this, and sends a shiver down your spine.

"You cold?" Bucky asks you. "You wanna go home?"

"Not yet," you whisper. "Not yet."

He shrugs off his worn brown leather jacket and slips it over your shoulders. It smells so strongly of him that it makes you dizzy. Bucky settles back down in his original place, returning his arm to where it was draped over you. His rough fingertips rub patterns into the material that now covers your arms, and you wish, for a fleeting moment, that it was your bare skin instead.

"You been working on anything new recently?" he enquires in a hushed tone, careful not to ruin the atmosphere.

"I made a damn good batch of macarons yesterday," you reply, beaming smile etched across your face. "Raspberry and lemon. I'll bring you some, next time I pass the Garage. You're gonna love them."

"You know, I think the only reason I ever get Mechanic of the Month is because you bring by all of your sweet treats."

You laugh melodiously, and the sound makes Bucky's heart stutter in his chest without warning.

"Happy to be of service," you tease. "I take requests, too, if you ever want something specific. Just let me know."

"You're the best, sugar."

You sink into Bucky's hold a little, daring to rest your head on his shoulder. When he doesn't stop you, you exhale, and relax even more.

"Are you working tomorrow?" he asks.

"Nope. You?"

"Nah. I'm going sailing, finally. It's been way too fuckin' long," he grumbles. "Your Dad's usually my right hand man, but he'll be in Ohio. You wanna come?"

The idea of laying on the deck of a boat in the blazing sunshine with a shirtless Bucky Barnes sounds like heaven. Who could say no to an offer like that?

"Yeah, of course. I'll bring a picnic, if you like. It's the least I can do."

"Sounds perfect," he replies, squeezing your shoulder.

Suddenly, he rises to his feet, extending a hand out to you. You grab it, and he pulls you up, the both of you shaking sand off yourselves.

"It's late, and dark, and a little cold. You ready to go?"

You nod your head, and make your way over to his truck, ignoring the heat that blooms over your chest when he opens the passenger door for you before his own.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Thank you, for tonight," you say as he pulls up in front of your apartment building.

"Thank you," he replies, killing the engine. "It's nice to have you back, you know. Wondered if you were gonna finish college and stay out there in California. Thought we might not see you again."

He almost sounds... relieved. The idea that he might have missed you if you didn't return effects you more than it should.

"I liked it there, but... I don't know. My family's here. I'm only twenty three. I've got time to move around the country. I missed this place too much when I was away."

"Never thought I'd hear you say that," he chuckles.

"I know, trust me. They do say absence makes the heart grow fonder."

"Yeah, they say a lot of fuckin' things," he jokes.

Bucky swings his door open, hopping down from the drivers seat. He makes his way over to your side, holding out a hand so you can jump out.

"Careful," he warns. "It's higher than it looks."

You grab his hand, and step onto the metal sill. Your foot slips slightly, sending you tumbling down and forward, out of the truck. Luckily, Bucky catches you, one hand in yours, other on your hip.

"Woah, easy. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," you breathe.

He places his hands on your cheeks and cradles your face, searching for any signs of distress. You place your palms over his, silently reassuring him.

And then, it happens.

Warm, golden, molten electricity surges through your veins, lighting up each and every one of your nerve endings. Your surroundings explode into glorious technicolour, everything suddenly brighter and more vibrant. It feels like your heart is being ripped out of your chest, only to be replaced by one that beats in a slightly different rhythm. There's flowers blooming in your ribcage, new life happening inside of you. You catch eyes with Bucky, expecting to see his stormy blue ones looking back at you. Instead, all you see is your future.

Vivid, flashing images of Bucky Barnes fill your mind, each one of them tinted with a warm, rosy hue. You feel like you're being reinvented. Your skin is alive, hyperaware of the way Bucky's palms are still gently cupping your cheeks. Your fingertips tingle with anticipation where they rest on his, itching to touch every inch of him. You feel as if the oxygen has been stolen from your lungs, and replaced with love.

Your knees are the first to buckle, the weight of the moment taking you down. You hit the ground, and so does Bucky, his palms not once leaving your face. You're both kneeling on the warm concrete, ocean waves providing a distant soundtrack. Blood is rushing in your ears, and you wonder for a second if you're about to pass out. You squeeze Bucky's hands so hard, it's a miracle you don't break his fingers. He squeezes back, eyes locked on one another.

After what feels like an eternity, you both break out of your reverie. You lean forward, resting your forehead against Bucky's, both of you panting.

You're trying to catch your breath unsuccessfully. You move one of your hands to rest on Bucky's chest, right on his heart. You swear the steady beat of it spells out your name.

He mirrors you, and moves his own hand to rest above your frantic heart, the other still glued to your cheek. You both breathe, in and out, trying to match each other. When you finally do, it's as if time stops. It's just you and Bucky. One heartbeat. One soul.

You break away from him to look into his eyes again. They look different, you think. He looks different.

He gazes back at you, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. The moonlight dances off your faces, illuminating the moment both your lives changed forever.

"It's you," he breathes in disbelief.

A laugh escapes your chest, surprising you both. He chuckles with you, and before you know it, the both of you are in hysterics, sitting on the sidewalk at three in the morning.

"Of course it's me," you giggle. "The two people that hate soulmates, Tethered together. You couldn't write it."

Bucky grins at you, clutching at his stomach.

You both take a breath, and realise your surroundings. Bucky gets up first, heaving you up by your arms. He towers over you, suddenly close. Not close enough, you decide. Never close enough.

You lunge forward and crash your lips to his. Bucky instinctively wraps one arm around your back, moving his other hand to hold you by the back of your neck. He tastes like salt and spearmint and every kiss for the rest of your life.

Bucky presses himself into you, attempting to tangle your bodies together. He wants to feel every inch of you against his skin, willing you to come closer. He aches to climb into you, sew himself into your ribcage. He'd be content to live there, beating your heart, forever.

You whine, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, exploring eagerly. You tilt your head back, and fist your hands into his shirt, plastering yourself to his front. He shoves his thigh in between your legs, the rough denim a welcome contrast to your soft skin. You buck your hips forward, and the friction is so delicious it makes you dizzy. You've never been kissed like this. It's almost feral. You're both surrendering to your fates, giving in to the animalistic urges coursing through you.

A seagull caws on a nearby street lamp, and the sound makes you both jump. You suddenly realise your scenario. Your Dad's best friend, who also happens to be your soulmate, has you pressed against his truck in the street, kissing you like he's running out of air and you're his only oxygen source. If it goes any further, you'll both get arrested for public indecency.

"Fuck, sugar," he murmurs against your mouth. "My pretty girl. My honey."

"My soulmate," you whisper.

The reality of it comes crashing down like a tsunami, drenching the both of you.

Bucky kisses you again, gentler this time. The tenderness makes you want to cry.

"What do we do now?" you mumble, fear coating your voice.

He senses your trepidation instantly. He feels it, actually, right in the front of his chest. It's like you suddenly share one body. There's no guessing, anymore. He knows exactly how you feel.

He takes a deep breath, trying to settle his building anxiety. He knows that if he stays calm, you'll stay calm. That's how Tethering works, right? He has to keep it together for the both of you, despite the panic that's rising in him, vibrating in his bones.

"How about... how about we both go to bed, get some sleep - and then we go sailing, later on today, just like we planned? And no matter what, we take everything one step at a time."

"One step at a time," you repeat, attempting to pacify you both.

"We'll figure it out," he reassures. "I know we will."

You find the will to step apart, which proves harder than you thought. It's like Bucky's an anchor - fastening you to peace, to happiness, to serenity. The more distance you put between your bodies, the more unsettled you feel. When you're not touching him, it's as if everything becomes unsteady, more difficult. You feel like you're on a rogue sailboat, battling the waves, threatened to be thrown overboard. Bucky is your lifevest, your lighthouse in the dark night. You're not sure how you're supposed to live your life any more than two feet away from him at all times.

You breathe, and smooth down your dress, running your fingers through your hair. You reach out and adjust Bucky's shirt where it's been wrinkled due to your tight grip.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," he murmurs, fingers tangling around your own.

"Goodnight, Buck," you echo.

He leans in to press a chaste kiss to your lips, savouring the taste of your cherry lip balm. He wraps his arms around you, unable to resist. Bucky breathes you in deeply, smiling uncontrollably. Nudging your nose with his, he murmurs gently against your mouth.

"My honey girl."

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[arabellasleopardcoat]

The girl with the pearl necklace (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: You marry Daemon to secure an alliance. But surprisingly, you find a haven in him.

Warnings: Fluff. Smut. Oral (F receiving) Talks of race, colorism, racism, and self-esteem issues.

A/N: This has to be my most personal fic. It might not be as universal because it is part of my personal experience with race as a mixed person living in what is essentially a mixed region. I hope I do not get a bad response, but I will remind you what the title of my blog says.

“YOUR HAIR IS ugly.” The girl says, displeased. She is trying to comb through your hair with some coconut oil, but instead of curling prettily, your hair just falls flat. She has been at it for at least half an hour, her tugs to your hair getting increasingly more painful.

This time, you cannot hide the flinch. Pain, you had excused with being her first day. Making a mess, with her being unused to your hair. But calling you ugly? She was but a serving girl, she had no right.

The girl looks horrified at what she has just said. She is barely fourteen. But yet again, you are too. You have never called anyone ugly to their faces. You keep those kinds of thoughts to yourself.

“She is young, milady.” The older maid, the one that is supposed to supervise her, says. She smooths your hair back, trying to fix it. Her touch gets more and more desperate the more she tries. Your hair will simply not obey. The younger one has put so much product on your hair, it looks greasy and unwashed.

You stare at your features in the mirror. The lighter skin, the shock of unruly hair, not quite a wave, not quite a coil, but rather something in the middle. Bad hair, your previous maids called it. You wonder why you bothered trying with maids again.

It is your cousin’s wedding. A lovely young woman, with beautiful dark hair that you bet never reacts this way.

“I am sorry, milady.” The younger maid offers.

Your eyes are still fixated on your mirror. You wonder if your mother ever has these troubles too. With her sleek hair, and foreign features, you doubt anyone dares call her ugly. She may not have a title, as you do, but she was once regarded as the most beautiful woman in Lys.

But you. Oh, you. With your too wide nose, but too upturned to be a dornish one. With your high cheekbones in a short face. With dark eyelashes, purple eyes, and hair that is not quite right.

It screams outsider. It screams, not here, not there. Not a famed beauty in Lys, not quite the Sword of the Morning.

“Get out.” You say, to the serving girl. “Get out, both of you.”

You need to wash your hair three times for all the product to come out. You are late to the wedding.

The serving girl is relocated to the kitchens, where no one needs to talk to her. The older one is sent to tend to your father. You pass her sometimes, in the hallways of Starfall, and wonder if she is thinking your hair is ugly too.

You wonder the same thing on the day your fate changes. You are getting dressed when you see her, an ill omen in the middle of Starfall. Prince Qoren has summoned all the unwed noble ladies of Dorne to Sunspear, wishing to announce something. You think it can’t be anything good, considering he has refused to use a royal proclamation to do so.

The travel to Sunspear is taxing. You travel to the capital accompanied by your mother, a day before the actual meeting is set to take place. It allows the two of you to spend the night in a manse before having to meet the royal family.

She doesn’t know how to fix your hair. Your mother’s hair is pale silver, easy to manage and twist in the ways women up north prefer. She had tried hard to tame yours as a child, spraying it with water and stretching the curls with a brush so it laid flat. It never seemed to work as it did in hers.

You pin your hair up, a clip made of pearls and amethysts keeping it up. You do not have the same texture most women here have, that ensures gorgeous volume, so you play to your strengths, showcasing the deep color you have and using it as a backdrop for gorgeous accessories.

Your dress is chosen with great care. A deep lavender, with a tasteful cleavage, held at your shoulders by twin brooches of falling stars. Not even hearing your mother say you look beautiful eases your anxiety. You had seen her, the servant. She only appeared in your life when something was about to happen.

You are not the superstitious kind, but when you stand in a line in front of Prince Qoren’s throne with all the noble maidens of Dorne, you know you were right. That woman was a bad omen.

Prince Qoren smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I am glad all of you chose to accept my invitation.” He stands. All the women in the room drop into a curtsy. “When I look at you, I see the best this Kingdom has to offer. It makes me proud. And it makes me confident enough to know I can ask this of you.”

You tense. Whatever he is going to ask is something bad, you can already tell. Some of the more clueless girls in the room look flattered by the delicate compliment, but it is a tactic you know well. You have been mocked enough to know that when someone compliments you so elaborately, a but usually follows. And it tends to be devastating.

His kind demeanor isn’t fooling you. Not in the least.

“We have never coddled our women, as the other Kingdoms do. War is coming for us, and we need strong allies. The Iron Throne offers us their support, but as always, it comes with a price.”

War. Of course it comes down to it. You have heard your parents whispering about it when they think you cannot hear. How Prince Qoren is thinking of sending his troops, instead of his money. How he expects your brother or father to lead them, sometimes against the Triarchy, sometimes against the Iron Throne.

It seems he has made his choice. Against the Triarchy. Your heart is seized by the sudden terror of the thought of your father going to war and not coming home. His sword, Prince Qoren called him.

Your house has been Dorne’s sword for decades. Ever since the first Dayne picked up their sword from the heart of a flaming star, you have defended the Kingdom against their enemies. Your very home once burned because of it.

Amongst the tales of flaming swords and fallen stars, you had never thought war would touch your home. Your brother was the current wielder of Dawn. Your father the head of your house. They would have to fight.

“A marriage pact. From a daughter of Dorne, to a Targaryen Prince. To bind our kingdoms, to ensure peace in this new alliance we embark. Dorne must remain unbowed, unbent, unbroken. House Martell has no daughters of their own to offer, so we ask one of you to go on our stead. It’s us who will pay your dowry, and you shall always have a home here.”

His words barely register as you brood about the upcoming war. You have heard of the Crabfeeder, and his brutality. You think of your kind, kind brother, and his sweet smile. He is a few years younger than you, untested in battle yet.

Some girls cheer. You look at your mother and notice she has the same stricken look you must be sporting. Some of the other parents talk animatedly between themselves, calculating the potential such a match offers their daughters. None seem to realize what it means.

War. War will come for Dorne, and the situation might turn out so bad, proud Prince Qoren will need the dragons’ help. The once unbowed man is being made to bow so low his forehead is touching the floor.

Prince Qoren raises a hand, quieting the hall.

“I am not asking for volunteers. I simply wished to gaze upon you myself, and decide who will marry Daemon Targaryen.”

Mumbles start again, some girls sounding disgruntled. Others preen and titter, trying to attract the Prince’s gaze. You keep your eyes firmly trained on the wall in front of you.

You would rather not marry this Daemon Targaryen. The politics in the other kingdoms are not your forte, but you have a vague notion of him being the brother to the current King. He must have a dragon, of course. And you think he is the one who has been in the conflict at the Stepstones, so he must be some sort of warrior.

No matter how much of a catch he might be, you wish to stay. If war is truly coming, you cannot bear to think of being separated from your family. Your mother will need you, when your father and brother are called away. And you don’t imagine yourself in a foreign land, waiting for news about them on your own.

Prince Qoren makes his way down the line of maidens. You barely spare him a glance, your mind thousands of miles away. But he pauses in front of you, looking at the shooting stars in your shoulders, the deep lavender of your dress.

“I hear Daemon Targaryen likes his women fair.” He comments. “And you are the fairest of us all.”

You swallow, throat suddenly dry. It takes all of your willpower not to fidget under his gaze. You give him an awkward smile.

Prince Qoren reaches to touch the brooch. His hands are elegant, fingers long and lean. He is about your mother’s age, and wears it just as well.

“Lady Dayne, is it?”

“Yes, my Prince.” You say, meeting his eyes. You may not be a classic dornish beauty, but you were still raised by the most charming woman in Lys. There are hardly any other women with manners as refined as yours, and you know all about the games men in power enjoy playing.

You cannot fawn over him. You cannot show him weakness. Because if you do, you will be common in his eyes, unespecial. It is not about beauty. It never is. That thought has given you great comfort during the years.

“How fitting. My dearest sword will be the one to defend her kingdom.”

Your hands begin to sweat. His choice is predictable. It is the same thing you had been thinking about your father and brother, House Dayne is the sword of Dorne. And swords, even more feminine ones, are only useful when war comes.

It doesn’t make it easier, that you should have expected it. It only makes your chest hurt. You do not dare look at your mother.

Instead, you drop into a curtsy and look at Qoren Martell as if he has made you the happiest woman in the world.

“I will be honored, my Prince.”

He smiles.

“Please, call me Qoren. We are to be family now.”

You look at your mother, insides turning to ice. You wonder how long until he takes you away from her.

In the end, it only takes a month. Qoren had been eager to depart and fix the realm’s issues. You now know plenty about the war in the Stepstones. Apparently, your future husband had secured the victory, giving the killing blow to the leader of the opposing army. But while won, the threat to your Kingdom remains. The Triarchy shall always reform, and not even the death of the Crabfeeder can stop them. Like one of those awful serpents from myth, you cut off its head and two more appear.

Pulling your support as the Triarchy was losing had been a bad move. They blamed Dorne for their defeat, and the Iron Throne thought the dornish were cowardly, only making their choice when it was clear who would lose. To avoid petty revenges and more bloodshed, Dorne needed new allies. And you needed them fast.

“We negotiated a new title for you.” Qoren tells you, as the carriage takes you from the docks and towards the Red Keep. “When you marry, you will become a Princess too, instead of remaining a Lady.”

“That sounds exciting.” You give him a bright smile. It's a very genuine one. Hearing yourself announced in such a manner would please you. “It will be strange, of course, changing it.”

“Nonsense.” Qoren laughs. “Only the best for my daughter.”

You falter, and decide to peer out of the window to hide your expression from him. You do not want him to think you are ungrateful.

The night is awfully cold, but you barely feel it. You are dressed in a purple velvet dress, still amazed by the material. You had never worn something so expensive, or made of such a warm fabric. It has the traditional dornish cut, with a plunging cleavage, but you find the added long sleeves fascinating.

The royal family had spared no expense in preparing your trousseau. As a daughter of House Martell, only the best would do. Obviously, all in their colors. This purple velvet gown was one of the few purple items you had been allowed to bring. It saddened you, having to forsake the color. You had always felt pretty in purple, since it matched your eyes.

You weren’t too sure how you felt about everything. Being sent to protect your kingdom and, by extension, your family from war was a great thing. But you were also being asked to leave your identity behind.

Never having left Dorne before, the journey had excited you, but also made you feel acutely lonely. And the thought of having to let behind your family, your colors, and even your name, only served to make you feel worse.

Your father would not be the one giving you away during your wedding, nor would your maiden cloak be the one of House Dayne. Instead, you would wear the sun and spear of House Martell.

But at this moment, as Qoren gets out of the carriage and extends you a hand, you are a Dayne. The purple dress acts a beacon, attracting the gaze of every servant in the vicinity. You stand tall, a star pendant hanging between your breasts.

You will enter decked on your colors. You will greet your future husband as you are, dressed in royal purple. Be a Dayne one last time, before war takes even that from you.

You breathe in and out, the polluted night sky so different from the beautiful stars in Dorne. This is it, you think, a chance to start over. To be whoever you wish to be. These people do not know what a dornishwoman should look like, or how she should behave. They do not know your hair is odd, and so are your eyes. They will only know what you want them to know.

“Go change, my sword. Your maids have selected a dress.” Qoren places his hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you towards the Red Keep. Your smile falls. For a second, you had thought you could attend the feast as you were, draped in your familiar purple and silver. “Make us all proud.”

You should have known better. But it is no matter now. A new life awaits you. Not even Qoren can sour your mood. You square your shoulders and smile.

So focused you are on your inner motivational speech, you do not notice the man watching you, his features covered by a black hood.

The day of your marriage, Daemon presents you with a beautiful pearl necklace. It is made of the purest pearls, with the biggest one you have ever seen right in the middle. It is bigger than the fingertip of your thumb, a perfect circle, roughly the size of a gold dragon.

“My cousin helped me commission this.” He says, during the wedding feast. He presents it to you in a small box, insides lined with velvet. As you reach for it, Daemon closes it, nearly catching your fingers with it. You laugh, startled. He grins at you. “Ah, I want to help you put it on.”

Your fingers fiddle with the simple silver chain you wear, star pendant hanging between your breasts. The hesitation must show on your face because Qoren, at your side, answers for you.

“She is honored, I am sure. Such a gorgeous jewel, to sit in the neck of the greatest beauty Dorne has to offer.”

You smile, trying not to let the sudden flare up of bad memories the words bring you. You remember a young girl, calling your hair ugly. Your grandmother’s face, sneering as you passed her in the hallways. Half-breed, she says, after having too much wine. Not quite right.

The subtle, more hidden, cruelties of girlhood that made your heart ache. When you did not make the list of the most beautiful girls some page was making. How much of a late bloomer you were, by dornish standards. How you had to wait so long for your first kiss, when it seemed like all the other girls were having them already.

Will this be all your life will ever be? Looking for the poison dripping from each word? Doubting every compliment?

You give Daemon what you hope is a seductive look, from beneath dark lashes. You are not good at seduction, having been an observer most of your life. But you are good at pretending.

It has worked, so far. Your arrival, on Qoren’s arm and with an honor guard fit for a Queen, had made people look at you differently. Men, specially, look at you as something exotic. They whisper about your Lyseni mother, and the tricks you must know how to perform. It fills you with dread because once again your looks set you apart, and you don’t quite feel like a person. You had hoped things would be different here.

And they are. Their attention is different, but it’s still wrong and you don’t quite believe them. They only want you because of the novelty, because of rumors about dornishwomen, about how your mother trapped your father. Not because you are beautiful or desirable. It’s sickening.

“Come, husband. Take my necklace off.” And Daemon obeys you, coming to stand behind you. Before he can begin to fumble with your hair, you reach for your hair on your own and lift it to expose your nape. You twist it into a pretend up do, holding it up with your hand.

The gesture is as languid as you can make it, highlighting the curve of your arm, and the elegance of your movements. The cold air hits your neck, making the hairs there stand up.

You both feel and hear Daemon’s sigh. He blows a soft puff of air against your hair, the noise very loud in the small table that seats only Qoren, Daemon, and you. The Queen has already retired, her sickly husband in tow. The Princess and her husband are dancing merrily between the tables.

When you had met Daemon, your first impression of him had been that he was very Valyrian looking and surprisingly whole for someone fresh out of war. And then, he had looked at Princess Rhaenyra and you had understood what Qoren meant when he said he liked his women fair.

Your stomach had turned, back then. Valyrian indeed. Rhaenyra was all milk white skin, light lashes and soft features. You couldn’t compete, you had thought. But then, you had noticed how his eyes followed little Laena Velaryon and you had known there was a chance for you to succeed too. It wasn’t skin color, but Valyrian heritage.

You have been trying to seduce him, with various degrees of success. The attention men pay you is helping you, and so are your purple eyes. You hope tonight goes well. You think you have just about enough Lyseni blood in you to keep him hooked.

His hands gently unclasp your pendant. He pockets it, you think. A memento or because he intends to give it back to you? You feel as his fingers whisper against your collarbones, and this time it’s you who sighs.

You are dramatic about it. Your lips part, as if about to be kissed. Your head tilts back.

“Beautiful.” Daemon whispers, in your ear. He kisses the shell of it.

“It is a gorgeous necklace.” You reply, feeling your face heating up. You feel drunk already, and you have not drank a single goblet of wine yet.

“No. You.” And the kiss against your ear becomes open-mouthed, his heavy breath filling your hearing. His hips brush against the backrest of the chair, searching for closeness. This is something that cannot be faked, you think. Not this kind of desire.

He wants you. He wants you, and you only wish to close your eyes and let him take you right here at this table. You are no blushing maiden, for sure, but you still are new to intimacy. Too many hang-ups about your body and not quite pleasing attempts have not contributed to building a vast knowledge of it. The fact that he wants you so badly makes you wild.

“I think that is my cue.” Qoren says, breaking you out of your stupor. He drains his cup, clearly in preparation for leaving. You had never felt such a connection with someone, not even in Dorne, where pleasure was loud and open. You press your hands to your face, ashamed of having forgotten he was there. Daemon simply chuckles.

“You don’t have…”

“Dearest sword.” He says, as he plants a kiss to your forehead. “You are as tempting as your husband is selfish. He doesn’t seem in the mood to share you.”

“I am not.” Daemon agrees, squeezing your shoulder. He exchanges a look with Qoren over your head. You can only see Qoren’s answering smirk.

“I think I should call for the mummers early.”

You and Daemon slip away as a company of puppet masters from Dorne make their grand entrance, throwing colorful powders in the air.

Later that night, as he sleeps in your shared rooms, you slip on a robe and stand in front of the mirror. Daemon has a massive one, right at the foot of the bed. Mirrors have always scared you, and sleeping so comfortably as he does with one reflecting him is unfathomable. You only intend to cover it.

Mirrors are supposed to be portals to other worlds, your mother used to say. The thought is stuck in your head, so you have grabbed a linen and are ready to place it over it when something catches your attention.

Your reflection. She is glowing, barefoot and in a simple robe, but still wearing the necklace your husband has given you. It should look gauche. It should look too much. But somehow, the necklace looks just right in your neck. You remember Daemon’s eyes, filled with desire when you had bared your neck to him. The sensual way he had touched you tonight, cradling you in his arms, rolling around in his bed. The necklace on the nightstand.

You look at the way the pearls light up your face. For the first time, you feel beautiful.

You make your first mistake a few days after.

It’s the first day of the week, and the Queen has asked you to have tea with her. You go, happily. After Qoren’s and the guards left, you began to feel lonely. There is not much to do here, either. Most of your usual entertainments are considered too sinful or crass. You can not even go for a walk around the city because they deem it too dangerous.

The meeting with the Queen is sour. She is trying, you can tell, but you still hear the disdain in her voice when she talks about your customs, or your people. She eyes the necklace you wear with distaste.

You get the feeling she buys the tales about you. That you are some dornish beauty, exotic and trained in the arts of seducing men. She comments on your mother, on her luck for marrying up, and you have to remember yourself to bite your tongue.

From what Daemon tells you, she is very lucky herself. Going from Lady to Queen is almost as impressive as going from merchant’s daughter to Lady, and you know which one of them did not need to spread her legs for it, and it’s not her. Not if you judge by her plain face.

You look at her, scandalized and pious as she is, ranting about acceptance of bastards of all things, and you surprise yourself at your own cruelty. You should not have thought that. But you are just so angry…

You take a deep breath and look away, trying to calm down. It is then you notice. In the door of the solar, standing to attention, is a man who looks like you.

He has inky dark hair, and olive skin. His eyes are dark, and he has a light stubble, probably because when you have hair as dark as he does, it is difficult to hide body hair. He wears armor and a white cloak. Kingsguard, you think. Why hasn’t anyone told you there was someone else from Dorne here, too? How could you not know?

Queen Alicent follows your eyes, suddenly noticing you are not paying attention. Your eyes are glued to the knight. She frowns in disapproval.

“That’s Ser Criston Cole. My sworn shield.” She stresses the word my. You grab your teacup and take a sip, to hide your smile. Is the pious Queen in love with her knight? “And a member of the Kingsguard.”

She is reminding you of his vow of celibacy. You almost laugh. If she wasn’t so repressed, she would realize she is the one who wants to jump his bones. The only interest you have in him is the fact that he might become a friend.

“Do your guards always stand inside your rooms?” You ask her, doing your best to sound puzzled. “The King’s guards stand outside his, and so does the sworn shield of the Princess.”

“…” Queen Alicent blushes, and averts her gaze. There are no further invitations to have tea with her.

You spend a lot of time staring at Ser Criston. He never returns your gaze. You seek him at mealtimes, you greet him in the corridors, but he always manages to evade you before you can properly start a conversation.

Daemon notices. He always does. He is finely attuned to you, his perfect wife. His prize after the war, his star. A study in contradictions, brazen and bold one moment, shy the next. He seems to like you even more for it. What he doesn’t seem to like is your sudden fixation on Criston Cole.

“You should stay away from him, star.” Daemon whispers, when he catches you staring at him once more. His voice sounds irritated. Accusing. As if you have done something wrong. It makes you bristle immediately.

“I am doing nothing wrong.”

“No one said you are. But Cole is….” Daemon shakes his head. “It is unwise. That’s all I mean to say.”

“What is unwise?” You scowl. You are glad that the table is long enough that no one else overhears you. Knowing Daemon, things are about to get nasty. He will throw in so many insults, Ser Criston would beat him into a pulp if he heard. No matter how competent your husband is, you still worry. “Trying to talk to him?”

“He is a cunt.” He says, cutting your meat for you as if you were a child. From your place in the dais, you seek him once more. Ser Criston is standing on the entrance of the hall, watching carefully as his Queen dines with the King and the two of you.

As if sensing your gaze, he looks towards you. Then, he quickly averts his eyes.

“I merely wish to speak with him.” You say. “He is like me. Dornish.”

“Ser Crispin will only disappoint you. Both in personality and in prowess.” Daemon warns. He pushes his goblet closer to you. “Here, try this. Arbor gold. How does it compare to the swill you like to drink?”

You take a sip of his goblet. You scrunch up your nose, The wine is cloyingly sweet, lacking the strong notes Dornish Reds always have.

“Ugh.” Your lips pucker up in disgust. Daemon laughs, and steals a kiss from you, licking into your mouth for good measure. But before you can begin to properly enjoy it, Queen Alicent coughs. You push Daemon away, even though you are doing nothing scandalous. “You taste like it too.”

“And you taste of that swill you dornish call wine. Yet, I am not complaining.” He takes a sip of his goblet.

“Are you jealous of him?” You ask, suddenly. You have heard about the rivalry between the two of them. Everyone knew of how Cole had obtained his position. He had been a simple knight, until Daemon had lost to him during a tourney. The act had caught Princess Rhaenyra’s attention, and secured him a white cloak. “Ser Criston?”

The thought of Daemon thinking you want to invite Cole to your bed is enough to amuse you. While in Dorne, paramours are more common than here, you are finding monogamy pleasant. You had never been much for sex without love, after all. Only one taste had been enough to satiate your curiosity.

“You shouldn’t toy with fire.” He growls, perhaps confusing your amusement with a deliberate attempt to tease him. It only makes your smile widen.

“Did you know…?” You begin, with an airy tone. Daemon sets down his cutlery. He turns to look at you, licking his lips. “My ancestor, Ser Joffrey Dayne, crossed paths with Queen Visenya. She burned Starfall, after he attacked Oldtown.”

“House Targaryen has always defended the Highcunts, it seems.” Daemon’s brows furrow together. It is no surprise he knows about it. One of the things that have bonded the two of you together is the fact that both of you are obsessed with family history. What he doesn’t know is why you are referencing it now.

You smile. One of your hands goes to toy with the necklace he has given you and that has become your constant accessory, bringing attention to your neck. It is a deliberate move. You intend to be ravished tonight

“I do not fear fire. We Daynes got Dawn from the heart of a falling star. “

Daemon kisses your temple.

“Oh? And I cannot wait to see you burn.” And he is pulling you to your feet, and you are slipping outside with a hurried curtsy.

Despite Daemon’s warnings, you still decide to approach Criston Cole. It takes you almost a week to build up the courage to do it, and another more to mention it to Daemon.

You do not want him to feel blindsided, so you include him in your planning. It is only when he shows up at the Sept that you realize Daemon intends to go with you.

Even the Septon pauses when he sees the two of you enter the Sept. Considering the court thinks you a temptress, and him a rogue, you are not surprised.

You are not particularly pious. While you had been educated on the Faith of the Seven, Dorne practiced a much diluted version. You had not attended a service in quite some time, but you try to focus on it to keep your nervousness at bay.

The plan is to intercept Ser Criston when the service ends. Daemon is under strict instruction to remain sitting, as to not unnerve the other man. But of course, things do not go according to plan.

As soon as the Septon gives his last blessing, you sprung up and step closer to the knight.

“Ser Criston, a word?” You ask him, your voice soft and nonthreatening. It is not as if you want to impose your presence on him, but you are unsure of why he flees rooms when he sees you. Perhaps he is shy, or perhaps you have offended him, but you will never know if he doesn’t speak to you.

“Do not talk to me!” He snarls, getting up from the bench. You try to reach for his arm, but Cole is quicker than you, grabbing your wrist tightly. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Daemon getting up from the bench where he was waiting for you.

“Ser… I only wished you to invite you to have tea with me.”

“I will not get into your bed, Lady Targaryen.” The man snarls at you. “Perhaps it is allowed in Dorne, but I assure you, here we do things differently than your people. Propositioning a man is…”

“I am not propositioning you!” You say, hotly. The words he is spewing at you leave you bewildered. You have never heard another dornishman speak so. “What do you even mean by that? Your people! You are dornish too.”

“I am not.” But before he can give you an explanation, Daemon is stepping in, and unsheathing his sword. He places his body between Ser Criston and you.

“I would suggest you unhand my wife.” His voice is cold. “Or you will lose the hand.”

“And you! You support her… Her… She should be sent back to Dorne, but she doesn’t even belong there, does she?” And Ser Criston stomps off, clearly unwilling to engage Daemon in what would probably end up as a fight to death.

Daemon looks willing to go after him, but you make a pitiful noise that is a cross between a sob and a whine. The rejection hurt more than usual, having grown unused to cruelness during your stay on King’s Landing. And the remark about you not belonging in Dorne?

It stung. You had not heard that insult in ages. It made you think of the serving girl, and your grandmother muttering you had bad hair, of your odd little features and strange coloring. Not quite Andal, not quite Rhoynar, not quite Lyseni.

Ser Criston looked like you. Of everyone, you would have expected him to understand. To see you.

You had only wanted a reminder of home. Careful with what you wish for, indeed. Your eyes feel suspiciously wet.

“Oh, that cunt. I’ll cut off his dick and feed him to Caraxes…” Daemon mutters, a thunderous look in his purple eyes. He then presses his forehead to yours, giving you an impish grin. “Not that it would be much food, would it? Like a worm, I bet.”

It makes you laugh, despite yourself.

“There you are.” Daemon smiles, brushing your tears away. “Come. I need you to see something.”

He takes your hand and leads you towards your shared rooms. You frown, slightly. Does he have some sort of present to give you? It’s unusual to be going there so early in the morning.

When Daemon opens the door, a maid is still sweeping the room. He barely spares her a glance, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. The girl looks disgruntled. You offer her a silver dragon for her troubles as she leaves, noticeably cheering her up.

The bed is freshly made, and the room smells of lavender. Outside the windows, the birds chirp. You see nothing unusual.

“What was I supposed to see? You interrupting the maid? Poor girl.” You mutter, kicking off your shoes. “Do try to make her life easier.”

But he doesn’t answer, choosing instead to pull out the chair in your vanity. It is a rarity, the whole set a gift from Qoren to furnish your new rooms. It has a beautiful mirror attached that reflects you from the waist up when you sit in front of it.

“Come.” Daemon says, simply. So you do. You know better by now than to disagree with him when he is in one of his moods.

You sit in the chair, dutifully. Your reflection looks a fright, so you try to avoid looking at yourself too much. He stands behind you, hands caressing your shoulders lighty, prompting you to look up.

“I have noticed.” Daemon starts, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “That you are always self-conscious when I look at you for too long. Or when I take your clothes off.”

You avert your eyes. It is true. You feel strange when Daemon looks at your body. The awe he holds in his gaze is both exciting and humbling. You never feel worthy of such worship.

“I would say we are past the maiden’s modesty.” He chuckles. “We made sure of that, didn’t we?”

“I…”

Daemon begins to unlace your gown. The presence of the mirror is making you self-conscious, so you reach for your bodice, and hold it up with one hand.

He pauses. He studies your expression, before dropping a kiss to your curls.

“Don’t cover yourself, wife. I love looking at you.”

You take a deep breath. You want to tell him the truth, for once. Daemon has started to suspect that despite how much you enjoy intercourse with him, something is wrong with your self-esteem. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have staged this intervention.

“I just don’t like how I look much.” You keep your voice low. Shame begins to freeze you up, making you tense and unable to speak. Your heart beats loudly in your ears.

“Madness.” Daemon laughs. He kisses you, slow and sweet. His lips move tenderly against yours, coaxing you out of your shell. You wonder how such an impatient man can have such infinite patience when it comes to you.

The thought makes you melt. Daemon smiles against your mouth and pulls back. He comes back to standing behind you.

“Look.” He orders. And you, helpless under his spell, cannot disobey.

You look at your reflection. Your hair is in even more disarray than before. Your lips are red and kiss swollen. And your eyes… You look dazed.

“We are just getting started.” Daemon promises, his hand coming to caress your collarbones. This time, when he pulls down the bodice, you do not fight it.

He kisses your head.

“You asked me once, if I was jealous.” You turn towards him, confused at the sudden change of topic. Daemon shushes you, squeezing the back of your neck as if you were a misbehaving pup. You look at yourself again, knowing there is no point in disobeying. Daemon always gets his way.

“I am jealous.” His voice is firm. He leans in, and kisses the top of your hair. His talented, skilled hands, take the pins off from it, so it frames your face once more. You fight the urge to fix it, to give more volume to your roots. You don’t like how limp it falls sometimes. Daemon presses a kiss to your earlobe, and whispers. “Of the very breeze against your hair.

Your eyes widen. You do not dare take them away from the mirror. On it, you watch as he presses a kiss behind your ear, as he mouths at your neck, just barely reaching the necklace that sits there.

“Of the pearls you wear, for holding on to your neck. “ You feel his words against your skin, making you shiver. He wraps it around one of his fingers, the pearls tensing just so to feel more restrictive against your neck.

Your lips part in a sigh. The tension of the pearls makes you think of a collar, and his deft handling of them a leash. Ownership.

“Sometimes, when I see you around court, I imagine this.” He tugs the pearls upwards, placing them between your lips. You watch, in a daze, as your reflection parts her lips more, welcoming him in.

He places the biggest pearl between your teeth. You find yourself mesmerized by this stranger you are watching, being turned into an artwork in front of your very eyes.

“You are exquisite.” Daemon gives the pearls a tug, pulling them slightly up. They catch on your hair, contrasting beautifully with the dark curls. There is something haunting about the image, something that tugs at you and makes you see yourself from his eyes.

Like this, with him calling you exquisite, pearls adorning your face and hair, you can almost believe it.

“Do you know what I think of more, when I see these pearls?” Daemon chuckles. It’s a dark, masculine sound. You are unable to form a word. “Hm. Perhaps I should show you.”

He finishes pulling the necklace from you. Over your head and out they go. Suddenly able to speak, you find yourself at a loss for words.

Daemon kneels behind you. He meets your eyes in the mirror, again.

“I am jealous of the moon, and the sky, and this damn mirror even.” It sounds like nonsense. It should sound like nonsense, but somehow, it is disarming, this newfound honesty of his. The one where he stumbles over words in his eagerness, in his need to call you beautiful, to call you his. “Because you want to gaze at them. Your eyes should be only for me.”

He cradles your face in his palm, forcing you to keep eye contact with your reflection. His thumb brushes over your lips. You just stare.

“And even of the wine you drink, when you wet your lips.”

You kiss his thumb. Your eyes sting. This is quickly turning unbearable.

“Daemon… Please…”

“Oh, but your eyes.” He praises, sounding almost drunk. He begins to kiss a path down your collarbones and towards your breasts. “I love your eyes. They are maddening to me.”

He continues to kiss your skin, inhaling deeply. The closer he gets to your breasts, the hungrier he becomes. Daemon is gorging himself on you, biting and nipping at your bosom, sucking at your nipples until you cannot help the moans coming out from your mouth.

Liquid, molten pleasure, begins accumulating at the base of your spine. Warming up your body, making you sweat with the exertion of keeping still.

“You are so beautiful, I fear anyone will want to steal you away.” Daemon whispers, grabbing your hips in an almost bruising grip. “And I fear if I don’t hold tight, it will be my fault.”

You look at yourself. At the half lidded eyes, the softness of your chest. At the attitude of surrender, as your thighs part, and you feel him bury his nose on the roses of your mound. As he inhales, trying to memorize your touch, your smell, your sounds. As he decides to drink from you, making your face go slack, brows pinched together, eyes glassy and absent.

Beautiful, you think, as you reach your peak with a scream so loud you fear the rest of the Red Keep might have heard.

Daemon laughs, doing his best attempt to suck a bruise on your thigh.

“And you haven’t even seen what I plan on doing with the pearls.”

[tteokdoroki]

THE PERFECT SHADE OF PURPLE - suguru geto.

✩ — about. “i buy her gifts like i would for my sister and she likes them. we recently fucked at her place of work, i know it’s wrong but i just can’t stop.” suguru geto never thought he’d end up here. in a new city with a new job and a new life. he never wanted to lose his little sister to his best friend. he never wanted to replace her. never wanted to fuck someone who looked exactly like her. but here you are, and geto can’t help but want you the same way he wants her. he just had to get that off his chest… ( 11.4K )

✩ — warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! dark content, nsfw, smut, hurt-comfot, open ending - video banner ! AITA-verse!au (read part one here !), bakery!au, italics mean the characters are speaking in japanse, situationships, co-dependency ( on suguru geto ), manipulation, gaslighting, praise, use of oni-chan/nii chan/imouto, fingering (f!receiving), public sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f!receiving), overstimulation, orgasm control, multiple orgasms, creampies, bilingual!geto, japanese speaking + fem!reader.

✩ — things to note. hehe hi everyone!!! pls im reposting this again :( it was written as a gift for @todorosie and the very idea spawned from her love for geto in my AITA gojo fic !! it’s sort of a continuation and set in the same universe so you might need to read to understand the plot. special thanks to @antizenin for beta reading n helping me come up with some ideas !! enjoy guys, mwah mwah - m.list ⋆ read on ao3 ! ִ ࣪𖤐₊ ⊹

look, i know it’s bad… but my adopted sister and i were always close. she looked up to me and needed me for everything, up until a month ago when she betrayed my trust and fucked my childhood best friend.  i got a therapist, went low contact and moved to a completely different country in order to avoid w everything. but nothing helped, i think of my sister every day and sometimes… i picture bad, dirty things. recently i met this girl, she’s the spitting image of my adoptive little sister. they look the same, act the same — i think i’ve started falling for her. i buy her gifts like i would for my sister and she likes them. we recently fucked at her place of work, i know it’s wrong but i just can’t stop. 

TLDR: i’m fucking and have feelings for a girl that’s a carbon copy of my adopted younger sibling.

the city of new york is meant to be the city of dreams.

at any given moment, your fate can change. anything can happen here, you can make it big and live out your life or you can go home and lead one of regret. suguru geto feels like neither are true for him. the bustling city and flashing lights, busy concrete streets and honking taxis bring the dark haired  man anything but joy. suguru isn’t happy here, in new york, despite all the wonders that it holds — irregardless of the grand job opportunity he has waiting for him just around the corner. 

suguru geto had the chance of a lifetime to develop his career as a criminal defence lawyer in one of the most opportune cities in the world. his dream since he was old enough to understand the wrongs of the world. 

but that’s merely not enough to keep him content, to make him want to stay. 

he doesn’t want to go home either, he’s sure he would hate himself for thattoo. it would be a waste of suguru’s talents to return to japan prematurely, with its nauseating air and sense of betrayal that follows him everywhere he goes. home is supposed to be where one is happiest and safest — it’s where his family is, where he was raised and first opened his eyes. but for the lawyer, japan no longer serves to comfort him and only constantly reminds the man of his little sister, who’d fucked his best friend just a month prior. 

that very instance was enough reason for him to leave the country in the first place — he had to get out, had to escape the very fact that haunted him day and night. 

like any other adult with a shit load of trauma, suguru invests in the best therapist his money can buy — especially now that he can’t spoil is younger sister with it. the older woman with her stuffy office, beady eyes and chipped painted nails had prescribed the man with a short break, a change of pace from the life he was used to, to give himself the grace and time to heal from the heartbreak of losing the two most important people in his life. his best friend, satoru gojo, and his adoptive little sister. 

he had no idea where gojo was now, thirty days later, and suguru knew his little sister had probably moved out of their hometown by now to kick start her career. so even if all of that meant that suguru geto could go home…he wouldn’t. he would use the vastness of new york to give himself the breathing room he needed to heal, fill his bloodstream with fresh oxygen so that it would clot and cover up his fresh wounds of betrayal, turn scabs into scars and let him slowly recover.

at least that’s what his therapist had told him to do — in the suffocating purple walls of her office. 

yet, so far, suguru’s escape to new york hadn’t exactly gone according to plan. every corner of the city painfully reminds him of the hole in his heart, where his innocent little sister should be. after her graduation he’d planned on taking her here as a reward for all of her hard work, but now, suguru faces his own bitter reality — every landmark has her face etched into its side, skyscrapers and their glass windows refract the light of her smile, while famous dinner spots tie to the endless list of reservations she’d reminded suguru to make. hell, even his daily routine of hailing infamous yellow taxi cabs reminds him of her precious excitement to go. 

new york was a city big enough for both geto siblings, but too large for just the one. 

it’s a wonder that suguru has been able to live without his sister for this long — it’s only been a month but he’s spent his entire life looking out for her. protecting her. he hardly knows what to do with himself now that he has all this extra time. 

suguru knew that she was way too dependent on him, it was bad — he was painfully aware of that. but he couldn’t help it, she needed someone to protect her and nurture her, she needed someone to teach her about the dangers of the world. she needed her big brother. perhaps if the dark haired man had been less protective of his sister and given her some sort of independence… then maybe he wouldn’t miss her so much, he wouldn’t have lost his best friend as collateral damage in the process. he would still have the two of them, and she could be happy with gojo. 

the guilt of what ifs and what could have beens tirelessly weigh down suguru’s heart at the thought — he caused this. this rift between the soul-bonded pair. if he had raised her better, let her spread her wings like a free bird, then he would still have her in his life. 

at this point, he’s realised something dire. suguru can’t live without her, his little sister. her bright eyes in the morning and the sweet tune to her voice when she calls out for him — it’s weird, it’s bad…how much he misses and needs her. borderlining on strange, it’s only now that suguru realises how unhealthy their dynamic as siblings had been. how reliant he was on his baby sister to need him. it should have never been that way, he shouldn’t need her so desperately to function. keeping her under such a close watch was probably what drove her into the arms of satoru in the first place. 

the concrete wilderness of suguru’s new home provides no relief from these epiphanies and the chambers of his heart that slowly seem to be dying without his sister. instead he feels trapped in his own addiction, as if he’s going through the withdrawal after dependency on drugs. 

whenever suguru feels immense waves of guilt, like a tsunami that might pull him under and replace the clean air in his lungs with the murky water of his own sour thoughts and emotions; whenever he misses home a little too much; whenever he feels like the world his crashing down on him once more — his therapist and her purple nails tapping against her clip board comes to mind. she tells suguru to take a walk, especially when he’s overcome with thoughts of the situation back in december. when his chest feels too tight and feels like picking up the phone and calling his sister before he’s ready to. 

so geto does just that, lugging on his winter coat as he prepares to take a walk downtown while the sun sets.

suguru tends to think that his therapist is full of shit. 

she believes in the colour purple, she believes that there is purpose and meaning in concepts like colours that are based on fact and science. the light reflects, and people see colour. 

as she had explained to the man in an hour long session just two weeks ago, purple is supposed to be the colour of healing; though to suguru, purple makes him feel sick. it’s everywhere, in the lavander-ish off-white walls of his new york-rented apartment, the flowers in the stalls on his way to work, the skies at night. suguru thought he was a rational man, that he was calm and collected — able to see the reasons behind everything he comes across…but he still doesn’t understand the significance of colours like purple and its connection to healing. 

all suguru knows is that he did like the pretty hollow shade that formed a ring around satoru’s bright blue eyes. of course, after having the shit beaten out of him for touching what belonged to suguru. for corrupting his innocent baby sister. 

aside from that, tonight’s walk is mostly uneventful, full of couples getting ready for date night and business people heading home to their happy families for the night. suguru despises them, strangers on the street minding their own business. he hates these passer-bys for their happiness, a joy he can no longer experience. going home. it leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. 

he misses his family. the warmth and love from his mother, the poor jokes from his father… the looks of adoration and hugs from his sister. it’s not fair. he shouldn’t have had to give that up because of the selfish actions of his ex-best friend. 

suguru decides to turn back and head for his apartment when the street lamps start to flicker and turn on. 

however, on his commute, a familiar scent tickles his senses and brushes over his nose. the man finds himself following, enchanted by rich flavours that he recognises from his youth — sweet red bean and spicy curries overlay the city’s natural smells and suguru makes an attempt to track it down. like a fool, he sprints after the scent like a hound dog tracking a hunt and stops a few strides short of a quaint japanese bakery with a set of deep indigo flowers climbing up it’s worn down exterior. 

suguru recognises the flowers to be shobu. irises. 

standing before the sliding doors, geto inhales, overwhelmed and overcome with emotion. the sweet smell triggers memories of home and how his parents would take him and his sister out to get treats when they were small. how that became a tradition for the geto siblings when they were old enough to go out on their own. 

he remembers how his sister would beg him for a box of sakura mochi every time they went, and how he would so easily relent — even if it meant spending all of that week’s pocket money. suguru is so carried away with his thoughts that he hardly notices himself taking steps into the bakery, or lining up at the counter, or you.

calling him up to the counter. 

you’re a pretty girl. that’s the first thing suguru notices. your eyes are beautiful, a deep brown that reminds him of roasted chestnuts and warm chocolates, your face is round with a soft edge of youth. the uniform that you wear hugs every dip and curve of your body and the braids you have are lengthy and black, perfectly framing your face. when you speak, your voice carries gentle dulcet notes that make suguru’s heart flutter — like music to his ears. 

you are one thousand percent suguru geto’s type and everything about you, this little bakery attendant, reminds suguru of his younger sister. 

right then and there, everything clicks into place for him. 

“sir, can i get you anything?” you ask him kindly, not wanting to push or scare away a potential customer. nor pressure the handsome stranger, since he’s holding up your line. “sir?” you repeat, finally garnering his attention after squirming under his intense stare. 

not that you mind being stared at by him, for this particular customer is right up your alley. 

from his milky skin, desperate to be marked, to his lengthy dark tresses that you’re dying to pull at and tug. his jaw is angular, sharp enough to the point where you fear you would cut yourself should you have the chance to touch it. despite the razor edges to his features, he looks kind…almost wistful, at most. a quality that does nothing to calm the hungry flame catching light in your lower tummy.

the two of you remain admiring one another until a customer in the queue clears their throat impatiently — causing both of you to jump. 

“s-sorry,” geto mumbles the apology quickly, his pale cheeks tinged with a subtle pink despite how hot they feel. he’s suddenly become all too aware of the line that he’s holding up. one that he’s not even supposed to be in, since he’d walked in here on instinct anyway. his dark, narrow eyes sweep the counter in search for something, anything to order so that he doesn’t look like a complete idiot in front of you or the rest of the customers. 

more specifically, yourself. 

“i would recommend the sakura mochi,” then, like an angel sent from the heavens, you try your luck in conversing with suguru in japanese. his nervous and skittish gaze shoots up to your face, shoulders sagging in relief and familiarity. you truly are like a piece of home. like his little sister. suguru likes that more than a normal man should. “they’re popular amongst our customers, it’s taken our owner years to perfect her recipe with the ingredients here. especially since leaving japan.” 

suguru grins and nods, spotting the dessert he’s so accustomed to buying in the display cabinet. his heart lurches, yearning for his little sister. “these?” he whispers to you, the syllables of his native language curling around his tongue naturally. “they look just like the ones from home.”

there’s a sparkle in your eyes when he responds, and you continue to speak to him in sugary tones. “they taste just as goodtoo, i promise!”

“then, i’ll take a box.” 

“how many? they come in boxes of four, eight and sixteen pieces.”

“just the four, please.” 

taking your tongs from the metal counter behind the cabinet, you fish out four of the best pieces of sakura mochi and tentatively place them into a pre-folded cardboard box for the handsome customer. as he dives deep into his pocket for his card to pay, you quickly add an extra piece — uttering something about it being on the house under your breath. 

the action leaves both of you bashful and suguru taps his card on the machine you’ve set up for him to pay. “ah, thank you…” suguru searches for your name in the candy scented air and you tap your badge with a cute acrylic nail to draw attention to your name which he breathes out in a husky tone, failing to mask its curious lilt as he returns to english.

“no worries, have a good evening, sir.” you giggle shyly, still managing to bid him farewell. 

on his way home, suguru can’t help but to replay the entire interaction in his head over and over again. in his brief three minutes of meeting you, you’d managed to fix the hole in his heart, help it beat properly again. you’re just like her, his little sister, and that is a dangerous fact. 

he reaches his apartment with a flushed face, feeling a little flustered, but a lot better than he was before the start of his walk. 

after work, a few days later, geto finds himself back in front of the bakery, working up the courage to go inside and see you.  

no matter how hard he tried and how much of his work he tried to throw himself into — suguru couldn’t get the vision of you out his head. your saccharine laugh haunted him as he reviewed case files, your timid smile chased him through his lunch break and your small act of kindness (speaking with him in Japanese) has him all worked up and blushing by the time he’s able to clock out for the day. 

the dark haired  man feels insane, he knows that this is weird — projecting the image of his adoptive sister onto you, but like a man on drugs he can’t seem to quit. he needs to get his fix. he needs to see you again. entering the bakery once again is like stepping into a new domain, and suguru damn near forgets his simple plan to talk to you. order sakura mochi, say thank you, and leave. while he waits in the queue, his courage mounts in slow stacks and anxiety fades, but by the time he’s up front and face to face with you again — suguru’s brain is completely wiped of every word he was going to say. 

“ah, it’s you again!” you greet him in japanese once more, instinctively reaching to brush your braids out of your face in order to look more presentable to the handsome stranger who’s been plaguing your thoughts as well. suguru thinks you’re cute, regardless of the rice flour smeared across your cheeks and the various mysterious (though surely tasty) stains that decorate your uniform. he even finds it endearing, the way that you share the same nervous gesture of playing with the ends of your braids like his little sister. “i was just wondering when you were going to come in from the… mmm, cold? you’ve been standing and… uh! staring from out there for a while.” you continue to tease the man warmly in his native tongue, choosing your words carefully and avoiding eye contact with him while you prep the tongs for his order. “what can i get for you today?”

so much for not humiliating himself in front of the pretty girl. “i’m sorry… i’ll just take some sakura mochi again,” suguru begins, this time in english to spare you the trouble of overthinking everything that you say. “i was trying to figure out how to do this,” he places a wad of cash on the counter while you prepare his order. your chocolatey eyes blow wide, sweet glazed lips parting softly at the mere sight. you’re sure there’s enough money in the stack to cover an entire week’s worth of your wages and if a stranger can just give away such a large amount… it makes you wonder what he’s even doing at a humble place like this. “it’s a tip from last time. i never got to thank you.” 

“oh… i was just doing my job!” you stammer out politely and prepare to reject the tip, but suguru refuses to let you refuse his gift — forcefully pushing the ‘tip’ over the edge of the glass. he really couldn’t help but to give the money to you, hardly fighting the urge to spoil you with cash like he would with his little sister. besides, the man earned more than enough to drop it on you without putting a dent in his pocket. 

“you did more than that… just the simple act of kindness in conversing with me, a stranger, in japanese. that was nice of you.” suguru counters. “thank you. how did you know?” 

you work on preparing a thin and white cardboard box for his order before walking along the dessert counter, followed by you. “i had a feeling, a lot of people come in here when they’re missing something,” he frowns and your eyes finally meet his. “someone.” you breathe out, quietly. “i took a guess, figured you might have been from japan.” 

“well, you were correct…” 

your heart skips a beat at the sound of your name on his tongue as he says it. it’s so gentle it makes you feel faint and you’re absolutely charmed by a man you hardly know. “does that earn me brownie points…?” you trail off, wanting to capture his name. 

“suguru.” 

“ah, suguru meaning…” giving the man a once over, you drink in his tall frame and dark eyes, the small quirk to his plush lips as he smiles at you… and think. he’s the perfect man in every way, soft spoken and clement, even if he did have flaws or a dark secret — you would definitely choose to ignore it in favour of spending more time with him. once you find the word you’re looking for (and snap out of staring at the poor guy) you speak again. “excellence…it suits you.” 

geto chuckles quietly in response, amused by your take away.  “your name suits you too, darling. it’s just as beautiful as you.” 

when you giggle and grow shy at his compliment — the honeyed melody only serves to remind suguru of his little sister once more. in that moment, he feels something bad and almost wretched stir in his gut just from watching you turn bashful over him. a dark thought in the back of his kind tells him to keep you, so that he can see you like this more often. it urges him to make you need him. like he would have with his little sister. 

he’s starting to project, he’s sure, but you make it easy for him, with your puppy dog eyes and tiny little smiles. once geto’s order is packed, four little squares of sakura mochi wrapped in emerald green and brined sakura leaf — smelling of spring and red bean, he pays (with a hefty tip) and inspects the box. “you’ve got to stop giving me things for free, darling. we’ve only just met.” he chides fondly, scolding you like a child as if to make sure you won’t get in trouble with your job. he’s counted five mochi instead of four — just like last time. “won’t this hurt business?” he coos down at you — sending your body into a fit of shivers despite the warmth of your uniform. 

“well, i’d consider us friends now that you’ve come specifically to see me. friends can’t give each other gifts?” you quip cheekily — much like suguru’s sister would. “you got to spoil me today, no one is going to notice an extra piece of mochi going missing.” 

“friends it is,” surugu purrs right back in satisfaction, preparing to take his leave. cautiously, as though not to spook you like a hunter after a deer in the woods — he reaches over the counter to pat your head affectionately, internally pleased with the way you keen into his touch. “i hope to see my new friend around more often, then.” he hums with pride, and you nod your head eagerly. 

like a puppy. like you want to please him. 

it reminds geto all too much of his little sister — who only ever wanted to make the dark haired man proud. 

over the coming weeks, suguru finds himself at the bakery more often than not. as though it’s a part of his daily routine. 

he’ll take his walk after work, stop by and purchase some sakura mochi, before leaving you with another little gift. at first, his gifts started out as wads of cash in place of tips, then slowly turned to more materialistic things, items that you could hood or wear as if they were to geto’s his claim on you. like flowers, jewellery or clothes. things you couldn’t afford on your own, things he’d like to see you in, things his little sister would like to receive if they were still in contact with one another. 

suguru knows that you can’t afford these things because you’ve let it slip over coffee and mochi that you rent the apartment above the bakery from the old woman who owns it and can barely afford the new york rent as well. he also learns that you were hired because of your ability to speak, read and write in Japanese. 

as much as suguru has spoiled you in the last few weeks, you won’t let him pay your rent though, so tips have sufficed for now. 

nowadays, the time spent moping around his apartment while mourning the relationships that he lost are spent growing increasingly obsessive over you. hours upon hours are wasted on thoughts of what gift he might buy you next — like more comfortable work shoes, an umbrella to get you home safe during the rain that just so happens to be designer. suguru spoils you under the guise of just being your friend — at least that’s what it is to you. 

to him, he’s spoiling his baby sister. someone who is feeble and needs his help and his protection. he doesn’t tell his therapist any of this, of course, she would deem it unhealthy to see how much of his money and time he’s blown in a little cafe worker.  

a cafe worker who’s important to suguru, who haunts his dreams with her perfect curves, and pouty lips whenever he brings you a small gift of his affections. “sugu,” you’ve resorted to calling him, just like his sister would. the nickname was the result of a time where you’d written his name on a coffee order, and customers complained you were taking too long. so geto had told you that you could call him ‘sugu’ instead. however, he would omit details on how badly it affected his brain chemistry …to hear someone he cared for call him that again. “you don’t have to get me an expensive gift just because i make you coffee and get you sweet treats.” 

“it’s not just because you get me sweet things or make me coffee,” he had responded, leaning over the counter flirtatiously. “it’s because you do such a good job. you take care of me and my order every evening. make sure i get the best of the best. how could i not thank my sweet little barista.” 

you wouldn’t say it, but he knew you liked the praise. he wondered if you felt as dirty and as thrilled as him during these little exchanges between the two of you. on that specific occasion, geto decided to gift you with a pendant, similar to the one he’d gotten his sister — only this time, a purple amethyst sits in its centre rather than the blue gem all too familiar to satoru gojo’s piercing eyes.

maybe this is what his therapist meant by healing. suguru is healing by getting over his sister and replacing her with you. 

you are the one that haunts his dreams now, makes his cock stir inappropriately. another thing that suguru woulda never tell his therapist — is that sometimes when he really needed it, he would think of his little sister while fisting his cock into the night air. they weren’t really related, only by adoption so it wasn’t too wrong. sometimes he’d think of her getting railed by satoru, but nowadays he would think of you on his cock instead, calling out for suguru like you need him to function. 

‘nii-san!’ - this and ‘please sugu! ’- that, each word uttered in his sister’s voice would quickly morph into yours — the quivering sweet sound always resembling his little sister’s when she cried. suguru, the dark haired  man, imagined you would react the same. and more often than not, it was your face that he pictured when he was about to cum. 

every single gift suguru got for you were the result of him dreaming about how much he needed you, someone to spoil and protect. someone to need him. 

tonight, suguru is a little late for his daily visit to your bakery. 

tonight, an important case at his firm had rolled in at the last minute and required attention before a preliminary hearing — but even his job couldn’t keep suguru geto away from you. when he arrives at the bakery, you’re still there, having left the doors unlocked for him to come inside. 

tonight, there is no long line of customers out the door to build up the anticipation between you both, the lights have already been deemed and there’s not a trace of life inside of the bakery. aside from yourself, of course.

tonight, you’re on the closing shift instead of the owner’s grandson, choso. who you reassured suguru you weren’t interested in the first time they’d met. with gentle eyes that masked the dark haired  man’s fury, geto had told you that he was the only man you’d ever need and you believed him — suguru had a charm for making people dependent on him. 

the tiny silver bell stationed at the door jingles and signals geto’s arrival, but you hardly look up from your work — keeping your back to him while you sweep at nothing. you’re hiding the excitement that prickles down your spine, you’ve been waiting to get the man alone for weeks and now that you’re able to… you can hardly contain yourself. 

“excuse me, uh…” he says your name so sweetly, as though the words on his tongue are laced with honey. pretending not to know you only makes tonight more thrilling. “are you open? do you have any sakura mochi to spare?” it’s only then that you whirl around to face suguru, your deep brown eyes still bright despite the dimness of the empty bakery — they sparkle with elation, and the plump curve of your lips spike up into an easy smile. you’ve been waiting, suguru notes, like a good little girl.

like a puppy waiting for her owner. 

you’ve been waiting to see him. 

anticipation claws at the air, sending ripples of kinetic energy into the space between you both — where suguru waits at the door and you stand front and centre in the middle of the room. his murky eyes slink down to your neck where one hand fiddles with the silver chain of your pendant, your nails tapping at the amethyst in its centre. in the same way his sister does when she’s nervous. 

neither of you know what’s going to happen tonight, now that you’re finally alone. 

“we have some in the back,” you swallow down the heartbeat in your throat you nod shyly when you finally speak. it’s weird how your body has started to react to suguru after weeks of getting to know him, being spoiled by him. the clothes you wear are now covered in traces of him, the jewellery you own is paid for by his dime. this…stranger, who you hardly know yet feel like you know everything about, has invaded every inch of your life… and you’re not even mad about it. you’d rather die than let this go. “i just need to lock up first. if you’ll give me a moment.”

you approach him cautiously, practically pressing your breasts against his chest as you reach behind the man to lock the doors he stands in front of. suguru can already tell that the mood today is different — full of hunger and expectations for something less polite than evening chatter and gift exchanges. his dark eyes follow your every move across the bakery like a wolf tracking the scent of prey. 

“why don’t you come with me to the back? and if you don’t mind, could you carry a bag or two of that rice flour? it’s too heavy for me on my own?” you ask him after backing away with a glint in your eye. naughty, naughty. geto likes the fact that you’re asking him, that you need him and he can be your strong suguru. 

“sure, anything for you.” he agrees a little bit too quickly, removing his work jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. suguru discards his tie as well — before lifting a sack of rice flower with ease. he pretends not to notice the way you ogle the bulge in his biceps as he does so.

“thanks.” you utter, leading the way to the back of the bakery. 

once the two of you arrive in the kitchens at the back, you give suguru some time to set down the sacks of flour and retreat to the many shelves of sweet treats and baked goods that you’d prepared for your shift the next day. you’re sure choso, nor his grandmother, would mind if you stole a plate of mochi for the two of you to share. they trusted you enough, but you decide to forgo telling them for now. 

“i was starting to think you weren’t coming.” you say as you set the desserts out on the metal table for him, suguru hates the guilt that he feels for leaving you for so long. “seeing you is the highlight of my week.” 

“are you sure it’s not the gifts that i give you?” he teases, rounding the table to take a piece of mochi from the plate at its middle. he practically moans at the flavours of cherry blossom and crystallised sugar bursting across the palette of his tongue. and for a moment, his mind slips to other territories — wandering what you’d taste like as well. 

“n-no! sugu!” for the first time that night, you break character, bashfully tucking your pretty face into your shoulder as if to hide it. “i, um… i genuinely like seeing you and when you come to see me. i-it makes me feel better. being around you. i feel safer and happier.” 

putting his weight onto the metal surface, suguru leans forward and cocks his head to the side in faux curiosity. your answer is just what he wanted to hear. he finally has you where he wants you,  like a sweet deer in a hunter’s trap. “is that so, darling?” you shake your head yes in affirmation. “well then, you’re awfully sweet.” geto takes to praising you, licking the traces of candy from his lips and maintaining eye contact while his hand dips into the pocket of his slacks for something. “i have a gift for you, little one.” 

“oh yeah?” youtoo, take a bite out of the treats you’ve laid out, munching on them casually while keeping suguru under your watchful eye.

it’s only then that pulls out a matching item of jewellery, this time, a matching anklet to the item that sits heavy at your neck. the silver chain is dotted with tinier, purple gems. a showcase of suguru’s appreciation for how much you’ve healed him — a nod to how much better he feels around you too. 

“you sure do love purple for me, sugu.” you joke, laughing incredulously at the expensive gift. “it’s beautiful, thank you.” you let him circle the table to take hold of your soft hips, lifting you onto the cool surface so that geto has some leverage to put the anklet on you. 

after kicking out your left foot — suguru sinks to his knees before you, and something about the way he looks up at you, with his eyebrows drawn to the centre of his forehead and his milky cheeks slightly flushed, has your heart racing and your head all dizzy. “purple is supposed to mean healing. i’ve had a tough time, being away from japan and my family…” he begins quietly, his voice is calming with lilts and drops of hunger that slips through the cracks of suguru’s caring resolve. “but you’ve made it better,” one of his large hands encircles your ankle, lifting your foot higher so that geto is easily able to remove the strap of your mary-jane shoe and replace it with the chains of your new anklet. “ah… a perfect fit.” he announces in japanese, fixing the clasp. 

the whole ordeal is intimate, inviting and you feel like you might slip under the surface of dark, dangerous waters if you’re not careful. you don’t know how to swim, but something tells you that suguru will keep you afloat. “anyways, little one…” suguru continues with his monologue, whispering his words against your talus bone at the base of your leg, where it meets your foot. “you wanting me here and needing me… it heals me.” 

once he’s checked that the anklet is secure, suguru reaches a hand upwards, and brushes a thumb over the swell of your glossy bottom lip to swipe away a smudge of powdered sugar from the mocha. you will yourself to speak, but you feel as though you can’t even breathe. “i’ve…healed you?” 

suguru stands up, towering over you now as he moves to suck the sugar from your lips off of his thumb. “of course, little one. what else do you think you’ve been doing this whole time?” his pupils dilate, obsidian black drowning out any other colour in his eyes while closes the gap between your heated bodies. your thighs instinctively jump apart to make room for him too, allowing him to loom over you even better — following the biological call of your hearts.

the world comes to a standstill when suguru’s lips finally meet yours in a sloppy yet coordinated kiss. while his movements are messy and hungry he remains gentle with you, as though you might break from too much force. the sweltering heat of his tongue swipes eagerly but not aggressively over the seam of your mouth, dying to be let in and taste the sugar that glazes your own pink muscle. his large, unusually soft hands grasp, and squeeze and pinch at your thighs, then the fat at your hips until his thumbs are tucked under your breasts, soothing circles over the point at which the fleshy mounds join up with your rib cage. 

goosebumps break out across your skin from underneath your clothes and you feed suguru a needy little squeak when he finally breaks into your mouth, his tongue lapping circles at every crevice. you sound just like her, his angelic little sister, and he treats you so gently because he would never want to hurt her. suguru has always wanted to kiss his sister, but you’ll have to do. he likes you just as much as her. 

it’s that sick and twisted desire to devour his younger sibling that fuels his next movements, along with the dulcet and darling sounds you make for him. carefully and between sticky lip locks, suguru pushes you onto your back — humming in amusement when it arches away from the cool metal of the silver counter. “s-sugu,” you whimper wetly, catching your breath while his smooches cascade down to your neck and his fingers work their way through the buttons on your uniform. your own take residence in his firm and broad set shoulders, as if to steady yourself. “i haven’t… i don’t have much experience with these things a-and they’ve not been the best—“

the dark haired  man chuckles softly, the sound sending a spark of lust down your spine and causing you to arch up into him as he cages you against the table. “i’ll be gentle,” he tells you firmly, in a tone that smooths over the doubts in your mind and helps you to relax. suguru will take care of everything. “you don’t have to worry. i want this to be all about you feeling good, okay?” you nod in reply and suguru sucks his teeth. “i want a verbal answer, little one.”

“yes, sugu…”

he places a chaste kiss to your collarbones then, a pleased hum vibrating against your temperate skin. “good girl.” 

the next few moments are a blur as suguru geto strips you down, kissing every inch of your exposed body with each article of clothing he removes from your shaky frame. all that he leaves you with are your soiled panties after reaching around the curve of your spine to unclip your bra with one hand.  it’s all so nerve wracking and invigorating all at once, you can’t help but wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in for more.

between the chaos and rustling of his own clothes coming off, suguru presses two digits to your budding clit and your world tilts on its axis — he’s hardly touching you and yet you feel so good, especially when he rolls the swollen little nub between a thumb and forefinger. your nails form crescent moons against his shoulder in response.

you’re so overwhelmed by the patterns he traces over your clit, his name, his promises to you and your body, as well as the blood rushing to it — that you hardly notice geto’s descent on your body, the hot trail of kisses he leaves between the valley of your breasts and over your soft tummy. you just about manage to feel him over the haze in your brain when his lips hit the scalloped edge of your panties, and you jolt when the tip of his tongue forcefully traces the outline of your un-used, soaked hole from over the gusset of said garment. 

the fabric darkens as your juices pool against it, mixed with the wetness of suguru’s tongue.

“will you let me pleasure you, little one?” 

it’s not like you can say no (not that you want to), especially with the way geto manoeuvres your thighs to hang over the backs of his strong shoulders as he settles between your trembling legs. while he waits for your reply, he takes your wrist into his grasp and pulls one of your silk scrunchies from it — using it to tie back his luscious black hair. 

you look down at him through your lashes with a painted expression of want and worry. 

suguru pushes the pads of his thumbs into the globes of your ass against the cold table — massaging the flesh with mischievous eyes as your pussy gushes and leaks a fresh wave of nectar right down to the puckered ring between your ass cheeks. “just tying my hair back as a precaution,” he whispers, voice lowering an octave as his face slowly nears your clenching cunt. “i’m a messy eater…”

“a-ah! sugu!”

at first, suguru delivers a single lick to your awaiting pussy, drawing a stripe with his tongue between the length of your fat and sluice folds. then, when you cry out his name he can’t help but to latch his heated mouth onto your unattended sex, chuckling at the realisation of just how good you taste. it’s a natural flavour, with a twinge of sweetness suguru could have only hoped to imagine. he’s been waiting for this moment and to have you like this for weeks — to replace his prior daydreams of fucking his baby sister with you…and now he finally has the material to do so. 

a sinful giddiness infiltrates geto’s bloodstream as he kitten licks at your pulsating mound — feeding in your arousal as it grows before inhaling deeply, nastily taking in your scent so that he can commit it to memory. “how does that feel?” he coos his words out as he hungrily nips at your sopping folds, rolling them raw between rows of perfect white teeth until you’re choking on a breath and your face scrunches adorably. “is that nice, love?” 

a wet whimper lies on your kiss-swollen lips, and your hips naturally buck up to follow the warm trace of suguru’s mouth encompassing your sex. “f-feels so good! b-better than i… could have imagined,” you struggle to get out, gargling on each syllable while your chest heaves and arches away from the chilly table — giving suguru the perfect view of your bouncing breasts and only motivating him to pleasure you more. “f-fuck!” 

if you were his baby sister, suguru isn’t so sure that you’d curse in front of him. she wouldn’t, she was too docile and sweet to utter a bad thing in his presence. but you, you’re both of those things and more — you lose yourself easily to the ecstasy in your veins; liquid pleasure spewing from your blistering hot cunt like a free-flowing river, painting suguru’s high cheekbones with your body’s riches. he feels blessed to be between your thighs, defiling the blossoming flower of your cunt with his eager mouth. 

“you’re so…you’re so pretty when you gush like this for me. i want you to give me more.” his tongue darts along the length of your weeping slit, catching what you leak before it can go to waste on the icy table beneath your hot skin. drunk on your taste, suguru forces his flexible tongue past the tightness of your fluttering entrance. “can you do that for me?” he mouths, though whatever he says is slurred as he slowly begins to tongue fuck you. 

“a-anything,” you say, breathing shallow and eyes beginning to grow teary. suguru’s tongue slips in and out of your creaming hole with rhythm, preparing you, using a pseudo sensation, for his fat cock. “anything for you! i wanna feel good for you. wanna please you!” he languidly strokes at your ribbed insides as a reward, chasing your honey nectar taste while your hips canter up and chase bud hismouth. 

suguru intends to destroy you, own you and unleash all of his darkest fantasies onto you. he’s dreamed of ruining his adoptive little sister, making her cum all over him — it just so happens that you look and sound like her, you match every single one of his dreams about her, you make them all a reality. it’s only right that he pleases you and makes you see stars for needing him and relying on him so well. 

he wonders if his sister would cry like you do, or if she would try to stave off her orgasm like you do. would she scream his name over the saliva pooling on her tongue like you do. eyes in the shade of deep, chocolate brown start to flutter shut at the sound of your desperate pleas as you writhe under suguru’s attention of your swollen pussy. your back sticks to the table and your thighs shake either side of suguru’s head, but he doesn’t relent on sucking the juices that cling to your pussy lips until all he can breathe is you. 

his tongue twists happily against your lush walls, grasping at the essence that lines them. 

“you’re doing well for me, little one, so well…” he praises you, knowing how close you’re getting. it’s in the way your body twitches with every suck to your hardened clit and the way you try to push him off of you. you need it so bad, you need him to make you cum. suguru thrusts deeper, harder and faster using his tongue — catching what dribbles from your tiny hole after it slips between your ass cheeks and pools in a puddle on the table. “i want to taste it. if you’ll cum for me, that’ll make me happy. so let me…”

suguru can’t even finish, dizzy on the taste of you like the buzz of a high. he could spend an infinite number of days between your legs. no matter how sore his knees get from kneeling between them — all he wants to do is slurp down everything that you give him, focus on making you reach pleasure of only heavenly limits in order to evade the guilt he feels. the one that causes knots to twist in geto’s stomach. 

how could he do this? 

how could he want this? 

to fuck someone so reminiscent of his little sister. 

to manipulate them into fucking him? 

suguru’s name is hot on your lips, spiralling into the husky evening air. “come on, little one. cum for me,” meanwhile, his breath on your cunt makes your hips wiggle and hole spasm — a new wave of juices staining his face. it’s scent and taste coax the man into diving back into your sopping heat, the point of his nose bumping against your pleasure nub as if peeks out from beneath its hood. 

“m-mph… m’kay,” comes your hushed whisper as you thread your fingers through the black roots of geto’s hair, keeping him pinned to your precious creamy core as you rut against his agile tongue. “f-feels funny!” you gasp and warble, filling the man’s mouth with your raw folds and liquid lust.

“hm?” geto hums lazily in acknowledgment, licking up to your clit so that he can replace his tongue with two digits. he works at your dripping hole, stretching it over them through the haze in his mind. he swoons at the thought of replacing those same digits with his cock next — they speed up with excitement, squelching and echoing throughout the room, overlapping with your high pitched breathy moans. 

with your heart rattling against your ribcage, you can hardly fight off the urge building within your lower belly — your hips are frantic as they chase after the feeling and the burning high that crackles across your neurons. geto groans wickedly, feeling your sex spasm against his soaked lips and clench down hard on his fingers. it’s not long before he feels you succumb to your first orgasm. it washes over him in heavenly waves — clearing away his guilt and desire for his little sister while simultaneously drowning you under sinful pretences.

your entire body is racked with the case of the shakes, your eyes shooting back into the dark depths of your skull while white noise fills your ears and overlays the sound of suguru lewdly slurping at your release. speaking off, clear streams of your arousal spurt from your quivering cunt…and for the first time ever, you squirt. everywhere, all over the place, making such a mess that suguru is left gargling over everything that you give him and there’s a crude splatter as your juices hit the floor. 

he doesn’t stop, however, licking you clean with his fingers continuing to curl languidly against your g-spot — over and over again. 

“sugu p-please! s’too much,” you plead in the form of a heavy sob — but only god knows that you don’t want the man to stop. 

“just one more for me?” he asks you tentatively, releasing your throbbing clit with a wet pop. suguru stands and you look up at him — noting the way his bangs stick to his cheeks from how wet you’ve gotten him. he doesn’t stop pumping his fingers in and out of you either, dragging the tips of them along your overstimulated and stretched walls. “you can do it, and if you can i’ll reward you. how does that sound, little one?” he slows his pace just enough to only have the seat of his palm salaciously grind against your clit, not wanting to hurt you. 

he wouldn’t want to hurt his adoptive sister if he ever had the chance to get her spread open like this. 

your face is stained with mascara, your brown eyes big and wobbly and your braids are askew — but still, you’re the most adorable thing he’s ever seen, next to her. your fingers threaten to snap shut around his wrist, but with his free hand he forces the wet and doughy flesh back open, and with a few more thrusts if his fingers, nice and tantalisingly slow, you’re cumming again in another cute, clear stream — dowsing suguru’s hand in another wash of your cum. 

leaning down, suguru’s lips tainted with your arousal lean down to meet your own — capturing them in a sweet kiss to help bring you back down to earth. “what’s your colour, darling? red for bad, yellow for okay and green for good. how do you feel?” 

“g-green,” you mumble, keening into his touch and craving his affection. “i feel fine, my legs won’t stop shaking. i’ve never cum like that before…” 

pride blooms like a wildflower in suguru’s chest. 

“well, i don’t intend on stopping, little one,” brushing your braids back into place, suguru carefully pulls his fingers out of your stretched hole and swiftly sucks them clean. “your pretty pussy is so tiny, must not have been used properly,” the vulgarity of his words have you arching for more from suguru, and you’re lucky that he’s not done with you yet. “don’t worry, love. i’ll fix that.” 

you’re weak in the knees when suguru manhandles you from the table onto the floor, making sure that you’re comfortable on your tummy — he even goes as far to nestle a bag of rice flour under your hips. you pretend not to notice the way his strength makes you flutter around nothing, smearing your juices onto the bakery floor.

“i’ve been holding back quite a bit,” he murmurs against your naked shoulder blades — the dark tresses of his hair tickling your skin. “so i might not last long.” you hear a belt clink before suguru kicks his slacks off and away, rewarding your patience with a kiss against your spine. “i hope it’s okay if i just give you my all.” 

from this position, it’s easy for suguru to picture his younger, adopted sister instead of you — he’s dreamed of having her present for him like this countless times, but it doesn’t compare to the way it feels having your hot body underneath him like this. your ass is so soft and pliant in his hands as he drags your hips up a little higher. another hand grasps at the hardness of his cock that’s been dripping and aching ever since geto first got his mouth on you. 

with stuttering hips, he positions himself at your needy entrance, chuckling in approval when you attempt to wiggle back on him — just as hungry for this as your lover is. both of you hiss as his veiny shaft comes into contact with your sticky folds, suguru using the remnants of your orgasms to slick himself up again and make it easier for you take all of him. you can’t see him, but the dark haired man’s cheeks are tinged pink with pure desire — his gaze turning woozy as he looks from your gaping hole to his cockhead, tapping it against your souse entrance a few times for good measure. 

fuck a condom, he thinks, if given the opportunity — he would have fucked his sister rawtoo. 

“whatever you give me, i-it’ll be enough for me, sugu,” you sniff, fisting the floor in anticipation — laying your hot, tear streaked cheek against its cool surface. “t-thank you for treating me so well.” 

“i promise,” geto heaves, words a little too rushed and eager. “i’ll make you feel so good, so fucking…h-hah—“ without warning, he thrusts all the way inside of you with his hips driving all the way forward until his pelvis is flush against the curve of your ass. geto is chubbier than you thought he would be, and just the right length — plugging you full. every vein wrapped around his shaft presses up against your most sensitive pleasure spots, and he’s weighty against your gummy unused walls. 

suguru’s breath prickles at shell of your ears as he collapses on top of you, all of his weight keeping you pinned to the cold hard floor. “can i move?” he lets out a wavering gasp, fighting the instinct to fuck down into you. your cunt ripples around him deliciously, the heat from your body making him drowsy. “you need to be fucked, little one. need someone to stretch out your tight pussy… i can do that for you. if you let me…”

he hates the part of his brain that wonders if his baby sister was this tight when gojo fucked her. 

“i want you to,” you slur gently, purposely squeezing down on the base of suguru’s cock and practically creaming around it. you wriggle back on him until he’s completely bottomed out inside of you — balls deep while you ooze against his pelvis and heavy balls. “need you to fuck me…”

that’s all it takes for your stranger turned lover to give his all to you. he drops his sweaty chest to your back, pulling his chubby cock from the snugness of your heat as his teeth take purchase in your shoulders — leaving a litter of love bites your uniform will barely cover once the night is over. suguru is possessive of his belongings, like you and his little sister — the bites are his claim on you. 

in one powerful move, you’re full to the brim with rock hard cock — deep in your guts, churning them up and spreading lust like a wildfire through your weak body. you feel dwarfed underneath him. despite being pinned to the floor, you still manage to rock your hips back against suguru and suck more of him into your cute, quivering cunt. it just about helps him set a steady stream to his meaningful thrusts.

wet slapping sounds echo throughout the back room of the bakery, accompanied by your meek mewls and gasps for air the faster suguru pounds into your warmth. fat droplets of precum smear along your soaked and ripe insides, ready to be bred by suguru. ready to be marked by him. you feel like you belong to him like a treasured pet and you don’t even mind it. your pussy blossoms for him like that of a japanese cherry blossom in the spring time — or iris flowers, shobu, in their iconic shade of purple. like the bruises he’s left on your back. 

oh, you’re just perfect for suguru. you fulfil all of his sister-fucking fantasies, even your moans sound like hers when she would get off in her room — thinking no one could hear her. he loves this, he might even love you — the way you feel wrapped around him, reaching for the stars in your eyes. it feels like you’re made for him, with the way you clamp down on his oozing mushroomed tip and squirm about underneath him.

your pussy barely lets go of geto when he draws his hips back, but every time he fucks down into him — your fluttering hole stretches to accommodate his creamy thickness. it creates the perfect pathway for the dark haired man to bully your g-spot in a way that makes you scream for more. “you’re perfect for me…fuck, you’re so perfect,” suguru intimately whispers into your skin from behind, his hands smoothing over yours as you claw at the floor to ground yourself from the overwhelming ecstasy. he thinks he understands why satoru had fucked his sister now — there’s something so satisfying about corrupting someone. taking their innocence with your dick. “should i keep you like this? on my aching cock forever?” 

“y-yes please!” you squeal, succumbing to your body’s biological will, cunt spitting droplets of arousal all over suguru. he’s barely able to pull out of you, his dick on lockdown inside of your core. there’s hardly any space between you both any more, the air vibrating with electrifying lust and the scent of sex. 

you coo and cry out for your newfound lover, your ass and the backs of your thighs burning from how hard his skin slaps against your own. you hardly care about the pain for its overlapped with ecstasy like sea water on a sandy shore. “you’re such a good…good fucking girl for me. for your big brother,” suguru loses track of his words, his mind lagging behind his mouth and his hips that relentlessly pound you into the ground. over the sound of sex you think that you’ve misheard him, but then his voice rises an octave and in volume as he continues to moan out your praises — succumbing to your gratifying and ichorous cunt latching onto the veins spiralling around his dick. “oh my precious little sister… taking me so fucking well—!”

in that moment, all of the guilt suguru has ever felt for leaving his sister, for ruining her relationship and fleeing to new york, for thinking of her while fucking you… it all comes rushing back. he stops thrusting, freezing in place above you while his cock twitches along your insides. 

“f-fuck i—“ he starts to apologise, but the cry you let out stops him. 

“nii-san,” you whine petulantly, fat tears gathering in your lash line. “d-don’t stop! please keep fucking me, fuck me harder. make me cum, make me scream, make me—!” your words are cut off by suguru’s fingers wrapping around your delicate neck from behind, giving it a gentle squeeze. he resumes his thrusts, a little harsher and more carelessly coordinated than before, once he realises that maybe you’re just as sick and twisted as him. calling him big brother while he uses you for a dirty fuck in place of his younger adopted sibling… 

you like this just as much as he does.

suguru knows you’re perfect, perhaps even more so than his little sister. he uses his grip on your throat to tug your head back while he fucks you silly, slotting his mouth against yours in a salacious and sinful kiss. “onii-san, hm?” he forces his tongue over yours, moaning into your mouth pathetically as he reverts back to his mother-tongue. “you want your onii-san to fuck you, imouto? make you cum again?”

“please, please, please onii-san! g-gotta cum f’you…g’na cum. c-close!” comes your brainless babble while you fall into a cockdrunk state. 

“you beg so pretty for your big brother, sweet little thing. i should fill you up, breed this greedy little cunt for all its worth, right?” suguru’s mind grows as foggy as yours, copious amounts of his precum pouring into you and dripping down your swollen slit. it’s a mess, everything is disgustingly messy — this situation, the fact that you’re so eagerly calling him your big brother, the fact that he’s fucking you because you remind him of his sibling. but neither of you give a shit, not when you feel so fucking good you swear you’re seeing the pearly gates. 

“g-god! please sugu, please nii-san, i need it. need you!” the slow roll of your hips contrasts with geto’s ever increasing slap of skin on skin, your mix of arousals crudely seeping down his balls and to the floor below. the point at which your bodies join starts to forth as well. 

“is that so…?” suguru hums attentively, grinning ear to ear at how you play into this immoral dynamic. it fuels the fire of lust burning through him, setting his lungs alight and ruining his chances at breathing. his thrusts become erratic, his cockhead married to your g-spot, and he finds himself growing more and more excited about the sight of his cum leaking from your ravaged hole. “you must really like it when your big brother fucks you — hm, lillith baby? do you like how deep i can get, deep in your tummy?” he continues to ramble, grabbing your ass cheeks to peel them apart — letting out a deep and wild gripe from his chest at the sight of strings of your clear arousal glueing the fleshy globes together. “love how you throw it back on me. keep coating your nii-san’s cock in your pretty juices. gush for me, make me shine with your cum.” 

you nod and do as geto says, simpering out for even more while you work yourself back on his swelling girth as it shines with milky white. you can no longer keep up with what’s happening, your brain actually lags at the way your faux big brother coos your name while your sexes sing a lewd song of pap, pap, pap. lust courses through your veins and burns at your nerve endings, you should feel disgusted with yourself but nothing makes sense. you feel like you’re high, and you don’t want to come back down. at this point, all you can do is lay down and take it, clenching around suguru’s hard cock where it counts — pulling more precum from his heavy breeder’s balls. 

“nii-san…more, ‘m right there—“ you sob, reaching back with bambi eyes that plead for another kiss. you allow suguru to fuck you at his own free will, too weak to keep up.

“right here, imouto? against this sweet spot, baby sis?” you get a little tighter every time he calls you his little sister, creaming around his base and crying out his name as if it’s a fucking prayer. “you want me to breed you that bad, baby sis? want my cum deep in your little sister cunt?” 

you beg for it through tears and suguru makes you cum again just like he promised. your third orgasm of the night renders you completely useless, a silent scream tearing in your throat while you seizes up and trap suguru deep inside of your fluttering cunt. it’s so fucking cute to him, how much you gush when you orgasm, like a rushing river that never stops flowing. it’s almost as if the flood gates have opened up or heaven has rained down on geto’s fat cock. 

that’s all he needs for his own orgasm to be triggered, he collapses on top of you from behind as he empties his balls inside of your womb with a shout of your name. “‘m sorry little one, ‘m sorry… so fucking sorry.” he says hoarsely, cock pulsing while a wave of his cream lines your pussy from the inside — he doesn’t ever let up, fucking you through it all until both of your sexes are raw and abused beyond repair. “i love you, baby sis… imouto. s-shit, i love you so much.” your hole burns by the time suguru comes down, and you swear he feels bigger now that his dick is swollen with his orgasm. 

suguru is still cumming in spurts when he pulls out of you with a hiss, painting your puffy folds white, the rest leaking out of your entrance. “im so sorry… I have no idea where that came from…” he starts to apologise tiredly. “that was…”

you remain silent for a moment, mulling over what to say next as suguru rolls off of you, and lays by your side quietly. you flip onto your back, staring up at the artificial lights hanging from the ceiling. you liked this, whatever the hell it was… even if it meant he was fucking you to fuck his unresolved feelings out for his sister. 

“amazing… yeah.” is the response that you settle on. 

“that’s…that’s not what i meant.” 

“and i know that! you don’t have to apologise,” you cut him off abruptly, keeping your voice softly. “i liked it, whatever weird kink this is, it made me feel good.” 

geto flushes hot all over, sheepishly running a hand through his sweaty black locks. “my sister… she’s not seriously my blood sister. she’s adopted and—“ he’s so sheepish and right after ruining you beyond belief that it makes you laugh in pure amusement. “a-and i like you! quite a bit. i know this was… strange… but with your permission. i’d like to keep seeing you.”

“and fucking me?” you tease, tucking yourself into the man’s side while nuzzling your face into his neck. he smells like you, he smells like sex…but you’re satisfied.

his arm loosely wraps around your waist, thumbing over any bruises he might have left there. “that too.” 

“what about the gifts?” 

“those won’t stop either.” 

finally, you sit up, looming over geto as you tuck your braids behind your ear and out of your face. cupping suguru’s jaw, you lean over him and place a somewhat upside down kiss to the man’s lips — then brush over their cherry red bruising. “then you have yourself a deal — now please help me clean up, sugu. i don’t want to get fired.” 

it’s his turn to laugh next. “i’ll just take care of all your expenses if you do.” 

you roll your eyes.

this new dynamic, this new fling…it’s unhealthy, yeah. but as long as suguru has someone like you to look out for and need him. he thinks he’ll be okay. 

getting over his sister was the key to healing. just like his purple nailed therapist had said — so focusing on you was healing him. before either of you can move to help clean up, suguru reaches up slowly and cups your neck tenderly. he brings you down to his level, his fingers wrapping around the silver chain swinging loosely from your neck before pressing a kiss to the amethyst pendant there.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[lainiespicewrites]

The Atreides Era

Part 1

Buried in the sands

A/N: Hey everyone! obviously not my normal content! I've been working on updates on that as well! This is part of a writing Collab with my best friend @hey-its-roseaurum! We've both broken out of our comfort zone writing fics for each other's fave comfort characters. She will be posting about Sherlock so my Henry girlies definitely go check it out! I'll add the link once it's posted!

So I guess without too much warning here is my best effort at a Paul Atreides x OC fic

Summary: Paul Atreides and OC (Matar) and the other Freman are still fighting the Harkonnen in the spice fields. After almost losing his friend in battle Paul makes the decision it's time to go south. It's time to meet with the Emperor. His decisions will change the fate of his friends and the planet of Arakis. Paul knows this. He's seen it. But... at what cost?

Warnings: Description of battle, death, slight angst.

2k words

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It’s early that much is clear. The sun's intense heat has not yet started pouring over Arrakis, disturbing Matar’s peaceful sleep. What did disturb her was the amateur sand steps of the young man outside her tent. And the sound of his voice calling for her in a harsh whisper. Matar stirred with an agitated grumble, sitting up slowly and blinking her eyes to adjust to the soft light of dawn starting to creep in from the open flap of her tent. 

“What do you want, Paul Atredies?” She groaned. The footsteps outside her tent halted and were followed by a soft chuckle. Crouching down in front of the tent Paul popped his head in sending Matar a cocky grin. 

“Not Usul? Have I managed to offend you again already?” He asks with a raised eyebrow. Matar stares for a moment, watching his face and the loose wave of brown hair that’s fallen into his eyes. Interesting how they’re still so gray, his eyes, as long as he’d now been exposed to spice. Matar blinked the thought away, what did it matter? Paul Atriedies could have glowing red eyes and she’d pay no mind, he was a pest. A pest, who was her friend, one she’d grown fond of. But still a pest. 

“You’ve come to me, Paul Atriedes before the sun is fully awake. This better be important.” Matar answered him, falling back against her pillow. 

Paul was not discouraged by his friend's lack of energy or enthusiasm, crawling into the tent in the corner across from his friend still giving her the same dopey grin.

“How’d you know it was me?” He spoke softly now. His tone was now more gentle and letting Matar awaken properly before he poked at her further. 

“You walk like an elephant, I could hear you coming from miles away,” she answered him. 

“Hmm I suppose I do,” Paul agreed nodding. “Then we need to practice before we go into battle!” Paul's exclamation caused Matar to sit up. Now she was fully awake.

“Battle? What are you speaking of Usul?” The boy's smirk faded. His eyes are more serious now. 

“We got word more of Harkonnen moving in on the spice fields. They’re placing their harvester as we speak. We’ll need to move in on them quickly.”

Putting the moment of banter behind them Matar quickly composed herself. Pulling her hair back she tied her long dark hair into a tight knot. She swept her hand around her tent for a moment and found her head scarf to keep her safe from the day’s intense heat. Taking in a deep breath Matar’s eyes once again settle on the man sitting across from her. 

“Is Chani aware?” She asks. Her voice is smooth and calm. While she had not expected another fight. Or, ambush rather, against the Harkonnen. She was always ready. For those who control the spice control the universe. A mantra the Harkonnen were always chasing.  Neither Matar nor Chani, Matar’s closest friend, would submit to that fate. 

Paul’s eyes shift to the ground as he shakes his head.

“No, I figured it should come from you. She’s one of our most skilled fighters. Chani doesn’t trust me. It has to come from you, Matar.” a breath of silence falls over the two of them. For a moment. Matar thinks to be offended by this. Paul Atreides is only here to use her as a messenger. The thought is gone as quickly as it develops. There is no time for emotion. No time to dwell on the man who has shown up unannounced. 

“I will see her now. Go, gather the others. We’ll need to move before the sun is at its highest point. “ She said.  The man nods. But catches her wrist before she can leave the tent. 

“Matar, I- I’ve seen… something. You in battle and you…” He pauses. They lock eyes. The visions. One of the many reasons Stilgar and the other southerners believe the young Atreiedies is the Messiah. Matar, Chani, and a few of their kind believe it all to be a load of shit. 

However, the fear in his eyes at this moment cannot be ignored. “Please,” He pauses again emphasizing his words. “Be careful out there.” Matar doesn’t say anything. Holding his gaze she nods letting him know she understands whatever he’s seen has frightened him. He lets her go and the two of them leave the tent.  There’s a warm light over their camp. Many of the other Freman have started to gather in a common area. 

Paul and Matar walk in opposite directions. But before Paul is out of earshot Matar stops and calls for him. 

“Usul!” She calls. He turns back to her with a look of concern etched across his face. “Whatever you saw,” she pauses. “My fate is my own to make Paul Atreides,” 

Paul gives her another soft smile. He looks like he did when she first saw him this morning. Innocent, and childlike.  There’s a stirring feeling in her gut.  She has no time to address this. They have a planet to protect. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chani is awake and preparing for the day when Matar finds her. 

“Bit early for you isn’t it?” Chani asks with a smirk. 

“Funny,” Matar recants quickly, “I got a visit from Lisan al Gaib this morning.” Better to get to the point quickly. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve started to buy into this Messiah facade?” Chani questions. Eyeing her friend with a curious expression. Matar scoffs

“Why do I sense you’re already feeling hostile this morning?” Matar says, “Of course, I don’t believe it, I believe what I can see Chani. And what I see is that Paul Atreides has helped us successfully fight against the Harkonnen attacking our spice fields. 

“There’s another harvester?” Chani asks although it’s clear she knows the answer already. 

“He doesn’t believe you you trust him. But I know that you will protect your family.” Matar says. 

“I don’t trust him. But I see what he’s done. And It can’t be ignored. Believe me, I have tried. “ She pauses with a smirk. “And as long as I’m fighting beside you, I’ll always show up for the fight.” 

“Don’t be soft,” Matar teases. Smacking her friend on the shoulder. 

“It’s you who’s gone soft Matar. Don’t get so close to him, his mother can not be trusted. She seeks more power than anyone should hold.” Chani warns

“We are not close, But I believe he could be a good ally, and that woman can burn for all I care. Now come, we’ve got to prepare for an ambush.” She smirks as she and her friend set out to join the other soldiers. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Silence.  Nothing but the sound of the wind stirring the sand. A maua’dib, a small desert mouse, could be heard skittering across the sand dune. Unsuspecting of the unrest that is soon to occur. Matar’s eyes scan over the top of the dune, zeroing in on the harvester only feet away from her and the others. Paul and Chani have, for the time being, come to a truce and have gone undetected underneath the foul piece of machinery. Matar and the others are waiting for their signal. This is when they will move in. 

A loud blast breaks the silence. A shot attacked the Harkonnen craft surveying the harvester and the security. The signal. The others jump to their feet. Stilgar and his men attack the security with daggers. Slicing into them and killing them before the intruders even see the Freman warriors coming. Matar takes a shot at the harvester aiming for one of its claw-like pillars. The blast hits but it quickly gains her attention. She makes quick steps and rolls out of the way as a Harkonnen security tries to land an attack. He misses. This was a fatal mistake for him. Granted he was always going to die. Another Freman soldier stabs the Harkonnen before he can advance any closer. Matar locks eyes with the person and they nod at each other before they continue their battle. She stands, once again aiming for the harvester. This time she aims right in the center. Fuck it. No more time for games. Time to blow this thing up. Taking one last look to be sure her friends will not become casualties she takes the shot. She doesn’t watch it land. Matar is pulled back by another Harkonnen. He has a dagger held to her ribcage. She barely hears the sound of the explosion over her heart pounding in her ears. At least she landed it. One last explosion before the bitter end. She twists to break the hold but the man has a tight grip on her neck. Fuck. 

He lifts the blade ready to plunge it into her chest. And then. He goes limp. His body falls to the sand. Matar sucks in a deep breath. Finally, she turns. Paul’s eyes are wide as they search her for injury. 

“Are you?” He begins. She holds up her hand to stop him. 

“Do not fuss over me, I am not dead,” she tells him. With one last thud. The final Harkonnen is dropped to the ground. Someone, Stilgar likely, calls for the rest of them to gather quickly and evacuate the area. The Freman army and their messiah head back to camp. However, halfway back Paul stops them. 

“Gather your things. This is the last time we fight the Harkonnen like this. Tomorrow, we go south.” He states. Chani and Matar exchange a look. 

“Paul Atreides we cannot…” Chani begins to protest

“I will not continue to watch them abuse this planet. I will not wait for the emperor to make his move. We are going south. And we will take on the emperor.” He states again. 

The rest of the Freman army cheers. Paul Atreides, once again is fulfilling their prophecy. But Matar. Feels like a dagger has been stuck in her side. He once told her, He wished nothing more to be equal to her. But he couldn’t mean that. Not when he was headed south to possess more power than any person should ever wield. 

The Freman army arrived back at camp. Some celebrated. Some dressed wounds from the day's battle. 

“He’s a good fighter, but I knew he could not be trusted,” Chani says absentmindedly. The girls are both watching Paul off in the distance while Stilgar celebrates their success.

“Do you have to be right about everything?” Matar questions. 

“No, just tends to pan out that way,” Her friend says before wandering off to her own tent. Matar sighs finding a seat and taking out her dagger sharpening it with a stone.  After a few moments, she feels a presence and then there is someone sitting beside her. 

“Matar,” Pauls voice speaks. 

“I don’t wish to speak to you Usul,” she says, continuing to sharpen the blade. He ignores her grabbing her wrist and pulling her attention from the dagger. 

“You almost lost your life today.” He says. Matar shrugs. 

“I was protecting my people Paul Atredies, it’s what we do,” she responds. 

“Maybe, but I have lost far too many people I care about. You will not be next Matar.” He says.

“Paul,” Matar begins. 

“Going south, I’ll take control. I can protect you and protect us all once we’ve made an attack against the emperor,” he argues. Matar is stuck. She is angry. She doesn’t want this. She opens her mouth to recant. To tell him he is wrong. Nothing comes out. She pauses again. She’s quiet for a while and then.

“Usul. You told me once. About these…oceans, on your home planet. Describe them again.” She requests. Surprising Paul and herself. 

“Caladan is covered in oceans and water. They are… as blue as your eyes.” He smiles at her. “As deep as them too. There’s no end even as you look at the horizon. They go on forever.” He explains. 

“I still… do not believe you Paul Atreides,” Matar answers, ignoring the growing warmth in her face. 

“You will,” Paul says without thought. 

“We, shall…”

“Lisan al Gaib, Come” Stilgar calls, “There’s much to do before our journey tomorrow. We must prepare!”

Matar lets out I sigh. 

“You’re celebration awaits Paul Atreides.” she says. 

“Matar,” He says softly. 

“I will see you at dawn…Lisan al Gaib.”  a moment of hurt flashes in Paul's eyes but it’s gone before Matar can register it. They both turn and part for the evening.

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A/N: This is Part one of ? We're still discussing the terms of this collab LOL

IF you'd like to be added to a tag list for this story please let me know! I know for my followers that read my Henry fics this is a bit different but I hope you enjoyed this too. If you decide to give it a read :) Thank you all. Dont forget to check out @hey-its-roseaurum Sherlock fic!

Tag list:

@enchantedbytomandhenry @summersong69 @carrie80reads @identity2212 @caramariehurst @redheadrouge @warriormirkwood@gummydummy19@deandoesthingstome@shellyshellshell@mary-ann84@starfirewildheart@foxyjwls007

[youthguk]

Next level | jjk gamer au

pairing: gamer! jungkook x gamer! reader

genre: rivals to lovers, smut (in further chapters), gamer au.

words: 2.4k

summary: Is fate playing with you when your one-night stand turns out to be the rising esports star, Jeon Jungkook, from your lifelong rival team? However, something tells you that Jungkook’s also not done playing with you as both of you will do anything to make your teams win.

author’s note: the game in this fic is just a figment of my imagination (just like everything else what will happen in this fic), inspired both by genshin impact and league of legends.

Chapter 1. Like a moth to a flame

The idea of spending your last free Friday evening at a party was ridiculous and Jisoo knew that. But when she heard about some peculiar game-themed party hosted by someone from your university, she knew that it was a match made in heaven!

And you couldn’t say no even though night outs or parties never were your thing, simply a waste of scarce resources which time is, you always said. And you couldn’t afford that squander. However, gaming was your thing. Almost part of your personality at this point and maybe even a dream vocation.

And if your ride to the destination was full of hesitation and even guilt (you could have been studying or practicing instead of this), all of that was gone the minute you stepped into the house party.

The living room decorated with all possible Vision of Fate themed items left you in awe. You didn’t even try to suppress your sudden squirm when you saw your favorite game characters on cupcakes. Looking around the room you’re faced with groups of your peers: some are interested in simply getting drunk, some are playing PS5 and no one seems to pay attention to the little corner of VoF in the kitchen the same way as you do.

Even the loud music isn’t bothering you once you’re able to catch the familiar theme song from VoF remixed which makes it almost unrecognizable yet quite conducive for the party. Weird choice but you are almost intrigued by the dedication of the party's host to the game.

Somewhere on your way to the kitchen, you lost Jisoo in the crowd of people as she waved to you “I’ll find you later, have fun!”. Well, with all this food and PlayStation, you might spend your time here with joy.

“Finally someone’s going to try these.” you were so immersed in choosing between cupcakes with your favorite in-game characters, that you didn’t notice a tall brunette approaching you. “I was looking from afar, wondering if those will be tasty.”

You toss a look over your shoulder, taken back by a sudden comment from a stranger. You eye him up and down, making sure that this boy is not someone you are supposed to know. Of course, how would you know anyone at this party? Your life consisted of university classes and gaming practices. Somewhere in-between — your household duties. You are sure that Jisoo, who isn’t even from your university, had more acquaintances here than you.

“So, you think I can actually eat this?” You try to sound unbothered, suppressing sudden excitement and nervousness in your voice. You find the stranger quite good-looking and, even though you’re reluctant to admit that, getting his attention might make you feel things that you have long forgotten.

It feels like ages since the last time you’ve encountered anything closely resembling flirting, and maybe tonight's the night for allowing yourself a little bit more of what you’re already spending your evening at a weird university party.

“Wouldn’t make sense if it was just for the decor,” replies the stranger, leaning on the kitchen counter; you feel his gaze studying you.

“What if you just wanna see me make a fool of myself?”

“Mmh not really into that type of shit,” the brunette casually blurted. He takes a quick bite of one of the cupcakes that you were choosing between. The taste of it leaves his brows drawn in a frown and you expect him to complain about the savoriness of the pastry but instead, he adds, “I’m Jeon Jungkook, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Jeon Jungkook.” You introduce yourself too, gaining some confidence to ask the question that’s been weighing on your mind, “You play VoF too?”

“Not really, just got interested in this little corner,” he firmly replies. Met with your overt disappointment, Jungkook quickly adds, “And you? You like this?” he asks while motioning to all the themed designs and goods.

“I do play, actually…” you answer hesitantly as his piercing doe eyes are watching you. “But now the more I look at this, the more ridiculous all of this looks,” Jungkook shot you a questioning glance, to which you hastened to add, “I mean, this is definitely not a place for this.”

“You seemed to like the theme at first.”

The excitement from finally socializing has quickly faded with a wash of crippling anxiousness as you find yourself trying to predict his reaction to your words. You are seeing him for the first and, probably, the last time in your life, yet you are seeking his approval.

“Yeah, I did but I play the game and love it, others definitely don’t give a damn about all of this and came just to party,” the moment the words fleed your mouth you again want to not seem even more judgemental, “Which is also totally fine, just feel like the target audience isn’t here.” you force a giggle, looking around awkwardly.

“Well, you never know,” his words go almost unnoticed by you, as your eyes wander around the room, hoping to find Jisoo by some miracle. Your friend is totally MIA. Maybe Junngkook notices your discomfort, because he suddenly adds, “are you looking for somebody?”

“Yes, my friend dragged me here.” Your eyes are finally back at Jungkook and for a moment you are startled. He was looking at you this whole time, his discerning gaze never leaving you. Jungkook is handsome, you think, and immediately get annoyed by yourself. Is this the right time to think about it? “But now she’s nowhere to be found.”

“Jisoo is a big girl, I doubt that there’s something to worry about,” he sighs heavily.

“You know Jisoo?” you raise your eyebrows in surprise while leaning in closer to Jungkook.

“Well, sort of… I’ve heard of her,” he pulled at the back of his neck, his eyes darting behind you surprisingly avoiding eye contact. Preceding further questions from you, he clears his throat and adds with no confidence, “she knows a friend of mine.”

You nod, contemplating if you should ask questions any further. For some reason, Jungkook didn’t want to talk about him being acquainted with Jisoo, which is currently the only thing that you have in common that you know of. And by the way his body has tensed you would even assume that he is slightly regretting that he’s mentioned.

Being usually the only introvert in any friend group made you accustomed to other people always trying to get you talking and doing the small talk. But if you and Jungkook were competing for the prize of the timidest person, he could definitely give you a run for your money. His erstwhile cockiness is long gone. Still, he isn’t going anywhere and you allow yourself to assume that he actually enjoys your company.

“I haven’t been to any parties for years, this is the first in a while, ” you decide to take the initiative for the sake of curiosity. You wonder where this all can lead.

“Glad you gave it a shot,” you catch a glimpse of a sudden spark in his eyes. He didn’t want this to end either. “You know if you are such a gamer girl, I have an offer that might be hard for you to decline.”

You shoot him a cautionary gaze, “I’m not playing games. Whatever that means.”

“Oh, something tells me you’ll like that,” Jungkook wets his lower lip, a snug grin plastering his beautiful face that leaves you smitten.

The new-made friend of yours beckons you to follow him and you look around at your surroundings, mulling over the idea. The loud music is starting to grate on you and getting drunk is not on your to-do list for today’s evening. The beloved PS5 in the center of the party has been taken by some wasted group of friends, which also makes your blood boil. Well, whatever Jungkook has to offer you cannot be worse than this.

As further Jungkook drags you through the endless corridors of this big house, the more alert you are. Jungkook isn’t a stranger, after all, he knows Jisoo and you trust your friend’s circle of acquaintances. Not to mention that Jeon Jungkook is quite attractive and being around him feels ecstatic, and you want to hold on to this long-forgotten feeling for as much as you can. But you’re not some naive person to let your guard down either.

Jungkook is slowing down which signals that you have probably finally arrived. “You know this place so well, is this your house?” You finally voice the doubt that has been crawling on you while trailing behind him.

“I’m just close with the owner,” he abruptly looks over his shoulder to assure you.

He stands before a door motioning you to take the first step into the room

“Ladies first,” he holds his hand for you while holding back a laugh.

You chuckle, “This house is ridiculously enormous, why would anyone—“ you cut off, gazing in awe at the room before your eyes.

An arcade room with a wide variety of games and machines opens up to you. You leave all your concerns behind carefully stepping forward. You don’t know who the owner of this house is but you feel a niggle of jealousy. How could someone live such a lavish lifestyle that they own the finest Arcade room that you’ve ever seen? The design of the room was surely inspired by the Japanese 80s cyberpunk aesthetic with all the lanterns and neon lights ornating the walls.

“I knew you would like it here,” Jungkook is right behind you, giving you time to look around a myriad of arcade cabinets, claw machines, and even VR games.

“At least it’s quiet here and I can properly hear you,” you don’t know how many tries you will have here, so you weigh on between playing the mini bowling or racing games.

“Can you hear me well now?” You feel the sudden warmth of Jungkook’s body behind you.

Not even trying to resist the urge to meet his mesmerizing eyes, you turn around, now facing Jungkook. Even through the dim lights of the Arcade room, you are able to catch the entrancing sparkle in his doe eyes that reel you in by the second. Your eyes flicker to his lips and you notice a cute little mole right beneath his mouth that sends warmth through your body.

And before it’s too late, your stare darted around the room hoping that Jungkook didn’t notice anything. Well, you’re sure he did, as a smirk spreads all over his face but maybe he decided to be a better person and doesn’t tease you about it.

“So, what can we play here?” You innocently ask, blinking up at him.

“Anything that you’d like,” he spreads his arms, and you can tell it took some willpower for him to fight the urge of answering your question not so innocently as he did.

You bit your lip, excitedly running from one machine to another as a little kid in a toy store not knowing what game to start with.

“But I thought, maybe you’d like to start with this one,” Jungkook’s smug voice reached out to you from the far side of the room.

He was leaning on a vintage arcade cabinet and at first, you were confused why he suggested this one in particular. That was until you came closer, recognizing the design of characters that you loved since you were a little kid.

“Is this for real the original Legends of the Wild arcade?” You find yourself glued to the machine, not willing to keep your hands to yourself. “Jungkook, this is literally what sculptured me into the person that I am today!” You both laugh as you continue examining the old arcade, getting ready to finally play.

You weren’t exaggerating for a bit, this game was profoundly responsible for your lifelong love for games. The minute you laid your hands on Nintendo’s joysticks, determined to play through the Legends of Wilds until you find out how the in-game story ends, was the minute your love for beautiful and meaningful games was found. And then later you stumbled upon an online game Vision of Fate which later made you a player of a rookie esports team where you met your best friend Jisoo. And your little esport romantic nature always wanted to even have a look at the original game’s arcade which was discontinued for a very long time.

But here it is, right in front of you, and your hands are tightly gripping the joystick, trying to score as high as possible. And it’s all thanks to Jungkook, who was a stranger just an hour ago that you might have never even crossed paths with, but for some reason you did. And now he sort of made one of your dreams come true while absolutely being clueless about games? Maybe it was fate, coincidence, or just an inevitable course of life that made you meet here someone who knew this house so well, while Jisoo left you…

“Shit, I totally forgot about Jisoo!” Your sudden wave of guilt leaves Jungkook in absolute shock.

“Didn’t she abandon you in the first place?” He kindly reminds you, which is technically true.

“That’s not how friendships work,” you take a step back, leaning on a table right next to the arcade. “I should at least text her,” you pull out your phone from the back pocket typing in the message, “You can try and play by yourself”.

You text a quick “where are you, everything’s fine?” message and click “send”. When your attention is back to Jungkook, you see the infamous “GAME OVER” plastered on the screen. You let out a chuckle, hurrying to save Jungkook.

“Need help?”

“Yeah, would be nice,” he beckons you to come closer to his side. And when you follow his instruction, he says, “Feel free to guide me however you want.” His smirk is irritating but you’re way too uplifted to think about a witty answer.

Plus, you can’t complain about having to stand in such close proximity to Jungkook. Not when everything about him is so ravishing.

You gently place your hand over his palm that is holding the joystick, fully ready to guide him. Was this ridiculous? Yes. Was this really necessary? No, Jungkook wasn’t even into games. But the warmth of his toned body right behind yours and his wide shoulders brushing yours were keeping you right at your spot.

When he leans in closer to you, his hot breath brushes your ear, as he mumbles hoarsely, “You are very good at this, Y/N, you know it?”

To be continued

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Yandere! Vaniteas

I was on a horrible writer's block but here I am, writing fanfic. This is for a special person who yeeted me out of my creative slump LMAO

If you don't know who Vaniteas is, he's a vtuber I follow! A lot of things happened and i'm now writing a fic bout him lol. This is just going to be a short fic... But then you guys know what short is for me :D

An alternative Universe where a Demigod is now living in the modern era as a streamer, turns out has a past he could never take out.

He's an insane man.

Here he is, looking at the screen blink and blur for about ten times before sighing.

He's been streaming for 6 hours at this point. And the fact that he streams 2 hours on the regular, this was a bit of an eye strain at this point.

But he can't. Not yet.

His fingers danced across the keyboards as he tried to defeat Blackgaol Knight in the DLC, trying so hard to defeat the boss but he's about to slam the keyboard from frustration.

Doing an endurance stream while drunk isn't a good idea. But here he is, losing his mind while looking at a screen that almost swam from the lack of other stimulation other than this... Damned game.

Who knew doing a "Every defeat is a drink" stream will be the death of him? Not him, that's for sure.

He taps his finger on the desk, wondering what will happen next after this stream. His eyes flickered to the chat, and saw his regulars beefing on god knows what in the chatbox.

Then, out of nowhere, a raid happened.

He scrambled up, trying to straighten himself and be a bit more sober to greet the people who are now spamming their raid message. The raider, a friend of his, brought new viewers and old to his stream.

"Oh! Thank you for the raid..."

His heart stopped.

Was his eyes still being affected by the liquor, or is he actually seeing things?

An entry. Just the same raid message that he usually sees whenever his friend raids his stream. But the username that accompanied that message was someone he would never, ever forget.

Surely, it was just a coincidence? It was not you. It's impossible. It's been what, over 500 years since he last saw you?

Yeah, just a coincidence, he thought.

Because if it wasn't, he doesn't know what to do.

"Vani! Come on!"

"Wait up!"

A field filled with lush green grass that stretched out of the horizon, a lone cottage in the middle with a stream flowing down from the forest, the wind cold yet comforting, and the sky blue untainted.

It was the picture perfect scene for a picnic.

Vani juggled to balance the picnic basket in his arms, but his lips were stretched to a soft smile as he watched you dance and prance around the field.

This demigod was in love.

At first, it was just a simple curiosity. After all, with you being a witch finding a god to worship was a rare occurrence nowadays. Higher beings like him are trying to find worshippers just to ease their boredom.

So, he decided to bless you a bit. And that was supposed to be all of it.

But why? The fates were playful that day and struck him with a slow burn effect of the cupid's bow. And now, he's hopelessly enamored with your whole existence.

Your delighted face when you looked up at him sent his heart racing a bit. It was truly something he hadn't seen before, even with his previous worshippers.

His relationship with you was promptly a give or take. You do a ritual, he grants you powers to do simple tasks like fire bending to light up torches, cook, or even bless up your luck.

It was not until you laid there, one night on your bed, talking to the air as if talking to him.

"My Lord, why do you think the people hate witchcraft?" You asked, your face pale. "I didn't know I would be kicked out like that two months ago. What about my family? I don't..."

With a sigh, you turned to your side to weep your life that could have been.

His heart ached for you.

Yes, that was one of the reasons why people rarely worship them anymore. The act of witchcraft renders these witches burnt at the stake. Even to those who are not witches, if they were deemed too smart for the people, then they will face the wrath of the fire.

The same fire that Vani nurtures.

"It's unfortunate."

You scrambled up when you heard a voice seep into your mind. It was deep, a bit boyish yet mature.

"H-hello?"

That voice chuckled.

"Hi."

Things escalated quickly at that. You, who was lonely in the small cottage in the middle of the field, now has a friend. Weirdly enough, it's the god you worship and do rituals for.

It didn't take much long for a relationship to nurture when he starts showing up in front of you.

Everyday was filled with laughter, innocence, a budding relationship blossoming from a dire situation. His heart never beats this fast for another being, let alone a human or a worshipper, but here you are. Defying those same principles he held dear.

It was bliss, not until the other gods got hold of his... Escapades.

Things went downhill after that.

They said it was purely coincidence, but Vani swore it wasn't.

A person from a nearby village snooped you out, and has accused you of being a witch.

The worst part is, Vani was away since the gods decided to talk about him and this weird relationship he had with you.

The gods swore they were just scared for Vani.

But Vani never felt fear, until he let out harrowing screams with his fellow gods holding him back from trying to stop the people burning you at the stake.

The fire was angry. Deep harboring rage licked at your skin as you screamed out in pain. Screamed out his name in pain.

You wanted nothing more but to live peacefully.

"NO!"

Your body, which was once whole and filled with love he gave you, is now a pile of ashes and bones.

And as if nothing happened, the people scattered and went on with their lives.

Scrambling to his feet, he ran towards the stake and knelt at your ashes, desperately grabbing as much as he can and hugging it to his body to feel your warmth. But the warmth he felt was the remaining fire that burnt his skin. But he doesn't care. All he wants is you back again, in his arms, as he whispers his confession to you.

He failed to protect you.

Fate was cruel indeed. 300 years after that incident, another god fell in love with a human. And the others accepted it and decided to welcome this change.

But why only then? Where was their compassion when you were burnt in front of him? Where's the welcoming arms that this couple received when you were in Vani's arms, nothing but bones?

He deeply resented them at that time. And still do but in secret.

He shook his head to focus when he realized that the people were asking in chat if he's okay.

"Oh i'm fine! Don't worry. Something just came up." A smooth lie, he smiles to his audiences and decided to welcome everyone.

"... And hello, y/nTheWitch."

His voice was merely a whisper in the wind when he said that. After all, his heart was beating out of his chest when the familiar formation of the tongue and lips moved to blurt out your name.

A chat from you popped up on his screen and he almost wept then and there.

y/nTheWitch: Hi! I saw your name and was curious since you sound so familiar... I don't know where I heard it though, it's my first time seeing a vtuber.

y/nTheWitch: It's like a sense of deja vu, lol

Vani smiled bitterly. It must be you then, it's impossible that it's not you at all.

"Really? I think I heard of you too. You sound really familiar, and I also kind of have that sense of deja vu. Maybe we knew each other in our past life?" Vani joked, and the chat erupted in jeers thinking it was a pick up line.

It kind of was, but not the intention, really.

He can feel it. The connection with you that was once dull is now a weird numb ache in his meridians. You were alive again, and he hopes that it's you in the chat.

He hopes that it was truly, really you.

So that his past guilt of not protecting you will be lifted.

And the guilt of burning down the whole village who burnt you will also be lifted.

Countless of ashes and bones were scattered in your name.

And he's determined to not let that sacrifice in vain.

"I hope I'll see you next time I stream, y/n."

[stratocumulusperlucidus]

WIP REC

I love love love reading WIPs, the anticipation, the excitement of getting the notification for a new chapter, even sometimes the cliffhangers... So here are some of the lovely fics I'm currently reading!

Oh and if you read these, please consider taking a minute to leave a comment, let the author know you appreciate their work 💖

This Is More of a Comment Than a Question by @caterpills

Rating: Mature | Chapters: 3/10

Three weeks before Henry Fox's tour for his fourth, highly anticipated, awards-bait novel A Brief War in December begins, his publicist Janella breaks her foot on a bunny slope at Windham. Alex can't be mad at her, even though he kind of is. Saying it out loud would be like kicking her when she was down, and she already went down a literal mountain in the worst way possible. Now crammed in Rafael Luna's corner office, Janella is shooting Alex extremely apologetic looks while slumped on her crutches, wearing a bright orange cast. The conversation about who is going to be joining Henry Fox on his multi-city trek across the U.S. is also going downhill. Alex is feeling the same sort of free fall while standing still. Because out of all the publicists available in their tiny underfunded department, the only one left to escort their company's best-selling author is regrettably him. The problem is, well, Alex absolutely hates Henry Fox.

Or: Alex is the publicist for Mountchristen Publishers, and is stuck on a two-week tour with their best-selling, but frustrating, author Henry Fox.

Her Royal Highness by @tailsbeth-writes

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 5/?

'Shaan, can you please put an appointment in my diary?' 'Certainly sir, what is it for?' 'A reminder to kill Alex for getting me into this mess.' Shaan tried to hold back a smirk as he stepped back, tapping away on his tablet. 'Personally I think the blue glitter really brings out your eyes, sir.' This terrible idea had started like most of Alex’s did, a seedling planted by the most chaotic of the chaos demons; Nora.

or How Prince Henry ended up as a guest judge on RuPaul's Drag Race UK.

the full spectrum of human emotion by @firenati0n

Rating: Mature | Chapters: 3/6

Alex grips his hand tighter. They’re going to need to have a long, hard conversation in the next five minutes, or else Alex is going to combust right here in Pez’s fancy office. Explode for all of Midtown Manhattan to see. Here lies what remains of Alex, for all the world to witness—taken out by a rogue marriage proposal from his evil boss-turned-fiancé.

Or: Working under editor Henry Fox-Mountchristen was only supposed to be Step One in Alex’s plan of achieving his big dreams—but when his boss winds up facing an even bigger problem, potential deportation, Alex finds he isn’t just a beleaguered assistant anymore. He’s the solution.

It’s fine. They only have to fool his friends, his family, the United States Government…and themselves.

Life Is Not A Movie (But We Can Have The Fairytale) by @lfg1986-2

Rating: Explicit | Chapters: 3/?

Three years after the smashing success of the first Red, White and Royal Blue film, Nicholas and Taylor are preparing to return to their roles as Henry and Alex to film the sequel. After a late night of catching up with each other and reestablishing their close bond just before rehearsals begin, they wake up to find themselves in a crazy twist of fate, where fiction blends with reality and the lines between fictional characters and the actors who portray them become irrevocably blurred.

Or

What happens when Taylor is transported into the movie universe and comes face to face with Prince Henry, while Nick wakes up to find Alex Claremont-Diaz in his living room in the place of his friend and costar? Both pairs must work together to figure out how to get themselves back where they belong, and along the way they discover some things about themselves and each other that has the potential to alter their relationships forever.

take me back to San Francisco by headabovethewater / @getmehighonmagic

Rating: Explicit | Chapters: 2/8

“You don’t look like you’re having a very good time,” a soft voice suddenly startles him from his thoughts. Henry’s entire body jerks and he spills some of his drink down the front of his shirt.

“Oh, bloody-” He leans over to put his drink on the table and starts wiping at his shirt. “No, I’m- It’s not that, it’s-” He glances fleetingly at the stranger and then down at his shirt again, before his brain finally registers that oh, glasses, dark curls, white smile, exposed chest. Henry’s head snaps back up and his lips part in astonishment. Handsome doesn’t even begin to cover it. Him.

“Hi,” the man says, then chuckles. He hands Henry a napkin and gestures towards one of the other chairs at the table. “Would you mind?”

or, Henry and Alex meet on vacation in San Francisco and an instant spark between them has both of them unable to let the other go. With only two weeks to spend together and the knowledge that it can't last beyond that, it's just a massive, insurmountable recipe for disaster.

Or is it?

Unattended / Unsent mails by amnesia_on_ice / @amnesiaa-on-ice

Rating: General Audiences | Chapters: 4/?

Alex is a Singer Songwriter, henry is his arch nemesis Actor but also secretively writer. There is a long running feud between Henry and Alex. Now they are meeting for the first time in person in a vanity after party and the stan twitter have lots to digest of the meeting.

The story of Unattended/ unsent mails.

the drag of your lips by rizcriz

Rating: Mature | Chapter 2/3

Alex isn’t sure how he got here.

Here being pressed into the couch, his roommate straddling his lap and warm against every point they’re touching, soft lips moving against his own in the most sensual, leisurely pattern that Alex’s fingers instinctively flex where they’re clinging into his lower back. He’s hard in his pants, straining towards Henry, but there’s no desperate hands grasping, no drive to take this any further.

Or, Alex just really wants to make out with someone. Henry helpfully volunteers.

Foxden Park by myheartalive / @myheartalivewrites

Rating: Explicit | Chapters: 4/9

“Yes, Alex, what a terrible destiny,” Nora says. “To be hosted for a week by all these charming rich people, who have bent over backwards to accommodate us, including sending their own carriage into town to fetch us. How very dare we drag you into their nefarious scheme.”

—

Invited to a week-long house party at the Duke of Windsor’s country residence, Alex Claremont-Diaz does not expect to find anything to enjoy about his time there. What he does find is Lord Henry, the duke’s younger brother—and a boatload of things to learn about himself.

Seven days in the country in a duke's house. What could possibly happen?

[centuryberry]

Queen of the Mountain Universe

So, after watching Season 5 (which has devastated me, by the way - completely and utterly destroyed me), I was inspired to incorporate a certain character into the Queen of the Mountain Universe and tie together the AUs tied to the games. (Excluding the A/B/O AU, Fae AU, and the Imperial Harem AU.)

This technically isn't a fic spoiler since I won't be adding any of this into the main fic itself, mind you. I already have too much planned in Acts II and III to include the new revelations, but I'm writing my ideas here. (May consider writing some oneshots set post-QotM.)

Warning: Spoilers for LMK Season 5 below!

We all knew it was Xiangliu. This snake man has a grip on me that only happened once before when Season 1 Macaque sashayed into my life. Holy hell, he's the definition of chaotic neutral. Also, the hints of lore he dropped before casually moving on because he thought it wasn't important? Drove me insane. What do you mean you and Wukong used to be friends? What do you mean Macaque made a deal? What do you mean be "he's winning"?! Who's he?!

I have no idea what LMK has planned for him (or if he's even going to come back in the future seasons), but I know what plans I have for him now.

To be honest, Xiangliu (the Nine-Headed Demon who nearly scammed Ao Guang and his ilk in Chapter 16) wasn't supposed to be significant in the Queen of the Mountain universe. But with how Season 5 ended up, I made him into a more important player.

Just like the LMK world, I'd like to think that the QotM world also experiences a similar "cycle" in the form of "resets." It would make sense, right? As In the Sun's Embrace and Sunchaser are games that encourages reloads and resets to explore different routes, it's not too far-fetched to think that the world itself experiences something similar.

I've always had a fondness of Time Loops in stories, especially with at least one person remembering every loop. Xiangliu would be that person in this case. Somehow, he became aware of what was happening and yearned for an escape from this constant resetting of the world.

(He must've gone insane gaining and losing friends, lovers, and enemies, doomed to repeat the same song and dance again except his bonds would never be the same since he's always changing and always growing while everyone else regresses every time.)

Eventually, he removed himself from the living world all together and replaced one of the Ten Kings of the Underworld to find a way out. Still, he'd pop up here and then to maybe make some interventions or watch when something new played out.

While a lot of the diverging AUs are mostly due to the different choices made by individuals, I'd like to think that Xiangliu made some of them possible. Notably, Warlord Shanzha AU, Withered Grave Flowers AU, Detoxify AU, and Extra Pilgrim AU.

Well, you noticed how LBD seems to be absent in those AUs, right? How Yue magically comes out of things alive and unpossessed by her into the modern era? Well, the answer in Xiangliu. He doesn't do this in every cycle, but he sometimes has the heart to spare Yue from her canon fate. Making her fate better always seems to give happier endings to all of the celestial monkeys. Not perfect, but happier.

(And, because it would be so funny to me, I'd like to think he at least hooked up with every member of the celestial monkey poly occasionally in between cycles. So he has a history with all of them which I may expand on in another post if anyone's interested.)

So, there you have it. A way for all of these AUs to technically be canon. (Thank you, Season 5.)

As for what Xiangliu is doing during Queen of the Mountain, he's doing nothing. For the first time, he didn't have to do anything to make a drastic change to the usual script. For the first time, he's interested to see how things turn out. Because of a certain six-eared baby monkey yaoguai who ended up in the palanquin.

[noxi3xe]

Sepperate post for this

Dangerous Entanglement

Chapters & their synopsis

I decided to lay out all of the chapters in this post to make it more.. clean? If that makes sense

Otherwise my other post’s gonna get too long. I’ll keep updating this one with each new chapter I release. Might do the same for any future works (:

Current chapters:

-Fateful revelations: Introduction and world development, we find out basic information.

-Secret and Allies: we make friends with Hu Tao, who holds our secret and helps us find out more about our soulmates.

-A Perilous Celebration: Our 22nd birthday! It’s all going well and smooth till we notice a little something in the distance.

-Hilltop Hazard: What’s a celebration without sneaking into a fatui camp and almost getting caught?

-Caught and Almost Cornered: But of course how can you end a birthday party without getting chased?

-A Fateful Encounter: The bank’s always busy, you never know who you’ll meet there. Could be one of your soulmates.

-Mountain Mysteries and New Friends: A little scare in the mail to start out your day strong, but new friends fix all worries.

-Heartfelt Goodbyes: saying goodbye to our new friends to head back to the city and continue our *boring* life (which is about to get interesting)

-Ball Gown Secrets: What’s better than waking up to your best friend arguing with your father, winning the argument then taking you shopping? Nothing!

-Voyage to Snezhnaya: The trip to Snezhnaya finally arrives! I wonder whatever we might talk about on the trip, hopefully not something that’ll change our entire life!

-City Sights and Palace Nights: We had arrived to Snezhnaya! Time to look around and get used to the place, the sights are lovely and the people even lovelier.

-Draped in Pearls: Finally the night we’ve been awaiting, and how else could it start off other than with a staring match?

-Snatched by the 9th: Perhaps coming to Snezhnaya wasn't such a good Idea after all. If only we could clear our mind witnout a certain somebody chasing us down..

-First Official Meeting: Face to face finally with those we're supposed to spend our life with, at least that's what the universe has planned for us. They don't seem that bad after all, perhaps we were over exaggerating

-Enforcing Rules: It's time to sit down for a talk and end the evening with what else than being forced into a bath, there's nothing better!

-Getting Comfortable: A chill day, nothing on our mind other than laying back a little.

-Office Works: Well running errands for Pantalone sure did not end as one would expect, thankfully nothing worse than a bit of bullying happened, right?

-Errand Runs: Gone Wrong: Yesterday was confusing and exhausting, but today was something different. Why was luck not on our side and why did it seem as if the whole region had something against us? TW: Minor Violence and Angst (A little bit of it, at least).

-Laboratory shenanigans: We've had enough of everybody, enough of getting pushed around and perhaps we took it out on the right person!

-Promotions and Experimentation: First official day at the lab, I wonder what The Doctor has planned as our first experiment! TW: NSFW

-Stormy nights: Passing out randomly lead to waking up hours later and that lead to bonding.. if you could call it bonding even, more like eventual bickering!

-'First' official day off: Looks like a certain somebody has fallen sick! And what's a better way to rest and take the day slow than to read a book and cuddle under the blankets? TW: Gore and horror aspects (We Read a book)

-Promises: It sure is sweet when a story ends happily, isn't it? That's what we had always thought but never really knew we would once experience our happy ending as well. TW: NSFW

+ bonus chapter [sheep] There's a lil secret I gotta tell you that I definitely haven't told anybody (Author's note and a thank you)

__________

DottoreEnjoyer69 on AO3

Link to the fic here

[andreafmn]

Kinktober ⛓️ Day 11

Word Count: 2.9K Paring: Paul Lahote x Human!Fem!Reader Prompt @kinktober2023: Sensory Deprivation WARNINGS: SMUT 18+ (minors DNI), oral (female receiving), sensory deprivation (handcuffs, earplugs, blindfold), fingering, p-in-v sex, unprotected sex

Summary: Paul Lahote has always had trouble trusting and letting other trust him. Parts of his past have left him doubtful and uncertain of everything, even (Y/N)'s feelings for him. No matter what she says or does, he believes they are only the result of the supernatural ties that bonds them. But she will do anything to make him understand otherwise.

A/N: First Paul fic of the season, many more to come 😉😉 also, yes, I am behind schedule... are we surprised? 😅😅

<- Previous | Next ->

Trust was not something that came easily to Paul Lahote. Not giving it or receiving it. The very people that he should have believed in the most were the first to break it, and it had done nothing for any of his future relationships. 

After shifting, it only got worse. He was forced to lean on his brothers in the pack. They required mutual trust to ensure everything ran smoothly between them. He couldn’t help but trust them. There was no other path he could take. 

But imprinting on (Y/N) brought on a level of uncertainty he had never thought possible. He had been lucky enough that she shared his feelings once he confessed everything he was and everything the bond meant. Yet, he’d felt that way about her before the shift, and he couldn’t help but wonder if her feelings were because of the supernatural link that tied them together. Even if she told him many times that the way she felt about him had nothing to do with the imprint bond, a part of him always wondered. 

(Y/N) was nothing if not determined, though. She would get Paul to understand that her feelings ran deeper than a supernatural tie, that the universe has brought them together for a reason, even if he didn’t believe it to be so. 

Truth was, she’d had feelings for him long before they even said a word to each other. When walking down the halls of their school, she wondered what it would be like to be the girl under his arm and not just another student he nodded to as he walked to class. At that time, she didn’t know that he harbored the same thoughts but always believed she was too good to be with someone like him. 

But long gone were the high school days, and the fates had decided that their lives should cross. Even if Paul questioned the why every day of his life, (Y/N) knew they were meant for each other. And she planned to show him just how much she thought so. 

“Can’t you just tell me what we’re doing?” Paul chuckled as (Y/N) led him up the stairs of her home. “You’ve been so secretive about tonight.”

“I told you that it’s your anniversary present,” she responded. “Now, stop dragging and get in the room.”

Behind the closed door, Paul saw a plethora of candles lit around her room, basking the area in a warm light. On the bed, a small back box with a bow around it rested, waiting for him to open it. “Is that for me?” he questioned. “The black box?” 

“It is,” she smirked. “Check what’s inside.”

With a confused look, Paul reached for the box, untying the white ribbon around it and letting it fall onto the floor as he lifted the lid to the box. His stare turned amused as he pulled item after item from the container, unsure of what it meant. He pulled out leather handcuffs, a silk blindfold, and small foam earplugs. 

“What’s this?” 

(Y/N) crossed the room, closing the door behind her and taking Paul’s hands into hers. “I want you to know that I trust you completely, baby,” she said. “I trust with my mind, my body, and my soul. Tonight, I want to give you all of my senses. I want to let you know that there is not a single drop of doubt in my body that what we have was always supposed to happen.” 

“(Y/N)… I-I don’t think I can.”

“Please, Paul. I need you to take this leap of faith with me,” she pleaded, resting a hand on his cheek. “I need you to trust yourself and trust us as much as I do.”

“I do trust you, baby. Of course, I do,” he sighed. “But I don’t trust myself. I’ve never been able to.”

“Then let me show you how,” she whispered. “Trust yourself with me. Trust yourself with my body because I do. If you don’t believe yourself, then believe me.”

Paul kissed her tenderly, taking her jaw in his hand. Her lips were warm and expectant, and as loving as the first time they had kissed. He caressed her skin and cradled her body, pulling her body to his. 

He did want to believe in himself, believe that the universe did think they were the perfect match. But where she was calm, he was explosive. Where she was kind, he was sarcastic. Where she was caring, he was stubborn. How could he trust that someone didn’t make a mistake along the way?

But at that moment, he knew he had to trust her. He had to because she was trusting him. And he kissed her to let her know that. His hands reached behind her back as he unzipped her dress, pulling the straps gently from her before allowing the fabric to pool at her ankles. 

As they parted to remove Paul’s shirt, (Y/N) took the blindfold and placed it in his hands. He stared at the piece of fabric as she placed the air plugs and the cuffs on top, smiling at him as if he had placed the stars in the sky. 

“Do it,” she said. “I trust you, Paul. You’ll take my sight, my hearing, and my touch. You’ll have it all in your hands to do as you please. Mind, body, and soul, baby.”

With another chaste kiss to her lips, Paul started by taking her sight, slipping the silk over her eyes. He tied the blindfold behind her head. He led her to the bed, still dressed in her black lace underwear, where he clasped her arms to the headboard. “I love you,” he said as he slipped one plug into her ear. “More than you’ll ever know.”

“And I love you,” she responded as he placed the other. “More than you’ll ever believe.”

It was exhilarating to not have her senses. Everything made her sensitive. The gentle breeze that came in through her window made her skin erupt in goosebumps. Every slight movement from anything around her made her jump. And the anticipation made her drenched with desire. 

But Paul couldn’t help the nervousness that took him over as he heard her heart hammering in her chest. It was running like it wanted to crawl out of her skin, and it made him question just how much she truly wanted that moment. 

Trust. That’s what it was all about. He needed to trust what (Y/N) said. Needed to trust the love and care she had put into their relationship. It was time that he believed the words she said and not the thoughts that clouded his head. 

He took it slow at first. He caressed her skin, reveling in the way her body arched toward his touch. His hands traveled the expanse of her body, from her face to her legs, mapping every inch in sight. Paul kissed her softly on the lips, beginning a trail of kisses down her body. From her cheek to her jaw, from the spot on her neck that made her moan to the swell of her breasts that made her mewl. 

Paul’s tongue left a trail of wetness across her body as she panted. Cutting off her senses made her more sensitive than he’d ever thought possible. Simple caresses and kisses made her keen in pleasure, her body arching to where the touch came from. It made his cock press against the seam of his jeans, hearing her moan because of him. 

In a swift rip, he removed her underwear, leaving her exposed under the light of the moon. Her legs pressed together in an attempt of modesty, but Paul spread them before she could hide her weeping wetness. 

“You should know you owe me a pair of underwear now,” she said rather loudly, but all Paul could do was laugh, knowing she could not hear an answer. “That was my favorite matching set, just so you know.” 

Something came over him then as he came face to face with her wet cunt. An animalistic urge to dive into her and claim her as his own. He wanted his ears to fill with her pretty sounds, wanted her legs to close around his head as she wailed in pleasure because of his tongue, wanted her to beg him to fuck her like never before. Her entire body was on display and under his control. She was his, from now until forever. 

He kissed his way up her legs, sinking his teeth softly into her skin and licking the pain away after. He trailed her limbs until his mouth fell on her core, licking from her folds to her clit, spreading her and tasting her like never before. He closed his lips around the small bundle of nerves, sucking in his cheeks as his tongue caressed the mound. 

(Y/N)’s breath hitched in her throat at the contact, her hands trying to snake their way into his hair but being held back by the restraints. Her chest heaved as Paul attacked her sex, moving his tongue expertly around her clit. She could feel him expertly twisting it around her, lighting a fire deep inside her stomach. Unconsciously, (Y/N) tried to close her legs again as pleasure traveled across her body, but with very little force, Paul kept them open. One hand on her leg, the other kneading her breasts and pulling at her nipples. It was overstimulation at its finest. And not being able to see him or hear how loud she was being, or even touch him made her that much more aroused. 

But Paul wasn’t satisfied with only that. As she screamed out his name the second her first organs hit her, he slid two of his fingers into her cunt, scissoring the digits as her walls contracted against them. He could hear the rattling of the cuffs’ chains as she tried to stop the assault, but it only worked to make him smirk and keep going. 

His tongue was aided by his fingers as he licked, sucked, nipped, and pistoned, making (Y/N) wail his name into the quietness of the house. Just like he wanted. He wanted everyone to know just how good he was making her feel. Wanted them to know how much she did trust him, that she had relinquished control of her body to him willingly and lovingly. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. They were one. Mind, body, and soul, they were meant for each other. Paul knew what (Y/N) needed without her having to say a word or even move a muscle, and he had to believe it. 

With another finger inside her, (Y/N) felt stretched. But she knew that wasn’t the most her cunt would take. By the end of the night, she’d be sore and tired but completely satisfied. She knew Paul would see to it. And by how it was already going, she knew just how she’d be left trembling and satiated, and with a newfound trust between them. All because of a pair of handcuffs and a blindfold. 

Paul remained buried between her legs until they closed on either side of his head as she moaned out his name loud enough for her voice to carry to the Young cabin. With a satisfied chuckle, he cleaned his mouth before placing his hand over her lips, prompting her to let his fingers into her mouth. He moaned as he gazed at her tasting herself on him, a mix of wanting her tongue around his cock instead and watching her moan out at her own taste. 

With his free hand, Paul untucked his cock from his pants, stroking himself as she feasted on his fingers, taking them in as if it was him buried deep inside her mouth. He spread his precum along his lengths, groaning at the sensitivity of his member. He wanted to make the night last. Wanted to prove to her that handing over control of her body had been the best decision she could have made. But all he wanted was to be immersed in her warmth, covered by her fluttering walls and her glistening essence. He wanted her to know how hard she was making him, how in love with her he was. 

Begrudgingly, he took his fingers out of her mouth, her lips making a popping sound as the digits exited. He slipped his pants alongside his underwear down his legs, tossing them at a corner of the room. His erection stood proudly in front of him as he climbed over her in bed, towering over her body as he trailed it with his mouth once more. 

He grabbed his shaft with his hand, stroking the head against her floss, spreading her only slightly but not entering her yet. He crossed from her entrance to her clit, running back and forth on the outside. 

“Stop teasing, baby,” she dead breathily. “You’ve done enough teasing for the night.” 

Once more, Paul chuckled in response, knowing she would not hear a word he said. He kissed her lips then, using her gasp from spreading her with his cock to slip his tongue into her mouth. She tasted of her own juices, making him groan into her mouth, and her hands to struggle against the restraints. 

“Move already, baby,” she groaned against his lips. “Please.” 

How could he not when she was begging so deliciously? Her legs crossed around him as Paul finally entered her completely, thrusting slowly as her body got used to his size. The initial stinging always made her wince, but it wasn’t long until the sound was replaced with a pleasure-full moan. It was a tango they had perfected over time, adding and removing steps as they saw for. But the choreography always ended with both of them pleasantly satisfied. 

(Y/N) didn’t want to wait, though. Her legs pushed Paul’s hips into her at a faster speed. Though it was not fast enough yet. There was only so much she could do with her limbs. 

Her skin felt like it was on fire. Her desire to run her hands across his skin, to draw into him lines of love and pleasure that only she would remember were there, was enormous. Every time she felt the urge to do so, the throbbing of the leather against her wrists reminded her that she could not. If she wanted to touch Paul, he would have to decide so. Only he could touch her. Only he could give her all that she desired. 

“Faster,” (Y/N) mewled. “Faster, Paul.” 

And that’s what he did. His hips resounded against her ass in a thunderous clap as he thrust into her at the tempo he knew she wanted. The slickness of her insides mixed with the slapping of their skin made him grow feral. He moved in a way only he knew how, hitting the spots that made her cry out in pleasure. 

“More!” she cried. “I’m close, baby. Give me more!” 

Paul couldn’t deny her request. He had already rested on her like she was her essence of life and had taken her body for himself. If she wanted to cum, he would make sure that she did. His hand reached between them to find her clit, twisting it between his fingers as he angled his cock to the spot he knew would have her bursting around him. 

Between his hand and his cock, there was no way (Y/N) could last much longer. It only took a couple of minutes more for her to come undone around him. Her back arched off the bed as she came with him, her arms held back as she cried out his name in pleasure. The only way she could get him closer was by wrapping her legs tighter around him, keeping him inside as their ends mixed inside her, filling her until she spilled around him. 

As their orgasms ran through their bodies, Paul slid out of her slowly, gasping silently as their essences spilled out of her onto the bed. He then took off her earplugs, followed by the blindfold and the cuffs, kissing the redness that had formed on her wrists. 

Finally free of her restraints, (Y/N)’s hands cradled Paul’s cheeks to bring him in for a passionate kiss, the need to touch him at an all-time high. She ran her hands all over his exposed skin, making up for the time she could not. 

“Tell me,” he said breathlessly as he parted from her red lips. “How did it feel?” 

“Why tell you when I can show you?” (Y/N) smiled devilishly. “This is an exercise of trust, and trust goes both ways, baby.” 

“You want me to wear the blindfold?” Paul asked, his cock already hardening at the idea.

“It looks like you like the idea,” she grinned. “I gave you everything that I am, Paul. Now it’s your turn.” 

After only a second of silence, Paul smiled and gave her another kiss, pulling her toward him until she was straddling his lap, their chest pressed tightly together. “Okay,” he said breathlessly, his eyes trained deeply on hers. “Mind, body, and soul, right?” 

“Mind, body, and soul,” she repeated. “Now, ready for round two?”

Next ->

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[silawastaken]

Analysis of the poem Chuuya wrote to Dazai in Chapter 22 of my fic 'the (not so) perfect pair'!!!

Most of this poem(as you may have read in the an) was inspired by my own gf- but here is my little analysis of where various inpiration came from, and what it links back too because I wanted to make this and was told it may be appreciated :D

Sick, angry and jealous.

That's how I feel.

Frequently Chuuya mistakes his positive feelings towards Dazai as anger or annoyance, he kept thinking he was sick instead of embarrassed or flustered

Hot and bothered like you're under my skin, teasing and taunting like nothing has happened.

Like nothing had changed.

He thinks that he can't have been the only one who noticed the slight shift in their dynamic, the more frequent lingering looks, the few times even before Dazai's birthday that they almost kissed, and is infuriated at the lack of recognition in the shift, the way Dazai continues to poke fun at him the same joking way as before.

You have upended my world, changed it and claimed it as your own, and worst?

I can't complain.

I'm sick and nauseous and the reason why is you, but it's adrenaline at the same time, you're like a drug I can't get enough of, killing me while I admire the colour it changes my vision to see.

Chuuya mentioned earlier in the fic, after they fell out that he and Dazai were 'too codependent for their own good', which is what this line is a partial reference too. Dazai has always been around, Dazai has always been a large part of his life, and he's realised how much, and how upset it's making him, and he just doesn't care, because it's Dazai. Regardless of how it hurts, he'd rather hurt than not have Dazai.

To call you a muse would be an understatement, to call you pretty would be demeaning, to say I love you could never encompass the extent to which I care for you.

I want to be with you, forever.

Dazai and Chuuya are both artists. While Chuuya is a poet, and Dazai is a painter, they're each others muses. They have always been able to find the beauty in each other, always cared for each other in a way others didn't understand. So to call him pretty, or say he loves him, wouldn't be enough to accurately portray how he feels.

Forever isn't enough. I could know you for my life and five more and I'd never have enough, there has been a part of me that has known you since before I could know anything else.

This line is a reference to beast T-T Through the entire thing, I've added constant references to canon, in Chuuya's fear of heights because he can't fly, to Dazai's determination he'd be an anti hero. Dazai even tells Chuuya a story which is literally just the main bsd timeline. They've both said, multiple times, that they'd be together in every universe. Because they are, and they know it. They have known each other in every universe, for this life and five more, and they still gravitate towards each other like magnets. Opposites, and stuck together.

If the world doesn't want us, and heaven won't house us, I will keep us here. The sky will rain fire and the ground will grow molten, and we will be here, safe and warm, and alive, this room a haven, safe from the horrors.

Hozier possessed me for a second. No, but there has always been the idea that gay people won't go to heaven. So, 'if the world doesn't want us(general hatred of people) and heaven won't house us(religious stigmatism towards their relationship, or a metaphor for not being allowed a safe and happy place) i will keep us here(Chuuya's bedroom, together, safe)'

The next lines are intended to make a point of the fact they feel safe together. Anything could happen, the world could literally fall apart, and they could sit together in Chuuya's room as it ends and feel at peace. It's supposed to lead on from the previous lines as well, signifying that even if nobody wants them, even if they don't have a place together, Chuuya would make one. He would force the fates into alignment to create a space he and dazai could be together in.

We could float between constellations and carve our names into the stars, we could mold fate to our own design, I could force us together, damn all that tries to block our way.

If nothing will have us, I will still have you.

Again, the same as the previous verse, it's about forcing a place for themselves. 'Even if nothing else works out, as long as you're by my side, it'll be okay' kind of idea. The mention of constellations and stars is a reference to the moment in the overhead tank, the glow in the dark stars on the walls, and the mention of the planetarium.

We can be together, as one, over and over, again and again, universe after universe, you and I, Dazai and Chuuya, the moon and the stars, the planets and the asteroids.

Another beast reference, and a mention of those relationship dynamics, Dazai the moon and Chuuya the stars.

Religion is what I find in you, someone worth being devoted to, I find you in the perfect things, the sun, the rain, music, and art, and nature,

every thing worth living for I can trace back to you, a memory, a daydream, a wish, another sickening urge to keep you here, to preach my love and teach you how to pick out what I see.

More hozier possession, religious metaphors for love are my holy grail, and I love the idea of finding religion in simple or pretty things, and the idea is if you find religion in the pretty things, and to Chuuya, Dazai is the prettiest, he would find it in Dazai first, and Dazai in everything else. He could find Dazai in everything, and find something worth living for. Chuuya is stuck in a situation where he wants to love someone who believes themself incapable of receiving it, and has the idea of teaching him to live himself the way Chuuya loves him, and teach him to 'pick out what i see'.

In my favourite dreams you are there, in our kitchen with the sun coming through the windows, in our garden teaching our kid to pick out plants, every time we are together, we are one.

For a few chapters, it's been a theme for Dazai and Chuuya to both realise how badly they just want to live, together, peacefully. A house and a cat and a kid, an opportunity to be people, together, and happy. These domestic dreams are Chuuya's favourite, and he can't have one that doesn't include Dazai. He can't imagine a life without him.

If I have to settle as a friend, if I have to watch from afar, I will. But I love you.

Since we were kids hiding behind trees, to the day I stop breathing.

I love you.

Forever.

Again, forever. Another reference to that fact that in every universe they meet. They're always together. They're soulmates in the truest sense. And Chuuya loves Dazai so much, that if the only way they can be together in this world, is if they're only friends, he'll happily oblige. He just wants to be able to watch him be happy.

'Since we were kids hiding behind trees' is a reference to the new years eve flashback, the moment they kissed as kids, and Dazai realised he loved Chuuya.

This poem was so fun to write, and I was actually going feral over it, so I hope you appreciate the more in depth explanation, and some of the references. Hozier and mitski just do something man- don't write poetry listening to pink in the night you'll end up with this. ANYWAY thank you for reading :3

[osarina]

CARINA HIIII OMG THE FIRST PART !!! IM SCREAMINGGGGG

ok first off ur writing is still AMAZINGGG i loved how u described everything including dazai being so lovestruck ITS SO CUTE AHHH >^< !! and a lil something but DAZAIS APARTMENT NOT HAVING WATER IS THT SUPPOSED TO BE A CALLBACK TO UU if there were any other callbacks i dont think i caught em im sorry T^T but PLS i love it sm so far n i cant wait to see how the story goes !! (PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE DONT LET IT END THE SAME AS UU LET THEM BE HAPPY PLEASEEEE)

REDDDDDDDD IVE MISSED U LIL LOVE

AHHHHHHH I'M SO GLAD U ENJOYED IT, i was SOOOOO nervous posting this i fear. i almost pussied out like 5 times thats why i didnt get it out til almost nine LOLLLL but THANK YOU ILY, civzai is sooooo cute i adore him. but it's so hard to like .. characterize him LOLLL like keeping civzai dazai without all of the key events that MAKE him dazai .. it's very difficult HAHAHH

AND YESSSSSSS IT WAS HAHAH, there were a few other - dazai's little speech about fate mimics the one in badlands and there will beeee a few more in the upcoming chapters that i'm excited for. i fear i simply cannot not reference waterloo in my fics i miss it so much

THEY WON'T DIE AT THE END I PROMISEEEEEE PMREADER UNIVERSE DOESN'T END IN DEATH

[nine-of-diamonds]

Hi hi this is my @mcyt-valentines gift for @queenarsinoethepoisoner!!

They requested a desert duo vigilante au so I did that and then also mashed in a soulmate au with a college setting bc uhhh I'm me?

Anyway, I had a blast writing this so I hope you enjoy :)

(lil preview of the fic under the cut btw)

Scar isn’t hero material.  

It’s not for a lack of trying. Scar does try, over and over again—but each school year, every mandatory power screening session ends with the Hero Commission recruiter giving him the same response:

“Go home and practice your magic. Magic always remembers; it becomes more malleable to your will the more you use it.”

The first time he’d been told this, he’d been ten, and he’d taken it with an optimistic spark in his heart. “And then I can be a hero?” he’d asked. 

Maybe he should’ve seen it coming when the recruiter simply said, “We’ll see.”

In another world, Scar would have been rewarded for practicing endlessly, learning to channel the power contained in the vex blood he had to phase through walls and even suspend himself in mid-air for a few precious moments. He would’ve been an indomitable hero, one who no Rift monster could land a hit on, and his soulmate would never feel a speck of pain from his end. 

But that isn’t this world.

In this world, Scar practices and practices, hours upon hours spent reaching for a wellspring of magic that he can never quite sink his fingers into. 

With time, the realization would sink in: the magic might remember how to twist itself into his vex-given active power, but that didn’t matter if Scar can’t reliably access it. 

But Scar—Scar’s not the type to give up so easily. Call him determined or stubborn—either way, he doesn’t really ever let that dream die, even as he grows out of the age group from which the Hero Commission picks its recruits. Over the years, he collects a long list of heroes he keeps tabs on and learns from, ranging from up and coming heroes to more established ones like the Goatfather. He dabbles in archery and strength training, keeps up with news of the growing incidence of Rifts around the world, and learns how to sew his own costumes. 

And one day, when he’s already in university, as he watches a hole in time and space tear open in front of the campus library, he’ll understand that there are other ways to fulfill his younger self’s desire to help his town; they just might not be as legal.

Scar’s fine with that. He’s never been a rules guy, anyway. 

---

Boatem does not have a local branch of the Hero Commission. This is partly because the town is fairly small and remote, and partly because up until recently, they rarely suffered from Rifts. 

As a child, this fact devastated him; after all, not having a local heroics branch meant not having any local heroes to observe. 

As the fledgling vigilante, Hotguy, he’s conflicted—on one hand, no heroes means no one really tries to hunt him down. After all, why would any Boatem resident want to arrest their only line of defense against the Rifts?

On the other hand, it means the fate of his town rests squarely on his inexperienced shoulders. 

He knows the risks when he takes on the role. In fact, he receives his first brutal reminder of the stakes within the first week of him being Hotguy, when news breaks of the devastating death of the up and coming hero, Xelqua, who is said to have died in a fight against Rift monsters. 

…Pressure makes diamonds, he supposes. 

[bildad-the-shuhite-official]

Alternative Universe fic recs

Dusk by snae_b M, 800 words, sci-fi au, human au, drugs, soldier crowley, one night stand, drugs There's a station between worlds where you can enjoy one last night before shipping out to fight someone else's war.

Snake Eyes by Lucy_Ferrier G, 3k, blind!Crowley, Aziracrow through the ages, bad communication Crowley has snake eyes. They look like snake eyes. They function like snake eyes. The thing is snake eyes aren't all that good for seeing with. He doesn't really seem to let it stop him from doing what he wants.

Part of a series:  InfraRed

Unaching Scars (Which I Should Hide) by Pearl09 G, 7.8k, soulmate AU, soulmate marks, angst with happy ending Soulmates seemed like a good idea at first, to the angels. If people share the same scars as their soulmate, there's no mistaking they are supposed to be with each other. But when one of their own suddenly has the same scars that mark a demon, it's like their greatest fears have been realized. Aziraphale is sent to Earth as an outcast, hoping one day he'll meet his soulmate, even if Heaven wouldn't like it. But when the same being keeps rescuing him and hanging out for 6000 years… it's hard not to fall in love.

Gravity by kaeltale T, 13k, fallen!Aziraphale, fluff, hurt/comfort, religious trauma, ineffable gender Falling starts with a question, and Crowley has fallen twice. The first time he asked himself, “Can I choose a different path?” The second time, he stood under the wing of a flustered angel, and thought, “Can I keep you?”

Part of a series: - Gravity: Fallen Angels

How My Light is Spent by Azira_Amane E, 19k, blind!crowley, disability, coffee shop au, happy ending, hook ups, fluff, body worship, chubby aziraphale, human AU Navigating the dating world when you can't see it can be tricky. For Crowley, that was never a problem; he's usually too busy to contemplate a relationship. The same goes for Aziraphale, though he doesn't have Crowley's excuse - he just isn't really all that much into people as a whole. One chance meeting on Crowley's usual route home changes all that.

I See You by doorwaytoparadiseE, 24k, Crowley is Medusa, ancient greece, greek mythology, friends to lovers, forbidden love, first kiss, first time, skippable smut Aziraphale didn’t know what he was, a mess of snakes and scales and claws and fangs, hidden beneath heavy fabric, deadly gaze tucked away when he spent time in the city. Aziraphale didn’t know, had never seen his face, and had befriended him anyway, always delighted when they met up. Crowley nearly chokes, despair rising like floodwaters in his lungs. Aziraphale is here to kill him. He can’t hurt Aziraphale.

Along the Changing Tide by NaroMoreau E, 53k, Human AU, summer romance, a hell lot of smut, fluff, night walks Aziraphale and Crowley meet at Anathema's beach house as guests for the summer. Neither of them think they're ready for a relationship but when they find themselves sharing a room, things will get complicated. A getting together, summer romance.

A Diamond Sky Above Titanic by SeaBlueEyes E, 58k, Titanic AU, Romance, Tragedy, Angst, Mind Rape, Crossover, pining The year is 1912, and one angel and one demon's lives are about to change forever as they embark on the fateful maiden voyage of the R.M.S. Titanic - and a relationship utterly forbidden by both Heaven and Hell.

I've got more fic recs for you guys. I really loved these so check them out and give them some love!

If you want a particular fic list, feel free to reach out to me.

Have a lovely day<3

[browneyesandhair]

Non-Exhaustive List of Soulmate Fics: Stydia

Okay, I'm bored so I'm compiling my favorite soulmate fics. Here's the Stydia edition:

Freckle by shea_btter

Summary:

When Stiles Stilinski was eight, he met his soulmate.

If I know what love is, it is because of you by roonil_w4zlib

Summary:

For the prompt 'Every time you get a song stuck in your head, it’s because your soulmate is singing it.'

The Devotion To A Flower by Lucy31

Summary:

What he saw almost triggered a panic attack. As predicted, it wasn’t an ephemeral black soulmark. Rather, it was the same kind he had, engraved in her wrist. The name stood out, blue against her pale skin, carved in her veins and slightly pulsing with the rhythm of her heart beat. Mieczyslaw. His name. The name that only his father knew.   Everything changes the day Stiles realizes he might be Lydia's soulmate. Originally written for stydia-fanfiction.tumblr

saving all my summers for you by flowermasters

Summary:

Stiles is Lydia's soulmate, and it takes ten years for her to consider the idea. Soulmates AU. Written for Stydia Month.

Colorblind by bananannabeth

Summary:

This is how it's supposed to go: The world is in shades of gray, until you meet your soulmate. When you do, your whole world suddenly changes. You look at each other, and you see color, and it's beautiful. But, in third grade, Stiles looks at Lydia and sees color, and Lydia looks at Stiles and doesn't see anything. Because maybe it's not enough to just meet your soulmate - maybe you need to realise they're your soulmate for it to take effect. So how is Stiles going to get Lydia to realise he's the love of her life? With a lot of patience, apparently.

maybe someday we'll get it right by korilove

Summary:

5 soulmate universes that Stiles and Lydia don't end up together, and one where fate wins out and they do. For Stydia Month.

[zootopiathingz]

I watched Zootopia like 6 months ago on a whim, and now the fixation is still hyper...ing.

Yeah

Anyways, Judy and Nick are the best and deserve everything (I genuinely couldn't remember anyone else's names the first time I saw it) aaaaand yeah it's sad that the Fandom is basically nonexistent.

Actually, it's still going strong(?) on AO3 (i've made a few one-shots (shameless self promotion I'm Not_Quite_A_Moron there)) but still, kinda sucks.

Anyways, random headcanon time:

Nick has two moms (he doesn't have specific names for both of them, he just yells "MOM!" anytime he needs help)

Judy actually really likes eating meat, Nick just has to convince her to try it

Nick became really closed off and touch starved after the Junior Ranger Scouts incident, so now, he's a chronic cuddler (especially with Judy (which she loves))

Judy's on the autistic spectrum (she often stims by tapping her foot, and she likes to display affection via playful punches to the arm)

Judy was born on the same day that Nick got muzzled, as if the universe itself felt bad and said "here, have a rabbit" (definitely didn't steal this one from Tumblr nope certainly not)

Nick doesn't really like Gazelle's music, he's more of a rock kind of guy, but he'll stomach any song for Judy’s sake

Judy's asexual (Take one look at the nudist club scene and tell me she isn't at least demi)

Bestie I’d just like to say AAAAAAAAAA

Sorry, but I just got SO excited when I saw someone submitting headcanons! It’s been way too long since I’ve been able to have a good ol’ Zootopia discussion. Oh and I’ll certainly check out your fics! My user is Pixarpnflover so be on the look out for some kudos!✨

Anyway, I love the idea of Nick being raised by two moms! There was supposed to be a plotline about his dad—John Wilde, I believe was his name—but got scrapped along with a lot of other content. So until it’s actually mentioned in canon I’m choosing to believe his mom in the flashback was in fact a raging lesbian lmao🤷‍♀️ also would that make him a double mama’s boy?🤔

Ooo an herbivore converting to a meat diet? How intriguing! I like to think now that she lives in the city that Judy would be open to trying new foods, which would include poultry and fish. I can see her favoring sushi or even turkey.

Nick being openly affectionate after meeting Judy, and reserving most of that said affection for her? Hell yeah. He’s very unapologetic about it too. He’s waited far too long to share that amount of vulnerability and comfort with someone. No way he’s ever going to hold back🫂

Autistic Judy my beloved🙌🏻 You cannot convince me she’s even a little bit neurotypical, I will not believe you lol. I love that her natural rabbit behavior could actually be interpreted as stimming!

Dude, I have believed this headcanon for so long!! The second I found out their age difference, I just knew there had to be some kind of coincidence going on there. I mean, Nick could’ve just said “when I was a kid” when beginning the story, but instead he specified his age (or an estimate, at least) and I think that a choice on the writers’ part. Anyway, I’m a big believer in fate/soulmates, so even just the idea of Judy being born, destined to cross paths with Nick someday to heal his childhood trauma and make his life better, just melts my heart❤️😭

Haha yeah, you can tell the concert at the credits that Nick was only there for Judy😆 Not to say he wasn’t enjoying himself, he just wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic as everyone else. But ya know, the things ya do for your girlfriend!😋 I can also imagine Judy listening to music she doesn’t necessarily enjoy either. A certain loud rock song starts playing on the radio and before she can even think about changing the station, Nick goes “oh I like this one!” And so she smiles and suffers through it. She may even end up liking it anyway!😌

As for this last one, I kinda have to disagree. Not to say she isn’t ace or demi, and no hate to anyone who shares this opinion! But idk, to me I don’t think someone not wanting to see a bunch of people walking around ass-naked makes them ace or a prude (which I’ve seen some fanfics try to claim her to be?) I mean, I’m horny asf and I’d be just as uncomfortable walking around a nudist club😆😅

…I never thought I’d type a sentence like that lol

Anyway, thanks for sharing these! I sure hope the fandom comes back someday, but in the meantime I’ll be here waiting and open to exchanging more headcanons! :3