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#ahem AND IF I WRITE----
hannie-dul-set · 2 years
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read "the reason i decided to die" on webtoon and now my brain is thinking thoughts.
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gojoed · 7 months
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"oh my god satoru you look so cute here!"
"wait wait wait, don't look at those!"
you were currently holding a picture of satoru in your hands. it's nothing you haven't done before, going to the corner store and flipping through recently printed pictures of you and your friends after waiting a week for them to develop.
but this time you weren't holding snapshots of suguru having permanent marker on his face while sleeping or ridiculous photos of satoru and shoko grabbing onto each others hair, fighting over who gets to get the last snack from their stash. this time you held a photo of satoru, except younger. exponentially younger. as in, you just got your hands on a photo of satoru the moment he was born. literally.
like every other newborn he had that faint pink shade on his soft skin, button nose, and little hands that had the chubbiest of fingers. you swore you fell in love all over again with him.
the grown up version of the baby however did not feel the same. he didn't think a visit to his family's prestigious estate would lead to you seeing the one photo he would rather die than having any one of his friends see. he'd rather have you take a photo of him falling flat on his face on a pile of garbage actually.
how you came across that photo of him, he has no idea. you both were currently residing in his old bedroom, laid down on the old tatami mats that still smelled new. all he remembers is you getting up to look for something within the old cabinets of his room before you exclaimed about your recent discovery.
"oh there's more, lemme see."
"nononononono, no! you've already seen enough!"
satoru tried desperately to snatch the small box of photos that was now on the floor. seriously who put this here?? — maybe his mother heard of how he was bringing you along for the weekend and planted a little surprise for you to find. he was unsuccessful, again, as you seemed to be faster than the strongest now since the box was now sitting on your lap — the stack of photos now in your hands as you flipped through them one by one.
"you used to wear such cute things too! look at that, it's a little onesie with a duck pattern!"
satoru was now internally screaming, his ears blowing out steam now from embarrassment. they must be, since he could feel his face rise in temperature faster than ever, he might even be a new shade of scarlet now. he's resorted now to lying face first on the floor, burying his face in his arms trying to shield himself from your commentary.
he didn't budge when you poked him with your fingers, trying to show him photos of his even younger self. satoru won't deny it, he was cute as a baby. the cutest even (his ego was whispering that) — but to have you witness him in all his newborn glory? that was too much for him. now his image was shattered (the one he created in his head), you won't look at him the same anymore. you'll only think the words cute and adorable, and so on after this. no more comments on how hot he was, how undeniably attractive his smile was.
satoru gojo, was indefinitely, ruined.
that was at least his way of thinking. you were internally dying on the inside.
to think that at such a young age, satoru still held the most striking pair of eyes you've ever seen. even as a baby you could see that he held the heavens and even the depths of hell in them. you can see why many people whispered how his birth had changed everything in the jujutsu world.
but even so, you couldn't bring yourself to care about those old rumors. right now, you were focusing on just how cute he used to look, back when he was just a couple of pounds and was drowning in innocence that any baby had.
"hey satoru?"
"..mm?", well at least you got a reaction.
"who took these photos anyway?"
you had to wait a few seconds until you heard him shuffle, moving on all fours before sitting up and placing himself right next to you. the embarrassment had died down, just a bit. there was still evident pink on his neck, ears, and cheeks.
"it was mostly just my mom and the maids. they were the ones who always dressed me up too."
that made you smile, the image of a fussy satoru not wanting to put baby gloves on with a matching outfit — it was too good not to imagine. a few moments passed before satoru carefully snatched a handful of photos from you. you were about to protest when he began telling you the story behind each of them, or well, the ones he could remember.
maybe you seeing him like that wasn't so bad after all.
p.s., now he's totally gonna send some of these to the group chat. bet he was a cuter looking baby than suguru and shoko anyway.
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willowser · 6 months
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katsuki blames the alcohol for making him stupid.
really stupid.
not that he's had a lot, but his tolerance is low for a guy of his size, and he can feel the edges of his inhibitions dulling with every drink of whatever denki has shoved in his hand. it doesn't taste like absolute shit, which is rare enough to have him indulging, just a bit, for the agency halloween party.
another sip has his head feeling a little swimmy, and before he knows it, his eyes are trailing across the room until they find you. again.
whatever the hell you're supposed to be tonight—a witch, or something else in a pointy hat—is really fucking with him, and has since you walked in. the costume isn't revealing in a sense that it's inappropriate for a work event, but it's...hugging you in all the right places. in every single one of them.
without tights, it would be on the too-short side, but—and no, katsuki can't fucking explain this—something about them is making everything worse. and your calf-high boots ain't helping, either.
it's just—your fucking—hips.
katsuki couldn't tell you what song is playing, but you're swaying back and forth to the tune and one of his canines digs into the plastic of his cup, so deeply that it makes a terrible creaking sound and dents beneath the pressure—and that's when a sharp elbow is delivered to the center of his chest.
mina is at his side when he looks, and her wide, freaky eyes scan his face before narrowing in her little shit-eating way.
"you're a pig."
katsuki chokes, and the little freak takes that as an admission of some kind.
"oh my god," she gasps, mouth falling in all her disgust and awe. "you can't even deny it!" and then she laughs, high and chirpy, and there's no way you can't hear her. "oh, you're down bad."
"cram it," he snaps, sinking his scowl into his cup. "i dunno what the hell you're talkin' about."
"you know i really thought better of you," mina sniffs effectively, turning her face up and away. "not the type to be blantly checking out somebody's ass."
katsuki bristles, and his aggrivation growns until the plastic in his hands starts to melt. "i wasn't—"
"i'm kidding!" mina snorts before flicking him in the nose, narrowly dodging the hand he swipes out at her. "quit being a baby and go shoot your shot already."
"piss. off."
but the hero is unaffected by him, simply scrunching up her face in response before turning on her heel to disappear further into the party.
she's wrong, katsuki thinks, because he's not a pig like sero or fucking dunce face or even kirishima, from time to time, who gets red in the face over a low cut shirt and a pair of tits.
fucking ridiculous, katsuki thinks, because he's way better than that.
it's just—the alcohol. that's making his lids heavy and his thoughts dark and his face hot. has him peeking at you over the lip of his cup, has him picturing you in his head when he's forced to look away.
and, well, maybe, the short cut of your dress has a little something to do with it, too—but he's keeping that shit to himself.
taking it to the grave, even.
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clu-ven · 1 month
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Better than Meditation
soooo I haven't posted in a very long time but I'm trying to get back into writing!!! (so pls bear with me xoxoxoxoxo)
Summary: you come up with an alternative (smutty) way for Crosshair to gain some control over his hand - based off S3 E08
Tags: SMUT, vaginal fingering, semi public fingering?? (technically it’s done in an isolated but public place), lil bit of plot + smut, smut, smut
Word Count: 2.8k
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“He’s still down there, y’know” Omega’s voice brings you out of your thoughts as she slumps down beside you.
You keep your eyes closed, letting the rays of the afternoon sun wash over you. Pabu’s climate is one you could most definitely get used to. It’s inviting and comforting atmosphere makes you feel at ease, a sensation that has become rare since the rise of the Empire.
“Well, you know how stubborn he is,” you reply casually. 
While Hunter and Wrecker are gone to meet some bounty hunter they know, Crosshair has spent most of his time on a secluded part of the beach, focused on correcting his aim.  Everyone has tried to talk to him about it but unfortunately, that only made things worse.
Now Crosshair is more defensive than ever, determined to prove that he is perfectly capable of correcting his shaky hand by himself. 
“Yeah but AZI said it might be some kind of mental block,” Omega sighs, subtly copying you as she closes her eyes too “if he doesn’t open up and let us help him, then how is he supposed to get better?”.
Her concern for Crosshair makes you smile, impressed by how she’s able to delicately balance trying to help her brother without being too overbearing.
The question lingers for a few moments before you open your eyes and glance down at her “And he’s already shot down your meditation idea?”.
Omega briefly mentioned the idea to you that morning and although you were sceptical, you encouraged her determination to help anyway. 
“Of course he did,” she lets out a heavy sigh “saying he didn’t like it is an understatement”. 
A comfortable silence grows between you both as you consider the situation. But before you can speak, Omega quickly becomes restless and blurts out “Can’t you try speaking with him? He’ll listen to you, I just know it!”. 
It’s no secret that you and Crosshair were once close and you can only presume Omega has heard about this from the likes of Wrecker, who wouldn’t give a second thought about mentioning it.
"I can try but..." you trail off, hesitating to make a decision. Doubt clouds your judgement, stopping you from promising anything. After all, you know how stubborn and closed-minded Crosshair can be at times, especially when it comes to being vulnerable.
Omega's face lights up at your hesitant help. "Great! Sometimes trying is all it takes". She seems upbeat and enthusiastic as she stands “I was gonna go introduce Batcher to Mox, Stak and Deek anyways so it’s good to know Crosshair won’t be alone”.
Giving the girl a tight-lipped smile in response, Omega whistles for Batcher. With one last goodbye, she hurries off happily.
You wait until she’s gone before you sigh and slump down again. Although Crosshair has been back for a while now, the two of you have yet to have a proper reunion, leaving you both unsure of how to approach the situation. 
Knowing you can’t put this off for forever, you begrudgingly get up and start the long descent down to the secluded beach. 
The subtle change in weather appears to align with your mood, as the sun dips behind the clouds and a warm breeze begins to pick up. It causes the light fabric of your skirt to dance in the wind as if it has a mind of its own. But it’s only a momentary distraction as your thoughts swiftly return to Crosshair, focusing fully on him and the impending catch-up. 
You and Crosshair were always close during the Clone Wars, constantly laughing at each other’s snide remarks, bickering simply for the sake of it and always trying to get a rise out of the other. Even back then, you knew where the constant teasing would eventually lead to… but then it didn’t. 
Instead, the war came to an end and before you even got the opportunity to speak with Crosshair, the rest of the Batch had turned up at your door and told you that he had already picked his side.
Since then, you have been travelling with the batch. It took a long time to accept that whatever was between you and Crosshair was gone, whether that be a friendship or something more. That died the day the Republic did. 
But in a strange twist of faith, Crosshair is back and so are your lingering feelings. Although, if it was difficult to confront this emotion before everything happened, it’s become utterly impossible now. Neither of you have mentioned it and yet you still catch his longing gaze whenever he thinks you’re not paying attention.
When you reach the beach, it’s exactly how you pictured; Crosshair is alone, his sniper positioned steadily on a rock as he tries to shoot the far off target. A blaster bolt sprints across the water as he fires, missing his target by a few inches. You hear him mutter something under his breath as he tries again.
Flicking his chewed up toothpick to the ground, Crosshair notices you. “Yes?” He asks impatiently, lining up another shot.
“You’ve been out here all day,” you state the obvious “Omega’s worried about you”.
Crosshair doesn’t reply immediately, first firing (and missing) again before he turns around just to make sure you see his eye roll. “Oh, is she?” His tone is underlined with sarcasm. 
A huff falls from your lips and suddenly you know all too well why Omega was so irked after trying to help the man in front of you. Despite the scowl on your face, you refuse to fall into the usual bickering you once had with him. 
“You know she is,” you sigh “maybe you should take a break, come have some lunch and forget about target practice for a while”.
He watches you for a moment, studying you the same way you’ve seen from the corner of your eye “And when did you become mother hen?”.
Scoffing, you walk closer, hugging yourself with your arms “Don’t act like that, you know you’re overworking yourself… Crosshair, please, you need to take care of yourself”. 
The concern in your voice takes him by surprise but Crosshair quickly recovers as he mutters “Oh, so you’re worried about me now?”.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You bat back at him.
“You’ve hardly looked at me, nevermind speak to me since I’ve gotten back” he practically spits the words out. 
You no longer hold back your glare “Like you’ve made any effort to talk to me!”.
“How can I when you don’t even look at me?” Crosshair challenges, his gaze unyielding as your annoyance fades as quick as it came. 
Coming up to the rock he’s based at, you slide down against it to shield yourself from the wind. Crosshair follows suit and kneels beside you, waiting cautiously for your response. 
Your tone holds a sense of sincerity as you speak, your words now free of any reservations. "I do look at you… of course I do," you confess with genuine intent, all annoyance and restraint vanishing within you. 
“Then you must see me staring,” he almost whispers the words, watching you carefully “I thought you would have gotten the hint by now that I’m still interested”.
A soft smile graces your lips and as if taming a wild animal, you slowly reach out for his hand. Crosshair makes no attempt to stop you and you gently slip your hand into his before you tug him closer. 
Settling his hand on to your lap, you begin to trace your finger up and down his palm until finally resting your hand delicately on his wrist. “Let me help,” you offer “seriously, Crosshair”.
“And how would you help?” Though the question almost seems backhanded, you know that’s just Crosshair being Crosshair.
The mischievous glint in your eye paired with the suggestive smirk plastered across your face doesn’t go unnoticed by him. 
“How do you think?” you question. 
He holds your gaze as if to challenge you to make the first move but you hold strong. This is your moment and you both know it.
A secluded beach? A chance for you both to finally reunite in a way you could only imagine? Both of your minds go to the same place.
You give his wrist a small yet reassuring squeeze and before you can make another comment, his lips are on yours. 
With an intensity fuelled by pure need, he slams his lips against yours in a heated display of passion. This isn’t just a build up of years worth of longing for Crosshair. No, it’s much more than that. It’s an act of rebellion against the time he lost with you because of the Empire, both in spite of his own misplaced loyalty to them as well as his time on Tantiss. 
The fiery kiss goes on for what feels like an eternity and yet the time seems far too brief when it finally comes to an end. The passion flaring between the two of you is intoxicating, causing you to crave more.
His fingers twitch on your lap, eager to do more for you. As if on cue, you both look down at his hand, your soft grasp still around his wrist.
“You have to be calm, be able to stay consistent with your shots if you want to hit the target, right?” you ask, trying not to smirk when you see his sudden confusion. 
In a moment like this, you seriously decide to give him some advice on shooting? Crosshair nods, silently waiting to see where this is going.
“Maybe you’re approaching this from the wrong perspective,” you suggest, noticing how his attention shifts to your lips “you’re focusing on your sniper abilities, looking to re-learn your techniques… but you need to re-learn how to use your fingers in order to effectively use your sniper”.
“And how do you propose I do that?” his voice is low, causing the skin on your arms to prickle with goosebumps. You can feel the effect of his voice in your panties.
With your free hand, you begin to bunch up your skirt, first revealing your thighs and then a glimpse of your underwear. Crosshair can’t help it as a groan escapes from his throat.
You guide his hand closer to your clothed core before Crosshair takes initiative and brushes his fingers teasingly against you. 
He can feel the warmth beneath your underwear, feeling more assured in his movements when he hears you take in a sharp breath. But even with the small boost in confidence, Crosshair can’t help it as a small tremor courses through his hand. 
“Take your time,” your voice is soft but firm in your reassurance “and if this is too much then we can stop”. Fearful that you’ve pushed him too far, you slowly begin to close your legs as you nervously fiddle with your skirt “I didn’t mean to push you so-”.
You stop your apologetic remark when his firm grip stops your legs from meeting. A brief look of disbelief flicks across your face as he spreads your legs to his liking.
“No,” there is no hesitancy in Crosshair’s voice as he takes control of the situation “you started this, don’t go shy on me now”. This time it’s your turn to nod silently.
His fingers glide down to caress you again, this time feeling the dampness from beneath your underwear. Each reaction you give, whether a sharp intake of breath or a slight quiver up your spine, only serves to fuel Crosshair’s determination. He savors these small responses, revelling in how you leave each reaction so bare for him to see.
Crosshair smirks “If this is how you react to such simple touches, do you think you could handle me touching you without anything between us?”. 
“You’d be surprised with how much I can handle” you taunt.
Oh how he has missed how you challenge him. Your snarky response is rewarded with a kiss but before you can melt into it, Crosshair brings both of his hands to your hips and swiftly pulls your panties down. 
The eager sight that greets him brings a smile to his face. Crosshair can feel his excitement growing but before he can get ahead of himself, he’s committed to take care of you first. 
Crosshair teasingly brings just one finger down to your core. A slight tremor causes his finger to waver but after a second, it stops as desire overtakes him. His finger teases you, feeling just how much you want him. Before he can make another teasing comment, you pull him in for another kiss, unable to help yourself.
Crosshair is quick to take control of the kiss, simultaneously pushing his tongue into your mouth as he sinks his long finger into you. You welcome all of him, moaning into his mouth. Taking your sounds as encouragement, Crosshair adds a second digit to your core. 
He pushes in until he’s knuckle deep, successfully finding that spot within you. Crosshair takes your advice to heart. He keeps a consistent rhythm, thrusting his fingers inside of you. He listens to each involuntary squeak and moan, adjusting his speed and pressure of each pump of his fingers to whichever makes you react the most. 
There’s not a slight tremble in his entire hand, his attention solely on you. There is no room for nerves or doubt to creep in and cause his hand to shake. That seems almost impossible now, especially with you like this in front of him.
There is nothing but you and him in this moment, the rhythmic movement of his fingers serving as proof that he has full control.
He buries his fingers into you, pressing the palm of his hand against your clit and delivering powerful jolts of pleasure into your body.
“That’s it,” he coos at your moans “you’re nearly there, aren’t you?”.
A flutter fills your chest as your breathing becomes more rapid. "Y-yes,” you manage with a strained voice, your mind becoming overwhelmed with arousal “keep doing that”. 
You squeeze around his fingers, feeling the tight coil in your lower stomach getting closer and closer to finally snapping.
Your body responds to his touch in the most natural of ways, your back arching and head bowing in a display of utter pleasure. Your hand instinctively searches for contact, grabbing hold of his knee as the overwhelming sensation begins to consume you.
Your legs twitch, eyes rolling back in your head and a rather loud moan escapes your lips as the satisfaction you feel begins to peak. 
Bliss floods your entire being and the mixture of your moans and whimpers blend together in a melodic harmony. Every movement of his hand guides you through the waves of ecstasy, sending shivers through your body. 
Crosshair hums approvingly as you come down from your sigh. Almost reluctantly, he takes his hand away from you and examines his sticky but steady fingers. “My hand hasn’t been able to do so much and remain so still since… well, ever since Tantiss” he comments.
Trying to give your shaky legs more time to recover, you fix your panties before you reposition your skirt. Stealing a glance at Crosshair, you’re glad to see you’re not the only one with flushed cheeks. You smile almost bashfully as you lean on the rock to stand. 
Crosshair is there to help, gently holding your upper arm as you steady yourself. Despite the sass you gave him earlier and the bliss he just brought you now, you find it hard to maintain eye contact. 
Clearing your throat, you try to regain some of that boldness from before “Well then… good luck with your target practice, I’ll go see if the others have made contact yet”.
“What?!” the sound is almost foreign to you; the sound of an utterly bamboozled Crosshair. 
Pushing yourself off the rock, you feel his grasp slip away from your arm. You continue to walk as you turn around to savor his shocked expression.
“What about me?” he asks, trying to be inconspicuous as he gestures to the tent in his pants “I thought this was about helping me?”.
“Yeah, I know,” you reply with a smirk “you’ll get your reward when you hit the target”. With a wink, you turn your back to him and begin the ascent back. 
Crosshair’s jaw hangs open as he watches you go, and he can’t help but laugh at your audacity.
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HI, SO.. PERIOD HORNIES STRIKE AGAIN..
This little snippet was absolutely, definitely not inspired by anything irl 👀 Ahem, nope.
.▪︎°•..☆.•
"Uh uh.. not yet, draga."
You let out an arousingly needy whimper. The Lady's voice soft and warm - smooth like whiskey - with such a subtle tone to it that somebody else might have missed the absolute demand behind it. Though, the fact that it cracked ever so slightly when she got to your pet name, only proved that she was just as worked up as you were. But you also knew that Alcina's reserve could far out last yours if she wanted it to.
Another thrust into your aching core and you whimpered again, this time digging your nails into the sheets. The Countess had been edging you for what seemed like hours. A constant ebb and flow of pleasure that had your body absolutely trembling with need.
"P-please."
"Mh.. and deny yourself the honor of coming with your Mistress?"
Alcina smirked as she drove herself into you again, roughly.
"Ah-!" You cried, before letting out a soft sob half whimper. "I'll.. but I can c-come again for you, my lady."
The Countess chuckled at your plea before leaning down, her large frame casting you in a dark shadow.
"You could..." Her breath warm across your ear, a slight hiss to the next words that she gave you. ".. but I told you to wait."
You cursed under your breath and nodded. "Y-yes, Mistress."
"Mh.. that's better."
The large woman hummed in satisfaction before rising to her full height, a flash of crimson and two golden spheres staring down at you. A deliciously wet sound as the length of her cock slowly slid out of you, stretching you around the width of her before it stopped just short, reaching the tip.
"Now..." Her tone almost as dark as the curl across her lips as she readied your hips for impact, the head of her cock throbbing inside your entrance. "Shall we see just how many times I can get you to come for me... my needy little slut."
.▪︎°•..☆.•
OKAY, THAT IS ALL. THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY THIRST TALK ♡
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katballesteros · 5 months
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Sachi
Commissioned by @inusmasha for @mustardyellowsunshine
Enjoy, Robin! :)
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marciabrady · 7 months
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it's so funny to me that the princess our culture associates fundamentally with passivity offers credos which are among the most active and powerful of any in the fairytale canon
first and foremost, cinderella communicates that we all are what we contribute.
cinderella saves the mice and fosters an environment of collaboration, harmony, and unity that's harbored by her own industrious nature. mind you, she does all of this against her stepfamily's wishes, actively defying them, and creating a counterculture in the process.
as the story team intended the animals to be a reflection of their human counterpart, notice how cinderella's kindred are uniformly hardworking, intentionally kind, and approach every situation with their best foot forward, adapting a problem-solving mindset that collectively aids them all in their shared progression toward the betterment of themselves and the world around them. take the very first scene in which we see cinderella and the culture she's created, for instance:
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everyone has a hand in the first chores of the day and they're all choosing to do it with a smile on their face. key word: choosing. because this isn't an idly happy lot whose joy is an accident of their own nature or something that's easy. their happiness is something they have to be mindful of and, in many cases, fight against themselves to achieve. because, guess what? their life is terrible. they've been reduced to living in a dusty attic room of a decaying house. many of them were saved from death by cinderella, herself, and know that if they venture too far outside of the safe quarters she's provided, or if they allow themselves to be seen in some way, they'll be back at death's doorstep. the danger and stress they live under would cause anyone to snap, or anyone to never want to get out of bed, which is why we see them looking like this in one of the most relatable openings of all time:
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i mean, cinderella canonically hits the snooze button:
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the birds literally have to force her to wake up, initially:
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and once she does wake up, she's playful and pleasant and kind, yes. but that doesn't last long- the clock immediately tries her by reminding her of the daily toil she must face in order to maintain the food and shelter that's tantamount to, not only her own survival, but that of this tiny community that she's the unofficial mayor over and continues to be responsible for. she has to sustain herself and the others she's collected around her by choosing to live life the way she does. this kindness is something she has to pay for, every day. and she physically snarls at being reminded of the hand life's dealt her:
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and you know what? that's a very human quality that everyone can identify with in some regard because it's hard, even if you are someone who loves life and the people around you, to keep going in spite of the challenges you face. being positive, plainly put, is something that's difficult and you have to keep reengaging yourself to be because it isn't a natural state for most people, and especially not people that have been treated as unkindly as cinderella. let's not forget that she lost both of her parents at a young, formative age, and from that time in her youth when, like all other children, she deserved to be supported and loved and protected, she was literally "abused, humiliated" and "forced" into being a literal "servant in her own house." she had no security- both of her parents were gone, she had no money to fall back on, no education, no means with which to leave the house, and to try to get a job in that world and environment- as unlikely as it would've been to obtain in the first place (which, again is so relatable- look at the staffing shortages and people struggling to find employment today)- would've been contingent upon references of some sort, and we all know that lady tremaine definitely would've either a) ran a smear campaign against cinderella to absolve herself and the family name of any personal fault or b) prevented cinderella from ever leaving in the first place so that no one would ever know that atrocities the tremaines forced her to endure from the time she was practically an infant.
she wakes up after barely being able to sleep, probably, due to all the daily chores she must, alone, accomplish to keep an entire estate afloat. everyone is depending on her, from the stepfamily to the mice to the grounds of her family's home itself. her body's practically aching from the lack of rest, the physical work she's forced to do every day, from sleeping on such an uncomfortable bed. the only place she feels remotely safe is in this drafty attic, which smells of fraying wood and aging artifacts and is in a constate state of decay, with weeds growing in the sides of the tower. that's not even mentioning the emotional turmoil, the ptsd, the grief, the neglect, the physical abuse she's also processing at any given moment
so, yeah, cinderella snaps. and there are times she snaps later on in the film but she always reels herself in and consciously makes the choice to never succumb to her circumstances. this is what makes cinderella extraordinary. she singlehandedly- and actively- ends the cycle of abuse through the behavior and choices she partakes in every single day.
and, again, this isn't something that's easy for someone who has been in survival mode for a majority of their life. but the conscious choices, active efforts, and mindful decisions cinderella makes is what frees the household from that cycle of abuse continuing. i mentioned earlier that the animals are supposed to be a parallel to their human counterparts. remember how we meet gus? he's just been caught in a trap, doesn't have anything to wear, and is literally recoiling in fear. due to his terror and his own need to defend himself out of instinct, he attempts to make himself come off as threatening as possible and is ready to pop off the minute that jaq approaches him:
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but, through cinderella's influence, she's able to give him hope once more. she treats him warmly, pairs him up with a buddy to go through life with, comes up with a name- and even a nickname- for him, gives him a community, a safe haven, and clothes him. in that short time, look at the difference she's made in his mood, his demeanor, even his approach to life:
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and it isn't just the mice cinderella's this way with. in the opening slides, we see cinderella holding an adorable puppy dog. but as the film progresses, and the narrator details the despair the family estate has fallen into, that puppy dog turns into an old, starved bloodhound who's secretly sleeping on the floor of the cold kitchen to keep from freezing to death. he has to keep even his dreams to himself so as to not be heard by the stepfamily and potentially kicked out. he openly hates lucifer but cinderella encourages him to think of lucifer's good points too, even if she can't think of any herself, to be able to continue successfully cohabiting this environment with him. and when he pounces on lucifer, deserved or not, she puts an end to this:
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because cinderella knows what will ever happen if bruno allows himself to give into his impulses, to treat others as life has treated him, to attempt to retaliate in an impossible environment when the odds are already against you. you'll harm yourself the most and perpetuate that cycle.
but, just as bruno is a reflection of cinderella, notice how gleeful lucifer is in falsely incriminating bruno, so that another being who's never wronged him will be unjustly punished and suffer:
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this is what separates cinderella from the tremaines. this is why she is the heroine and they will never be, despite how many people you see empathizing with how unfairly life must've treated them for being the "conventionally unattractive" characters in the film, or for having a single mother which to them denotes less resources, or for being awkward, or for whatever other reason of the month they're being rewritten to be the victims.
if we are the sum of our contributions, the tremaines are nothing and that is definitely a reflection of their reality. they only feel alive when they're making fun of cinderella or humiliating her by continuing that cycle of abuse they passively adhere to and never challenge. remember how we met cinderella and her friends, gathering their spirits and putting on a smile, despite how hard it is with the troubles that face them? how they look past that to work together and try to change life for the better?
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the tremaines can't be bothered to get out of bed. the truly passive, lazy characters, they grog about in dim rooms, turning around in their fine silks and ornate finery, while a being they literally enslaved is being forced to do their bidding. and they refuse to actively participate in their very charmed and privileged life. they can't even find a reason to be happy- but instead are upset when cinderella enters their room. they want to know why she's taken so long, to hurry up, to continue to wait on them, hand and foot. when she asks them how they're doing, they grumble, "as if you care." because they don't care about anyone else, so why would others care about them? and that type of apathy breeds resentment, which- in the wake of such sedentary creatures- seeks manifestation and results in destruction. the stepsisters get out of their comfortable beds only when they have the opportunity to point their finger at cinderella, to get their mother to punish her. again, they feel alive by inflicting pain on others, it's literally what gets them out of bed:
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again, as the parallel, this goes for lucifer, too:
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as cinderella nears lady tremaine's bed, her stepmother's eyes blaze with fury, hatred plain on her face:
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lady tremaine doesn't move, her hand only lifting to stroke lucifer, who has the biggest grin on his face. meanwhile, the desperation is evident in cinderella. she isn't quite defeated, because she does stick up for herself three times in the scene. but she's tired of this. she's tired of being tormented by her only family, of having the odds stacked against her even when she's doing everything in her power to live as peacefully and productively as possible, of being forced to fight a losing battle that will never result in peace but will only further prompt hatred, and division, and anger. in her expression, there's almost a plea for lady tremaine:
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it isn't until she sees cinderella's expression, she hears cinderella try to explain what happened, that she livens up. because she has the opportunity to, again, keep that cycle of abuse alive, to actively try to destroy cinderella's quality of life and to profit off the position of power she's in over cinderella. look at the difference in lady tremaine's expression in the previous cap, and in this one, when she believes she's silenced cinderella and is preparing to tear into her:
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one of the best instances through which i can further illustrate this ideology (you are what you contribute) is in a later scene, where we see the stepsisters discard their fine wares, labeling it trash and flinging the luxuries life's afforded them to scorn. it's nothing to them.
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yet, to the mice and cinderella, it isn't nothing. because, remember, the royal proclamation declared that every eligible maiden should attend. at first, the stepmother refuses to let cinderella go and even the stepsisters brush her aside with classist comments. when cinderella sticks up for herself by reminding them she's still a member of the family, and by trapping them in the language of the royal decree "every eligible maiden," lady tremaine has no choice but to consent- on the grounds that cinderella is able to make herself eligible through producing a suitable dress. because, remember, cinderella isn't seen as a person. she's seen as subhuman, someone who's reduced to wearing tatters and isn't seen as a person in the eyes of their society unless she has social indicators of wealth via her clothing, in this specific instance. drizella and anastasia never have to think about that, because they exist as people of value in their society due to their good fortune that they had no part in creating. they don't know what it's like to be laughed at, to not be considered eligible or even a person in the eyes of society the way that cinderella's lived experience has reflected since her father died. meanwhile, the tremaines are so deep in their own privilege, that they're literally waving it around like it's a rag and carelessly tossing it away. yet, what does cinderella do, with much less?
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cinderella makes do with what little she has, always to help someone else. and because of this active kindness, it changes the mindset of those around her. since she's afforded this to so many of the mice, what do they do for her in return?
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what a difference in how cinderella and the stepfamily approaches what's, essentially, the same material? and this community that cinderella has established and continually maintained and influenced comes to each other's aid, time and time again. whether it's cinderella freeing the mice from death, or giving them clothing, or allowing bruno to sleep inside unbeknownst to the stepfamily, or the mice turning into a LITERAL army and battleground in cinderella's honor:
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again, this community is just as active and vital as cinderella, herself, is. because those values i mentioned earlier, of helping one another and rising above your circumstances and working together, aren't just whimsical morals cinderella sings about. they're constant behaviors she's actively taking part in and impact the household they all share, to the point where when they help each other take action when the time is right. they're constantly conferring with one another on how to best use their community and the resources this offers to get closer to victory. (meanwhile, the stepfamily is only for themselves; anastasia and drizella literally repeatedly hit each other and compete, even to the point of giving conflicting stories to the grand duke that makes their pathetic attempt seem all the more discreditable at alleging they were the princess at the ball the night before) we see it in how cinderella and her friends accomplish their chores together, in how the mice plan to get her dress remade while she's busy, even in how cinderella's quick thinking leads to calling upon bruno, who must be awoken by the birds with an interjecting call from the horse, and how this leads to all of their escape:
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because, this community also knows when it to fight and support one another in times of battle and when the goal will bring about a victory that will ultimately reign peace; they know when it's worth it for a shared goal and the benefit of all parties involved. and the difference cinderella brought into that household is what gave them all glory and helped them, not only survive, but succeed. it isn't just the poor scullery maid we see ascend in the closing chapter of the film. we see the same bluebirds who attempted to wake her up in the beginning of the film holding her wedding veil:
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we see those same mice that she nursed from death, and clothed, and fed, and loved; the mice that risked their lives in remaking her deceased mother's dress so that cinderella might, too, have a chance to go to the ball; they're still here, cheering her on and throwing rice in blessing at the happy couple, their own clothing being upgraded to reflect that of the royal staff:
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we see that starved bloodhound and the old horse leading the royal regiment, as beautiful and shining and proud as their majestic counterparts:
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and this is the world that cinderella, as a character, offers. not a world in which multiple parties are at competition with one another over who's the prettiest, or the wealthiest, or where hatred breeds continual hatred. but she presents us a world in which everyone deserves to be seen, heard and valued; where everyone can find a community they can contribute to and have purpose in and be worthy of experiencing love, whatever you determine love to be whether it's romantic or in the form of a found family.
a world in which everyone can go to the ball:
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For $5 USD stop making everything about that goddamn show for five minutes.
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kinos-fortress-2 · 5 months
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what does one unfinished fic from like 2022 of a very rareshipp does a to a mf
and also a trashy playlist that got me in my own feelings...
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raikirikiri · 17 days
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thinking about if konoha ninja who became anbu frequently 'died' so they wouldn't be on any registry and so other villages would get word that notable shinobi have 'died'. they don't do it often, that would be suspicious, but they do it to kakashi. minato assigns him to anbu and apologizes blandly when he tells him his death is going to be faked. kakashi, broken traumatized and depressed, thinks nothing of it.
kakashi 'dies' on a mission months after the death of rin, after obito watched, after he lost pretty much everything and any sense of self he had. his body isn't recovered and the circumstances of his death are unclear.
if im being entirely cruel, this means that no one in the village (guy, asuma, iruka, etc.) would know that kakashi is still alive. they all think he's dead and they grieve him and kakashi... disappears. he doesn't know himself anymore and he can't, because he's dead and he's in the anbu now and that's all that matters. his life for konoha in life and death, always.
obito, being the stalker he is, looks for kakashi. he missed him entering the anbu, he missed the faked funeral, he missed a lot. he tries to find him in his shoebox apartment, stakes out minato's home, sits at the memorial stone and rin's grave. but kakashi never shows up and obito decides he'll check the active missions in konoha, just to know where kakashi is (definitely not to follow him and watch him, that'd be weird, duh). so after sneaking into the hokage's office with kamui, he rifles through the piles of s-rank and a-rank missions, but kakashi's name is nowhere to be found. confused and almost insulted on kakashi's behalf, he checks the b-ranks and below, but no dice.
now obito is getting...nervous might not be the word but he's definitely feel angry at this point. if kakashi isn't home, on a mission, grieiving, or with minato then where is he. obito stalks guy next, finds him sitting on a rock by a stream, glum. he's pale, his eyes are watery, he looks exhausted and obito is definitely nervous at this point. he'd never admit it but for something to get guy of all people down... obito fears for the worst.
through much stalking and espionage, obito finds out where kakashi is.
he's dead.
that can't be right.
he would've heard if kakashi was dead, right? zetsu would've told him. he would've known. kakashi has one of his eyes, he definitely would've known. and obito, pissed, scared, and indignant, opens up the connection between him and kakashi, searching for kakashi's vision, for what he can see. he hasn't done it since that night when rin...
he didn't want kakashi to know it existed, never even wanted to take that chance. but he doesn't care anymore. kakashi isn't dead. it's just not possible.
obito was right. kakashi isn't dead.
but he might as well be.
kakashi has no way out of the anbu now, no way that wouldn't give away konoha's secrets. guy can't help him because guy thinks he's dead, minato can't help him, he killed him in the first place. kakashi will forever live, breathe, and die for konoha. it makes obito's blood boil, he feels reminiscent of the night rin died.
he hates kakashi. he wants to hate kakashi. he can't hate kakashi. he can hate the world, he can despise konoha, he can want to kill minato. but kakashi...
he's never been able to hate him. no matter how hard he tried, how easy kakashi made it for him. when it came to kakashi, his balance between love and hate was never more skewed.
there's a particularly awful mission, kakashi is the only one to return to the village and he's...he's not good. obito watches him laugh hysterically as he washes his hands of blood that isn't there. he's never seen kakashi so broken and it hurts more than he ever thought it would.
obito gets kakashi out of the anbu. kakashi hates him for it, fights him, thrashes against him and his will and ideologies. kakashi doesn't know him, obito was too ahamed to reveal himself. it doesn't matter though, kakashi wants to die. he was happy in the anbu, he says. it'd be a quicker death, a noble death.
you've already died, obito shouts at him, enraged and torn apart. how can't he see it? how can he be so naive and blind to it all?
kakashi doesn't answer, doesn't know what words to say to make this stranger believe he isn't worth the trouble. obito has no choice.
with a shaking hand, he removes his mask. kakashi watches, eyes wide and wet and obito throws the mask to the side to hold out his hand. you've already died, but you can be reborn.
with me.
kakashi, broken tattered and thoroughly sure he's lost it, takes obito's hand. yes, kakashi thinks, he's died. but if this is the afterlife, than maybe things won't be so bad...
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ghostchems · 2 months
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inbox = cleared
drabble requests = open
i am comfortable writing secondo, terzo and copia. less comfortable writing primo, mary goore, silco and raphael but will consider requests for them! can be a lil one-shot or maybe something that exists in a world from my fics :)
i reserve the right to ignore requests if the creative juice ain’t there — please do not take it personally if i skip yours.
send me a drabble request :)
sent me a request already? happy with the result? consider leaving me a lil tip :)
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kangaracha · 17 days
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CATSKIN for @feelbokkie
prompt felix + twisted fairytale (catskin)
TW for blood, minor character death, mentions of sexual assault, medieval type violence
word count 4444
---
I.
When first you meet, it is like two stars colliding - like the sun and the moon dancing around each other in the sky, and love at first sight is a dream for foolish, insipid children and you know that to be true, but...
Maybe in this moment, you forget. Maybe you see his face, warm against the cold ice of the cape that falls over his shoulder, or maybe you watch the soft curve of his mouth as he laughs at something his brother says, standing so subtly apart from the crowd that no one notices they are there. Maybe your eyes meet across the room, sun-warmed brown to striking blue, and time stills and the dance stops and your heart thinks that here and now, nothing else could matter but the taste of his name on your tongue and knowing what his hand would feel like in yours.
But this isn't real. The ballroom is crowded, and he is a familiar face you have never met, and you are a stranger with the moon draped over your shoulders for the night. The band strikes up a dance, a lively rhythm that swings fast and slow, and you are swept into the rush of the current, your feet moving in a pattern that they know from heart. Your hands are still stained with coal; you take every suitor's hand palm-down, hiding the black stains that won't quite scrub from already-dark skin, and you waltz without meaning until pale, slender fingers take yours and hold them tight, tugging you from the dance before you can be passed on to the next partner in line.
"Wha-" you begin, and then you look up into the eyes you've dreamed of for days and months and years and forget what you were going to say at all.
"Sorry," he says, and drops your hand with all the haste you'd expect someone like him to once he looked close enough to see the lie shivering beneath your skin. "I just wanted to know your name, before I lost you in the crowd."
Love at first sight is a story mothers tell to put their children to sleep at night, and you have lost all your senses because in that moment, your mouth opens as if to answer him.
"There you are," a voice says behind you, too sweet to be any you know; and an arm loops through yours, and here is Hyunjin suddenly, jewels dripping from his brow and a fire burning in the back of his eye where only you know what it is for. "It's so like you to wander off. Come on; our friends are looking for us."
"Before you go-" says the mouth you'd seen laughing from across the hall, the prince it belongs to reaching out a hand - but you are already gone sliding away through the crowd that fills his ballroom from wall to wall with more dazzling finery than you've ever seen in your life.
"That was close," Hyunjin breathes in your ear, and there is the voice that you recognise, liquid fire and undertones of dark shadow. "You're supposed to avoid him, you know."
"I know," you mutter and allow yourself to be swept away, all thoughts of love and the sun and the electric feeling that had jumped from his hand to yours swept to the side.
II.
The king likes the ballroom to be full and the people to be colourful, and he likes the crowd to be lively.
The wine flows freely for the last day of the summer, the lords and ladies stripped of their cautious humours and careful tongues. Their laughter is raucous as you slip out into the garden, the sun pulled over your shoulders in lengths of fine silk that cut away the cold wind that bites at your exposed skin. Already, the trees have begun to turn and the grass is wet with the season's rain; you stand in the centre of an autumn scene and watch the leaves flutter and fall, the light of the lanterns glittering from your skirts and the swirl of beading across your breast, woven from the finest gold.
"It's you," says the man beneath the tree; and when he steps out into the light, dressed again in pure white, you forget to pretend that you hadn't seen him, or that you'd simply come out here to breathe in air that wasn't stifled by the laughs of a thousand other people. "I was looking for you, you know."
"Were you?" you ask with the curve of a smile, your tongue loosened by the quiet of the cooling night and the seclusion of the garden. "Or could you just not find someone to dance with?"
You'd seen him earlier, standing at the edge of that floor. Gently turning away the hands of countless maidens in gowns that dripped in jewels under the guise of speaking to his brothers, searching the crowd with his eyes at every moment he thought that eyes weren't watching him. The guilty smile that plays on his face says that he knows exactly what you are thinking of; the step that he takes within your reach says that he isn't going to hide it. "Maybe I was waiting for the right person," he says, and then his cheeks turn pink in embarrassment, his eyes sliding momentarily away from yours.
"You'll waste your entire night if you think like that," you tell him lightly, and then you glance over your shoulder at the doors to the ballroom - to give him a moment to himself, you tell yourself, and pretend that it wasn't because you thought you felt the creep of Hyunjin's watchful gaze over the back of your neck. There is no one at the door though, no one watching through the backs that are turned to the glass. Only he can see you here, the sun standing in the middle of the night's darkness.
"I never got to ask your name the last time I saw you," he says; and with a start that jolts up your spine like electricity, you turn back to him. 
"I never got to ask yours either," you say, in lieu of the answer that you cannot give him. Never mind the danger of him recognising you too closely after this night - if he mentioned to Hyunjin the name of a girl he'd met in the garden, if Hyunjin knew what you were doing between the tasks you'd been given...
"Everyone knows mine," he scoffs; not because he thinks so highly of himself, but in the reluctant acceptance of someone who had never known a moment of privacy. "You can't have come to the woodlands knowing so little."
"And what if I didn't?" you question, playing along on this string of a conversation rather than letting him turn it back around to the question he'd really tried to ask. "What if I'd simply come here to enjoy the night, and seen a man across the room that I thought I'd like to know?"
His smile grows wider, his eyes softening. You like the way that smile looks on him. "Then I'd tell you my name is Felix," he tells you. "And I'd probably ask you to dance before we met like this, out here in the garden where no one is looking. And it probably wouldn't be such a scandal if we were seen either."
"That doesn't sound like as much fun though," you say. "Isn't it much more interesting to meet like this, than to have it all planned out?"
"Are you someone that likes trouble?" he asks, head tilted to the side in question; and the words seem cautious, probing, but he draws in closer again anyway, enough that his hand can brush yours in the folds of your dress.
"Maybe I am," you tease, your heart fluttering and jumping around in your chest like a nervous rabbit. "Aren't you?"
"I think I could be," he says, and his hand brushing your chin is followed by his lips brushing yours; and it is only a question, a stepping across boundaries that promises to rescind immediately if you push him away, but love at first sight is a dream and you think maybe, in another life, you might have been a terribly indulgent dreamer.
You kiss him with all the certainty that had driven you to this point, this garden and this night and this man, and his lips are soft and he smiles too much, and his hands are hesitant to wander, but you've already tried hot, heady passion and men who take what they want. Soft is new, and questioning sends a shiver down your spine, and you think this is a better man. 
And then you stop because you remember, but you play it off as the toll of the bell startling you from a daydream. "I have to go," you say, which is true, and then, "I hope you find someone to dance with tonight," which is not.
"Will I see you again?" he asks; and it's notable, you think, that he doesn't reach out of try to stop you. That he accepts on face value that you are telling the truth and that, even though his eyes say they want you to stay, his mouth would be rude to ask.
"Maybe," you say, the word drawn out like honey dripping long and slow from your tongue. "If you have another ball."
He laughs, his eyes squeezing closed with the pain of it. When they open again, you make sure you are gone from his sight.
You're pretty sure you dropped something like your heart there in the courtyard, but you don't dare to go and get it back. Not yet.
III.
You're cutting through fine hallways of tapestry and stone from the garden, your basket filled with vegetables and your face streaked in dirt. You aren't supposed to be here - a scullery maid shhould be in the dark spaces between the walls, scurrying up and down steep and spiralling stairs, but you're late and the cook is a stone-faced woman with a tongue made for lashing, and you hadn't thought-
The prince stops to look at you, confusion furrowing in his brow as he stares at your face. Recognition; except that today you are hiding under the brown of the dirt and the mantle of wild fur, cobbled together from the backs of many animals but none so fine as te ermine that lines his coat. 
Your heart sinks even as it pounds in alarm at the thought of him finding out what you are and where you've come from. It is a disaster if it happens, surely, but at the same time - maybe you'd tricked yourself into thinking that he remembered you the same way you did him. Or maybe he had tricked you, with the way he'd so quietly given you his name in the garden, the earnesty with which he'd nearly asked you to stay.
"Your highness?" Hyunjin asks at his shoulder, dressed all in his own princely regalia, and Felix turns away. And for a moment you hate Hyunjin, as you slip to the side of the hall where your feet should be, out of the way; because how could he be so beautiful, and so detached and so true to his beliefs that he could play the prince, and you are so suited to fur and treachery that you stand here a maid?
"Sorry," Felix says, to Hyunjin and not to you, and pretends to move on. You can see his eyes flick back again as he leaves though, trying one last time to see past the furs and the dirt, to place where he has seen you before.
You can see Hyunjin's too, piercing when they look directly at you. Warning, that you are overcomplicating things. That this is all about to be a mess, and you are no longer prepared for it. 
Your ire rises again. You know what has to happen, and what he will do to facilitate it, and you know your own roll. You know it all has to end. Who is he, to think you can't carry through on a promise? Who is he to doubt you?
IV.
The final coat is made of feathers plucked from the birds of the sea cliffs, tawny brown and ochre and cream. Hidden in the tunnels of the castle, Hyunjin tucks a sprig of samphire into the curl of your hair, picked from the edge of the world before you had left and wrapped carefully in paper made for preserving these kinds of things. A piece of home, brushing up against your ear every time you turn; a signal to those that you have let in the back door that you are a friend, in case you are caught in the havoc.
"What happened to your hands?" he asks as he steps back to look at you, his own lifting your wrists so that he can see the black marks on your fingers.
"There was grease on the gate lock, to stop it sticking," you reply. "It doesn't wash off like blood does."
He drops your hands just as fast as he'd picked them up, his eyes scanning the feathers again. As if it was this coat that you'd worn when you'd taken a knife to the man at the gate, as if he would find evidence of the blood on your hands smeared across the vanes if he only turns you this way and that. Silly of him, really - the edge of the fur coat was the one that bared the stains. The fur was made for the work of the hands. The feathers were only sent as a signal, a draw of the eyes, dropping in the path of your feet as you walk towards the ballroom.
"Stay away from the prince," Hyunjin warns you, his attention turning in the direction of his own path to the party. "He's looking for a particular girl that he saw last time. He'll have eyes everywhere."
"Not on the ground though," you answer, shaking out the coat and watching a feather of mottled brown drift to the floor. You ignore the way that your stomach dips at the mention of a girl. You neglect to mention that the girl he's looking for might be you, and the rouge brushed across your cheeks and the glitter of gold on your eyelids will only draw his eyes. 
You should have worn the dirt and hidden in the shadows, but that's not how they had prophesised it. The witches had whispered of a feather coat and a dress made of the sun and a moonlight shawl, and you'd been the one foolish enough to wear them, and no one in those rooms had been able to resist the magic of them, least of all the prince.
"Time to go," Hyunjin says as the bell tolls seven, and with one last look between you, you turn your seperate ways. 
You don't know where his heart resides, but you know that yours is in your throat. You hope that he survives the night. You hope that whatever he came here for is worth what it is going to cost.
V.
At the moment the ballroom bursts open, the black soldiers streaming in from every entrance, you are looking at the prince.
You hadn't meant to. You had taken Hyunjin's advice, as much as it grated at you to do it, and you had avoided him, skirting around the edges of the room while he searched in all the wrong places for you, dropping your feathers where the feathers wanted to fall and hiding in crowds of garish colour that sniffed and sneered at your coat of soft brown; but even though you don't wear the sun or the moon, you still orbit around him and him around you when you are in this room, and to stay away from him was-
Impossible, in the moment when you turn and there he is, right on your tail like the hunters following the birds to their nests in the cliffs, willing to jump from the rocks just to collect the eggs that might hide below. Except that he wasn't here to steal from you, or to catch you in his hands and tame you - he only thinks that you are beautiful, or that he could love you if only you gave him a chance.
And then the feathers ruffle and shift in the breeze, and the doors open, and the room fills with the men of the sea, axes and knives glinting in their hands and white teeth snarling within their faces.
Eerie silence falls as the room stutters to a halt, the shiny, red-faced aristocrats turning to stare at the army that have entered their sanctuary. The first one falls by the main entrance, his wine arcing through the air as he tumbles to the ground under the sharp blade of an axe; and then they scream, and they move in every direction, and in the maelstrom of silk and chiffon and eyes of horror you lose sight of the prince.
Slipping across the room is like fighting upstream against a raging river, ducking between bodies and around blades that don't have time to see the samphire behind your ear. You fade away into the one hallway you hadn't marked with a feather, disappearing into the black of the walls and the twisting tunnel down to the kitchens where just moments ago maids had scurried out to deliver the feast, and your heart breaks at the red-suited body that tumbles in on your heels, the eyes of a man in armour of beaten iron that take in your feathers and your face and turn away, back to the bloodbath, but you can't go back. You can't save him. 
And then a gutteral cry echoes down the tunnel, and a body blocks the light that flickers from its entrance, and there he is, your prince. His eyes are scared and his mouth open as he gasps for breath, the little knife he'd used on your countryman held in a white-knuckle grip in front of him as if he thinks he might need it again at any time. Blood splatters the front of his snow-white coat, tarnishing the pearls and sinking into every fibre of the cotton and wool that holds it together.
"It's you," he gasps between breaths, the words reverberating from the stone walls. "I found you."
"You-" you begin to say, but the words are lost in the storm of thoughts that cloud your mind, the race of scenarios that you can imagine coming from this unfateful meeting, this turn in the story that was never anticipated. Every step has been told to you up until now - the coats, and the feathers, and the rush of men into the ballroom that leads to the fall of a kingdom - but no one said a word about this. About him, the prince, the hands that now cup your heart to their chest, and the knives at his back as he stands there, just one step shallow of safety.
You think too much about what has happened and what could happen next, but you don't think at all when you reach out and grab him, dragging him down the tunnel and into the darkness, where only sporadic lanterns burn to guide the way. Around this corner and then that, down a staircase so steep that countless girls have broken their necks tripping on its uneven stones, into the warmth and light of the kitchen, where the smell of the pig roasting over the fire fills the air and the stack of pots waiting for you to wash them later in the night teeters towards the ceiling, stacked in one corner by several pairs of careless hands.
No one is here. They'd timed it deliberately for the arrival of the feast, when the attendants of the ball would all reconvene from the corners of the palace to the ballroom to fill their already ample stomachs. Incidentally, this meant that the kitchen staff were all in attendance too, arranging dishes under the watchful eye of the cook, which meant that when you tried to hide a prince in the kitchen-
"Wait," he says, dragging back against your hold on his arm. "Wait, I know a way out of the castle. I can take you where it's-"
"No," you cut across him before he can finish, and you tug at him again, dragging him step by step towards the maid's quarters. "They're in the hidden tunnels too. There's no way out."
He's so surprised that he forgets to resist you, his body going slack with his jaw and his feet following you across the room. "How do you know that?" he asks.
You don't dare to look back at him as you enter the room you share with the other girls, as you open the little chest-of-drawers that holds everything you brought with you (but not everything you own) and you pull out the clothes you wear day-to-day - grey trousers and a cream shirt slowly staining brown, and the coat of a thousand furs, its edges stained with fresh blood. "Put these on," you order him, shoving them into his arms without looking him in the eye, and then you turn your back.
"I wouldn't punish you for pretending to be from the court," he says to your back as he changes, the white jacket thrown to the dusty floor and then his shirt and breeches. "Or for knowing whatever you know. You saved my life." His boots are too nice to be a servant's, but yours won't fit him; you reach for Alice's old pair while he is busy, set neatly at the foot of her bed, and hand them to him when he is done, picking up the clothes he has discarded instead.
You saved my life too, you should say of the man he had killed, to keep up the illusion, but the lie seems wan in the face of the truth you are going to have to admit to him by the end of the night. You stalk past him instead, headed to the fire with the truth and the lies still sitting sour on your tongue.
The shirt and pants burn easily, the leather of the boots slow to sink between the logs that fuel the flame. You hesitate a moment before throwing the coat in after them, eyeing its precious pearls and hand-woven patterns of leaves and swirls. A silver brooch pinned to the lapel catches your eye; your thumb runs over it, feeling the careful details its maker has pressed together and the chips of diamond that embed its surface.
"That was my mother's," Felix says behind you, a certain grief hidden in the stiffness of his voice. "But you can burn it if you have to."
"I don't have to," you reply, and you work it free of the fabric with delicate and practised fingers. The coat feeds the flame; the brooch pins onto your dress, just above your heart.
 "Pretend to be a servant," you say as you turn to look at him. Your hands reach out to fix his coat, to smear the soot from the fireplace into his golden curls and down his cheeks. "I can't keep you alive if you're a prince, but if you're just a boy from the kitchens-"
His hands catch yours as they slip from his face, the ash that clings to your skin staining his as he grips them tight. "Who are you?" he questions. "What have you done?"
Tight-lipped, ashen-faced, you look up into his eyes - pale blue to forest brown, liar to honest truth. "I'm the feathercoat," you say, as if he will understand the words of a fable that people only whisper over the sea cliffs and the raging storms of the ocean. "I'm the one that brings the woodlands to their knees. I'm-"
Your voice chokes in your throat, your fingers growing numb from the force of his grip on your hands. There's a knife still tucked into his waistband - there's a knife behind him, stuck by its tip into the surface of the cutting board. You only have your feathers, and the excuses that stack up in the back of your throat; that the witches told us it would be so, or your land is the only gift my father will accept in place of a marriage to that man, or haven't you seen the way your father encroaches on our cliffs? Haven't you seen the way your farms destroy our hills and valleys and pollute our river? But those are all reasons that blame someone else, and you are the one that stands here, and the grease from the gate stains your fingers, not theirs-
"I loved you," he says, and he lets go of you like he has been burned. "I saw you across the room, and I thought no one could be so beautiful, and you can't even tell me the truth when-"
A shout echoes down the hall you'd escaped from, the rattle of armour and the thunder of heavy boots against the floor. "Wait," you say to him, a hand suspended in the air between you. You're afraid to touch him, when he could reach for that knife - when he deserves to see your blood run, for what you have done - but you can't let him run to his death all the same. "Wait until we live, and then I'll tell you, and then you can kill me. But wait. Take my hand and wait."
He hesitates, his eyes wary like he doesn't believe you, but the man on the stairs shouts again, calling for someone to follow him, and the fear shoots right into his heart and his hand slides into yours, his pulse fast but his fingers cold. 
"I don't want to kill you," he says, like a promise you can't believe he will keep. "Just keep me alive, and when the sun comes up, tell me everything. Please. I don't have any reason to kill you if everyone here is already dead."
"I will," you reply, and this is a promise that will be kept, whether or not he reaches for the knife when the light of the dawn comes. "I love you too, you know. I didn't mean to hurt you."
And yet, you have. And yet, the guilt and the feathers eat you alive.
---
PERMANANT TAGLIST
@amyyscorner @kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @keepswingin @rylea08 @puppysmileseungmin @thatonedemigodfromseoul
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xdeath-by-poisonx · 3 months
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Just a soft moment between two losers ♡♡
..•°♡°•..
The streets of Pentagram City were quieter than usual as Angel made his way back to the hotel, or maybe it was just that late. Val had insisted on reshooting that damned deep throat scene so many times that Angel had completely lost track of time, almost losing his voice in turn. He wrapped all four arms tightly around himself, dragging his feet down the cracked concrete before finally making it to the entrance of the large building. He was tired. So very tired. So much so, that if he still had his soul intact, even that would be fucking tired. 
Angel let out a heavy sigh and opened the door that led him into an all too quiet lobby. The only sound to be heard was the soft humming coming from the only person who was still awake at this hell-forsaken hour - the hotel’s bartender, Husk. Angel let out an exasperated groan as he flopped himself down onto one of the bar stools, his face promptly ‘thwaping’ down onto the wooden counter in front of him. 
“Heh, rough night?”
“Perfect. Best night evah.” Angel murmured into the counter, not moving.
“Hm.. sounds like you could use a drink.” 
The tired demon put up a very sarcastic thumbs up before slumping even further into his stool. Drink.. coke.. death.. whatever. Whatever would stop the constant loop of shit that came with being bound to someone like Val. Or at least make him forget about it for a little while. 
Angel heard a soft chuckle just before the all too familiar sound of liquid pouring into glass, the song Husk was softly humming still lingering on his lips. 
A fact that, for some reason, annoyed the ever living fuck out of Angel. What the fuck did he have to be so happy about anyways? 
“MUST you hum like that?” He growled, fingers coming to grip into his own hair. Hair that was covered in sweat and Satan knows what else. 
He could hear the subtle swish of fabric in response as Husk shrugged. “Humming clears the mind. I dig it.” 
“Well, I'm about to dig your grave in two fucking seconds, Husk, if you don't stop. Ya dig?” 
Angel knew he was taking out his bad mood on the bartender, but on nights like this - nights where he wished he could literally be anyone else - he rarely found himself to be good company. For anyone. Even with the soft spot he held for Husk. 
“Alright, alright. Tough guy.” Husk chuckled, sliding over his drink. “Here.” 
For the first time since Angel had taken his seat at the bar he lifted his head. A somewhat smug smirk dancing at the corner of Husk’s lips. 
“And just what the fuck are you so-”
He couldn't even finish his sentence once his eyes landed on the drink in front of him. The pink shimmering liquid and sweet aroma bringing a slight flush to the demon’s moonlit cheeks. 
“You.. ya remembered my favorite drink?” Angel’s voice was soft, cracking slightly as he looked up at Husk. 
“I'm a bartender, Ange, that's my job.”
“I mean, yah.. but.. thank you.” 
Husk shrugged, though the smile that shone within his eyes was far too prominent to hide. 
“Yeah, well.. looks like you had a rough night, as I said.” 
Angel nodded before taking a generous sip. The drink was expertly mixed and seemed to dance sweetly upon his tongue. 
“You got no idea.” He replied, giving Husk a lopsided smile. “Thanks.. for the drink, I mean.”
“Anytime.” The bartender paused before turning back to the glasses he had been cleaning earlier. “And if you ever wanna talk about your night..  anytime for that too.” 
He gave Angel a wink that only seemed to deepen the soft pink that speckled the demon's cheeks. 
“Alright, I ah.. might just take ya up on that sometime.” Angel replied, taking another deep sip of his drink before leaning back and smiling softly to himself. 
..•°♡°•..
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navigatorsghost · 5 months
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Writing hack: if you're getting stuck trying to do background worldbuilding, like you're filling in backstory for a character or designing a location or attempting to flesh out a culture or something in your setting, write it up as a fake Wikipedia page. That way, the bits you're fully stuck on can just be headings with a note saying "needs expansion" for now, the bits where you can't decide whether to make x or y be the truth can be written up both ways under a "Controversy" heading, the bits you do have plenty to say about can be splurged down without needing to reference the bits you're still stuck on.
For bonus points, have fun inventing imaginary sources, because once you've done that, you've got fictional books and learned authorities to throw into your actual story later if you need some random titles to stick on a bookshelf (or a place to hide a terrible pun like you're aspiring to be Sir Terry Pratchett, of course).
For even more bonus points, get carried away and start adding links to other pages and then write those too.
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diorsbrando · 1 year
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HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS. ( a. h )
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pairing ! ━━ aki hayakawa x fem! reader
cw ! ━━ minors/ageless blogs do not interact. reader is black + thick coded but you don’t have to imagine it that way. basically boyfriend!aki who is very soft for his princess we luv him for that <3 lots of fluff and like…introspective moments? suggestive themes. descriptions of smoking.
word count !  ━━ 3.7k
notes ! ━━ this is an expanded version of this ask & the art used came from this post. ive been wanting to write this for a while, but ive been putting it off bc i wanted to start/work on other things and wasn’t sure if this would even be any good. but the akirot has fermented and here we are <3 i love writing soft love scenarios (i’ve been a sucker for them lately) so this is what this is. i hope y’all enjoy ! REBLOGS ARE HEAVILY APPRECIATED!
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AKI HAYAKAWA WAS A. . . PERSONAL MAN. he cherished every little thing that he was blessed with very profoundly, and held them close to his heart, where they would be safe within its hardened, cold exterior. he protects these things— these emotions, these ideas, these people—with all his might, because he knew very well, maybe even better than anyone, that tomorrow was never promised.
he values the things he’s received even on a subconscious level, where he doesn’t actively realize that’s what it is: him caring to such an uncanny extent. it was like that with the first cigarettes he ever received from himeno, it was the same regarding his friendship with denji and power—
and it was ultimately the case with you. especially with you, matter of fact.
this explains why the two of you were pressed up against each other in a yearning embrace. aki had comfortably sandwiched you in between the wall and his firm body, while just a few feet away was the front door, where his devil-like subordinates waited outside.
he was very personal about you and the relationship you shared with him, the trust and the genuine connection that tethered both your hearts and souls to one another. he didn’t even want mere glances from the likes of denji and power to taint this special thing he held so tenderly in his big, calloused hands. their teasing of aki being “so whipped” for you fell on deaf ears the moment his closed your door with his foot and his fingers came in contact with your skin.
it wasn’t exactly a lie, he supposed.
the kiss was drawn out. longing, and wistful. it was slow enough for you to savor hints of every delicacy that clung to the walls of his mouth, and he did the same to you, low sounds of pleasure threatening to escape his throat. you tasted the spearing blanket of peppermint that coated the other flurry of flavors on aki’s lips and tongue, like the stale aroma of the cigarettes he smoked an hour ago, and the tangy cocktail he drank with his meal. and you loved it. 
the dark-haired male sensually swiped his tongue across your bottom lip, effectively licking off most of the lip gloss you wore. gently, he tugged on your bottom lip with his teeth, before letting the pink muscle slither in between the barrier known as your lips; you tasted the gloss that you’ve been wearing all night.
you whined into his mouth when aki tugged at your bottom lip again— a little firmer and more yearning this time—and you followed his movements, perfectly in sync with one another. you melted into his taut chest when one of the hands that held onto your waist slipped past the material of your long, fitted cardigan and found its way under your ribbed tank top. his hands felt like ice against your warm skin and caused you to shudder at his touch. his palms gently squeezed and unclenched at your fleshy sides as a way to ground you back to him.
after what felt like an eternity, the rest of the world around you completely muted, aki finally pulled away from the kiss, his forehead dipped slightly to your height and rested against yours. your breathing patterns became harmonized with each other’s after a few seconds.
this. . . moments like these were precious to aki. it was personal to him, and it was all his.
“fuck. . . . . i’ve been wanting to kiss you like that since the moment we picked you up earlier” he confessed in a breathy voice. it was almost unusual to hear your boyfriend be so forward or use expletives so casually—he was usually such a composed man— but you found his words arousing, and you bit your lip to contain the giggle that wanted to escape. perhaps it was that fruity alcoholic beverage he drank, and the four subsequent glasses he consumed afterwards that made him so. . . so—
another chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth pulled you out of your thoughts. and then another a little farther down. then a third and fourth back on your lips. you couldn’t help the loving smile that morphed onto your face, finding his affections extremely endearing.
letting your fingers ascend from his shoulders to the back of his neck, your french tipped fingers numbly scratched at the back of his head. the dull sensation on his scalp was almost relaxing, but it also made his heartbeat continuously skip several beats. if aki were a cat, he swore he would have purred. 
“hmm, aren’t you too cute?” you cooed teasingly, earning you a faux irritated roll of his eyes from him. “but don’t you have to get up early for work tomorrow? you and others should get going, it’s getting late.”
your boyfriend let his eyes flutter close, inhaled deeply, and threw his hand back to exhale, a soft groan getting caught in the mix.
“yeah, i do . . . . but i’d honestly rather not go back with those two. working with them is one thing but living with them on top of it is something else entirely. they’re complete pigs, it’s disgusting. and having them in my personal space feels like hell every day.”
you chuckled airily at his childlike complaints, while allowing your other hand to shift to cup his face. “i totally understand. it can be hard, but just take it one day at a time, okay? and be patient with them.” you put extra emphasis on the word patience because you knew how aki could get if provoked enough.
the devil hunter groaned again, letting his head hang until it fully rested on your shoulder. he still wasn’t fond of denji and power being placed under his care or being in his space, but he didn’t mind you in his. matter fact, it’s something he’d grow to crave more and more as the days went by. it was unbecoming for a man like him, but he couldn’t find it within himself to care all that much. 
“now go! denji and power are waiting for you,” your voice trailed off and morphed into a more sing-song tone, which aki didn’t find amusing. but still, he sucked it up and stood at his full height with a heavy sigh. 
“fine.” if you squinted hard enough, it almost looked like he was pouting. “gimme a kiss first.” he mumbled with a titled head, trailing his hands up and down your waist.
your chest tightened in glee when his already deep voice grew darker, just a little heavier, that you could feel it’s weight on your waist where his hands rested; you were obsessed with his voice, especially when it was unable to conceal his obvious desire for you. happily obliging to his request, the both of you leaned in for a sweet peck, the noise of your lips softly smacking and then finally separating tugging a rare smile at aki’s lips. just as you were about to pull away, aki’s ample hands immediately grabbed the back of your neck and held it in place so you couldn’t move.
“wait, one more baby” his grumbled again, his tone thicker than before. how could you deny him when he looked at you like that and asked so nicely? so, you gave what he (and you) both wanted.
“mmm just— just one more. this is the last one, i promise.”
it was, in fact, not the last one. he’d say ‘one more’ five more times (and you’d give in every single time) before you had to literally pry him off. as you ushered him towards the door, with his hand on the doorknob, he assured you in a soft voice that he’ll come to see you the following weekend, because this week was supposedly going to be very busy for him.
“i’ll see you soon, alright? stay safe. call me if you need anything.” he planted one final, gentle kiss on your forehead. it was his own personal way of saying ‘i love you’.
maybe he’ll work up the courage to actually say those three weighty words one day. a part of him wanted that day to be sooner rather than later.
“you’re the one who needs to be careful, out here killing devils and shit everyday. but anyway, i’ll see ya later, handsome.”
your subtle compliment made aki’s body stiffen for a moment, and you were able to see his ears redden in real time as he exited your apartment. 
the fond contentment that surrounded the sword-wielding hunter was snatched away from him the moment the door closed behind his heels, and the crisp, cold air embraced his figure. 
denji and power immediately flooded his ears with questions, ones he didn’t care enough to answer. they were too personal for him. as far as he was concerned, they didn’t need to know what went on in his relationship. like second nature, his face returned to its naturally stoic state, and he pulled out a second cigarette and lit it as he walked away from the two devils, who were still pestering him with obscene inquiries.  
in that instance, he once again left his beating heart in human form behind on the ninth story of the apartment complex.
one could assume this might have been why aki hayakawa was so frigid all the time. the warmth of your love, of your being in itself that set fire to the blood in his veins, was pulled away from his grasp, causing his skin to harden and freeze in solitude and indifference. it ultimately contributed to overall icy personality, which seemed to be more steely than usual. each time his thoughts pondered on your tasteful figure —even for a moment— or the memory of your honeyed voice kissed his mind’s ear, he would have to stifle of groan of longing and annoyance, because instead of being in your bed, cradling you in his strong grasp, he had to be out here instead: his suit stained with the blood of some repulsive devil creature, dealing with all these. . . people, he thought in vague disdain, and dreading the paperwork he’d have to fill out for makima. 
the week seemed to have weights on its feet, with the way it dragged on day after day, ever so slowly. it was too slow for aki and work, as well as his eccentric roommates, were driving him up the wall.
aki’s skin grew too cold, it resembled too much like solid ice, where if you came to close in its vicinity, its frost would bite you. he had been without the warmth of his heart for too long. 
this realization would soon lead the dark-haired male to sneak out of his own house in the dead of night, an unfathomable gravitational force deep within his being pulled him to the little slice of heaven in this hell he had to live in everyday: to you. 
aki understood the impulsivity and recklessness of his actions and was well aware of the risks of walking around alone at night, knowing that there could be devils lurking literally anywhere. he didn’t care though; nothing else mattered when you were involved. he also knew that he really should be in bed, resting so he can be ready for another grueling day at his job tomorrow. 
but he just couldn’t seem to drift off into a dreamless slumber that his body so desperately wanted. not when you lingered and danced in the forefront of his subconscious.
it was an ungodly hour, most likely past two a.m., and lucky for aki, you were awake to feel the buzz of your phone in your palms. your closed laptop laid idle on the desk next to your bed, feeling the crushing weight of an assignment you were dreading lifted off your shoulders as soon as you pressed the submit button. now, you were currently going through your ‘watch later’ compilation on youtube, slowly but surely making your way through the list. 
that’s when you saw the notification from your boyfriend drop down from the top of the screen. reflexively, your heartbeat quickened, and your finger twitched as you read his rather straightforward text. 
you up? if you are, come unlock the door for me 
it’s a marvel how he seemed to know that you were awake at this hour. for all he knew, you could have been fast asleep, enjoying your ride to dreamland. 
but you supposed that just proved how attuned your man was to you. it was frightening sometimes, like he knew you better than yourself. 
and it would make sense for someone to be in tune with such an important organ more than anything else because of course, it was the one that gave them life and one wouldn’t be able to effectively survive without it. 
aki’s began to drown in the sea of his own thoughts, he didn’t even realize that the door was already open, and you stood there waiting for him. your soft spoke snapped him out of the daze he was in. you couldn’t stop the faint, cheeky grin that pulled at your facial muscles the longer you stared at your lover. 
if aki leaned close enough and looked hard enough, he might be able to see the hearts in your pupils. something about him coming here in the dead of night— randomly, no less — felt so adolescent. it felt like the two of you were some starstruck lovers in high school that couldn’t stay away from the other for too long. and something about the fact made your body temperature increase. 
you noticed that aki’s hair wasn’t tied up in its usual top-knot style. it cascaded freely in dark waved across his face, acting as a shadowy curtain over his lashes. the onyx stud earring’s he always wore glimmered in the refraction of the singular light that hung over their heads in the hallway. his katana was slung lifelessly across his back on top of the black hoodie he wore. 
aki’s face was mainly expressionless as he stared back at you, and yet, he still managed to look effortlessly beautiful. 
you’d never know that thoughtful stare could prove to be too much for him sometimes. the man found himself quickly tearing his gaze from yours after a few seconds, deciding that your eggshell white painted toes and silver anklet were far more interesting. and they were, because they were so pretty looking. everything about you was so pretty. 
he opened his mouth a little to say something, but then immediately closed it again, swallowing whatever thoughts he was going to share. concern briefly flickered in your brow at the minimal action. “aki? is.... everything okay?” you asked him carefully, knowing that he wasn’t the type to wear his heart on his sleeve or open about anything so easily.
he would need to warm up first to do that. 
aki took several moments to reply, and in the silence, his feet took control of the rest of his body and took a step forward. then another, and then another, until he had your back up against the wall, just like the other night. your breath slightly hitched at the memory, your chests brushing against one another.
“. . . everything’s fine. those two just. . . can be so fucking loud sometimes, even when they’re sleeping. can’t stand it.” his voice was rough and full of complaints, but his hands were gentle, finding their way back home on the flesh of your waist, and used it as leverage to pull your hips against his. you could feel the heat of his crotch on yours/
“one of these days, i’m actually going to kill them in their sleep and dump their bodies on the street.” and there it was again, that dip in volume that made his voice sound more like a sensual rumble in this throat. you started to wonder if he was aware of it or not.
the flicker of his intensifying gaze from your eyes to your lips seemed to be the catalyst in the two of your moving your faces closer together. both of you were so close he could feel the air escaping from your mouth when you let out a chuckle. “so dramatic. so...you came all the way here, because they were snoring too loud?” your eyes were lidded now, teasing him with faux offense embedded in your tone as you wrapped your arms around his neck.
aki all but hummed, not caring enough to reply at the moment, because he now became too busy pressing a much-anticipated kiss on your lips. this time, it was saccharine. it was eager, bordering on desperate. but most of all, it was warm. aki sighed and groaned into your mouth, relishing in the warmth of being here with you, in your house, in your arms, thawing the cold barrier that surrounded his veins. 
as the kiss grew more fervent ━ one of his hands gliding up the valley of your breast to comfortably latch onto your throat, and your hand that was clasp took root in his soft hair, giving it a little tug ━ neither he, nor you, could suppress the shudder that crawled up your spines.
the need to properly breath soon became too overwhelming, and soon enough the both of you pulled away from one other, panting softly into each other’s mouth, him resting his forehead on yours. 
“yeah...” he spoke slowly, trying to remember the question before the two of you kissed; his head was still fuzzy from the sheer euphoria of it all. “they’re....too loud. anyway, let’s go to bed, baby. ‘m tired.”
with one final peck on your lips, he slipped out of your loose grasp and padded his way to your room, with you following after him. you plopped on your bed and got comfortable as you watched your boyfriend maneuver back and forth between your room and bathroom as if he lived here. it felt very...domestic and you had to bite back the grin that wanted to pull at your lips and contain your giddiness.
as you connected your phone to its charger and set it on the nightstand, aki’s taller frame climbed into bed next to you. his clothing was reduced to his boxers and t-shirt, presumably wearing it under the hoodie he arrived in. instinctively, your bodies were pulled towards each other underneath the blankets: your head against the crook of aki’s neck and one hand on his chest, while his lanky, muscled arm was draped across your back, his palms rubbing miscellaneous patterns along your sides and thigh.
“you mind if i smoke a little before we sleep?” he broke the silence that filled your bedroom, remembering to be courteous whenever he came over.
you hummed sleepily, not realizing your own exhaustion as soon as you snuggled up against your boyfriend. “mmm, g‘head, baby. just open the window when you do....don’t want the smell to linger.”
it was amusing to aki  that while gave him permission to get up satisfy his smoker habit, you still you nuzzled yourself against him, holding him close like he was your own personal teddy bear. chuckling softly, he slithered out of your grasp and out of the comfort of your bed to grab the pack of smokes and his lighter that were in his hoodie pocket. 
remembering that you kept an ashtray in one of the drawers━ just for him; his heart pounded at the thought━ he placed it on the nightstand, and like second nature, pulled a pale white cigarette from its container with his teeth. with a few flicks of his black lighter ━one, two, three ━ the orange flame he’d come to be very well acquainted with sprang out from its plastic cage and kissed the end of his cigarette. wispy, white tendrils of smoke escaped from the end of the cigarette and idly floated into the atmosphere. inhaling and exhaling, as if he were breathing regularly, aki rested his back against the headrest of the bed, and blew out the toxic fumes, letting excesses of smoke lazily dribble past his lips. 
the man’s dark, cerulean eyes drowsily shifted from the blank ceiling to your now sleeping form next to him. he took comfort in the way your body gently rose and fell, and the way your facial muscles relaxed into complete bliss, not having a care in the world. 
the veiny hand that wasn’t holding the cigarette came to gently stroke the apple of your cheeks, then shifted so he could stroke your soft lips with the pad of his thumb. even in your sleep, you sensed his touch and leaned into his rugged palm. his chest ached and stomach churned watching you do that and God you were just so cute. so pretty and so soft and all his. every time he saw you, he liked the sound of that more and more.
this moment, it was comparable to a husband and wife sharing a bed. the thought made his cheeks and neck burn, almost causing him to choke on the smoke he was inhaling. aki wished all his days could end like this. he wished every day could begin and end like this, until the end of time. 
after a few more minutes, aki snuffed out the cigarette on the ash tray next to him, got up to brush his teeth and gargle mouthwash for a second time this evening, and climbed into bed with finality. pulling your figure into his once more. his now warm hand glided up and down the canvas of your spine, and both of your legs became entangled with each other.
this particular thing, his relationship with you, was very personal to aki hayakawa, indeed. he cherished it admittedly more than his own job and he wanted to show you, as well as tell you, how much you meant to him everyday for the rest of his life.
that’s probably why he placed one last tender kiss on your forehead before letting slumber take over, and against your skin he mumbled something that had been weighing heavy on his chest and his mind for longer than he realized.
“i... i love you, princess. sweet dreams.”
aki closed his eyes before he realized your own eye that had peeled open at his thick, sleepy voice, suppressing a dreamy smile at his love confession.
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© sailewhoremoon, 2022. do not steal, copy, plagiarize, share/repost any of the works on this blog without permission.
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soupsnspoons · 5 months
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i really should post stuff that isnt finished more often <- wont do that
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