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#midnight sparkle cat
glimmerkey · a month ago
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Build-a-Bear Halloween 2021 Releases
Pumpkin Glow Bear / Midnight Sparkle Cat
Bear Bones Dino / Pumpkin Spice Bear
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renka2802 · a year ago
Anthro pony pack 2 !!!
Heh, it's last artwork on this paper, because I found watercolor album and this paper itsn't good with a lot of water..
Hope you like it!!! How many characters you can find there??)
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veonhagen · 2 months ago
tot boys ( artem & vyn ) and their first kiss with you
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… artem wing
you both share your first kiss by the end of your second date together, after when artem had ( very shyly ) asked you out to a romantic festival.
you and the senior attorney bought some little trinkets the numerous stalls were selling and ate a lot of cultural foods. to say you both enjoyed the celebration was definitely an understatement. the event was full of energy, yet artem could keep up with the hype whenever he was with you, his bubbly and joyful partner. to be honest, all he could keep his eyes on was you ( and if you noticed him gazing at you, he’d turn his face away from your sight so quickly ).
by the end of the festival when everyone’s packing up, you excitedly appreciate the lanterns around the streets with artem one last time before heading into the latter’s car and driving back to your apartment.
by the time you both reach your building, you thank him for bringing you to the city’s festival, turning towards your room’s door. but before you could reach the handle, you stop and turn back to your partner, leaving him puzzled to say the least.
“oh, one more thing,” you say, heading back towards him and you plant a sweet kiss on his lips that linger for as long as he could remember. he wraps his arms in a shock around you while your lips mould together. the blush creeping up on his cheeks was growing redder and redder each second.
you pull away and you wave him goodbye as you enter your apartment room, leaving your usually composed artem in a daze.
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… vyn richter
your first kiss with vyn is under the moonlit sky while you both have one of those midnight walks together. he had asked you if he could spend his time with you, admiring nature’s sceneries as the moon shone light upon you both since you haven’t been meeting each other recently due to the business your jobs bring, only leaving some free time on the weekends.
he looks at you with a fond smile on his face as you ramble on and on about your interests and what experiences have gone by in the past week that you wanted to share with him. from solving a complex case to seeing a family of cats on the street, he wanted to hear it all. he adored how you had that little sparkle of excitement in the corner of your eyes whenever you happily talked about something you liked.
it always brings the psychiatrist a sense of euphoria whenever you would go on nightly walks alongside him, talking about all sorts of stuff and sharing all kinds of ideas. to think that he’s the one you trust enough to share your secrets always swells his heart even more.
he couldn’t help but stare at you whenever your eyes crinkle subconsciously in delight. he wanted to hold your hand, but is that considered crossing a line? he imagined how soft your hair would be as he buries his face into your neck with a hug. the urges he constantly ( but internally ) fights to kiss you, to have you all to himself. should now be the time to indulge in those innocent wishes of his?
the sound of your voice seems to have been trailing off as you look at him, noticing how out of the zone he must’ve been by your passionate rants. “vyn, you okay over there? have i bored you?” you ask half jokingly, giving a weak laugh yet concern still fills your mind.
the other stops in his tracks, leaving you both surprised and puzzled as you hear a light chuckle from him. he cups your face softly between his two hands and leans in towards you, planting a short yet deep kiss onto your lips.
“you never bore me, my dearest,” he says. “i was just thinking about how wonderful you simply are.”
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Ⓒ veonhagen, do not steal. 08/11/21.
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louissunshine · a year ago
this isn’t a twilight blog so I’m sure none of you care but since i can’t stop thinking about it, here’s some of the funniest moments from midnight sun
edward having to choke up the piece of pizza like a cat with a hairball
edward being the moody teenager of the family, complete with emmett’s big brother energy and esme’s clear favoritism towards her youngest
when he’s like “oh, i see. bella’s insane. i guess i’ll get her the best doctors then and visit her in the hospital often”
jasper and emmett acting as edward’s side mirrors when the actual mirrors fall off the stolen car
esme making edward mop the floor
edward going to bella’s house for the first time because he thinks a meteorite might kill her
carlisle forcing them to attend the funeral every time they fuck up and kill someone
finding out both charlie and renee have strange minds as well and edward just... never mentioned it?
emmett and jasper not letting edward play board games with them
this happens in twilight too, but bella asking about sex mere hours after their first kiss is still hilarious
edward preparing himself for bella to run screaming when he sparkles
edward’s victorian ass getting horny when he sees bella’s ankle for the first time at prom
smeyer feeling bullied enough to leave out the khaki skirt
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astrolog11st · 27 days ago
𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐄𝐱𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬
(𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐀𝐔)
here for chibi vers. (with my oc)
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• pronouns: she/her
• Experienced Witch
Backstory: Maiko used to be popular in the human realm due to her looks, that’s why people used to take advantage of her for popularity. She used to love her family with her whole heart, but that’s when she started to loose some of them. During a fight against another family both of her parents got a spear through their chests. All she could do was stare in shock as tears fell down her cheeks. She never understood what true feeling were until she met you, a person she would cherish as long as she could.
•fear: rats & spears
• likes: candles, mint, chocolate and green tea.
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• pronouns: he/him
• Lord elf/angel
Backstory: When Hiro was little he used to get bullied by other kids, due to him being a hybird. Hiro used to always try to protect his older sister Midnight from other kids as well, he got a scar on his back from protecting her once. A kid put a spell that made him blind for a bit so he fell back into a deep lake, getting a large red mark from the rocks. Hiro tries to protect MC with his life because he doesn’t want to loose them like he did with his other friends, he’s scared that some day they might leave him.
• fear: loosing a loved one, especially MC
• likes: affection, small gifts, hanging out, cafés and the elf realm.
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• pronouns: she/her
• Lord elf/angel
Backstory: Her and Hiro were born from two different parents, the mother was an angel, while the father was an elf. Midnight never really had too many friend because the ones she used to have only used her, then left her in the dirt. She only has a few friends, probably her favourite friend is MC. Midnight was supposed to have blue eyes but due to a curse a witch put on her she now has one that is red, meaning it can put some bad luck on her at some times. When she and Hiro were a baby, she used to stay with her mom for most of the time and her mother used to abuse her. Midnight has had lots of trauma in her past and can get triggered quite easily.
• fear: crabs (yes crabs.)
• likes: cuddles, not too much but some attention, cats and calming candle scents.
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• pronouns: he/they
• Elf Prince
Backstory: Daichi lived with his father his whole life; The Ruler Of The Elf Realm. His mother died during birth, so he never got to see her only the picture left of her. He likes to make new friends, but could be rude to lot’s of people that are rude to any of his friends. He’s been childhood friends with Hiro & Midnight, he usually goes to vent to them when he’s feeling down. He never heard of any of the other realms so when he saw you he basically had sparkles in his eyes.
• Fear: Radios & school
• Likes: Love, stars, human realm, bubble baths and candies.
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tags: @wawadraws12 @mammons-wife
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© 𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝟏𝟏𝐬𝐭, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞.
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figaraki · 3 months ago
— nsfw // f. reader + (silver fox) t. iida 
— slow burn + fingering + oral sex + age gap + virginity loss + arguably self indulgent plot
— written for the corrupt-a-virgin collab | hosted by @seita​ 
— 7.0k words
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art galleries pose a threat to heavy hearts.
you are unchained here, standing among glossy prints and polished frames, unbound between shades of pigmented media and charcoal sketches; you are as light as a feather, floating from room to room, taking the time to linger in front of every innovative installation, as if each one might somehow belong to you. 
in a way, they do.
you see pieces of yourself reflected all around, like the shards of a shattered mirror that glitter in the light of day.
the familiar, bittersweet scent of stretched canvas and acrylic paint crowds your senses, seeping out of the industrial vents and mingling with the cool air that wafts from the small, contemporary gallery’s open portico.  
letting your eyelids flutter shut, you ground yourself, stilling your body and anchoring your mind as you stand between a local artist’s brazen self-portrait and a vividly abstract piece featuring various two-dimensional primary-colored triangles. 
you listen.
the bustling city street outside of the gallery is muffled by the soft-spoken chatter within, and the corners of your lips tug themselves into a loose, non-committal grin as you begin to pick up on the conversations around you. 
you hear a single floorboard creak behind you, audibly protesting the weight of solid footsteps. 
you hold your breath.
cautioned by the blunt, muted click of oxfords drawing closer with each passing moment, you retreat to listening once more, pushing your lips into a soft, determined pout. 
one voice stands out amidst the chatter. it rumbles, smoother and richer than the others, and close - you feel the thrill of it buzz along the back of your hands and between your shoulder blades, squeezing them together while clutching your purse in front of you with a single, outstretched palm. 
you can’t help looking, can’t help but turn on your heel and let your gaze flicker from face to face, attempting to place a mouth and a body to that voice as it echoes in your mind, newly familiar, saccharine and sticky, like toast crumbs and sweet bergamot marmalade that cling to your tongue and the corners of your lips each time you indulge at the tea shop a few blocks away.
no one looks quite right at first, and you fiddle with the strap of your sundress, sorting out your thoughts, searching for a stranger.
skimming past the eyes and mouths and smart tongues of women, of children, of men, too old and too young, too lanky and too limber, you begin to nip at the bridge of your lower lip.
surely, he hasn’t left.
how could he?
you look to the ceiling, and surreptitiously drop your gaze back to the gallery’s patrons. 
no particular person seems to stand out more than the next, lost in the sea of blues and yellows, of reds and tangerines, of ivory and sage and saffron. you let yourself smile anyway.
that voice lies dormant, though softened eyes track you as you wander away, and you let it be, returning to listening once more, in the unsaid hope that you might hear its smoky timbre again.
an hour passes, or two, or three, and eventually you find yourself in the gallery’s gift shop, teetering on a small step ladder while you trail a curious fingertip along the beveled ridge of a tall display case, marveling at the trinkets caged behind glass. 
you peer at the menagerie of small, crystal animals - a skunk, an elephant, a turtle, and a cat, among many others - and stifle a giggle, amused by your own imagination.
their bejeweled eyes hold a mischievous sort of sparkle, as if they might plot their escape and clatter out of the case when midnight comes, and shake the thought from your head, climbing down and meandering towards a stack of painted postcards.
idly fingering through them, you flip from card to card, drinking in lush watercolor landscapes and striking still-life models that embellish the front of each note. one calls to you - a postcard adorned by an oil painting of an aging man, hunched over a newspaper, held taut in his withering grasp. 
you tuck it away to the side of the stack, hoping to return to it, and clamber back up the step ladder.
this time, a small, ceramic, navy-glazed bowl catches your eye. it shines, returning the golden glow of the sunlight that pours in through the gallery’s windows, and you imagine how it might feel in your palm; it would sit heavy, cradled by lithe fingers, and cool to the touch, rounded off by the tumbled finish around its rim. 
simple, yet euphoric, you reason, and lean in closer. excitable fingertips press against the pane, and your feet shift, toeing at the edge as you stand taller.
you don’t notice that the step ladder is tipping until it’s too late.
“hey! watch out!”
quicker than lightning, a man’s body slams into yours, pitching with you. 
on instinct, your arms coil around his neck, and your knees fold towards his hips, hugging your body to his chest as he pulls you away, catching you before you can tumble in mid-air. the ladder folds, clattering to the floor, and despite the noise, and the unsavory stare of everyone else in the gallery, you are unscathed.
instead, your mind whirs, blood rushing to your ears as you recognize the voice of your savior.
“you should be more careful.”
each syllable rumbles in his throat, reverberating in his chest as he speaks, and warmth flushes over your shoulders as you realize the sort of mess you’re in.
his heartbeat pounds in earnest, off-rhythm with the rise and fall of each huff of air, and you allow yourself to pull your face from the crook of his neck, breathing him in without shame.
your hands unfurl shyly, fists loosening from the bunches in his otherwise-pressed navy blue dress shirt. his hands stray a little lower, searching for something more substantial to hold onto as you slip from his grasp, squirming with your legs dangling off the ground.
his palms find purchase beneath your ribcage, broad and sturdy, easily tracking up your sides while thick fingers clutch your waist, still hoisting you up enough that the soles of your sandals hardly brush the floor.
sheepishly smoothing the shoulders of his shirt, you rear back with your palms pressed along the curve of his biceps, finally able to see his face, softened by the slight faraway look that hovers just above the place where the two of your bodies begin to intertwine.
he appears to be about twice your age, handsome, and gracefully worn rugged by time; long, salt-and-pepper hair falls stubbornly into his eyes, tripping over his ears and fading into a clean undercut, while black, half-rimmed monaco frames perch upon his nose. 
dark, blood-red eyes return your gaze, stirring up an unfamiliar sensation in your belly, and you shy away for a moment, acutely aware of his hands, and the faint cologne that wafts between your bodies, pressed close despite the space around you.
giggling softly, you find your voice, peaking when the words begin to stumble off your tongue, rolling out like a peach pit on a sticky summer afternoon, while an easy smile draws itself on your lips. 
“you can put me down now!”
despite your motion, your fingers linger, curled into his sleeves, unwilling to pull away, with your figure swaying gently in his arms. the cool, smooth finish of the silk sates your mind, and distracts you from the fireworks in your belly, alongside the ones prickling hotly over your shoulders, flaring when he matches your laugh with one of his own, albeit repentant.
“yes! right, down.”
looking back at him and rocking back on your heels while your feet hit the floor makes the loss of contact feel dizzying. your head spins, cloyed with the subtle hint of cologne that clings to your sundress, fluttering under your hands as you smooth your billowy skirt out.
“i apologize.”
he clears his throat quietly, pinching at his glasses as they begin to slip down the bridge of his nose. the glare of his lenses flares in the sun, obscuring the twinge of concern clouding his gaze as it trails down your body, following the roundness of your shoulders and the soft curve of your dress as the feather-light cotton drapes over your form.
“are you all right?”
his brow furrows, and he meets your eyes once more before you can chirp out a small “mhm!”
warmth flushes your face when you acknowledge him, sure you’re staring just as much as he is, if not more, and you swipe at your cheeks with trembling fingers, seeking some semblance of coolness from your own touch. 
peering at him through lowered lashes, you offer a sweet smile, trailing your fingers down your neck to rub lightly along your clavicle.
“thanks for catching me, by the way!” you start. ”it sort of feels like i owe you for saving me from so much trouble.”
pressing your thumb into the divot of your collar bone, you tilt your head to your left, pursing your lips for a moment in thought. 
you shift from heel to heel, and when the idea strikes, you reach for his hand, heavy and broad, and clasp it in yours it, impassioned.
“please, let me make it up to you!”
you don’t notice the slowing of his breath.
how could he deny you when your delicate hands were enveloping his, beaming so brightly in the middle of the gift shop, fitting in like a work of art that has yet to be pinned to the wall?
“you don’t have to,” he murmurs, glancing down at his watch sparingly, although he’s much more focused on the sight of your fingers threading through his.  
“i want to,” you assure him, already moving, eagerly pulling him towards the gallery’s door. the swell in your heart does not feel like sympathy, or appreciation for a stranger - it’s more, deeper and stronger and warmer, and you wonder if he might feel the same.
a soft chuckle rumbles up from his throat, stumbling after you in earnest through the lobby, with a certain sort of wonder in his eyes, entertained by your youthful charm.
“i suppose i’ve got time.”
if the other patrons are staring, you certainly don’t pay them any mind - not with him there, agreeably falling into step behind you until the pavement hisses beneath the soles of your shoes, unaccustomed to the cool air from the gallery that clashes with the early summer heat.
in due time, he asks for your name, and offers his in return with a sharp wave of his free hand, reasoning that you ought to get to know each other while you have the opportunity. 
tenya iida. 
he mentions his hero work while easing his free hand down the back of his neck, as if he meant to soothe away the light dusting of pink that encroached his cheeks, fizzling on the tops of his ears and crawling down around his throat. 
“really, it was nothing.”
you laugh, insisting that he’s too modest, and he shakes his head, smiling good-naturedly.
“there are quite a few other big pro heroes out there. we’re all trying to make a difference, and be great in our own ways.”
the weight of tenya’s palm lingers in yours, and the clasp of roughed-up fingers intertwined with yours leaves you beaming, merrily squinting against the flare of his visage, so fittingly encircled by sunlight.
wandering towards home, you begin to tell him about yourself, humbly supplying small details and amusing anecdotes to fill the otherwise comfortable silence. 
he’s quick to respond, intently meeting your exuberance with an encouraging nod or a subtle hum of agreement, careful not to interrupt your complex narrative aside from the occasional question. 
even then, he does not pull away, nor does he when the golden, glowing warmth splashing off of the sidewalk sticks to his skin, pressing your hands impossibly closer together.
tenya allows you to cling to him, and you shepherd him along until the momentum begins to fade, idling like the slow drip of honey through a sieve.
an apprehensive hand slips from his reluctantly, and then, the light returns; you’re bounding up the steps of your flat’s small porch, nothing short of radiant while your sundress flutters in the wind, chasing the sweet kiss of the breeze as it brushes your calves and ghosts along your thighs.
your keys jingle, clicking gleefully when you manage to unlock the door, swinging it open. you present it with a playful flourish and a bowed head, nodding in invitation.
you introduce your comfortable flat as home, allowing the door to swing shut behind him before stepping out of your sandals and padding off down the small corridor, leaving only the faint sound of footsteps and a whiff of earthy, sweet perfume in your wake. mirroring your actions, he toes off a pair of dark leather oxfords by the door and steps through your foyer, shuffling along the same path.
passing the pictures that you keep framed upon your wall, tenya trails his fingers beneath them, swallowing his curiosity.
there’s still so much about each other left to learn.
you glance over your shoulder in his direction when he enters your kitchen, leaning nonchalantly against the countertop behind you, and peer at his form in the stark, fluorescent glow of the overhead lights. 
tenya remains quiet while the kettle begins to whistle, absently kneading at one thick palm with his other hand, while dark, bristly lashes fall low, swooping down with heavy eyelids. 
he watches you tend to the kettle’s shrill screams, humming pleasantly and murmuring, “oh, hush! i hear you,” before bringing it off of the heat. 
you lift the top, holding it open to spoon loose leaves into the infuser from the tin canister on your countertop. the clatter of the silver utensil against the can sings your praise in a short-lived cacophony.
flicking the lid shut and leaving the tea to steep, you pop the top of the can back on, and start to rifle through your cupboard.
self-assured, you stand on your tip-toes, straining to reach for your ceramic tea cups and clutching the edge of the shelf with one hand for balance. 
your fingertips hook into the cool ceramic edges, and the cups clink, protesting the absence of any distance between them and the lack of the solid shelf that ought to be at their feet. 
stumbling backwards and rocking back on the balls of your heels when you return to the floor, you sway, and recollect what had transpired at the gallery, settling the cups on the smooth stone countertop. turning back to tenya, you reach for him, settling a soft hand on his bare forearm and holding your breath when his eyes meet yours. 
refusing to shy away, you push further, and coil your arms around his neck, leaning into his body. 
this time, you are chest-to-chest by choice. 
warmth graces your cheeks again, setting them aflame, and your voice, low and sweet, penetrates the silence of your tongues, whispering just below his ear.
“thanks again for breaking my fall, tenya... you really are a hero.”
broad, tentative hands hover around the small of your back, closing around your waist in earnest as he draws you further against him, uttering, “you’re welcome… anytime.”
you feel close, dangerously so, wrapping up in his arms and breathing in the scent of his cologne that clings to the crook of his neck, like honey and hickory smoke and malt whiskey.
tenya’s fingertips tread lightly across the folds of your sundress, meeting to press softly into the dip of your spine when you murmur his name once more.
in spite of yourself, you draw a shaky breath, and back down. 
both of your hands slink towards his shoulders, bunching into the navy silk near his collar.
you can feel the weight of his gaze trained on you, and you look up anyway.
the heat in his eyes simmers, dimming dark red irises to a cloudy crimson behind the lenses of his glasses, reflecting your face in a kaleidoscope view.
cupping his cheeks, you plant a delicate palm on either side of his face, growing warmer with each wavering second that settles between you. 
you can’t help but tremble.
you know he’s watching you, reassured by the easy way he parts his lips, and the way his tongue darts out to wet them.
your heart hammers in your chest, pounding like mad as you thumb at faint salt-and-pepper stubble that adorns the curve of his chin and the plane of his jawline as it bristles beneath your skin, tracing his five o’clock shadow. 
large, gentle hands climb just below your shoulder blades now, steadying the idle sway of your hips. his gaze drops to your thumbs, flickering between them and your face, peering back at you with heavily lidded eyes.
you take a breath, and push it out slowly.
he doesn’t hesitate.
“can i kiss you?”
your stomach throws itself around inside your belly, churning in anticipation; your throat is hoarse, but you manage, “please.”
then, his mouth is on yours, and the world begins to sound colorful.
the lips sealed atop yours open, ever so slightly, in invitation, and a hungry tongue, in search of a lover, finds yours.
tenya’s mouth reminds you of the experience you lack, sings it back to you and guides you through the refrain, pulling you into a dance that stirs your hips and waist.
his foreign tongue exhilarates you.
warm, heavy hands continue to wander, searing your skin while he kisses you. they seem to travel aimlessly, crisscrossing your back and inching higher, climbing your sides until his blunt nails ghost over your ribcage, dragging along your thin cotton sundress. goosebumps start to peak there, following his fingertips when they sink into your stomach, cupping just below your tits. 
you breathe his name cautiously, as if saying it too loud might wake you from this daydream.
two calloused thumbs swipe along the curve of your breasts, just beneath the swell of them, and meet at your sternum, sinking into the flesh of it when he closes his mouth on yours again. 
trembling arms slither back around his neck, holding on to him as you lift yourself off of the floor, arching your soles and straining to stand tip-toed while the kiss grows deeper. 
you melt like putty in tenya’s weathered hands, easing further into his touch and allowing him to turn you around with the soft utterance of your name. atoning for his momentary absence, his mouth draws nearer to yours, strung together with sweet saliva that clings to your tongues like translucent strands of honey. 
thick, worn palms find purchase alongside your face, gently cupping your jawline and thumbing lightly at your cheeks while he ushers you backwards, one step at a time, until the small of your back bumps into the dull, rounded edge of the counter. 
he mumbles something against your lips with a smile as his hands drift away from your face, skirting over the thin fabric of your sundress and squeezing just beneath the curve of your ass, only to scoop you up and lift you onto the countertop with a grunt, leaving your mouth to its own devices.
your thighs, warm and trembling, splaying across the cool granite surface and instinctively parting to accommodate his size as he guides your legs into place. his fingertips hook into the soft spot behind your knees, bringing them to settle on either side of his waist as you wrap your legs around him. 
arching further into him while your vision begins to blur, you whimper, feeling lightheaded as your body chases his form, squirming and wedged between the weight of his hips and the countertop. 
you allow your head to tip back, baring your throat to him as you trail your fingers up the column of his neck. reverent nails card through the short, bristly hair that falls around the nape of his neck, lightly scratching his scalp and shuffling short tufts around soothingly before tangling into the longer, inky locks of silver-streaked hair on top of his head, following him as he dips to meet you, mouthing at your collarbone.
somewhere in the meager, suffocating space between you, tenya’s hands creep beneath your sundress, bunching the wispy material on top of his wrists while deft fingers creep into the space between your thighs.
his breath kisses the crook of your neck, warm and sticky, while a heavy, husky question rolls off of his tongue, tumbling onto the salty skin below his mouth.
“do you want me to stop?”
a wounded, unintelligible whimper claws its way out of your throat, raw and absolutely pitiful. 
you can’t let him go.
rough fingertips trace feather-light circles onto smooth flesh, pinching at the soft fat that sits at the tops of your thighs with a mellow hum and a quiet, disapproving tsk-tsk.
“say it for me.”
warm breath ghosts over your skin, tickling your neck while tenya’s lips graze the tender skin that lies just beneath your earlobe. his teeth scrape that sensitive spot deliberately as his hands climb higher, stretching until his thumbs meet, hovering mere centimeters away from the heat between your legs.
“i need to hear you, sweetheart...”
you stammer indistinctly, pawing at the back of his neck while your eyes train towards the ceiling, scrounging for words that sit heavy, strung tight like a knotted rope in the pit of your stomach.
tenya’s teeth scrape your skin, staking a claim on your innocence as they sink into the curve of your throat. broad, practiced thumbs cross one another and press into your panties, stroking down the cloaked hood of your clit, rolling over the bud through thin, sticky cotton. your body jumps, chasing that feeling, and goosebumps rise on your skin as he begins to pull away.
“wait! i - i want it,” you plead, forcing yourself into his hands with a strained whine. “please, d-don’t stop!”
his lips curl against your neck, in a sly, subtle grin over the impression he has made, slick with his spit and marred by the circle of shallow, tooth-shaped indentations in your skin.
“i wouldn’t dare.”
true to his word, he stays close, lodged between your thighs while he gently urges you to lift your sundress higher, bunching it up around your hips  - “we certainly don’t want to ruin such a pretty thing, do we?”
tenya crouches in front of the counter, thumbing at your swollen clit intently, inching his way down your body and littering insistent kisses there in his wake. he makes his way towards the floor, stooping until he is eye-level with your sheer, soaked panties, cupped so nicely in his large hands.
he’s barely touched you, and already, you’re seeing spots, arching against warm skin.
they fray the edges of your vision, speckling navy and vermilion in the dim light of your kitchen as your gaze flits around, scampering away from his face with every flutter of his dark lashes.
with your cheeks flaming, you clutch at the cold, stony countertop, kneading your lower lip between your teeth while your clipped nails clatter towards the edge, grasping for some sort of stability as your body chases him in vain.
broad, heavy shoulders rise and fall, pitching with each reverent breath stolen between your legs, and tenya takes two fingers to the puffy cleft of your mound, watching the flimsy cotton barrier cave under each swipe of his fingertips, smearing warmth along the damp material that clings to your folds. 
you take what you are given, only risking a peek down at him when an indistinct groan rumbles up from his chest.
his tongue flickers past his teeth, flitting over his parted lips as he stares, fascinated by the responsive throb of your cunt, winking in time with each labored breath you take, visible through your sheer panties.
heat emanates from his body, pouring off of his face and his palms, and he noses closer, mere inches away from the wet, sticky cotton. 
a lone digit snakes beneath the soaked, skimpy fabric, peeling it aside and exposing you with languid patience. 
tenya takes his time to savor the experience, trailing a lone fingertip through the slick mess, collecting it on the pads of his fingers and pulling away, stretching  glossy, translucent goo strung between his upper knuckles.
one beefy finger swipes up a fat, swollen lip, nudging it aside and marveling at the easy gush of your cunt when he runs a cruel thumb along your clit, blowing on it gently, if only to watch it throb again.
“you’re sensitive.”
he lets that lip go, watches it recoil and stick to your folds again, and pushes a single digit into the shallow dip of your puffy little pussy. his fingertip traces slow circles around the puckered hole gingerly, just barely hooking into the outer lip as he presses into your wet skin. 
“you don’t touch yourself often, do you?” he murmurs, hardly expecting an answer past the gravelly syllables that tumble from his tongue. 
he hushes the whine that reverberates in your lungs, wholly attuned to the tremble of your thighs, the nervous knock of your knees, and the soft thud of your heels bouncing, hitting the cabinets that rub the underside of your calves with every gentle thud. 
“it’s okay... tell me how it feels.”
the gleam of light on his lenses feels unbearable, and the thought of him watching your face, watching you unravel this easily under the pretense of a little more than petting is humiliating.
your grip on the counter speaks for you, straining knuckles beginning to ache while you hold onto the edge, desperately scrambling for the words that won’t wobble off of the tip of your tongue quite yet.
it’s all you can do to return his unwavering gaze with your mouth ajar, lip quivering, watching helplessly as he sinks a rough finger into your cunt, drenching it to the hilt in seconds - your face burns at the sight, having watched your pussy swallow a thick, unfamiliar digit so quickly.
tenya pushes you further, swiping away at your clit, edging a second finger in beside the first, and he bides his time, stretching your panties with a third.
he waits for you to whimper, waits until your breathing grows steady, and drags both digits out until they’re hanging on the cusp of your cunt, licking at the warmth and the trail they left behind.
you’re mortified by his eyes, the sheer tip of his face in your direction drowning you in an agonizing wave of consciousness, though he means you no genuine harm nor judgement by it. your cheeks burn while you move, wiggling your hips and rolling your eyes towards the ceiling, drawing a tight breath before trying to maneuver him back inside of your cunt in one light, feeble motion. 
slick, greedy walls clench around nothing, hungrily grasping for that delicious, full feeling again, and he spreads his fingers, splitting and stretching the lips just to watch them peel apart, fluttering in time to the beat of your heart and the shudder of your thighs.
he clicks his tongue, making a show of shaking his head, languidly teasing his fingertips around the lip as they hang onto the edge of your weeping hole.
warm breath fans your inner thighs, ghosting hotly over bare skin, although you jolt as if its kiss feels ice-cold, while goosebumps begin to rise on your arms and legs.
your throat feels dry, and you swallow, searching for salvation in the saliva that pools beneath your tongue, and cave, sighing, “good, ‘s good...”
and then, his hands become fluid.
they pull away and land on your thighs with a gentle smack, kneading soft flesh and dragging you towards the edge of the counter, closer and closer, until his face is sandwiched between your legs. dark, mussed hair tickles your bare skin, falling uncharacteristically askew across his brow, and if your breath wasn’t so shaky, you might laugh.
in a moment of sheer weakness, you make the mistake of looking down, sealing your own fate in a single glance. 
you can’t tear your eyes away.
you feel your fingers twitch, pulling at the cool countertop in vain while he pushes your thighs apart before hoisting them over his head, forcing you to accommodate broad shoulders as they settle into the soft curve of your calves, just below the back of your knee.
time slows down, second after second passing in slow motion and dragging by like a fingertip through molten molasses as tenya bows his head, reverently pressing a chaste, feather-light kiss to the head of your clit.
his breath comes out in measured puffs, sucked in and fleshed out in utter restraint, fogging up his glasses’ lenses. 
you bring a shaky hand down to cup his jaw, prickly stubble brushing up your inner thigh when your hand rides higher, easing up when you curl your fingers around the glossy black frames. 
he raises his eyebrows, peering up at you as if to ask, are you sure?
you swallow, and lift his glasses off of the bridge of his nose, sighing breathily and spread your legs a little further, wondering if he can see the way your cunt throbs when his gaze falls back to the soft, slick space between your thighs.
damp lashes cluster, shading his eyes as he drinks you in, rasping, “thank you.”
a beat passes, then two, and a hot, heavy tongue trails up the slippery slit in your cunt, pressing flat against your clit and dragging higher until its wet, rounded tip nudges the buzzing little bundle of nerves between your legs.
he doesn’t flinch when his glasses clatter to the floor, tripping out of your hands when they fly to the back of his neck, tangling into trimmed salt-and-pepper hair without resolve.
your nails track over his scalp, pulling him in and encouraging him while you writhe, hips hoisting off of the counter to chase his mouth as he sucks one fat, slippery lip past his teeth. his name is the only word on your lips, the broken-in remnant of the woman you had been a mere hour beforehand, and he revels in it.
his tongue dips between your folds, slurping at your cunt with sinking eyelids and a slow hum, pressing two deft fingers against the spit-laden cleft between your puffy pussy lips.
those fingers tease at your slit, coasting over every nook and cranny within an inch’s reach before letting go, tugging at the thin cotton, the shoved-away barrier between an experienced tongue and your sweet, corruptible, virgin cunt.
he snaps at the elastic, pulling it further and further while driving his tongue around the swollen bud of your clit, daring you to dig your nails into his scalp again.
you’re shaking, you know it, and wonder if he feels the bashful tremor in your thighs.
you’re so tense.
“let’s take these off,” he huffs against damp, warm skin, breathing in the scent of your arousal shamelessly. “they’re in the way.”
he’s incorrigible.
you brace yourself against the cabinet behind your back gently, lifting yourself a little higher than before while his fingers curl into the flimsy band pinning your panties to your hips.
tenya peels them off, agonizingly slow, dragging the skimpy, sodden article down your thighs and off of your feet, pausing to press gentle kisses along your damp skin. he takes his time, caressing your ankles, your calves, your thighs, and the snug curve of your hips, memorizing the shape of your body and savoring your scent before the warmth of his breath ghosts your pussy again.
this time, he plants a tender kiss on top of the soft mound between his hands, and breathes your name like a prayer.
the sight of your bare skin below his mouth is intoxicating, and you feel the tremor in your thighs grow stronger, consuming you. two thick thumbs ride up the shallow creases of your thighs while his palms lay flat, splayed over your skin to hold you fast. you buck against his hands anyway, writhing and vulnerable while his tongue marbles around your swollen, throbbing clit. 
tenya sucks the slick folds of your pussy between his lips, lapping at the juices dripping down his stubbly chin, slick with his own drool as the tip of his tongue delves into soft, spongy flesh. 
he’s hooked on the taste of your skin, drunk on it, eyes glazed over and lashes feathering his view as he peers up at you between your thighs.
the flat of his tongue trails your slit, dipping between puffy pussy lips and swirling inside you. every slurp is obscene, contributing to the flare of heat in your cheeks that flushes across your shoulders, thrilling down your spine and tumbling a wave of electricity in your stomach.
a wayward palm climbs the smooth expanse of your belly, sensitive skin crawling beneath his touch as he runs a hand up it. goosebumps rise in his wake, tickling your flesh until he reaches your tits, pawing at you, half-lidded, half-blind, twiddling with one nipple while he stretches you out, scissoring thick fingertips and curling them along your doughy walls, dragging against the spot that leaves your cunt drooling into his hand. 
“tenya,” you gasp, “i want - want you inside me…”
the fingers squeezing your nipple falter, tweaking it, and he hums inquisitively.
you’re slurring a little, words jumbled, but you spit it out, “jus’ wanna get fucked -”
his tongue slips between his fingers, spreading the sticky walls of your cunt open, breathing, “yeah?”
it takes a single whine, a feeble “yeah” to hoist him off his knees, stumbling up to cup your jaw in one hand, palm pressed to your throat and teeth grazing your ear while his other hand plays with your clit, thumbing it while steady fingers plunge deeper into your cunt.
“need me to fuck you, huh?” 
a whimper bubbles up from your throat, and your hands begin to tremble once more, reaching for his shirt’s collar and fisting the fabric, clutching him to you. the restrained force of his grip makes your heart pound and your clit throb hungrily.
“need me to make you feel good, ‘s that it?”
your lips part, trembling in a feeble attempt to reply, though the words fizzle off of your tongue and the fingers filling you up follow, lolling out slowly and pulling at your clit, soaked and slick. 
the cool and empty feeling aches, but the threaded shhk of a zipper and the rustling of fabric makes your head rush, dizzy with anticipation. a buckle clinks, jingling as tenya shucks off his belt, popping the button of his fly and freeing his cock. you don’t dare to look, holding your breath as the swollen, silky head grazes your entrance. he guides it over your clit, rutting into the mess the two of you made gently, collecting spit and slick and precum on the tip of his cock.
it feels big, warm and round and thicker than his fingers - you don’t know whether to be thrilled or terrified, but you drag him in all the same, urging him on by winding your legs around his waist and pulling his hips closer.
“you’re sure,” he breathes, “sure you want this?”
one nod, and he’s gone, angling the fat head of his dick against your drooling cunt, nudging at puffy lips and spreading them apart.
your fingers curl under his collar, knuckles locking while you stifle a squeal, feeling the plum-shaped, foreign object sink into you.
“m’not gonna hurt you - don’t mean to - ”
his grip on your throat intensifies, and his voice sounds strained, though he manages, “tight, s’ tight... ”
tenya lets you set the pace, easing up and telling you to take it slow, grunting when your heels press into the soft spots on either side of his spine - you know he’s watching his cock disappear, watching your cunt gobble him up, watching your tits bounce while you reel him in.
in an act of faith, you let go of his collar, seizing his face and hauling his mouth towards yours. you kiss him, fiercely, desperate for the sweet distraction of teeth and tongue, lips colliding and stealing you away from the dull pain swelling in the pit of your stomach as his cock forces its way into your gummy, giving walls. 
tenya slides it in painstakingly slow, catching your lower lip between his teeth and tugging it gently as his cockhead breaches another inch of your cunt, wracking your body with a feeble sob. his fingers had given you a taste of this sensation, but nothing could have prepared you for the burn you feel in your core as the fattened head throbs, warmth reaching depths that you had scarcely known about before today. 
“that’s it…”
a soft groan rolls off of his tongue, dripping onto yours as he bottoms out, extending his middle finger to flick at your clit, swollen and soaked with saliva. 
“good girl,” he breathes, mouth leaving yours, entwined by the threads of drool between your lips. “knew you could take it…”
his hands slip down your body, fingers grazing sensitive skin and curling around your thighs, lifting them higher on his waist and cooing out a soft reminder, “breathe.”
and then, his palms ride up your hips, leaving you to cross your ankles behind his back, searching for stability upon shaky legs, clinging to his body in earnest. a beat passes, then two; he whispers your name, and his hands climb towards your waist, fingertips dancing over your ribs idly as he peers down at the place where the two of you meet, watching your cunt swallow the hilt of his dick and push back on it.
you focus on the rise and fall of your chest for a moment, bare tits heaving as your eyes slip shut, allowing your body to adjust to this strange new fullness. tenya dips his head into the crook of your neck, whispering soothing words and kissing them into your skin, thumbing circles into your skin.
your voice trembles, and your fists curl as you mewl, “p-please, move.”
a subtle smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, grazing your clavicle, and he nods, rocking his hips shallowly. his strokes are slow and measured, meticulously matching your breaths, setting a rhythm. 
then, he breaks it - his hands drop to your thighs, cupping the backs of your knees and thrusting them towards your shoulders, pivoting his hips towards you, only to pull out, raking wet, milky ooze through your folds before easing back into your pussy. he bullies your clit with the head of his cock first, though, making a mess of it and playing over the gooey, puffy cleft of your pussy.
a light chuckle tumbles from his lips when your head falls back, hair brushing the wooden cabinets and mouth falling open in an unintelligible sob. 
“ah,” he murmurs knowingly, sinking into your tight little hole and drinking in your vulnerable, disheveled state with a careful glance.  “don’t let me hurt you too much, sweetheart…”
your cunt drools, stretching and squeezing, groping his cock greedily and gushing when he drags his cock out again, letting the crown of it sit just inside of your folds before splitting you open again and again.
hiccups wrack your body, lifting you off the counter with every thud of his cock against your battered walls and every swallowed prayer, numbing you to everything but the fire building in your belly.
it coils there, tight and white-hot, bubbling up in your throat as you peer at the ceiling, eyes glazing over as tenya’s hips collide with yours. his balls smack your ass, jiggling with each messy thrust, and you wail his name as he slams into the spot inside of you that sends you spiraling into nothingness and everything at once. 
your toes curl, and you feel like you’re choking on air, smothered by hands that cannot reach your skin, coiling up your neck and snaking around your face, clasping over your mouth and plugging your nose as you drown in him, in his cologne, his sweat, and his rolling thunderous voice.
“that’s it, come for me, milk it out - ”
and you do, clenching around his cock and squeezing, back arching and hips rolling clumsily as you shove him impossibly deeper, trapping him with your calves and pulling him close.
drunk on his cock, mellowed by the haze of your orgasm, you manage to beg, “c-come inside, i want you to!”
cum floods your senses, seed seeping out of your cunt and dribbling onto his balls, slipping towards your asshole lewdly, and he pants, cock spurting sloppily between your quivering, sticky walls.
he clings to you, huffing, and presses an appreciative, wet kiss to the crook of your neck.
he thanks you.
your limp, tuckered-out arms wind around his neck lazily, pulling his face into your tits and tangling your fingers into silky salt-and-pepper hair, lightly scratching at his scalp.
you thank him quietly in return.
standing there, together, in the mess you made - cum dripping onto linoleum tile like wax from a frothy candle - you regain your senses, grinding your cunt feebly on his spent cock.
it twitches weakly, and you smile, kissing his hair, breathing in the scent of his shampoo. the smell of it lulls your mind into a lucid memory, taking you back to the moment he set foot in your kitchen, and to the scorched tea you abandoned. 
he is the first to penetrate the comfortable silence between you.
“would you… perhaps, consider going to dinner with me?”
for the first time, his voice wavers.
“i’d like to get to know you better.”
378 notes · View notes
sunmoonandbucky · 7 months ago
edge of the devil’s backbone
pairing: knight!bucky barnes x princess!reader
word count: 4,918
summary: Your knight has sworn to protect you always, even if that means committing a grave sin.
warnings: Smut, cussing, violence, murder, angst with a happy ending.
a/n:  Lol I really hope you enjoy this.  Bucky is kinda dark but??  Not really???  Also, I suggest listening to Devil’s Backbone by The Civil Wars while you read this.
It’s midnight when he slips into my room, Selene’s soft light guiding him to the bed where I lay, dozing peacefully amongst my mountain of pillows.
A slumber he hates to disrupt, but knows that he must.
To leave me without a word, without a goodbye and a promise to return one day when he can, would be the utmost betrayal to the delicate heart he holds in his hands.
“Princess,” he whispers.  Slinking through the room like a cat, he manages to not make a single noise loud enough to wake me.  It is not until his fingers gently brush against my cheek that my eyes flutter open.
“James?  What’s going on?” I ask, brows furrowing as I slowly push myself up on my elbows.  One hand holds the blanket to my chest, as though it’s anything he hasn’t seen before.
James is… familiar with my nightgowns, to say the least.
“I have to go,” he whispers, his hand shaking as he cups my cheek.  “I have to go before they catch me.”
“What?”  I lean into his touch instinctively, not even thinking about the strange wetness on his fingers that I feel.  “What do you mean?  What did you do?”  When my eyes adjust to the light, I realize what he means.
James’s white undershirt is stained with blood, the hot liquid smeared across his cheek like it is on mine now.
Letting out a squeak of alarm, I rush to look him over, trying to find any injuries to speak of.  “What happened?!  Are you okay?!”
“I killed him.”
I freeze, my hands pressing against his body through the thin fabric of his shirt.  Despite the chill of the oncoming winter, he is so, so warm.  Even with the knowledge he has given me, there is nothing I want to do more than drag him closer and make him cocoon himself around me to keep the cold away.  There is nothing that could ever make me not love him anymore.  Even murder.  I would still run to his embrace and spend the rest of eternity in his arms.
A foolish dream, considering our stations.
Even though James does love me the way I love him, my father would never allow a union between the two of us.  James has been my personal guard since I was young, barely five years old.  A peasant boy granted the honor of training to be a knight because he had found me after I had been kidnapped by bandits and kept for a ransom.  He’d just been fourteen at the time, and braver and smarter than my father’s entire army.
But no, none of that matters.  According to father, princesses must marry princes, who will make good kings.
Anyone with any sense could see that James was worth more than every prince and king put together.
“You killed him?  What him?” I ask, rushing to get out of bed to grab a rag.  I wet it carefully before moving to his side to gently clean off his face.  Even though I want answers, that doesn’t matter as much as getting him presentable again.
But he pushes my hand away, his sea blue eyes glimmering with something that causes a pit to form in my stomach.  “My princess…  My love…  I have to go,” he says, taking my hands in his and squeezing.  “I killed Prince Brock, and they will know it was me come morning.  I have to go…”
“James, don’t be ridiculous,” I scold as I try to start cleaning him off again, tugging to get his ruined shirt off.  “You need to change.  We’ll make it so they’ll have no idea it was you.”
James whispers my name, his bloody hand coming up to cup my cheek as though I am made of glass.  “They will know it was me, and regardless if they didn’t, the king would still pin it on me…  My affection for you is not exactly the world’s best kept secret…  And we both know how the maids like to gossip…”
Tears prick my eyes, and I shake my head desperately.  “No.  No.  You cannot leave, I forbid it!” I say, clutching onto him desperately.  “James, you cannot leave me.  Please, don’t leave me.”  My throat is suddenly dry and tight, my heart pounding within my chest so hard that I am sure I will not make it out without a few broken ribs.
A small price to pay if only my knight will stay by my side.
“You have stayed by my side for sixteen years, do not leave me now,” I order, trying to put on my most commanding voice.  I have been practicing for when I eventually become queen, but it has never ever worked on my most precious knight.
A choked laugh tears from James’s throat.  It’s harsh and broken, a far cry from the usual melody that I chase after.  “My love…  If I do not leave now, they will have me in the gallows by noon,” he says quietly, his forehead pressing against mine.  “Or worse, on the chopping block like a hen ready for the feast.”
I try to push the images from my mind, tears freely flowing down my cheeks.  “No.  No, they won’t know it was you.  Please, don’t leave me…  Or at least take me with you…  Please…”
“I need you to promise me something, princess,” he says as both his hands hold my face, his calloused thumbs rubbing against the tender skin under my eyes to get rid of wayward tears.  “If they catch me…  If I am sentenced to death…  Do not watch.  Do not watch them hang me or draw and quarter me or behead me, whatever it is, I forbid you.  Do you hear me?  I said, do you hear me?!”
“They can’t kill you, I won’t let them,” I sob, still somehow trying to get him to stay.  “I’m the princess, they have to listen to me.”
I have not gone a single day without seeing him in over sixteen years, and I do not plan to now.
But it seems as though there is nothing I can do to stop him.
The silk of my nightgown slides against my skin as I trace his features with my fingers.  “Will you come back to me?” I ask desperately after he denies my request another time.  “Once it is safe, will you please come back to me?  Come home?  I cannot live without you, without knowing you will come back to me one day…”
“I will,” he says reassuringly as he takes one of my hands and presses kisses over each fingertip, each neatly trimmed nail, each line in my palm.  “I will…  I swear to you…  But I could not let him live after today in the garden…”
“I am not angry with you,” I whisper reassuringly as I watch him, trying my best to memorize even the smallest of details.  “You swore to protect me… from anyone and everyone…”
“And I shall always keep my promise.”  He says it with such conviction, with such a fire in his eyes.  He always had, which is partially why I am not surprised that he punished the prince for his crimes against me.
When it comes to my safety, my happiness, James is the judge, jury, and executioner.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
A growl rumbles in his throat as he pulls me closer, letting his eyes shut as he allows himself the comfort of knowing that Prince Brock had not gotten far enough to truly hurt me, to permanently mark me.  “I told him that nobody who touches you without your permission gets to keep their hands.  He didn’t believe me until about an hour or so ago,” he grumbles.
Despite the seriousness of the situation, I can’t fight the giggle that erupts from my lips.  “My hero…,” I murmur as I look up at him.  As my eyes meet his, I am reminded that he needs to leave.  “I will miss you…  Please…  Try to find some way to write to me…”
“I will,” James says, his nose nudging against mine.  His blue eyes sparkle with tears as he swallows around the lump in his throat.  “Steven knows I am leaving…  He knows what I have done.  He is the one you can trust with your safety now, the only man I trust with your life, and he is outside your door now.”  Chapped lips press against my forehead for a lingering moment.  “I will write to him, and he will get the letters to you.  I swear on my life, princess.”
“Before you go…”  I take a deep breath.  “Before you go, will you grant me a kiss?  Just one…”
It is a request he does not think hard about, grabbing my face and kissing me so gently I think I may wither away from the sheer tenderness.  “I love you,” he says, stealing another kiss from my lips, over and over again.
It seems that now that he has started, he cannot stop.
Or will not.
I will not argue either away.
“I love you…  I love you more than words can say, James,” I say, fingers tangling in his long hair.
“I must take my leave, my darling… my dearest,” he breathes out.  “Before dawn comes and the lark sings…”  He stands, his weight disappearing from the bed, and a pang hits my heart.  “You must get sleep, my sweet nightingale.  Once they realize what has happened and that I have disappeared, they will question you for hours, I am sure, if not all day.  But rest well knowing that when you wake, I will be safe and waiting until I may come back for you.”
Tears roll down my cheeks as I hold onto his hand for as long as possible.  “I cannot watch you leave,” I whisper as I squeeze my eyes shut.
“You don’t have to, my love,” he says soothingly, pressing a kiss to my hair.  “Rest…  I will be home to you before you can even miss me…”
His hand slips from mine, and I do not hear him leave the room.  “James, please don’t leave me!” I say as I open my eyes, thinking he was still there.
But he had slipped through the door without a sound and left me alone in my cold bed.
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My dearest,
It has been a month since I left you, and it has been the hardest month of my entire life.  I did not have the time to write to you until now because I was unable to get my hands on some parchment and a quill, and I had some trouble finding some place where your father and King Alexander could not reach me.
I cannot risk telling you precisely where I have had the luck to find myself, on the off chance that the letter is intercepted.  I cannot see why it would be, as it is carefully hidden with a letter written to Steven, but considering the man that I know your father can be…
Well, I am aware that I shall not need to explain more than that.
What I can tell you is that the sea here is beautiful.  The journey here was hard, filled with storms and a tumultuous sea, but it was worth it.  Though, it would be much better if you were with me to see it, my love, but you already know that.  Seeing the sun rise on the blue water—Water clearer than any I have ever seen before!—made me hopeful for the first time since I left your side.  In fact, the dress that you wore to your father’s last birthday feast is the exact shade of the sea here.  The soft sand reminds me of the gold trim, the white diamonds embedded in the leather…
Do you see what you have done to me, my love?  I miss you so, my heart longing to see you again, to hold you, that I have started to wax poetic about your gowns.
I cannot start on the way the flowers here remind me of the scarlet rouge you use to stain your cheeks and your sweet lips or I shall never stop.  But, I have dreamed of your lips each night, of the way that my name falls like a prayer, of the way you told me you love me…  I dream of kissing you again.  More mornings than not, I wake with tears on my cheeks because of the need I feel to have you close again.  I had waited for so many years to finally tell you how I feel, despite knowing the way we both felt it, and the night that I did, I had to leave.
It feels like a tragedy from one of those books you like to read so much.
One of the sailors on the ship guessed that I had left a woman behind that had broken my heart, and he told me that time would heal the gaping wound.  It was all I could do to explain to him that I had been the one to break both of our hearts, and that time could do nothing because I am counting the days until I may run to you again.
Time may also do nothing because of the depth of my adoration for you.
I wish that I could tell you where I am so that I may receive a letter in return.  I hope you do not regret what happened the night I left, the kiss.
I hope you will still want me, still love me, when I return to you.
All of my love,
Your James
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My dearest,
It has been a year since I have seen you last, since I left your side, and I fear I am on the verge of dying if I cannot get a glimpse of your sweet face soon.
Despite writing to you every few weeks, I feel as though there is so much more I can say.  Every tiny little thing that occurs during my days, I wish to tell you.  I wish to tell you so you do not think that I am at the taverns, flirting with every wench that I set my eyes on.  Despite the way they bat their eyes, they can do nothing to even catch a glimpse from me because I am always picturing you.
Have you thought of me since that night?  I imagine you have had to, since I am writing to you and I am sure that Steven is getting these to you.  He may be a dunce in some things, but he is generally a capable man.
When I saw you in your bed that night, slumbering so peacefully, my first thought was that you looked like an angel.  I had been worried that I would be scared to touch you, to even set my eyes upon you, after what I had done.  But all I felt was reassurance that I had done the right thing.
I still cannot apologize enough for leaving you alone in that garden for so long.  Despite knowing that it technically wasn’t my fault, considering that the king had called for me to discuss the journey back home, I am wracked with guilt.  I should have had a servant fetch Steven to take my place while I was gone before I left.  But, I was naïve enough to assume that the palace guards that were present in the garden would protect a princess, even from their prince.
Coming back and seeing you so upset, panicking as he gripped your soft, sweet body hard enough to bruise…  I had realized when I looked at you that you thought I had abandoned you.
I hope you know that no matter where I am, I have not abandoned you.  I could never leave you forever, my dearest.
Your handkerchief no longer smells like you.  I had swiped it from your room as I left, needing something to comfort me on my journey.  I sleep with it pressed to my nose so that I may see you in my dreams.  But now it has lost your scent, and I have been on a search to find the perfume that you wear so that I may buy a bottle and need not worry about it losing your scent again, but alas, I have not been able to come across it.
I fear it would not smell exactly like you anyway, my love, and I would simply be disappointed.
I have pressed a few more flower petals to send to you, but I may not be able to send them again for a while, as winter will be here soon.  Even in this warm kingdom, it brings a chill that withers the flowers and crops.  Until then, I shall send you as many as possible.
All of my love,
Your James
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My dearest,
It has been two years to the day, and I can only pray to whatever gods that I will be able to be with you forever soon.
Did you get my present?  I snuck into the palace after deciding that I couldn’t wait much longer to see you.  Even if I was not able to speak to you, just seeing your angelic face as you slept gave me a moment of peace.  My heavy heart was lightened.
You may need to hide the letters I write you better, it only took me seconds to find your hiding spot.  Of course, your father doesn’t know you as well as I do, so he most likely won’t think to check behind your mirror.
The necklace I left on your pillow is inlaid with pure opals and diamonds.  I had never heard of opal, I must admit, until I found my way here.  It is a great source of pride in this kingdom.  I knew the second I saw it that you would look absolutely stunning in it.
Perhaps you will wear it on our wedding day.
Every day I grow fearful that your father will find another suitor for you and force you to marry him before I can make it back to you.  I know how adept you are at avoiding the princes and lords that he shoves in your direction, but what can I say?  To see you with another man, even if you did not truly wish to be with him, would kill me.
I have been on a ship again for the last few weeks, so unfortunately there is not much to write to you about.  But please, know that you are in my thoughts every moment of every day.
All of my love,
Your James
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My dearest,
I have just gotten the news of your father’s passing.
I am on my way home to you.
All of my love,
Your James
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I sigh as I sit on the throne—my throne.  Mere hours before, I had been crowned as the new queen of my kingdom.
The scepter is heavy in my hand, the cold metal seeming to burn my skin.  How can I do this on my own?
My father raised me to be a queen, a wife, but not to rule.  I was raised to be the queen to a king, to support the man I end up marrying as he rules the kingdom.
But the only man I will ever marry is not here.
Steven is standing beside the throne, his hands clasped behind his back.  He has been good to me the last few years, as I have waited desperately for the day that my love, my true knight, will come home to me.  “You are troubled,” he says quietly as the both of us watch the nobility dance in magical patterns that draw the eye and lift the spirits.  “You should be excited, Your Majesty.  Today is a day of great celebration.”
“He isn’t here,” I say.  It’s all I need to.  His last letter is pressed against my breast, hidden inside my gown.  The necklace he left for me is heavy around my neck, the precious jewels glinting in the light.  “He said he was coming so where is he?”
The prince that had been seeking my hand before my father died is present, his gaze continuously finding me as he slowly works his way closer.  Over the past weeks, I’ve been able to avoid his advances with claims of my grief.
As if I could ever truly grieve a man as cruel as my father.
“It is possible his ship may have been caught in a storm,” Steven comments, trying to soothe my anger.  He has seen how unstable my emotions can be when James is not close by.  “He will be here.  You know he will, my queen.”
I am growing more and more annoyed as I realize that I will soon be expected to join the dancing.  But dancing is the last thing I want to do without my love there.
Beside me, Steven tenses, and I watch as his blue eyes flit around the room.  “Interesting…,” he says under his breath, almost too low for me to hear.
“What is it?” I ask, sitting up a little straighter.
“It appears that your latest suitor has disappeared.”
What?  Brows furrowing, I look around the room, pointedly searching for Prince Quentin for once.  Sure, he is a handsome man, but his blue eyes are forgettable when I compare them to James’s.  “Well, perhaps he found some maid to consort with in the gardens,” I say with an eye roll, quickly giving up on the search.  “It is not as though he is getting any sort of connection from me.  Let him have his fun.”
Steven snorts, his head dipping for a moment.  “I think it is time for you to join the dancing,” he says simply, in a tone that makes me wonder what he has up his sleeve.
He knows something that he is not telling me.
“Fine,” I say with a glare in his direction, getting to my feet.  I hand my new scepter off to the servant who has immediately rushed to my side, the song currently floating in the air coming to an end.  A new one begins as I step into the fray, easily joining the dance.
I am so swept away in the swirling skirts and joyous laughter of the crowd that I do not notice the man that had joined the dancers on the other side.
Passing from partner to partner, I keep a fake smile plastered on my face and absentmindedly nod with everything that is said to me.
“It has been a long time, my love.”
My eyes snap up to focus on the man whose arms I have just been passed into, and my heart stops inside of my chest.  “James?” I breathe out.  My eyes well up with tears just at the sight of his loving face, his sea blue eyes sparkling in the bright light of the ballroom.  “James, is it really you?”
His smile is almost blinding, and I realize that his own eyes are glassy as well.  “It is me, my princess.  Or should I say, my queen?”  Despite the rest of the people around us switching partners, he refuses to let me go, his hand tight on my hip and the other holding my hand firm.  “I saw your coronation this morning.  You looked radiant.  You still do, my dearest…”
I barely notice the world around me as I watch his tongue flick out between his teeth to wet his chapped lips.  “You were there?”
“Of course I was,” he chuckles, his large hand squeezing my hip.  “Do you really believe that I could ever even risk missing your coronation, sweetheart?”  Feeling the crowd’s stares, he leans in a little.  “Meet me in the garden in a few moments.  By the gazebo.”
Twirling in time with the music, my heart sinks as I am passed to the next partner and the next.  My hands are trembling with the fear that he could disappear again.  Logically, I know that he won’t.  But after spending so many years away from him…
“Go,” Steven says after I finally break away at the end of the dance.  “He is waiting for you.”
I don’t need to be told twice.  As I make my way to the corridor to slip out to the gardens, I have to reassure several servants that I am alright, but just escaping for a fresh breath of air.
The gazebo he told me to meet him at is further back in the garden, out of view from any of the palace windows.  His dark figure stands at one of the railings, looking out at the ocean.  The necklace around my neck burns as I take a moment to look at him, really look at him.  His hair is longer than it was when he left, and stubble lines his face.
Did he shave just for me?
I like the thought of him preparing to see me, nervously checking his appearance in the mirror.  Perhaps he bought a new jacket and waistcoat in his excitement.
He turns to look at me immediately, a smile brightening his face, and I feel as though I am a teenager again, fresh with the feelings of love and adoration.  “My dearest…”  He does not waste any time as he pulls me close, his lips slotting against mine and his hands roaming over my body.  “I have missed you…  I have dreamt of you each night.”
And I know that anyone could come out and see us at any moment.  And I know that the gossip would run rampant and the possible alliance with Prince Quentin’s kingdom could crumble.
But I do not care.
I have been craving his touch for years, praying to the gods he would come home and hold me just as he is doing now.
“I need you.  I need you, James,” I say as my hands tug at his jacket and push it off his shoulders, going for his waistcoat next.
Thankfully, he does not argue.  “You’ve dreamt of this as much as me,” he says in relief as he unties my corset enough to tug it down to reveal my chest to him.  James chuckles as he catches his letter as it falls.  “You kept this so close to your heart, my love.”  Seeing the letter only makes him more ravenous, his lips attaching to my neck as he works his breeches down.
Pain runs through me as he sits and pulls me on top of him, finally joining our bodies together, but I don’t take the time to care.  The glory of finally being with him is far greater than any pain I could ever feel.
We are so tangled that you cannot tell where one of us ends and the other begins as he moves me, taking his pleasure and granting me my own.
“You’re mine,” he growls, nipping at my neck.  “That sorry excuse for a prince thought he could touch you.  Thought he would ever be worthy enough for you.”
It suddenly occurs to me that his arrival and Prince Quentin’s disappearance were correlated, and I see a drop of blood on his white undershirt.
It tears a moan from my throat.
The knowledge that a man as powerful, as strong, as my knight would protect me in such a dangerous manner, so desperately, sends a jolt down my spine.  The fact that he is willing to go to the ends of the earth, to commit such a sin…
It is delicious.
The dagger he must have used glints in the low light of the moon as it rests on the stone floor, having fallen from his breeches when they’d been torn down.  The sharp edge is crusted with a dark red, almost brown substance.
“I am all yours.  I have always been yours, my knight,” I say as my fingers tangle in his hair and pull, our lips locking.  “I love you.  I love you so.  I cannot breathe without you.”
“I am never leaving you again.  Never.”  His teeth grab onto my lower lip as he picks up the pace, grinning as he glances down to watch my body.  “Fuck…  It’s even better than I dreamed of.  I love you so much, my queen.”
My release is fast and hard, knocking the breath out of my lungs as I cling to him, my nails scratching at his back and creating a rip in his shirt.  “JAMES!”
James is quick to follow, his hips jerking as he reaches his peak and spills inside of me.  “Perhaps you will become heavy with my child,” he whispers as he steals another kiss, tenderly fixing my dress before helping me stand and dressing himself.  “Perhaps we will have a little prince or princess on the way.”
“Well…”  A smile spreads over my face as I cup his cheeks, running my fingers over the dark stubble.  He would look so delectable with a beard.  “In case you have not been informed, I have been made queen…  And I decree that you are to be my king.”
A laugh bubbles in his chest as he pulls me close once more, dipping me low and kissing me something fierce.  “Your wish is my command, my dearest.”
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anris-resurrection · 3 months ago
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You will take my midnight caffeine induced half baked runaway AU and you will like it! 
Lol jkjk. Anyways, I was up at midnight chugging my lovely Sparkling ice caffeinated beverage, wanting some angst+fluff+marichat sooo AU where:
Gabriel is just a little more overtly abusive/controlling
Adrian is a regular runaway and finds the cat miraculous in a forest on one of his outings
Fights crime in secret, hes not great at avoiding cameras so his crime fighting is gradually exposed
Decides to runaway for good when his dad starts getting paranoid (about a certain possibility of this new crime fighter possibly having a miraculous)
Crashes on Marinette’s balcony on a rainy night
Que montage of him living his normal dream life in secret as Marinette’s mysterious allergy prone friend. Adrien is considered missing.
His crime fighting  abilities are exposed to be the result of a miraculous and Gabriel starts hawkmothing it.
Que Adrien struggling to fight an Akuma and taking the ladybug miraculous that mysteriously appeared during the fight to Marinette
and that’s as far as I got lol
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hanazou · 7 months ago
𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙙𝙖𝙯𝙖𝙞.
— first date, first confession, first kiss, first ‘i love you’, first time unwrapping his bandages, and first time doing the deed.
Word count : 2K
Shelf : Paperback
Genre : Fluff, romance, angst, NSFW. All the good stuff
Caution : NSFW, mentions of suicide (apparently)
Note : mich mich! baby! My muffin! I was super happy to see you in my inbox ;-; I finished this so quick LOL
Anyways, there was a lot to unpack here! Dazai is a complicated character to write, this is a combination of character analysis and headcanons, my favourite. I hope I didn’t disappoint you!
Please enjoy this, bubba! (reposted because i’m a boomer who doesn’t understand tumblr tags)
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𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲 ;
»  This depends on what you would define as a ‘date’, actually!
» If by date you mean any private time together, then your first date would be when you both are assigned to something job related, and it’s going to be mischievous.
» Dazai would be so suggestive yet playful during the trip, since it’s just the two of you. He’d talk to you as if you’re his official lover; he fluently compliments every inch of you without feeling cheesy at all (it takes talent and experience to do this)
» He takes your hand to his lips like a western medieval suitor greeting his beloved
» It's very hard to resist his charms. Dazai never plays a game he’s not sure of winning.
» But you have to know, he’s not toying with you, not in the way meant to break your heart. This is just his way of having fun with you. And if during his job-related trip he happens to already have some ‘feelings’ for you, his mischief will kick it up a notch. He’s trying to see if you’re just fun to mess with or if you hold a special spot in his heart.
» Your headache will also double. Dazai would voice his suicidal jokes out loud just to see your reaction. He enjoys seeing the changes around your eyes.
“If I use my coat’s sleeve as a noose to hang from that tree, which will break first? The fabric, the branch, or my neck?”
You breathe in a groan. “My patience.”
“Oh! Are you going to strangle me?” His eyes sparkle. “Please be gentle, I’m a fragile man.”
» When it comes to having a romantic activity together, it will be both cute and silly. He could take you to places where he swooned every woman he hooked up with, but he doesn’t want you to be compared to them. Hence, he’ll be innovative.
» He’ll ask Atsushi; “Where do you think is the most romantic place to go with your lover?”
» And also ask Kunikida. “Kunikida-kun, if you weren’t so lonely and single, where would you go on a date?”
» After being smacked on the head, Dazai will combine both their opposite opinions and take you there. The polar opposites will confuse you, but this way, he's giving you the best of both worlds. It also aligns with his goal to make your first date with him memorable, since the odd combination is almost impossible to forget. He wants his presence to be ingrained in your memory.
» Dazai offers to buy you every single merch he sees on the street. It will range from cute, sweet, romantic, to stupidly random.
» Cat balloons? Muffins? Tacky shirts? Secondhand books? A spatula on sale? A bouquet? Origami? A pet hamster? A hammer? A radio?
“Tell me whatever your heart desires, and it shall be yours!”
» Will not hesitate to get into pda (assuming you’re alright with it). He wants to let everyone know he’s yours, that he finally has someone to cherish and belong to. He’s not a lone soul anymore. Doing pda makes him feel validated
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𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗳𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻 ;
» CEO of mixed signals. It will be so frustrating at first, but trust me. It will be worth it.
» Confessions wouldn’t be straightforward. They (plural here) will be small pieces of information; the small moments of his vulnerability, hidden in the most random moments. It will eventually build up for a single moment.
» If you want to date him, he has to feel attached. (Since this is the keyword with Dazai, I’ll be mentioning this word a lot)
» The droplets of confession can drip down during the most random timing, like when Kunikida just finished chokeholding him.
» “Gosh, if I died just now, I wouldn’t have the chance to say goodbye to you!” He complains to you, walking back to his desk while rubbing his neck.
“Why would you need to say goodbye to me?” Your expression twists. Is he playing games again? He has been giving mixed signals these days...
“I don’t know,” He sits down and fires an ambiguous smile. “You tell me.”
You didn’t answer. How were you supposed to respond to that?
» It’s a long (and tiring) process that requires time and patience. You have to wait until his tiny droplets of transparency and attachment fill the whole bucket of affection that has to be spilled out or else it will crack.
» The prolonged yearning is both deliberate and undeliberate from Dazai’s side. He knows he’s beating around the bush with your feelings and his own because of two simple reasons:
» One. He wants to see whether you really accept him in his worst or not.
» Two, and also the undeliberate side; he’s still scared of opening up. The slash on his heart doesn’t sting anymore, but the large dent will never close. The only time he was vulnerable, things didn’t end up well (I’m not going to talk more about you-know-what. This is a taboo for me)
» Not to mention he has to figure out whether you’re just a rebound or someone he really values.
» He’ll realize it’s the latter, so he’ll proceed. If you’re just a rebound, why would he fear hurting you? The process of ‘properly’ courting you will be slow, steady, and sure.
» He’s having another double suicide joke again, but there’s an addition that makes your eyes pop out.
» “If I have to be frank,” He props his hand behind his head like a pillow. “I don’t want to have a double suicide with you.”
You look at him as if the sun pops out during midnight. Is that an insult? Is he saying you’re not worth having double suicide with? Is that his way of pushing you away?
Dazai gives you an all knowing side look complete with a grin. “You must be thinking, ‘Am I not worth having double suicide with?’ right? I may not know my place saying this, but you ought to raise that self confidence.”
» That was another piece of his confession. When else does Dazai try to boost up someone’s ego? Never. You’re the exception.
» Finally, finally, when Dazai does confess, the confession wouldn’t be a cliché “I love you”. It will be way sweeter. More special, more private. The words coming out of his lips will be something that only you can understand.
» The confession won’t be a one-sided speech. He doesn’t want to monopolize the special moment by being the only one speaking. It will be an intimate conversation. He will talk, and you will talk. It’s a mutual confession, Dazai doesn’t want to leave you in the dark nor does he want to be confused with his own feelings.
» Everything between you both has to be clear until he speaks the final, and the most important part;
“Am I worth your acceptance?”
» At this point, it doesn’t matter how you say ‘yes’. A nod will do, a hug will do, a kiss will do, crying will do (but make sure to clarify you’re not stressed or pressured).
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𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗸𝗶𝘀𝘀 ;
» This man is a pro to get you to stand on your toes for more. Your first kiss will be cute rather than passionate. Save that heat for later.
» The game will start with him teasing you, ‘motivating’’ you to be more active to actually get more since it’s usually him doing the first moves. It’s a long-term plan of consistent teases and jokes, but the results are guaranteed.
» It’s also his way of confirming whether you really want him or not.
» He wants you to seal the deal. Where’s the fun in making him do all the work, right? It’s a relationship, not a one sided crush. He works his way on you, and you on him.
» Dazai will not hesitate to use his cunning observation habits to know what kind of gesture makes you want more.
» He’s into those childish acts of pretending there’s something near your lips just to brush his thumb over your lip.
“Oh, lookie here. There’s some ice cream on your lip,” He says, his thumb staying on your lip for unnecessarily too long.
» When you secretly touch the spot where he touched when he’s looking away, he’ll stifle his snicker.
» Here’s a teaser; Dazai would be less teasing if you’d kiss his cheek first.
» One day, when you’re asking him for a favour, he’d take that chance.
“Hm, maybe I’ll help, but it comes with a price~”
He crouches down a bit so you can reach, leaning his head sideways to you to show off his cheek.
You’re not dense. You take the hint, and slightly standing on your toes, you peck him on the cheek.
“There,” You huff. “Will you help me now?”
This sneaky bastard. He’ll turn away, whistling, “Suddenly I’m lazy! Try again, and maybe I’ll be convinced.”
» You won’t be the only one giving pecks on the cheeks though. Dazai will kiss you on the cheek too, but they will be your surprises. He’d sneak behind you, tap your shoulder, and when you turn the other way, he reappears on the other side with a kiss.
» Sometimes they’d be rewards too if you did something that unintentionally makes him happy
» After the mutual kisses pile up, only then Dazai kicks it up a notch. It’d be in a playful manner, too.
» “My lips are freezing,” He whines, eyeing you with an anticipating smile. “Will you warm them up for me? Only you can do it.”
» His eyes are closed, and although his lips are ready for you, that grin can’t be hidden.
» He’d crouch down a bit for you, but you also have to make the effort of reaching upwards more to finally kiss him for real.
» During the kiss, Dazai’s hands will go to your hips, lift you off your feet a little to give a little help, just enough for your toes to graze the ground.
“That certainly hit the spot,” He smiles at you. "Quite daring today, aren't we?"
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𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 '𝗶 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂' ;
» Dazai doesn’t say his first “I love you” as an independent statement by itself.
» It will be a part of whatever solemn, loving, and tender sentence he says to you. That doesn’t mean it loses its momentum though.
» It will be when you find him alone, holding a bottle of sake, drinking his sorrows away despite the smile he has when he welcomes you to sit next to him. He’s not easily drunk, but the alcohol will loosen the lock around his heart a bit.
» If you ask simple questions, he’ll answer them faster with less nonsense than usual.
» Simple yet deep questions will undo the chains.
“Aren’t you tired?”
» The answers will be technical rather than emotional at first, but the more you ask with those concerned eyes, the more drunk he gets. Not in alcohol, but by his emotions and you.
» You notice the eventual loss of focus in his eyes. His mind is travelling back to the past, gutting him up from the inside.
“I told Atsushi-kun that self pity makes one’s life miserable,” Dazai mutters. “Truthfully, those words came from experience.”
He shifts nearer to you, leaning his head sideways to rest on your shoulder. “But ever since I love you, I’ve never found the need to pity myself, you’re always there when I turn around.”
» I recommend you to verbally return the “I love you”. You can say it just as it is, or say it in a way he did it, it doesn’t matter. He needs reassurance.
» Smooth down his hair as you tell him you love him too.
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𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝘄𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗯𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗮𝗴𝗲𝘀 ;
» If you want to unwrap his bandages, it will only happen after you officiate things with him. It can never be the other way around. You have to earn his trust, and there are many levels to reach the top.
» Think of it like playing a game with lots of level ups.(If you can’t level up from this stage, there won’t be any intimate ‘dirty business’)
» You have to be the one offering to change his dressing. He will shy away from it (as in changing the topic) at first, it will take some time until he eventually agrees.
» When you both sit down on his messy futon, legs crossed, facing each other, make sure the situation is quiet and serene. Close the windows, shut the door. Absolutely no distraction, so it will be done in the evening or later.
» When you unwrap the bandages, whatever scar you see, no matter how big, how nasty, how fresh, do not say “I’m sorry”. Dazai doesn’t want you to say that, because it sounds as if you’re the one to blame for his suffering.
» Verbally and physically assure him that you will always be by his side. Never give him the benefit of the doubt that you’ll someday leave him like others did, but don’t be too overly sappy.
» Touch his scars, kiss them. If you have to express your love, say it in a low volume to keep the atmosphere calm.
» Dazai likes it when you have to move behind him to wrap the bandages around his body and neck. He feels most taken care of, pampered, when you kneel behind him.
» He appreciates the way you carefully wrap the new bandages so gently, especially around the wrists.
Dazai lightly chuckles, the sound soft compared to his usual misfits. “Don’t you have such soft hands?”
You hum, eyes still on his wrist as you wrap the bandage. “They’ll always be here for you to call them soft.”
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𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 '𝗱𝗲𝗲𝗱' ;
[NSFW for the rest of the post]
» Contrary to the popular belief, Dazai’s first time with you wouldn’t just be steamy. The kinky nicknames like “master” come after your first time, don’t expect spanking, punishments, or insults (yet)
» Dazai having sex with you will be different than the ones he has with many others (sorry, but it’s canon he’s a womanizer), because doing it with you isn’t only driven by lust or the need of release, there’s also affection. Attachment.
» It will be fast paced, filled with body worship and lovely nicknames like “my love” and “darling”.
» Lots, and lots of hickeys. He tries to control himself during the first few, but the lower he goes and the more vocal you get, the darker and bigger the bruises.
» Dazai tops you and takes the lead, obviously (and is very good with it), but he asks for permission during the first half, every. Single. Time.
» He wants to kiss? He’ll ask first.
» He wants to shove his tongue in? He’ll ask (as if his lips hadn’t made yours swollen).
» He wants to unbutton (actually rip off) your shirt? He’ll ask.
» Take off your underwear? He’ll ask.
» “For the last time, Dazai,” You try to sound patient despite the arousal already pounding your head. “I want you, so just do it.”
» Despite the gentleness and goody goodies, it’s a little sad how he’s always asking for your permission or expecting you to stop him.
“Are you sure you’re not asking me to go?”
» Sure, the frequent asking is partly because he wants to be sure you’re not just going with his lead (and because he likes edging, but ssh), but he’s also waiting for the rejection.
» (But another reason is because his wilder side wants to hear you beg. He wants to hear the validation, and it comes with a sweet and kinky package)
» (If he sees you rubbing your thighs while patiently telling him that you want him already, he’ll make that smirk.)
» The rejection will never come anyways, the doors to your heart are always open (and so are your legs)
» His aggressive side will break out if you cry “Osamu” instead of “Dazai”, and I’m talking about his Port Mafia Executive side he tries to throw away.
» So yeah, if you do it, things will get a lot more heated.
» He will double the pace if you cry. He bruises you at this point. He loves to see you writhing under him. It encourages him.
» King of edging.
» “Aren’t you a cute little desperate thing?” He coos, brushing the tears off your cheek. “Tell me, who do you want?”
“You, Dazai, you!” You choke out. You’re already twitching between your legs.
“I can’t hear you, you have to be louder.”
“I want you, Osamu! Please, please!”
» And there goes your legs for the rest of the week.
» Dazai apologizes during the aftercare and be extra sweet and romantic during it. He wants to make up for the roughness.
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📜; like what you read? visit my bookshop!
724 notes · View notes
plushieplayground · a month ago
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Halloween 2021 Midnight Sparkle Cat
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geraskierficrecs · 3 months ago
Modern AU Stories
when midnights break their sleep by SummerFrost
The first Snapchat that anyone ever sends Geralt is a picture of his own irritated face.
shrike_princess: can u believe this dumbass finally got a snapchat bc a cute boy asked him nicely
"It wasn't even that nicely," Geralt says flatly.
AKA: The one where Geralt is a bartender and Jaskier sings karaoke.
(This is one of my favorite stories in the fandom.  I love it so much!!)
Give Me Nothing, Give Me You by dis
Ciri's kindergarten letter comes in the mail on a Tuesday. Geralt opens it, skims it, and frowns at the class his daughter has been assigned.
Or: A modern AU with Dad!Geralt and Teacher!Jaskier.
Chopsticks by thisgirlsays22
“Yennefer sent me a check for eight lessons for you,” Jaskier said the following weekend, wearing a beige button-down with--
“Does your shirt have owls on it?” Geralt asked, caught somewhere between amusement and horror.
Jaskier looked down and tugged on the front of his shirt as if he had to remind himself what was on it. He beamed at Geralt. “Yeah! Do you like it?”
“Not particularly.”
The smile swiftly disappeared.
“It’s not terrible,” he amended, stepping back to let Jaskier inside the apartment. Then Jaskier’s initial words sank in. “Wait. Yen did what?”
Hanging up on Yennefer was always a mistake.
New Monster Stories by kathkin
“So do you have a name?”
“Yeah.” The man who had saved his life less than an hour ago – the white-haired, absurdly buff, weirdly sexy man Jaskier might have called taciturn if he was feeling charitable and surly if he was feeling less so – dug into his second burger.
Jaskier waited. “Are… you going to tell me what it is?”
The man paused mid-bite, and looked at him reproachfully as if to say how dare you. How dare you interrupt me. Can’t you see I’m enjoying my cheeseburger. Can’t you see this cheeseburger is the most important thing in my life right at the moment. He swallowed, and said, “Geralt.”
It turns out almost getting eaten by a werewolf can make your whole life go careening off in a new, terrifying, wondrous, artistically flourishing direction. Who knew?
Where There’s a Witcher by ghostinthelibrary
Jaskier is a twentysomething recently unemployed journalist and amateur musician looking for his big break. So when he’s saved from the jaws of a wyvern by the infamous Butcher of Blaviken, Geralt of Rivia, he comes up with a brilliant idea: he’ll follow the Witcher around and sing about their exploits. He’ll gain fame and fortune and Geralt will get a much needed image rehab. Everyone wins. Unless Jaskier goes and falls in love like an idiot.
Only Human Series by ghostintxelibrary
It’s a Tuesday, so someone is threatening to kill Jaskier.
Geralt doesn’t know why he’s surprised anymore.
Geralt moonlights as a superpowered vigilante called the Witcher, but his cover identity is the mild-mannered Geralt Rivia, reporter at The Continental Press. Jaskier is an entertainment writer at the Press and Geralt’s ex-boyfriend. He's obsessed with the Witcher, the vigilante who has saved his life multiple times. When Geralt is blackmailed by a powerful sorcerer into pursuing the Shrike, a serial killer who’s been targeting abusive men, Jaskier gets involved, despite Geralt’s best efforts.
(Seriously, all of her stuff is amazing.  Read it all.)
Thieves and Riches
Geralt is just trying to do a favor for an old friend when he finds himself tied up and shoved into a storage closet by a group of robbers. There he meets Jaskier, an enigmatic cat burglar who is a little too good at teasing a reaction of the normally stoic detective.
I’ll Never Be Free From Your Smile by whisperedstory
Geralt isn't sure how he got here, standing in his kitchen in black gym shorts and a baby pink—baby fucking pink—shirt that stretches too tightly over his muscles and has Toss a Coin written in sparkling gold letters across his chest while Jaskier is aiming a camera at his face.
Or: Jaskier is a YouTuber and Geralt is his best friend and roommate.
Next to You by Bean_Writes
Moving to a new town is one thing. Moving to a new town, becoming best friends with his neighbor and falling head over heels for her dad is something entirely different.
In his second year of college, Jaskier struggles with his undying crush on Geralt, Ciri's dad. It also doesn't help that the man's job involves him looking like an absolute wet dream come true, emerging from beneath a car, muscles flexing, slick with sweat and grease.
He's really fucked.
The Tale of Jaskier's Grudge Against Historians (and how they gave him his happy ending anyway) by notebooksandlaptops
[Text Sent From Ciri] Is there a reason why a love letter to Yen and Geralt is in the British Museum signed from you?? -C
[Text Sent to Ciri] Because Historians are nosey pricks. Do NOT tell your parents. -J
[Text Sent From Ciri] ;) – C
The winking face of a semicolon and a bracket stared up at him, composed of unforgiving pixels. She wouldn’t, would she? No. No. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.
She wouldn’t.
Or, an exploration of the reason (immortal) Jaskier hates historians (hint: it's because they keep stealing his shit and putting it on display)
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thunderwhenhepurrs · 19 days ago
It’s midnight so have some CATS as cats Tuggoffelees babble you didn’t ask for
I love thinking about the Tugger-Misto house, because that poor couple just have the weirdest lives. They’re like early professionals, the both of them, in their late twenties/early thirties. And they don’t want kids and never particularly wanted pets?
And then Tugger just shows up. Straight up in their house in the middle of the night. They’re so baffled and try to find out where this cat came from. They realize he can open the sliding glass door and just lets himself in. They start locking it. Next night, they wake up with him sleeping in bed with them. Apparently he found a partially opened window and forced it the rest of the way up so he can get in.
They put up found signs and posts and agree they’re taking him to the shelter if they can’t find an owner within a week.
Tugger spends the week being a disaster. Getting into their food, getting stuck in cabinets, tangling himself up in one of the partner’s knitting yarn. But they also keep waking up to him snuggled between their legs, purring up a storm. He crawls under their legs while they’re watching movies on the couch and watches the screen with fascination. They’ve taken to recording videos of him and have never laughed so hard in their life.
By the end of the week his name is Mick Jagger and he has a spike collar.
By the end of the second week his owners have a TikTok account entirely of ridiculous shit their cat who adopted them does. He starts getting some serious numbers. He’s a fairly famous cat internet personality, which does not help calm his ego at ALL.
Then enter Mistoffelees. Really, it’s fitting Tugger was the one who decided they would get a new cat, not anything they did. That’s just the kind of chaos he brings into their life.
But this cat is weird. They think they’ve lost him by the end of the first day, but nope, he’s right where they first looked. Tugger has been filmed diligently undoing toddler locks like the brilliant bastard he is, but Misto will end up in cabinets that still have the toddler lock in place. He’s near impossible to get on camera. They’ll hear his odd, unique purr somewhere nearby but be utterly unable to find him. Closed doors mean nothing to him. He’s started a hoard of shiny things in the top of the cat tower like tiny, fluffy dragon. They are not actually sure where half of the objects are from, because they don’t belong to them.
But it’s hard to get too freaked out because Misto is /so/ sweet. He’ll come up, put his paw on one of their thighs, and meow politely for permission to crawl into their laps. He’ll sleep there while they work. He sits and waits calmly for treats, and doesn’t try to steal straight off their plates like Tugger.
Misto gets named Houdini, unsurprisingly.
And Tugger LOVES him. Tugger is super territorial of his home (save from the neighbor’s grey maine coon, who the old lady says is his brother, though they’re not so sure how true that is). He doesn’t let other cats near it. But this one is special. They will often find Tugger flopped into one of his (many) cat beds with a tiny black donut tucked against him. They’ll wake up to both of the pair on the bed, snuggled together. Tugger will let Misto eat out of his own food bowl and they will have diligent grooming sessions afterward.
So the couple just accepts that their cats will always surprise them, not blink twice when they are somewhere they absolutely are not supposed to be, and just shrug when they’re asked if their black cat is actually a cat at all when visitors stay the night and are freaked out by Misto being absolutely weird in the middle of the night. “I mean, probably? Oh, don’t mind the sparkling thing. That just happens sometimes. At least if he is a demon, we’ve got a great in when the apocalypse happens.”
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nat-20s · 5 months ago
Part 4 of Wonderful! Au! This one isn’t an episode! And It’s not funny! It does, however,  provide the context around Part 3! Also, Jon signs in this one, and sign languages have their own grammar and structure, but I display his signs translated into English and denote them with <> instead of “”. Here goes!
When, two days ago, Jon woke up gasping at 3 am, Martin didn’t think anything of it. Their nightmares were much like their chronic headaches: sometimes occurring daily, sometimes going weeks in without showing up. They were uncomfortable, surely, and sometimes had lingering effects, but there was a routine to them that took away much of their sting.
When he then throws off the covers, grabs the pack of cigarettes that only gets touched maybe three times a year, and makes a beeline for their balcony, Martin realizes that something worse is going on. Dread starting to settle in his stomach, he attempts to stave it off through action. He grabs the comforter  and puts on a pair of slippers, going to accompany Jon. The early morning spring air is bracing enough to someone like himself, who, barring a certain deeply unpleasant year, had always run hot, it must be awful for the heat sink that is Jon. Sure enough, he finds Jon shifting on his feet, trying not to shiver too much as he’s handling the lighter.
Getting closer, while still allowing Jon breathing room, he offers over the blanket with a gentle smile and gentler words “Wanna talk about it?”
Jon doesn’t take the blanket. Jon doesn’t even look at him. “Talking to you has often been the problem, so no, thank you.”
Oof. Instinct tells him to react with a matching tone, to jab right back. That instinct is one that he’s long learned to ignore. Instead, he wraps the blanket around his own shoulders and replies with a certain level of blitheness, “Huh. Probably shouldn’t have married me then.”
Jon’s shoulders slump, and the harsh lines of his features soften. He still, however, won’t look at Martin. “Sorry, that was...a poor way of phrasing things. Sometimes I just think..”
There’s a silence between them for a few seconds as Martin waits for him to expand on the thought. When he doesn’t, Martin prompts, “Yes?”
Jon sighs with all of himself, before taking a drag of his cigarette. “Four years ago. If you hadn’t been there, I think I would’ve gone through with it. I’m glad for the life we got to build afterwards, but. Sometimes it feels as though I’m being rewarded for failure. Or perhaps, more accurately, for compliance.”
Four years ago. Four years ago exactly. The date dawns on Martin, simultaneously the worst day of their lives, and the day of their freedom from the fears. The realization makes him understand why Jon’s treading the ruts of a worn out argument, a old ache. These days, Martin doesn’t have much to say on the matter. He thinks the second Fucking Jonah Magnus opened the door, and that it was Fucking Jonah Magnus who did it, they no longer had any right choices to make. No matter what way they did the math, the outcome was always going to be terrible. However, when he wakes up warm, with their cat curled up at their feet and his husband curled into his side, he can regret the build up all he likes, but he can’t deny his joy at how it, eventually, all shook out. “Reward would imply intent, and I don’t think what we have now was orchestrated by anything other than ourselves. It’s not like the web promised us a summer wedding if we finished opening the rift.”
It’s too early to have the conversation. Jon seems to realize this at the same time that Martin does, because he snuffs out his cigarette on the railing, and says he’s going back to bed.
Four hours later, Jon leaves the apartment. He doesn’t say where he’s going, and Martin doesn’t ask. In the past, it would’ve been enough for his anxiety to spike, for the insidious thoughts of “this is it, he’s finally sick of me, always knew this would happen,” to circulate. He’s mostly able to stave off that way, able to come to the rational conclusion that this day was hard every year, and that they both needed space to process, that they weren’t even fighting, really. Mostly. He still has to keep himself busy to stave off the worst of it. The sardonic part of himself notes that their apartment’s always sparkling when they’re at their lowest, stress cleaning a habit the two of them share.
Jon gets home close to midnight, and doesn’t look at him as he falls asleep. On the couch. Maybe they’re fighting after all. Martin wishes someone had told him.
This morning, Martin wakes up cold for the first time in months. Blearily, he makes his way towards the kitchen, and finds Jon upright and scrolling on his phone. The bags under his eyes suggest he slept about as well as Martin. He looks up, at Martin, when he walks by, which is a marked improvement. Martin stops in his tracks, and he wants to think of something easy to say. He wants to offer tea or breakfast, he wants to give reassurances, he wants to remain steadfast in his conviction that saving their former world and ending up somewhere else was the best move, he want to smoothly open up discussion. Instead, he blurts out the question that’s been keeping him tossing and turning for the past several hours. “Are we okay?”
Jon opens his mouth, closes it, and lets out a frustrated huff through his nose. He raises his hand in a fist and nods with it. <Yes.>
Inanely, he asks, “Are you okay?,” which only gets him a flat stare before Jon signs <I’m getting some damn sleep.> and shoves past Martin to what is supposed to be their shared bed. Martin lets him, for now, but they’re going to clear out some of the tension this afternoon.
He makes the elective decision to record the episode by himself. He supposes he could send out a tweet telling their audience it’s an off week, but he wants to record it, both for himself and for Jon. After he’s done, he does a three knocks in rapid succession on the doorframe of the bedroom, a code they had established, god, back in the Prentiss days to let the other know it was them. Jon stirs under the covers, so he asks, “Can I come in?”
A hand rises up, giving the same nod as earlier. Before he walks in, however, he also asks, “Can I join you on the bed?”
Martin crawls in next to him, and Jon immediately turns over to face him. Before he says anything, Jon signs <I love you.>
“I love you too. Hey, did..did you hear me recording?”
<No. You did an episode solo?>
“Yeah. Sort of figured you weren’t up for it.”
Jon shrugs and gives a tilt of his head that Martin reads as “Fair.” <What’s it about?>
Martin gives a shit-eating grin, the first smile hes given in the past two days. “It’s a surprise.”
Jon sticks out his tongue at him, which makes some of the weight on his lungs lift. “It’s also not what we need to discuss. What’s been going on, my love?”
<Same old, same old. Crushing guilt, swells of regret, the general feeling that I don’t deserve this life. I’ll get past it again. It’s just hard, this time of year.>
Martin knew all that already, but, “There’s something else though, this time, isn’t there?”
Jon drops his eyes down to his hands, which he keeps resolutely still. With nothing but an earnest plea, Martin asks, “Why did you sleep on the couch? That’s not ‘same old, same old’.”
To his surprise, Jon comes in closer, only leaving enough room between them that he can still sign. <I love you. So much. Enough to terrify me, sometimes, but.>
<Sometimes I can’t look at you without seeing the past. I’m sorry.>
Involuntarily, Martin glances down to Jon’s abdomen. Despite his torso being covered, Martin knows the shape of the scar there, because there are times where he can still feel himself creating it. “I know how you feel. And it’s. It sucks, but I think it’s okay. As long it’s not the only thing you see looking at me.”
Jon shakes his head, and gives an only slightly fragmented smile. <Not at all. Mostly I look at you and I see my favorite person in all of existence, literally.>
Martin relaxes into the mattress and runs his fingers through Jon’s hair. Pressing their foreheads together, he replies, “Ditto. Don’t tell The Duchess though, she’s the jealous type.”
That gets a proper laugh out of Jon, and Martin’s sure that they both know tomorrow is going to be better.
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lustbile · 5 months ago
To Provoke
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Word Count: 4.4K
Warning: dom-ish haechan, semi public (alley way), oral&fingering, biting, blood consumption, & can maybe be interpreted as degrading but not really
notes: a resounding thank you to whoever gave haechan curls and horns im in love with you nct stylist person. I wrote this all today and it made me stupid so I will try to go through and do more editing. Also not that I think anyone would, but I made the edit for this, horns and all, and im asking politely no one repost it, i know it’s not the most extravagant edit but im asking u pls.
Nct Masterlists
Multi group Masterlist
You were trying to provoke him.
You were always trying to provoke him.
Everything you did, every move, blink, sigh, and turn was an attempt to pull him from the shadows.
To admit you’re addicted to him is embarrassing, degrading even, especially with the way it fills his chest and wild eyes with hunger and pride. His ego was one thing that never needed to grow, big enough to fill every nook and cranny of the universe, but something about the way your pretty eyes would glitter at him in awe pushed it over the edge in free fall.
The outfit you chose to wear was maybe a bit too revealing for the weather, the nipping cold dancing along your shoulders and thighs in a way that makes your stomach clench and your teeth chatter. But it was the same outfit you had worn on the night you had met him, the outfit that his greedy fingers tugged and pulled on to get access to your skin, and it still had the smallest of tears in the seem from his impatience that night.
But it got you attention, and that's what mattered in the end.
He had always had a jealous streak, something he’d deny sharply if you had the nerve to accuse him, but that didn’t change the fact that some of your best nights with him were spent after he showed up to remind you that your body and skin were for him only. And that jealousy was the exact thing you needed to get him to show his face again.
It had been far too long since you had felt him last. You had no clue where he could have possibly ran off to for such a long time, but that didn’t stop the fire that was building in your belly. And no matter how many times you tried, your own wandering hands were never enough to quench your body’s thirst like he could.
The man you spoke to at the club meant less than nothing to you, even when you felt his growing excitement pressing against your back when you agreed to dance with him. The sloppy kisses you allowed him to press against the skin of your neck felt no different than just air as your mind was too distracted by the man that had taken ownership of your heart and soul so long ago, regardless of his absence.
It didn’t feel long before the lights became too bright, the alcohol that sloshed in your cup too bitter for your tongue, and the smell of the strange man too stale and unfamiliar. But when you pushed away from his chest and checked the time on your phone, while you ignored his grumbled complaints of you being a tease, you saw that it was only a handful of minutes past midnight.
You had stayed out much longer than that before, much later in fact and with glee, but something in your chest, a heavy and daunting weight, was pulling you towards the entrance on unsteady feet and a taunting disappointment on your shoulders.
Your mind still felt muggy even after you broke away from the stuffy environment of the building, but you brushed it off as a combination of the minimal alcohol you’d consumed and the angry unsatisfied monster that had made home in your gut.
You had enough of a head on your shoulders to scan your purse for your pepper spray and pocket knife before you decided that maybe the short walk home would help clear your mind and disappointment. It was still cold, your icy fingertips begging for a uber or cab instead, but you were hoping the biting chill would help calm down whatever lustful beast you had become because of a man you couldn't even contact.
Your legs felt too heavy to carry with every step you took, your neck feeling like your necklaces were made from tons of lead instead of whatever cheap metal the random online store you had ordered them from used. You were grateful that the only company you had on the back streets you had chosen to take were the flickering street lamps and the skittering rats you could hear in each alley you passed.
You could almost taste the relief of the cheap bottles of wine you had stashed in your kitchen paired with a trashy netflix horror film when you turned onto your street, your apartment building somehow looking inviting with its old brick and foggy windows as it sat on the corner. The only thing stopping you from kicking off your heels and making a run for it being the memory of one of your less than polite neighbors dropping a large glass vase and not feeling any need to pick up the broken pieces before leaving for the day.
Instead you grit your teeth to help bear the pinching of your shoes, and break into a quick and awkward jog down the desolate stretch of sidewalk. Your eyes watering as you're met with icy air.
Peace and warmth and cheap familiar alcohol is only a few strides away when you hear it. To anyone else in the city it would have been no different than the sounds of an everyday creature scavenging in the trash for food, but you had lived here long enough to know what's a rat or raccoon or, in this case, a cat.
It was a stray you had befriended long ago, one that could climb and duck into your conveniently opened balcony door for a bowl of food and a scratch behind the ears. It was just a sweet little boy that was grey and covered with scratches and scars, but due to a no pet policy had to be kept labeled as a stray and a secret to your landlord.
You huff in frustration, assuming he would have been curled up on your couch when you returned home and not chasing rats in the alley next to your building, but he had always been mischievous from the day you met him. So with the hope that you could block his image from the security cameras, you turn and head into the dim light of the small alley.
You had lovingly dubbed him Oscar when you came home more than once to your trash can tipped over and learned he had a special love for garbage, and that name along with some weird chattering cooing left you mouth as you tried to coax him from whatever trash can he was creating chaos within.
Your teeth were already gritted and you back stiff as the playful feline found enjoyment in jumping out and scaring you in times like this and you assumed this time would be no different as his evilness seemed to only raise as it got deeper and deeper into the night. So you were already mentally prepared for an attack from an overly excited ball of fur, what you weren’t prepared for was a voice.
“What are you doing out so late?” the voice was gruff and slightly accusatory and made you all but jump completely out of your skin. And as you whip around in circles to try to find the face that the words feel from, you see your love and joy Oscar jump from the tallest trash can and scale the fire escape up to scramble back into your home like a guilty teenager that was caught by their mother.
“I asked you a question,” this time the words were followed by strong hands gripping your shoulders and a shrill yelp escaping your throat.
Your hand was pushing into your purse for at least one of your weapons as you squat to get out of the person's hold and turn to see their face, the grinning and prideful boy behind you washes you with a wave of relief before stabbing at you with annoyance.
“Haechan, what the fuck,” you whisper harshly as you pull your hand from your purse and stand up straight, your now free hand now moving to jab a rough finger into the dip of his chest, “how many times? How many times have I told you to not fucking sneak up on me like that. I know the pepper spray can’t hurt you and a stab wound would heal in like five minutes but that doesn’t mean I want to stab you, idiot.”
“Why not?” his head jerks back as if you said something dumb like the sky wasn’t actually blue or he wasn’t really the sexiest man to live, something that just has no logic behind it in the slightest, “like you said it would heal so maybe we could try, might be kinda hot.”
He punctuates his words by grabbing you roughly by the waist, his other hand wrapping gently around your neck before he pushes you against the rough brick behind you, the permanent evil glimmer in his eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Do you ever get tired of being an absolute freak?” you thinly veiled insult doesn’t pack as much of a punch as you had maybe hoped, but when he begins to mouth at the skin of your jaw and cheek you can’t really find it within yourself to care.
“Well isn’t that why you like me?” he asks rhetorically as he starts to nip light bruises in the spots that blur your vision, “freaky me must be your favorite, because otherwise you wouldn’t be dressed the way you are.”
He’s no wrong, not even in the slightest, but the confident way in which he says it is enough to make you want to lie, “wanting you and liking you are two different things, no one ever said I liked you.”
“Oh but you want me,” the way in which he takes everything you say in strides without even batting an eye is bit infuriating, but the way his fingers tighten against your neck and push into your jugular is enough to make you melt against him, “that’s what you said so for once that’s not me putting words into your pretty little mouth. But don’t say you don’t like me, that’s a dirty lie and we both know it.”
“You don’t like when I lie?” you pout at him, trying to pull more and more reactions from him, “but some of your favorite things I say are lies, like how big you are and how well you fuc-“
“Alright that’s enough of you,” he interrupts, his fist tightening that much more and his other slipping from your waist to reach under the hem of your dress, a satisfied growl and his tongue pressing into the inside of his cheek being his reaction when he realizes the underwear he was grabbing for wasn’t there, “I’ve had to watch you prance around all night, letting a low down dog of a man touch you. And for what? My attention? Baby, you already have my attention.”
Your words stutter violently, the only sounds coming from your throat are whines and gasps as his fingers slip between your thighs and glide against the dampened skin, never staying on your clit long enough to give you the pleasure you need but enough to make you squirm.
“You were watching me?” you finally gasp out, before it clicks in your brain how dumb of a question it was. He told you a long time ago that he always will keep an eye on you, and knowing what he is and the things he can do, you had no reason to not believe him.
“I always am my pretty baby,” he coos before pressing teasing kisses to your open mouth, seemingly tasting and feeding off of every little noise that slips out, “and it hurts to see you let such a nasty man touch you where only I should. You didn’t even notice him following you out of that trashy club did you, silly thing?”
You jerk back as much as you can with the way he holds you, eyes widening at the news that you were apparently being followed without your knowledge. Every emotion that swims in your brain feels like its fighting for dominance, but with the way he chooses to dip his middle and ring fingers just barely past your entrance you’re struggling to cling to just one.
“God, you are so lucky to have me aren’t you? Who else would take care of creeps and make you feel good hm?” he tilts his head as he speaks, his breath warm against the side of your face before his tongue dips to lick at the shell of your ear, “no one can make you feel the way I do can they?”
“No,” you finally answer after a moment, the word coming out as an airy breath as his fingers finally sink in all the way. He wastes no time before curling them and pressing at the spot that makes your knees buckle, “please Haechan, need you so bad.”
“Oh is that one of those infamous lies of yours you were talking about?” he pulls away slightly, but shows no interest in slowing the motions of his hand, “well it can’t be can it? I can always tell you know? Can hear the way your heart picks up when you lie, much different than the way it does when you’re about to come for me.”
His wrist starts to move faster, the heel of his hand finally pressing and rubbing against your clit as the muscles of his forearm start to strain. The telling signs of your orgasm feel too sudden, too fast, and with his hand still constricting the blood that tries to flow to your head all you can do is let your eyes roll as your breathing comes out as small puffs.
“But since you’ve asked so nicely,” you can only let out a pathetic cry when he pulls his hand away from you suddenly, your lack of oxygen being the only thing stopping you from letting out a scream loud enough for the whole block to hear as he denies you of any stimulation. All you can do is let out incoherent babbling and whines as your hands reach up to dig your nails into the leather jacket protecting his forearms.
He releases your neck, your skin burning from the friction and the sudden amount of oxygen and blood returning to your head making you dizzy. And while your eyes roll as they try to refocus and your heart rate begins to slow to normal, he grabs your wrists and pushes your weakened form to be flush against the wall thats scrapes against your exposed skin.
“You are by far the best thing ive ever tasted,” he mutters, not concerned with whether you heard him or not, before his mouth latches to the side of your neck. He seems to find the most interest in the finger prints he left behind, as he pulls the tender skin between his sharp teeth and works to create a bruise that won’t leave you for another week.
Regardless of denying you a proper release, he considers himself to still be a generous guy. As his tongue lays flat against the burning skin of your neck, he starts to kick at your feet until your clumsy legs are falling apart wide enough for him to press his thigh against your skin, and in the exact way he predicted, you can’t help but to begin grinding helplessly against him.
One of the main reasons the dress that you currently wear is one of his favorites, is the neckline. Low enough to show the expanse of your chest and just enough of your cleavage to make him salivate. He’s as transparent as glass with this love, especially as he mouth travels down between your collarbones and sternum.
You can hear a quiet pop in the fabric of the neckline when he bites down and begins to pull it with him as he sinks down to the floor, the huff you let out being both in frustration from him further ruining a nice dress and your impatience.
The straps dig harshly into the skin of your shoulders before they give and fall, the sudden lack of support making it easier for Haechan to take the fabric and expose your chest to the cold air.
The look in his eyes when you look down is mean and predatory, you fear one day he’ll snap and consume you whole, but for today he settles for wrapping his swollen lips around your nipple and sucking harshly.
Your hips quicken involuntary, broken moans filling the empty alley as you twitch and squirm in his hold. He seems to grow irritated at your impatience as he shoves your wrists back harshly, his knuckles audibly scraping against the brick.
“You can never be patient to save your life,” his head tilts forward and he presses his forehead against your sternum with a huff before he’s leaning back up to press a sloppy kiss against your panting mouth, “you’re lucky I missed you so much or otherwise you’d be in for a lot longer of a night.”
He keeps your wrists trapped in his hold as he moves to kneel on the ground, the rough and dirtied pavement doing nothing to help the tears that already litter his jeans.
You feel your face flush when he lets go of one wrist and uses his newly freed hand to shove the hem of your dress up and around your hips, and the burning beneath your skin only worsens when he leans forward and breathes deeply with his nose pressed against your pubic bone.
He leans back for a moment, his hand wrapping around the bend of your knee to pull your leg to rest on his shoulder and you feel your shoulder sting from the wall cutting into your skin from him moving you like a doll.
“Haechan,” you whisper his name out with a pout that you hope will get you exactly what you want, but you can only huff and petulantly twitch when he begins nipping and licking at the skin on the insides of your thighs.
His teeth are sharper than most, and he usually airs on the side of caution because he’s aware of this. His bites are gentle for the most part, but when you begin to peak in your feelings of impatience, you can’t help the way your hips begin jerking forwards in search of his tongue.
His palm pushing against your hip is his first warning, a generous one in his opinion, but when the warning seems to fly completely over your pretty little head he has no other choice but to lean forward and sink his teeth into delicate skin at the bend of your thigh.
You cry out for a second before you’re tucking your lip between your teeth. It stings terribly, the skin breaking around his teeth burns but you can’t stop the way you revel in the sharp pain. And at the exact same moment you taste the metallic ting of the blood falling from your bitten lip, you feel the same warm thick liquid drip from the wounds he’s created and straight into his grinning mouth.
More blood falls freely when he pulls his teeth from your flesh, his warm tongue flattening against the injury immediately to catch as much of the liquid as possible.
He laps at it for a moment, savoring as much of the taste of your life source as possible, before he starts at the bottom of the bite mark and drags slowly up.
Once his tongue moves off the wound, he continues across your skin. The moment he hits your labia, you let out a gasp and jerk against him again, your mind completely erasing the fact that the bite was meant to be a punishment for that exact thing.
He seems to have forgotten him wanting you to remain still, as he doesn’t hesitate in the slightest until his licking across your stil swollen bundle of nerves.
He moans as the flavor of your arousal mixes with the still lingering taste of your blood, the vibrations shooting straight up your spine and making you shiver.
He tilts his head up to smile at you, his eyes shining as he grabs your hands and moving them to thread into his curled hair.
“Why are you shivering?” he asks with a faux concern, his right hand smoothing over your thigh before pushing between your legs to return his fingers to their spot inside of you, immediately pumping and curling them slowly, “are you cold or something? Maybe it’s because you’re in such a skimpy little dress?”
You groan out in annoyance at his playful act, your eyes rolling back but for once not in pleasure. It’s not until he starts to proudly giggle to himself do you exploit the hold you have on the back of his head to push him back to your body.
You fear that being shoved around may be the exact thing Haechan would have wanted, when he happily moans before latching his lips to your clit again, but the pleasure that melts your muscles erases any need to call him out on his deviousness and perverted enjoyment.
He seems happy with your moving hips when they start to move against his waiting face. Your fingers mindlessly and desperately tug at his scalp as your head tilts back and thumps against the wall.
The hand that isn’t pressed deeply inside you slides across your hip, his callused fingers making goosebumps run up your arms as they push into your lower belly.
You can feel yourself fluttering around his fingers as the curl and push apart, your thighs tensing around his bobbing head as he licks and bites gently at your clit. It feels like it’s harder to catch your breath and you know you’re only moments from orgasm.
“Please, please,” you start to stutter the word over and over, praying both that he lets you come and that you’re neighbors are deep enough in sleep to not hear the noises you know will escape you.
You almost cry in relief when you feel his shoulders shift, his face and fingers both pressing deeper from the movement in a way that tells you he has no intention on letting up on your shivering body.
His blunt nails start to scratch into your skin and you can feel his heavy panting breath against your skin every time he begins to lap at you desperately. You can feel your muscles lose even more strength, and your head becoming heavier and dazed as he coaxed you closer and closer to your finish.
Your shoulders twitch up towards your ears and you feel your stomach clench as your back curves, small whines and whimpers leave you as the heel of your foot thumps against the space between his shoulder blades.
You gasp out when you feel it, them. They start as small bumps beneath your palms, and you feel your chest tighten when it clicks what they are.
He’s always had a good hold on controlling them, keeping them hidden so he can wreak havoc without being clocked as something inhuman. They had peaked out a few times, usually in moments like this, but it’s such a rarity that you can’t stop the way your heart begins to thump in your chest.
Out of everything about him, you were obsessed with all of him, but you loved his horns the most. They were small and sharp at the side of his head and the way he looks when they’re poking out amongst his curled hair, and especially when he was grumpy or mad, made you want to jump on him and kiss him all over.
You were so caught up and distracted by them growing to full size directly under your hands you forgot how sharp they were at their tapered ends. The reminder you get is when they sharply down push into your palms like thorns.
You gasp sharply, but the way they curl makes you afraid to pull away. It makes you tremble and flush with embarrassment, but the pain bleeding into your hands is the last straw on your nerves. All you can do is wrap your now bleeding hands around the horns and cry out into the cold air as your erratic hips move across his face.
He groans deeply against you as your nails scrape at the skin that surrounds the base of his horns, the feeling of his and his still moving tongue pushes you through and past your gasping orgasm.
You sign in relief when he finally detaches from your body, his mouth moving up to press your hip and across the space of your stomach the dress reveals. He puts your leg down slowly and he creeps back up your torso, now hyper aware of your wounded hands still stuck on his horns.
“Sorry my love, they’re kinda sharp aren’t they?” he rhetorically asks with a soft but guilty grin. He stays ducked down enough that your hands don’t go too high that they start to slip, and he follows with his own to help you detach them.
“I just keep making my mark on you tonight huh?” he sighs as he stands at full height and brings your still bleeding hands to his face. You grit your teeth and scrunch your nose when he gives you a knowing look that says ‘we both know what I have to do.’
He is quick and gentle when he swipes his tongue across the deep cuts in your hands, not wanting it to sting more than necessary.
A teasing grin fills his face when he looks up to see the tired pout on your face, “just like the one on your leg, there won’t be anything left than a bruise if you just wait like an hour,” he’s sincere in his words, and you know it works, but you still feel all wounded and tired.
“Take me home,” you demand, wrapping your slowly healing hands around his shoulders and leaning until your head rests against his shoulder.
“Hey now,” he contradicts his tone by wrapping his arm around your waist and helping guide you walk to your apartment, “you still have to feed Oscar, and take a shower, and I’m not even full yet so you have to let me play with you until I wear you out.”
His tone is far too genuine and loving for the words he says, and you swat weakly at his chest in annoyance, but all he does in response is a laugh.
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iavoidallmirrors · 6 months ago
Submitted Prompt: "Why Not?"
Miraculous AU where Kagami & Marinette realizes Adrien isn't a good person and that they're wasting their time on him and spends more time together. They decide a boy isn't worth it at the suspense of their friendship. Kagami notices Marinette is more than just a quiet bashful girl and is actually pretty amazing, cool, and fun! Marinette notices Kagami is actually sweeter than expected and likes her more than she intended. They become close friends and they grow stronger together.
Kagami gets tired of Adrien's bull and calls it quits breaking ties with him. She gets tired of Adrien's lies, uncertainty, indecisiveness, and Nice Guy™ attitude. Treating her as an option. She leaves him gobsmacked and ends their entire friendship.
Marinette gets fed up with Adrien manipulating her, making her feel guilty for things she shouldn't feel guilty for, encouraging Marinette to let Lila continue to manipulate and lie to people although he knows it hurts her, wanting her to take the high road in every situation. She ends up ending their friendship, Adrien is practically breathless because "Marinette would never do such thing!" Would she?
As Ladybug, Marinette confronts Chat Noir about his predatory, irresponsible, selfish, manipulative behavior and takes his miraculous away for good.
Kagami confides in Marinette as she was her first friend while Marinette offers. Kagami trusts Marinette and rants about Adrien. Marinette becomes aware that Adrien had did both girls wrong and tells Kagami about Adrien's behavior towards her. Kagami isn't surprised but is furious. Kagami knows Marinette doesn't deserve the treatment she's getting by Adrien and nor does she.
Kagami and Marinette concludes that Adrien is a fuckboy/womanizer who can't be trusted. Kagami decides to hang out more with Marinette and get to know her.
The girls spend more and more time together, talking, Kagami brings Marinette to fencing practice, Marinette shows Kagami how to sew and bake. Marinette trusts Kagami a lot more. Kagami has adoration for Marinette. Kagami has regular discussions with Marinette about life at home and not getting out enough. Marinette takes Kagami out on dates, they eat ice cream, go on bike rides, engage in each other's hobbies. One night, Marinette chooses to give Kagami the cat miraculous as she is worthy of it. She's responsible, ambitious, honest, self-assured, sharp, courageous, determined, helpful, confident.
Alot like Marinette
Marinette is hard-working, smart, responsible, igneous, confident, caring, determined, compassionate, brave, witty, sassy, fair, and honest.
Marinette knew she deserved a loyal responsible competent partner
A partner that would respect her boundaries, a partner that would actually help her through missions and battles, a partner who would make her happy, a partner who would get the job done and actually be responsible. A partner like "Kagami"
Kagami deserved to wield the cat miraculous. She had what it took to be a superheroine.
Felinedís Noir. Kagami had picked the name out herself it was perfect.
Marinette calls Kagami over one night and tells her there's something important they need to discuss. Kagami is a bit nervous but still comes. Marinette explains that she's Retrobug/Ladybug and that she believes Kagami should have the cat miraculous so she grants her permission to now be the wielder. She checks with Kagami to make sure she's okay with it and Kagami happily accepts.
They successfully complete missions, they go on late night patrols, Kagami starts to grow feelings for Marinette but tries to play it cool.
Marinette makes Kagami happy, she made Kagami explore things she didn't know about herself, Marinette made her feel whole again, worthy of love
She had the purest smile, brightest sparkling eyes, midnight shaded hair, perfect personality.
Would help anyone in a heart beat, could come up with an elaborate plan in the span of seconds, charming as they come.
Who wouldn't fall in love with her?
Marinette feels the same.
She can't stop thinking about Kagami. She's BEAUTIFUL, relatable, respectful, sweet, hot. Marinette couldn't get enough of her.
They start dating months after showing up to school, to a stupefied Adrien, amused Alya, astounded Chloe, and confused Nino
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caffeineaddictedsociety · 9 months ago
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The nine aesthetics I’d have if I lived nine lives
with corresponding aesthetic playlists linked by clicking on the name
Decadent Coffee and Dreary Days: ‘Campus’ by Vampire Weekend
toffee stained pages filled with the words of revolutionaries and creatives, milk froth clinging to your upper lip, honey-soaked walls embellishing with books, soft knitted sweaters bobbled from the never-ending passing of time
For-get-me-nots and Cotton: ‘Angela’ by Flower Face
the scent of fresh laundry twirling through the air as it dries on the line, enveloping your face in baked bread, beaming faces at sweet birds, soft light sending shadows across the garden
Professor of a Hidden Boarding School: ‘Campus’ by Vampire Weekend
crisp collars and morning coffee, the scent of chalk and hushed whispers, crumpled notes passed under tables, towering turrets and untellable tests, cold hallways complete with forgotten portraits, eccentric lesson plans
Author Watching Over the City: ‘Sarah’ by c a n d i d !
watercolored clouds and cobbled streets, sweet tea running down your throat, sprinting thoughts and tired fingers, the sound of cat paws on wooden flooring, simple balconies and affectionate watchings 
Diamond of the Season: ‘I Giorni’ by Ludovico Einaudi
opal sparkles sitting as bait, pastel shades of velvet, subtle touches as gentle as woodland fur, fighting against the violent heart flutters screaming wants and needs, tightened corsets you wish someone else to loosen
Scuffed Denim and Cassettes: ‘Good Old Fashioned Boy’ by Queen
lost hours whispering gossip down the twirled landline, angered demands sprayed on waving signs, chasing your tickled pink crush down the road on bikes, midnight dance parties to vinyl, putting men in their place with a quick push and shove
Subtle Witch in a Relationship with the Moon and Storm: ‘Would That I’ by Hozier
opal droplets staining the sides of washed out jars, spreading ivy making it’s way into every crevice, watching the woodland creatures emerge from beneath the shrubbery, harnessing moonlight in your hidden wooden shelter far from rude speak
Eccentric Script Writer in the Big City: ‘Dance on the Porch’ by Alexandre Desplat 
long leather jackets and heeled boots, sipping coffee drenched in syrup, tube rides and bus adventures, losing your thoughts in the bustling and commotion, tortoiseshell glasses and hushing unnecessary male voices
Ball Gowns and Dragon Smoke: ‘Would You Mind’ by Friday Pilots Club
mud clinging onto chiffon, stone turrets cold and secure, quickened pace sending echoes against the silent walls, ghostly wisps whispering the rumours of your fate, hidden daggers and merciless endings 
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nonobadcat · 6 months ago
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Yandere Mr. Compress X F! Reader
Rating: Explicit - for readers 18+ only 8 chapter story
Summary: Six months into your relationship with the "Incredible Mr. Compress", your future seems as bright as the stage lights under which he makes his name. However, your best friend, Harada Yumiko, has her doubts about this "perfect" stranger who seems to have magically appeared in your life. While he continues to shower you with increasingly serious affections, Yumiko's words make you start to ponder one thing: How much do you really know about Sako Atsuhiro?
TW: Rape, breeding/pregnancy kink, condom failure, unwanted pregnancy, discussions of abortion, stalking. A consensual relationship that devolves into non-con.
Dedicated to Miss_Mystery3
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Chapter 1 Excerpt:
"So then tell me, my friend..." Her eyes flashed. "When were you going to tell me about this new man in your life?"
You gulped and sunk back into your seat. Your eyes rolled to the floor. "Ummmm…. Eventually?"
She tapped the table hard enough to make her manicure click. "I had to find out from my driver that my best friend was dating some sort of actor." She laid her head upon her forehead and swooned like a grandmother confronted with a store-bought version of her best dish. "Do you know how that made me feel?"
You twirled your thumbs around each other. "Sorry… you've been so busy lately..."
She smacked the wooden veneer and sneered at you. “I demand details!” She pointed a finger at your nose and narrowed her eyes. “Where did you meet him?"
You cast a thumb over your shoulder. "At a little bar down the street."
She frowned. "A bar? Didn't anyone ever tell you that you'll never meet a good man at a bar."
You shrugged. "Well, he was performing and then he asked me out later." You scratched your cheek. "So it wasn't technically in the bar..."
She fanned herself. "I cannot believe I'm hearing this." She grasped you by the shoulders. "He sounds sketchy! Break up with him, now."
You laughed. “Yumi-chan, you don’t even know him!”
She crossed her arms and huffed. “Is he even cute?”
You licked your lips and a gooey smile appeared on your face. Your cheeks glowed with embarrassed heat. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your cell phone. The lock screen background was a picture of yourself and a handsome man. The two of you had sappy grins on your face. You were making two V-shaped hands just beside your jaw and pouting your lips. He flashed a single set of bunny ears behind your head. His cheek was leaned into your scalp and the other arm was wrapped around your shoulders. His face was a perfect heart with boyish piles of soft brown waves piled on his head. Chocolate brown eyes seemed nearly molten in the hazy light. Instead of looking at the camera, they were looking at you.
Yumiko looked utterly dumbfounded. She stared from you to the picture and back again. Then a sullen frown tugged the corners of her mouth down.
You giggled. “I know, right? He’s super hot.” You rocked from side to side, clasping your hands together. “I still don’t know what he sees in me but I feel stupid lucky to have him.”
She handed your phone back to you and rolled her eyes. “There’s a catch.” She waved her hand dismissively and gave you a wicked side-eye. “I mean, sure he’s hot and all but don’t the circumstances seem a little suspicious to you?”
You cocked your head. "What do you mean, Yumi-chan?"
“I mean you met this guy at a dive bar right?” she asked.
“It wasn’t a dive bar!” You turned your head and poked your index fingers into each other until they arched. Embarrassed eyes found their way to the floor as you shuffled your feet. Out of the corner of your mouth, you muttered: “It was an open mic night.”
“Oh gee, open mic night.” She rolled her eyes. “So much classier.”
You shrugged sheepishly. “Look, I know your ex-”
A dark cloud fell over her face. She gritted her teeth and growled. “Can you just not?”
You winced and waved your hands apologetically. “Sorry! Sorry!”
Your friend crossed her arms and stared down her nose at you. “...besides, we’re talking about your love life, not mine.”
Your lips fell into a frown and your eyes rolled to the side.  It wasn’t like you really wanted to talk about it. She was the one that brought it up all of a sudden.
“How much do you know about him anyway?”
Your eyes sparkled. You began to tick off your fingers "Well… he's blood type B; he used to be part of a circus act with his grandfather." You grinned into the palm of your hand and practically squealed. "Oh my gosh! The third time we went on a date he pulled a bouquet of red tulips out of a hat! How romantic is that?!"
She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I mean, how much do you really know about him? About his family? His friends?
You paused, mouth drawing tight. “...that’s…” You forced a grin to hide the queasy feeling flopping around in your stomach. “I mean…” You flipped your hand back and force as an uneasy laugher cracked from your throat like a bull frog’s croak. “Well… you know I wanted to take things kinda slow-”
“Are you having sex with him?”
Your fake smile froze on your face.
She groaned. “Oh, honey... If you’re doing the deed he isn’t taking it slow.” She narrowed her brows. “If the guy gets the milk without buying the cow-”
You gripped your upper arm and pursed your lips. “Yumiko,” you whined. “That’s super sexist!” You prodded your fingers. “Besides, the sex is fine with me. The part I wish he’d slow down is how serious he is about us.”
“What do you mean?”
You frowned and leveled her with a serious stare. “He told me he loved me after only three dates.”
Yumiko set her mimosa down and sat up straight. “That’s a bit fast.”
You nodded and ran your hand through your hair. “I told him it was too much-”
Yumiko cut you off. “And let me guess? He was all like…” She threw her voice into a fake deep murmur which made your IQ drop by several points. “...but baby because I love you I just wanna try anal once. Plleeeeeaassssseeeee.” Then she scoffed and took a large gulp of her drunk. With a dark glower, she snarled: “Men really are animals after all.”
Your eyes went wide and you waved your hands frantically. “Oh no! Nothing like that!” You folded your hands into your lap and squirmed in the chair. Your thumbs danced around each other like two cats in a fight. A warmth filled your cheeks as you bit your lip. “Actually, he was super understanding. He said it was in his nature to live fast but that he would absolutely respect my feelings on the matter.”
Yumiko’s jaw dropped. “You’re not serious?!” She slumped into her hand and groaned. “You actually believed him?! No guy is really that nice!”
Read the rest at Archive of Our Own
@awkward-confused @raygard-elvets @somechick30003 @thicchaco @shigashigashig @teachillvibes
@sadlynikki @the-midnight-slasher-thot @questylousqueer @lynaminroll @crackheadwithtoes @crispyathletepurseduck @shadyfarmcookiefish @bouncing-bunnie @serenesong @kirishimaisthatbitch @oikawascakee @brialoveskbtbb @lisajamie99 @lilypadofthelake @softdumpling @neutralchaosintheworld @asianchubs @lovely92sworld @feral-creep @arie1107 @razormoon
@serenesong @edensblog101703 @all4one @wifeofhandvillain @fallen-baron
@rare-yanderes -though Idk if this is rare enough for you
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