#I live for autumnal and winter daylight | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wildemaven · 7 months

Text

meant to be | javier peña

-> pairing: javier peña x f!reader

-> wc: 1645

-> content warnings: 18+ blog; domestic javi, established relationship, unprotected p in v, fluff, talks of starting a family, reader has zero descriptive features

-> a/n: this was posted on my other account and i am moving it here now. it is also a rewrite of an older fic i did with frankie.

masterlist

Fall is settling in nicely in Texas. The days are still warm, but the weekends no longer hold as much daylight as they did weeks ago.

Everything transitioning into its autumnal journey, your yard drenched in rustic hues and sunshine.

You and Javier both loved taking advantage of the nicer weather, wanting to soak up as much of it as possible before the shift into a colder season, deciding to spend your evenings on the patio as the days wound down and the sun set behind the pasture on the west side of the ranch.

Chores were the first thing that needed to be tackled. Divide and conquer seemed to work well for you both. You took on the inside duties of laundry, dusting, and food prep, while Javier managed the outside— mowing, tree trimming, truck washing.

Bed made with clean sheets, a load of dirty clothes placed into the washer– the previous load hung in the backyard on the clothesline, dinner prepared and waiting– your list of to-do’s dwindling as the day went on. Now you find yourself planted at the sink of dirty dishes, your kitchen window a front row seat to the old barn, your eyes glued on your husband as he washes his truck.

His striped sky blue shirt encapsulates every detail of his back, sleeves tight around the bulk of his arms, muscles flexing as he scrubs the soapy sponge back and forth across the metal surface– and you thank whoever designed his well-fitted jeans. A week's worth of dirt slowly slid off the sides of the old ranch truck, a prized possession that had been passed down from Chucho when Javier had decided to take on more responsibilities around the ranch.

It has been two years since moving into the home Javier grew up in, wanting something big with the hopes of starting a family in the future. Chucho insisted you both move in, stating the house was far too big for just him— he moved into the ranch’s guest house down the dirt road. Memories tucked to every corner of the house, old family photos still hanging in the very spot his Mama placed them.

Javier must sense he’s being watched when he turns towards the kitchen window, catching your eyes on him. His gaze lingers a bit, soap and water dripping from the sponge in his large hand. He shoots you a wink with a smile that makes you instantly weak.

“Shit!” The mug you had been washing slips from your soapy hands into the water below, water splashing back at you, soaking the thin material of your dress, your attention drawn back to the sink and the remaining dishes. Somehow Javier still makes you flustered after all these years with just a simple look thrown your way.

Glancing back out the window again to find Javier is no longer there, the suds freely dripping off the truck door and sponge discarded on the ground. The creak of the screen door lets you know exactly where your husband is as you proceed to dry the drinking glasses and place them in the cupboard. His shuffling around in the living room does little to help you know what he’s up to.

“Javi?” You call out to him as you finish putting away the last of the plates and bowls, wiping the counter off before you go in search of your husband.

The slight crackle of a record starting makes you aware of his location– the living room. His old collection of records and record player had been boxed away in the attic after he moved away. Last Spring, while you were putting away the winter blankets, you stumbled upon his music collection– something from nearly every genre. You pulled everything down one weekend while he was busy in town with Chucho, having everything set up on the bookcase and a record going when he got home. It became a habit that one of you would slip on a new record, windows open allowing the breeze to carry the songs throughout the house.

A familiar tune begins, it instantly brings a smile to your face.

“Wise men say...”

The low timber of his voice sends a tingle down your spine any time he sings your wedding song. For such a reserved man, who refuses to indulge in karaoke, he jumps at any chance to serenade you within the walls of your home— one of the many things you love about him.

A set of arms wrap around you, welcoming you back from your walk down memory lane, pulling you against his chest as he begins to move about the kitchen with you. Your bodies swaying together as the music continues, his face nuzzled in close to your cheek as he hums along with the song.

“Like a river flows

Surely to the sea

Darling, so it goes

Some things are meant to be…”

Your body leans into him, the rest of the chores fully abandoned as you both waver about the kitchen, savoring how easy it is to create new memories in your home.

“You sure know how to get out of chores Peña.” You tell him just as he spins you around so you’re facing him, looping your arms around his neck while his hands settle on your back— Javier singing along completely ignoring your comment.

“If I’m not mistaken Querida, I’m pretty sure you were hardly putting an effort into yours.” He teases you before grabbing your hand to send you twirling around. You can’t contain your laughter, living for these spontaneous moments of ease with the man you’re so completely head over heels for. Your body is pulled back into his, resuming the energetic flow between the two of you. A sweet rhythm of bliss now strumming through your body as you melt into his arms.

“Hmm, I don’t know what you’re talking about…” Hiding your smirk into his warm neck, knowing full well what he’s referring to.

“That wasn’t you gawking at me through the window—“

“I was not gawking, Javi!” As you playfully pat his chest. “I was just admiring the view.”

“You were in fact gawking. I think I clocked you at 10 minutes from the first moment I noticed you hadn’t moved.”

“You are so exaggerating!” He’s definitely not wrong though, it’s hard to pull your eyes away from such a thing of beauty.

“How about we take this to the bedroom, Querida– and I’ll show you exaggeration!” He taunts into your ear.

“Javier! Your truck is half washed in the driveway— and I know you’re going to be pissed about the soap drying on it right now. Plus, I already made the bed.”

He’s dragging you back towards the stairs that lead to the bedroom, his infectious smirk displayed across his stupid handsome face, your body doing little to stop itself from his magnetic pull.

“I’ll just wash it again. I’ll even set a chair up for you to admire up close. Get you one of those ice cold beers too.” He says as he falls back into the bed, pulling your body on top of his.

“And I’m pretty sure this won’t be the last time we dirty these sheets this weekend…” His voice muffled against your neck, his lips planting kiss after kiss as he pleads his case– you easily succumb to his antics.

His hands work at the line of buttons that trail down the front of your dress, your own undoing his buckle before working at the button and zipper of his jeans– he hisses as your hands hastily move over bugle straining behind his jeans.

Your dress is open and hanging off your shoulders as you slowly sink down on Javier’s cock, the stretch of him a welcomed adjustment, his length hitting something delicious as you settle at the base of him.

“Fuck, Javi!!” Hands splayed over Javier’s firm chest for support, your head thrown back as a rapturous whine pours out into the room, a slight bounce to your breasts as you move— the cups of your bra pulled down, the cool air has your nipples pebbled and tight. Javier is taken by your angelic state— you're a sight to be seen.

Javier’s fingers are digging into the meat of your thighs, the slow stuttering roll of your hips as you move over his cock has him worked up faster than he has anticipated.

“Querida— Shit! Baby, I’m not gonna last— you look so good riding my cock like that!” His hips bucking up at the feeling of your cunt clenching around him.

“I’m right there with you, Amor!”

A few swipes over your throbbing clit and a string of quick thrusts, both of you cresting the euphoric peak in unison.

You collapse on top of Javier, a strong arm wraps around your waist, a hand cupping your neck, Javier determined to keep you as close as possible— you fully melting into his touch.

Breathing ragged and hearts racing— bodies perfectly satiated and filled with an intense love for each other.

“I should probably get up and get dinner started. That should be plenty of time for you to rewash the truck.” You don’t show any signs of actually doing so, too relaxed to care about finishing the rest of your chores.

“Or— we can just lay here a little longer. Save the food and truck washing for tomorrow. We can go into town later and get dinner instead.”

“A man after my heart. I’d marry you if I wasn’t already.” He rolls you off him onto your back, hands roaming over your dewy skin as he kisses you slowly.

The lull of the record player echoes through the house as the music fades out, clothes and sheets are thrown about the bedroom, the day’s plans forgotten as you both seek out a more exhilarating afternoon.

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x f!reader #wildemaven writes #pedro pascal

188 notes · View notes

sapphos-ode · 10 months

Text

Little Cat

Part 7

Larissa Weems part 6 | part 8 | ao3

I’ve decided to stop obsessing over this part of the story, and just post it. I must apologise because there is no harvest festival yet. It’ll come in due time tho! Also originally part 8 was part 7 too but I decided to split it up :) please bear (bare?) with me during part 7 and 8, I just didn’t want to rush right into the festival

It was halfway through the school week, you had packed your stuff and taken refuge in your quarters promptly after your last class of the day - the autumn sun was still in the sky and you could hear your violin calling out to you. With winter fast approaching, your nights out on your balcony were limited.

So with a mug of fruit tea sat on your wrought iron table you pulled notes from the instrument with no particular song in mind. Idly your eyes travel up to Larissa’s office balcony - it faces yours and you’re pretty sure the huge bay window jutting out next to it is her living quarters. It was only very recently you learnt her office overlooked your room.

You notice a shadow standing in the office window, you can tell it’s Larissa, the silhouette of her hair was unmistakable and so too was her towering stature, proud and tall. You wave up to her, hoping she notices - and she does, returning the wave in a much more elegant manner. Then she leaves her place at the window, the lights turn off and you lose sight of her.

You smile to yourself, allowing Larissa to fill your thoughts. Slowly you start to play David Kushner’s ‘Daylight’. The sharp notes of the violin ring out through the air as you draw the bow back and forth over the strings - swaying a little to the rhythm as your eyes slip close.

You’re so lost in the music you fail to notice a white cat poke its head out of Larissa’s office balcony door, look at you, then pounce up onto the eaves to the roof with practised ease. The blonde had taken to visiting you pretty much every night now, and you had always welcomed her with plenty of cuddles and kisses. Each morning you’d awake to an empty bed, and each morning Larissa would wake feeling rejuvenated, memories of your arms around her fresh in her mind.

A series of meows draws you out of your trance as you stop playing. You set the violin on the table and lean down to scoop up the cat into your arms, peppering its little face with kisses. It’s heart hammering away in its chest.

“Hello again my darling,” you coo, petting under its chin. As per the usual, a deep roaring purr comes from the cat.

A particularly cold gust of wind sweeps past and you shiver. Perhaps it was time to turn in for the night. So with the cat bundled in one arm and your violin in its case in the other, you slip back into your room, the window shuts with a click, signalling the latch had engaged itself successfully. The window seal blocking out any draughts.

Larissa should’ve been more concerned that the window had locked shut but at that moment she was drinking in your perfume and the feeling of you.

The violin is deposited back in its place before you gather a cosy blanket from the bed and bundle it on the edge of your keyboard.

“I gotta give you a name,” you murmur whilst settling Larissa down on it before sitting on a small stool.

You press a few keys just to hear the sound.

She mewls a little.

“That’s a lovely name but I don’t understand cat,” you chuckle, bringing a hand up to pet her cheek.

She chuffs at this.

You stare at her. Pensive and unreadable. There’s something recognisable in the cat's blue eyes.

“You remind me of Larissa,” it clicks suddenly, you watch the cat stiffen at the mention of the name, “how does Bärchen sound?”

The cat looks at you with a quizzical look. Larissa had taken Latin during her time at Nevermore, and took a few extra classes in French at university. Never had she taken German. Her curiosity was severely intrigued now and soon enough you provided her the answer.

“Means Little Bear,” you say.

Larissa relaxes, glad she hadn’t been found out and nuzzles into your hand a little.

“I named my childhood cat Microwave cause I loved just repeating that word as a toddler,” you reminisce with Bärchen. She begins to purr, curling up and closing her eyes.

‘That poor cat.’

“She’s a very beautiful woman,” you speak up after a moment, flicking through a tattered book of sheet music you’d stolen from your dad. You’d taken it ages ago, and only now had you got round to snagging a cheap keyboard to start playing.

Larissa peeks an eye open, was she hearing you correctly? You thought she was beautiful?

She looks up to your face but you're focused on skimming over the notes to some song. She’d missed the chance to study your face.

You settle on a piece that looks easy enough, you begin to play, very choppily and slowly. Every other note you press would be wrong, and it would create a jarring sound. Usually followed by a swear from you.

The piano wasn’t coming to you easily. After a prolonged period of suffering (you weren’t playing perfectly the first time) you gave up, slapping the book shut with an irritated sigh.

Larissa lets out a soft noise, to make her presence known. As much as she enjoyed listening to your violin sessions, your piano left a lot to be desired and to be frank. Was painful to listen to. Perhaps she could bring up the piano in conversation and offer to teach you sometime.

In mute horror Bärchen watches you lift your hands to the keys again but this time you play a song you had taught yourself from those YouTube videos with the colourful bars dropping down to a png of a piano to show you what notes to play. Your finger placement is unconventional but it does the job in allowing your hands to move to where they need to be. Yiruma’s ‘River Flows in You’ starts to ring out through your bedroom. Larissa had heard it many times at the school talent shows. But since it was you playing she enjoyed it.

You hold the last note before sighing heavily, eyes closed as you let the silence ebb back in. Larissa is a shapeshifter, not an empath but even she could sense the anguish you’re in. She stands up from the nest you had made her and pads over to you, hissing when a series of notes erupt. She’d forgot the keyboard was still turned on.

Your laughter calms her down. And in a short few moments you’ve picked her up and laid on your bed. Deciding to close your eyes for a short nap whilst essentially spooning her.

What was meant to be a quick snooze turned into a deep sleep, you were out cold and had been for the last several hours. As much as Larissa loved her predicament. She did have emails she needed to answer and a whole host of other duties. So, with no sign of life from you Larissa slipped from your clutches - immediately missing and craving your warmth.

She hopped over to the window. It didn’t budge when she pushed it with her head. She guessed it was just a little more stubborn today so she put some force behind her second attempt. A hefty thud was heard and still. The window remained steadfast and left her a little stunned. That’s when Larissa remembered vaguely hearing the window lock behind you. Every other time you’d left it just a smidgeon open for her.

‘Shit,’

Larissa glanced over at you, who was still peacefully asleep. With a deep breath she shifted back into herself. She paused, deathly still to see if you stirred. You didn’t, to her relief. You must have been exhausted, she wouldn’t be surprised if the apocalypse didn’t rouse you from your slumber.

The Principal undoes the latch slowly. Making no noise whatsoever, she looks over her shoulder at you in time to see you tighten your arms around the spot where she had been. Even asleep you sensed her absence, causing your brows to furrow. Larissa’s heart ached for you. She slowly tiptoed over to you, careful to avoid any squeaky floorboards, once safely at your bedside she leaned over and pressed a featherlight kiss on your temple - faint traces of her lipstick ghosted your skin. Any and all tension in your body left you and you looked a lot more peaceful.

Satisfied, Larissa made a quick exit to your balcony before shifting again and returning to her office.

The next day Larissa had caught you in the corridors on your way back to your classroom after covering a botany class, the teacher having taken ill.

“Ah! Miss. Karnstein!”

The blonde watched as you stopped very abruptly and whisked your body to face her, your attention in its entirety focused solely on her. Her heart flutters in her chest as she watches your lips turn into a smile. Your eyes flooding with warmth as they usually are.

“Principal Weems, please just call me Atikah,” you bump into her with your hip playfully, “we were on first name basis at the weekend, were we not?”

Larissa’s cheeks redden as she recalls the drunken night, not that she regrets a single thing. If anything she was delighted that she had accidentally knocked on the door. If she hadn’t been so tipsy she might even have been able to notice the palpable tension between you.

“Well then, Atikah,” now or never was all Larissa could think. She took a steadying breath, but it didn’t help much. “I was wondering if- I was- ” Larissa cuts herself off. Nerves getting the best of her. This was ridiculous - she was the principal of Nevermore, her whole life she faced nothing but adversity. It was not an easy life but she had triumphed and blossomed into a remarkable woman who had gone on to do amazing things and would go on to do even more - yet here she was. Struggling to ask a friend (she considered you to be friends) if they wanted to spend time with her.

“Everything alright, Larissa?” You begin to worry for her, a tangible wave of anxiousness seems to be radiating off of her mixed with a great deal of nervousness. You can’t help but feel a little anxious too… about what you don’t know.

“Yes- yes everything is quite alright,” her voice seems shaky, concerning you more,” I just wanted to…” Larissa trails off. Suddenly she can’t seem to keep eye contact with you. Her gaze falls just past your shoulder as she slips into silence. Brow furrowed. You miss having those baby blues trained on you.

“My classroom’s just up the corridor and I don’t have a class this period, come on,” you reach out and cautiously take one of her hands in yours and lead her the small way to your classroom.

Larissa allows herself to be dragged by you, enjoying how your hand fits in hers. Unconsciously, and to her absolute horror, her hand tightens around yours. She holds her breath and hopes you don’t comment on it. You don’t, but what you do do is tighten your own grasp whilst looking over your shoulder to give her a reassuring look.

Principal Weems doesn’t recall when she entered the room, or when you locked the door. Or how she ended up sitting in your chair with you perched on the edge of the desk directly in front of her. Your position means she’s having to look up just a little to meet your eyes. And god you’re really close to her… Larissa’s curious if she opened her legs would you go down on your knees in front of her and-

“What’s up Larissa? You’re tense.”

The woman snaps out her daydream and meets your eyes, confusion on her face before she catches on.

‘Just ask her!’

“Harvest festival, are you going with me!?” It comes out jumbled and rushed. Crude even.

Your eyes are wide and you purse your lips, about to answer before Larissa speaks up again.

“I’m sorry, what I meant to ask was if- if you’re going to the Harvest Festival, and if you’d like to join me,” Larissa regains some semblance of composure, “I’m asking if you’d like to go to the Harvest Festival with me.”

You let out the softest laugh, “you got that worked up over asking me to the Harvest Festival?”

Larissa makes a small noise in confirmation, feeling embarrassed over how agitated she got. There’s a vulnerable look in her eyes and she feels so small under your gaze. She fiddles with the hem of her dress. You lean over and place a hand on her cheek, caressing her face, at this she looks up into your eyes. She seemed so shy and unsure of herself.

“Do I make you nervous?” Your voice comes out as a coy whisper. Your eyes searching hers hungrily.

“Yes,” she said breathlessly. Her eyes lidded as she held your gaze.

You held your breath as you looked between her lips and her eyes. You were expecting her to bite back, not answer so earnestly. Your hand slid from her cheek to hold her chin, tilting her head up. You didn’t take your eyes off of hers as you leaned in a little, going slowly. You weren’t really thinking, but if that Saturday night spent with her after Alice had left was anything to go by, you had an inkling she may return your feelings. Just an inkling but it was enough for you to test the waters.

You catch how Larissa’s breath hitches in her throat. How her thighs press together as she squirms in her seat. The movement garners your attention and when you look back into those mesmerising blue eyes, she knows you saw. You lean in a little more. You can hear Larissa’s breathing - short and rapid-

Knock

You pause looking at the door with a scowl. A darkness clouding your eyes. Larissa was captivated by your sudden change in demeanour. If she wasn’t already hot and bothered down under, she definitely was now.

You think the intruder has left at the silence, so you turn your attention back to Larissa-

Knock knock

You pull back suddenly, your fleeting confidence gone - your face glowing red at your very ballsy move. You pray she won’t fire you over this. Her eyes are dilated though… not much of that gorgeous blue you love so much can be seen. Engulfed by her pupils.

“I would love to go to the Harvest Festival with you, thank you for asking, Larissa,” you speak softly before taking her hand and coaxing her to stand - leading her to the door where another knock is heard. Sounding rather urgent.

“I look forward to it,” your voice sincere.

Larissa nods, a little subdued from your earlier stunt but as soon as she opens the door she’s back into the oh so attractively confident and formidable Principal Weems mode. The person on the other side of the door stands to the side to allow Larissa to exit.

“Miss. Sinclair, I do apologise for stealing Miss. Karnstein, she’s all yours now,” Larissa pauses as she looks at Enid, lips pressing into a frown but the girl just wordlessly brushes past the Principal. Heading straight for a desk near the back. You shoot Larissa a look of concern which she shares with you.

“I’ve got it, don’t worry,” you whisper to her.

Larissa looks to Enid’s general direction and you can feel her worry for the young girl. It’s something you adore about Larissa, she truly cares for each and every student with her entire soul.

The blonde nods as she looks at you again before heading to her office. She’d check in on Enid herself later.

AN - again I’m sorry for the mess of this chapter

Tag list: @weemssapphic @blessmysouljessisonaroll

#larissa weems #larissa weems x reader

156 notes · View notes

starryficsfinishwen · 5 months

Text

✧!。◟[NSFW] ʟᴇ ᴘᴇᴛɪᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴇʀᴏɴ ʀᴏᴜɢᴇ — Von Negut x reader [PGR]

[ doubles as Halloween and 100 150 followers special! ]

“Bonjour, petite fille... Pourquoi marches-tu dans la forêt toute seule?”

a.n. - why does Tumblr have no option to react to comments LOL I'd like to thank the ones who reacted to the previous post and motivated me to make this one happen! I'M SORRY AGAIN FOR BEING SO LATE. I have finals in one-two weeks but hi I'm here LOL I also haven't edited this yet, I still have stuff to write notes and study but YOLO This was also planned to be the 100 followers special but yall. it grew to 150 already LMAO Im so thankful, thank u!!!!!!!!!!!!!

pairing - Wolf!Von Negut x f!human

words - 7,522

warnings - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. NSFW THEMES: virginity loss, corruption kink. blood and murder is involved. dubcon. mentions of murder. cunnilingus. porn with plot LOL

special mention - banners belong to @/saradika!

Your mother warned you not to stray from the path.

In your little town, the one you've grown up in, dense green foliage covers the borders. During springtime, flowers and pollen would fill your noses, and the sun is kind to let your laundry dry faster. In summertime, the trees give off cool air for you to sleep in late into the morning. Orange leaves that fall to the ground become the children's plaything, when autumn drenches your little town in cinnamon brown and orange hues. However, in the winter...

“Another victim!” cried out an elderly man as he wrapped the dead body in a thin sheet of cloth, “dear God!”

Townsfolk would gather around the center of the town square, as a dead body mauled to death would appear once a week during winter. Blood and broken bones paint the cobblestone, signaling the beginning of yet another cold winter.

You bring your red cape closer to your neck, the winter air shivering you to the bones. You look away at the horrendous sight of the dead body by the fountain, to which you've known the victim was once your playmate during your childhood years.

“It's those damned wolves!” one of your neighbors proclaimed, unsheathing his sword from his scabbard, “we must hunt them down while it's daylight!”

A murmur erupted amongst the crowd. Wolves— wild creatures that were the king of the woods. However, they are feral in nature, and they are unkind; they murder everything they see and soak them in blood. Once, they only hunted farm animals that the townsfolk had been taking care of (you remember the sheep your father once took care of; its wool ready to be sheared the next summer, yet it never came because its little body was never to be found, apart from the large, animal-like footprints left behind from its pen). Until one day, a human body would appear. And that was the day they all realized that the wolves were now hungry for human blood.

“It is daylight,” called out another neighbor, “we must hunt them down now!”

A ripple of cheers throughout the crowd. Men raised their weapons and lit their fire, holding it up into the air. Lingering through the crowd, countless cries mingled with the somber fury of men. You wish to run away from this sight, were it not for the hand that held you tight.

“They are idiots,” your mother, who lived half of her life in this small town, muttered. “Why should they risk their lives for something trivial like this?”

You wanted to retort, that a human life had died unwillingly to death, but you only grasped the handle of your bucket tighter. This, indeed, only interfered in your daily chore of fetching well water.

“I see your father in the crowd,” she sighs, the creases in your forehead somehow making her look older, “make sure he won't join them in this madness, will you, child?”

You nodded timidly. Although you wish to support the cause, your own kin's blood is far more important than anyone else's. As you prepare to wiggle out of your mother's grasp, the townsfolk suddenly fall silent; ominous, yet full footsteps from the cathedral, not too far from the towns square, echoed loudly.

A man draped in a long, black liturgical vestment, a bible in hand and a large cross hung across his neck. Behind the priest, a regal young nun with blonde hair and green eyes followed closely. Their presence alone made the whole town quiet down, parting to let the priest closer to the mangled body.

You've seen them so many times, yet their wonders still surprise you— the priest opens his old bible, the edges of the book fraying out. He holds onto the cross, steadying it just above the body, muttering a psalm with his eyes closed. The nun would pull out a small glass container, pouring the holy water onto the corpse, and it was set aflame— the townsfolk shrieked in surprise, yet the priest and his nun only stood without any reaction.

They have, after all, been the ones to clean up the messes of murder.

“Do not act so rashly, my brethren,” the priest spoke quietly as he gave the bible to the nun, “the creatures of darkness should not be sought; lest they return us the favor of more bloodshed.”

The people around the square quieted down. Slowly, some returned back to what they were originally doing, even your father who reluctantly went back inside the comforts of your home, until all that was left in the square was the priest, the nun, the ashes of the corpse, and the man who cried out for a hunt. The priest muttered to the man, one that you couldn't hear, but it must have infuriated him as he drew out his weapon and trudged north of the square.

You hear several of your neighbors starting to whisper again— something about being unfortunate, something about being the next victim.

“Well, that's the end of it,” your mother sighed, nudging you in the direction of the well, south, “your chores can't wait forever, dearie.”

Right. You forgot you weren't some omniscient god. You quickly picked up your buckets and walked south. But your eyes still lingered at the ashes that were picked up by the nun in her hand, unable to look away at the immense sadness reflected on her somber green irises.

You trudge forward.

Being a nun in your small town didn't seem bad. However, your mind often wanders to a future where you were in love with someone, bearing his children and living a long, loving life, despite not having a potential husband yet, that is— something that a nun cannot have, due to their devotional marriage to the Almighty.

These thoughts linger in your head, as you hum a worship song along the way, your two empty buckets clanking with your every step. It wasn't a long walk anyways, the well was now closer.

The noises in the bushes say otherwise.

The hairs on your neck prickle— you were aware rabbits occupied the area, their little paw prints digging into the snow during winter, but such noises were incapable of being made by such gentle, little creatures. You quickly pick up your pace, tugging your cape closer.

The bushes kept ruffling until you reached the well. When you look back, you only find your footsteps in the path, and the bushes were bushes. Breathing a sigh of relief, you do your business, tying your bucket and into the well.

“Aren't those buckets too heavy to carry, miss?”

If you think about it, they are— but not as heavy as your body, jumping to the sudden voice talking to you.

“W-what?” You put your hand to your chest, trying to steady your erratic heartbeat, “who's there?”

A leather shoe steps out of the shadows, before the voice reveals itself. He wore a white dress shirt with a large v-shaped cleavage dipping to his abdomen, his suit slung between his shoulders and flowing to the back, tucked neatly with clean black slacks. His eyes are a hazy shade of grey, dark hair slicked back. You've known all the faces in your little town, but with a face chiseled by the gods themselves...

He's not from this town.

“Apologies,” his lips started to move, face contorted with genuine worry, “I did not mean to scare you. The buckets you carry awfully look heavy, and I wish to help.”

Why was such a man here? You quickly stood to your feet, shaking your hands, “This has been a chore I've been doing since I was a child. You, sir, make me worry; why are you here? Are you lost?”

The man's stares linger, on the cape you wore, chuckling at your words, as if dismissing your warning. “I am not lost, little lamb. I happen to stumble across this area.”

Little lamb, it seemed to fit you as a nickname. All the other kids used to call you weak way back. But now it's different: the lady in red. But you shook your head, trying to forget the awful memory, “Do you wish to find shelter, then? I can ask the good ladies to provide you lodgings until you are ready to leave. You are not safe here, so may as well seek refuge.”

“Why?”

You ponder. Does this man not know about the rumor that circulates to the nearby towns?

Looking deep into his eyes, you mutter, “there is a wolf around the area. I suggest you leave before the day ends.”

In the middle of the darkness, sunlight peeks through the shade of the leaves. They highlighted the contours of his face. For a moment, you nearly miss the unreadable glint in his gray eyes and seemingly sharp teeth. But as you blink, his expression is nothing but confusion, as if he looked like a lost child.

“A wolf?” He hums, “ah, so the rumors were true. That sounds quite...saddening.”

“So you have heard,” nearly forgetting your task, you quickly carry your buckets once more, looking away from the charming man, “since you are well aware of the dangers here, then you should leave, good sir.”

“I'd rather you stay alive than to be an unknown victim in our town.” you added, before trudging through the path you came from.

A shame to leave him hanging, but you value your safety and mental health (even as you walk, you hear the incoming sermon of your mother). Out of the blue, the heavy weight in one of your arms disappears.

“Then that means I should at least help you with this, hm?”

You see him clear— pale skin, white teeth, sparkling eyes— in pure daylight, as he carries one bucket effortlessly.

“At least you and I can be safe from the wolf now, isn't that right, little lamb?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, hearing those words from the stranger. Shaking your head, supporting the weight of the only bucket you had in hand now, sighing.

“If you are not from this town, then let me introduce you to some ladies in town to let you rest. I feel bad when I let others do all my tasks.”

He laughs— heartily, it makes your tummy jump, you thought you heard heaven— “your kindness baffles me, little lamb.”

“I am only repaying what you have given to me,” You admit, smiling at him genuinely, “you are the one who is kindly carrying my bucket.”

“It is not heavy,” He mirrors your smile, and you nearly miss the sharp teeth, before it somehow turns back to human ones, “I see that you were the one struggling.”

You laughed before looking elsewhere, “I should probably give you something else, then.”

“Please, this is not a favor,” He stops before placing the bucket on the ground, “consider it as...a welcoming gift.”

He flashes you one last smile, before gesturing to the front. Confused, you turned to the direction he pointed— townsfolk going about their day, the children that were playing, and the fountain that seemed good as new, as if nothing happened earlier.

Turning to thank the stranger, you realize that he had long disappeared. Only the bucket that he helped carry remained.

Despite his sudden departure, a part of you had clung into some hope that he was safe. Maybe not in your town, but somewhere. Amongst the trees were other residents who grew tired of the fear that circulated within your little town, hoping that some were kind enough to let him in.

Fortunately though, the murder stopped. Usually, another body would have popped up in the town square, but instead, a yet-to-be lighted pine tree was erected near the fountain.

On another note, garlands of garlic and a symbol you couldn't recognize was carved onto the wooden posts standing by the entrance.

“It's to scare the wolf,” your father said after another work day, drinking from a bottle of ale that your mother prepared, “the priest commissioned us.”

The bucket of water seemed a bit heavy, several days after the kind stranger helped you. A greedy part of you wishes to see his ethereal face, but the rational one is too wary.

“He won't come back.” You said to yourself, disappointment tugging at the back of your throat, “He probably left town at this point.”

The rustling of the bushes behind you nearly scared the soul out of you. You think it's the wind, but the rustling only grew louder.

Raising one bucket to your chest, you prepare yourself to lunge at the upcoming threat in case it would jump out of its hiding spot. When that time came, you closed your eyes instead—

And a strangled, poor mewl of a cat was heard instead.

Opening one eye, you peeked to see a small kitten, perhaps smaller than the bread you consume every morning. Baby eyes peer at you, one more choked cry spewing out of its lips. Your heart crumbles at the poor creature, putting the bucket down so you could cradle it in your blemished hands, tucking it in the safety of your cape.

Too busy comforting the creature, you never noticed the looming shadow behind you.

“What a poor cat.”

You nearly threw the small creature in your hand. Looking back, your heart rattles as you lock eyes with the stranger from before. A part of you sighs in relief, partly to see that he was well and the other being relieved he was back, while the rest of your body shakes from his sudden arrival.

“Dear sir!” you breathed, fingers finding comfort by patting the kitten's soft head, “Please do not scare me like that. I do not know if I have a bad heart, yet.”

The pretty stranger laughs (at this point, you ask yourself if it was normal to have an upset stomach just from hearing his melodious laughter). Kneeling next to you, he stretches his hand out to the kitten in your hand, slender fingers caressing the area in between its eyes and its forehead.

“What a gentle, yet fragile creature.” He whispers, as if the words were only shared in between the both of you, “Pray tell, how did you find him?”

Ah, so he likes cats as well.

“He was mewling when I found him. I saw no signs of the mother.”

His eyebrows were stitched together, a subtle frown on his lips. Was this regret written on his features?

Fishing out something from his pockets, you trail his movements carefully as he pulls out a piece of meat, enough to fill the kitten's little stomach.

“I figured this would come in handy,” he chuckled, feeding the piece to the cat, “He needs it more than I do.”

You missed his words, instead, you were intently looking at his actions. “He is a he...?”

“Ah, so you have never known what gender cats bear?”

Timidly, you shook your head. “If the cat bears litter, only then will I know that they are a female.”

Golden eyes shine mischievously in the dark. Chuckling once more, he caresses the cheek of the kitten, to which the latter rubs against his fingers. He reached out, a strand of your hair in between his fingers, bringing them to his lips.

“How innocent you are, little lamb,” he whispers, “did your mother not tell you to talk to strangers?”

“She has, but if you were a demon, wouldn't you have killed me right now?”

His smile made your stomach churn, heartbeat skipping lightly in joy, “Quite perceptive, I like you.”

You giggle, “My mother tells me that, too.”

You bring the kitten to your eye level, a pout on your lips, noticing that you were going to be reprimanded should you bring an innocent feline in your raucous home.

“Little lamb, what's wrong?”

“I am afraid that I cannot bring this little one home. My family will be angry at me.”

The stranger sighed. Gently taking the warm cat from your hands, he smiles at you.

“I shall take care of him for you, then.” He spoke, “Only...”

Curiosity outweighs the warning signs flashing in your mind. You quietly asked, “Only...?”

“Will you come and visit me here, when you tend to your bucket? You shall see this creature whenever you like.”

Your heart leaps out of your chest as joy overwhelms you. No longer worrying about the poor kitten, you bowed to the stranger, thankful for his kindness.

“I still cannot believe how naïve you are, Little lamb.” You heard him mutter, but you paid no mind.

When you came back to the village, you failed to notice gray eyes following your every move.

You did your chores diligently. After all, you were a keeper of your word.

Almost everyday, you were rendezvous with the stranger, eager to care and see the growth of the kitten you found. At some point, you no longer questioned the history of the strange man; how could you, when it already felt like you were raising a family with him?

“Like a good mother,” he complimented once, “you take good care of things.”

Heat would rush to your cheeks, tummy fluttering with what you believed were an ache, were a bunch of butterflies taking home there, alongside your thundering heartbeat. (You would slap yourself, too, confusing the stranger and your family.)

Did you like the stranger? You never realized that the thought was buried in the back of your head, then. But all the same, gray eyes you came to remember would visit you, even in your wildest dreams.

On one particular day, while you were getting ready to fetch some water and meet with your stranger, your mother stopped you.

“Dear child, I'd like you to not do that for today.”

“But,” you paused, hands gripping the buckets, “is there something wrong?”

“I'd like you to take a day off, have your brothers do that chore,” she reached out to hold your shoulders, smiling, “spend a day with your dear mother, hm?”

But how could you inform the stranger you were with these past few months, when you were going out with your mother?

In the end, you couldn't get away; instead, she dressed you in your best ones, face coated with makeup you despised, and before the day ended, you found yourself sitting in front of a man you've never met before, a ring on his finger.

“[Y/N],” his honeyed words were nothing compared to the man in the forest, but the ring on his finger looked awfully more expensive than your life, glimmering and glinting as he announced, “we shall be wed soon, my bride.”

And your fate, though unfortunate, was sealed.

“You weren't here yesterday.”

You flinched from the tone of your friend, the stranger, as you picked up the fast growing kitten in your arms.

Even the cat noticed your distraught, licking your thumb. “I'm sorry...my mother did not make me leave the house.”

It wasn't a lie; after all, you hadn't left the house until you were being dragged to the saloon, your husband-to-be waiting for you.

“I really wanted to talk to you,” you added, twiddling with the kitten's tail, “but my mother...”

His gray eyes were...bleak. Looking at you with noticeable exhaustion, the man could only sigh. “I thought you broke your promise. You already know what would happen...”

You wonder how to break the news to the man. Aware that your attraction to him was more than what friends would feel, your heart crumbles at the thought of telling the truth.

“Dear sir...”

When he looks up, there was a small smile on his lips. “Little lamb, there is something that I must show you.”

Gently pulling you by the hand, you clutch your cape as the winter air seeps into your skin, trying to catch up at the speed of the man. By the time he slows down, you nearly forget you're human, legs surrendering from the exhaustion.

Thankfully, the man caught you first.

“I am sorry,” he said, as if he hadn't run so fast, “I forgot you aren't entirely athletic.”

You smiled at him, looking down to find the little kitten was snugly fit in his breast pocket, mewling contently.

“You can put me down now, dear sir,” you blushed, coughing, “I can walk on my own.”

“Nonsense,” he mirrors your smile, “let me carry you until we reach our destination.”

“Is it very far, then?”

Carrying you like a bride, he shook his head, a small smile on his lips, “We're quite close.”

The warmth and comfort as he carries you effortlessly, the smell of fresh pine and creeks— you could get drunk in this smell forever. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, trying to sneak your way in smelling more (it's too late; the stranger already knew.)

“You may open your eyes now, little lamb.”

You do. And you were not mistaken—

A field full of roses. Dressed in snow, it was the first time you've seen such a magnificent color, like blood, bleeding onto the white. When the stranger puts you down, your legs find themselves running to the field, eager to witness such beauty amongst the winter land.

“How...” words died in your throat, “How did you find something like this?”

Wordlessly, the stranger sits beside you as you fiddle with the flowers, fingers playing with your red cape, “I've told you; I'm a wanderer.”

Sometimes, you thought about your luck that was down the drain. But when you think about the stranger, the cat, and this beautiful scenery, a stray idea came to you, that made you look at the ashen-eyed man— what if you were to run away with him right now?

He looked back at you, piercing eyes glimmering as he slowly leaned to you, aware of how your breath was fanning his lips.

“Little lamb,” his words were your Achilles' heel, the sound of his voice dipping enough to make your heartbeat louder, “Pull away, should you not like what I will do next.”

What does he do next? Gently, softly, he presses his sweet lips to your inexperienced ones. Shortly, sweetly, with his eyes closed, it made yours flutter before surrendering to the feeling of the kiss.

You should pull away. You should have. You had a groom waiting for you at a church, the wedding a few days away. But was it a sin to kiss a man, a stranger you had fallen in love with, to wrap your arms around him, innocently and carelessly but passionately, as the kiss deepens? His heartbeat and yours in sync, your lips exploring whatever was there waiting for the unknown, his hands on your waist, holding your cape, breathing into each other's warmth— was it really a sin?

The stranger pulls away, somehow aware of the lack of oxygen, with a little whine from your lips, you almost made yourself want to hide away forever. But he only laughs, fingers caressing the apple of your cheek, a butterfly kiss on the tip of your nose. It was the first of your many kisses— and it made your stomach flutter wildly, your legs trembling from want.

“How cute,” the stranger chuckles, “And I thought you were innocent, little lamb.”

“I-It's my first time!” you mutter, looking away from his teasing expression, “I've never kissed anyone before...”

He leans closer, lips touching your cheeks, your jaw, feeling him smile as he inhales. “...do you regret, then?”

Do you? Your nails absentmindedly caress the nape of his neck, trying to look around but him. “No...”

“Good, because I want to kiss you more,” he admits, light kisses on your jaw, “God, it's all I want to do with you.”

His body presses more on you, and you only succumb to it— his warmth, his touch, his kisses. You wanted more, every part of you aching and aching until your body was screaming—

“Let's run away together.”

Your breathing chokes on your throat. Looking at him, his expression is serious and unwavering, your heart beating and breaking at the same time.

He moves and you're kissing him again. You forgot it's your first time, you forgot that he was a stranger— the pretty stranger was the water and you were drowning endlessly in him.

The kitten in his breast pocket mewled. It made you pull away. And reality, although painful, began to catch up with you.

“Little lamb?”

His gray eyes were looking at you with worry. Breathing unstable, you try not to let the tears prickling your eyes escape.

“Dear sir, I'm...sorry.”

“Why...?”

You try to drink all your regrets, pushing away the only warmth in this long, cold winter.

“I can't be with you.”

You don't remember what happened after.

You remember walking back, the warmth being overridden by the cold winter, your red cape dragging through the snow. You remember thinking that your mother would be mad at you, for not returning before sundown, that you should be preparing to meet with your betrothed. But to break your heart and the stranger— should you still call him that?— was far too much for your mind, that you had no emotion left whatsoever, to face what was waiting for you at the village.

Your footsteps are heavy. But at least, the light of the village was already bright. Wait, bright? Trudging through the thick snow a little faster, you hear incoherent cries and screams. By the time you reached the source, you felt someone grab ahold of your arm, causing you to yelp out loud.

“Where have you been?” Your mother's voice causes you to panic, poison dripping from her words, “You nearly made me have a heart attack!”

Your mother holds you by the chin, forcing you to look at the crowd by the square, seeing faces of horror amongst familiar faces. “Should you have shown yourself,” your mother sneered, “You would have been the talk of the town.”

With an opening from the crowd, you finally understood what your mother meant: the priest and his nun, an erected torch in the middle, and that horrid scene you thought you were done watching.

Another dead body. This time, their head was cut off.

---

How were you to know what happened next? Your mother forbade you to leave the house, fearing the wolf would hunt for another. Even all the other activities, including the meet-up with your betrothed, were canceled. You spent the rest of your days waiting, and waiting, unaware that you were supposed to meet with the stranger and fetch water from the well.

The stranger...the stranger you had fallen in love with, the stranger you thought you could run away with.

You sleep through your pain.

Until the days were slowly counting down to the wedding.

“[Y/N], dear,” one day, your father called you downstairs, “Will you please come and meet me here?”

When you did, you were greeted with a big basket, red cloth peeking in between the cover and its mouth. You noticed your mother and father were the only ones waiting for you in the living room, holding the basket together. You wanted to ask.

“It has always been our tradition to bury the flowers we grew before a member of the family were to be wed,” your father spoke, “Aa a tradition to honor our forefathers, we would like for you to do the same.”

“Your wedding day will be tomorrow,” your mother said, “and the priest already allowed us to leave the village, as long as you return before sunset.”

Ah, the wedding. How many weeks have you been holed up in your room, that you've forgotten?

“Not only that, your grandmother lives near the place we do the tradition. We'd like you to extend our invitations to her.” Your father added.

Your heart skipped a beat. It meant you were going to pass by the well, to meet your stranger. But your heart quickly sank— forgetting you've rejected him. There was a high chance he had left. Quietly and compliantly, you picked up the red cape you'd been wearing during your rendezvous and carried the basket that your parents had prepared.

“I'll be back before sundown, then.”

“We love you.” You don't miss those words, before the door closed on you.

The smell of pine trees on your cape still lingers on your cape.

With the first snow falling, your walk to your grandmother's cottage is far and long. But you don't mind, as the scent on your cape kept you company.

The basket is heavy in your hand, but you don't mind. It reminds you of the cat you found that day, and you wonder if it was now as heavy as the basket you carried. How was he? Is he safe? The stranger, will he not be mad after what you said?

It made you sigh from sadness. At the well, he was never there.

“Little lamb,” he would have called you like that, “what a kind little girl you are.”

His voice lingered, probably something that made you remember things. You remember the smell of pine trees on his fingers, the gentleness of his hands as he held the cat— onto yours. The way they easily slotted in between the gaps in your fingers, while you both lay underneath the kind sun, creating angels out of snow.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are?”

The way he spoke of your nickname, his touches and teases. It was taunting, it was teasing, but it was all you had. His warmth close to your freezing one, tender arms wrapped among yours.

“Little lamb, little lamb,” the lilt of his tone, the way it tickled your neck, the way it traveled to your tummy, “A pliant, little girl of mine.”

Your memories morph into something else— an image of you, in between his hips, your dress dangerously lifted up your stomach. His hands were holding you by the waist, your arms on his shoulders. In your memory, you hear yourself in a tone you would have recognized as something so indecent, something so intimate. Calling the stranger with gray eyes and slicked-back dark hair in a name that you don't recognize, but somehow knew.

“Von Negut,” how vulgar, the name of someone you never recognized, “more, please.”

Do you remember something like this? When your mouth was on the stranger's lips, the way you grinded on his thigh, sultry moans you never knew that you could make—

You tripped on the snow, causing you to wake up from the memory you had. Catching on your breath, trying to grasp reality, you immediately notice that you toppled over your basket. But thankfully, the flowers in it were still intact. Shaking away the sudden fall, you try to move your body, but down there...you disregard it, as the cold was already disturbing you enough. You prepare to advance forward.

But to your surprise— grandmother's cottage was already in front of you.

---

For as long as you remember, your grandmother was the one who gifted you the red cape.

“It's to protect you from the wolves,” she said, “and you look prettier in red.”

You hoped it was true. Especially with all the murders.

“Grandma,” you called out as you knocked on the door, “It's me, [Y'N].”

A few more knocks should have made her open the door. But on your fifth knock, your grandmother had not made a sound inside. Quietly, you opened the door with a secret that your grandmother taught you when you were younger.

By the time the door opened, you were met with silence and darkness. “Grandma?”

Walking through the wooden floor, your step creaking, you look around to see if your grandmother is asleep. Eventually, you found yourself in her living room, where someone was sitting on a chair facing the windows.

“Grandma?” You called out once more.

“Hello, dear little red hood.” A nickname she fondly called you.

“Hello, grandma. I'm sorry I took so long, that I wasn't able to visit you.”

You quickly placed your basket on the nearest table, rushing to meet your grandmother, but she raised her hand midway, causing you to stop.

“...as much as I want you to pay your respects, dear, I would refrain you from doing so. Grandma...is not feeling well.”

You only noticed the gruffness of her voice. Bowing your head (with a little disappointment), feeling bad for her, wishing you brought medicine as well.

“What brings you here, child?”

“I wished to see you,” you began, “...and I wanted to tell you...to come and visit the town tomorrow. I will be wed by noon.”

A pin-drop silence enveloped the room before your grandmother cackled.

“Marriage, huh?”

You sigh wistfully, the stranger you met crossing your mind, “I...yes.”

“Who is the lucky man?”

“I have never met him before. But my mother said he is the son of one of the best hunters in the region.”

“Does not sound very convincing, tch.” You noticed the anger from her tone, but still, you did not mind.

“Pray tell, dear,” she began once more, “Along the way, did you want this marriage?”

The stranger. The kitten. Your heart and mind. They were all finding someone else. “No...I, I cannot say...”

“Did you not really dream of anyone else, hm?”

Did you? You suddenly remember the lewd thought you had earlier, of the name you called, which made your cheeks flush red, and down there...

“Tell me, little lamb, did you not think of me?”

You froze. No one else called you that nickname. Looking up, the person sitting on the chair finally revealed himself.

The stranger, with sharp teeth and blood in his mouth.

“S-Sir?”

“I wondered when you were going to show up, little lamb.”

With every step he took to you, you would move backward, until you bumped onto the table. Without wasting any time, your stranger pressed himself to you, caging you in between his arms, making you scream.

“Did you miss me?”

“Y-You're the wolf?”

“And here I thought you were glad to see me,” tenderly, like before, his fingers grade your jaw and lips, hungry gray eyes looking on your lips, before staring at your eyes. His fingers found themselves taking a strand of your hair to his lips.

“Marriage, it's a shame.” He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your hair, “I mean, he'd be lucky to have my little lamb as his wife.”

You're shaking in his arms, afraid and somehow aware of his size now that his jacket is out of the way, muscles and skin showing and touching yours. Down there, your legs tremble, and you try not to cry from being intimidated by this bloody man.

“But no marriage would happen tomorrow anyway.”

“Wh-what?”

Pulling out from his pockets, the sunlight glints at the gold band on his fingers, bloodied and gone.

“D-Did you-”

“-kill the man? I would be ruthless; of course not. I merely bullied him to give me the wedding band.”

Like your moment at the rose field, the stranger nuzzled his nose to your cheeks, making you sniffle your cries. “I've been waiting for you for a long, long time now, little lamb.”

Pulling away, pity and sadness were reflected in his eyes, a small frown on his pretty lips. Taking your hand, slipping in the bloody ring on yours, he began to speak.

“Do you know what I had to go through?”

Timidly through your tears, you shook your head. “N-No...”

“Wolves feed on human blood. Without it, we would die.”

He gently kissed your fingers, before whispering, “It was hell; trying to kill just to survive.”

A part of you somehow pitied this man. But he ruthlessly and mercilessly murdered every man in your little town. You looked at him as he continued to kiss your fingers.

“There is a solution to this problem, though.”

As if finding eureka, your stranger's eyes glimmered brighter than the ring you had in hand.

“I had to find my mate.”

His fingers were brushing away the tears streaming on your cheeks, kissing them away, “...and she happens to be you.”

He kissed you. Lips stained with blood, that you could taste in between breaths. But unlike his nature, he was kind, he was still so gentle.

“My little lamb,” he whispered in between kisses, “Be with me, or...”

His lips were now kissing the area underneath your ear, before threatening, “...I will murder everyone in that village.”

“No!”

With all your strength, you push him off, knocking the table and the basket in the process. But your attempts were futile; he grabbed your cape, causing you to fall onto the scattered flowers on the floor. Screaming and crying through the fear, you helplessly tried to shake out of his hard grasp on your arms above your head. But he already had you pinned in between his body.

“Ah, ah, little lamb,” He teases, “I'd rather you not do that.”

He leans down to you, lips capturing yours. You are helpless in his grasp, with nowhere left to run. His kiss was fiery, passionate. You were afraid, but the way that you molded perfectly onto him, the heat pooling at your legs, his weight above you; you could only pull away for energy, before being kissed once more.

“Von Negut,” you unconsciously cried out, mouth clamping for being carelessly moaning out loud when his leg brushed you down there.

He froze. Looking up, you swore his fangs were showing.

“So you remember,” he grinned, “I am glad I didn't have to introduce myself again, [Y/N].”

He knew who you were, like how you knew who he was before. The memory from earlier resurfaced, and you could only whine from the way he was kissing and teasing you with his lips.

“Let me touch you, little lamb,” he murmured, which you unconsciously opened to him, “let me show you that you are mine.”

His knees found themselves slotted in between your slightly exposed bottoms, your skirt now on your stomach. You try to wiggle out of his grasp, but with Von Negut tearing apart your blouse with one hand, you are more exposed.

“Beautiful,” he inhaled through your bra, burying himself there, “Mine.”

It really was too much: the heat, the wetness pooling down there, and his lips latched on your chest as he stripped you bare. Weakly, you cried out to stop, tears now endlessly crying as your voice turned into helpless moans.

With his free hand, he slipped it in between your thighs, prying your legs open. Neverminding the undergarments as he effortlessly tore them once more, his fingers were toying with your drenched thighs, purposely avoiding your neglected clit.

“Fuck, already wet?” Von Negut chuckled, “What a naughty little slut you are, little lamb.”

Embarrassment flooded you endlessly. His fingers finally decided to play with your wet folds, every sound echoing throughout the room. But just when you thought it was over, Von Negut hovered over to your exposed cunt, mouth drooling as he looked at you: disheveled and confused, amongst the fallen flowers on your back.

“This is mine too, hmm.” Licking one long stripe, you moaned his name out loud, fingers threading his now unkempt hair.

“V-Von Negut, n-no, it's too dirty there...”

“But doesn't it feel nice, hm?” He digs into your pussy, kitten licks on your clit as he played with your sopping wet hole. “You must be lying; you taste heavenly.”

Von Negut felt like he was in heaven at this point. Watching you writhe as he expertly and sloppily ate you out, forgetting the aching tent in his pants. Right now, what you wanted, was to prepare you for something big.

But with you moaning his name without any filter, then God, he was ready to cum right there and then.

“Mmh, look at this, such a virgin little hole, too,” He eases two fingers in, and fuck, it was already tight, with you crying from the pain.

“N-no more, p-please...”

“Little lamb- ah, please stop moving, mmh-” He tries to slip in one more finger, but you wouldn't stop moving. With two fingers, he curled it just right, as you arched your back with a moan.

“Von Negut, no more...!”

“You're coming now, aren't you, little lamb,” he laughed, watching as you bit your teeth, watching in the next few moments before you would come undone.

“W-what's happening?”

You wouldn't know, but Von Negut does. “Cum for me, little lamb.”

Per his instructions, your pussy clamps on his fingers, liquid coming out endlessly as you came violently, coating his hand. Von Negut laughs at your misfortune, but you-

“So, goddamn beautiful, little lamb,” he cooed, trying to call you back to reality from your first orgasm, “we're still not done...”

When he pulled his fingers out, your hole was still clenching around nothing, only igniting the thirst he had for you. Watching as you weakly turned on your stomach, crawling away, Von Negut takes his time, unbuckling his belt, revealing his massive, leaking cock.

Grabbing you by the hips, he drags you closer, cock rubbing in between your ass, making you whimper. “If I put this big thing inside of you, I'm going to make you my woman, hm?”

You turned behind him, watching it in between you, rubbing it against the good parts, “W-wait, will that even f-fit me?”

“You're my good little lamb,” he cooed, tip rubbing your overstimulated clit, “I'm going to tear through your hymen, you won't be a virgin anymore. You're going to be my little lamb, my little cocksleeve.”

His words spurred you on, hole clenching once more around nothing, “N-No, please-!”

“You'll take it like a good fucking girl.”

Without hesitation, he plunged the tip into your tight ring of muscle, your voice crying out from the pain as he sank into you, some blood gushing out, with cream forming from where he fucked you. He was supposed to let you adjust, to let you get used to his girth. But fuck, you just can't be still- your cunt asking him to fuck you more, to suck his dick deeper onto you. With a loud moan, Von Negut bottoms out, the tip hitting your g-spot.

“V-Von Negut-!”

You came violently once more, fluids coming out of your newly-claimed hole, tears and shaking as proof of your defeat. Von Negut should be smiling, then- after all, he was finally yours, as much as you were his.

“Little lamb?”

But you weren't listening. Instead, you subconsciously grind on his dick more, whining impatiently. “Nngh, p-please.”

“Fucked out already, hm? Fuck, and I thought you were so innocent”

Effortlessly turning you to face him without getting you off his cock, Von Negut finally sees your beautiful tear-strained face, helpless as he fucks you properly this time.

Was it always this blissful? Every noise and sound that Von Negut could coax right out of you was perfect. That his mate, the fated red hood, the panacea of all his problems, was finally his to take? Fucking you deeper and harder now, he presses a hand on where the bulge from fucking you was seen.

“Little lamb, [Y/N],” he called out, noticing that he was ready to come, even if he was seeing the expression on your face, “I'm so close...”

“P-please,” you lulled, brain fogging from the pain and pleasure, “V-Von Ne-Negut,”

The clench of your pussy, the way you called his name, and the way his cock was pistoning in and inside of your used pussy— fuck, that was all it took for Von Negut to moan your name and fill your insides, painting your walls white, overflowing, even before he hadn't pulled out yet.

With a sigh, he comes back to Earth, watching as you ride out the last of your orgasm. Pulling out, as messy as it was, with his cum dripping out of you, he tries to succumb to the urge to fucking it back inside. Von Negut carries you in his arms, carrying you to the spare bed he had prepared. You must have been exhausted, seeing that you couldn't open your eyes as he carried you.

“I hope the prophecy was right, then.”

Your mother once told you not to stray from the path.

But you were far from the path that was laid out to you. Somewhere amongst the dense trees of spring and summer, or the fallen leaves in autumn, and the cold in winter, you settled on a cottage far from the village. There, you could clean, cook, or sleep whenever you wanted,

It could be lonely, but it's not all the time. At least, when you're a ghost.

If you ever find a man in the woods asking to help, decline the offer. Unless you want to be a victim of his whims.

“Little lamb,” he'd call you that, “I hope your mother told you not to stray the path.”

please like and share!! likes, shares, reblogs are appreciated!!

>> starlillies <<

#pgr #punishing gray raven #punishing gray raven imagines #pgr commandant #pgr global #pgr vonnegut #von negut

48 notes · View notes

knifedancer · 7 months

Text

Falling in Autumn

The miraculous causes side effects. Marinette picks up the hibernation instincts of a bug: seasonal exhaustion, seeking warm and dark spots to burrow into… I think you know where this is going.

Hibernation trope, Felinette style. Gratuitous Fluff.

Originally posted on AO3.

Silly Thoughts

~~~~~~~

It was a rare frigid autumn where even the daylight hours felt cold regardless of the amount of sun peeking through the clouds. It was so chilly that Paris had already gotten an unseasonable snowfall that week! Not enough for snowball fights, but just enough to leave everything sporting a thin layer of white. Parisians were already bundling up in coats, scarves, and mittens to stay warm. One resident took this bundling to the extreme…

Marinette had known the miraculous, when worn for long periods of time, would rub off certain intrinsic effects on their holders. Tikki had first told her about it when Chat Noir started being able to purr and seek out pets on her balcony during his night-time visits to the bakery. The Ladybug kwami told her that the effects varied from holder to holder but one thing was always common among those that wielded bug-themed miraculous: winter dormancy.

At first the idea of going into a hibernation-like state seemed silly to the teenage bug-heroine. Then the first fall since attaining the magical earrings drew nigh. Marinette noticed that no amount of sleep seemed to leave her feeling rested, she was more affected by the cold, and she tended to try burrowing into dark but warm places unconsciously. Her superhero outfit changed to be slightly thicker and lined with a mysterious, unknown furry material to trap in body heat. Marinette likened it to fleece or velour, it acted like super strong thermals under her suit. Even then, Ladybug would find herself occasionally curling up against Chat’s side during particularly chilly night patrols out of desperation.

Fortunately for the Parisian heroes, it seemed Hawkmoth was also impacted by the insect miraculous effects. The period from Fall to Spring had proven to be a much quieter time for akumas. Tikki had explained that not only would the butterfly holder be impacted, but his living butterfly counterparts as well. The fluttering wings of a magic-powered butterfly were no more impervious to cold and turbulent weather than your common garden variety. If Hawkmoth was attempting to send out an akuma, they could be blown entirely off course by strong storm winds or slow to a mere crawl when the temperature dropped too low. This was a boon for the heroes and all of Paris. It meant an attack happened less frequently but the akumas were usually stronger than the rest of the year. The two heroes joked that it was probably because old Hawky was frustrated with the miraculous effects!

During the school days, Marinette would double or even triple up warm layers. There was even a box of handmade scarves and mittens packed away solely for this purpose. Then she would sleepily cuddle up next to Alya and partake of her warmth on their shared classroom bench. The two friends were always affectionate with each other, so it didn’t seem too odd to the casual observer. Doctors had excused the syndrome as some sort of odd thyroid or seasonal narcolepsy condition. However all tests came back normal and it did not appear to be harming her overall health nor development. Ultimately, she was advised to take extra vitamins and the Dupain-Chengs were to keep an eye on her condition in case things worsened.

Unfortunately, this year, Marinette had been moved to the back of the classroom and the friendship with Alya strained to the very limit due to Lila’s interference. There would be no friendly cuddles or shared warmth this year. The sleepy girl had made do so far by adding a ludicrous fourth layer – a second non-bulky removable jacket liner – and using disposable heating packs to keep her core temperature up. It had worked well since the end of September but, now that it was mid-November, it was getting harder to stay warm and awake in class. Even Tikki, who snoozed more like a real ladybug rather than the omnipotent personification of creation that she was, shivered in Marinette’s interior breast pocket.

‘If only Alya was still my seat mate, then I wouldn’t have to worry!’ Marinette thought sadly. She looked at her current seat mate from the corner of her eye and sighed. ‘He’d probably push me to the floor.’

Along with the seat reassignment, another drastic change had entered her school life in the form of Adrien’s cousin: Felix Graham de Vanily. The same uptight, monochrome fashioned, and grouchy boy that tried to kiss Ladybug and caused three akumas was now in her class. Marinette was suspicious of him at first, afraid he was working for Hawkmoth or looking to cause trouble. In a way, Felix was. He had joined back in August and immediately took the open seat next to her with that mocking smile of his. Within the first day, he had pushed her buttons until she snapped. Marinette won the battle that day but Felix left with a smile that seemed entirely too pleased. He had tried to needle her every day after that and, while she did not lose her temper as explosively as she had then, they wound up trading quips almost daily. Their constant bickering had eventually formed into an odd companionship and understanding. Not quite friends, not really enemies.

Unfortunately for Marinette, her stock of hand warmers had finally run out and they were on backorder. She had tried her mother’s favorite reusable heating pad but it cooled too quickly and the lavender scent enticed her to doze. As the day went on, the pigtailed girl noticeably drooped in her seat as she slowly succumbed to her hibernation instincts.

~~~

It was a typical Tuesday for Felix. He arrived at school early, spent an agreeable amount of time reading his newest novel, and avoided the idiots in class. All but one anyway, although she hardly counted. After their first argument and the subsequent trouncing he received, he had come to realize there was more to Dupain-Cheng than met the eye. He had tried to provoke her again but was pleasantly surprised that she was stronger than he expected and possessed a lightning quick wit. Felix came to the decision that she was an adequate enough individual to associate with while he was stuck in this hovel. He had learned she did not like liars; in turn she respected his personal aversion to being touched. Their developing camaraderie was cordial. They had paired up for almost every project and, although she was often tardy, the dark-haired girl had always completed her work in a timely manner.

He chanced a glance at his seat mate and noticed she seemed to be doing her best impression of a melting snowman in summer. Felix clicked his tongue softly as he returned his attention to the board, ‘Dupain-Cheng has been more lethargic these last few weeks. She’s hardly cognizant of any of our classes, yet somehow still manages to receive satisfactory scores. She must be the embodiment of luck itself to pull that off!’

He picked at a piece of lint off his black cashmere peacoat and straightened the lapel. It was warm but did not do enough to stop the icy gusts from traveling down his neck. Sadly, most of his winter wear was still stuck in London as this change in the weather was unanticipated and his mother was still shopping for an acceptable abode for them to live in. Felix spared his table mate another quick glance – today she was wearing a bright red coat and a knitted scarf the color of his favorite caramel hard candies. She always seemed to have a different colored set of scarves and mittens that complemented her outfit. They did not look to be from any fashion brand he had heard of and he knew she fancied herself a designer. If the items were handmade, they were of excellent quality. Perhaps he could commission a piece from her…

Felix was lost in thought, contemplating how he could broach the topic with the girl, when he felt a weight land against his shoulder. He jerked at the disturbance and turned to find Dupain-Cheng slouched against him. He frowned down at the slumbering girl before attempting to jostle her awake. When she did not move, he managed to lift his arm out from beneath her and grabbed both her shoulders in an effort to re-orientate her towards her side of the bench. Felix soon realized his mistake when Dupain-Cheng unconsciously dove into his side and slipped her arms around his midsection with a muffled hum.

He stiffened at the action and hissed quietly between his teeth, trying not to draw attention to his plight. Felix had always detested physical contact, so much so that he could barely withstand hugs from members of his own family. To have Dupain-Cheng, a mere acquaintance, touching him in such a way was disconcerting and confounding. However, being this close allowed him to more closely observe her unimpeded. She smelled faintly of lavender and honeysuckle. Her black hair seemed to shimmer blue when the light hit it just right, like a raven’s wing. Her lashes were long and fluttered like butterfly wings as she slept. Across her small nose and cheeks were a charming array of freckles that could only be seen at this close proximity. With his arms still slightly raised, he twisted a bit to examine how to disentangle her from his person. Unfortunately, due to this action, one of her hands accidentally slipped beneath his coat and found purchase on his knit sweater.

He froze as the sleeping girl seemed to temporarily come to life, wiggling herself under his coat and latching onto his waist. Within mere seconds, Felix had half of Dupain-Cheng draped across his lap and the other half tucked securely into his side. Dumbfounded, he looked down at the girl in disbelief. Was she seriously snuggled against him right now? Did she inherently trust him not to molest or pester her? He tried to unlatch her arms and hands from his person to no avail; her grip was tighter than leather pants in August. As he looked on, a small smile formed on her lips and she nuzzled closer with a contented sigh. ‘Well, at least one of us is comfortable,’ he huffed in resignation before settling his left arm over her slumbering form, having nowhere else to put it.

Felix looked around, noting that no one had noticed the sudden disappearance of his seat mate nor the struggle he had just gone through. As the class period wore on, the boy unconsciously began to relax into the warm embrace of the teen asleep in his lap. It was not until an hour had passed that Felix realized he had become accustomed to her presence and the intimate closeness of their bodies. He glanced down and watched the peaceful look on her face as she slept. With his free hand he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear with a silent chuckle. ‘Seems I can handle being touched by you, not that you gave me much choice in the matter…,’ Felix mused to himself. He lifted the double-breasted lapel of his coat and settled the material over her with a fond smirk. ‘It’s a good thing I have a packed lunch today. I don’t think I’ll be moving any time soon.’

~~~ Time Skip to the End of School ~~~

Marinette was disturbed from her nap by a loud ringing noise, scrunching her face until it passed. She smiled and burrowed deeper into the warm, sandalwood scented pillow she had wrapped herself around. It was the softest, most comfortable pillow she had ever laid on. The pillow shook as it chuckled. ‘Wait…pillows don’t chuckle!’ Her eyes flew open and she jerked back slightly, her eyes slowly rising up a sweater covered chest until she met Felix’s amused face. “I see you’ve finally awoken, Miss Dupain-Cheng. I was starting to think I was going to have to bring you home with me.”

“Eep!” Marinette cried out as she jumped away. With the force of the movement, she overshot the bench entirely and was launched towards the aisle. She braced for a painful impact...that never came. Instead, she felt herself held up by a strong arm that was wrapped around her waist. She opened her eyes to find a set of shocked green mere centimeters away. Felix had lunged to grab her, planting one hand on the desk to steady them, giving the appearance that he had executed some sort of elaborate dip. They stared at each other in stunned silence for a moment before he finally pulled them both to their feet, clearing his throat as he let her go and looked away.

“I-I-I’m so, so sorry, Felix! I wasn’t aware of w-w-what I was d-doing!” Marinette stuttered, turning a rosy shade of pink as she attempted to hide in her fluffy scarf.

The boy in question was suppressing a blush with all his willpower. They had been in such a suggestive position mere moments ago when he caught her, luckily there were no students left in their classroom to witness it! Coupled with the unexpected feeling of loss he was experiencing when she abruptly retreated, he was entirely too flustered for his own comfort. He cleared his throat, “It’s quite alright, Miss Dupain-Cheng. You were unable to be woken and seemed quite comfortable. However, if you feel obligated to make amends to me…”

Felix allowed a pregnant pause to form as a devious smirk spread across his face. Marinette felt her stomach twist with trepidation – she knew that look meant trouble. ‘What could he possibly ask for?’ She thought wearily, her mind beginning to whirl with increasingly ridiculous predictions.

“…I find myself lacking in essential warm winter accessories,” he finally finished nonchalantly. The girl stared at him dumbfounded as her spiraling thoughts ground to a halt. It dawned on her that Felix was attempting to make a joke to break the awkward atmosphere between them, relying on their usual banter to do so. She choked on air and then burst into giggles. Felix felt a new warmth bloom in his chest at the sound. He had never made her laugh like that before!

“I think that can be arranged, monsieur,” she replied slyly. “I know an up-and-coming designer in high demand. But, for the great Felix Graham de Vanily, I’m sure she could make an exception.” They exited the classroom with smiles on their faces and a warmth in their hearts, no longer feeling the brisk breeze that whipped at their cheeks.

~~~

In the coming weeks, Felix began sporting new scarves, mittens, and even coats in charcoal grey, caramel brown, pine green, indigo blue, and garnet red – which was oddly his favorite. Their classmates seemed curious by his sudden change of color preference, mistaking it for an opportunity to befriend the derisive boy. Some questioned him, attempting to find out where he had bought such luxurious garments. He brushed them all off in his usual dismissive manner, deciding not to divulge any information.

Felix’s lip quirked upwards as he silently stroked the silver monogram on the tail of the scarf on his way to the classroom. The monogram itself was an ornate shield containing his initials but, integrated within the vines that clung to the edges of shape, were the letters ‘MDC’. His small smile reached his eyes as they met the friendly bluebell ones at the back of the room. A hidden message, a reminder of that one cold day that brought two souls closer together.

Perhaps, together, they might stave off more than just the cold weather.

#felinette #marivanily #marinette dupain cheng #felix graham de vanily #felix fathom #felix x marinette #drabble #fluff #miraculous ladybug #one shot #alternating pov #enemies to friends #hibernation #open ending #implied friends to lovers #pre-feelings

51 notes · View notes

angelkunimi · 2 years

Text

unhinged (m)

sakusa kiyoomi x fem!reader (+ ex!atsumu)

synopsis: even if you think justice has been served, you realise you’ll never be free from your stalker

warnings: 18+ only. yandere themes, stalking, PTSD, paranoia, anxiety, manipulation, trespassing, death threats, some making out, mild violence + blood, knife use, mentions of kidnapping, smoking, one instance of spitting

wc: 4.5k

a/n: my first fic of this blog hooray! i hope you enjoy, it’s not that good but it’s my first time writing after so long so please enjoy :)

you never used to appreciate being able to breathe.

you do still breathe, of course you do- to exist. but breathing used to be so much easier back before, in that time that seemed lifetimes ago. now it’s uncomfortable. the ache deep in your chest, the tightness, the battering of your heart against your rib cage as you try to suck in those slow breaths, deep, slow, one count, two count, three…

smoking was probably the worst decision you could’ve made. but you need something to take the edge off, something just to make you feel bliss for just a few temporary bittersweet moments. of course, you can’t fully appreciate it. after the sun sets, your living room is hazy when you can only crack the window open a few inches, curtains still tightly drawn to protect you from the peers of the outside world, as you breathe out those grey dregs of smoke, the acrid taste hot on your tongue, tight in your chest, fingers trembling as you flick ash in the glass ashtray.

maybe you’re being pessimistic.

things could’ve gone so much more worse but it didn’t. you still have a decent job- an anonymous, quiet 9-5 lab job at some chemical plant down on the outskirts of the city. tall brick walls with barbed wire, security at each electric gate, fluorescent lights in the car park and a convenient parking spot for your car right by the door when you come in and leave your lab every morning and evening is just perfect. safety means perfect. and you’re getting better- you can go out by yourself now. you do the grocery shops and you treat yourself to coffees and just last week you made it to the edge of the park, breathing in the crisp cool autumn air, watching the chestnut and mustard leaves flutter to the rain-stained ground, listening to the breeze whistle. of course, you only ever go out during daylight- the winter months will be rougher but you’re certain you’ll be better then. you have to be.

after all, at least you’re not dead.

sanity seems like a privilege but you’re grateful for the things you still have, for the things he couldn’t snatch away amongst everything else.

atsumu is one of them.

he takes in a deep breath of anticipation before he digs into his food- warm, sticky rice, hot spicy soup, delicious dumplings, his cheeks bulging with the delicious feast laid all over your coffee table as the two of you lounge on the couch, catching up on your favourite netflix series together.

“i fuckin’ love food.” the blond man manages to chuckle with his mouth full, flecks of rice spitting out which makes you grimace as you shoot him a glare.

“don’t be so disgusting, tsumu.” he merely laughs, brown eyes merry as he continues to tuck in and you can’t resist the smile that tugs at your lip as you force an eye roll.

“now ya just sound like-” he cuts off when you stiffen and his face becomes solemn as he realises the words falling out of his mouth. he clears his throat as he puts down his plate of food, the porcelain clattering against the wood but you avoid his eyes, staring straight ahead at the television.

“i’m sorry-”

“no.” you cough slightly. “it’s okay- just a mistake. let’s not talk about it.”

“y/n-” you get up abruptly, pushing away your untouched food in favour of your cigarettes. marlboro red. he exhales heavily, watching you light up the stick between your fingers. “i think we need to talk about this.”

you lock eyes with his brown ones and it makes your chest twinge as you see the seriousness in them. it makes you angry really, more angry than sad. he stole so much from you- he stole your happiness, your home, your friends and family, your life! he stole you from you, leaving you an empty shell. and he stole your love. the one true love you had. you’re grateful for atsumu to still be here, to still be your friend and still hang out with you and help you and that he’ll still drive to your house in the middle of the night when you have a panic attack even if he has practise at 6am but it’s not the same. all because of him.

“okay.” you mumble, tapping your cigarette on the edge of the tray and watching the ash fall. “fine. what?” atsumu’s dark brows tug together as he studies you carefully.

“so, yer know he’s gettin’ out? the courts wrote to ya, didn’t they?” a smile stretches across your face as you chuckle mirthlessly.

“oh yeah, they wrote to me. good behaviour.” you shake your head, laughing. “what am i supposed to say? yeah, i’m completely okay. i’m not terrified. i’m not angry. i haven’t had my whole life destroyed, like nothing ever happened! like i can still sleep more than just a few hours a night and i don’t have nightmares and i can go out and live a normal life because everything is fucking okay.” you’re trembling, eyes wet as you take a long drag of your cigarette, an empty smile stretched across your face as atsumu just stares at you.

a low swear falls from his lips as he reaches a hand out, squeezing your shoulder comfortingly.

“i’m sorry, y/n. i really am, i wish- yer didn’t deserve any of it.” he shakes his head, blond locks falling into his eyes. “and ya know, it feels like it was all my fault. if only i hadn’t introduced yer to him, if only i hadn’t tried to make yer be friends with him, if only i had set proper boundaries and ya know, knocked some sense into him when he started gettin’ all weird-”

“no, no, not at all.” you smile as you grasp atsumu’s hand, running your thumb along his knuckles. “you know it’s not your fault- how were you supposed to know? it wasn’t your fault, it isn’t mine. it’s not anyone’s but- but sakusa’s.”

you grimace at the bitterness of his name before sighing heavily, stubbing out your cigarette as you reach for your plate of food. but you don’t eat, because nothing really tastes all that nice anymore.

“he’ll be on probation, ya know? and he has a restrainin’ order so you’ll be okay. i don’t think he’ll even dare violate it, not if he knows what’s good for him.” you nod at atsumu’s comforting words, trying to let them seep in, trying to believe it’ll all be okay.

“is he rejoining the team?” the blond man shakes his head.

“nah, too much bad publicity for the owners. he’ll probably stay lowkey for the first few months and probably sign to a new team when the media have turned away their attention. but-” he looks at you earnestly. “i promise ya, no matter what he tries, ya know i won’t let him contact ya. as for shoyo and kōtarō, i can’t speak for them but they won’t tell him anythin’- i know they won’t.” you return atsumu’s smile, nodding.

“yeah. it’ll be okay. i’ll be okay.”

you don’t go to work the day he gets released.

you probably should, it’d be better to move on with your life but you can’t set foot outside your house. cctv and doorbell camera on, windows locked, hallway light on to check for footsteps under the door, phone fully charged, thumb hovering over the emergency call icon. social media is no good for you- you feel new again to it, now that you’ve only just made accounts again- but trending hashtags, videos, headlines, all his name.

you’re embarrassed at how you start just when your phone vibrates, your thudding heart slowing when you read atsumu’s familiar name flashing across your screen.

u ok? :))

you smile as you type out a response and with a heavy sigh, you collapse onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling.

you’re going to be okay.

the first time it happens you think you’re going insane.

a cup of coffee. on the countertop.

you’re hyperventilating in your kitchen, trembling and shaking. coffee. cup. countertop. your knees feel weak, chest aching as your body rushes with adrenaline, head spinning. you’re crying as you’re pulling out your phone. words barely choke out with breathlessness, a long knife clutched in your hand as you sink to the cold tile floors, hoping you don’t die tonight.

and you don’t. you and atsumu stand in your kitchen, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders as the detectives finally return to you.

“ma’am, everything’s good.” the first detective, an older man with a thick moustache says. “we’ve sweeped the house- windows and doors are all locked. nobody’s been in here.”

“are you sure?” your cheeks are wet with tears as you stare at the two detectives, pleading.

“y/n-” atsumu’s voice is a little whisper and you try not to flinch.

“ma’am,” the detective sounds frustrated. “we’ve checked. nobody is in here. nobody has entered your home.”

“miss,” the second detective is a woman, a sweet one with a tender smile that makes you feel heard, somewhat understood. “we understand your fears, honestly we do. but you are safe, i assure you. all your windows and doors are locked, nothing has any sign of forced entry, nothing missing. this is just your own coffee mug. you are okay.”

you exhale heavily, forcing a nod as your head begins to ache and atsumu apologises as he leads the detectives to the door. you can hear them mutter in low, hushed voices in the hallway before atsumu apologises a final time for the total waste of their time and they leave. the door locks, one click, two click of the two keyholes, latch on, chain sliding against the wood.

you don’t meet atsumu’s eyes when he walks back into the kitchen, a heavy sigh escaping him. you’re tired, you feel stupid and sheepish, you don’t need this but that doesn’t stop him.

“what the hell is wrong with ya?” it would’ve been better if he had yelled at you, not used that tone of disbelief, of disgust, of embarrassment. “callin’ the police- and me- because yer couldn’t remember ya had a cup of coffee?”

“no, atsumu, i thought-”

“i know what ya thought!” he cuts you off with indignation, rolling his eyes heavily as his fingers curl up into fists. “but come on! if he was standin’ here right in your kitchen i’d understand but a fuckin’ cup?” he shakes his head as you feel your shoulders curl, your eyes falling onto the tile floor. “i was on a date tonight.” your throat goes dry as he rubs at the crease between his brows. your chest is heavy. “she was really nice, we were havin’ a good time and just when i thought i was actually gettin’ somewhere, my ex is callin’ me up because she’s runnin’ around the house with a knife, going crazy and senile over a fuckin’ cup of coffee she couldn’t remember drinkin’.” you gasp at his words, breathless and it stings.

crazy.

he thinks you’re crazy.

“i know what he did to you, i get it but for god’s sake, y/n, can’t ya even try to get over it? i am always here for ya! all the damn time! i don’t even know if yer want to try to have a normal life again but i definitely do.”

“i’m sorry.” atsumu just glares at you, your futile apology nothing to him.

“whatever.” he mutters as he tugs off his jacket. “lock the door after i leave and just go to sleep, for fuck’s sake.”

you and atsumu don’t talk much after that.

he doesn’t bother messaging you much and you can’t blame him. after all, after everything that happened he was the only one who ever stuck around. not that you were resentful towards your old friends and family- who would want to stick around with you after everything that happened? the screaming and crying, anxiety fits in the middle of the streets, paranoid phone calls and accusations at 3am.

it’s empty and it’s hard. you continue going to work but it’s nerve-wracking. you wake up groggy and peer out of the windows before you even dare step out of the house. you check the back seats of your car, the boot, you test the brakes before you even set off to work. grocery shopping, coffee runs, anything for necessity or leisure is pushed away- your head just spins, blood pounds in your ears, your chest hurts and you feel like you’re going to be nauseous anytime you go out.

the worst thing is, you really thought the cup of coffee was a mistake.

but it only gets worse.

sometimes it’s little things. you’re trying to sleep in the middle of the night but you’re disturbed by the bright yellow light of your motion sensor security light flashing, illuminating your bedroom through your curtains. the first time you force yourself to breathe. stray cats, squirrels, foxes- all reasonable explanations. but it happens the second time. a third. and by then you’re shaking, trying to hold back the heavy breaths choked in your throat as you scramble for your phone, finger hovering over the dial icon. but atsumu’s words ring in your ears and you force yourself to breathe slow counts, just like the therapist taught you, just like you’ve rehearsed with atsumu. one breath, two breath, three…

when you get the courage to creep towards the window nothing seems out of the ordinary. but you can’t seem to quell the disturbing ache of nausea in the pit of your stomach when you see the rose bushes rustling in the still night.

a missing hairbrush you can’t seem to remember where you put. your underwear collection seems to be getting smaller. you don’t know how you’ve been going through your snack cupboard so quickly.

you can’t say you’re not scared- of course you are. you barely sleep, eyes wide staring at the light flooding beneath your door, just terrified of the dark shadows of footsteps that might just appear. the motion sensor lights flashes more often these nights. but you also feel stupid, your cheeks feeling hot and shame prickling your skin every time you remember atsumu’s harsh snarls, the bitterness in his eyes and that’s when you sigh heavily, sliding the knife out from under your pillow and slipping it into your bedside cabinet instead. sakusa stole your life, but did that mean you’d have to steal atsumu’s too?

if only you had listened to yourself.

you don’t hear anything. not over the sound of the blender whirring your evening smoothie. banana. frozen raspberries. milk. syrup. chia seeds.

but it stops abruptly and you gasp when you feel it. the sharpness, the icy coolness of the tip of the knife edging into the back of your neck.

it’s like your heart stops. blood runs cold, your heart hammering and the nausea of adrenaline flooding your system is overpowering as you tremble, trapped between him and the kitchen island.

“don’t scream.”

you could never forget his voice. that deep, soft murmur that haunts your nightmares. you don’t think you could scream even if you wanted to.

“phone?”

you swallow as you pick your phone off the countertop, sliding it across to which he quickly grabs it. his hands are pale, green veins popping and knuckles bruised.

“look at me.”

you turn around slowly, heart hammering. black obsidian eyes, dark curls, that stoic expression painting his handsome face- everything you wished you could forget.

you stare at each other for a moment and he takes in everything so carefully, his eyes travelling over ever inch of you and you’re sure he’s committing everything to memory, relishing every single moment of this nightmare.

“y/n.” you hate how he breathes your name, like it’s a glorious prayer to him, like it’s not curses to you.

“what are you doing here?” you can only whisper, a timid cracked whisper. but sakusa doesn’t reply- instead he just pulls you into his arms and you’re trembling as you’re stuck in his grip, hating the feeling of his hands squeezing you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling in your smell, his warmth suffocating you.

but then he pulls away and you see how his jaw clenches, how his fist tightens around the knife and your stomach drops when you realise it’s the same damn knife stuffed in your bedside cabinet. how long?

“i want a cup of coffee.”

the cup clatters when you put it down on the kitchen table, sakusa sat comfortably at it, legs outstretched, eyes fixated on you and the knife held readily in his hands. he sighs when he takes a sip and then with a tap of the knife, he indicates for you to sit beside him.

“your coffee tastes better than mine.” your hands curl into fists at his mutter- how stupid. you should’ve known- you shouldn’t had been so easily convinced by the stupid detectives and atsumu- they underestimated him, they ignored you- he told you you were crazy but you were right. all along. and now…

“please.” you whisper. “just leave. nobody will know and we can-” he cuts you off with a sharp tsk and clatters the knife against the table, shutting you up as you flinch.

“y/n, you sent me to prison.” he begins, lip curling with venom. “and you know, the one thing worse than not being able to see you was that hell. dirty. unsanitary. full of animals.” he shakes his head, curls falling into his dark eyes. “locked up there, every single day the fucking same…because of you.” he gazes at you heavily. “just because i loved you.”

you’re not sure what to say, the pressure under knife point too heavily as you swallow hard.

“so are you here for revenge then? is that it? are you going to kill me?” sakusa smiles, evidently amused, as he takes another sip of his coffee.

“i’m not that petty. sure, you made me lose everything- my family, friends, my career, freedom.” you want to yell at him. call him a selfish cunt and tell him he deserves everything, and so much worse, for the relentless torment he’s caused you. but you don’t. you thought everything would be so much more different if you ever had to face him again, but it isn’t. you’re just still terrified. “but no, i’m not going to kill you. i want you to give me a bath instead.”

you’re bewildered at his request. it feels like some sort of fucked up play when you guide him upstairs, painfully reminded by the knife edging into your back not to pull anything funny. he holds it the entire time, the whole time you run the bath, swatting the water steadily filling up the tub and asking him for his optimum temperature, asking him whether he’d like usual epsom salts or lavender, offering him a towel. and you’re forced to watch him undress, cringing as you have to see him peel off his clothes, revealing his pale body underneath, that bulky body rippled with muscles that just stands as a reminder of how much bigger, stronger, powerful he is than you.

sakusa groans as he sinks into the water, his eyes falling heavy as his body relaxes. you’re kneeling by the side, hands gripping the edge of the cold porcelain bathtub, holding your breath as you can’t even comprehend the situation. it’d almost be so comical at how fucked up it is, at how fucked up sakusa is forcing you into this disgusting thing. his head falls back against the tub and his lids are heavy as he gazes at you.

“this is a luxury you don’t get in prison. imagine what it’s like, hundreds of men lining up at one time, short two minute showers, grimy cubicles without a single bit of privacy.” he gives a humourless smile. “that’s what i had to put up with. because of you.” you’re stunned when he spits at you, a harsh, nasty spit full of venom and you gasp as you fall back, gingerly touching the horrible wet saliva splattered across your face. your face crumples and you want to cry, but your damn body just can’t react, just won’t react, not with the shock and fear pulsating through you.

“you got put away because you hurt me.” it’s the quietest whisper and sakusa gasps when he suddenly scrambles up, water splashing and he’s grabbing your face, cheeks squishing between his hands as he tugs you close. it’s a shock to see him like this, such an antithesis to the calm collected man you thought you knew when his eyes are flashing and manic.

“i love you. i never wanted to hurt you, damn it.” it’s starting to ache, how his calloused fingers press into your tender skin.

“i was with atsumu!” he tuts as he pushes you away, vein throbbing in his forehead as his hands curl into fists.

“you really think that blond idiot cares about you? like i do?”

the words strike something in you and suddenly you’re extending a gentle hand, fingertips grazing along his forearm.

“i’m sorry, kiyoomi. you’re right.” he shoots you a piercing glare, heavy brow raised as he scoffs.

“do you think i’m stupid?”

“no!” your cry is permeated with earnestness. “you are right- atsumu doesn’t care.” you give a mirthless chuckle. “he thinks i’m crazy, annoying, i’m a nuisance to him really. but you,” you circle your fingers around his hand, the other gripping the knife tighter. you hope he doesn’t notice your trembling. “you went to prison for me, kiyoomi.”

he’s thinking hard as he stares down at your entwined fingers but you know it’s not enough. so you take the gamble and cup his face, smashing your lips against his.

he tastes of brandy and salt but his skin is warm and smooth under your fingertips- you could almost pretend this would’ve been nice in a different universe. you kiss him, heavy and hard and your heart hammers when he returns it, groaning against your lips as his hand slides into your hair, tugging to deepen the kiss. it’s hot, heavy, his tongue sliding into your mouth, saliva wet and messy. he swallows your moans as he licks messily into your mouth, water splashing as his body squirms, begging to be closer to you as you thread your fingers through his hair.

“fuck, y/n-” he pants heavily in between wet messy kisses pressed to your lips as he rests his clammy forehead against yours.

“kiyoomi, i want you. but please,” you whimper as you stare into his depthless eyes. “please put the knife down. i promise i’ll be good.” sakusa doesn't look entirely convinced but you’re relieved when he finally puts it down on the bedside cabinet when he follows you into the bedroom. your body is brimming with adrenaline when he lies down along your bed, his skin glistening with dampness as you take a deep breath and edge towards him.

“this is all i’ve wanted, y/n. we could’ve had this so much easier if you had just listened. if you hadn't been so stupid.” he mutters almost mournfully as you slowly unbutton your shirt, letting the cotton fabric slip off your shoulders to reveal your chest clad in a pink bra. but sakusa doesn’t mind the simplicity of your underwear, even groaning at the sight of your panties hugging your cunt when you slip off your jeans. “come here.”

he pulls you onto his lap and you try not to flinch at the feeling of his half hard dick pressing against your pussy, only a thin layer of fabric separating you both. he’s hungry as he kisses you, one hand gripping your hair tight, the other groping your chest, your ass, stroking your hips, any skin he can grasp. you kiss back with fervour, your hands gripping his broad shoulders, hips rocking gently against him, swallowing his moans. you’re waiting, kissing, waiting for the perfect moment…then…

you bite. hard. sakusa swears when he pushes you away roughly, his face screwed with anger and disgust as red blood seeps from his lips. but you’re prepared, your clammy hand locking around the knife and you scream when you slash it towards him. panic bubbles in you and damn him, he’s quick- he’s rough when he shoves you back, a hand stretching out as protection against the knife. you aim desperately, every bit of anger and resentment and fear and hatred brewing in you surging through the screams and swears but you’re just too weak and the best you can get is a slash across his hand.

“you bitch!” he yells, voice deep and gruff and it terrifies you, the fire dancing in his eyes as he clutches his bloody palm, crimson oozing from porcelain skin.

but that’s bought you enough time and you rush away quickly, your bedroom door slamming behind you as you scramble downstairs. you’re frantic- kiyoomi’s screams and threats resonate through the house as you hear him storm upstairs into the bathroom and you’re trembling with fear- fuck why won’t your hands just work? you’re scrambling for the house keys- were they in the living room? your purse? in the tray of marbles?

“fuck fuck fuck-” you’re almost crying as you sweep your hand across the entire cabinet top, vases and candles smashing to the floor and marbles scattering across the entire floor but then you find them, those silver keys you grab, grateful for the sharp cool metal pressing into your skin as you run to the front door.

“i am going to kill you, you stupid bitch.” kiyoomi’s footsteps are heavy upstairs as you scramble to fit the keys into the lock, hands shaking as they just won’t seem to fit in and you’re sobbing, screaming at yourself to get out.

you can hear him across the landing, getting to the top of the stairs- the floorboards creak and you’ve only just got the locks open when the door swings open and-

relief floods you when you lock eyes with brown orbs and you’re a sobbing, shaking mess when you collapse into atsumu’s arms, clinging to him, gasping and clinging to his t-shirt as he holds you.

“he’s here- atsumu- he’s here- he’s going to kill me!” atsumu’s bewildered as he holds your face, wiping away the stream of tears and you’re exasperated at how he smiles, almost amused.

“what are you talking about, y/n?” he chuckles and you shake your head, gasping as you try to scramble away, run away into the darkness- anywhere, just not here.

“he’s here! we have to call the police.”

atsumu’s still smiling and suddenly his hold on you feels tighter. your heart feels like lead when sakusa’s footsteps reach the end step and he’s stood in the hallway, bloody hand gripping the knife, crimson running down his chin as he smiles, shirtless in just his joggers.

“miya atsumu.” his voice is a low drawl.

“atsumu!” you’re wailing with desperation, trying to fight out of the blond’s grip but he’s too strong, holding you tight against him as he continues to smile.

“relax, y/n- he won’t kill you. goodness, omi-kun- i told you i’d help you take her home, why did you start without me?”

#tw.stalking #tw.yandere #sakusa x reader #sakusa imagines #sakusa fic #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi fic #sakusa kiyoomi imagines #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fic #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x you #tw.kidnapping

332 notes · View notes

kaelidascope · 2 months

Note

No positive absolutely positive and I did consider the sex joke but no I meant literal vitamin d.

“It was rare for an afternoon to be as sunny as it was for late September in Lower Reach. With autumn already underway and winter right around the bend, the nights would only get longer and daylight would barely make it past the tallest skyscraper for maybe only six or seven hours before twilight consumed the streets. With so much of this concrete, dystopian hell hole relying purely on fluorescent energy for survival”

Like you know after a long winter when there’s daylight past 6pm and you finally start to feel human again? They’re in the literal shadow of Vale so often that would mess with a person after a lifetime

OH LMAONGFJKNGFJKGNFJKGF YES I GET IT NOW

Glad you're enjoying! <33 and yes I agree 100% they all need to come out from underground they're living like moles 😭

#midnightbeesfic #rwby #bumbleby #Im still in recovery my baincell isn't here atm LOL

10 notes · View notes

songsofbloodandwater · 2 months

Note

Hey, how’re you? 13 and 12 for the asks

Hello! All good here, deeply enjoying the beginning of autumn and the much lower temperatures, how have you been?

12) what do you think your practice would taste like? If one could taste a magico-religious practice

Honestly, blood. Whatever blood can taste like. I've had moments where it's just metallic and asphyxiating, and others when it's pungent but peppery, almost floral.

I really wanted to say something normal, like bread, or milk, or some herbal tea. Or a passed down family recipe. I also thought of water and all that it represents to us. But realistically, it's just blood. I'm sorry if that answer is kind of predictable coming from me!

13) How does your craft feel in the spring vs in the darker months?

In my experience, the most tangible difference comes from the differences between Day Spirits, and Night Spirits. Traditionally, in my family, there's specific workings that we cannot do at night, the lack of sunlight means the Spirits that would be called are not the kind of spirits you'd want to call at all. This type of belief extends to seasons. Seasons stem from the natural changes in daylight hours available on Earth, and we see it as not just the plant life adapting to the colder months, but the spirits associated with the Land also adapting, hibernating, migrating (within this Realm or to other realms), or being in whatever way less available to us. Some, entirely unreachable.

In my opinion it's not that the Day and Night courts are "rotating" and one season or the other belongs entirely to one or the other court. It's simply that in the darker months the tangible presence of the Night Court becomes most prevalent, dominant, due to the absence of most of the Day Court, and viceversa. But they're always coexisting to varying degrees.

In my family that means we begin the warm months in August-September, awakening and feeding the earth and then slowly welcoming back the different allies and relatives of my spirit family throughout the next spring and summer months, as they come and as we get to spend time with them. It reaches a peak in December, with Solar festivities. Then starts to decline again throughout the next months, until we reach the "Lunar" peak, and the weakest moment of the Sun and Day court, in June with the Longest Night of the year. My seasonal calendar isn't just depending on daylight hours, but also on the apparent cycles of certain sacred constellations across the sky, so throughout the year I'm paying attention to Them and working with each as they come and go aswell, for example, the Southern Cross's rotation marks some special dates for me in regards to the fertility of the Land and to the Beloved Dead, or the Pleiades appearing and disappearing, carrying messages and omens, bringing with them certain Spirits and their influence, and taking them away as they go.

It feels like a family reunion that lasts months instead of hours. When people just start arriving, when there's feast and stories and sharing and warmth, and then everyone starts saying their goodbyes again, until next year. Summer is the height of the party. Winter is the only time of the year that reflects what you'd normally imagine from everyday family life, when it's just me and the Spirits that walk with me, that "live with me in that house", so to speak. In practicality, that means more outwards work during the warmer months (in relation to the Land and Spirits that are tied to different kinds of cyclical natures), more inwards work and "housekeeping" of my own courts during the cold dark months. There's still some work to do with perennial spirits during the winter (for example, La Dolorosa and The Wild King, and their respective courts, are mostly unaffected by the seasons) but it's still a smaller workload in general when in comparison to the warm months.

Hope that makes sense! thanks for asking these were fun!

#ask #asks #Blood and Water #my notes #Regina Mundi

6 notes · View notes

waterlilylullabies · 11 months

Text

𝓑𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓼: 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓞𝓷𝓮

Nobody’s Child

Warnings: Mentions of death, violence against women.

The Waking World

The woman Belle called Mother taught her two things. The first: you can make almost any meal go further if you add some lentils. The second: you don’t belong to anyone.

Belle remembers; the gentle chafe of hardwood on her bare feet, the early morning cool of the cabin, the woman’s hands braiding her hair, cigarette smoke, heavy sighs. The woman left one day, didn’t come back. They arrested a man in the nearby village but Belle never found out what happened next. By then, the cabin in the woods and the woman called Mother were already fading like dreams in daylight and Belle was adopted by an elderly couple longing for a child of their own.

Mimi and Chester were gentle and sweet. Mimi, a former ballerina, taught her to dance, Chester taught her to douse for water. The trio lived in perfect harmony for fifteen years. Until the old couple passed away one autumn, Mimi went first and Chester followed. Quiet, uncomplicated deaths, like flowers after the first frost.

And Belle remembered that she didn’t belong to anyone.

She packed her bags and started moving. She marvelled at the distance she could put between herself and the past. She worked odd jobs, slept in parks, slept in grand hotel rooms, slept beside strangers. She realised she had a knack for languages and where that failed her she discovered a proclivity for flirting.

Years passed.

Even if the body is strong and the mind is quick, sooner or later the soul will dig its heels in and say; I want to rest, I want to sleep in the same bed, see the same faces. The soul begs for boredom even as it cries out for wonder. So Belle gave in, came to rest in a nothing place. She would spend the Winter there and then she would be gone.

It is perhaps unfair to call the town a ‘nothing’ place. Everywhere is somewhere after all, though Pleasance (that was the town’s name) subscribed to this notion only tentatively. That was partly why Belle decided to stay there, she believed that a spell in Pleasance would cure her eternally of the need to put down roots.

There was one feature of interest in Pleasance and that was the local dive bar, The Venus Lounge. The name was preposterous, given its general state of disrepair and the fact that it sat between a disused canning factory and a woman’s clothing store long since closed. It was a garish little place and the rumour among the great and the good of the town was that there was nothing the girls who worked there wouldn’t do for a price.

Belle took a job there faster than you can say ‘damnation’.

The Dreaming

Dream of the Endless is wracked with guilt. He summons his librarian.

The sky is slate grey, a thunderstorm seems imminent. Lucienne makes her way to the throne room as swiftly as she can.

The Dream King stands in the centre of the hall, gazing half heartedly at the constellations above when she arrives. He looks awful, weary, woe-begotten.

“My Lord? How can I?-“

The King of Nightmares has no time for pleasantries today. “Lucienne I have caused great suffering.”

Lucienne is momentarily torn between agreeing with him and asking which particular suffering he is referring to, but elects to keep her mouth shut.

“I made a promise” he intones “over two thousand years ago, to a Siren. I swore an oath of protection, which my imprisonment prevented me from keeping, now I fear the world will suffer for it.”

Lucienne lowers her head “Ah, I see.” Lucienne knows something of the story, a promise made in a cave, a child to be entrusted to the King of Dreams. That much she gleaned from a dog-eared scroll in the library. The rest she learned from the child’s mother.

Lord Morpheus has wandered to the foot of the steps leading to his throne, outside a gentle patter of rain has begun to fall. “My Lord, during your imprisonment a creature came to the dreaming, she had with her a baby girl” He whips around, eyes wild. Lucienne steadies herself under the weight of his gaze “The crea- the woman called herself Thalia and she came with the express purpose of delivering the child, her daughter to you, but” Lucienne braces herself for the inevitable storm

“But?”

She heaves in a breath “When she saw the realm, as it was then, abandoned, she felt her daughter would be no safer here than in the Waking World.”

There is a moment of perfect silence. Then the heavens open, thunder shakes the foundations of the palace and lightning slashes the sky to shreds. “My Lord” he is not listening, “My Lord!” Lucienne raises her voice over the rising storm “There is every possibility the child is still alive!”

There is a loud crack of thunder. “The Waking World deals cruelly with her kind” he retorts, but his eyes give him away, he is desperate enough to hope.

“Only if she has used her powers My Lord.”

Another thunder bolt illuminates the throne room. “But a child, Lucienne” he whispers. ”A child will not know better.” Lucienne, whose patience never falters, clears her throat “Not a child, my Lord, that is, she would be nearly twenty five by now.”

This had not occurred to the King of Dreams, who for all his power, has never truly understood the passage of time outside his realm.

“There is a chance my Lord, that she is alive and well. All is not lost.”

Authors note: Very new to this, any and all feedback welcome! Thank you for reading!

#dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless #dream x reader #dream of the endless fic #morpheus fic #morpheus x reader #morpheus #the sandman x reader #the sandman fic #the sandman

36 notes · View notes

brooklynislandgirl · 7 months

Text

A Hoard of Hatred || Muse Dislikes Stolen from: dear Coyote, @void-foxy Stolen by: You! The Nurse Shark || Beth Riley

muse name: Elizabeth Irene Riley {haole-fied} least favourite nickname: Beth absolutely hates being called Liz or Lizzy. It began with the Admiral when he needed to call her something other than "the girl" when he had to speak about her. Which she thinks is ridiculous, he was the one who insisted she be named after his mother and grandmother, respectively. Her mother had already chosen a name for her. One that had meaning, purpose and was a nod to their Kanaka roots. Later on in life other people have called her by those and it feels like a fork being dragged against plates. least favourite season. Asking Beth which is her least favourite season is like trying to teach a pig to sing ~it will only frustrate you and make the pig mad. Autumn is her first love; the fire-leaves remind her of Pele, but less angry, less destructive. She loves the quietude that settles in, the rain-soaked afternoons, the excuse to make some coffee or tea and snuggle up under a blanket, while it's still warm enough to enjoy the daylight. Winter is a close second because this is when you get your best surfing weather. It encompasses many of the family holidays that brings people together. Summer gives her the most daylight which is important when you're still afraid of the dark. If she has to choose, then it's probably spring. An increase in people's allergies, stress, people doing stupid and disgusting things on Spring Break. least favourite: hot or cold? Hawai'i lies just below the Tropic of Cancer and tends to have balmy temperatures. Beth finds the mainland to be entirely too cold most of the time. She prefers hot coffee and tea. She likes her showers and baths somewhere in the range that other people call "flesh melting". And while she does find snow to be a fascinating phenomenon, she dislikes cold in general. least favourite holiday: This is a toss-up. Beth feels Valentine's Day has nothing to do with venerating the saint it is named after, and that it has become far too commercialised with terrible chocolate and enforced romance. She feels every day should be lived with love in one's heart and not one day that Hallmark dictates. Beth, instead, chooses to consider 14 February as a celebration of Captain Cook's death. She equally dislikes the idea of Columbus Day. A day romanticised as a celebration of a known slave-monger, a coloniser, and a lie. She prefers to celebrate Indigenous Peoples' Day. least favourite food: Shark Fin soup. But also peanut butter. least favourite flavour: Artificial anything. Her sense of taste is so sharp all she can taste is the chemicals, not the flavour itself. She also despises frostings that are nothing but sugar and lard {like the frosting on Lofthouse cookies, or most grocery store premade frosting} least favourite drink: Moxie. Which is a great thing if you want the lingering, unforgettable taste of the dregs of hell through a much used, never washed sieve comprised of athletic socks and jock straps, then gently mixed with carbonated molasses. least favourite scent: Roses. She doesn't mind them in a garden but if she walks into a room and smells roses, she will turn right around and walk out again, try and mahalo. least favourite sound: The Admiral...still breathing. The word "slow" being spoken in the emergency room. Open-mouth coughing. And finally, "I love you." least favourite TV shows: Beth doesn't really watch television for the most part, as she rarely sits long enough to get through an entire show. However, she hates, in particular: "reality" shows and medical dramas {largely because of the plots and because the actual science/job is so so so wrong}. She absolutely loses her mind over faux-chest compressions.

least favourite area of school: Language arts. Beth has a complicated relationship with the English language. Particularly homophones, homographs, and homonyms. Digraphs ~th in particular~ are the devil to someone who has auditory processing disorder. least favourite aspect of their job: Where to start? Terrible management. Awful working conditions and long hours, virus exposure, stress and pressure. Doctors who eat you alive and spit you out, and think they are entitled to do so. Emotional Burnout. The horror stories of trauma and ER nursing are vast and lengthy. But Beth thinks the worst part is knowing no matter what she does, how hard she tries...she can't save everyone. If asked specifics, she'll say calling or running a code in paediatrics or the NICU.

least favourite trait in others: Casual cruelty. Microaggressions/passive racism. least favourite thing to talk about: The Admiral and Iwalani. Andy's death {verse specific}. Herself. least favourite thing about themselves: ...Everything. least favourite daily chore: Beth has a housekeeper, a cook, and only really does her own laundry when she needs to. She already knows, you don't have to tell her she's entitled. She does however hate day-to-day dusting because she isn't tall enough to get most of the high places. .least favourite type of clothing: Anything too tight/restrictive along the legs. least favourite superpower: Flying. X-Ray vision. Super speed. An entirely engineered super-war suit that makes you think you're a rock-star when you should be thinking on how to improve the lives of those so far less fortunate than you. least favourite thing about falling in love: Knowing that there's a snowball's chance of it being returned. least favourite thing about death: That it has to exist to balance life, that it is a natural thing. How unexpected it can be.

#She's Talking to Angels {Bethisms}

5 notes · View notes

roseprincesskristina · 2 years

Text

My Midnight Rose ((Vamp!Yami x Reader Part 1))

((Whaddup, dudes and chicks. Since last Halloween, I’ve decided to create my very first YuGiOh fan fiction X Reader for the fans out there as well as across the globe. But with the handsome Yami Yugi as a sexy vampire for the fangirls. ;) Took my time to write anything like this without rushing myself whatsoever, tho. Plus, I was gonna do a full fan novel, yet I had to divide into two parts instead because I’m lazy. Sorry XD. Alright had the first one done last month, so I’ll might do the second next soon. Tried my best to create the fictional story even though I sucked. XD It was still fun nonetheless. Anywho, without further ado, please enjoy this steamy story before your peepers! :D))

It was an utterly pleasant mid morning evening onto this first day of autumn where several other leaf bearing trees especially bushes all around the area have began to merge into five colorful shades that will not only make the entire vegetation themselves look more pretty, yet so can the lively twilight atmosphere/mood as well for every generation or few to fully indulge the seasonal beauty right before their outstanding plus awe inspiring eyes.

Regardless about how unlikely chilly the weather degrees could truly be according to the television forecast, it's still blissfully sunny outside for local individuals besiding with civilians to gain extra fun underneath the friendly orb of daylight granting them a brightening smile upon its face followed by a warm loving embrace that'll surely keep them cozy from a slight cold season than a late winter.

Not to mention, of course, that upon this monthly event of October arriving onto the bone chilling rise of a bootiful nightfall for plentiful frights, thrillers, screams, petrification, horror, even some harmless tricks as well as tasty treats, is the upcoming spooktacular holiday known as Halloween revealing itself into an unexpected preparation or simply thrilled to spread out multiple scares everywhere without a rest to require until a single shrill has been blown from anyone's mouth instantly when it comes to frightful haunts casting a roaring fear into everyone's hearts which shall force their bodies to rock a terrified shiver downward the spines.

Although it wouldn't be a scarerrific blast of a celebrational enjoyment without a few dozen laughs, happiness, and let's not forget, a joyful get together activity to make any holiday a lot more smashing, especially through good as well as bad times in life no matter the odds nor difficulty if necessarily.

Returning home by a comfortable stroll throughout the neighborhood after a wonderful day in high school holding less books into your hands to study for homework, you, a beautiful yet also sweethearted young woman as well as honorable grade A student who hardly fails at anything, would also appreciate a rather decent environment of a season heretofore your graceful gaze including everybody else there is in the faultless suburban locality.

Witnessing deeply on how entirely breathtaking this Fall themed scenery before you really is since your early childhood, a gentle sigh from your thinly maw had escaped within a form of a puffy mist while remembering your first experience of this calming season as an innocent toddler observing the emerald coated leaves at the window transforming slowly from a normal color into several opposite, but wonderful hues of any kind such as red, brown, yellow, brown, as well as orange. Greatly astonished by their fascinated changes, it properly fills your heart with absolute delight siding by a rapid clap of your hands, marking as your far most favorite season to easily enjoy in absolute history.

Right now, as a youthful late adolescent, your love for hue changing plants next to spring blooming flowers will hardly cease to appease the living heck out of you for one minute, and nothing shall effortlessly rearrange your mind. Never now, nor ever for your whole ordinary young adult life.

Approaching toward the closed door of your household taking out the key from your pocket then placing it into the knobhole turning carefully to hear a click meaning that it's clearly opened, you entered inside. Home sweet home, as some or more people would always say when they can relax their energy from work as well as school at last. You, on the other hand, have plenty more in your system to spare for your daily chores across the living room, upstairs, and backyard before starting your homework about the origin of mythical monsters later tonight.

Placing down your homework books carefully upon the coffee table, you begin to stretch your arms all the way up high non tightly, cracking both knuckles especially the neck left and right following with a self indoor inhales then exhales various times to prevent a stressful pressure on yourself during an inauguration of your quotidian home cleansing. Rolling your inexisted long sleeves in ascendance mid high since they are mediumly short lacking any further ado just to stand around goofing off by doing plural stretching exercises, the task for tidying this normal abode into a standard non rushing pace than hasting oneself nevertheless, will now commence.

Meanwhile, into the distant location of an hollowed yet quiet park fields atop the half risen moonlight darkness, leaving only a couple of few benches sided along with empty swing sets instead of guiltless denizens who are now at home, a mysterious creature known as the bat flutters forwardly into the world soaring within the tranquil breeze like a free bird, but thrice dark.

Gliding its way over to the branch of the tree for a safe hover/land above it after a pleasing hobby of an enjoyable saunter in a blackened flight observing the gorgeously white diamond sphere centering into the dim blue navy skies at ease, until surprisingly, the half large devil winged beast have finally started to morphed itself from an airborne animal into an incredibly suavish human like form whose superior beauty will instantaneously outclass all handsome men that are unequally bested from someone more dashingly masculine such as he.

Fully revealing himself than just his godly attractive muscled slim feature alone, but secondly the slightly paled yet smooth looking skin, ravishingly amethyst pupils of his unbeatable manly eyes, four brassly shaded bangs that flow majestically through the singing wind considering the three pointed strands as well as the tri colored spiked hair dough, donning into a sleeveless obsidian shirt same for the leather pants, visibly showing off his kinky abs of a crop topped midriff designed with a navel pierced jewelry curved within the shape of an ancient object called the Millennium Puzzle, although basically in a small size unlike the original one he adorned across his neck and buckled choker. Cloaked with the extended indigo jacket worn onto his shoulders posing as a cape to act seriously cool than solely for show.

Slowly writing a fanged smirk within his luscious face as he seated onto a branching tree crossing his thin legs lounging properly to peer upward the delightful moon endlessly for awhile heretofore proceeding onward, the well mature shadowed person that goes by the name of Yami Yugi began to speak with a sexually deep voice.

"Hmm.... What a magnificent sight to behold indeed.... Yet also very beautiful to observe so closely...." He said calmly, having his golden bangs besiding with multi color mane softly brushed by the peaceful chill of the midnight gale. Unlike his faraway kingdom, he enjoys a great deal of close up observation seating on the front row branch, which it better than a balcony.

"Nothing shall be far more satisfying than the first glimpse of the graceful full moonlight of this fascinating night..... It truly does steal away my very breath and soul quite quickly.... Ahhhh.... How I adore such a lovely environment...."

As the mythical book obviously indicates, is that these night dwelling monsters known as vampires are famously realized for their possessive immortality beside in shimmering daylight when it comes to seeking as well as preying upon aidless flesh by their necks for refreshing blood to survive without the urge for harshful starvation whatsoever.

Unfortunately for this mysterious gentlemanly figure of a pharaoh before all, he is exceedingly beyond deathless compared to those that are foolishly ordinary and weak against him in every way indefinitely. In fact, no one else around the universe would even dare attempt to increase their worthless level up to his for something that barely matters to him at all.

His unsurpassable speed, strength, suave, even power comprehends no measley equality undoubted according to his inexplainable origin that remains a difficult mystery for all scientists, librarians, intellectuals, teachers, the whole rest to easily specify. Meaning that nothing or nobody will eagerly find out about who, what, or where he actually existed from, or their demise shall be crucially met by his punishable wrath.

This supremely charming vampiric male, additionally a sovereign prince, is also symbolized as the most powerful being in the world partially above all complete mortals alike, possessing such a dreamily unblemished complexation body as well as everything which can simply conquer the hearts of every beautiful helpless mortal women in the planet.

Speaking of that, he also inherits a bewitching type of spell, or more, so inescapable that their trained resistance would scarcely avail them from his dazzling stare or possibly an alluring belly dancing hex once their will has been dominated permanently, stealing away their attention from what they focused on within life by sensually beckoning his prey to come toward him.

Before the comforting initiation of inserting his pearly white fangs into their soothing colled skin quite deeply, he would sexually seduces his compelled victims without a practice to abstain himself from doing whatever he wishes to do, whether they appreciate it or not. As an example, requiring the desired taste for their delectably fresh anatomies to place his tongue onto than only the neck alone itself, slithering it very slow as well as steady with ascend and descend by pleasant force as possible.

For now, on his unrestrained well earned free time at lonesome, all that he has to do is rest soundly to the serene nighting scenery before him lying half way onto a branch sideways to obtain a clearer view of a nightfall entertainment. Magically snapping his gothic nailed painted fingers to create a formal glass of crimson wine, raising a glass mid up in a toast for a marvelous evening without an end.

"Here's to the most ravishing mistress of the eternal nightfall who has established such rare beatification for my utmost enjoyment...." The vampiric blonde smiled, complementing toward the gracious viewing of a noiseless darkness as well as the shining moon rising his glassed beverage once more then offers himself a nice mannered sip on a sweet red refreshment from a pure stainless wine glass that touched his dangerously mild lips.

Whistling both a soft satisfied sigh as well as deep chuckle exiting from his mouth, his tongue performs the honors by circling across the non salivated lips numerous times with a decent leisure, resuming his silent indulgement relishing the ageless outlook of the youthful night pleasing his needs.

"Ahhhhh..... It is so good to be greatly free within the gifted sea of midnight than to rest upon the throne with the lack of excitement that will entertain my interest...." Yami sighed in complete relaxation, hidden his arms behind the head while his legs are still firmly crossed wallowing into the comforting palms of the night goddess that is nighttime.

Until suddenly, appearing from afar or out of nowhere have came an unknown sweet aroma traveling through the personless park into a formless mist like an unseen fog guiding its path toward the tree where the crowned man is sitting, circling his surroundings just to gain his attention from the nightly daydream.

"Hmm? What is this?" He questioned, seeing this curious mist that emerge his presence with one of his eyes opened. Having no clue of what this strange odor could be, he would decide to take a careful whiff of it to make sure it's hardly gas, poison, or the putrid stench of a disgustingly raw onion smell that most vampires strongly despise. Then, an opposite sort of a aroma that's very harmonic had simmered his curiosity down to a minimum.

"By the Egyptian gods.... What is that lovely aroma that I have smelt? And where might it come from?"

Howbeit, toward his shocking discovery, it is neither one nor three of those rough stentches that he suspiciously detects at all, but a different type of fragrance to which surprises his keen sense of smell ever so quickly than several more boorish odors would ridiculously hope to impress his strong whiffing ability.

Above several kinds of foul stenches, this strange yet ultimately sweetened aroma emitting from farther beyond known as perfume has intrigued him so quickly he continued to sniff it non stop once it enters his nostrils. Purring in interested, the starfish haired prince was delightfully moved by this freshly scented fog like mist than multiple reeking odors at best.

"Mmmm.... Such a delicate scent... So sweet and pleasant..... It has lifted my very soul so vastly than anything else in the world...." He had almost swooned by the incredibly unique fragrance used by millions of ladies in different ages to kill off the repugnant stink from their bodies to smell real nice for any occasion or place to go.

Still totally phased by its angelic fragrance embracing his anatomy so closely refusing to let go, he had decided to pay a certain person, or to his case a kind young lady, a pleasant little visit while risen himself up from the seated branch after a wonderfully hobby of nightseeing, flipping his bangs slightly by the hand writing a seductive smirk into the handsome facial expression.

"Hmm. It would seem that I will have to investigate this ravishing smell before me in order to obtain my answer... And when I do, it will be quite a pleasure to sink my teeth into something, or otherwise, someone so beautiful and innocent.... He he he he he....."

With that, he began to sets off to locate a compassionate girl by following the fairly scent in front of him using teleporting to move himself toward the mellow neighborhood via swarming bats that transport him to any destination, making it more simpler to just beat the snot out of walking.

Back at the mellow suburbian area into the centering start of Halloween where children, teens, as well as adults cladded into their costumes all at once stroll across the district collecting loads of delicious candies offered from many houses that gave them all out, having tons of fun as safely necessary as the streetlights are on, while you are upstairs into the bedroom spraying your favorite rose scented perfume across yourself from a nice long shower you had after sanitizing the whole household living room and all before doing your homework.

Wearing a water absorbed bathrobe on your somewhat drenched body as you dry off your hair with a towel sitting on the bed folding your legs firmly, you would gaze the direction of the exquisite nightrise from the window viewing it on about how breathtakingly graceful this dark navy skied background properly is to you than only the love for autumn at solo. Grinning peacefully at its timeless beautification due to the middle of desiccating yourself, you decided to seat by the casement to side watch for a few minutes.

Outside reappearing into the neighborhooded location done by teleportation, the handsomely divine pharaoh looks around the area left, right, top to bottom feeling mildly impressed by such a remarkably normal suburbs that humans live here without a sign of violence whatsoever.

"My. This is such a rather peaceful community when I first laid my eyes upon it. Very non threatening indeed." He said admirably. "But I cannot fool around for much longer. I must locate the elegant scent immediately."

Refocusing on the top priority at hand self preventing himself not to stand oddly by or come here just to tour throughout the neighboring fields before him, he teleports yet again. But this time, his next stop: your place.

Fully clothed into your collared pajama gown at last, but deciding to let your temporarily locks out to blow dry as well as brush at the similar time while sitting onto the mattress at still, you grabbed both of them from the dresser next to you, plugging up the dryer first then setting it to high making it easier to dehydrate your hair thrice faster.

Elsewhere outside your humble abode appearing once again standing atop of the tree branch next to the window, Yami is still on the endless search to seek the mysterious aroma that increases his desires up to maximum. Finding out that either one of the houses he investigated do not have the succulent scent he whiffed back at the park.

"I have investigated every single household around this stationary neighborhood, but no sign of that sweet scent." He quietly growled, almost giving up on the lonesome search party until checking on the last house for tonight.

Sighing underneath his breath to get this wasteful reconnaissance over with, the dashing heir would ascend forwardly by staring into the window in a slight distance. Scrutinizing closely with the assistance of his transparent vision changing his eyes from purple into black, he can now research what's inside the building carefully.

Examining the entire bedroom non stop to capture this secret source of the delectable scent, his pupils would slowly direct their attention toward a special someone whose magnificent innocence than only beauty alone brings out a trillion smiles upon all faces unconditionally throughout the worst times in the world: You.

Silently gasping both in total awe as well as flabbergasted at your pure radiance before his violet peepers, he has never seen anyone this outrageously gorgeous heretofore in his immortal life until right now, causing his heart to skip a non rushing beat including eyes to half widen.

"My gods..... To who might be this....beautiful creature that stood before me? For I have never seen such rare elegance within my eternal life..."

Observing your flawless feature from head to toe with instant fascination by the window until a familar aroma had made its returning arrival yet again to surround His Royal Hotness by giving him a reminder about the real source that will surely answers his desperate question.

"There's that heavenly scent again.... And it's very close to this house... Could this mean....?"

Placing all of the pieces of the solving puzzle together into his mind during the temporary trek, the true answer lies toward this household directly before him through that bedroom window for you are sitting next to. Which can also mean that the marvelous fragrance he had been shortly trailing at the start, definitely comes from you all along.

You are the rare source of this gifted redolence that called onto the fanged pharaoh from the beginning because your window was slightly opened to air out the room since you covered your body with a scented Spring Rose perfume too much. Toward his liking, he always loved the smell of the crimson blooms so much when he was only a young prince.

Finally, the soughtful task of seeking the memorable scent from his childhood has offically become concluded to a close now that he possesses the answer into his palm. As a victorious celebration for his hard work, the greatest reward of all is clearly right in front of him, ripe for the taking.

"At long last..... I have found the source of the remarkable fragrance that I truly long for...." He grinned thankfully, redirecting his observation toward you in the resting room window brushing your lovely mane into a slow careful paste. "And I must admit, for an innocent young mortal such as her, she has a delightful scent of a beautiful rose...."

Proceeding once more to enjoy your richly blessed innocence spending most of your time on your own getting yourself together to start working on your homework before a gentle knock on your window glass, the mild mannered brassed vampire prince shall now perform on what he'll do best: paying a kind visit to your room and to have himself a permanent fun with you, including your scarless body, when you're unexpecting something or not looking, which is simply easy for him.

Only when the time comes, of course, but very soon you will become his favorable little rose to harmlessly play as well as seduce with all night long. Depending on how long the private romance between a human and vampire could sometimes take.

The blessful night remains within its youthful stratosphere caressing the calmly matured pharaoh's shoulder to ease his non stressful nerves, a beautiful full moonlight pours out its glimmering light upon the world featuring him himself, and lastingly, the sounding cry of the howling wolf echoes around the celestial sphere being the comforting music toward his ears. Now, without any further ado, a pleasurable evening, shall be formally introduced at last.

"Enjoy your most precious moment of your sweet young life, my darling little rose~ For it can be the only matter of time....until you, your body, and the elegant taste of your warm marvelous blood, will belong to me~..... He he he he he he~....."

((To Be Continued))

#yugioh #duel monsters #yami yugi #pharaoh atem #king of games #vampire atem #x reader #pov #halloween 2022 #vampire #steamy

29 notes · View notes