#with looming gloomy undertones

[happyheidi]

[abyssruler]

archons ft. reincarnation

venti, zhongli, raiden ei x gn!reader

summary: you were dead—until you appeared again hundreds of years later, that same smile on your lips that made them fall for you centuries ago.

word count: 4.6k

note: first time posting my work on tumblr!

warning/s: spoilers for venti’s story quest and raiden shogun’s story quest act i & ii, angst, brief descriptions of past character death (reader)

part 2

VENTI

Venti’s fingers glide through the strings of his lyre, the perpetually gloomy weather exacerbating the melancholic undertone of his song.

“The outside world…” you muse, sitting beside your bard of a friend, watching the towering castle in the distance where your possessive god resides. “I wonder what it’s like.”

Small, melodic bells chime from your shoulder. You turn your head in order to face the wind spirit you call a friend. His little face is scrunched up, as if he’s regaling you tales of the scenery beyond Mondstadt. You don’t understand him, none of you do, but you indulge him with a smile anyway.

“Mhm. Oh, is that so? Yeah, I think so too. That seems lovely!” He bobs his head in agreement with your words, and you laugh at the adorable sight. You return your gaze to the castle by the distance, a wistful look in your eyes. “I’d like to see it one day. I bet the sky is so blue and the lands stretch on for miles and miles until you lose sight of the other end. The weather would be warmer too, because the sun would always be out.”

The little wind sprite lets out a tinkling sound. You don’t know what he’s trying to tell you, but you pretend that you do.

“Yeah. I wonder if the grass is greener outside of Mondstadt. It must be. There wouldn’t be constant rain over there so the plants won’t always be so damp and mushy. The sky must be full of birds, all of them just flying freely without a care in the world.”

Your bard of a friend listens quietly to your musings, now playing a softer song with his lyre. In contrast, your little spirit friend circles around your head, chiming something and pointing to the castle in the distance with his little hood.

For once, you think you understand what he’s trying to say. “Lord Decarabian, huh?” Something in you brews uncomfortably as you mention your god, so you try to lighten the atmosphere, “I don’t think he’ll agree even if we ask very nicely.”

Your little friend lets out a series of bell chimes that somehow lets you know what he thinks about your little joke. It’s only when Venti suddenly stops playing his lyre that the wind spirit quiets down.

You turn to him questioningly, finding him already looking at you with those blue eyes of his, always so bright despite being born in a perpetually gloomy city. There’s a contemplative frown on his face as he moves his gaze from you, to your little friend, to the castle in the center of the city.

Finally, he opens his mouth.

“Then let’s not ask,” he says, his eyes fixed on the looming castle. “He keeps his people in this city and forces us to call it freedom, but what is freedom if demanded of you by a god?”

“Venti…” you say in warning. Somehow, you get the feeling you’re not going to like what he’s about to say.

Somehow, you get the feeling you’re going to agree anyway.

He smiles at you and the wind sprite you call a friend, bright and optimistic. “I want to see the outside world too, so let’s fight to see it. Together.”

“Together,” you repeat, looking at him and your little friend. “A bard, a warrior, and a wind sprite. Sounds like the beginning of a long tale.” You gaze at the castle in the distance once more. “I wonder how it will end.”

Venti laughs. “It’ll be a happy ending. I’ll make sure of it.”

Bell chimes ring in the air as the small wind sprite circles the air in front of you, exclaiming his agreement to Venti’s words.

A thought occurs to you.

“Well, a tale isn’t complete if one of the main characters is nameless,” you say, offering your palm for him to rest in. Your little friend hops into it, sighing little happy bells.

A name. What name would suit him, you wonder. Looking up at the sky above, nothing sparks any inspiration. There’s only dark clouds holding the threat of rain. If you look closely enough, you think you can peek through those clouds and see something resembling the blue sky of the world outside. Wishful thinking, of course, the clouds in Mondstadt are thick enough to cover miles in the sky.

But if you squint an eye and tilt your head to the left, you think you can see a hint of a silhouette, something floating far above—

Then you avert your gaze back to your friend resting in the palm of your hands. A gust of wind blows past you. Maybe it’s premonition, or maybe you just wanted the best for him, but in that moment, you imagine that out of the three of you, it is this little spirit in your hands who will achieve the greatest of things.

A name pops up in your mind and begins to take root. “What do you think of the name Barbatos?”

He immediately zips up, twirling in the air in front of you and nuzzling your cheek affectionately. And just like that, the moment is broken, and he is back to being just your little friend.

“You like it, huh?” His answer comes in the form of a series of tinkling bells. You smile. “It’s a pretty name, isn’t it?”

✧

Two thousand and six hundred years later, the wind spirit turned archon stands on a raised platform, a lyre in hand and performing a song he hasn’t sung in five hundred years.

A bell chimes, signifying an entry to the door of the tavern, such an innocuous sound for the impending tragedy he is about to relive.

The last chord is strung. The crowd claps, disperses and thins. A lone figure makes their way to the front.

Someone clears their throat.

He looks up.

And suddenly he is back to that day millennia ago, just a little wind sprite tinkling bells in the palm of your hand. An apple for breakfast, lunch and dinner, your teasing remarks about how he isn’t going to be able to fly anymore if he keeps gaining weight. The song of the friend he embodies resonating with his soul.

How simple life had been, back when dreams of revolution and gods were just that: dreams.

Hushed talks of freedom between each round of song, the wistful look on your face as you mused how vast the outside world must be. Full of plains and lush grass, you imagined. And when Barbatos left the ruins of Old Mondstadt, one third of a whole, he made your dreams come true as he flattened mountains and brought warm winds to fend away the cold.

He only wished all three of you had been there to see it, instead of just him alone.

“What a lovely song! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you perform here in Angel’s Share before. What’s your name?” You smile at him, all soft and lovely with a hint of nostalgia in the corner of your eyes. As beautiful as the day he lost you.

He never realized how much he’d started to forget what you looked like until you appeared right in front of him, a ghost from two thousand years past.

Do you remember him? Do you miss him as much as he’s missed you? Will you forgive him for not letting go of the past, for taking on the appearance of your beloved friend? Have you been well? Do you have many friends? Any family?

Is there someone you hold dear to your heart already, someone who holds you close, who would never let you fight alone. Someone who won’t kneel helplessly as you died in their arms, smiling amidst the numbing pain from the gaping wound in your chest. Have you already found someone who will protect and care for you, because if not, then—

In this life, will you finally love him the way he loves you?

What’s your name?

His name, the name you gave him, is on the tip of his tongue. Barbatos, it’s a pretty name, isn’t it? And he was never able to tell you how much he agreed with you, how much he loved the name you gave him. He wants to tell you how he’s made Barbatos more than just a little wind spirit, wants to ask if you’re proud of him for achieving the freedom you once sought for—but most of all, he wants to tell you how much he loves you for giving him his name, his identity.

When the drinks become too much and his mind muddles the distinction between himself and his friend—is he Venti, or is it someone else?—he tries to remember you and the way his name rolled off your tongue. Barbatos. On his worst days, when everything becomes too much, when he tries to remember the way your voice sounded only to realize that he’s starting to forget, he says it to himself.

Barbatos.

Barbatos.

Barbatos.

It’s a pretty name, isn’t it?

And he smiles to himself and says yes out loud, and the other patrons will think he’s had too much to drink again, and he’ll shrug off their judging gazes and ignore the bartender’s disapproving look because finally, he remembers what you once sounded like as you spoke his name.

He wants to tell you how much you’ve done for him, even if you weren’t here with him.

But he bites back his tongue and puts on a well practiced smile, ignoring the twinge in his heart at the lack of recognition in your eyes.

“The name’s—” Barbatos “—Venti! And who might you be, oh beautiful stranger?”

The sound of your laughter soothes two thousand and six hundred years worth of pain within the span of a few seconds. He keeps the memory of it locked in his chest. It is ridiculous, the ease with which you burrow yourself back into his heart with just a laugh—though in hindsight, perhaps it isn’t so ridiculous after all. You never really left his heart even after thousands of years.

As your name falls from your lips, Venti decides it’s alright if you don’t remember him, that it’s alright if the name you call him now isn’t the name you gave him long ago.

Just being able to see you again is enough.

ZHONGLI

“I am thinking of retiring.”

You lean your elbows on the wooden railings, resting your face in the palm of your hands as you looked up at him. “Retiring? I don’t think Hu Tao would approve.”

“No, no,” he clarifies, “Not in Wangsheng Funeral. I have…another job that I wish to retire from.”

“You have two jobs, Zhongli? Never would have guessed with how relaxed you always are.” He cracks a faint smile at that.

“My other job is not very demanding of my time. Nevertheless, it holds an important role in Liyue.” The wind blows against him, his hair billowing in the breeze as he stood above the harbor. Somehow, you imagine him in white, a hood pulled over his head and a spear in his hand as he gazed down an imaginary foe in the sea.

The image leaves a strange feeling in you, so you quickly shake it away from your thoughts and focus on his earlier words.

“Are you some kind of big shot? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?! Here I was talking to you so casually—” Your eyes widen in realization. “Ah! You were undercover this whole time, weren’t you? Are you gonna report me to the Tianquan for disrespect—” You’re interrupted by the sound of Zhongli’s soft laughter.

He gazes at you with such soft amber eyes you’re almost half-inclined to believe it’s the sun playing tricks on you.

How mesmerizing. How familiar. You think you’ve seen this sight before, you just can’t put a finger when.

“My work is not that kind of work. It is…complicated, to say the least. You need not worry about any perceived disrespect, I don’t mind at all.”

Your shoulders slump in relief. “Oh, thank Rex Lapis. I thought I was about to face the wrath of the rock or something.”

He stills, hands clenching against the railings for the briefest of moments before relaxing. It goes unnoticed by you. “Wrath of the rock… I don’t believe I have spoken such words in your presence before.”

“Really?” You turn to him with furrowed brows. Now that you think about it, you don’t think he’s ever said that phrase before. How strange, where did it come from then? “Must’ve been something I read somewhere. You talk like an old man so much, Zhongli, I’m starting to confuse words from old books with your ramblings.”

Looking away, he stares past the railings and into the harbor below, something almost melancholic in his eyes. “Perhaps.”

“So,” you say to distract him from whatever caused that look to form in his eyes, “Are you really retiring?”

He looks at you, still with those sad, sad eyes that makes something in you churn uncomfortably. So you place a hand on his shoulder, ignoring the way his eyes widen at the gesture, and you give him the brightest smile you can muster.

“Well, whatever you choose to do, I’ll support you all the way!” And maybe your words got through to him, or maybe he saw something in your smile, but Zhongli chuckles, deep and rumbling. You once said it sounded like a dragon’s, and his face twisted into something you couldn’t quite read.

“Ever the optimist,” he tells you, fondness replacing that melancholic look in his eyes. “It is one of the many aspects that I admire about you.”

Your face heats up. Looking away from that affectionate look, you attempt to make light of his words. “H-Ha! Don’t go falling for me now, Zhongli. I’ll break your heart if you do!”

(You already have, Zhongli thinks, his heart beating a painful yet nostalgic tune in his chest.)

He waves your words away.

“Of course, such is to be expected of you,” he says idly, almost cryptically. You’re tempted to ask what that means, but he has the frustrating habit of pretending to be oblivious when he doesn’t want to answer a question, even though you can totally see through the act.

“Now back to the original topic!” You’re back to leaning your arms against the railings. Zhongli follows your actions by resting his gloved hands on the polished wood. “So, retirement, huh?”

He hums. “I was uncertain this morning, but our conversation has been quite enlightening. I have you to thank for solidifying my decision.” You watch him look over Liyue’s harbor, at the people down by the docks all working together like pieces in a cog. There’s something like pride in Zhongli’s eyes as he stares at the people. “Liyue is in good hands, is it not?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I guess you’re right. Lady Nigguang’s a real scary one, but she’s the best at her job. The Yuheng can afford to take a break now and then, but Keqing’s great at whatever she puts her mind in. Captain Beidou’s not exactly a government official, but she’s a known figure of the people, and she’s got a real good head on her shoulders—not to mention, real fun to hang out with!” You snicker at the memory of getting into a drinking contest with her. You lost, obviously, but the experience was worth it.

It’s then that you realize you haven’t mentioned the most important person in all of Liyue.

“And Rex Lapis…” Zhongli seems to straighten at the mention of your archon. “He only comes down to Liyue once a year now in the past few centuries. Well, that’s to be expected since Liyue’s at peace now. I guess even gods need to rest every now and then.”

(Something in his chest twists at your words.)

“Yes, they do, don’t they?” he agrees, his voice solemn.

You nod. “He’s probably over in Celestia partying with the other gods. You think he’s shacking it up with his partner up there? Heh, at least one of us is getting some.”

The reaction you receive is unexpected, but pleasantly surprising nonetheless.

Zhongli lets out a full blown laugh, head tilted back and shoulders shaking, eyes closed with mirth. You stare with your jaw open, unable to take your eyes off him even as his laughter begins to die down. It looks just like—

A man in white robes, veins of gold running down his arms as he held his stomach. His head tilted back, the ground shaking with the force of his laughter, his hood falling down to reveal familiar amber eyes gazing at you with mirth, fondness lurking beneath his smile—

“Ah, I truly have missed this.” Missed you, he doesn’t say, but you hear it all the same.

You decide that critical thinking really isn’t for you, so you brush away the strange not-memory and the feelings that rise up when he looks at you like that.

Teasingly, you grin at him. “Aw, Zhongli, it was only a week yet you missed me that much? Don’t worry, I missed you too.”

The quirk in his lips seems to tell you that he expected such an answer from you.

He then turns his head up, gazing into the mid-afternoon sky, your teasing forgotten.

“Once I retire, allow me to invite you for an afternoon of drinking osmanthus wine. I recently discovered a merchant selling top quality wine, and once i acquired a taste, it truly was—as per the merchant’s words—as if you have been taken back to a thousand years ago.”

There’s a quip waiting to to be said at the tip of your tongue, a joke at how he’s secretly been an old grandpa this entire time, but you swallow back the urge to let out the lighthearted joke.

There’s a fragility to this moment that you can’t quite put a finger on, so you hold back your usual retort and mull over your decision.

“I’d like that,” you say after a few heartbeats.

Zhongli smiles, and this time it’s less delicate, more sure of himself.

“I look forward to it.”

✧

You nearly barf once the liquid enters your mouth. All those drinking contests with Beidou has made your stomach weak. But the sight of Zhongli serenely sipping his own osmanthus wine reminds you to have enough tact not to mention how bad it tastes for you.

To delay your second sip, you decide to ask, “How is it?”

Zhongli places his cup down, the procelain making a soft noise as it meets the saucer. He then looks up, sees you holding your own cup of osmanthus wine and trying not to look constipated at the taste, and he smiles at the familiar sight.

“It tastes the same as I remember.”

EI

“Oh my, Your Eternal Excellency! It’s an honor to have your most exalted presence in the Yae Publishing House!”

Her entire world stops, suspended in a haze, narrowing down to this little booth in a random street in the city of Inazuma. Time stretches on for eternity, while the god chasing it is stuck staring at the sight of a familiar, beautiful, ephemeral mirage.

There’s a friendly smile on your lips, not a hint of nervousness at being in the presence of a god such as herself. You’ve always been so fearless. Brave and courageous and stupid and self-sacrificing. Ei loved and hated that attribute of yours, back when she was still capable of loving someone without ruining them.

“Ei? Are you alright?”

For a moment, she lets herself believe it was your voice that spoke those words to her. Soft, soothing tones that once lulled her to rest after a day of training non-stop to improve her martial skills, back when a kagemusha like her was still granted the luxury of rest.

Sleep, Ei. Even gods need some shut eye.

But this is one of the many flaws of ephemerality—the moment for engaging in selfish delusions ends far too soon.

It takes all of her willpower to tear her gaze from you in order to face the Traveler.

“Yes, just a little surprised.” Years and years of experience has taught her to control her voice. It will not waver, not even in the presence of her once-dead lover.

“You sure? You kinda spaced out for a while back there,” the floating pixie who calls herself Paimon remarks.

“Yes, I am quite fine,” she says.

Although, is she truly? Perhaps not, but five hundred years of solitude has hardened her. Had this been before, perhaps she would have wept upon seeing you again, alive and whole and not painting the grass with a pool of your own blood.

Ei directs her attention to the Traveler. “Now, what were you saying about those light novels?”

For the rest of her time in the Yae Publishing House, she spends it dutifully avoiding your curious gaze. Even going so far as to wait by the railings as the Traveler picked a light novel for her to read.

She heard you speak to the Traveler once, making a suggestion regarding the selection.

“I think she’ll like this one!”

You were right, she did like it.

✧

Ei tries not to, but every time she ventures out of Tenshukaku to see more of her people, she passes by the Yae Publishing House that you, more often than not, watch over.

✧

The leylines near the roots of the Sacred Sakura Tree are being strange.

Walking with the Traveler after the disappearance of Furuyama, the blind tea-brewer, is solemn. The path they’re traversing in is painfully familiar. She tries not to remember what the scenery would have looked like five hundred years ago.

A twig snaps. She and the Traveler whirl at the direction of the noise—

And Ei is once again faced with the ghost of her past.

“Ei, is it really you?”

She has seen you in this era, wearing a kind smile and modern clothes. Always so welcoming despite the strangeness of the Raiden Shogun visiting a light novel store every other week. No, your appearance is not what makes her stumble, makes her breathless and teary-eyed as she closes the remaining distance between you.

It is the way you are looking at her. Because finally, finally there is recognition in your eyes.

You are solid beneath her touch, not an apparition, not a mirage. Your armor digs into her skin as she embraces you, her heart the lightest it’s been in five hundred years.

You’re sweaty and dirty and a little bit bloody, but Ei has seen you in the worst state possible. Dirtying her immaculate clothing is a small price to pay for this brief moment.

The Traveler watches with wide eyes, reconciling the image of the warrior in worn, outdated armor with the kind, cheerful editor of the Yae Publishing House.

“I was starting to lose hope,” you tell her, voice low with a quiet sort of relief. The smile she receives makes her feel young again, a kagemusha who fell in love with one of her sister’s retainers. “Now that you’re here, I’m sure everything will be alright.”

The future you speak of is nonexistent. The moment you died—her last hope, the only remaining light in her life after the death of her sister and companions—everything became a far cry from alright.

But Ei will tell you none of this. Your current self is safe in Inazuma City, living in the future she created with her own hands. But you of the past, the one she loved dearly, you know nothing of this future, of what will happen—had happened—to you, and she will keep it that way.

Perhaps this is just her way of attempting to alleviate her guilt upon your death, but she wants this ghost of you to move on with the knowledge that everything will be fine, even if all of it is a lie.

This time, it is her that prompts you to rest your head on her lap, stroking your hair and watching you be lulled to sleep.

“Rest now. I will handle the rest.”

Your eyes flutter closed for the final time, taking her hand in yours. You leave her with parting words that will resonate deep within her soul for the rest of eternity.

“You don’t have to do everything alone, Ei.”

✧

One would think that after battling herself for five hundred years, her first words to her dear friend would be to ask how Inazuma is, but perhaps five hundred years has made her a bit more selfish. So instead, she asks about you.

“How is…?” Ei doesn’t need to mention your name for Yae to know who she’s referring to.

“Oh, still delightful as ever, that one. Asks about you often, though. Far too often, in my opinion. Why, if I didn’t know any better I’d have thought I was only being approached so I can be the relayer of any news relating to you.” Yae shakes her head fondly. “Even without memories of your time together, that little one is still so smitten with you.”

Ei’s cheeks turns a light shade of pink. At the sound of Yae’s snicker, she turns a frown at the devious kitsune.

“Miko…”

“Oh, come now. Can’t a girl have a little bit of fun? Although, none of what I said was untrue.” Yae’s tone softens just the slightest bit, knowing the delicacy of anything regarding you. After a moment though, a sly smile makes its way to her lips. “If you have any tips on how to woo someone, be sure to tell me, Ei. Authors these days just have no imagination for romance, always so dry and boring.”

It’s a simple teasing remark, one of many that Yae is prone to saying. Ei shouldn’t respond to it, but she can’t help but say the first word that comes to her mind.

“Gifts.”

✧

“Your Eternal Excellency!”

The genuine surprise in your face leaves her amused. You quickly attempt to fix your messy hair and rumpled clothes. Had it been anyone else, she would have thought them lazy for being so unkempt, but you manage to make even the smallest of things endearing.

She supposes some things stay the same, even in a new life and a new era.

“I came to bring you a gift,” she says, holding out the Raiden Shogun statue that was sent to the Tenshukaku that morning.

You stare at the object with wide eyes, like you’re unable to believe that your archon is giving you an actual gift instead of the other way around.

When she set out in search of you that afternoon, she thought giving you something would be a good gesture. Although, in hindsight, gifting you a statue of herself may come off as conceited of her. Ah, she really should ask someone for advice before she approaches you next time.

Before she can apologize and return the statue, you’re already taking it from her hands, a look of wonder crossing your face as you inspected it.

“This was sold out hours ago! I was planning on buying one but I got there too late!” Casual. You speak so casually, as if the person you’re speaking to isn’t the Almighty Narukami Ogosho, God of Thunder.

As if the person you’re speaking to is simply her, Ei. Not the Raiden Shogun. Not the Electro Archon. Just Ei.

You give her your best smile. “Thank you.”

Can a person still be the same person even without their memories?

Ei doesn’t know, but perhaps she’ll find out soon.

part 2

[jupyt3r]

Yellow

Set between Acts 2 and 3, Wyll confronts Astarion about the Rite of Profane Ascension; Astarion realizes that they have more in common than meets the eye.

It's nice to see the stars again, he thinks, after so many days spent cloaked in the gloomy, arcane shadows that had marred the landscape nearly from Elturel to Anga Vled. He'd only just gotten used to the sun's warmth when they'd entered the dark cloud, somehow so oppressive as to be almost tangible; like breathing in curls of steam, if steam were cold and necrotic. But the air is clear now. Clear enough, in fact, that he can see the whole of the Gate sprawled out on the horizon, the warm glow of candles and cantrips a lively reflection of so many icy stars above. An all too familiar silhouette looms menacingly from its perch along the curve of the lower city’s central wall, and Astarion has to quash the fear rising up in his throat as his eyes skate past it. He has a plan. A real one, now. When he gets to Baldur's Gate, he will ascend, and Cazador will be no more.

But he's not in Bladur’s Gate, yet. The gray stones of Wyrm’s Lookout are cool beneath him, warmed ineffectively by the dying coals in front of him. It's late, and the others have gone to bed. He considers curling up on his bedroll to trance, but suddenly there's sounds of movement from down below, where the camp has been set up. Rustling of blankets; shuffling footsteps. A pause. Then the clink of buckles on a pack being undone, the whisper of canvas as something is removed. The footsteps are heading for him now, ascending the ladder to the roof of the squat tower where Astarion is sprawled by the remains of his fire. The breeze carries a scent towards him, and it's all yellow: lightly floral, lemony, golden honey-mead middle notes, and a barely discernible undertone of brimstone. Sickeningly sweet. Sunshine-sour. Sulfurous.

Wyll Ravengard lowers himself wordlessly to the ground next to him, uncorking the bottle he's brought with him and taking a swig. Looking up at the stars, he proffers the amber liquid to Astarion. At first, he screws up his face and prepares to decline, but then thinks better of it; he takes a long pull. It's exactly the sort of drink he'd expect to find in one of the lavish estates of the Upper City, and he's not even sure how Wyll had managed to procure it: aged whiskey, peppery, vanilla, biting. It's not good. It's strong, though, and he figures that's what they're both after.

“Nightmares, is it then, darling?" he says dully, passing the bottle back.

Wyll shakes his head. “Actually, unless you count our nocturnal visitor, I haven't dreamt at all since this," he replies as he taps his forehead and sighs. ”Just couldn't sleep, is all.”

Astarion's question had been rhetorical and he doesn't much care to hear about whatever's ailing the restless warlock, so he doesn't deign to respond. Wyll starts talking anyway.

“I haven't seen my father in almost seven years. I keep running over in my head how it could go when we find him– gods, if we find him alive. I don't know how I'll feel. Angry? Relieved? Maybe he won't even want my help, when he sees these horns. But I have to try.”

"Hm.” Astarion truly wishes he had not asked. The quiet solitude of his night seems out of reach now. Last month, he'd have counted himself mad if someone had told him that his nights would consist of wrangling an owlbear cub to bed or listening to the laments of Duke Ravengard’s wayward son.

"Do you have anyone you're looking forward to seeing in the city, Astarion? A lover, perhaps?”

Oh, no. He is not having this discussion at all. He shoots Wyll a glare that hopes is interpreted as daggers coming out of his eyes. “Oh, yes. Hundreds. I'm adored by many people, you see."

The daggers fall flat against the shield of Wyll’s earnestness, or stupidity, whichever it be. “Oh, I have no doubt about that. Family, then? Parents?"

“No." Astarion can't remember his father, or even if he knew one to begin with. Seeing Wyll's discomfort, he thinks maybe that's for the best.

“What about Cazador's other spawn?"

He's had enough. “My ‘siblings’ should consider themselves lucky that their miserable lives will serve a higher purpose, for when I see them next, they will live their last.”

Finally, Wyll tightens his lips into a thin line, seeing that he's struck a nerve. Rather than back down, he needles it. "Siblings, though? So they are family to you?”

“It's not my chosen wording, it's– Ravengard, did you come up here just to bother me about my personal life?”

Wyll puts his hands up in surrender. “I'm just trying to make conversation, is all. And I have to admit, I've been curious about your relationship with them, and your plan, since you told us about the ritual. This… Rite of Profane Ascension. The name is a little on the nose, no?"

Astarion can't fathom why he'd take any interest in the plan beyond what would be expected of him for his involvement– which was very little. Either he'd help or he wouldn't, but that has no bearing on the decision Astarion has already made. "What would you have it be then, hm?” he asks. " The Rite of Puppies and Sunshine?”

"Listen, all I'm saying is that if it sounds downright evil and it's a contract drafted with a godsdamned devil, then maybe it's not all it's cracked up to be. Trust me, I would know. It just seems… nefarious in nature.” His mismatched eyes beseech him in silent plea.

He can't be serious. Astarion flops over dramatically, the back of his hand raising to meet his forehead as his eyes flutter shut. "Oh! At last, the famed Blade of Frontiers has come to save me from my own incompetence. My very soul is in danger– well, if there's still one to speak of, that is.” He peeks out of one eye at the last sentence, flashing a catlike smile.

The Blade of Frontiers purses his lips. “I'm being serious, Astarion. And while, yes, I am concerned about how this affects you, it's not just your life we're talking about.”

He scoffs, returning to his lounging position. "I'd be doing you a personal favor by carrying out this ritual. Six spawn and a full vampire lord disposed of, and you don't even need to lift a finger! What more could any monster hunter want?”

“To not create an even greater monster." He turns away, looking pointedly at the coals. The dim glow reflects off the dark sclera of his good eye.

Astarion suddenly understands the aim of the confrontation. Wyll’s not concerned about him, not really, but about the threat of unleashing a vampire ascendant; a wholly unknown type of being which exists entirely at odds with his naïve philosophy. He's still trying to play the hero– but Astarion knows that heroes don't exist.

He raises himself to a sitting position on his knees and spreads his arms wide. "Stake me now then, if you're so concerned.”

And Wyll looks like he really considers it, which stings a bit. Eventually, he says in a pained voice, "You have to understand the dilemma I have. Astarion, I don't want to go against you. But you confound me.” He shakes his head, running a hand up his braids between the horns. “On the one hand, if you don't perform this ritual, then it's easier for me to believe that a vampire is capable of good; but it also leaves alive seven vampires, one of whom I know is not good by virtue of your description of him. On the other hand, if you do go through with this, then maybe you are a monster. And while it's true the world would be net negative vampires, it would be hard for me to… trust you, after that. If you would sacrifice your siblings for power, the people you've spent two hundred years with, who's to say you would stop there?”

Astarion pouts in mock pity. "Aw, have we discovered what morally gray means?”

Wyll's fists gather on his thighs. "Don't condescend me, Astarion! I've dedicated my life to protecting the people of the Sword Coast, and I'm trying to do that here while giving you the benefit of the doubt because you're my friend.”

And that surprises him, because he hadn't considered them friends. He'd only recently stopped worrying about being staked in his sleep; although maybe that was a mistake. "Which is it, then? Am I a friend or a monster?”

"You tell me.”

Astarion is furious, then. What right does Wyll have to sit there and demand that he justify his own continued existence? As if he hadn't made his own deal with the devil? As if he were a hero, when no one is truly that good? If it were possible, then Astarion would have been saved long ago. Wyll's too late. Astarion would be his own savior now.

“I think," he snarls, “you're a sniveling pup poking his nose where it doesn't belong. I think you're an insufferable hypocrite to threaten me with the borrowed power of a devil. And I think you'll regret it if you cross me, because I'm going to live. I'm going to endure. I will ascend."

Wyll matches his intensity, nostrils flaring. “And I think you're making the wrong choice because you're afraid. You're too weak to do the right thing.”

Astarion is practically animal, hinged forward and fangs bared, because somewhere buried deep he knows the warlock is right. “Don't you dare think for a moment that you could presume my emotions. You are an infant. You could not conceive of the centuries of torture I have endured, the fetid conditions in which I was kept, the things I had to do to stay alive. I am claiming my right to be free; and to make sure I am never a slave to anyone else, ever again. And if that makes me a monster, then so be it."

“Just because I am human does not mean I don't understand what it is to be used. To be trapped. We both have our masters."

Wyll's voice is soft and flat; a hand rubs absentmindedly at his throat, and Astarion sees him for what he is beneath the heroic charade: a child, yes, but one who's lost his father, one who's under the thumb of a devil. He feels a little bad for yelling; but not that bad.

“Then you understand that I have to do this. No matter the cost. If given the opportunity, would you not make sacrifices to be free of Mizora?”

Wyll's response is immediate and resolute. “No. I agreed to this pact, and I would do the same if I was faced with the choice again. I may not have known the details at the time, but that's no one's fault but my own. I would not have anyone suffer for it."

“Then you are a fool. Can't you see that she tricked you? You were too young to soundly make that decision, however she coerced you into it." Gods, he can't imagine defending Cazador like that. He finds that he pities Wyll; so desperate to hide from the fact that he'd been taken advantage of that he tries to look strong by bearing the needless guilt, by indulging in this foolish fairy-tale heroism when he can't even save himself. The Blade of Frontiers is just a story he tells himself so he can sleep at night– and his presence here is only evidence to the fact that it isn't working.

Wyll has been silent, eyes scanning the horizon after taking another deep drink of the whiskey. After a time, he reaches out and points toward the base of Dusthawk Hill, a towering black silhouette which manifests mainly as a lack of stars. "That's where it happened, seven years ago. I told Tav the whole story earlier; Mizora granted me that, at least. In my father's absence, a cult made a move to summon Tiamat to Toril. The city would have fallen to the Dragon Queen; Mizora warned me just in time, and gave me the power to save it. Whatever price I have to pay is worth the lives of everyone in Baldur's Gate– so sacrificing more lives to undo my choice would render it meaningless. Besides, I've saved more lives with my patron’s power than I could have otherwise. I will bear it for their sake." 

How boringly predictable. “And how do you know that Mizora didn't set the whole thing up? That she didn't tip the cultists off about your father's absence, precisely so you could fall into her waiting claws?"

He pauses as if he's genuinely never considered it before. “I suppose I don't. But what's done is done, and there's no use wishing it had gone differently. I can only hope to use these infernal powers for good now, when I'm not busy playing her games."

“You are hopelessly dull. Look at what she's done to you!"

“I–” he stops himself, and lets his face fall, realization finally setting in. “You're right. She's fashioned me into one of the very villains I'm sworn to hunt. I saw the way all those tieflings in the Grove looked at me– I can't imagine how my father will see me. I hardly recognize myself." He brushes a few fingers softly over one horned temple, releasing Astarion from the hellfire of his gaze.

Astarion runs his tongue along his fangs, remembering his own unpleasant transformation; the pain as his body healed over the fatal wounds, the feeling of his own blood drying up and cooling in his veins, and the gaping silence from where his heart was that would take years to get used to. He can’t imagine being dragged through each layer of the Hells had been any more pleasant.

“I can… sympathize," he says hesitantly, not even knowing why he wants to offer comfort to the man who's still deciding whether or not to kill him. “I'm not sure I would recognize myself, either, if I could see my own reflection. But for what it's worth, the horns do look quite flattering on you."

He looks a bit surprised at the compliment, which Astarion supposes is reasonable given the insults he's been hurling up until this point in the conversation. “... Thank you, Astarion. I'm sure if you could see yourself, you'd find yourself just as dashing as in your mortal life. I mean that– from one red-eyed fiend to another.”

And as much as Astarion is frustrated by Wyll's storybook prince persona, his annoying black-or-white morality, he admits that parts of him are the closest he's come in a long time to looking in a mirror. He has a plan towards his own salvation, and he can't help but want the same for Wyll. "You know… In my mortal life, I was a magistrate. If– Don't snort, it's unbecoming. One must have respect for the law’s intricacies to know how to escape its consequences. As I was saying, if Mizora has now freed you to discuss the terms of your pact… I would be willing to look over it for you. Perhaps there's a loophole. One that follows your rigidly virtuous creed, without demanding a sacrifice. A way for you to be truly free."

Wyll's eyes widen at the thought. “If such a thing were possible… I would truly owe you a great debt of gratitude. You would really do that for me? After what I've said tonight?”

"Just call it a favor. From a friend. And, of course, feel free to pay me back in advance by not killing me in my sleep tonight.”

Wyll smiles, although it hadn't really been a joke. “One of the stipulations of my contract actually spells out who I can kill. Clause G, section 9: Targets shall be limited to the infernal, the demonic, the heartless, and the soulless. I think I can safely strike you from the heartless category.”

Astarion tries to hide the worry from his voice when he asks, "And the soulless?”

The monster hunter is serious once again. “I don't pretend to be an arbiter of the soul, having sold my own. That one's up to you. You've been winning me over, as of late, Astarion, but please… think about what this ritual will cost you. I won't intervene, and I understand what's at stake for you. I'm going to trust you, so just… don't make me regret it."

He's not sure he deserves this trust; he knows he's not good like Wyll. But… he's starting to see a universe where he might try to be. He knows he'll never escape the sins of his past, and, gods willing, he won't become some nagging do-gooder, but with Cazador out of the picture… he might evolve into a version of himself that he hates less. It's just such a waste of all that power, at the tips of his fingers. And the blood on his hands would taste so sweet.

"I can't promise that I'll change my mind. But… I'll consider it,” he relents at last. It's the best offer he's going to give. Still, Wyll's posture relaxes minutely, and he clamps a warm hand on the vampire's shoulder.

"To considerations, then,” he says, bringing the bottle to his lips and then offering it out.

Astarion can smell the strange perfume of his blood from the wrist near his face, so he looks up from beneath his lashes and bravely ventures, “I can think of something better to drink, if you're willing… ?”

Wyll flattens his lips together and pats him a few times on the shoulder where his hand rests before getting up. "And here I thought we were making progress. Good night, Astarion.”

"Wh– I thought you said we were friends?" he protests at the retreating figure.

“Not that good of friends," Wyll replies as he descends the ladder. “Keep telling me how nice my horns look, though, and we'll see how we get on."

“You are surely the most fetching sheep I've ever met,” Astarion teases.

“Don’t push it.”

“Good night, Wyll."

[multimagicbabe]

left behind (snippet of part two)

This is only a snippet of the second part. I am incredibly sorry for the amount of time I’ve been gone. Life has been hectic and each time I attempted to write, it was cut short. This snippet cuts off a little abruptly but fear not, I will be uploading the finished product later this week. 

As always, the gif below is not mine and belongs to the creator.

The gloomy, gray, and red sky matched the undertone of your dread, uneasiness settling into the pit of your stomach, causing the discomfort of a nauseated belly to bloom. Despite the closeness of the spring, nature coming back to life, and snow melting away, Hawkins was entirely different from the world. It was a never-changing season of ashes falling, grass and trees withering away, dark and red clouds looming over the sky with no hope for a return of the shade of blue everyone had loved dearly. A wind chill swept through the town but eventually became mixed with the searing heat that seeped through the cracks of the ground no one dared to fix. The sign “Welcome to Hawkins” was illuminated by the lights of your car, and upon seeing the population status, you could only assume it was wrong and remained unchanged. 

After the defeated battle with Vecna, numerous citizens fled in fear, cramming the highway and causing long hours of delay. That panicked people more in their already vulnerable states, and many laws were broken in their attempt to escape whatever hell was brought upon them. Fight or flight mode kicked in for the individuals, and you couldn’t blame them for wanting to evade the possibility of their lifeline ending; after all, you fled yourself. You were no hypocrite, and as much as you knew you’d miss everyone, the pain and suffering needed to end for you to move on with your life; otherwise, you didn’t think you could make it out alive. 

When you departed, your friends and family mainly understood your stance, wanting to leave but couldn’t bring themselves to do so. Some were happy for you, congratulating you on your acceptance to the college of your choice, and managed to throw together a goodbye party, but others…not so much. It hurt to think of his name; Steve was taken aback predictably, although his actions were unexpected and hurtful. He wasn’t pleased to see you follow your dreams, but instead, he falsely presumed you’d stay to recuperate and help fight against the evil that hid in the shadows. Steve, the bravest and most courageous man you’d ever met, felt the need to continue the fight and disregard the plentiful protests of his friends. The loss of victory was a hard pill to swallow, an even harder one once the death of a friend that occurred was announced. 

Eddie Munson was your friend, best friend even. He made you forget the truth about the town you both lived in, and you reveled in his presence. The secret was stashed away in your mind when you were around the rambunctious and unrelenting man, long forgotten in the deepest depths of your mind. The death of Eddie took a toll on you and as you briefly closed your eyes, the memories flashed through your mind. Frequently, the flashes of Eddie that are embedded in your memory grasped the reality of life and left you hallucinating. You believed it was PTSD that caused it, but had no desire to get any help for it. How could you describe the events that altered the chemicals in your brain? No one would believe you; they would throw you into an asylum and lock away the key. You’d have to learn along the way how to resolve the problem, as for now though, you’d let the suffering close over you. 

Your dad's house came into view in the distance finally, the sun setting you thought but knew peeking at the sky, you wouldn’t be able to tell what time of day it was until nighttime came around. The clock read 6:56 pm and you sighed. You’d hoped for more time with your family, but on the way here, you were consumed by multiple panic attacks. You’d forgotten your medicine behind that helped those panic attacks, the green, but freeing plant you could very well get here but without Eddie…you just couldn’t trust anyone else. Weed was your only solution to your anxiety, helping the illness be kept at bay. You’d managed to keep the stash Eddie had on him, taking it off of his uncle’s hands so he wouldn’t get into any trouble. Originally, Wayne didn’t want you to take it, stating you’d get arrested if caught with the pile of drugs hidden in the box Eddie kept it in and he almost succeeded in persuading you not to gain ownership over it, but you’d told him you were going to sell it. It had been a lie, of course, though he didn’t need to know that. 

The only part of the stash that you had left over was the marijuana. You had managed to stretch the drugs out evenly for the time while you searched for another dealer, but no one ever came around. Getting another dealer felt like a betrayal to your best friend, so you made sure to make the rest of the stash last for the time being. You were not a drug addict, only toed the line of addiction until you’d stop for a while to gather the strength left to fight your inner demons. You were relatively new to the other drugs Eddie had in the box, taking or smoking little amounts to get you buzzed and then setting it aside. As long as you felt intoxicated, no matter how little or big it felt, it worked in keeping the thoughts at bay. You didn’t find the joy in the drugs you were not used to, only taking/smoking them as a way to relieve yourself and you found that you much-preferred weed among them. Your drug of choice was kept to the side, wanting to leave your favorite for last, but also not wanting to smoke it as it felt daunting and devastating to smoke the weed you shared with Eddie. You were fine, you kept repeating that mantra in hopes it’d make the emotions fade and become true. 

The tires squealed to a stop underneath you, right hand pausing at the gear shift and then pulling it into park. Your duffle bag rested in the backseat holding your belongings including your wallet. You told yourself you’d come back for it and grabbed your keys to pull them out of the ignition, unbuckling your seatbelt with the other unoccupied hand. Lights were on in the rebuilt cabin, lights that almost seemed too bright and allowed you to get a glimpse of the family you left behind. 

Your dad was behind the stove, cooking dinner and Joyce embraced him from behind with a wide smile on her face indicating the happiness she felt. From where you sat, Eleven and Will were nowhere to be seen, assuming they’d either gone out to hang with the rest of the group of kids or retired to their rooms. The house was lively, joy radiating from under the seams of the front door and you sighed. The gut feeling of not wanting to disturb the peaceful nature and churned at the sight of the kiss that was shared between the two parents, however short it was. Your being here would rock the boat filled to the brim with contentment and success at moving on from the dreadful past. Though, Eleven put on a mask around them if she was as sad as she sounded over the phone that led to you coming back. You’d told her over the phone you wanted to never come back to this town, but your love for your adopted sister overpowered that need. You couldn’t leave her behind. 

The vehicle door creaked open and allowed you to step out. Locking the door after shutting it, you shoved your keys into your pocket and stared at the house in front of you. Guilt was creeping into your veins, the bubble they seem to be living in will surely be popped by your arrival. Maybe you should’ve called beforehand, and warned them of your incoming arrival to give them time to prepare for it. It was too late now, though, as you began to hold your fist up to knock. 

The light raps against the door did not go unnoticed, footsteps following not too long after. You could hear Jim wondering out loud who it could be before his hand jangled the door knob. The breath was taken from your lungs once the eyes you missed fell upon yours. You didn’t know what to do; do you smile? Do you offer a hug? A friendly wave? 

“Kid,” he breathed out. His eyes flickered between multiple emotions before settling on joy. His arms enveloped your body in a warm embrace, one hand on the top of your head and the other arm around your shoulders. Your arms wound their way around his torso, squeezing as tightly as he was and a pair of lips kissed your head. The embrace was short lived, Hopper stepping half a step back to take in your presence. “What are you doing back here? Is everything okay?” 

The tears you attempted to hold at bay threatened to spill onto your cheeks, vision going blurry and your nose was beginning to feel stuffy. “El called. She begged me to come back and-“ you abruptly stopped. Should you be honest with him? Was it worth the concern and stress? Hopper repeated what you said, wondering what was left of your sentence. “I missed everyone,” 

It wasn’t a lie, partially the truth but not entirely. The relationship you shared with your father was a supportive one, able to be honest and free but seeing how happy he was in the house with Joyce, it gave you an unsettling feeling when you thought of telling him. 

“Well,” he said with a smile, “Come on in, kid. El and Will should be home soon. They’ve been at Mike’s house.” Hopper led you into the renovated home, the wonderful smell of your favorite dish wafting through the kitchen and into the living room. It was an open floor plan; kitchen and dining room opposite each other and the kitchen island faced the living room. The living room was decorated with many pictures, some with the kids or the adults only. One stood out in particular though. 

Your eyes glazed over at the 5x7 wooden picture frame, two happy twelve year olds staring at you with sparkles in their eyes. You could feel the love emanating from it, sweeping your heart from the darkest depths of the hole it was in and warming it to break the ice surrounding it. One kid was hanging on the back of the other trying to get a piggy ride and the other was laughing, surprised but not shocked. The kid always enjoyed the rides on his back and often wanted them. The color of your eyes seemed brighter in the picture, a satisfying contentment that all was okay and had no idea what would happen in the next few years.

[uncannytimecandy]

ok yansim fic idea that I will never sit down and flesh out to something polished but I'm still feeling generous enough to share

Oka/Sakyu

Sakyu is ACUTELY aware of Oka stalking her and her sister at lunch/when they talk near the fountain/when they walk down to the tree

She can't go anywhere without that gloomy girl following behind.

She usually wouldn't care but she has to keep her sister safe

So she finally confronts Oka on the roof top

Oka doesn't do well under pressure and is quick to spill, "I know you are a vampire!!" (I think it makes more sense if both sisters are vampires? with kinda succubus lore undertones ig? n e ways)

After realizing Oka has no intention of hurting her or her sister (and is also too weak to do so) and is just interested in vampires n stuff, she still has to make sure Oka keeps quiet and doesn't tell her little entourage of emo kids

Tangent: Maybe Sakyu gets a little tired of making all the "right" decisions to stay under the radar. maybe she wishes she could indulge in gossip and meddeling like her sister wants to. Maybe she missed not having to hide her true nature. Maybe she's looking for a little old-fashion mortal messing fun. It's not like she can blow her cover if Oka already knows.

So she does what any vampire-succubus pretending to be a regular school girl would do and resorts to blackmail.

Basically saying she will tear Okas throat out if she tells a soul of what she knows.

Oka is a loser coward (and also maybe just perhaps into hot girls getting into her personal space to make threats) and agrees but Sakyu warns she will be keeping a close eye on her from now on.

In the following days Sakyu is always just in the corner of Okas eye.

She finds a way to sit next to her in class.

Her and her sister eat lunch right next to the Occult Club.

Purple hair follows her when she walks around the school, visiting the art room and such.

Their little game of cat and mouse has totally flipped on its head.

Sakyu has never felt so alive. Getting to scare somebody again instead of being perfectly behaved.

She really can't thank Oka enough

So she starts leaving little notes for Oka. Something simple and maybe a little flirty cause she likes watching her squirm.

Sometimes Sakyu will leave her ring in the Occult Club to force Oka to come find her to give it back.

Oka's heart never stops racing these days. Either from fear or excitement. She's having genuine interactions with the supernatural. She can't tell anyone but that doesn't make it any less real. She doesn't think she would tell anyone if there wasn't the looming threat of death anyways. It's her little secret.

N e ways that's like the setup, que mutual stalkerish obsession and fun teasing. Maybe throw in a confused lnkyu on why her sister suddenly cares so much about this random girl.

If someone wants to expand on this, PLEASE feel free to do so

[distracteddegenerate]

Carnation

Yuta x Fem!reader

Warnings: period sex, lots of blood mentions, yandere undertones for Yuuta, TW.Dubcon if you squint I just want to be safe lol, unprotected sex, smut

Got super carried away with this one which is why it’s so long lol. I decided to combine the asks since I have got a lot for Yuta. Second anon if you’re uncomfortable with this fic which is understandable lol just shoot me another ask and I can do something else for you.

You lay curled in your bed, the sheets and pillows a mess around you, a fluffy hot water bottle cradled tightly to your front. The side of your body you laid on was beginning to ache from pressure, and you felt flush from heat, but you dared not move. You dreaded the intensifying of the stabbing pains your own body was wretchedly subjecting you to. Of course today would be the heaviest of your period, the day you had scheduled for a study session with Yuta. He was due to come over in about half an hour, and your pains were yet to ease up at all, despite the painkillers you had recently downed. You could cancel, yet, this was the first ever study session you had set up with your handsome friend, and you were loath to cancel it over something that would clear itself up eventually.

You closed your eyes, and pulled the hot water bottle you gripped like a lifeline closer to the source of your suffering.

~~~

*knock knock*

Fuuuuck. Was it that time already? You groggily sat up, releasing your water bottle and in replacement lightly pressing your hand against the throbbing pain that was starting to surge more strongly in the pit of your belly. You gently placed your feet on the ground off the side of your bed, and rose onto the balls of them just as delicately. You began your gloomy shuffle towards the entrance of your room, fixing your ruffled hair into place.

You pulled the door open on yourself slowly, croaking as Yuta’s tired but docile face materialised into view. 

“Good evening, (Name)-chan.” Yuta had his hands in his pockets and wore a kindly smile, the only thing betraying his pleasant demeanour being those familiar dark circles dusking the underside of his eyes. Dreary though they appeared, you could swear you saw a specular shimmer dance across his irises when he registered your form.

“Ah good evening to you too, Yuta! Come in and make yourself at home, I have some stuff set up on the coffee table.” You tried your best to look as perfectly in humour as you could, to not draw any attention to your current pain stricken condition. Must have been good enough, as Yuta had nodded in response and was now making his way over to nestle himself onto one of the pillows you had placed next to your make-shift study station. 

You yourself was headed to the kitchenette, about to ask what Yuta wanted to drink when a sharp stab erupted from your core. You threw your hand onto a countertop and visibly winced, when you noticed Yuta’s widened eyes had been following you. 

“(Name)! Are you okay?!” Yuta’s expression was alarmed, prepared to pounce up from his seating.

“Uh- I er uh- tripped over! Nothing to worry about!” You were blushing slightly, but righted yourself regardless and tried to stand as straight as you could. Yuta seemed slightly confused, and whilst he opened his mouth to speak you interrupted him with a casual “So what would you like to drink?” 

“Er.. I’m fine actually, I had something before I left home... actually I think you should come sit down, er, carefully.” He still looked a little concerned. You nodded your head and made your way over to his side. Settling yourself down, you could feel more pain pulsating within you, a low rumble threatening another great stab like you had experienced just. You drew your legs to your chest in an attempt to alleviate it slightly, and picked up your copy of “a comprehensive guide to the relation of curses and the law”; holding it open in front of you.

You could feel Yuta’s gaze still trained on you.

~~~

“So, although the police would have to intervene if someone was hurt or killed in the incident, sorcerers still have the right to- er - (Name)?”

Crap. You were too focused on the waves of torture oscillating in your guts to keep your attention on Yuta explaining the info that went over your head in class to you again. And he noticed. You looked up at him softly, and offered a subdued “sorry.” You didn’t really have energy to maintain your act of being fine anymore. His eyes looked concerned. You turned your head to the floor and fiddled with your hands.

“Hey, (Name).” You heard him shift and alter the positioning of his legs. “Is it that time of the month?”

What?! Who asks that like this?! 

You threw your head back up to look at him, your face red and mouth agape. He threw his hands up defensively.

“Sorry, sorry!” He hurriedly turned his gaze into the distance and rubbed the back of his neck. “I just.. I have a little sister, so I’m used to this sort of thing, or at least I know a bit more about it than other guys.” He looked back to you. “It seems like the pains at least are distracting you from your studies, if you need painkillers or something.. I can go get them for you.”

“I er...I already tried that… doesn’t work out that well for me.” Was your meek, barely audible reply. You played with the tassel of the pillow you were sat on. Yuta looked pained on your behalf.

“Y’know… I read online somewhere that there’s always something you can try out failing all else.” He caught your gaze, and held it intently. 

It must be too good to be true, how would Yuta know some hidden method that you (as someone who experienced periods) didn’t know about for dealing with the pains?! Your eager look betrayed itself when a switch flicked in your head and your expression turned into one of astonishment. There’s no way he’s gonna suggest…

“Org*sms.”

You’d known Yuta for awhile now, but you had no idea just how… artless he was. Where was his tact?! Your cheeks burned from embarrassment. You felt like your face was about to explode.

Looking at him though, he was practically unfazed! As if you were going about some matter-of-a-fact order of business. What was this situation!

“I-is.. that a joke Yuta?” Your hands were curling into tight balls. 

“Of course not, (Name). You look like you’re in so much pain. I just want to help alleviate it.”

What the hell did he mean by that? Like you will just hop up right now and go jerk yourself in the bathroom as casually as using the toilet.. Or.. could he have meant..

You felt Yuta’s hand settle on your thigh, as he leant down further towards you. “I can help you out (Name)-chan.”

You couldn’t deny, you’d always found Yuta handsome, but for things to move along this quickly… and of all times! Surely his level of straight-forwardness defied all social conventions, and yet, it was working. The feel of his hand resting on you, his hungry stare, the way he loomed over you, chest rising and falling intently. You could feel a different kind of ache emanating from your lower parts. 

His hand drifted further up your body, coming to stop just below your belly button. “I want to help you… (Name)-chan.” You looked into his dark eyes. They were intense, hungry. You could swear he was salivating. 

“B-but Yuta.. I-I’m.. You know! Isn’t that.. Gross? For you?” He shot you a sheepish grin, hiding his eyes in an evasive fashion. His hand travelled downwards once more, snaking up the inside of your loose-fitting shorts and looping his fingers over the sides of your panties. He toyed with them, rolling the cloth over your skin and lightly pulling at them. “I don’t think any part of you is gross, (Name)-chan.” His eyes flicked open again, drawing you back into his intensity. “I think every part of you is beautiful, even.” You could sense his earnestness, and it made your cheeks burn. You went to throw your hands up to them, but he quickly caught them in his. “So, what’s your answer?” He planted a kiss in your palm. “Do you want my help? (Name)-chan.” 

Fuck.. the way he looked at you. Those ferocious, hooded eyes. Those calloused hands, usually wrapped around a katana, wrapped around yours right now. The burning you felt between your legs. God yes. God, you wanted it.

The alleviation of pain (and studying) was an afterthought.

~~~

Yuta had returned back to your living space with a towel from the bathroom. What? you didn’t want to get the floor messy. You could see an erection straining tightly against his black pants. 

Fuck, you were really gonna do this. He set it down flat on the floor, and invited you to come situate yourself on it.

~~~

After removing his shirt (It was white, after all), Yuta knelt himself down in front of you. He had a certain glint in his eyes, almost conflicting the harmless smile that he also wore, as if he wasn’t about to blissfully pound your bloody c*nt into oblivion. He undid the front buckle of his pants, a bulge emerging, the explicitness of his bare dick concealed by gray underwear. He began palming at the protuberance. You eyed the display curiously, when you had a sudden realisation.

“Y-Yuta, w-what about… protection?” you asked, uneasily. 

“Hm? (Name)-chan, you’re on your period, remember? You won’t get pregnant.”

“B-but..”

He cut you off. “I don’t have anything. Trust me.”

You nodded and grunted in acknowledgement. Yuta was always a trustworthy figure for you. Your strong, reliable friend who you could always depend on. He always took care of you, even during skirmishes with curses, arriving at your side before things even had the chance to get particularly hairy.

You watch Yuta as he tilts his keeling body forward, his hands landing on your ankles before travelling upwards, spreading your legs open in the process. You feel yourself blushing once again, tossing your head to the side. You can feel the front of your damp p*nties being touched, jumping in slight surprise at the abrupt action before Yuta starts rubbing at your cl*t through the fabric. He notices your breathing falter.

“Do you like it, (Name)-chan? Do you like how it feels when I rub you there?”

You mumble a small “yes.”

He’s applying more pressure to his administrations now. “Do you want me to take your p*nties off? So I can touch you properly?”

You answer yes again, this time more hastily. 

With that, he curls his fingers over the sides of your p*nties, dragging your legs into the air as he twists his body appropriately in order to shimmy the restrictive fabric off of you. He casts them to the side, before pulling your trembling limbs back into their previous position. Once he settled them back down, he kept his hands on your thighs as he drank in the glory of your exposed c*nt quivering before him, the string of your tampon peaking out in a taunting manner.

You heard him cooing at you quietly. “Beautiful.”

You cringed, wondering if he’d still be thinking that when he’s stained with blood. Even so, you couldn’t help but melt under the feeling of his fingertips tracing circles into your inner thighs. The way you felt a thumb flick over your n*ked sex.

“Is your stomach still hurting you?” The sudden question snapped you out of your stupor.

Truth be told, you’d almost completely forgotten about your pains you were so caught up in the moment, but something held you back from saying so. As if Yuta would stop touching you if you let him know the “reason” for the two of you doing this was almost completely resolved. And, you were relishing in the tenderness of his comforting too much for it to stop.

“Y-Yes..”

Yuta bent further over you, his head looming over your core. He sunk down, his face leaning into the space of your skin where your tummy and pelvis met. He planted a light kiss there.

“Well, I’m gonna make you feel better.”

His grip on your thighs tightened as his head lifted, his presence shadowing over you once again as he held himself higher. Your heart pounded. He leaned further on your left thigh and removed his hand from the other, as you felt fingers poking at your aching heat again.

Could you feel… pulling?

You felt a horrible, obscene slick escape you suddenly when Yuta yanked out your tampon. He pinched it limply in fingers, observing it slightly before placing it on the towel you shared.

“Yuta?!” You whelped. It was ironic. The two of you were sharing an intimate moment with each other, almost completely exposed. But this? It felt somewhat... invasive.

You could sense Yuta shrugging. “It needed to come out.” Before you even had a chance to respond, you could feel him caressing your folds. He was circling his thumb over them, the peak of the eclipse swiping over your cl*t. “Don’t worry, (Name)-chan you look beautiful.”

You looked to him, but he didn’t return the gaze. His stare was boring into your most private parts, hungrily eating up the view. The calloused hand still wrapped around your leg was gripping on tightly, as you felt Yuta dip a finger into your sopping c*nt.

“Fuck.. it’s so.. wet.”

Well, that was a given you supposed. But you knew a lot of what was down there was also probably your usual feminine slick, with the way he was making you ache. He continued pumping his finger in and out, the motion becoming deeper and rougher, him gaining confidence in what you were willing to take in. You could feel your muscles strain around it.

“That’s three.”

“Wait, w-what?!”

“Three fingers, (Name)-chan. You’re drenched down here.” You felt him remove his digits, Spreading them out across your lips. You then felt him draw a line across your inner thighs that intersected your p*ssy in the middle. Was he… playing in it? You decided not to question, you were too caught up in a wanton haze, hips bucking upwards, begging for his touch to return to your most sensitive parts.

“Y-yuta..”

He looked at you and smiled sincerely. “-just need to make sure you’re nice and loose for me, (Name)-chan.” Before you could react, plunging fingers speared your weeping c*nt, pumping with violent pace. You yelped and crumpled in on yourself when you felt his fingers curl against your velvety walls, yielding against the pressure. You squirmed underneath him even more when he began spreading them, parting your insides. You hummed, laying your hand over the top of his head, entwining yourself in the strands of his hair.

He shifted into your touch. “God, love this. So fucking beautiful.”

He peered at you from beneath those dark lashes. “You think you’re ready?”

“Hm?”

“For my cock.”

At that, you nodded, releasing your grasp on his hair and trailing your hand down his chest as he straightened himself, looping his fingers over the sides of his boxers, staining it with blood. He tugged them down, his painfully erect dick springing out into open air. You found yourself surprised at the length. Yet, He was focused on you. Pointing at your top half he asked you, “Can you take all of this off?”

You nodded and complied hurriedly.

When you were done Yuta was quick, grabbing your knees to hold you in place, leaning over to plant yet another doting kiss on your body, This time in the space between your bare breasts. You felt him begin to push into you. He managed the entirety of his length, before pulling himself almost all the way out again. You noticed how he looked down, admiring the sheen of your blood now coating his member. He quickly snapped his hips back into you again, and began assuming a steady pace of rutting. Your legs found themselves wrapping around him, your ankles cross sectioning across his taught upper back. You wanted to tell him it felt good, but the most you could manage was a weak moan.

That seemed to set something off within him. He lunged over you, enveloping your entire body with his own. He planted one hand on the towel beneath you, firmly beside your head. The other found itself groping a t*t, clawing over it to pinch your hard nipple, surrounding the ar*ola with petals of red. His pace was raw and piercing, but the slight discomfort you felt was laced with a more intense pleasure.

You heard him groan. “-god.. You feel so good. Fucking you like this.. It’s just so.. primal.” He was lightly scraping his nails against you, tracing trails of scarlet down your body. You understood what he meant by that perfectly. The way he was looking down at you, almost slavering at the lips at your vulnerable form, like some wild animal lost in it’s lust.

The feeling of it, the sounds of it. It was also so expl*cit. Yet so gratifying. 

You lost yourself, allowing Yuta to abuse your lower half as he pleased, even matching your hips to his punishing motions. The l*wd squelching noises as he fucked into your excessive wetness, the way he played with your sensitive nipple at the same time, your entire being yearning into his ministrations. 

“I-I’ve always dreamt of this, (Name)-chan” You were too lost in a fucked out haze to really respond, humming lightly as you stroked the arm gripping your breast. His pace got even quicker then, rougher. His form that was already entirely draped over yours weighed down on you with even more pressure, the slap of his bucking hips against your buttox resounding loudly. It’s all too much, your legs weak when you cream his c*ck, a wave of release gushing out of you as your heat throbs wildly.

Your limbs go weak as you reel from the org*sm, your walls spasming around Yuta as he continued his bucking.

Yuta’s gaze rests on your dazed expression, his dark eyes settling over you. “You needed my c*ck didn't you?” He moves the hand that was on your bre*st to caress over your face.  “Desperately. I know you did.” 

You felt Yuta’s pace get rougher, losing it’s steady tempo as he chases closer to his climax. He thrusts into you heartily a final time before his release spills into you, closing his eyes as he rides out his orgasm out slowly and tenderly. He remains inside for sometime after, rubbing your hips with his thumb as he admires the mixture of c*m and blood streaming out of your hole and cascading down his dick. 

“Beautiful.”

He looks to your face now, smiling gently. 

“So, do you feel better now, (Name)?”

[leafyfoots]

Raven Assassin Reprise - Elf Huntress

» LOTRO À LA MODE ANNIVERSARY «

I have been creating LOTRO outfits in the privacy of my kinship’s forums for over six years by the time Lotro à la Mode went public on April 7, 2020 (IG: @leafyfoots). At the time, I felt a gloomy storm cloud constantly looming over me, and just really had to shit-post to give myself some outlet... to keep my thoughts from piling up. About a year later, this blog was created as a way to help better organize my many outfits I had shared. As time passed, I think I’ve grown more accustomed to the flexibility that this blog provides over the more structured format of Instagram. I am still updating both platforms with my cosmetic adventures, albeit not as frequently as before.

To celebrate, today we’re revisiting a very old outfit of mine from 2014. The file is named Raven Assassin, so I assume that’s the theme I was going for. Despite the theme though, it was not a burglar outfit, though perhaps it would be better suited as such. Since it’s been a good several years, I’ve reinterpreted this outfit with the cosmetic collection I have built up today.

The first thing I did was pulling up all of my raven themed items. There is the Raven Mask used in the original outfit, as well as the feathered shoulders from Ravenhill and the Raven Cosmetic Wings from Harvestmath. The wing cosmetics have a very distinctive silhouette that doesn’t quite fit the older feel of this outfit, and the original outfit used the Ceremonial Wig-feld cloak with a wing pattern. I tried using the feathered Cloak of the Autumn Wanderer instead to keep the wing-theme with a more subtle look, but the base grey/black undertone didn’t quite match the gold trim. I opted for the Bridge-warden cloak in the end. The shoulders and mask have clashing metal trims, so I’ve brought both silver and gold trims more prominently throughout the rest of the outfit using the same Marchwarden armour.

Cosmetic weapons did not exist just yet at the time of the original outfit creation, so this time I can select some appropriate weaponry!

And of course, this toon has also progressed through many regions to reach end game a few times over, so here’s an attempt at a matching war-steed outfit.

Head: Raven Festival Mask - navy Shoulder: Dís's Spare Pauldrons - navy Chest: Footman’s Armour - navy (T6 tailor) Glove: Hardened Steel Dunlending Gauntlets - grey Leg: Muta’s Silent Leggings - navy Boot: Dolen-lhopan - navy Back: Recovered Cloak of the Bridge-warden - steel blue

Main-Hand: Invader’s Nimble Spear Off-hand: Keen Entwash Dagger Ranged: Great River Bow of Precision

Halter: Head-piece of Entwining Blossoms Caparison: Caparison of Summer’s Night - navy Saddle: Saddle of Summer’s Light Accessory: Lamp of the Harbinger Hooves: War-steed’s Leggings of Winter’s Light Tail: Tail of the Gloaming Autumn - black chestnut Pelt: Simple Hide - black chestnut

[oikawaplssteponme]

“i’m jealous of the rain”

“i like the rain”

•

pairing: Tsukishima Kei x reader

warnings: swearing, previous breakup

genre: angst

a/n: enjoy the angst, im not sorry for the pain oops. this is kinda a part 2 to a previous one shot that i write for Tsuki but you don’t really have to read it to understand this one, though it might help. i never write straight up angst so hopefully this isn’t too bad. ily tsuki💕 enjoy xx

•

Tsukishima Kei would never admit it, but he lost the best thing he ever had. If you told him you wanted to get back together, he wouldn’t hesitate another second. If you told him that it was just one big mistake, he would tell you it’s okay. If you told him you forgive him, he would be complete again. He gives himself a hard time now, just as you do. Tsukishima Kei will never love anyone the way he loved you. Again, something he would never admit.

“Rain is a beautiful thing, Kei. Lay down and enjoy it with me.”

Those words seemed to play in Tsukishima Kei’s mind on repeat. The sweet sound of your voice was all that he thought about.

“If you like the rain, then I like the rain.”

The rain. The rain was something that Kei never liked until you. He found it a pain, while you found it beautiful. The rain was something that brought a blissful smile to your face. Kei would do anything to be able to see that smile again, or be the reason for it. The rain even put a smile on his face. It never used to be like that before.

Now, whenever it rained, Tsukishima would hide away. Enclose himself in his room, turn off all the lights, shut all the windows, and lay down on his cold bed. He would put on his headphones, volume at 100%, to cancel out any sound of the pitter patter that surrounded him.

He would see the rain and think of you. He would see the rain and remember the night you two confessed. He would remember the way you kissed and how he would do anything to have that back.

Tsukishima Kei was jealous of the rain.

~

A gloomy day loomed over Tsuki. Gray skies, clouds rolling in. Things didn’t look good. He was just about to leave practice when someone called after him in the gym.

“Tsuki, be careful. I think there is gonna be a rainstorm pretty soon,” said his best friend and captain, Yamaguchi Tadashi. Tsuki let out a sigh and nodded. He didn’t like the rain.

Just as Tsukishima was leaving the gym, carefully crafted rain droplets began to fall. He pulled out his umbrella, which he bought after your breakup, and opened it up. He wouldn’t allow for a single drop to touch him. Tsukishima walked home, as he always did.

In order to get to Tsuki’s house, he has to pass yours.

There you laid. On your drive way. No jacket, no umbrella. Just you, your drenched clothing, and the rain. You laid with your eyes clothes, soaking up the essence of the storm.

When Tsuki spotted you, he froze. He knew that if you stayed out any longer, you’d get sick. But he also knew that you wouldn’t care. He stood in front of you, silently. He watched as the water raced down your skin, exploring every inch of you. He watched as the rain hugged you, held you, loved you.

Tsukishima Kei was jealous of the rain.

“You’re gonna get hypothermia if you stay out here any longer.”

You instantly recognized the voice that spoke to you. Before when Tsukishima told you this, it would have a playful undertone to it. Now, his voice was cold.

“That’s the plan.”

Kei let out a frustrated sigh. He moved closer to you, sharing his umbrella with you.

“You’re blocking my rain Kei.”

“Come on Y/N. Get up and go inside.”

“Unfortunately you don’t have that authority over me anymore.”

You were right. He doesn’t. Which upset Kei even more.

“Sorry for caring then.” He began to walk away. You stood up from the ground, clenching your fists.

“Care? Now you want to care about me? It’s a bit late for that!”

Tsukishima whipped his head around as faced you.

“I’ve always cared about you damn it! It’s just hard to when you act like a fucking idiot all the time!”

Your own tears began to stream down your face now. Kei used all his strength to hold his back as he looked at you.

You and Tsukishima had only been broken up for a few months. Your wounds still raw, feeling as though they would never heal. The breakup was messy. No, no one cheated. No one lost feelings. No one fell for someone else. Things just simply didn’t work out the way you wanted them to. Which honestly seemed like the worst option of all.

“I need you to stop caring about me then.”

Kei’s eyes widened. He threw his umbrella onto the ground, storming over to you. Now he stood maybe a couple inches from you.

“I can’t.”

With quivering lips and puffy eyes you looked up a Kei.

“I just need you to try.”

Tsukishima was drenched just as you. His glasses foggy. His hair symbolic of a wet mop. This was the first time in months that Tsukishima Kei had felt the rain on his skin.

“No.”

“Tsuki please-”

“I’m jealous of the rain!”

You looked at Tsuki, shaking your head.

“Kei-”

“I’m jealous that I can’t give you everything it gives you! I’m jealous that I can’t be enough for you! I’m jealous that this stupid rain gets to touch you and be with you more than I ever will!”

“Kei you’re not the rain...”

“That’s exactly the problem, isn’t it? If I was, I would get to hold you, ease your pain, put a smile on your face, make you laugh, keep you close! But I am not the damn rain Y/N!”

You crashed down to your knees, sobbing. Tsukishima followed, wrapping his arms around you.

“P-Please Y/N. Please let me be your rain again...”

The two of you were shaking. A mixture of the cold and the emotions you just shared took over your bodies. You loved Tsukishima Kei so much. So the next words you said hurt even more.

“I’m sorry. Y-You can’t.”

You broke away from Tsuki’s embrace and rushed inside.

“Wait please-!”

The rain began to pour onto Kei a little harder. His body feeling a little heavier. His heart hurting a little worse.

Tsukishima Kei stood up, wiped his face, picked up his umbrella, and finished his walk home.

•

[general taglist (form in masterlist) : @lealofsblog @iwaisa @roesaurus @evivn1 @astrooliver @tetsoleil @bokutory @vangoghmusings @moonlightaangel @complimentaryhugsgirl ]

[babyybitchhhwrites]

Mugen x Reader 18+

Title: In the City

Rating:  Explicit/R-18+

Words: 8522

Warnings: cunnilingus, spit swapping, biting, creampie 

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25298812

♥♥♥♥

The rain came suddenly and with the sort of vengeful, punishing force that put an immediate stop to the hustle and bustle of nightlife in the city. It seemed even the floating world of Edo, for as lively and vibrant as it was, could not claim immunity to nature’s unpredictable wrath. 

You’d been lucky enough to secure a relatively dry spot for yourself under the safety of an izakaya’s roof awning. The notion of going inside to warm up with a bottle of sake flitted through your mind, very briefly, but then you remembered that your travel funds had already been greatly depleted on the journey here. You couldn’t afford the extra expense. At least not until you found a job, anyway.

You didn’t anticipate that being much of a problem in the capital though, and your heart gave a little thump when you peered out into the gloomy night. It was odd to see the once crowded streets now completely deserted. Empty, save the quickly flooding potholes in the road. The hazy outline of buildings loomed up out of the shadows all around you, faintly glowing lamps flickering here or there in the distance. You thought it strangely peaceful despite the rain violently hammering down on the earth. 

It was far from quiet though, at least not compared to the small farming village you’d come from. Even the slightest noise sounded like a thunderous clap when everything else was immersed in silence out in the country but here it seemed there was a continuous din coming from every which direction. You could just make out the reverberating notes of a plucked shamisen further down the road. There was a baby crying in one of the adjacent houses, its baleful wails almost poignantly ironic when it bled into the racket coming from the red light district just one street over. A dog was barking somewhere nearby. Behind you, raucous laughter drifted out of the izakaya and brushed your shoulder like a passing stranger stumbling home, only further emphasizing your isolation in a city of thousands.

A shudder raced down your spine and you shivered, feeling strangely alone. You’d expected some amount of homesickness, yes, but it seemed too soon for that just yet. 

There was no helping it when you were standing in the middle of an unfamiliar city full of nameless faces though. Knowing each of them had their own individual lives to lead that had nothing to do with you, a mere outsider, unavoidably made you ache for what you’d left behind. It was like being lost out at sea with no sign of land in sight. Disconcerting, to say the very least. But try as you might, you couldn’t seem to shake the impression of drowning within the expansive Edo landscape and you wordlessly shuffled aside when the door opened up behind you with a soft clack.  

“Man, it’s really coming down.”

You snuck a quick glance at the man who’d stepped out under the awning with you. He turned his head to look at you too. The quiet beat of consideration that passed between two strangers only seemed highlighted by the pounding rain and then you looked away. 

“Guess you don’t have an umbrella then.” He sighed as he moved to lean against the opposite wall. 

“I wouldn’t be standing here if I did.” You said, casually offhand. The disinterested tone of your voice had been purposely constructed so as to discourage further engagement on his part but he either didn’t pick up on it or he didn’t care.

“Well, that makes two of us. Damn. My luck couldn’t get any worse.”

You tried to ignore him, to no avail. He just kept talking, having a one sided conversation with himself no matter how pointedly you stared out at the rain.

“I don’t even have enough to buy another bottle of sake so there’s no point going back inside. I’m not in the mood to get drenched though. Same probably goes for you too, huh, sweetheart?”

Lifting your brows, you turned to regard him with nothing short of scandalized affront. Was this how all men in Edo talked to women? You weren’t convinced of that, particularly when you took a second look at him. His skin gave off the faint impression of copper, ruddy with a cool undertone that seemed to suggest he hailed from the south. There was a slight accent too. Noticeable but hard to place. The realization that he was also an outsider to the decadent world of the capital should have been of some comfort to you, inspiring a sense of solidarity if not camaraderie. Something about him put you on the defensive though and you couldn’t decide if it was the sword strapped to his back or the scruffy, unkempt appearance he was unapologetically touting. Shady. Exactly as you’d been told the people in the city would be.

You narrowed your eyes at him in warning. 

“Scary.” He murmured, clearly more amused than intimidated. “You got a name?”

“That’s none of your business.” 

“I’m Mugen.”

“I didn’t ask.”

Snorting, he dropped his gaze lower and his lopsided grin turned wry. “You a runaway or something? Looks like you got your whole life stuffed in there.”

You turned your attention to the furoshiki sitting at your feet. He wasn’t necessarily wrong in his estimation - you really had shoved as much as you could fit inside and it looked close to bursting - but you didn’t appreciate the insinuation that you were a child simply disobeying their parents. You hadn’t run away so much as you’d snuck out in the middle of the night to avoid a confrontation you knew you’d never win. The farmers in the country were distrustful of the city on principle alone, often citing the gambling houses and pleasure quarters as proof of Edo’s inherent corruption from within. You weren’t about to waste your time trying to explain that to him and risk being labeled a bumpkin though, so you merely offered a delicate sniff in response. 

“Snooty. I like that.”

Your mouth twisted in a scowl. “I am not snooty. You’re just a boorish brute and I’ve got nothing to say to you. That’s all.” 

The stranger who was no longer a stranger in your mind but, rather, a man called Mugen gave an overeffected shrug. “No skin off my nose. How old are you?” 

“What part of ‘I’ve got nothing to say to you’ don’t you understand?” You could feel your face starting to grow hot. 

Laughing in a strikingly boyish manner, he pushed off the wall and stepped closer. The hair on the nape of your neck promptly stood on end and an unseasonable chill raced through your body as he closed the distance on loose, confident strides that spoke volumes about the sort of life he’d led. A predator. That was all you could think to call him and you were apparently the weak, isolated prey animal he’d set his sights on. Something not unlike panic started to claw at your throat but you already knew running would be a futile effort. You were effectively cornered. Trapped. 

Your only option was to stand there, frozen to the spot with your heart pounding a frantic beat against your rib cage. The thought that this is how a hunted rabbit must feel when a half starved fox was closing in for the kill flashed through your mind and then camped there. You were just as helpless as the hare though and, craning your neck back, you met Mugen’s infuriatingly attractive half-mast gaze head on. 

He seemed to like that and hummed in quiet approval. “You’re awfully talkative for someone who claims they’ve got nothing to say. I think we just haven’t found the right topic yet, sweetheart.”

“How arrogant.” It was a real struggle to keep your tone neutral now. “Why do you think I owe you any of my time?” 

Ignoring the question, Mugen reached out and you instinctively flinched. He only grasped your sleeve between lax fingers and listlessly tugged on it though, not at all unlike a child. “This is your nicest kimono, isn’t it?” He asked instead. “It’s well made but old. Even I can see that and you think I give a damn about clothes?” 

He inelegantly snorted and you took that as your cue to jerk out of his hold. “What is your point?” 

Another flippant shrug of his thin shoulders. “Just making an observation. Is that a crime?” You pursed your lips together and he pressed on, satisfied with that. “I bet if I took a look in your bag, the rest of your shit is even more beat up than what you’ve got on now. Not a fancy silk kimono in the bunch.”

“And?” You said archly. “Is that really so condemning?” 

Comfortably slouching, Mugen slipped his hands into the pockets of his pants with a testy sigh. “And it’s obvious you’re not from around here. Not the city, at least. You’re a country girl, aren’t you?” 

The breath caught in your throat. You suddenly couldn’t speak; all of your witty, sharp tongued remarks failing you when you needed them most, but your silence seemed to be answer enough for him. He smirked. 

“Thought so.” Piercing gaze roving down your ramrod stiff body, Mugen regarded the furoshiki at your feet again. “Considering how full you’ve got that bag, it’s not hard to figure out your angle. A sweet little girl from the country who ran away to Edo for something more than a life of farming. I’m right, aren’t I?” 

A tense beat of quiet passed over the spot under the Izakaya awning. 

“I’m not a little girl.” You stammered. It was the only thing you could think to say. 

“Coulda’ fooled me.” 

Hunching his shoulders, Mugen turned on his heel and unhesitatingly stepped out into the late summer downpour. You watched him go, reeling and knocked off course. Buoying in the tumultuous sea of doubts suddenly assaulting your mindscape in a torrential flood that made the rain storm seem a mere drop in the bucket by comparison. He’d come to you like a tsunami, abrupt and without mercy, ravaging your resolve in one fell swoop before receding just as quickly. 

He was a force to be reckoned with, of that you were sure, and he hadn’t even acted in a way that was outwardly aggressive. Mugen simply was what he was. A beast. Perhaps even the most dangerous of them all, because his retreating back sparked a feeling deep inside your gut that could only be described as longing. He was a threat to your person, your entire being. But there was no denying his magnetic pull and you didn’t stop long enough to consider the possible consequences of further engaging him. He hadn't really left you with any other choice. 

You moved to step after him only to trip, stumbling over your bag. 

Swooping down, you hauled the considerable weight of your past life up over your shoulders and stepped out into the rain. It was cold on your flushed skin but a welcome reprieve. Your hair was plastered to your skull in a matter of moments, though you hardly even noticed it as you scampered after him like a naive, hopeful stray.

If asked, you wouldn’t have been able to explain why you did it. You weren’t even entirely sure yourself. Maybe Mugen was simply the closest thing to an acquaintance you could lay claim to here in Edo or, perhaps more likely, he represented a much needed harbor of safety in this floating realm of hedonistic duress. You weren’t sure where to go from here or what to do with your new found freedom. But if he could ground you, even if only for one night, you felt certain you’d be able to face the unfamiliar city in the light of day. That’s what you tried to tell yourself, at least. 

But he didn’t ask. 

*

“Put your stuff wherever.”

Clutching the furoshiki in a death grip, you glanced around at Mugen’s room. It was small, though not exactly cramped. Humble would likely be a good word for it. 

The simple, unadorned inn was surprisingly quaint. It almost reminded you of back home but there was no mistaking the sheer difference in its construction. This was not the simple, economical structure of a farming village but rather the distinct product of an extravagant city that was forever evolving in more and more decadent ways. It only looked modest and unassuming because it had been designed that way. You could see the signs all around you, from the meticulously polished wood to the immaculate state of the tatami mats that were without a fray in sight despite the no doubt heavy foot traffic they were burdened with. It left you feeling decidedly out of place and you awkwardly stood standing by the doorway.

“I don’t want to intrude …”

Mugen scoffed and shot you a flat look over his shoulder. “Little late for that wouldn’t you say?” 

Your cheeks warmed but if he noticed, he paid it no mind. 

Moving further into the room, Mugen pulled the sword strap over his head and somewhat carelessly dropped the weapon onto the floor. His drenched happi came off next, tossed aside without a second thought. The white shirt underneath quickly followed and you squeaked in surprise - not because you were fool enough to have expected anything less staying with a man you’d only just met but because he was skin and bones. Gaunt didn’t even come close to describing it.

You could make out almost every single knob and divot in his spine. The hard lines of his shoulder blades jutted out, stretching the thin layer of skin across his back like brittle rice paper until it seemed as if the bone might rip through it if he wasn’t careful. The grooves of his rib cage were clear as day even from behind and you gulped, swallowing your nerves so forcefully that it left you momentarily lightheaded. You’d never seen someone so skinny before. The apparent fragility of his body was misleading but, even though you would have otherwise assumed him weak and frail, you still recognized that he was actually quite strong. Maybe even stronger than the boys back home who spent their days plowing fields and chopping wood who were twice his size. 

The impression of sharing a space with some mangy, feral dog only grew stronger while you watched him step up to the window facing out over the street and slide it open. You were able to see every muscle in his arm as it flexed with the motion, slight as it was but so densely packed that it appeared to violently bulge under ruddy skin. You quickly realized your initial assumption had been off by some margin. Mugen was all skin and bones and hard muscle, and you were starting to suspect that he was one of the most dangerous men in Edo. 

You abruptly felt some concern about following him here, back to his room at the inn, but then he turned to regard you with an expectant lift of his brows and you relaxed. For the time being, at least, you were safe with him. He was just a mutt looking for some company on a rainy night and he had no reason to harm you. It was fitting, given that you, too, had no place to call your own or anyone to share it with. Birds of a feather and all that.

“Is here fine?” You asked, moving to deposit your overflowing bag in the corner. 

“I don’t give a damn.” 

Mugen lifted his arms over his head in an exaggerated stretch that left his skin pulled so taut it was a miracle it didn’t split open right before your very eyes. The gaps between his ribs made your stomach clench and you quickly looked away, untying the furoshiki with trembling fingers. Everything inside was soaked. Not that it really mattered. His earlier estimation had been absolutely correct and all the clothes you’d brought with you were as good as trash. A glaring sign of your roots up in the mountains, far away from civilization and talented seamstresses. 

Sighing dejectedly, you tied the cloth back up so you wouldn’t have to look at its contents anymore. 

“Something wrong?” 

“Not at all.” Straightening, you turned and walked over to stand next to him in front of the window. It was still pouring outside and the mismatched pitter patter of raindrops on the clay shingle roof provided the room a strangely calming ambiance. It was peaceful here despite the ever present noise of city life. 

Curiously, Mugen peered over at you for a prolonged moment. “Aren’t you cold?” He said at last.

Now it was your turn to shrug. “I don’t have anything dry to change into.”

He clicked his tongue, closing the distance between the two of you in a single step. 

You froze, heart pounding in your ears when his narrow frame brushed up against yours without a hint of pretense or deception. Mugen’s demeanor was honest to a fault as his hands found your hips and settled there, guiding you forward until you were pressed up against him and you could feel the faint warmth of his body bleeding through your wet kimono and into you. A shudder rippled down your back, as anticipatory as it was anxious. You weren’t sure what to do - did he expect submissive compliance or wanton hunger? - and you held your breath when he leaned close to put his mouth next to your ear.

“Neither do I but I know how we can warm each other up.”

You lifted your hands to halfheartedly grasp at his bony wrists. “Isn’t this happening a little fast?”

“Sorry. I don’t like to waste time if I can help it.”

Tilting your head, you warily glanced up at him and whatever he saw in your face made him laugh.

“Don’t look at me like that. We don’t have to if you don’t wanna’. Despite what you think, I’m not actually a brute.” Narrow eyes twinkling with mischief, Mugen used his hold on your hips to steer you around so that your back was facing the open window. “But I can promise you won’t regret it. I’m leagues above those country boys you used to fool around with.” 

“How modest.”

That was all you managed to get out when he abruptly tightened his hold and hefted you up into the air. You yelped, surprised, and he plopped you back down almost immediately. Realizing he’d set you on the window sill, you fixed him with a disgruntled scowl as you huffily attempted to right yourself. The ease with which he’d plucked you off the ground had affected you more than you were willing to let on though, your insides vibrating at the casual display of strength while you struggled to find your orientation again. 

“A warning would have -”

Mugen silenced you with his mouth.

You jolted, fuzzy surprise washing over you at the sensation of coarse lips working against yours. He wasn’t gentle or slow. The exact opposite of every other kiss you’d ever been on the receiving end of. His ministrations were conversely demanding and rough, bordering on sloppy as he forcibly pried your mouth open so he could taste you. 

Gut clenching, you acquiesced with a muted groan. Mugen swallowed the sound and tilted his head so your lips were slotted more firmly together and he could delve the wet, sticky heat of his tongue past your teeth. It brushed yours in a slow, languid lick towards the back of your throat, making you swallow on reflex. He smirked into the kiss and you shuddered. This was as foreign to you as the city. Brash and formidable where you’d only ever experienced tentative, coaxing pecks before. It had you burning up in a matter of moments, your chilled nipples pebbling against the innermost layer of your kimono until you had no choice but to squirm at the heady sensation. 

It was like being lit on fire, you were sure of it, and you gratefully tipped your face towards the ceiling when he leaned back to regard your dazed expression. Smug and confident. Pleased. 

“It’s been a long time since I was last with a girl as honest as you.” He husked, the sly note in his voice not escaping your notice. 

“I am not honest.” You fixed him with a frazzled look of warning. Mugen didn’t seem to buy it though, continuing to hover over you with his hands bracketing your thighs against the window sill, and you irritably huffed. “What would make you say that, anyway?”

“The better question is what wouldn’t.” Reaching up, he grazed the rough pad of his thumb over your bottom lip which parted for him as if on command. “You’re not a virgin, are you, sweetheart?” 

You hesitated, thoroughly caught off guard by that question. “No.” You said at last. It wasn’t a lie. You’d just never been with someone like him before.

The corner of his mouth twitched higher. “Good. I won’t have to hold back then.” 

Mugen dipped his thumb into your mouth before you could draw a breath of protest, effectively silencing you again. Noising a weak complaint around the intrusion, you shot him a plaintive look but he remained as undeterred as ever. The pad of his finger pressed down on your tongue, making it writhe under the pressure in a tantalizing dance that had him drawing a slow breath of excitement. His other hand lifted and cupped your breast through the soaked cotton, giving it an experimental squeeze. Static zapped through you at the indelicate friction and you sat up a little straighter, pushing your chest further into his palm. He was still focused entirely on your mouth though, leaving you with no choice but to seal your lips around the base of the digit and obediently suckle.  

He offered you a quiet sound of approval. It wasn’t hard to figure out what he wanted, but you found it difficult to shake the feeling that your childish trysts with the village boys down by the creek had not properly prepared you for what Mugen had to offer. He was an entirely different breed. His own animal, as dangerous as he was gangly. The little voice in the back of your mind tried to insist that you weren’t ready for this - whatever this was - but your body seemed to have a mind of its own. When he slipped his hand inside the folds of your kimono, you readily arched into the touch. When his fingers found your stiff nipple you writhed and when he unceremoniously tweaked it, you gasped. You’d never felt so desperate from such simple, tactless attention before but you couldn’t deny what it was doing to you even if you’d tried.

Had it been anyone else pinching your nipple hard enough to draw a groaning whine from the back of your throat, you would have smacked them across the face. He was far too rough with you, insensitive and unnecessarily crude in the way he handled your body. You were ashamed to realize just how much you actually liked it though and when your pussy fluttered eagerly at the rough treatment, you subconsciously squirmed again. 

Mugen released a soft moan at the sight of you falling apart right before him, pushing down with his thumb and manually prying your jaw open until he could look straight down your throat. “Shit …” He paused to lick his lips, and you tracked the motion with your eyes. “You ever had a cock in your mouth, sweetheart?”

You jolted, molten heat flooding your guts when the mental image of what that must be like overwhelmed your thoughts. The notion had never crossed your mind before. The boys back home hadn’t been presumptuous enough to ask. You would have called such an act dirty if they had, adamantly refusing to put your mouth on the eager pricks they just as happily rutted into you with. They weren’t deserving of such dutiful submission. But it was different with Mugen. Not only did you want to do it but you could all too easily see yourself taking him as far as you could, right to the limit of your gag reflex, and it was enough to have you subtly grinding on the window sill underneath you. 

The dizzying magnitude of your arousal brought tears to your eyes as you shook your head, numb and quietly keening for him.

“Can’t say I’m surprised.” He murmured, pulling on your lower jaw when you tried to close your mouth. “I don’t think it’s very popular outside of the brothels. Guess you’ve probably never had anyone go down on you either, huh?”

Your eyes widened when you realized what he was suggesting. “Thash dirhi!” 

Lazily smirking, Mugen curled his fingers under your chin and tugged you up straighter with his hold on your mouth. “Hey, don’t knock it til’ you try it. You probably won’t get this chance very often so you should be happy. Stick your tongue out, baby.”

Hesitantly, you obeyed. Your tongue slowly unfurled and tentatively slipped over his thumb even though your instincts were going haywire, screaming in protest to this degrading humiliation. The curious arousal searing your veins was all but palpable though and you watched, mesmerized, as he leaned close to hover over your face. Those thin, coarse lips parted, oozing a bubbling wad of saliva that dripped down towards your outstretched tongue at a tauntingly staggered speed. You whined, realizing too late what he was doing but not having the presence of mind to try and fight it. All you could do was observe its gradual descent and when the cooling spit touched its mark, you shook.

The glistening string that connected the two of you broke apart when he straightened to admire his handiwork, an expression of deep satisfaction flashing across his narrow face. “Now swallow it. Tell me how that tastes.”

His thumb retreated from your mouth, allowing you to do just that. The distinct flavor of his mouth clung to your taste buds as you choked down Mugen’s spit but it was, surprisingly, not half as repulsive as you would have guessed it to be. 

Dazedly, you swayed on top of the window sill and croaked out “It wasn’t terrible …” 

“Putting your mouth on someone's cock isn’t much different. Not dirty at all.” Looking quite smug, Mugen withdrew entirely and sunk down on his knees. You watched him with your heart in your throat, weakly trembling when he palmed your thighs so he could spread them wide. “Pussy, on the other hand, can get a bit messy. If you know what I mean.”

“I d - don’t know what you mean …”

He hummed as if he’d expected as much. Anticipated that response. Your mind was running a mile a minute as you followed the motion of his hand when he reached for the lower half of your kimono, hardly daring to breathe. It was almost impossible to wrap your mind around what was happening and even harder to grasp the fact that you were letting him do whatever he wanted with you. There was some kind of disconnect here. 

But you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain as he parted the cotton and shoved it aside so that it bunched around the obi circling your middle. You were suddenly exposed from the waist down and you shuddered so hard that your eyes seemed to vibrate in their sockets. Mugen was attentively inspecting your bare cunt, his nose a little too close to the curling tuft of hair for your liking, and you instinctively tensed when he reached up to touch you. 

“Calm down.” He huffed. “If you really don’t like it, I’ll stop. I don’t think that’ll be a problem though.”

“But it's so - ah!” 

His fingers found your slit, spreading the puffy little lips open without pause, and you rocked back against the edge of the window. Your face felt like it was on fire as you gaped down at him, the unmistakable sensation of beading sweat on your brow only adding to the damp quality of your skin after walking through the rain. No one had ever looked at you with such plain hunger before - at least not down there, when your core was inches from their face and they could see all of you and smell your cloying arousal in the air.

Whimpering, you twisted on the sill and tried to close your legs. The high strung embarrassment making your pulse pound was too much. You couldn’t stand to have Mugen, this stranger, unobstructedly staring at the core of your body like this but he was positioned in such a way that you couldn’t shut him out. Your knees merely knocked against his arms, the attempt seeming to spur him on rather than dissuade him. 

He grunted and shouldered his way further between your thighs so he could dip his face close. You drew a sharp breath to object but the sound puffed out of you in a frazzled squeal when his tongue darted out to trace the length of your labia from bottom to top. Wolf-like gray eyes roved up the length of your body to fix on your slack face. He looked like something wild and untameable. Something savage, particularly with his open mouth hovering over your cunt. You could just make out the glint of flat, blocky teeth in the sparse light that was stretching from the burning paper lamp off to the side. It made him appear almost inhuman and for the first time since stepping into this room, you felt the tickle of genuine fear at the back of your mind. 

Mugen was going to eat you, both figuratively and literally. God, why did that excite you so much? 

“Please …” You blubbered, not knowing what else to say. 

Dark lashes fluttered as he turned his focus to your defenseless pussy again. “It’s a little too early to start begging for it, sweetheart.” He muttered, chuckling darkly when the puff of hot breath on your exposed clit made you twitch. “I haven’t even started yet and you already look like you’re gonna’ cry.” 

Pausing, he pressed the rough texture of his lips against the gummy meat of your petal soft inner folds and mouthed at you. A strange choking sound erupted from your throat, prompting him to press into you tighter until you could feel the rough scratch of chin stubble teasing your cunt. The room began to swim as you rocked against the window, throwing your head back with a half stifled wail. You caught the sound of him swallowing the taste of you, his jaw opening wide to encompass your tingling clit in hot, wet warmth and then suckling. Spine snapping ramrod stiff, you lurched under him and blindly kicked out, your lips parting on a silent scream. 

The intensity of the sensation was too much. It was difficult just to draw breath when your cunt was lighting up in brilliant, overwhelming sparks of pleasure you’d never so much as fathomed before. You realized, in a far off, dreamy sort of way, that you’d been correct in your earlier estimation. Mugen was nothing at all like the boys from the village who only knew how to fumble and stab at you with their pricks. This was something else altogether. Heady and intoxicating, and your toes curled in delight when he lapped at you with his tongue. Another lick passed over the thrumming pleasure button nestled between your folds and then another. He abruptly pulled off you with a rough suck that made your soul feel like it was slipping out of your body, the accompanying masculine grunt of satisfaction he issued rushing straight to your loins. You could hardly stomach the sheer magnitude of arousal you were all but suffocating under because of him. 

“Mugen …!” You gasped, fumbling to grab hold of him. His fingers, his wrist, the haphazard shock of hair atop of his head. It didn’t matter. You just needed to feel him under your hands. 

“I knew you’d like it.” He rasped, self-satisfied and confident as he grinned up at you from his spot between your legs. “Aren’t you glad you trusted me?”

You managed to snag a fistful of his brown hair and you arched, presenting your slick cunt to him. “Trusting you might have been the worst mistake of my life.” You hissed. “Please don’t stop …”

Softly groaning when you tugged on the strands between your fingers to encourage him back into action, Mugen shot a smolderingly fierce look up the length of your body. “Awfully demanding for someone who didn’t even want me to do this, aren’t you?”

“I'm sorry.” It sounded like a plaintive sob. 

Noising a pleased hum, he relented at last and lowered his mouth to your cunt again. The fingers on your labia spread, pulling you further open for him, and you seethed when he tauntingly flicked at your clit with just the tip of his tongue. Thighs twitching, you pulled on his hair again but he refused to budge. He seemed content just to roll the meaty little nub back and forth, side to side, occasionally crisscross to keep you on alert. Never too much pressure though, nothing too direct and satisfying enough to send you over the edge. It was maddening and you keened, not caring who might hear when you were half hanging out the window. The only thing you could focus on was how all the sensation in your body seemed to have funneled down into a fine, pulsating pinprick of static electricity and he was relentlessly toying with that vibrating cluster of nerves like he was getting paid to do it. You’d never felt such dizzying desperation in all your life.

“Mugen! Please! Stop teasing me! I can’t ta - aaake it!”

He was watching you writhe from under the hooded fall of his lashes, sallow cheeks hollowing out when he deigned to suck at you again. You almost came up off the sill, that’s how hard you arched when the tension in your loins doubled and then tripled. Delirious, you jutted your pelvis up and humped his mouth in a lewd display of carnal distress that would surely embarrass you later when you remembered this moment. But for the time being at least, all sense of dignity had been thrown to the wayside. Thoroughly useless to you when he was making you feel so good. You just wanted release and you wanted it now. But, much to your groaning disappointment, he pulled back when it became apparent that you were getting close, leaving you to sob brokenly at the loss of his tongue. 

“I’ve got one rule.” He intoned, his voice thick and guttural. “I’ll go down on you as much as you want but you’ll always cum on my cock. No exceptions.” 

Feeling hysterical, you sat up straight and fixed him with a wild eyed look. “Then do it!” 

Mugen snorted. “Bossy now that you’ve got a taste of it, huh?”

You wanted to reach out and choke the life right out of him. You suspected he’d probably like that though, hesitating when you saw him reach for his pants. A new wave of anxiety washed over you, uncertain and nervous. He was so different than any other man you’d ever known that you couldn’t help wondering if this would be very different too. You’d only seen a handful in your short life, after all, but the breath still caught in your throat when he shoved the baggy material down his legs and his cock sprung up into the air. Ruddy, like the rest of him, but a shade or two darker. The mess of curly dark hair at the base looked more fluffy than coarse and you suddenly realized that the hair on his head was the same way. It had felt like an impossibly thick mass of silk between your fingers and you wondered if the strands crowning his dick were just as smooth to the touch.

Your mouth started to water and you swallowed hard, wondering if he’d let you return the favor later. He probably would.

“C’mere, sweetheart.” 

Starting, you jerked your attention up from his crotch. Mugen was already reaching out to grab you around the waist and when he pulled, you let him drag you down onto the floor with him. You trembled with jittery anticipation as he sat back on his haunches and guided you into his lap. Hands finding his bony, narrow shoulders, you squirmed over top of him while he took a moment to glide his finger through the mess he’d made between your legs. Each brief, fleeting touch to your throbbing clit made you jump but he was apparently serious about wanting you to cum with his prick wedged inside you. He was purposely avoiding the sensitive pearl, focusing most of his attention on your slick entrance. You sincerely hoped you’d be able to find release like this.

“You’re soaked.” He laughed, the humor in his voice anything but innocent. 

“Because of you.” You snipped back halfheartedly.

“That’s right. Because of me.” Drawing a slow inhale, Mugen used his hand on your hip to push you down while the other guided himself to your dripping hole. “And don’t you ever forget that.”

A gasp caught in your throat when you felt the glans touch your sticky labia and you jolted, rising up on your knees a fraction of an inch. He merely squeezed your doughy soft flesh all the harder, forcing you down until the tip of him was pressing into you. Forcibly spreading the meaty lips apart in daunting slow motion. Breaching your body at such a staggered pace that you had no choice but to comprehend every individual blinding wave of pleasure that washed over you, one right after another. 

You keened, digging your nails into Mugen’s flesh as you gradually sunk down onto his hard length. Reflexive tears sprung up in your eyes while you reveled in the sensation of being stretched out around him, seemingly right to the absolute limit. It was overwhelming and somehow not enough at the same time. You could hardly think straight anymore, your once frantic mind now grinding to a complete standstill. Every ridge, every vein, the slight curve of him. You felt it all. Such acute hyper awareness was foreign to you but you basked in it, groaning deep in your chest when you finally settled on top of his thighs a small eternity later. 

The stuffed full sear of penetration was exquisite. 

“Gods, you’re tight.” 

Grunting, Mugen wrapped his long arms around you and shoved his face into your neck. You inhaled a sharp, faltering breath as you curled your arms around his shoulders. With a weak, experimental bounce, you rocked into him. He groaned, squeezing you so tightly that there were sure to be blooming purple splotches in the shape of his fingers come morning. You didn’t care though. The promise of absolution spurred you on and you repeated the motion, dazedly moaning when his cock exerted a delightful amount of pressure on your upper wall. 

“Little minx.” He all but growled, taking a playful nip at your pulse. 

Mugen leaned forward then, using his iron like hold around your middle to keep you seated on his lap so he could lazily thrust up into you. The tension in your guts increased and you wailed. His pubic hair tickled your clit, sending tingling shockwaves spider webbing all throughout your cunt and making you clench down around him. That seemed to punch the air out of his lungs and he wheezed. The slight but powerful muscles in his arms trembled slightly with the effort of holding himself back as he flexed up into you, working your contracting passage loose with a steady patience you hadn’t exactly expected from him. 

It was driving you mad, the exact opposite of what you’d wanted. Seething through your teeth, you clutched at him all the harder as you struggled to get one of your legs out from underneath you. A triumphant spark lit up inside your chest when you managed to brace your foot on the tatami, the angle all wrong and sure to leave you sore the next few days, but you didn’t care. All you could bring yourself to care about was chasing that promise of release with him and you used your newfound leverage to bounce in time with his thrusts. The steady clap of skin on skin gradually rose in the air, blending almost seamlessly into the ever present patter of pouring rain. You could just make out the sticky wet squelch coming from between your thighs every time your pussy sucked him in deep on every downward thrust and that, too, would likely embarrass you later. 

In the heat of the moment it was one of the hottest sounds you’d ever heard though and you gasped in delight as you clawed at his back. The worryingly pronounced ridges of his spine that had alarmed you not all that long ago now only added to the appeal of his lithe frame driving into you, over and over again with increasingly powerful thrusts. It didn’t take long at all for his tempo to pick up as your squeezing walls relaxed around him, driving into you hard enough to knock the air right out of your lungs. 

You couldn’t seem to catch your breath any longer, the heaving grunts and groans bursting out of your mouth only making it all the harder to pull in oxygen. He was panting too, though not as labored despite the physical exertion he was putting his body through. It was in many ways astounding that someone who looked so horribly malnourished could keep up this kind of effort for so long and his stamina was far greater than you’d been prepared for. All of your previous encounters with the opposite sex had ended within minutes after starting but this was much more intense. Prolonged and drawn out. Mugen showed no signs of stopping any time soon and your leg quickly grew tired in this awkward position, aching almost as badly as your pussy. 

With a frustrated wail, you went limp in his arms and let him ragdoll you for an extended beat. You caught the sound of him chuckling breathlessly against your neck but you were no match for him. That much had been obvious right from the start though, and you didn’t care. The driving force of his smoothly gliding thrusts was satisfying enough now that he’d picked up the pace and you chose to focus on that instead. Cumming like this did not seem like such an impossibility any more.

“Muh - Mugen …! You feel so - oooh good!”

“Yeah? You like that, baby?” 

You jerkily nodded and buried your hand in his hair, gripping tight at the scalp. A faltering groan rose up out of him, rewarding for your trouble, and you choked when he changed the angle of his thrusts. He seemed to be hitting deeper and reaching further into your body than before. The head of his cock tickled your cervix and you jerked on top of him when the jolts of pleasure made starbursts erupt across your rapidly blurring vision. It lit every nerve ending in your body on fire, swallowing you in a rush of carnal bliss. 

Mouth hanging wide open, you flung your head back. Mugen tightened his arms around you, threatening to suffocate you right on the spot if you weren’t careful, and tipped forward on his knees. Your back hit the wall just under the window sill with a solid thump, causing you to cry out with renewed desperation. His unruly hair was sticking to his face as he bent over your trembling body and slammed into your squelching cunt at the perfect angle to attack the dense, thrumming cluster of nerves just on the other side of your inner wall. Your trembling leg flew up into the air and curled around his narrow waist, squeezing him as tight as the tired muscle would allow. You were so close you could practically taste it on your tongue and he seemed to recognize the distant, doped out look pinching your expression for exactly what it was.

“You gonna’ cum for me, baby?” He said, struggling to get the words out.

Your response bordered on hysterical and the words came out so scrambled that even you had no idea what you were trying to say anymore. 

Mugen didn’t seem to mind though and, baring his teeth in a leering smirk, he shoved you further up against the wall until your neck started to scream in protest. “Yeah, I got you all figured out now. That sweet spot is mine. This pussy is mine.” Ducking his head, he latched his mouth onto the swell of your breast where the kimono had slid open and bit down. Hard.

You shrieked, the pain meshing so suddenly with the pleasure that you forgot how to breathe for a split second. Your cunt spasmed and squeezed, but he remained undeterred as he continued to fuck into you while he animalistically marked you as his. Every muscle in your body instantly locked up in dizzying tension and, with a strangled groan, the coil snapped. 

Coming up off your breast with a triumphant groan, Mugen watched you spasm and writhe throughout your hard won orgasm. It was intense - easily the most intense sensation you’d ever experienced - and you felt like something wild as you shook on his cock. You couldn’t see. Couldn’t hear. Only feel, and it threatened to bowl you right over the longer it wracked your body from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. His thrusts never faltered though, continuing to drive into your creamy cunt until you were sure you couldn’t stand much more. Sensitized and raw, you were like freshly wrought clay in his arms while he chased his own release, looking like some heaving, half starved beast above you. 

“Fuck, you feel so good!” He practically snarled. “Keep squeezing me like that! I’m getting close!” 

A high pitched, overstimulated whine clawed its way up your throat as you clung to him all the more fervently. Mugen’s hard, bony shoulders started to tremble under your palms, the only outward sign that he was telling the truth, and your helpless bleating quickly took on a more dire tinge when his hips began slamming into you even harder. Faster. His pace was quickly losing its rhythmic push and pull, becoming increasingly more frantic with each passing second. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head from the sheer force of his thrusts, an unseemly dribble of saliva creeping from the corner of your mouth. You couldn’t have been less concerned about it though. All of your limited brain power was focused on one thing and one thing only. 

Mugen was going to cum inside of you. 

“Shit,” He sounded winded. Like he’d been sucker punched. “Did you just get even tighter?”

You wordlessly groaned, unable to form a coherent sentence even if you’d wanted to. 

The coarse sound of pleasure that rumbled inside his chest had your pussy lighting up all over again and you subconsciously clamped down around him. Mugen lurched over top of you, slamming into your aching pussy with all his might once, twice and then a third time. A full bodied shudder rippled down the length of his spine, you could feel the power behind it as the roiling wave systematically worked its way down to his groin. Hips stuttering, he let loose a seething howl that made your toes curl in response and then you felt the hot, sticky mess of seed flooding your cervix in the next heartbeat. You gasped when it kept coming, one spurt after another, all of it settling in heavy clumps against your palpitating inner walls. 

Stunned, you didn’t dare move while he tried to catch his breath. The thick, viscous discharge seemed to bubble inside of you, quickly adjusting to your body’s temperature as if to blend in, but it was still painfully noticeable. You’d have to remember to buy some contraceptive herbs first thing in the morning. 

Hissing, Mugen slowly detached you from his cock and lowered you down onto the floor just a brief moment later. His arms were shaking, apparently tired in the aftermath. “Damn.”

You shifted so that your neck wasn’t all bent up, keenly aware of the sloppy mess oozing out of your well fucked hole without him there to stopper it. This wasn’t the time to complain about that just yet though and instead you settled on “You curse a lot.” 

He grunted a humorless laugh and looked up at you from under the fringe of hair that had fallen over his brow. “You gonna’ wash my mouth out or something?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Scoffing, Mugen reached out to grab the meat of your arm. You tensed, the inexplicable thought that he was going to kick you out of his room now that he’d gotten what he wanted flitting through your mind. A tinge of disappointment sparked to life in your chest, unbidden, but he merely pulled you against him and flopped down onto the floor. The resulting thump seemed to rattle the walls, though neither of you paid it any mind. You were far more concerned with figuring out what he was doing, eying the man suspiciously, whereas he appeared intent on catching a nap. His eyes were closed and the labored canter of his breath slowly evened out while you watched him, studying the subtle signs of relaxation on his face. He was quite handsome when you looked at him like this. 

It was too good to last though and his brows furrowed after a quiet beat. “Are you planning to watch me or sleep?”

You cocked a brow at that. “The beds over there.”

Clicking his tongue, Mugen rolled over and half sprawled himself out on top of you. His topmost leg thrown over yours, arm stretching across your middle, yours and his clothes still all askew. You couldn’t help thinking it was the most unfriendly bear hug you’d ever received. A mangy stray right down to the letter, it seemed. 

“The floor will do just as fine. Trust me.” He yawned. “I’ve slept on much worse.”

“But the bed -” You futilely tried to reason.

“Sleep now. I’ll fuck you nice and slow in the morning. Promise. Just be quiet.”

You huffed. “At least let me take off my kimono then. It’s soaked!”

Mugen lifted his head and cracked an eye open so he could peer over the length of your body, the interest in his half asleep face undeniable. “Alright, deal.”

[grcndeurs]

open

Ashen   sunlight   does   little   to   dissipate   the   thick   fog   which   swirls   through   muddy   streets   and   rotting   houses.   A   wet,   mildewed   earth   stench   hangs   in   the   air,   making   every   breath   Jean   takes   feel   too   heavy   in   her   lungs.   The   smell   is   almost   enough   to   mask   a   more   sinister   undertone   of   freshly   spilled   blood.   Coppery   and   bright   beneath   a   wet   woollen   blanket   of   dirt,   mould,   and   rot   Jean   can   taste   it   in   the   back   of   her   throat.   While   it   seems   to   permeate   every   whisper   of   a   breeze,   the   woman   can't   seem   to   pinpoint   exactly   where   the   smell   is   coming   from   —   a   distinct   lack   of   corpses   or   gore,   even   animals,   making   her   even   more   on   edge.   

Attention   smoothly   following   the   lines   looming   out   of   the   gloomy   miasma,   she   can   feel   her   heart   trying   to   hammer   its   way   out   through   the   cage   of   her   ribs.   As   a   shark   senses   ripples   in   the   water   of   its   dying   prey,   she   too   can   barely   perceive   something   moving   through   the   syrupy   atmosphere   around   her.   Just   out   of   sight,   but   they're   watching   nonetheless.   

Jean   realizes   then   that   she   misses   the   sun   with   a   fierce   cold   ache.   Warmth   that's   trapped   just   beyond   the   clammy   clutching   fingers   of   this   fog,   which   didn't   seem   to   have   the   courage   to   turn   into   snow   or   rain.   Remembering   the   tear   her   parka   had   suffered   on   the   hike   down   into   the   valley,   Jean   is   suddenly   ruefully   thankful   that   the   weather   hasn't   decided   to   take   a   turn   for   the   worst.   Though   maybe   if   it   snowed,   the   bloated   solemn   clouds   overhead   would   abate   and   peel   back   to   show   even   a   shred   of   sunlight   again.   Even   now,   the   weirdly   shifting   gloom   plucks   at   her   nerves   like   an   excited   harp   soloist.   

Flinching   at   nothing.   

Boots   crunching   wetly   through   furrows   slashed   into   the   dirt   roads   that   meander   through   this   dilapidated   village,   a   distinct   lack   of   sound   becomes   suffocatingly   apparent.   Every   little   noise   swallowed   up   by   the   murk   pressing   in   around   the   woman   as   she   walks   onward.   Somehow   the   lack   of   things   that   should   be   makes   the   air   around   Jean   colder,   it's   damp   fridged   fingers   finding   the   spaces   in   her   jacket   and   sapping   off   her   warmth.   Pulling   with   perturbed   anxiousness   at   the   openness   of   her   worn   coat,   Jean   coaxes   a   crooked-toothed   sipper   closed   over   the   bulk   of   her   clothes.   

Progressing   further   into   the   silent   heart   of   a   seemingly   abandoned   village,   Jean's   attention   is   tensely   waiting   for   something   to   break   the   silence.   That   was   the   thing   about   abandoned   places;   they   rarely   stayed   that   way.   

Fingers   disappearing   into   a   front   pocket,   she   fishes   for   the   small   locator   device,   one   of   few   electronics   that   still   worked   this   far   out   into   the   mountains.   Already   she's   thanking   lucky   stars   for   the   fact   that   her   base   camp   would   have   a   satellite   connection   to   get   a   shred   of   outside   contact,   even   if   it   is   just   enough   to   get   data   back   to   her   secure   servers.   Glancing   down   at   the   tiny   monochrome   display,   Jean   frowns   at   the   weakly   pulsing   blip   still   more   than   a   kilometre   north   of   her   spot   on   the   dirty   edge   of   the   village.   Before   the   line   had   gone   dead,   her   contact   described   in   vague   detail   a   sagging   church   still   standing   on   the   northern   outskirts   of   the   town.   In   what   Jean   considered   an   amusing   display   of   irony,   the   building   was   told   to   have   a   red   door   as   its   defining   feature.   

Something   moves   to   the   woman's   right   —   the   slow,   ponderous   sound   of   a   heavy   body   being   dragged   through   the   gravel.   Halting   mid-stride,   Jean's   eyes   snap   to   the   gate   hanging   open   on   broken   hinges,   slowly   scanning   the   meagre   yard   beyond.   A   thick   black   stain   of   blood   wanders   from   a   squat   shed   near   the   leftmost   perimeter   wall   to   the   front   yard   before   splashing   in   a   macabre   welcome   mat   on   the   short   steps   up   to   the   door.   Windows   filled   with   dusty   darkness   that   only   came   from   long   periods   of   dereliction   gaze   mutely   back   at   the   woman   standing   just   beyond   the   threshold   into   the   yard.   

World   waiting   with   bated   breath   as   Jean   pulls   a   revolver   from   its   holster,   she   steps   over   that   line   in   the   dirt   and   into   the   yard.   Heavy   calibre   comfort   welcome   in   the   woman's   hands,   while   boots   pick   quietly   through   the   last   few   yards   up   to   the   door.   Wood   groaning   under   the   new   uninvited   weight,   Jean   can   inspect   the   entryway   more   closely   at   this   proximity.   Splinters   pepper   the   stoop,   what's   left   of   the   lock   and   frame   no   match   for   whatever   had   smashed   through   them,   leaving   the   door   now   ajar.   Within   living   darkness   filling   up   the   house   beyond,   Jean   can   barely   make   out   a   hulking   silhouette.   Crouched   in   the   middle   of   the   floor   surrounded   by   the   chaos   of   an   upturned   house,   the   bones   of   a   smashed   table   scattered   around   the   hunched   creature.   

Training   the   revolver   on   centre   mass,   Jean   nudges   the   door   open   further.   Milky   light   spilling   across   a   gore   streaked   floor   and   illuminating   the   gaunt   dead   face   of   what   remains   of   a   peasant   currently   being   devoured   by   a   mottled   skinned   beast.   Wet   fleshy   ripping   noises   fill   the   interior   of   the   house   as   whatever   is   making   a   meal   of   this   man   shudders   when   the   change   in   light   registers,   a   huffing   set   of   breaths   sucked   in   makes   Jean   realize   that   it's   scenting   her.   

Pivoting   on   its   haunches,   the   monster   pins   the   woman   in   its   raw   red-rimmed   eyes   filled   with   primal   hunger.   Lips   peel   back   in   a   snarl   to   show   blood-soaked   broken   yellow   teeth   set   at   odd   angles   within   the   man's   jaw.   Then   the   howl   punches   free   from   the   thing's   throat,   and   Jean's   skin   prickles   as   it's   taken   up   by   dozens   of   other   voices   all   echoing   the   same   savage   cry   across   the   expanse   of   the   village.   It's   at   that   moment   she   realizes   that   this   is   about   to   get   very   loud,   very   fast.   

[baekhyuns-abs]

Hungry Desire

(gif not mine)

So many people requested more of Slave to Pleasure vampire Minnie well more of who is lady lover is, how they met etc. So this is that. 

I hope you all like it and I’m sorry if this is a disappointment like me

Here’s his original installment 

No warnings, sexual undertones.

“Jonathan!”

She stormed over to the 15 year old boy and snatched the weaponised rock from his grip. “No.” She gave him an intent stare.

She stared at his companion laughing at his friend, at her hard stare he stopped, freezing. “You too, Will, I mean it.”

She backed off her students trudging back to her fellow teacher with an eye roll. School trips were exhausting, students - boys especially - ran wild out of excitement of being away from their boring same old classrooms.

“Boys will be boys.” Her colleague chortled.

“Unfortunately.” She replied.

She sighed and sat down on a worn bench overlooking the lake. She was balled up in her scarf and her wooly jacket but she could still feel the cold weeping into her skin. She shoved her hands into her pockets as her collegue gathered up the students for their lesson on the history of the land.

“Hey we’ve got this if you want to take a breather.” Her hero.

She smiled up at her male companion and smiled. “Thank you.”

She stood from the bench and felt a gust of wind tug at her tied up hair. She knew she was bound to look a mess; face blotchy and her hair all fraying out of her tie. She secured her jeans in her knee high boots before making her way through the sea of kids gathering gingerly in a group to be counted and lectured.

She shot a giggling girl a pointed look making her fall silent as she dissipated from the group. She came to the trees edge and stared ahead into the seemingly gloomy looking woods. She knew to be careful, the myths and legends about blood sucking demons hanging over her head like an amber warning. It was hard work getting parental permission for this school trip, so many believers were scared for their children's safety - so many non believers who refused to admit that they were still afraid.

But the myth took place on the other side of the lake, they reasoned, they would be fine on their own side.

She stepped through the sparse trees, refusing to let her upbringing scare her. They had brought the kids on the coach this far, through these woods, it was fine.

A thick mist settled around the trees as she walked through, trees were thinned from the passing autumn and the ground felt dry and we all at once as it crunched beneath her feet. She could faintly hear the voice of the teacher boring the kids with her storytelling and when she turned around, she could no longer see her party.

“Thank god.” She muttered, reaching into her jean pocket to the crumpled box.

She pulled out a lighter and her raised her long awaited cigarette to her lips. The first breath was always the her favourite one, when it sparked up and the rush of the smoke hit the back of her throat, choking her but soothing her all at once. She leant back on the tree savouring it for as long as she could get away with while the kids were distracted.

But the voice in her ear snatched her away from bliss. “You know that’s bad for you, don’t you?”

She jolted and jerked her head, realising in an instant that that was a mistake.

There he was, leant up on the side of the tree, his elbow supporting his weight as he loomed over her with such predatory ease. She arched her neck back to allow her line of sight to fall on his body. His plain white shirt was tight around his sculpted body, the tightness of his trousers around his powerful thighs, and she felt her body react to him.

It wasn’t until she looked at his face did she feel an ice cold grip on her heart. She could only stare at him, stunned, afraid and ultimately hypnotised at the swimming crimson pools in his eyes. He stared back, completely still waiting for her audible reaction to him, ready for her scream but all the breath was sucked out of her lungs as she took in his intense stare.

She pulled the cigarette from her lips, unable to look away from him as he continued to watch her. Disbelief began to dull her shock as she took another drag of her smoke.

“I know.” She couldn’t break her stare, mesmerised by what she hoped to be impressive contacts.

Something in the air shifted as a small smile tugged at his lips. “Then why are you doing it?”

Her fingers itched to touch him, if he was indeed what she was thinking then she could understand why. Vampires were designed not only for complete terror but for pleasure. Everything about them drew their victims to them, their beauty was enticing, bewitching their pray with just a look.

The beating of her heart was fast and it made her tremble against the tree but she tried her best to remain unfazed; he’s not real.

“Aren’t the things that are bad for us, the most fun?” She answered him cooly with a question.

Minseok raised his eyebrows and veered closer to her, his body inches from her as she smoked, apprehensively. He smelt good too.

“Is that what you tell your students?” He toyed.

She smiled. He may be dangerous and he may kill her but she couldn’t help but feel at ease - even when the question lingered on her tongue, how did he know about her job?

“Oh no, that’s something they have to learn themselves, I want no responsibility for that.”

Minseok shifted again, closer, his arm resting above her head, trapping her between the tree and his body. She noticed, she couldn’t help but notice even in the midst of getting lost in his alluring fiery gaze that seemed to shine brighter with every passing second. She felt like she could pass out from his proximity, all her senses told her to run but logic told her it would likely be futile.

She breathed in deeply, taking in smoke and inhaling it in a rush, feeling lightheaded. She twitched when he raised his free hand to her mouth, taking the cigarette from between her lips. She felt the tips of his finger brush against her lips as he pinched it throwing it to the ground. She would have shouted at him only he spoke first.

“Smoking taints the blood.” Minseok looked back at her, as her eyes fixated on his mouth. “Ruins the taste.”

“Oh shit.” She whispered lowly, spine stiffening at the sight of his engorged canines.

“Don’t scream.”

“I’m not screaming.” She panted, strained.

He licked his lips and despite everything her stomach lurched. “Keep it that way.”

She gasped when his face buried itself in the crook of her neck, his hand removing her scarf before she could blink. Her neck exposed to the cold air, the cold cheek against her skin all of it made her shake. She felt frozen in her place, back pressed up tightly to the tree as Minseok’s body pressed against her own.

Her heard him draw in a long steady breath, breathing her in, taking in her tempting scent that brought him to her. Past the smoke he could smell her, all woman - all delicious and his - and she was aroused. But he wouldn’t take her now, he couldn’t when she could be so much more than his favourite meal.

He kissed her on her throat, his knuckles whitening as his fists tightened as a result of his restraint and power. His lips were cold but made her body heat up in desire as his mouth lingered on her pulse. She held her breath, she kept her hands at her sides as she counted down the seconds. He trembled around her, holding himself back as her heartbeat sang in his ears, numbing his throat.

Her breath was staggered as she felt his soft cold lips run up the column of her throat. Up her jawline till they pressed against the corner of her parted mouth.

“You should get back to your class.”

A wispy whine left her mouth as his lips barely kissed hers, running across her lips like a caress. Minseok stepped away from her, his eyes now gleaming balls of fire as they stared at her with hunger and need. His look made her breathless and her legs felt weak as she took an uneasy step from him and the tree.

“D-Don’t follow.” She pleaded with exasperated daze.

He smirked and she saw his fangs eliciting a cocktail of emotions she couldn’t even begin to understand. She felt scandalised by his look, excited even, yet she feared it.

“Baby wherever you go, I’ll find you.”

A promise.

[everleave-a]

MUSES & DREAMING - PART ONE ... you're such a dream to me.

ELIJAH : stars and love lost. elijah often dreams of galaxies far from him. he dreams of mapping out endless stars and finding where he belongs. he has nightmares of failure and a love he once lost due to distance which only caused a broken heart. he dreams of cameron forrest and misses him deeply within slumber. he dreams of him as some glowing light, a savior that comes back for him. a fairy tale come true only in dreams, a place for sexual desire and desire all together. he dreams of their memories together, once pure but rotting and becoming a thing he’d prefer to forget but never does and never will. his dreams can become quite whimsical with subtle dark undertones, underlining his fear of rejection and failure and opening up.

DAXTON : lonely forever and flowers. daxton dreams of dying alone, never finding true love, and her garden. she grew up with night terrors that haunted her during late nights, but those have come and gone. now her dreams are a motion picture show for all the things she thinks of during her waking hour. her dreams are an endless questioning, a dead end, a search for an answer to love and every secret to the universe. she grows flowers from her eyes and hands and spreads greatness through every land. her dreams are alive and graceful, just like her. though a looming dark cloud can sometimes hover, made from only a questioning of lonesome and heartache. now she often dreams of her love, noah hawthorne, someone who creates confusion, lust, and love all at once and she'd never ask for more.

KEETON : everything vibrant and always sawyer. keeton hasn't had a single dream in so many years. if he has had a dream, he never remembers them once he’s awake. that's until meeting sawyer moore. he's brought his senses back to life, decorating his sleep with vibrant colors and light. he dreams of carnivals under an autumn sky, booming music, and a love struck heart. he dreams of everything and nothing all at once in a miracle of things. he dreams of everything success and a wild youth. it's gloomy at times, a warning of sorts begging for him to take a step back and think of all that could happen but he never does. it's not too long before it's up and alive again, dreams of all sawyer and him down a winding road, wind like a bullet, and a heart pounding loud. he dreams of sawyer like a warm embrace, wanting to spend every hour with him and him alone. he remembers them all now.

JOAN : women and all darkness. a hell to pay, joan dreams of guilt and an abyss. she tosses and turns and hides inside her mind, running from endless turmoil only to come to a cliff, balancing over the edge. she's met with her demons, ones she long left behind in pursuit for a hidden, harder life. but at the end of every tunnel comes something brighter, dreams of women and silk. she takes pleasure within their hands and tongues and everything they can offer. she loves them and drowns in their presence, love sick and wanting nothing more than heat, breasts, and a fleeting affair. nowadays she dreams of one woman, natalie cassadaga. she makes up her mind like nobody else. her mouth, her eyes, her smile, and even the daunting thought that she might leave within just moments. but she's there and joan dreams of her in the best ways. she comes like an angel on fire, brighter than any sun and she kisses every trace of pain away every single time.

[miraimisu]

How about 36; "did I say that out loud?" For kachako of course :) pls pls

This is such an ambigue prompt, I was left thinking for a while about what to do with this one. It’s such an easy prompt but OF COURSE I had to make it too complicated… well, bitch shall I be ♥ Please enjoy, and I hope this wasn’t too long or… well, you’ll see below. And thanks for the request! 

He wouldn’t look at her.This was the fact that kept Uraraka awake all night, all day– and while it had its plenty advantages during literature class, the rattling memory of what had happened a night prior to this day tormenting her. Every time she blinked, his blank stare and the sense of dread drenching every fiber of her being would come back in tenfold, make her dizzy and just feel all color draining her cheeks.“I could kiss you right now…”

Fuck.That had been the first and last time she would curse so hard in her mind, the word vibrating staright to her soul and shattering all intentions to focus on whatever matter she had at hand– there, there she was again with the blushing, the fidgeting, the everything that came with thinking about him, him, and ten times him.

How had she said that outloud? They had been sparring, kicking each other’s butts to the ground until they couldn’t breathe. Bakugou had been doing a good damn job at making her feel weak and stupid with those smart-ass moves he had with him. Punches and quirk based dodging were his basics, but she couldn’t really prevent them in time.

So he was royally messing with her. It was evident he enjoyed fighting with her, and the fact overjoyed her. Bakugou blasted her with one of his hands as she while she was picking herself from the ground. “You are still standing?”

She looked at him, who had halted his steps and stood a bit too near to her. If he decided to blast her, she would be long dead before the embers cleared. He didn’t seem to be planning on attacking her soon, as his hands were slightly trembling. “I told you I wouldn’t give up so easily this time, Bakugou.”

He smirked and cleaned some sweat off his eyebrow, eyes closed in concentration as he laughed. “I would have never thought I’d have this damn fun with you, of all bunch of nerds in this school.” she didn’t know if he was aiming for a mean undertone, but he only came across as a little kind. She silently rose. “C’mon, Urara– OOF!”

Uraraka straight tackled him while he did his bragging business, because he sure had gained trust from seeing her lying before him but hadn’t considered how much will she had in her. His back his the ground with a loud thud, a groan escaping his lips as she straddled him.

His hands flew to her legs, trying to pry her off him, but the moment her hand landed on his chest, he knew it was game over and his hands fell limp on his side. “Goddammit.”

Her shoulders shook with laughter, but her feet still remained digging in the ground as she loomed over him, her chest heaving inches away from his to relish the moment of his defeat– then, it dawned on her that she was a bit too close to him, and that his hands had found way to the fabric of her shorts again.

Her gaze shifter from a stone to his eyes, vibrant eyes– they shone with passionate colors, like coals thriving in a fire, or the color of sunset when sun hid down the horizon, and they were staring right into hers, breath labored and hands drawing circles underneath the clothing now, as if waiting for her to do something so he would stop wanting her to be even closer.

Uraraka wanted him closer as well, and voiced her thoughts accordingly, without thinking about their repercussion.

Breathy, she spoke in a whisper. “I could kiss you right now…”

She slammed her head against the lift doors again. Everytime she remembered how tense he had gone underneath her, or how a mad blush had splashed into life on his cheeks– she would always feel the same blush be reflected on her, and her heart would hammer like crazy against her ribcage.

Yet, he wouldn’t look at her. Everytime they crossed paths at the hallways, he would mutter some curses and turn heel towards another direction which, mind you, was always the wrong one. One particular time, they almost crashed heads after turning a corner and Bakugou had scrambled away so fast that he left her there in a gloomy state, regretting having said such things so bluntly.

This very same void carried out a devastating process of self-doubt and horrorizing realization that not only had he scared him shitless, but she had also whatever chance for a healthy relationship that existed. With a single sentence she crushed those chances to pieces and left them both confused, with her thinking that he of course would never return such silly desires.

Bakugou was cool, chill, explosive and a lone wolf. Of course he would never want to be with her and of course kissing him was never an option. She was a little peasant compared to his royal aura. But someday– someday, she would make it to his level.

The lift doors opened before her and Uraraka skipped in quickly, punching the button to her floor weakly to just make it out of that lazy, dreary day of humiliation and shame that had washed over her so radically that it left her with no energies left to deal with everything.

Uraraka heard the doors close, only to open wide again and reveal the hunched over figure of a blonde guy she knew too well. Her first instinct was to blush and jump a little, grasping the hem of her skirt thinking that by pulling away she would let him breathe. But, was the air as thick as it was for her? Because hell, she couldn’t find air to hang on to.

Bakugou punched his floor button, and he did it with much more force than necessary. Uraraka feared that he could have broken the panel. “G–Good evening, Bak–kugou.”

He just glared at her, his irises still as incandescent as she remembered them, burning and crushing her all the same. His hands were deep in his pockets, grimace menacing and teeth showing. He looked everywhere to avoid her fluttering lashes, so hypnotizing that he was forgetting what he was doing all of a sudden. “Whatever.”

Uraraka sighed. Sure, she had ruined their little friendship for a lousy matter as lust. Worst of it all, was that the thought still writhed between her, not less intense or faltering, and he seemed more attractive than ever under the lift lights. Such a shame his eyes were so fixated on the floor counter, because she was dying to look deep into his eyes.

Uraraka limped on the wall bar, hands gripping the metal and wishing for this tension to fade, for the silence to break and for the lift doors to fly open so she could flee. Suddenly, it occurred to her that he was in the wrong–

There was a loud crash and the cabin shook, making her knees wobble and her grip on the bar tighten, lights flickering above them. Bakugou’s form came to stand right in front of her, his frown deep and sincere, hands grasping the bar behind her. He towered over her and had her cornered against the wall, his hand itching to grasp hers.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Uraraka.” snarled he, teeth strongly gritted. There was a weighty agitation in his voice as he spat at her, his emotions flinging between frustration, anger, and something she couldn’t quite name, but it sparked excitement in her when she glanced into his eyes.

“Bakugou–”

A hand of his slammed on the wall beside her head, startling her. “What the fuck is your problem, saying stuff like that to my face and then expecting me to be totally cool with it?”

Uraraka gulped, intoxicated with a proximity that felt more intimate than when she had him pinned against the ground, his hands roaming around her thighs. The feeling of his fingertips hunting her skin came assaulting her as his pierce eyes stared down at her, and a tight knot started bubbling inside of her.

“I didn’t mean any of it, Bakugou!”

She didn’t really know how denying the the truth would make things better, but it somehow came to her and honestly, his face was dumstruck with something similar to grief, anger, and she wanted to die. The hand that still lay beside hers gripped her wrist, and he inched a bit closer.

“Take that back.”

Her eyes widened as saucers as his forehead hovered above hers in a silent threat, frown deeper in concentration as if he was reading through her, and all tension suddenly shattered when his arm flexed and that same hand let her go, sneaking through the fabric of her shirt. A moan tried to sneak out of her petite mouth, but it came out as a shiver he sure noticed.

He held her stronger against the wall, fingertips somewhat hot against her chilly skin. “Fucking take that back, Uraraka.”

The hand beside her head seized her face to divert her gaze to his angry, trembling glare. He wasn’t looking at her before, but he sure needed her attention now. Uraraka squirmed under his burning touch. “If saying that means destroying whatever we had, then I–”

His mouth crashed hers, head banging against the wall of the lift, and he only gripped her tighter when a high-pitched noise escaped her lips in the middle of his lock. Her lips parted slightly and, far from deepening the death grip, he only pulled away and squinted at her red cheeks.

“I’m not gonna say it again.” growled he, building up tension in her lungs with such agitated, thick voice. His grip was vicious, like a snake luring it pray– and boy, didn’t she feel little underneath him. “Take it back.”

“I am not going to owe up to it if it means drifting apart from you, Bakugou.”

There was a moment of silence, their mingling breaths the only thing able to be heard around them. His eyes narrowed pointedly at her, watching how his touch was affecting her sole existence and how his heart was dying to eat her alive if it meant having her closer. Something deep, scorching like hellfire was rounding his fragile, fierce heart, and suddenly, none of his grudged mattered.

“I don’t know why the fuck I would pull away from this, Uraraka.”

He didn’t even let her think an intelligent response to his rude remark, but sealed the deal with a searing liplock that made her shake beneath him, struggling to hind somewhere to hold on to while his hands travelled all the way to her waist, neck, and caressed all weak areas that he would expect her to have. Some of his caresses were blunt, some were fierce, and some were made with endearing intimacy and care that rose her above the heavens.

Bakugou broke away for a second for a sharp intake of air only to take Uraraka in again, crashing her head against the surface so she wouldn’t fucking escape, because she was moving so much that he feared she would fly away any second now, so he held her as close as possible. And she felt this, of course she did– the urgency in the kiss, how his lips were abrassing hers in a conquer war, or how his teeth grazed the sensitive roses.

When his hands travelled all the way to her thighs, her mind was completely lost, and while breaking away, a gasp allowed his tongue to swiftly pop in, hand seizing her jaw to explore all she had to give to him and all she wouldn’t be willing to. He hoisted Uraraka up on the metallic bar, her legs wrapping around his waist, and he obligued obidiently to her command, a beast tamed under her fierce attacks to his velvet cavern.

He was gonna lose it to that girl and he had no regrets on that department. His other hand busied itself burying his fingers under her clothing, fingertips reaching her spine and making her arch against his chest. Breathings fanned against each others’ faces heatedly, only making him groan for more of her skin to burn, and trying to make her let out those beautiful noises trapped within her throat.

“Fuck,” grunted he in between sucks, bites, and caresses. “you’re driving me” she shut him up urgently again, tongues clashing again. “so fucking crazy, woman.”

Uraraka pulled away for a moment, only to have him seeking for her again, and her voice was lost between gasps. “Don’t.”

His teeth bit her lower lip, making her sigh in pleasure, her hands stroking his blonde mane and eliciting a growl from him. “I love you so fucking much,” grunted he without thinking, hands starting to mindlessly roam around her back. “you damn witch.”

“I love you–” his tongue gave her lips a soft caress while going to her jaw, planting chaste kisses wherever he deemed pleasurable. “I love you so much right now…”

Two exact seconds later, his assault on her neck halted and all his roaming snap stopped, making Uraraka deflate a little and go back in time to where they were heatedly making out and–

A deep scarlet blush marred her cheeks as he pulled away a bit to look at her, mouth agape and slowly blinking with wide eyes, dread drenching them both to the bone once more. They had done it again.

“Did I…” murmured Bakugou, his hands slowly pulling away from her pearly skin and inmediately missing her afterwards. His muscles were tense in horror and utter embarrassment. “did I– did you– did I say that out loud?”

Uraraka’s shoulders tensed up because not only had he confessed in the middle of the worst time possible, but she had even returned it gladly, again, in the worst time possible.

“I– I didn’t–”

“Don’t come at me with regretful shit.” growled he under his breath, slamming his hand against the stop button to have the lift working again. Soon enough, she felt them being high in the air again. “It’s a bit too fucking late to say that now.”

He didn’t seem angry. He didn’t seem remorseful– like hell he would be regretting what they just did. He just seemed… a bit off. Uraraka knew what was crossing his head, and this wasn’t the way she had planned to confess either. 

When she looked at him, his eyes helf her glance before sighing and muttering a curt apology, frowning as the lift doors closed behind her when they reached the floor and he stayed inside to catch his lift again at the first floor. All she heard afterwards was a huge crash and a livid scream.

“FUCK MY LIFE!”

[shemakesmusic-uk]

The Ghost Of Helags unveil euphoric new dream-pop cut 'Mary'

Written in the sad undertone of a claustrophobic night in the city of Berlin in the midst of another lockdown, ‘Mary’ details the craziness which exists in the head and mind. It’s here we find The Ghost of Helags stripped to the bare bones, pushing forwards with a subtle electronic soundscape driven heavily by a propulsive, techno-esque beat.

“Mary was written and recorded during a writing session in a cottage in the Giant Mountains district, a wild national park area on the border between Poland and the Czech Republic. Traveling was still allowed but a lockdown was looming so everything was very deserted and empty, the border town almost felt like a ghost town. Everything felt surreal. We´d combine recording at the cottage with long day walks in the gloomy forests, and recording sessions at night. Eventually we had to escape the area because of the country closing its borders, so we drove back to berlin through the night and managed to cross the border at the last second” tell The Ghost of Helags.

The Ghost of Helags · Mary

[proteanslimegirl]

Finally The Finished Script

Episode 1: Grote Mandreke

Fade in 1. INT. Car traveling Shore Road Approaching Ravenser Odd – DAY   1 EDMOND LOWE, UNKNOWN EMPLOYER

A few main credits play over opening footage at bottom of screen. Open to a view of an old briefcase on a car passenger seat, Audio narrates two men speaking as the camera shows the briefcase plate reads Edmond Lowe, presuming the owner of the case, car and inquiring voice. EDMOND: That place? It’s been nothing but driftwood for near 300 years. You’re telling me they think people live in those rotting houses? They’re barely even skeletons. Employer: I understand your concern Mr Lowe however with another stormfront like this coming well the boys in London couldn’t ignore the activity reports. Even if some crazy squatters won’t leave their ‘driftwood’ as you say, well, at least we’ll have names for the gravestones. Cut to early 1900s car Driving into distance, the day is gloomy with a large stormfront approaching the coast. 2. EXT. The Remains of Ravenser Odd Town Square – DAY                                                            2 EDMOND LOWE, MAD EYED MAN, N/S FIGURE Fade in by panning from shadows of an extremely close tree to Edmond walking through dilapidated ruins of houses and foliage. Cut to view of old dusty jars and shelves looking out through storefront as Edmond approaches creaking sign in central area of town. Cut to a shot viewing this from the edge of a building, a raven crows from atop the sign and Edmond hears a sort of splashing rustling from a sunken house. A figure disappears around a corner and as he investigates Edmond finds a man sitting upon a rotting armchair in the remains a partially sunken house and questions the man speaks with a grizzled Welsh accent, contrasting Edmonds aristocratic dialect. Upon closer inspection is blind in one eye with a mad gleam in the other. EDMOND: My name is Edmond Lowe, I am here to take census and report the status of this abandoned town for the rights and resale of land under the bank of England. Who are you?

MAD EYED MAN: You shouldn’t be here lad; this place doesn’t exist. EDMOND: You’d have to be half mad to live in these ruins but I never took it to be literal [Edmond gazes at the man], you need to clear out before the next front hits. This towns been condemned since the sand started shifting-. MAD EYED MAN: [Cutting Edmond off] This town was condemned long before the sand and storm, long before you boy, you best leave now. EDMOND: [looking out ruined doorframe] Nevertheless I’m not leaving without at least taking down the names of those here before the storm hits. How many people are squatting in these ruins? [taking out pen and leather notebook]. MAD EYED MAN: [camera still facing Edmond and doorframe with Edmonds back to the camera and man] Already told you boy, leave; ain’t no names to take not since the murder. EDMOND: [looks up from notebook and turns] the murder? Who was murdered? as Edmond turns the man is no longer there and the chair is fused to an overgrown stump covered in moss, fungi and vines, some of which make almost face like shapes in multiple places. The call of more than one raven snaps him out of a daze cut and pan as he returns to the central area, where more ravens are now perched as the sun sets he returns to his car as there are no buildings to provide significant enough shelter.   3. INT. Inside Car – NIGHT                                                                 3 EDMOND LOWE Slow pan up to car, surrounded by darkness with low light spilling through windows as thunder growls in the distance. Illuminated by lantern Edmond goes over his case files inside his car. The camera over shoulder shows papers as Edmond reads them aloud, the wind howls outside. EDMOND: Reports of unstable foundation since the towns construction, tide rising in no matter how far inland the town was built. Wood-rot setting in after only days but nothing about a murder, maybe it was earlier? Ravens crow begins to rise with the wind howl, Cut to Edmond looking up as he becomes concerned, shot of the car door window rattling, the sound becomes deafening and the camera pans back to Edmond as he tries shrink between the seat and floor. Cut to close up of lantern flame with Edmond visible through glass huddled under his own arms, the lantern flickers out as the storm crashes impossibly loud, the silhouettes of ravens visible on the interior with the lightning strike. 4. EXT. Outside Car – DAY                                                                 4 EDMOND LOWE Cut to close up of Edmond opening his eyes and cut to pulling out shot of the car in morning gloom with leaves falling around it, the wind reduced back to a low distant howl. cut to mid slightly angled shot of car window outside of car window, Edmond looks out and there is a reflection on the window from the camera side of the storm, closer but still distant, hang on this shot as a far off growl of thunder leads to cut to black. 5. EXT. Approaching Ravenser Odd – DAY                                                                 5 EDMOND LOWE, N/S FIGURE Fade in to birds’ eye view shot panning down to show Edmond approaching town centre again, taking one last look around before his deadline when the storm hits. Heavy rainfall opens a Cut to low shot of Edmond and many more ravens in complete silence and almost intangibility as they are seemingly completely abstract from the now torrential downpour. The birds watch Edmond with his now increasingly creeping paranoia setting in. Cut to side shot of Edmond noticing a non-descript figure rounding a corner of stonework attached to the frame of a ruined building. Mid over the shoulder shot reveals a stonework dead end with nameless wooden grave crosses and a storm cellar door slightly buried in the overgrowth. 6. INT. Storm Cellar – DAY                                                                 6 EDMOND LOWE, N/S FIGURE Cut to black shot looking up as the cellar door opens light spilling over the silhouette of Edmond as he begins to descend. Cut to looking down shot of Edmond approaching a torchlit desk with spider webs around rafters framing the shot. Cut to extreme close-up of Edmond tracing lines of the book and reading aloud EDMOND: The Northmen called their landing here Hrafns Eyre or Ravens Tongue Avian were an integral symbol of their pagan deities and their stories told of one such creature which sat at the edge of life consuming the dead. Accompanying shot of sketch of a looming bird figure over hills of graves. Cut to Mid shot of Edmond looking up in a stat as a scraping grating sound distracts him. Pan to Close angle of Edmond feeling his way along the wall in darkness now, an over the shoulder shot establishing the torchlight to be much farther than any cellar should lead. EDMOND: how far underground or water does this go. Being driven only by the increasingly loud scraping and now whimpering growing so close in the complete darkness it’s as though the source of faint sobs and scrapes are on the other side of the wall. Cut to low shot of Edmond rounding corner into a dimly lit prison cell. The scraping cutting off as he does. cut to over the shoulder shot of a completely empty cell save for some human bones and a barely flickering candle. EDMOND: (whispers) my god what the… Cut to extreme close up of the other side of the wall Edmond was making his way down, he approaches it as he trails of and begins to inspect the hundreds of faded, bloodied scratchings, the most faded of which seem to be barely legible runes or symbols and most recent being English yet still too faded to be anywhere even close to recent. Pan to Edmond tracing them as he begins Realising these were the denizens clawing at the stonework, he whispers a few that he can read starting with the most-clear and working back with age. EDMOND: Ravenser Odd, Ravenous Tongue, Hrafns Eyre, Eating Them, The Murder. Cut to mid closeup of Edmond being startled and facing the passage once again as he hears a far-off shriek. Cut to Edmond making his way in the same fashion as before as the storm rages as in the night, with an undertone that sounds like the wind itself chanting in an unknowable dialect. Edmond could swear he hears drumbeat in the dripping water down the sides of the passage. As yet another flickering torch-light approaches from the bottom of the shot the sounds are deafening and another corner rounding shot reveals the non-descript figure clutching at a profusely bleeding wound transitioning into a long shot as they collapse in a heap before a great wooden idol of a crow with many eyes centred in a wood and stone Nordic longhouse covered in shields and pelts. Cut to first person of Edmond running to the figure and transitioning to close shot of him turning over the figure to find a desiccated corpse many hundreds of years old clutching a knife and note in each hand, with a mid-shot Edmond, still on his knees, is compelled to quickly unfurl the note to reveal a single barely legible name which seems to resonate throughout the hall and him EDMOND: Grote Mandreke Cut to long shot of Edmond looking up, the torchlight now gone as the rumbling of the storm turns to splitting stone and Edmond flees the now decayed and crumbling passage. Cut to close shot of Edmond slamming into the cellar door, stone collapsing around him, the storm thundering and crows cawing drowning each-other out and becoming one and debris covers the camera view. 7. Ext. Ravenser Odd – DAY                                                                 7 EDMOND LOWE, Unknown Employer Fade in to Edmond lying on grass, panning out to reveal the him stand up, the grave crosses gone and the cellar door being as buried and rotted as the rest of the wooden town. Cut to close of Edmond shifting the door and finding sand and grass underneath, pan to over shoulder shot of stormfront still many hours away. Edmond walks through main street back to his car and with a birds’-eye the town is revealed to be nearly entirely gone as though it had been literally erased for many years save one or two loose pieces of wood or stone. There are no ravens in the shot. As the birds’-eye shot pans this, the end credit song plays over a final narration. EDMOND: Nobody has names, not since the murder, that’s what he said. EMPLOYER: Officially the town was completely wiped out in 1362, do you know the name of the storm that finished Ravenser Odd, MR Lowe? EDMOND: Grote Mandreke. EMPLOYER: We received activity reports MR Lowe, we never said what kind. Fade in to ending credits: Song: Black Hat – Two Steps from Hell The credits are simple black official file looking text in faded looking lettering, whilst the music plays, over shots of old dilapidated wooden houses and faded photographs, antique furniture and a few hidden out of place objects like single red books in bookshelves. As well as various Norse symbols and other mythology pieces in abandoned and damaged museums, houses and non-descript stonework places (basically tombs etc). note that all of these photos are framed in that they should contain people yet there are none and no names are present on the many documents, finally revealing the fate of the dead.