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#bleed purple and gold
godofsmallthings · 9 months
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i will never stop being insane about invisible string
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tag dump
asks = askies
blood mention = bleeding gold and ruin; blood warning
mentions of getting drunk or anything with serious alcohol = wine and ambrosia; alcohol
physical harm, like fighting or gore = bruises in blue and purple; violence
stuff relating to ere's trauma (being hurt by her father, james' obsessiveness, that kinda thing) = forgetmenots and regrets; trauma memories
ooc or out of character posts = ♡radio broadcasts bullishit♡; ooc
i'll add on if need be! like i said before, feel free to ask as things come up!
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sarahsartistportfolio · 6 months
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Some MORE sagau since my last post did some numbers and its given me confidence which feels nice.😌
This is completely self indulgence. And because it is the "you" referred to here is female. Slight yandere vibes but my intention was not cult au.
Albedo is the first to notice the unusual amount of shooting stars in the sky. There's never been this many meteorites in such a short span of time. Especially in Mondstadt. As Albedo observes another cluster of stars through his telescope, he notices this time the stars aren't all a bright white but of many different colors. Purple, gold, green and blue. Albedo notes how the sky melts and bends into these different colors too. Its all so strange but fascinating to him. He keeps his eye on the horizon, takes notes, but holds onto hope none of this spills any bad news.
Its Venti who catches you falling from the sky. Of course its him. It has to be him, at least he tells himself this. Its Venti who lays your head in his lap as anxiety and confusion reflects on his face. He gently runs his fingers over your forehead, brushing your hair out of the way. Only to see the sallow cut on your head leaking glittering golden blood. His hand flinches back as he thinks "They've arrived." He delicately holds you in his arms, as his thoughts race through taking you to the seven, which he assumed is the safest option. When you open your eyes. Your brain is fuzzy and your eyes are heavy but you can still make out Venti's visage. "Venti?" Your horse and rough voice manages, but you speak his name in more so disbelief. You let this stranger hold you as your arms are far too weak to push him away. And its Venti whose heart races as he realizes hes the first person you see. The first name you ever speak in Teyvat. His grip tightens as he swears to himself to keep you safe, to watch over you until your full power returns. "You...you really smell like apples." You smile weakly at him, body leaning into his embrace, closing your eyes enjoying the warmth he radiates. "You really do smell like apples." you repeat and Venti. is. beaming.
Venti becomes your comfort in this new world you've been thrust into. You find yourself hiding behind him when you're introduced to new people, holding his hand whenever you're anxious. Venti becomes quite proud that you seek out his presence so much. When you do start to become more brave, venturing out of Mondstadt, spending more time with Zhongli, Ei and Nahida. Venti finds himself becoming uncharacteristically jealous. His grip on you is never tight but it shows through his "You'll leaving already?" and "There's no reason to travel to Liyue/Inazuma/Sumeru ect you can do that here in Mondstadt." He treasures wearing the title of your first and closest friend and doesn't want anyone to replace him. And as you sit with him in the tavern again, making sure he fulfills his promise of writing a song for you, he finds himself getting terribly distracted by your eyes. Hoping he could become more than your dearest friend.
Venti's worship is friendly, playful, almost suffocating but in a good way.
Its Zhongli who becomes your second shadow. As soon as the overexcited bard announces your arrival to the present archons his heart skips a beat. Century after century he has heard stories of your power, your beauty, your grace. And some how he has lived long enough to see you in the flesh. His heart is racing as he waits for you to enter the room. And when you do, your hand in Venti's as he cheerfully introduces you to the geo archon. Zhongli's eyes widen for just a split second before he calmly attempts to regain his composure. He bows low, elegantly, although his knees threaten to give way. "Welcome back your grace." Your presence is otherworldly, ethereal. Your eyes bleed into the ever changing colors of the sky. And while maybe for a short time in the beginning Zhongli questioned himself, why you would return in such a small weak form. But that thought quickly left him, the longer he heard the unwavering kindness in your voice and the warmth of your smile. He was convinced he saw celestia its self within you.
Any and every time you step into Liyue, Zhongli is by your side. Even when your not in his country Zhongli still makes his presence known. Ever so observant and thoughtful. Helps you learn the names of people and places. Patiently tells you stories of the past over a hot cup of tea. Ever so patient Zhongli. When you playfully, nervously, confess you're a little intimidated by him. He waits. As long as you need. For you to initiate conversation, for you to stand closer to him, for you hold his arm as you take a walk through the city. And even as you continue to favor that childish drunken bard, Zhongli knows you would choose him. Maybe not today, but he will keep trying. Patiently demonstrating the upmost consideration so when the time comes for you to choose a spouse you will choose him. Zhongli convinces himself that out of the seven its him who deserves to be by your side. The patiently, gentleman Zhongli, will capture your heart, because who else deserves to spend eternity by your side.
Zhongli's worship is attentive, respectful, quietly fiercely loyal.
When Childe overhears the other fatui members whispering "There are rumors the god of Teyvat has arrived in Mondstadt. Taking on the form of a beautiful young woman." he stops dead in his tracks, eyes widening. He stops the informant demanding more details. Its Childe who has to show the most restraint in his entire life when the you agree to meet with the fatui harbingers. Your expression cold as you greet each member, your voice curt and short not entertaining a longer conversation. Childe has to fight back a grin when he first sees you and hears your voice. The sound immediately familiar to him. His heart racing, fingers twitch to touch you, hold you, to thank you over and over again. When your eyes finally land on him your expression quickly changes. You smile brightly, "Childe" you call his name is such an affection manner it makes his knees weak. The sweet sound throwing his mind back to when your warmth surrounded him in that dark pit. He finds himself dropping to knees before he even thinks, his head low and gaze to the floor to hide the tears threatening to slip. "The Fatui await your every command your grace."
Childe becomes your friend, easily, naturally. Even if you can not remember comforting him in the abyss. The other harbingers are completely dumbfounded why out of all of them you choose to spend all your time with Childe. And Childe is so prideful about it. He becomes infatuated with you. Learns every little thing about you. Falls in love with you. His world seems lighter, brighter whenever he speaks with you. He becomes addicted to your laughter. Wants it all to himself. Starts to imagine what it be like to be yours, your only. And when you return his feelings, he's elated. And Childe doesn't believe he'll ever let you go, he cant, not when he finally has you in the flesh. No he can't see his life without you in it and he'll keep it that way. No matter what or who threatens his happiness.
Childe's worship is possessive, selfish, brazen, bloodthirsty and warm like a fire comforting you on a cold winter's night.
One more below!
SIKE but no keep reading please
I'm currently in the middle of making some genshin related art and if that interests you maybe you can take a look at my instagram 👉👈
I'm also going write a NSFW sagau piece next. Which will include Xiao(and Venti again, really suddenly have fallen hard for him)🥰 this is my first time dipping my toes into writing characters that are not OCs so I'm trying🙇‍♀️
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beansprean · 7 months
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Exit Interview
(ID in alt and under cut)
ID: 1a. Bust of Nandor on a streaky blue background, leaning forward on one hand, the other raised in the air, palm-up. His eyes are closed on a nonchalant expression, head tipped down, as he casually states "Then it is settled. You are officially released from your service." 1b. Reverse shot of Guillermo, leaning forward as he stands from a chair, looking up at Nandor with a hesitant smile. He asks, "...That's it? I'm not your familiar anymore?" 1c. Close up of Nandor's left hand settling on Guillermo's shoulder as he responds, "Not my familiar, not my bodyguard..." 1d. Wide shot of them both standing in profile, facing each other, the background now streaked with gold. Nandor smiles down proudly at Guillermo, hand on his shoulder, and continues, "...but a fully-fledged member of the household. And my friend." Guillermo happily meets his gaze, lips pressed around a smile of genuine joy. 1e. Close up of Guillermo, the panel back to the streaky blue as the background beyond the panels begins to lighten to the grey of dawn. The next 4 panels are no longer square but angling inwards as if pulled together by an unseen force. Guillermo leans his head toward the hand on his shoulder, his own hand rising up to hold it, and smiles wide even as his gaze dips shyly. He asks, "So...what next?" 1f. Reverse shot of Nandor barking out a nervous laugh, gaze fixed on Guillermo as he replies, "What next indeed!" 1g. Zoom out to them both in profile, Guillermo's hand still on Nandor's hand on Guillermo's shoulder. Guillermo grins affectionately upwards as Nandor straightens and takes a step forward, nervous grin still wide and frozen on his face. He tosses out his free hand in some kind of shrug and says, "Well!" 1h. Repeat. Nandor steps closer still, and his flailing right hand comes to rest, very gingerly, on the side of Guillermo's face. Guillermo's hand slides down Nandor's arm as his left hand shifts to touch his neck, smile gentling as he blinks in surprise. Nandor's expression softens as well, head tilting slightly as he moves his gaze toward where his hand rests on Guillermo's cheek and he continues, "Perhaps..." 1i. Repeat, closer. Nandor has both hands on Guillermo's cheeks now, head dipping down so their noses are only an inch apart. His expression is almost dazed, as he murmurs, "Just..." Guillermo tips his head up as well, lips parted, his left hand sliding up Nandor's side. Their hooded gazes are each fixed on the other's mouth. The center of the panel begins to lighten with a white-gold glow as the shape continues to distort, parts of the characters stepping out of its bounds completely. The background behind the panels continues to get lighter, and the silhouettes of flying birds begin to fly in, closer and closer, growing lighter a step ahead of the background. 1j. Repeat. They move closer, Nandor's eyes now closed and head tilted as their noses slide past each other, lips only centimeters apart. Guillermo's hand slides up further to press against Nandor's ribs, gripping, his eyes still open the slightest amount as if to ensure this moment doesn't disappear. The panel lightens. The birds fly closer.
2a. Repeat. The center of the panel bursts into bright vertical beams of white and gold, the border bleeding from black to a wall of light as they close the final distance between them. Guillermo's eyes finally close, mouth pushing into the gentle kiss. 2b. Repeat, a wider shot as the glowing light inside the panel breaks the borders completely, flooding into the background as it begins to turn to streaks of purple and pink, birds now flying through the broken panel walls. Nandor pushes forward to deepen the kiss, hands clutching at Guillermo's face, Guillermo's head tilting back further as he presses himself close. 2c. Repeat, wider shot of them both now freely standing in the background, streaks of light blooming into yellow and orange. Guillermo is leaning back even further, fingers digging into the back of Nandor's shoulders as he is nearly dipped, their heads tilting the other way as the kiss continues. Nandor, expression blissful, smiles slightly into it. 2d. Close up in a panel bordered by light, the colors inside bolder and brighter: reds and oranges on top, blues and purples on the bottom, the center streaked with light. Both a sunrise and a sunset. They have broken the kiss and Guillermo has straightened, but they do not part from each other. Nandor's right arm curves around Guillermo's back and his left cups the back of his head, keeping him close as he nuzzles their noses together with a serene smile, eyes closed. Guillermo pushes up into the contact, flushed and smiling, one hand at Nandor's back, keeping them pressed together, and the other sliding up Nandor's chest. Guillermo lets out a breathy chuckle and whispers, "Yeah. That could be next..." /end ID
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naffeclipse · 4 months
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Toying around with a sort of Apex Polarity spin involving Sun and Moon and having them as Arctic Fox type of creatures (think werewolf monster body types but fox style) and Y/N is an Arctic Hare-esque humanoid mythical being with white fur and long ears tipped in black. Of course, it's set in the Arctic tundra. Thinking of calling it Of Fox Maws.
You've seen the fox men before. They'll skirt the outsides of the large valley you like to go to gather arctic willow and sedge out of the snow. Their eyes glint in the harsh Arctic light, watching you. You warily tense your legs, always ready to bolt should the two fiends decide they're hungry enough to attempt to chase you down.
You can't trust foxes.
But you always skip away, out of sight and far from the terror of what could easily be your last day. This happens for a season. Sometimes, they attempt to creep closer in plain view but you turn tail and run, ducking behind snowy hills and hiding low until you're certain they're gone.
Once, you were caught off guard in the middle of your foraging. One voice called softly out to you. You jumped back and found the fox men too close, almost within lunging distance—your little heart fluttered as if to take flight and escape—but you ran and ran and ran until you couldn't breathe. Then, you look behind you.
The fox men were nowhere to be found.
One day, you're amid a rocky field of purple saxifrage, happily picking blossoms to toss in your mouth while twisting your long ears this way and that to listen in for any predators or creeping fox men that might try to break your little neck in their vulpine jaws. You never expected the teeth to come from the ground you placed your foot on. A snap of metal. A bone crack. You're bitten by something cold and terrible, and it chains you to the ground. Terrible pain eats your leg as blood, crimson among the snow and rocks, begins to drip down your fur.
You panic. Such is your nature. You thrash and struggle while the metal trap digs deeper into your leg. The safety of daylight begins to fade as exhaustion and fear begin to take hold, and then you see them. Their glinting eyes, their sharp ears narrowed, their fur white and strangely marked with colorful swirls on their underside, their claws scraping over the ground as they come closer and closer.
You cry it in your terror—you could always run before. They talk low and soft to you, one anxiously coaxing you to stop moving, to stop hurting yourself, but you tug and struggle in your wild franticness. The teeth keep biting your leg—you flounder before a set of arms catches you, pinning you down with strange gold and red fur on his chest that warms your deathly chilled body. You scream but another set of hands holds down your caught leg—this one with deep blue and silver swirls in the fur on his chest. You dissolve in the horror of the end that will come from too many jaws—
A musical steel note plays when he breaks the chain in half with his raw strength. You keep thrashing, struggling to get away, but the fox men are too strong, and the one holding you keeps asking you to stop being frightened—they only want to help. The other digs his dark claws into the metal trap and pries it apart as the other drags you out of reach of the contraption maw, and you cry from the pain of it all.
The two begin yipping and fussing. When they press their hands to the bleeding bite mark on your leg, the anguish overwhelms you until all you see is white, then nothing.
They become frantic at your slumped form and all the blood on your silky white fur. Sun takes to your wound and Moon takes you in his arms, and keeping pressure on the strange bite, they carry you back to their den. There, you'll be safe and warm, and there, they can help you with your broken leg.
Hopefully, you won't keep screaming when you wake up. (You will.)
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actual-changeling · 4 months
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heaven doesn't take too kindly to him breaking in a second time.
aziraphale stops them, with his blood already staining their perfect fucking floors, and his hands are balled into shaking fists, his voice projecting more authority than ever. crowley waits until they're alone in the blinding corridors before allowing his body to collapse, hissing when pain flares across his back.
"crowley-" there is a shadow in his periphery, hands reaching for him, but he flinches out of reflex more than intention, taking twisted satisfaction in the strangled noise escaping aziraphale.
"fuck off." while audibly hoarse, the edge to his words is sharp.
with his palms pressed to the floor, he gets to his knees, head hanging down as he sucks in breath after breath to summon enough focus to fix himself.
"let me help-"
"i said FUCK OFF," he spits, glancing up at him through a curtain of red waves and pain. "what do you care anyway."
"of course i care," aziraphale shoots back immediately, somewhere between offended and distressed, and oh, crowley takes the same satisfaction in that, too, no matter how bitter it tastes.
purely out of spite and to regain whatever of his pride is left, he ignores the cut still sluggishly bleeding onto the floor and pushes himself upwards, managing to stand while swaying heavily. he's a fucking mess compared to aziraphale in his pristine archangel get-up, and it lures the anger out of him with ease.
"huh, considering those are your guys you really have a funny way of showing it."
they both know what he is doing, yet the guilt carved into his face is as real as the heartbreak etched into his own. someone knows he is tired of playing games, but that is all they have left now, isn't it? stupid fucking games, as if they hadn't drowned themselves in those for millennia.
"i stopped them, i didn't send them. you know that."
crowley doesn't even attempt to bite back the hollow laugh craving to be set free. it rips through him with pain in his wake, and if he doesn't heal that wound soon the blood loss will make him pass out. how annoying.
"oh, aren't you being hilarious today, archangel. none of this would have happened if you hadn't—"
left.
thirteen months and he still cannot say it. what a pathetic little creature he is, deep down, clinging to love and having nothing but anger to voice it. he understands, he must understand.
suddenly, he is very, very tired.
"i'll be on my way. not gonna clean up though, that's on you."
aziraphale stands frozen, watching, right there and warm and real. crowley barely avoids throwing up at the thought of letting it all go for one gentle touch. in the harsh light, he seems pale, his lips bitten raw, and crowley loves him so desperately it hurts. gritting his teeth, he heals the cut oozing all over his back and nearly topples over with relief. hold me, he doesn't say. help me. come back. i miss you.
"for what it's worth, crowley, i am sorry."
they look at each other, gold and purple-blue-something new. he refuses to believe in Her after everything, but he believes that they will fix this somehow. crowley swallows and his fingers twitch at his side when the light catches on the tears gathering on aziraphale's waterline. they will fix this.
they have to.
"yeah, me too."
three word sentences hiding the one they both cannot voice, yet he finds forgiveness cannot easily be forgiven, not this time.
(it still counts)
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jasonsmirrorball · 6 months
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OCTOBER 7: YOU FLOWER, YOU FEAST JASON TODD (5.1K)
kinktober prompts: virginity + praise | kinktober masterlist
synopsis. you meet a beautiful stranger and every bit of sense you've accumulated over the years flies out the window. what's the worst that could happen?
cw: f!reader, smut, gentle mdom, praise, virginity loss, virgin!reader, dry humping, cunnilingus, fingering f!receiving, piv sex, unprotected sex minors, blank and ageless blogs dni
technically a part 2 to for you i'd fall from grace (just to touch your face) but can be read as a standalone
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The doors open with a quiet ding. 
Now it is you on the other side watching him step out, and a beat passes. The world seems to hold its breath.
You take his hand. 
It feels like your undoing and rebirth all in one.
Jason’s hotel room is…luxurious. That is the first thing you notice when he leads you in, opening the door with his free hand. He doesn’t let go of you for a moment, fishing the keycard out of his pocket smoothly as his mouth skims over yours. He presses you into the door for a moment, and then you hear two small beeps before you’re being walked backwards.
When he pulls away, he’s backlit by gold and your eyes trail over his shoulder to take in the spacious room you’ve been led into.
Rich, patterned carpet, detailed plaster carvings along the trim and a chandelier – your eyes widen when you spot the bed. Jason huffs out a laugh, breath tickling your ear as you take in the wrinkled sheets, untouched from when you’d interrupted his night to coax him out with you, a cloud of what you’re sure is a thousand thread count bedsheets. It’s fit to house a king.
There’s a mouth against your shoulder, and you look back up to your companion. Jason glitters before you, sparks from the chandelier glass winking at the corners of your vision, robing him in reds, blues and purples. Your heart flutters as he grows closer.
“Hi, pretty thing,” he whispers, pressing his mouth to yours. “You okay?”
His hands are warm against your sides, and you nod into the kiss, a hum caught in his mouth. But your lips tremble against his, and you’ve begun to shake a little in his arms. You mourn the loss when he breaks the kiss, teal eyes narrowing on you. 
A hand comes up to cradle your face, a dry warmth that bleeds into you, and your eyes flutter as it tilts your head. 
“We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”
But how do you tell him that you are? You’re more sure of this than anything in your life. Every cell in your body, every nerve and vein and beat of your heart all thrum with the same thought, the same desire – this, him. You want him so badly, there’s an ache between your legs and when you shift your weight you can feel the dampness of your underwear, sticky with need.
How do you tell him?
That even in your desire, even in your certainty that you won’t be leaving this room unchanged, there is fear. 
You think of girlhood, of closed bedroom windows and lonely nights, of eyeing valentines enviously. You think of bare knees and secret touches beneath bed covers, substituting your fingers for another’s, faceless hands skimming your innermost parts–
You blink at Jason. Jason, who is solid, and real. Who has already unknowingly stolen a first, on his way to take another. Teal smudges in your vision, and you press closer, seeking comfort from the bigger man. 
“No one has ever..” you try to say, but your voice wavers, and heat crawls up your neck to settle in your face. A thumb skims across the nape of your neck, and you shiver.
“Will you look at me?” 
You linger in the safety of his embrace for a moment longer, before you do as he says, tipping your head to gaze at him. He smiles, pleased, and the sight of it sends a rush of blood to your head. 
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, rewarding you with a squeeze to your side. “You were saying something. Tell me.”
You blink. Surely he wasn’t going to make you say it? Hadn’t he heard enough? You’d only known him so long, but Jason seemed intelligent enough to connect the dots. But he only stares patiently at you, waiting.
“I..” you lick your lips, throat suddenly dry. “I’ve never done this before.”
The look in his eyes confirms your suspicions – he had only wanted to hear you say it. It’s no less gentle, but his touch tightens around you a little, and you swallow as his pupils, already blown wide, seem to darken even more. 
“Done what, baby?” he rasps out, lowering his head to nose at the column of your throat. “Let a stranger take you back to his room?”
You squirm in his arms, hands coming up to clutch the fabric of his shirt, fistfuls of cotton wrinkling under your touch. 
“Mmh..no..I mean..yes..but–”
“But what?” he mumbles into your jaw.
“I’ve never – with anyone,” you stutter out, squeezing his shoulders, tucking your face into his collar. 
He withdraws then, eyes glossy. “No one?” he asks, voice steady save for the hitch in his breath when you shake your head. 
“Is–is that okay?” you ask and his eyes slip shut for a second, forehead falling forward to press against yours. The both of you stand in the living area of his obscenely large hotel room, but all you see is aqua eyes, curtained by thick lashes, staring into yours. 
“Sweetheart,” he breathes out a laugh, thumb sliding a path back up to your cheek. “Is that okay with you? I don’t expect anything, we can hang out a little longer, or I can walk you back down to your room–”
“No!” you protest, and his eyes widen. You scrunch your eyes closed, lowering your voice. “No, I…I do want to – y’know.”
He laughs, and you feel the press of his mouth against your cheek, there and gone just as quickly. It’s chaste, and sweet.
“Yeah?” he asks, amused. “You want to…y’know?”
You frown at him, nerves steadily melting away as he grins at you. You’ve known him less than a week but this familiarity feels age old. “Don’t make fun of me.”
“Aw,” he snickers, smoothing your pout away with a kiss. “‘M sorry. You’re just cute. I can’t help it.”
You have to squirm away when his fingers pinch your sides teasingly, laughing too loudly for the hour it currently is. He doesn’t seem to care that you might be disturbing the other guests – but you suppose for what he must’ve paid for this room, any sound is unlikely to bleed through the walls. “Stop! Stop!”
He grins at you, ceasing his attack. Eyes softening, he tilts his head, gesturing to the living space you’d overlooked. A chaise longue and expensive looking sofa are arranged neatly, flowers blooming in a vase on the coffee table. You spy a book resting beside it, neatly bookmarked with a slip of paper you recognise to be hotel stationery, the filigree border sticking out from between the pages giving it away.
“C’mere, sweetheart. I wanna kiss you a bit more.”
You kick your heels off, the sparkly shoes you’d spent more money on than you ought to have landing sideways beside his. Your feet sink into the plush carpet below as you pad over to the couch, falling into Jason’s lap with a delighted giggle when he pulls you close. Knees bracketing his hips, your skirt slides up dangerously, but you’re more focused on the slide of his mouth against yours.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” Jason breathes into your mouth, and your eyes droop, smiling against him. Big hands settle against the small of your back, and Jason swallows the surprised noise you make when you feel him under you, thick, and hard. “Got me so fuckin’ hard for you, sweetheart. Can you feel that?”
You rock your hips shyly, squirming on his lap, letting out a breath when you feel him bump against your covered clit, pleasure pooling low in your gut.
“Mmh..there you go,” Jason whispers, guiding you along his lap. You whine into his mouth, eyes shutting at the slide of his tongue against yours. It’s slow, and a little messy, the way he kisses you, spit slicked lips sliding against yours, hands rocking you back and forth. 
You have no idea what the time is, your phone lying abandoned in the depths of your purse, forgotten in the entryway next to your shoes. Orange light burns through the back of your eyelids, and fatigue renders your limbs heavy against Jason – it’s been a long day and an even longer night, but you aren’t quite ready to give it up yet, too drunk on this new experience to call an end to it.
An open window nearby lets in a stream of air, cool against your flushed skin and some way down the road, a car beeps on the motorway. Jason, beneath you, rolls his hips up into your aching centre and you mewl. He laughs as you break away, panting, lips shiny with spit. You go dizzy at the sight.
“So fuckin’ noisy,” he laughs, leaning back against the couch. He looks sinful, head tipped back to expose his throat, thick thighs spread and hands on your hips. Like he’s at your mercy. Power ripples beneath your fingertips as you touch his neck, skimming over his Adam's apple. Almost as if in a trance, you lower your head to bite at the skin, tongue laving at the mark and relishing in the groan he lets out.
“You sure-” he gasps when you do it once more. “Y’sure you’ve never done this before?”
“Mhm,” you hum, sucking a mark below his ear. You pull away, breath hitching at the sight of the bruise blooming there. His eyes are already on you when you meet his gaze, half-lidded and hungry.
“‘M so fucking lucky, aren’t I?” he rasps, resting a hand on the back of your neck and bringing you down to him. “Nobody else gets you like this, do they.”
You shake your head in affirmation and he grins, a little pleased. And then, his gaze is drifting down to the neck of your dress.
It’s a pretty thing, the both of you know it, daringly lowcut – more than you would have ever braved to wear back home. But here, you are something else entirely, a flower in bloom. There is no one to tell you no, to heed caution. No nosy eyes – the only gazes on you now are heavy with something else. You see the same heaviness in Jason’s eyes as he drinks in the red swathing your figure.
You’d seen it in the store and known – this was it. This would be the one. Every stitch and fold of it had been made in your image, you’d known it from the moment you laid your eyes on it, only confirmed by the reflection in the dressing room mirror.
“Baby,” Jason says suddenly, voice sounding shot, eyes turning pleading and hands trailing back down to fist at your dress. “Can I take this off?”
You find yourself nodding fervently, so eager that any pretense of playing coy slips right out of your head as you lean up and forward, closing your eyes as his fingers pull the zip at your side and pull the material up your figure. It’s unbearably slow, and the drag of the fabric up your skin leaves goosebumps in its trail, your heart hammering in your chest as inch by inch, you are bared to his eyes. When the skirt gathers at your waist, only just covering your panties, Jason groans, eyes tracing your thighs hungrily. He pauses a moment, and you tremble atop him. It’s only a moment – he resumes his path.
Everything is still, and quiet around the both of you. Only your shared breathing, heavy – and, you imagine, wrapping around the other, invisible. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, and you curl your fingers into fists where they rest on your thighs.
“Up, baby,” Jason murmurs, and you raise your arms, shuddering as the dress is lifted totally. It hits the ground behind you with a quiet flutter, and you’re left atop Jason’s lap in only the pretty panties you’d slipped on before dinner. 
Before dinner, when you’d flounced around your hotel room, running back and forth across the wardrobe and your suitcase and your vanity, silk robe slipping down your shoulders, giggling with your best friend. You’d slipped on the scrap of material after your shower, shrieking when she’d voiced the thought you’d quietly entertained – who exactly are you putting those on for?
Their intended subject breathes out a sigh when his eyes land on them, a groan caught in his throat. The hardness pressed against your thigh is an attestation to just how much he likes it.
“Fuck, sweetheart…” Jason tips forward to press his forehead to your shoulder, and your breath hitches when the movement causes his nose to brush against your bare skin, lips so close to your breast you can feel his breath. “Been wanting to do that from the moment you showed up at my door.”
“Yeah?” you breathe out shyly, face warming. His resounding “Mhm.” vibrates against your shoulder. 
“Y’showed up looking like sin, princess,” he mumbles, a sloppy kiss pressed to your skin. And then another, and another. He moves slowly, with precision, and you’re burning for him. “Thought about just locking the door and ripping that damn dress off you – ‘m surprised you didn’t notice how hard I got.”
Your eyes flicker down but his broad shoulders obscure your view, curling over you, leaving wet kisses over every bit of skin he can reach. 
“Mmh, baby y’gotta talk to me,” Jason sighs, pulling away and you almost keen at the loss, chasing after him when he sinks back into the couch cushions, hands steadying you as you tip forward. “Tell me.”
“Tell you what?” you whisper, nose to nose. 
Up close, he is even more beautiful, golden and freckled from the summer sun. His eyelashes are thick, fluttering with every blink. He watches you, and you are reminded of a big cat, lazy eyes fixed on its prey, slow, smouldering blinks as he stares at you.
“You want me to take care of you?” he breathes out, and you nod. He shakes his head. “Gotta hear you say it out loud, sweetheart. You can do that for me can’t you?”
His voice drops into a coo, encouraging in all the ways to make your head dizzy, every thought turning syrupy thick when he bumps his nose against yours, coaxing.
“Say it for me, baby,” he murmurs into your mouth, capturing your bottom lip between his. You feel the barest drag of his teeth and you whimper – he catches that too. “Aw, c’mon pretty. I’ve barely done anything, yet. There’ll be time for that later. Y’just gotta tell me.”
“Jason, I-” you gasp out, when he rocks his hips up into you. “Please? Please…”
“Please what?” 
If they could only see you now. Shame and desire race through your veins, circling each other in a vicious stand-off. Will you give in? Will you see it through? You’ve come this far. Ruination is only a murmur away.
“Fuck me,” you whisper, and his eyes gleam.
Jason hauls you up from the couch in one swift movement that leaves you grappling for his shoulders, but his hold is firm – you’re in no danger of falling, unless he intends it. Mouth on yours, he crosses the living space and you enter the bedroom, the mammoth of a bed coming closer into view. You only register it in your periphery, much too preoccupied with the brush of Jason’s tongue against yours, yet another new, dizzying sensation that clouds your senses.
And then you’re falling back, landing amongst the sheets of his bed. Jason hovers above you – still clothed. You quirk a brow expectantly at him and he pauses. He follows your gaze, and snickers when he realises.
“I guess I’m being pretty unfair, huh,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss you. “I’ve got you all pretty and bare for me and I’m still dressed. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
Jason is, impossibly, even more attractive under his clothes. He shucks the jacket and top, and your throat dries at the sight of him, all soft muscle and broadness. Every inch of him has been carved with a careful hand, and you drag your gaze downwards as he tugs his sweats off, left in only a pair of black boxer briefs. Powerful thighs flex as he steps out of his clothing, and you have to bite back the urge to learn forward and press your mouth to him, to sink your teeth into the muscle of his chest.
“Hope that’s a good silence,” he remarks, kicking his sweats away and you snap your eyes back up to him, a nervous laugh bubbling from your lips.
“It is,” you assure. Bravely, you reach out to take his hand, and his eyes soften a little when you do. “You’re…no one should look like that.”
Pink dusts the top of his cheeks and he laughs. “I’m glad you think so.” He shakes his head then, and draws closer. “Tonight’s about you, though, princess. Can you lay back for me?”
“Like this?” you ask, unsure, settling yourself against his pillows, legs bent together. He smiles, kneeling at the foot of the bed. 
“Not quite,” he says, a warm hand coming to cup your calf. “This okay? If you wanna stop, just let me know. Pinch me, or something. Promise I’ll stop.”
You nod, and nod once more, and he drops a kiss to the inside of your knee as he maneuvers your legs so they’re spread, allowing him to draw closer. All that stands between his gaze and your most sensitive parts is a scrap of fabric, and you see his eyelids droop as he settles on his stomach, breath skimming your inner thigh. 
“You’re gonna be good for me, aren’t you?” he asks, tilting his head, expectant. His voice is gentle, coaxing, and you find yourself nodding, eager to please him. He smiles, and it’s like starlight, reddened mouth curving up to reveal pearly whites.
“Yeah,” he sighs, pleased. Fingers trail up your legs, pushing them further apart with a firmness that is equally as gentle.  “Knew you would. My girl knows how to listen t’me. So sweet for me. ‘M gonna kiss you now, ‘kay, sweetheart?”
You’re tipping your chin and then your panties are being hooked to the side and there’s a mouth on you, warm, and wet, tongue curling against your clit in a movement that draws a gasp right out of you, squirming against the sheets, both chasing and drawing away from the unfamiliar sensation. Jason laughs at the sound, only pressing closer to you with an arm hooking across your hips to keep you still.
Your vision swims, and you press your head back into the pillows, the canopy above you blurring under every artful lash and lick of Jason’s tongue. Your hands fist the sheets when he closes his lips around your clit, sucking gently – desire burns in your gut and explodes behind your eyes with his movements, your hips lurching off the mattress only to meet the steel resistance of his arm. 
“Jason,” you cry, only growing warmer when he snakes his free hand up your torso to pinch your nipple, squeezing your breasts as he works his mouth.
“That’s it, sweetheart, just-” he cuts himself off, spitting onto your folds – only adding to the mess you’re sure you’ve made. You shudder and he laughs against your skin. “Mmh, just like that, just like that…”
Your hand finds its way into his hair, fingers sinking into thick black locks and tugging before you can register the impulse. You draw away, a babbled apology on your tongue but he only catches your wrist as it raises and pushes it back with a husky laugh.
“Touch me all you want,” he says, kissing your thigh. “Want you to feel good, angel.” 
“It does,” you pant, too caught up to find any embarrassment in the needy pitch of your voice, too eager to get his mouth back on you. He grins, knowingly, and raises his hand, reaching to press his fingers against your lips.
“Get my fingers wet f’me, baby,” he says. 
It feels debauched, the way you let him part your lips and sink his fingers in your mouth, pressing heavy on your tongue. Drool collects, and you flick your tongue against his thick digits, sucking. His eyes shutter, and you find yourself pleased to have turned the tables, even if only momentarily. He retracts his fingers soon, and you follow the string of spit with your eyes, flinching when it snaps, smearing against your chin. 
“That’s my girl,” he exhales. “‘M gonna stretch you out, okay? Tell me if it’s too much.”
“Okay,” you murmur, resting a hand across the arm on your hips. He pushes himself up onto his haunches, and then there’s a finger pressing at your entrance. It’s a foreign feeling – Jason’s fingers are much thicker than your own, and you tense up at the intrusion, but he notices.
“Take a breath for me,” he tells you firmly, other hand stroking your skin comfortingly. “It’ll be more uncomfortable if you’re tense like that. There you go, take another for me, good girl.”
He leans up to kiss you, and you clutch his shoulders tightly when his thumb circles your clit in gentle circles, finger steadily pressing into you. You breathe through it, feeling small under his frame, but grateful for the cover. Jason whispers praise into your skin as you take him slowly, and you tip your head back as slowly, your body adjusts to the stretch. 
“So good for me,” he tells you, and your eyes burn, tears crowding your lashline at the rush of emotions – it’s so much, all at once. You can’t quite make sense of things anymore, entirely consumed by the feeling of him, over, around, inside. 
And still, when he deems you properly prepped, you feel you’ve entered an entirely new ballpark when he slides your panties off and removes his underwear, cock springing up and slapping against his stomach. 
It isn’t as though you’ve never seen one before. The internet, and sex ed classes had at least given you some idea about what to expect, but –
Jason is big. Even inexperienced, you know this. Your mouth dries the longer you stare at it, so thick you wonder how he’s going to fit it inside you – can he? Trepidation settles in your lower gut, but with it, something else. You sit up on shaky arms, and curiosity spurs you on to reach for him, tucking your legs beneath you as you shuffle closer. 
He lets you touch him, teal eyes watching in silence as your hand brushes along his hip, dipping down to press against his thigh. Skirting around where you really want to touch. When he exhales above you, you look up to find him softly smiling, amusement in the curve of his mouth.
“I don’t bite,” he says softly, fingers coming to wrap around your wrist gently, guiding your touch to his cock. The both of you shudder when you make contact, wrapping around his length experimentally. The weight of him in your hands makes your heart thrum, and you don’t realise you’ve drawn closer until he’s pulling you away just as your lips hover over the head of him.
You look up questioningly, and he gives you a reassuring grin, caressing your cheek. “Later, sweetheart. I wanna make you feel good.”
“Promise?” you murmur and he nods, looping his pinky around yours. 
And then you’re being pressed back down into the sheets, a mouth on yours and Jason’s tongue licking at the seam of your lips. And you know you ought to be a little more responsible, when he presses on your bare heat, precum smearing at your entrance, but there’s a rush in the thought of having him wholly – of letting go of responsibility for just one night. 
You’ve been good all your life, you figure you’re allowed one moment of recklessness. 
He’s prepped you well, but the first press of his head inside still makes you gasp, stomach tightening as he enters you. He swallows the sound in his mouth, humming assuringly against your lips.
“Mmh, you’re doin’ so good for me,” he mumbles, sloppily kissing your jaw, and you throw your arms around his neck, tucking your face into his shoulder. “Breathe, breathe, princess.”
Inch by inch, he pushes until you’ve taken the entire length of him, settling there for you to adjust. You can feel it in your throat, every bit of skin and heat making your blood simmer, your eyes rolling slightly at the stretch. 
“You okay?”
Jason brushes a few fingers across the back of your neck, and the touch is grounding, drawing your attention back to him. You nod, and he lets out a little laugh.
“So sweet for me,” he mutters, dropping a kiss to your head. You exhale against his collar, returning it to the spot above his heart, lips smudging against his chest and leaving a streak of colour where your lipstick rubs off. You grin privately, repeating the motion. The hand at your hip squeezes affectionately, and he speaks again. “Gonna start moving now, okay?” 
“Mhm.” It’s a needy sound – not the first one he’s pulled out of you tonight, and when he rolls his hips, thumb catching at your clit, you wager it won’t be the last.
You lose all ability to think within minutes. Jason is attentive, and every touch lights you on fire, leaves you feeling scraped raw, every nerve sensitive to him. Everything feels amplified as he thrusts, making ample of use of his mouth and fingers in time with his movements. You’re clutching him, clutching the sheets, legs shaking around his waist. 
The hotel room is filled with the sounds of your pleasure, Jason drawing moan after moan, whimpers and desperate moans from your lips – absently, you wonder, is that you, making all that noise? It seems utterly discomposed, something too filthy for the otherwise pristine room you’re in. But Jason is uncaring and if anything, it only spurs him on, gripping you tighter.
“Fuck,” he hisses, biting at your shoulder and you whine, nails biting into the meat of his shoulder. “That’s it, princess, you sound so fucking pretty.”
Sweat gathers in the dip of your brow, lines your skin and his as his hips cant into yours. His head dips down to catch a nipple in his mouth, teeth grazing the your sensitive bud. You choke on a gasp, throwing your head back into the pillows. He grins, letting go with a wet pop.
“Jason.” you sob out and he coos.
“Yeah, sweetheart?” he says, leaning down so you’re nose to nose. You gaze at him through half-lidded eyes, unable to keep them open. “‘M I making you feel good? This what you expected?”
“F-feels so good,” you cry, the tears that have been gathering finally slipping free, streaking down your face as he rocks into you. His teeth gleam in the low light, victory in the stretch of his lips – the light haloes around him and he looks divine, bronzed and eclipsing your entire body with his. 
He thrusts faster, a little harder, and you clutch his arm suddenly, feeling the pleasure rising in to a crescendo in your stomach. His name falls off your lips, coloured in desperation and tears, and you buck your hips up in an effort to match his.
“You close, sweetheart?” he pants and you keen.
“Uh-huh,” you mewl, voice pitching as you draw him down into a messy kiss, a meeting of teeth and tongue that leaves you dizzy. 
“Fuck, princess, that’s it,” he groans, a hand coming around your lower back to lift you closer. The other circles your clit faster, and you cry out. “That’s it, come for me. Just let go for me, I know you can do it. You’re such a good girl, been so good for me, you deserve to come, don’t you? C’mon sweetheart, just like that.”
You break with a squeal, coming apart around his cock. It’s intense, the wave that crashes over you and swims through your body, reaching every nerve ending and muscle. And he doesn’t stop, fucking you through it with steady thrusts that don’t relent. You’re pushing at his stomach, fingers desperately clawing at him. It’s dizzying, and you clench down harder, drawing a groan from him.
“Shit, baby,” he gasps, forehead dropping to yours. “Sweetest fucking pussy, ‘m so fucking close.”
You can only tilt your head up to capture his mouth, biting down on his bottom lip. He pulls away swearing, sweat lining his brow. 
“Gonna come,” he chokes out, forehead creasing as his eyes squeeze shut. You squeeze down around him once again, and he moans.
“Come for me,” you breathe out, and he shakes his head, looking pained. His lips turn down into a pout, and though you’ve little energy in your body, you want nothing more than to sink your teeth into it. You fear that by doing this, he’s woken something in you now – there is no coming back from the monster he’s made of you, the insatiable hunger he’s called on. 
“Don’t say that, baby,” he barely manages to grit out. “I can’t, I-” 
He pulls himself out suddenly, fisting his cock over your body. You realise just how close he was when in a few quick strokes, he comes over your stomach, shooting onto your skin with a strangled noise.
“Fuck!”
Silence falls over the room, save for your heavy breaths. You sink back into the pillows, spent and Jason lowers himself beside you, reaching out to pull you close. You tuck yourself into his side, and the muffled sound of his heartbeat reaches you from beneath your cheek. 
“How you feeling, sweetheart?” A hand settles on the dip of your back, thumb skimming across the expanse sweetly. “Talk t’me.”
“Good,” you slur out, eyes slipping closed. Your own pulse steadily throbs in your ears and you can feel the fatigue settling in your muscles, sapped of your strength. “So tired.”
“Yeah?” he questions, affection colouring his voice. You hum, nosing at him as though you could burrow closer. 
“Rest a bit. I’ll get up in a moment, run you a bath,” he promises you, voice rough. “Gotta get you cleaned up.” 
“You’ll come with?” you ask quietly, and he sighs, amused. He rubs your back. 
“Yeah, princess, I’ll come with.”
With that, you close your eyes, letting the sounds of the city bleed in through the window. Jason’s heart beats steadily beneath you, fingers tracing up your bare spine, and you succumb to sleep. 
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everybody say thank you ro you're the best ro you wrote the best first proper smut fic ever ro. jk but this was so hard to get through i would like to thank miss lana del rey herself, my smut writing playlist and the guide to writing smut by @/mevima because they were my lifelines. and also my bestest friend in the world for reading over this for me despite not knowing a single thing about dc beyond the barest minimum she is my angel and guiding star everybody give her a round of applause.
i considered quitting kinktober so many times writing this you have no idea. tell your favourite smut authors you love them because genuinely...after kinktober i'm going back to fluff /lh. also please don't expect this length for every kinktober piece hahaha this fic is just it's own creation and would not let me write anything less than 5k. we'll be returning to our regular programming soon.
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sheisraging · 5 months
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Once, there was a young prince who was born in a castle. His mother was a princess scholar, and his father was the most handsome, feared knight in all the land. As a boy, people would bring him everything he could ever dream of wanting. The most beautiful silk clothes, ripe fruit from the orangery. At times, he was so happy, he felt he would never grow tired of being a prince.
He came from a long, long line of princes, but never before had there been a prince quite like him: born with his heart on the outside of his body.
When he was small, his family would smile and laugh and say he would grow out of it one day. But as he grew, it stayed where it was, red and visible and alive. He didn’t mind it very much, but every day, the family’s fear grew that the people of the kingdom would soon notice and turn their backs on the prince.
His grandmother, the queen, lived in a high tower, where she spoke only of the other princes, past and present, who were born whole.
Then, the prince’s father, the knight, was struck down in battle. The lance tore open his armor and his body and left him bleeding in the dust. And so, when the queen sent new clothes, armor for the prince to parcel his heart away safe, the prince’s mother did not stop her. For she was afraid, now: afraid of her son’s heart torn open too.
So the prince wore it, and for many years, he believed it was right.
Until he met the most devastatingly gorgeous peasant boy from a nearby village who said absolutely ghastly things to him that made him feel alive for the first time in years and who turned out to be the most mad sort of sorcerer, one who could conjure up things like gold and vodka shots and apricot tarts out of absolutely nothing, and the prince’s whole life went up in a puff of dazzling purple smoke, and the kingdom said, “I can’t believe we’re all so surprised.”
Casey McQuiston, Red, White & Royal Blue
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oceanofsinners · 4 months
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“They love me, they love me not.”
Yan!Pervy cupid x gn innocent succubi/incubi reader ♥︎
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[mdni, or do, i don't care enough to block y'all tbh. NSFW, first time in a while writing it so apologies ack. tw/cw: mentions of violence, blood, religious stuff kinda. lmk if i have to add smth else too! also?? sorry for disappearing i got stuck in the hospital, ouchies!! also holy fuck this is 2.k words ive never wrote that much...]
Nova wasn't...normal. Well, to be fair, it wasn't their fault he was created this way. It was Father’s fault.
 
Being born a Cupid, but being unable to feel most emotions, or even love. How ridiculous. Pathetic, even. Compared to their brothers and sisters, he was useless.
 
They grew up alone and isolated, no one wanted a Cherub whose expression was always bored. No one wanted a Cherub who never wanted to play with the others or found joy in small things. 
 
He grew up in one of the few orphanages in Paradise, some human souls for foster parents who weren't able to have kids themselves, happy to have any.
 
Angels were meant to be cheerful and optimistic, they were neither. Many thought he'd grow up to be a Guardian Angel or an Archangel. 
 
Never a Cupid. Especially a Love Cupid. Maybe a Heartbreak Cupid, even Erotic Love Cupid, but Love? They didn't even truly understand what the word meant. Or so everyone thought. 
 
Angels were meant to be non-judgemental. Meant to be “kind” and believe in everyone. Angel’s are not. Angels are just as judgemental, perhaps even more than humans. 
 
The other Cupids always watched him in disdain when they were training, he always dragged their class down, being worse at it than most of the others.
 
But then, in high school, something changed. See, Angels and Demons typically don't like each other. 
 
Angels hate Demons for falling, and Demons hate the lies Angels say. But in the end, they are one and the same. 
 
Only one’s halo is broken, the other’s is perfectly fine. No, not halo, horns. If there was one thing special about Nova, it was their “halo“, or horns. 
 
They were a beautiful baby pink color that matched the pearly white hair that reached his shoulders, with pretty gold and bright pink streaks, that made their purple eyes pop. 
 
Even though Nova couldn't feel anything, he was beautiful. Freckles were made in the forms of constellations scattered over brown skin, and white eyelashes that looked like snowflakes. 
 
They were beautiful. Ethereal. An Angel, through and through. He never imagined they'd fall willingly, even hating the thought. 
 
But, maybe for one person, he would. That person is YOU. 
 
The Demons and Angels made an agreement, there was an academy built, for both Angels and Demons of all ranks and backgrounds, a sort of truce.
 
Nova was one of the angels chosen, amongst many others. They didn't care about it, just wanting it to be done already. To get the embarrassment over. 
 
Days turned into weeks of staying in the shadows, going to boring classes, eating lunch in empty classrooms, studying all night, and repeat. 
 
It was boring, but it's not like Nova had anything he could do about it. Another day of stupid school, of stupid wars between haughty Angels and Demons who liked fighting. 
 
Except this time, Nova got caught in the crossfire. Cuts covered their skin, golden blood leaking down and ruining his beautiful clothes.
 
One of the Demons had them pushed up against a wall, claws to his throat, and they stood there blank gaze. Nova raised a brow as the Demon got pushed, and went to walk away. 
 
Then YOU came. You seemed confused at the fight, trying to make peace despite it being fruitless. You paused at the sight of him, before gasping and quickly running over. 
 
“Ah, you're bleeding! Gosh, I told these dummies to stop fighting, they just don't listen!” You frowned, trying to appear upset but you just looked like a kicked puppy with a pout. 
 
You pulled them off to the side, reaching inside a black messenger back absolutely covered in cutesy stickers and pins from different bands. 
 
Nova took the time to look at you, really look at you. It was strange. Why was his heart beating so fast? Wings fluffing up? You were beautiful. One of the prettiest Demons they’d ever seen. 
 
That's what clued him into what you were, an Incubus or Succubus. Really, there was no difference between the two except for their behavior. Incubus tended to be more assertive, and Succubus more passive. 
 
Before Nova could think about anything else, you pulled a first aid kit out, opened it up, and pulled a pack of bandaids out. 
 
You started disinfecting their wounds, before putting those cute, colored bandaids on each wound.
 
Nova looks silly like this, mostly black, Gothic ensemble, even with his pastel eyes and horns, they still looked less like an Angel and more like a Demon. 
 
And there you were, broken halo turned into a pair of horns, dressed in cutesy clothes, putting brightly colored bandaids on the mean-looking Cupid. 
 
With every fleeting touch, Nova felt embers light under his skin, his cheeks warming even further. ‘...What...What is this feeling? I don't...’
 
Before Nova even realized it, they were leaning even further into your cold, almost dead touch. You paused, before giggling and roping your arms around his shoulders. 
 
“Wow! You're super friendly, I like you, your hair too, it's super duper long! What's your name?” You asked, playing with his long hair, curling it around your fingers.
 
“Casanova. But people call me Nova, usually. What's yours?” Nova looked up at you, a lovesick hazy look in his purple eyes, heart pupils. How amusing. A Cupid falling for an Incubi/Succubi. What are the odds? 
 
“Oh! Right! It's—” Before you can finish, a teacher begins herding everyone to their classes. Nova’s pissed —‘How...Why do I feel so angry?’— but goes along with it, delighted to see you wave with a sheepish grin, fangs showing. 
 
Nova doesn't know your name. But he doesn't need to. You're his angel in their mind, the one and only made for him. 
 
Very quickly you become a prominent part of his life, their parents even allowing you to stay at their house while the program goes on, happy to see their child so happy for once. 
 
With so many emotions suddenly hitting him all at once, it's no shock they fall harder than he should, becoming obsessed fast and hard. 
Nova begins realizing things they'd never realized before. The curves of your body. Those soft eyes he wants to see sobbing from pleasure. Those lips open, gasping their name—
 
But it ends far too soon. The program is forced to close, and you're gone just as fast as you came. Nova hates how empty he feels when you're gone, wondering how he ever lived without you.
 
He feels cold inside, a part of him disappearing with you. Something they can NEVER get back. He tries to be normal, smiling when he should, crying when he should, just be normal. 
 
It's easy for a while. To pretend. No, BE normal. Far too soon, or maybe far too late, he graduates high school. Then college. 
 
Years fly by, “friends” come and go, lovers he didn't give a shit about disappear after they get bored, and more and more blood then just his is on their hands. 
 
But you weren't always gone. You'd sneak out of hell and sneak onto paradise sometimes, and hang out with them. But it wasn't enough. He wanted all of your time and attention on him. Just once, they want someone to be there as a constant. 
 
Eventually he lands a job at Soulmates Corp. A Cupid work place, and he starts working. It's actually pretty simple and interesting. Sure, they don't use bow and arrows — usually. But being able to look through humans lives, to choose who they fall for. It's interesting. 
 
And then, one night, you innocently invite him to a club in hell. They instantly agree, after all, it's YOU. His angel, their savior, his LIFE LINE. Their EVERYTHING. 
 
Funnily enough, over the years the two swapped clothing styles. Nova wore more cutesy, sweet, pastel color clothes, and you wore darker, more “sexy” clothes. 
 
Nova arrived at the club, absentmindedly toying with the pockets of his pastel blue cardigan. Tonight would be the last night of your freedom - independance, after all! 
 
Nova walks in, you on his side, some of your friends accompanying the two of you. He could care less about these bastards, and soon makes sure to seperate you from your “friends”.
 
He watches you with loving eyes the entire night, making sure you get drunk so bad you can't stand. It's easy, you're too trusting. Too innocent for this world. 
 
He'll save you, just like you saved them! Eventually they take you to their place. At first it's tame. Friendly. 
 
“N—Novaaahhhh...C’mere, I hic! wanna see yer pretty faceeee...” Your voice is whiny, the alcohol really hitting you hard. Nova coos, walking over. 
 
They yelp, quite loudly, as you drag them onto the bed, curling into his side. It's innocent. His thoughts should be too. 
 
But all they can think about is your chest pressed against their arms, how easy it would be to just slip your shirt to the side, and touch. Feel.
 
He shakes his head, even if you're both drunk, he can't take advantage of you like that. They refuse to taint you, and that pretty little head of yours. 
 
Stuck in their own thoughts, Nova doesn't even realize you straddle him until it's too late. Your eyes are hazy with lust and alcohol, and he can't help but gulp nervously. 
 
“Angel, really, you...you need to sleep.” Nova tries to reason with you, but reasoning with a horny, drunk Demon, much less an Incubi or Succubi is like arguing with a wall. 
 
You whine, lips lazily smashing against his. Nova can't help but melt into it, and they hate how hard they are from just a touch, a single kiss. 
 
This is wrong. Both of you know this. Yet neither of you can stop it. One kiss turns into two, into three. 
 
“An-Angel!” Nova gasps out as you nip at his collarbone, their neck already covered in love bites and pretty blue and purple bruises. 
 
“Mmph..Wan’ more...Need more, Nova...” You growled out, one hand playing with his chest the other curled in their hair. 
 
More marks. More bites. So many. He looked so pretty like this, a crying mess under their ‘innocent’ friend. 
 
Still, he held enough restraint to stop you, not wanting to ruin your first times together. But, due to your insistence, they do give you some pleasure~
 
Nova sits on his knees, you splayed out on their silk sheets, your slick dripping onto the bed as you whined. Hips jerking up to meet his tongue, hands curled around their halo. 
 
Nova’s tongue swirls against your sex, whining from the taste of your juices against his tongue. It was better then he imagined all those nights, hand playing with their cock, desperate for some relief. 
 
With every swipe and sucking of his mouth, you get closer and closer to that sweet relief you desperately need. With one last gasp, your eyes roll back and hips buck against Nova’s mouth. 
 
Nova laps up every bit of your sweet essence, fucking you through your orgasm. He's gentle after you finish, murmuring praises into your ears as they carry you to their bathroom. 
 
During the bath you end up falling asleep, Nova carries you to bed and the two fall asleep, intangled in each other. 
 
It's morning. Your eyes flutter open, yawning softly as you groaned. Fuck, that's a horrible headache. You glance around, pausing as you feel a weight beside you. What the...
 
Your eyes glide to the person laying beside you, and you pause, your cheeks warming. Nova. You're in Nova’s bed. 
 
Nova, the Cupid boy you met as a kid. Nova, the Cupid you fell for, hard. Nova, the Cupid who always seemed so clueless and innocent. 
 
And they truly look like an Angel right now. The sun shines against against his white hair and skin beautifully, wings folded behind them. 
 
Your face feels even warmer as embarrassment fills you as you see bite marks all over their neck. Bite’s are how Demon’s mark their claim, usually on their mates. Angel’s too. 
 
He let you bite them. And yet, you can't find yourself to be mad over it. Nova’s eyes flutter open, glancing up at you. A soft smile appears on their face, as they lean up and kiss you. 
 
The Angel traps you in his wings and you giggle, curling into them. He's yours, and your his even if you don't know yet. 
 
You took their heart a long time ago. It's time he takes yours too. ♥︎
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shibaraki · 10 months
Text
SO THIS IS LOVE ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO
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synopsis: you’ve been dating your close friend and roommate, todoroki shouto, for almost a month. it’s new, and scary, and easier than you ever expected.
tags: GN reader, friends to lovers, newly established relationship, living together (+they were roommates), support engineer reader, pro hero shouto, fluffy fluff, implied class differences, casual affection (plenty of kisses etc), first date!!!, feeding each other, they’re in love your honor
wc: 4K
a/n: this takes place after my other fic ‘to build a home’ however!! fear not! it can also be read as a standalone ^_^ enjoy!
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The vanity is littered with pieces of your life. Work you’ve brought home, tissue discarded after wiping down your dirtied hands, old draft sketches drawn haphazardly and set aside for sentimentality’s sake. Hero merch has been hung around the mirror frame. Small things. Keychains, magnets and bookmarks. A chibi shouto hangs on a ring, fist high and enveloped in ice.
Colour hems your peripheral vision, stems cut from a meadow and displayed in your room. Pink, green, purple and red. Shouto gave you a flower bouquet, roses and carnations and others that you cannot name without a guide; one he loaned expressly to learn the language of flowers for you.
The balmy, summer fragrance lingers, drawing a subconscious grin. You see it in your reflection, and you don’t look away. Not that you were unhappy before—but lately you can’t stop smiling. It is ever present, in your tone, in your disposition, in the pleased glow your coworkers liked to point out. Undeniably, things have been good.
Almost too good.
Dating Shouto changed everything and nothing. It was a uniquely embarrassing experience to reconcile just how obvious you had been throughout the years. You had prepared for wobbling baby steps. However, in many ways, it was as if you’d completely skipped the awkwardness all together, and Shouto became more emboldened than ever.
Exhaling, you push the thought aside. Your reflection relaxes once more as the tension bleeds from your shoulders. You’re all done up; donning your best clothes, an almost unrecognisable version of yourself compared to the oil-stained, work-swept appearance you usually took.
Tonight would be your first official date. Despite having been together for a few weeks now, your misaligned schedules and general lack of free time made it difficult to take that next step. You initially suggested setting up dinner at home. Candlelight and wine. Good food and good company is all you needed. As tempting as it was, Shouto insisted on treating you to somewhere proper—
His own words. ‘Proper’ was not your department. You didn’t know what to expect.
But the memory resurfaces, and at the vision of his soft pout, you ease. Things would be fine regardless of where the night took you.
Echoing through the hallway, Shouto’s bedroom door quietly clicks shut. You watch his silhouette appear beneath the crack of your own. He shifts his weight. The knock you anticipate never comes. Instead your phone lights up where it sits on the end of your bed. You stretch to grab it. The screen unlocks, opening onto your messaging app. Shouto’s name sits unread at the very top.
shouto : just now
Here to pick you up :)
“He’s trying to kill me,” you breathe, biting back an affectionate laugh and smoothing your thumb over the text. Filled with a sudden urgency to see him, you get to your feet. You pat down either side of your hips, ironing out the creases and give a last look to the mirror—pleased, beautiful.
Behind the door, Shouto anxiously waits. Fingers combed through his hair, the bicoloured strands have mixed into one another, brushed over to one side. The light glints. Gold studs sit in either ear, warming his complexion. He’s wearing a light sweater and dark trousers cinched with a belt. The sleeves are rolled midway along his forearm, casting light on a thin gold chain that hangs delicately around his wrist below the watch his older sister bought him for his birthday.
“You look really good,” you murmur, moving into his space. What would make an otherwise clumsy first encounter for any other came naturally to you both. Eyes drag over the length of your body. Shouto licks his lower lip, gaze heavier, and he pulls you in by the hips. A warm musk fills your senses. Pleasant notes of sandalwood and cinnamon. Your hands come to rest on his chest as you kiss his cheek.
“And you look beautiful,” he says. “Are you ready to leave?”
“I’m ready,” you concur, voice steeped in contagious excitement, “we’re going on a date”.
Shouto sways on his feet, your body moving with him, and his fingers dig into your hips as though restraining himself. “We are. Our first date,” stepping away, he gestures for you to take his arm. You coil around his bicep. Quiet, he continues, “I’m sorry it took so long to organise”.
You swat at his shoulder, falling in line with him as you make your way through the apartment. “Your needless apology is not accepted. I’ve told you it’s completely fine”.
Shouto hums a small, gratified sound, and then bends to take his shoes from the rack. You move to do the same. As you straighten he is pulling on a dark brown leather jacket, the collar flicking up when he shucks it around his chest.
A clink echoes out. He hooks his car keys through his forefinger and slowly looks you over without intent. “Bring a coat. The nights have been getting colder,” he tells you. You concede, endeared by his concern.
The car journey is mostly spent in a comfortable silence, feelings of anticipation tainting the air. You don’t ride with Shouto often, usually opting to take the subway, thus reclining into the plush padded leather is still relatively new. Shouto presses a button and a gradual heat gathers beneath your thighs. Your gaze drags to the gear stick, where his fingers are flexing. After some hesitation he shifts gears and rests his hand above your knee.
You stroke his forearm. His thumb moves in idle shapes. The traffic thins out when he takes an unexpected left onto an unassuming street and regretfully releases you. Car parked alongside a few others, strikingly expensive, Shouto cuts the ignition and you step out.
A clandestine entrance comes into view. Through double glass doors awaits a polished, minimalist lobby, leading to a flight of winding stairs. Upon reaching the top you realise the building houses a pair of adjacent restaurants. Traditional and Western, respectively.
Shouto encourages you toward the more traditional archway, and intermittently squeezes your hand. Your palms kiss, his skin a little clammy. The thought of him being nervous charms you. He glances over as you stroke your finger across his knuckles and his temperature seems to cool.
“Welcome”.
You startle. A server had approached at some point during the intimate moment, stoic and lingering; dressed in a pale kimono, not a thread out of place. With your attention she bends into a perfect bow. “It’s a pleasure to have you this evening. Will it be a table for two?”
“There should be a reservation under the name Todoroki,” Shouto replies with silvery cadence. Expression waning in recognition, the server nods.
“Right this way sir”.
You trail through the restaurant. The architecture is luxurious and calming, woodsy tones and warm accents. Thick sticks of bamboo hang over the ceiling, and pale structures formed to resemble cherry blossoms overhang the chef’s bar. Most notable is the fish tank behind it, pulsing gently as the filter whirls.
The server maintains a strict posture as she guides you to your table. Positioned in an intimate corner next to the window wall, overlooking a blushing cityscape, streaks of sunlight threading between buildings.
You take your seat and sink into the curved back. An illuminated centrepiece gently breathes, coming to life and casting a glow across the tablecloth. Cutlery of which you’ve never seen before is set out before you. “I will return to take your order in a moment…” you hear from your left.
Shouto voices his gratitude. His focus turns to you as the server retreats. “Everything okay?” he asks, too perceptive for his own good, somehow managing to make it feel as though he is still holding your hand through all this, even with the distance.
You hum, not trusting yourself to immediately speak. The menu is thick and glossy and heavy in your grasp. “…All good, handsome,” your eyes skim over the eclectic dishes. You squint at the small font, mind unspooling at the assortment of food—most you hardly recognised. “What do you think you’ll order?
With the tilt of his head, Shouto’s focus returns to his menu. While he reads through you wonder if it’s obvious that you’re out of place here. That you came home hours earlier and scraped the grease from your nail beds after tinkering with Ingenium’s suit for most of the afternoon.
“Their signature dish, maybe. I’ve heard the meat is good. They make it with an iron griddle,” Shouto’s thumb plucks restlessly at the corner of the card. Voice pitched lower, he adds, “And it’s the only thing I find appetising on here”.
Your brows raise at his admittance. Partly relieved by the shared uncertainty, though more surprised he felt it at all. “You’ve never been to a place like this?”
Shouto gives a plaintive blink. “No, I have. Years ago when I first debuted my father would drag me to places like this to network,” he says, setting down the menu. Sheepishness colours his features, “But I’ve never been here specifically. Momo recommended it”.
“Momo did?” you echo, subconsciously leaning onto the table. Shouto nods and shifts in his seat. “Cool. Has she ever brought Kyouka here?”
A wayward curl of crimson falls over his forehead as Shouto tilts. He brushes the stray hair back. “No, not that I’m aware. She mentioned that her parents often spent date nights here and they loved it”.
You smile helplessly, restless with the urge to pinch and pull at him. It was obvious that he’d put effort into organising this—maybe a little much. He had overthought things in true Shouto fashion.
“Why do you think that is?” you muse, hoping he’ll see your sincerity and hear you out. “It’s because Kyouka doesn’t like… extravagance. It makes her uncomfortable”.
Shouto considers this. “…Do you want to go somewhere else?”
“That’s not it, baby. I told you I’m happy to go wherever with you,” Shouto’s gaze momentarily drops, the corner of his mouth curling up. “Thank you for bringing me here. It’s just—don’t always feel obligated to go to these lengths. Or spend this much. We can save all the fancy stuff for our anniversaries”.
You sit in a brief, comfortable silence, skin warming at the realisation of what you’ve said and the weight it carried. As he studies you carefully in the low light you hear the far off sound of food popping on the hot stove-top and smell a sweet, buttery aroma.
“I understand,” he exhales, resting his chin in the cup of his hand. A smirk teases his lips. “I guess I’ll need to find some other way to spoil you”.
“Shouto. You do more than enough—”
The server is approaching from the corner of your eye. You lightly kick his leg beneath the table to alert him, and he catches your foot between his ankles. There’s a small notepad and pen in her hand. She gestures to the menu.
“Excuse the interruption. Are you ready to order?”
Shouto recites his choice and you choose the same, trusting his palate. “Could we have a pitcher of water for the table?”
“Of course, sir”.
Your eyes linger on his jawline, the flex of his throat. Shadows dance across his face. The live music flows supple and amorous through the room. You want to lean into it; find yourself in Shouto’s arms and move as the rhythm dictates.
“Did you have a good day at work?”
The normalcy of the question catches you off guard in such a setting, and you blow air into your cheeks, embarrassed to be caught staring. He sits with arms folded atop the table to lean closer, unabashedly staring right back. “Work is work,” you reply, giving the routine answer. “What about you? Anything interesting?”
At that Shouto reaches to rest his hand over yours. Broad palm and paling bruised knuckles. He’s cool to the touch. Your heartbeat picks up as he begins to play with your fingers. “I caught a man trying to flash his genitals at an all girls school,” he says, attention drifting as he recalls what, for him, is a monotonous day. “Stopped a train from derailing—ah. One of the students we saved had an interesting quirk. I thought Izuku was going to ask her for an autograph…”
The evening unfolds. Darkness envelops the city and one by one people switch on their lights. It comes to life. You share laughter. You rub his calf and wisps of steam flutter around him. You talk, settling into a natural conversation, a complimentary rhythm, as you would’ve at home. Your once friendship hung lightly between you, an ephemeral thing, lacking weight or gravity. Any other first date experience paled in comparison; this didn’t feel like a first date at all.
Sitting there, now with an empty plate and your glass half full of liquor, a different spirit seems to sift inside you. Uninhibited contentment. The dressed up, high class onlookers fall away. Shouto looks at you over the lip of his mocktail as if you are the only thing he can see.
“A little weird, isn’t it?”
Shouto raises a brow and hums, “What do you mean?”
“Well, this is the part where people learn about each other,” you say. “We already know almost everything”.
“Not everything,” he stops to think. “Sometimes I swallow my gum instead of taking it out”.
“You—” startled, breathy laughter overshadows your reply. You cover your mouth and shake your head. “That’s gross. You’re ridiculous”.
A dazed smile teases Shouto’s lips, “You wanted to know”. The ice in his glass remains, cradled in his right hand, while condensation gathers around your fingers. “…We knew each other as good friends. That’s different”.
You take a quick sip, “Think so?”
“I know so,” he murmurs, his leg sliding between your own. “Now I get to learn about you all over again, in a new way”.
The thin hair on your arms prickles. Warmth and desire seeps through you, soaked into adipose tissue, tenderising thought and thew. “What a charmer,” you say, voice a little thick, seeing the night with new clarity. “You’re right. We just started a few steps ahead”.
Pleased at that, Shouto’s attention falls to the empty plates. “Should we get dessert?”
You consider the idea. It pulls you away from the moment, and everything sharpens in your periphery. Coalesced voices, the clink of cutlery, dulcet piano notes flowing beneath it all. “Not here,” you decide, an excited grin unfolding. “Let’s go get ice cream”.
Despite your protests Shouto pays the bill. You allow it, begrudgingly, since he had organised the date. In passing you bow your head toward the chef working behind the bar, and he gives an effusive ‘thank you’.
“Thank you very much,” another server calls politely, delicate hand raised to wave from behind his drink tray. “Please come again”.
Already too late into the evening, any ice cream parlour would be closed. Even so you clasp Shouto’s hand, bracing against the warmth, and direct him to a corner store on the far end of the road.
The cashier—reclined in a fold up chair, feet propped on the counter and cigarette in hand—staggers, almost tumbling to the floor as he registers Shouto’s identity. Though few, other customers stop to stare.
That feeling of unease returns once more. Amidst the bliss, and mellow, alcohol induced haze, you had completely forgotten about his status as a public figure and the scrutiny that might befall your new relationship as a result. You’ve been linked to various heroes before for business but never romantically.
Shouto is oblivious to it. Rather, you suppose he is used to the scrutiny. You recoil from their staring, and subsequently from his side, your anxious mind assuming some distance might cause them to think twice. In that instant an arm wraps firm around your lower back. Anchoring your hip, Shouto keeps you tucked against him, searching your face for objection.
You chew the inside of your cheek and relent, because you feel better when you’re close to him. The apprehensive and moderately starstruck atmosphere barely tickles him as he rummages through the large freezer. Ice creams and pops of every shape and colour. With a quiet, pleased sound, he plucks out a packet of bite sized matcha ice cream.
The cashier has steadied his hands by the time you’re ready to pay. Shouto deliberately frowns at the cigarette butts on the counter, discarded in an Endeavor themed ashtray. Not on account of any suspicion or disapproval, just simple pettiness. You know that but the poor young man does not, as he continues to nervously explain that his manager is ‘pretty lax about that kinda thing’.
“That’s nice,” Shouto tells him, passing his phone over the card machine. You press your lips thin to keep from laughing. A ping echoes out and the money goes through. “Thank you. Have a good night”.
Confused, the man gives a tremulous smile and nods, “Thank you for everything you do, Shouto, sir!”
Stepping into the tepid night air brings a wave of relief. Shouto releases your waist to pass you your cold treat. Falling into a lazy pace you start back toward the restaurant.
You’ve chosen an ice cream bar on a stick. Teeth sink into it like warm butter, the first bite melting on your tongue. Shouto is eating his delicately with a small pick and at your satisfied moan, he freezes, the next piece halfway to his open mouth.
“I haven’t had ice cream in forever,” you effused, licking the remnants from the corner of your lips. “Do you like yours?”
“Yes,” he replies, strained. You watch him from the corner of your eye. There’s a blush high on his cheeks. Drifting into the car park, he catches your gaze, slowing beneath a stream of light coming from the street lamp above. Cast in a syrupy, honey toned veil, he holds out the pick to you. “Would you like to try some?”
You smile at this, and then wordlessly part your lips. Shouto visibly swallows as he feeds it to you. Sweet earthy flavours harmonised with a hint of bitterness flood across your palate. Chewing, you hold up your mostly eaten ice cream bar and gesture for him to finish it.
Like you, Shouto opens up in a silent request to be fed. You turn the tacky stick between your fingers so he can get to both sides. “Thank you,” he mumbles, gently brushing his thumb at your mouth to wipe away a smear of cream. “For the ice cream and for tonight”.
“What’re you thanking me for?” you smile, besotted. His arms rise to welcome you into his chest. “You’re the one that did everything”.
Shouto squints in obvious disagreement and dips to give you a kiss. His lips are careful, still sweet with vanilla. You feel the soft tickle of his breath to your cheek, fingers carding through his hair as you breathe each other in.
“Let’s go home,” he murmurs.
Arriving at the apartment together is somewhat odd. The air is charged. Where you’d bid any other date goodbye, Shouto crowds into the genkan behind you and locks the door. You shrug off your coat and the thin hair on your nape tingles as he places hands on your hips, guiding you to the side and slipping past you.
Shouto lingers and you wonder if he’s having the same thoughts. “Are you following me?” you tease lightly, giddy at his presence so close to your heels.
“I’m walking you to your door,” he says.
“What a gentleman,” you laugh under your breath. Turning to lean against the frame, fingers wrap around the handle behind your back. Head cocked, you add, “Gonna come in for coffee, too?”
Hearing the innuendo, his expression settles into fond amusement. He cups your cheek. You lean into the shallow of his palm and draw him closer with your eyes. He inclines his face, nudges his nose against yours, and your mouths come together, already soft and open. You kiss for a while, before his lip curls and you both devolve into quiet laughter.
Breathless when he pulls away, you say, “Goodnight, Shouto. Thank you. I really enjoyed myself”.
“Sleep well,” he returns. “I’ll see you in the morning”.
Upon entering the solace of your bedroom, you’re overcome by an urgent giddiness. The energy has you bouncing on the spot, a squeal building in your chest that you don’t release until your face is buried deep in a pillow.
Sleep finds you in the early hours, creeping in amongst your tumultuous thoughts, mentally listing the options of what to do for the second date.
It’s as though you blink and morning shutters in. You stretch, limbs caught in the covers, and shy away from the light bleeding through your curtains. As senses sharpen and your body wakes, the distant sound of pots and cutlery draws your focus.
Your feet drag on the cool floorboards, dazedly wandering towards the tantalising smell pouring out from the kitchen. Shouto stands at the sink in a wrinkled shirt, the hem falling over his red boxers. There’s a slight bounce to his step as he moves, and his expression visibly brightens as he notices you.
“You’re perky this morning,” you mumble, still one foot in sleep, rubbing at the corner of your eye. “What, did you have a hot date or something?”
Hearing the affection in your voice, Shouto flashes a small grin. He slumps against the counter, leaning to check on the rice cooker. Steam curls up into the air. “A really hot date,” he affirms. A smile pulls at your lips.
You notice the two bowls already set out and turn to the coffee machine to pull out a second mug. “Sure there’s enough water in that?”
“Yes,” his puffy eyes narrowed. “I remembered this time”.
You hum, satisfied. Shouto drapes himself around your shoulders and you turn to press a soft kiss to his bare collar, exposed by the loose material of his sleep shirt. The roommate act falls away. “When do you need to leave?”
A warm breath brushes your temple as he sighs, “About twenty minutes”.
“You should go ahead and get ready, then. I’ll plate this up”.
Shouto nods with some reluctance. While he’s gone you fill his bowl and break an egg into it. Adding a little soy sauce and a dash of salt, you whip the rice with a pair of chopsticks until the egg is golden, turning foamy and giving the rice a tender texture. After repeating the steps you sprinkle mixed seasoning over both meals.
You set his coffee down on a coaster as he jogs out into the living room, hair lazily styled and his hero suit zipped to his midsection. “Thank you for the meal,” he says, slightly faster than usual, before proceeding to shovel the rice into his mouth.
“Don’t choke,” you pluck a sticky grain of rice from Shouto’s cheek and eat it. He blinks at you as he chews. “At least give me a few years first”.
The crinkles by his eyes deepen, scar tissue pulling taut. You swallow a hot mouthful of coffee to distract yourself from the way he visibly brightens. “I can give you more than a few,” he replies.
Heat prickles beneath your skin, “No romancing me at breakfast”.
Shouto laughs warmly. And with that you finish your meal together. He departs for work in a hurry, kissing the top of your head and calling out as he goes,
“Have a good day, love. I’ll see you at home”.
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711 notes · View notes
flametrashiraarchive · 9 months
Text
The Wind and Wisteria: Chapter 2.
Read Chapter 1 here
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Content guidance: NSFW. Rough sanemi. Canon-divergent. Kyojuro is alive but very wounded after the Mugen Train mission (Sanemi went with him on it)
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Your house has never been this busy before. There are demon slayer corps members everywhere, running back and forth, shouting orders, making way for you and the doctor as you head to the room where the wounded hashira has been taken.
Your heart is thumping in your throat as you slide open the door and prepare for the worst.
But it's not Sanemi. 
This hashira has bright flame-colored hair which is currently caked in blood. His left eye is smashed, his face half obscured by blood. You can barely even see the man beneath the injuries, but there's no doubt he's the Flame Hashira, Kyojuro Rengoku. He's stayed with you before; a sweet, friendly man who filled your house with laughter whenever he visited.
And thank god he's unconscious, because how he's still alive with those injuries you'll never understand. 
The doctor hurries to perform emergency surgery on the gaping wound in his torso. "I need to stem the bleeding. We need to keep him alive no matter what."
You feel useless as you watch the doctor and the slayer corps' medics work. This poor man… 
You feel terrible for thinking it, but as much as you hate seeing Rengoku like this, you're so damn glad it isn't Sanemi. Seeing him in that state… God, you can't even imagine how awful that would be.
Someone brushes by you as you linger in the doorway. It takes you a second to register who it is.
Your heart leaps.
That white hair, the scars, the green hashira uniform which is almost as covered in blood as the man on the bed. Sanemi…They must have fought side-by-side on the same mission. 
You can only watch, conflicted and frozen as Sanemi pulls off his belt and puts it between the wounded hashira's teeth so he has something to bite down on as the doctor works.
A moment later, and despite the painkillers injected into his system, the flame hashira regains consciousness and starts to cry out in agony, the sound still ear-splitting even with the belt in his mouth. Sanemi, along with a handful of Kakushi are holding him down but it's hardly enough to contain him. Before you have time to think you're in the thick of it, gripping the flame hashira's hand and offering the only thing you can: words of comfort. 
"It's okay, it's okay, Lord Rengoku," you say softly as the doctor tries to close his gaping wounds. You put your hand on his forehead and smooth back his fiery hair. "You're safe. I promise you'll live through this."
The flame hashira's remaining gold and crimson eye stares up at you, silently pleading. He stops crying out but his grip on your hand is ferociously strong. You can almost feel your bones creaking, threatening to give way and snap.
You keep talking to him. “You’re going to be okay. You’re going to get better and then I’m going to cook that shrimp tempura you loved so much the last time you came here. Remember? You ate forty seven shrimp that day.” 
The flame hashira nods, screwing his good eye shut as he endures the pain.
Sanemi finally speaks. "Breathe, Kyojuro. They're closing the wound. It'll be over soon."
It takes an agonizingly long time. It feels as though hours crawl by as the doctor closes every wound, cleans and dresses it. By the end of it, the flame hashira is barely clinging to consciousness. 
"Thank… you…" Rengoku murmurs as the doctor injects him with yet more painkillers. His golden gaze turns to you. He smiles and closes his eye. His hand in yours has softened, but he holds onto you still as you keep on stroking his hair. It seems to soothe him.
Sanemi's purple eyes burn into you as he watches you. "Let him rest." He barks it like an order, as if you're keeping the flame hashira awake against his will instead of successfully giving him comfort. There's no way you're going to stop. The wounded man even turns his head a fraction toward you as he sleeps, leaning further into your touch. 
"I was starting to think I'd never see you again," you say to Sanemi, your gentle tone betraying the fact that you're glad. Despite everything, you're glad to see him. 
"I had no intention of coming back. I didn't have a choice." Sanemi's glare slips down to your hand. His lips curl into a snarl. "Stop petting him like a damn dog and let the man rest."
Kyojuro turns his head away; though whether it's away from your hand or the sharply hissed words, you can't tell. Still, you stop your stroking and let go of his hand. 
The bones in your hand are throbbing from being squeezed for so long. It suddenly occurs to you that in the shock and adrenaline of what happened, you're being a terrible host. The exhausted kakushi who serve the demon slayer corps are scattered around the house, resting, and you haven't even so much as offered them a drink of water.
It gives you a good excuse to get away from Sanemi too. So that's how you spend the rest of the day; hosting, cooking, preparing beds, thanking the demon slayer corps for their tireless efforts. And it works. You barely even see Sanemi, other than to bring him a cup of tea and a plate of onigiri to the private room he's taken temporary residence in. He doesn't even turn to face you as you bring his meal.
"Thank you." He's polite enough, but his tone is closed and cold, as if you're nothing to him. 
Nothing but a hole he used to enjoy filling, but not anymore. 
When evening comes around, and most of your guests are sleeping, you can't hold back from going into the room where the flame hashira rests, just to check on him. You're still shaken from the events of the morning and you want to see him for your own peace of mind.
It seems Sanemi couldn't keep away either. He glares at you from beside the bed. "You're not needed here."
You ignore him. It's your house, after all.
The doctor is still sitting by the bed too, so you direct your question to him. "Will he live?"
The doctor's mouth opens and closes a few times, and you know he's struggling to piece together an answer. It's still uncertain. 
You step closer to the sleeping man and watch the slow rise and fall of his chest. 
"He's strong. He'll pull through," you say, trying to give yourself a little comfort. 
The doctor sighs. "We can only hope." 
Despite your best efforts to block him out, your eyes momentarily slide to Sanemi. 
God, you hate the way your body reacts to the sight of him. Your foolish heart leaps. There's still a deep longing for him, even after everything. A cruel ache coils between your thighs as your treacherous pussy remembers just how much it misses him.
He's terrible, you remind yourself; an asshole, a certified shithead. Then again, you are making eyes at him across the sleeping body of his mortally wounded comrade. 
His lips are down turned, his purple eyes fixed on yours with such a look of pure disdain you're almost convinced he can hear your inappropriate thoughts. 
Heat creeps across your cheeks so you distract yourself by looking down at the flame hashira and pulling in a deep, calming breath.
Finally you say to the doctor, "Can I get you anything?"
The doctor shakes his head. "No, thank you. I've done what I can for today. I'm heading home, but if you need anything or his condition changes, send for me."
You bow in thanks and leave the room without a second glance toward Sanemi. 
You've made it to the kitchen when Sanemi's voice cuts through the air at your back. "Hey, come back here."
You spin around to see him standing there in the doorway. "What do you want?" 
You know instantly, because he's looked at you this way so many times; like he's pissed off at the entire world and he needs to claw back something good. He's covered in scratches and bruises. The man has been through hell and back. He needs something to take the edge off. And that something just so happens to be you.
Your heart rate spikes.
There's nothing between you and Sanemi but silence, resentment, and blistering heat. You shouldn't do this. You're pissed at him, remember? 
But you release a shaking breath and nod. 
He grins and slides the kitchen door closed. He's on you in an instant, turning you around and bending you over the countertop and yanking your skirt up to your hips. His breath is hot and harsh against your ear as he slips his rough fingers between your slick folds.
"So damn wet already. You missed me, huh? You missed this?"
You grit your teeth but your admission comes out anyway. "Yes."
"No one else can fuck you like I can." There's a jealous, possessive edge to his words as he puts a hand between your shoulder blades and keeps your chest pinned to the counter as he pumps two thick fingers into you. "No one."
God, you can't stop your back from arching as he thrusts those fingers into you. "God… it's only you, Sanemi."
He pulls out his fingers and cups your pussy in the palm of his big, rough hand. His lips brush against your ear as he growls, "Say that again." His fingers start to slide over your clit in slow, teasing circles. You feel the fat head of his cock replace his hand, pushing against your entrance. "Say you're mine. No one else's."
"I'm…" You tell yourself not to get carried away. You're not his. He walked out on you for months for having the audacity to request that he face you while fucking you. He called you a hole to fill, for goodness' sake. 
A tingle crackles down your spine as he pushes into you, bottoming out with a snap of his hips and a hissed "ffffuck," against the back of your neck.
"You're what?" He leans into you, pressing you harder against the counter. His lips move down the side of your neck as he starts to thrust into you, all the while still strumming your clit. "Say it." 
His lips feel so damn good on your neck, his fingers and cock feel heavenly on your cunt. For all his faults–of which there are plenty–Sanemi knows exactly how to pleasure you quickly.
You gasp. “I’m…” 
“Say it, dammit.”
It’s too much, too good, you can’t hold on. “I’m… going to come–”
“The fuck you are.” He withdraws his hand, leaving you hanging on the edge of ecstasy.
A desperate whine leaves your lips. He stops thrusting, just letting his cock stay buried in you as your pussy clenches desperately around him.
"One last chance," he says.
You rest your head on your forearms, gasping and trying to stay upright as your legs tremble beneath you.
A moment later he pulls out of you and turns you around so your ass is against the counter. Sanemi’s face is just inches from yours. You’ve never seen his face so close to you before.
He grasps the back of your head, glaring at you with those wild eyes as his lip curls. His breath fans across your lips.
You want him and want to hate him so damn bad you can hardly breathe. 
He growls and pulls back. “Just say it. Why are you being so damn stubborn?”
“You want me to lie to you?” 
He chuckles. “Lie? No. I want you to mean it. You're mine, okay? I want you to look me in the eye and tell me you are.”
"Why? I'm not even a person to you, just a hole, right?" It just comes pouring out of you. 
His eyes widen and his mouth opens around as he pulls in a silent gasp, as if he's shocked by his own words coming out of your mouth. 
"Well?" You push. Your heart is pounding now. "Say something." 
He looks away, "Fuck, I'm… sorry. I don't think that. I was wrong for saying it."
"So why did you?"
"Because I was… look, I said I'm sorry." He tries to turn you back around, but you stand firm. "Come on. Let me make you come.  You know we're at our best like this."
"How would we know? We've never been anything else."
"Ha, like you'd want to be anything else with an asshole like me." 
Your heart is thundering. "Well…what if I did?"
Any trace of arrogance or aggression on his face disappears and makes way for something you never expected to see on Sanemi’s face. 
He looks… afraid. 
It’s only a fleeting vision, one which you second guess as soon as it fades, because how can Sanemi Shinazugawa–a man who prides himself on his scars and his reputation as a ruthless asshole–ever look that soft and vulnerable? 
You’re so blindsided, you don’t even notice him moving toward you until his lips brush against yours. 
The world stops.
He kisses you like he’s scared you'll shatter if he pushes too hard; softer and gentler than a breeze, hardly allowing his lips to touch yours. His rough hands are so gentle; one at the back of your neck, the other on your cheek as he strokes his thumb along your cheekbone.
His kiss sends lightning crackling down your spine and your body immediately floods with more need than you've ever felt before. Your hands slide up his neck to cup his face, your fingertips brushing the edge of his silvery hair as he moans softly against your lips.
When he pulls back, he looks into your eyes like he’s dangling above an abyss and you might cut the rope at any second. He lets go of you and steps back as if his own actions shocked him. "Shit."
"Sanemi…" you whisper, your mind racing a million miles per minute. 
"I'm sorry. I… When I saw you taking care of Kyojuro, stroking his hair, reminiscing about the time you'd spent together, I couldn't…" He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "I wanted… I felt…fuck."
He's still as inept at expressing himself as ever.
"You were jealous?"
He looks away from you, his jaw wound so tight you can see the muscle in his cheek fluttering. He nods. 
"Sanemi-"
"I know. I know… I'm disgusting. Kyojuro is fighting for his damn life and here I am…"
In your tangled, frantic thoughts, only one urge remains clear and constant, so you take a step toward him and say it. "Kiss me again."
Those words clearly catch him off guard. His eyes widen again, but then the corners of his mouth curve and his gaze softens. He takes a step toward you.
And then he stops. 
"I can't."
"Sanemi…"
"I. Can't."
He leaves the kitchen without another word, leaving you with a thousand unanswered questions and the torturous tingle his lips left behind. 
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Chapter 3
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themanicnami · 10 months
Text
💖Witchcraft Correspondence: Love💖
Love is one of the parts of life humans chase after in many ways. Not just in ways of romantic desire and sexual interactions but the love of family, friends and love of oneself. It is a common topic when it comes to magic and divination so with that - may this be an easy reference for all of you looking to incorporate love of any kind into your craft. Please note: this isn't every possible correspondence out there - this is more a quick reference guide. Happy witching~
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💖Herbs for Love: Anise, Basil, Bay, Catnip, Chamomile, Cinnamon, Coriander/Cilantro, Clove, Damiana, Dill, Fennel, Ginger, Hawthorne, Hibiscus, Jasmine, Lavender, Lemon Balm, Meadowsweet, Myrrh, Parsley, Rose, Rose Hip, Rosemary, Saffron, Sage, Spearmint, Thyme, Vanilla, Valerian, Yarrow
💖 Flowers for Love: Aster, Baby's-Breath, Bleeding Heart, Carnation, Cherry Blossom, Daffodil, Geranium, Hyacinth, Iris, Jasmine, Lavender, Lilac, Orchid, Rose, Sunflower, Tulip
💖 Fruit for Love: Apple, Apricot, Avocado, Banana, Cherry, Cranberry, Fig, Guava, Lemon, Lime, Mango, Nectarine, Orange, Papaya, Passion Fruit, Pomegranate, Peach, Pear, Plum, Raspberry, Strawberry
💖 Vegetables for Love: Artichoke, Asparagus, Beet, Carrot, Celery, Cucumber, Endive, Leek, Lettuce, Onion, Peas, Pumpkin, Radish, Sweet Pea, Tomato, Zucchini
💖 Foods for Love: Chocolate, Pistachio, Rye Bread, Sugar (sweets), Wine
💖 Crystals for Love: Agate, Amber, Amethyst, Aquamarine, Carnelian, Emerald, Garnet, Green Aventurine, Kunzite, Lapis Lazuli, Malachite, Moonstone, Obsidian, Onyx, Pink Topaz, Pink Tourmaline, Pink Quartz (dyed), Rhodochrosite, Rhodonite, Tiger's Eye, Rose Quartz, Ruby
💖 Oils for Love: Anise, Basil, Bay, Birch, Cardamom, Clove, Ginger, Grapefruit, Jasmine, Juniper, Lemongrass, Lemon, Lime, Marjoram, Mints, Myrrh, Rose, Rosemary, Vanilla
💖 Incense/Scents for Love: Amber, Bamboo, Catnip, Cedarwood, Chamomile, Cinnamon, Dragon's Blood, Ginger, Jasmine, Lavender, Patchouli, Rose, Rosewood, Sandalwood, Vanilla, Ylang-ylang
💖 Colors for Love: Pink, Red, White, Orange, Purple, Gold, Silver
💖 Moon Phase for Love: New Moon, Waxing, Full Moon
💖 Day of Week for Love: Friday
💖 Elements for Love: Fire, Water
💖 Zodiac for Love Virgo, Taurus, Cancer, Leo, Gemini, Pisces
💖 Planets for Love: Venus, Moon
💖 Animals for Love: Beaver, Butterfly, Cow, Crane, Dolphin, Dove, Elephant, Flamingo, Hare, Horse, Ladybug, Lion, Lovebird, Owl, Penguin, Starfish, Swan
~~~~~
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nekoashiii · 1 year
Note
idea !! what if reader gets isekai'd to genshin with their like 7 year old sibling, who also has the same godly attributes as their older sibling? i cant imagine the pure chaos of people trying to figure out if one of them is the imposter or not.
Which one?
Warning(s): Sagau. Our little sibling is kinda like Anya :)
[S/n] ──‌➤‌‌ sibling's name
Not proofread 💀
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"what are you playing??[Nameeee], can you help me with this math question?"
Your little sibling came up to you with paper and a pencil, having a hard time figuring out her homework .
"the answer is 6 [S/n], wanna play this new game together?"
Gasping she ran towards you with her little legs and watched you make an account
"woahhh, can you please choose that pretty girl, she looks so nice?" She said pointing at lumine, choosing her traveler at the beginning of the game.
It's been 3 weeks since you both started this account. And dare to say both got addicted.
[S/n] farming stuff and doing small quests while you pay for more wishes and get "pretty looking" characters for her.
"alright [S/n], it's 11pm let's go to bed now"
"But pleaseee, just a little longer"
Huffing out you replied "Alright fine go to your bed and I will show you the new trailer for the fatuis."
Running to her room after she heard what you said, she called out to you
"Okayy! Come under the blankets [nameee] "
Letting out an airy chuckle, you joined her under the blankets and opened YouTube. Pressed play on the newest trailer and watched it with your sibling.
Giving her head a kiss, you decided to get up and leave, however due to her sleeping on top of you, leaving isn't an option.
Closing your eyes and enjoying the silence you relaxed..
However your phone opened the lock screen by itself and entered genshin impact. Sucking you both in teyvat
Headcanons:
When the characters first became aware of their surrounding and what is actually happening, they started to look for a way to summon you back in teyvat.
And then, two voices could be heard.
One was mature and motherly, the other one was a little kid who sounded no older than 8.
Thus conflicts rised, who had the position of god, and then who is the other one?
They are confused, they don't know who is who, they can feel the warmth of two beings, So, are you Both rulers? Are you both gods, the divine creators? Or...?
Since they didn't hear anything about your parents, they assumed that you are a single father/mother that takes care of their only daughter, which is, again wrong
So To further prevent disagreement, you now have the title of "grand creator", while your little sibling has the title of "Teyvat's heir"
Since you didn't really play that much and just hopped in once in two days, the characters didn't have the time to turn the camera on and draw your face, to even see your face in the first place
And now each statue of yours has it's face covered with a beautiful veil. Or it's face getting covered by [s/n] long hair, the sun or simply just a pair of closed eyes with wings covering the rest of your body.
And when you "descend"...nothing changes you both still have different ranks and titles.
While you were tasked with more serious duty, [S/n] would be taken under mondstadt's wings, she could freely explore teyvat and eat anything without having to pay for it!
Other nations weren't pleased and demanded Barbatos to hand over you and [s/n]
People are not dumb enough in my sagau fics to outright attack you two.
They would just prick your fingers to see what color you bleed
But also imagine. You bleed purple with sparkles of blue and gold, while your little sister bleeds complete gold
Yeah that just further proves the point of you being the higher one. The person in charge.
I also can imagine your little sister getting approached by so many people, asking for their older sibling's hand in marriage. So your little sister dares them to say the bible in Japanese while standing on one leg.
Honestly it would be just a cute chaos. Nothing that serious would happen,...for now atleast
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thecupidwitch · 5 days
Text
Planetary Magick🌙
Sun
Zodiac: Leo
Metal: Gold
Day: Sunday
Colors: organge, yellow, amber
Stones: Amber, topaz, ruby, diamond
Tarot: The Sun
Herbs: Angelica, poppy, sunflower, marigold, hibiscus, mistletoe
Symbols: lion, hexagram, sparrow hawk, dragon, head, heart, swan
Influences: renown, potency, fortune, tyranny, pride, ambition, masculinity, arrogance, bigotry, vitality, health
Moon
Zodiac: cancer
Metal: sliver
Day: Monday
Colors: blue, sliver
Stones: moonstone, pearl
Tarot: The High Priestess, The Chariot
Herbs: eucalyptus, coconut, jasmine, lotus, myrrh, sandalwood
Symbols: bow and arrow, crab, cat, turtle, Sphinx, owl
Influences: gradtitufe, friendliness, safe, travel, physical health, wealth, protection for enemies, deception, illusion, women, emotions, healing, dreams
Mercury
Zodiac: Virgo, Gemini
Metal: aluminum, Mercury
Day: Wednesday
Colors: violet, gray, purple, indigo, yellow
Stones: opal agate
Tarot: The Lovers
Herbs: hyssop, juniper, betony, carrot, chickweed
Symbols: wand, octagram, the mind
Influences: good fortune, gratitude, gain, memory, understanding, divination, dreams, forgetfulness, communication, business, cleverness, creativity, information, intellect, memory, perception, science, wisdom, gambling, writing, root of dishonesty, deception
Venus
Zodiac: taurus, libra
Metal: copper
Day: Friday
Colors: green, pink
Stones: turquoise, emerald, sapphire, jade
Tarot: The Empress
Herbs: jimsonweed, violet, rose, alder, apple, angelica, olive, sesame
Symbols: sparrow, dove, swan, pentagram
Influences: peace, agreements, cooperation, fertility, joy, love, good fortune, jealousy, strife, promiscuity
Mars
Zodiac: aries, scorpio
Metal: iron, red brass, steel
Day: Tuesday
Color: Red
Stones: ruby, garnet, bloodstone, diamond
Tarot: The Tower
Herbs: ginger, mustard
Symbols: sword, pentagram, horse, bear, wolf, vulture
Influences: war, victory, judgements, submission of enemies, bleeding, stripping one of rank, harness, discord, conflict, aggression, lust, power, courage, goals, protection, motivation, ambition, strength
Jupiter
Zodiac: pisces, sagittarius
Metal: tin
Day: Thursday 
Colors: blue
Stone: sapphire
Tarot: The Wheel of Fortune
Herbs: balm, hyssop, maple leaf and bark, oak, sage, dandelion root
Symbols: eagle, dolphin
Influences: gains, riches, favor, peace, cooperation, appeasing enemies, dissolving
Saturn
Zodiac: capricorn
Metal: lead
Day: Saturday
Color: black
Stone: onyx
Taror: The World
Herbs: alder, apple, ash, asparagus, baneberry, belladonna, distort, hellebore, blackthorn, corm, cypress
Symbols: cuttlefish, mole
Influences: safety, power, success, positive response to requests, intellect, causes discord, strips honor, melancholy
Uranus
Zodiac: aquarius
Day: Thursday
Colors: blue-green, electric blue
Stones: quartz, labradorite, blue topaz, amber, amethyst, garnet, diamond
Tarot: The Fool
Herbs: clover, pokeweed, snowdrop, foxglove, love, rosemary, trees of heaven, hellebore, morning glory, sage, wintergreen, orchids, sweet woodruff
Symbols: dragonfly, butterfly
Influences: breaking connection, sudden and unexpected change, freedom, originality, radical and revolutionary ideas, enlightenment, equality, individuality, rebellion, instability, loneliness, boredom, mistrust of self
Neptune
Zodiac: pisces
Minerals: coral, aquamarine, platinum, neptunium
Colors: green, blue, lavender
Tarot: The Hanged Man
Herbs: morning glory, night-blooming jasmine, pine, water lily
Symbols: the sea, Trident, the spine
Influences: dissolving boundaries, expanding upon ideas, changing established rules, intuition, idealism, sacrifice, glamour, illusion, evolution, decay, visions, art, healing, inspiration, dreams, creativity, compassion, drifting from reality, carelessness, stubbornness, absent mind
Pluto
Zodiac: scorpio
Metal: plutonium, tin chrome, steel
Day: Tuesday
Colors: maroon, dark red, purple, white, black
Stones: snowflake obsidian, clack tourmaline
Tarot: Judgement
Herbs: pomegranate, rosemary, vanilla, basil, poppies, belladonna, foxglove
Symbols: Phoenix, snake, scorpion, fox, eagle
Influences; destruction making way for renewal, rebirth, knowledge, spirituality, transformation, destiny, the subconscious, desire, arrogance, death, obsession, destruction
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sspiderliliess · 17 days
Text
diamond .
⟶ astarion x nervous, soft gn!tav — romance
i hyperfixated on bg3 for a while... i should get back to it. this feels like a bit of a word vomit and im still learning to express right but gosh i love emotional astarion stuff. (astarion and tav have a moment while they tend to his wounds | tav is gender-neutral but takes ideas from a female oc) ❤️‍🩹
⟶ rating — fluff?? suggestive at the end | tw blood, references to astarion's past
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A tender flame danced. Outside, beyond the tent’s flimsy walls, rain poured for miles. The thriving forest floors squelched with a sea of puddles, the skies veiled with gray. But the pale crimson of the vampire’s tent was blooming with orange as the light within a lantern flickered across the walls and his belongings. 
Trinkets left and right beckoned my wonder, chiseled figures and crackled books that showed their age placed atop the shelves and the indigo rug. In the dark, the gold gleamed and teased my vision. Against the petrichor and iron from his bleeding gashes, the faintest aroma of wisteria tickled my nose.
Ah, yes! The nighttime florals just nearby. I remember being so delighted that our group’s camping spot was placed so conveniently close to those lovely plants. Purple was a soothing color, and those wisterias could comfort me almost as well as any lavender-based remedy could. 
It reminded me of Astarion, sometimes. My gaze wandered to the deep cuts across his leg, caked with drying blood and shining against the lantern’s light. The sight had been with me since it happened early in the day; a bundle of determined trolls could certainly leave their mark on someone—particularly three right across his calf and thigh. But sitting here, breathing in the smell of his blood that strengthened with every dab of the washrag, my stomach began to stir. 
Either that, or his more notable nature came back to my senses. Had I really forgotten how regal he was after all of this? A magistrate, he said. Different circles, he said… I love you, he said. I’d spent a good time getting to know him and his quick-witted remarks. His irritable nature reared its head often, but something beneath the rough had always twinkled if I squinted just right. He didn’t have to take these hits for me. I knew my heart felt truly for him, but I didn’t know he’d be the type to do that so quickly.
“Darling, I don’t mean to be rude, but—ack—it’s just that this blood is finding its way all over my bedding. I could tend to this myself, you know?” 
I turned my attention back to Astarion, who had propped himself up and was leaning my way with a hand reached for the stained rag. The gash on his thigh was oozing with blood, a thick trail pooling onto his blanket.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” I gasped and crawled forward to continue the cleansing. 
He furrowed his brows, then raised them, and a smile etched onto his lips. “Now, for a vampire to get lost in thought at the sight of blood, I could understand… but what’s making you so bothered?”
“I’m,” I hummed. “I’m unsure.”
I tilted my head and continued to absentmindedly dab at the cuts. He laughed under his breath.
That familiar Astarion in his playful quips and egotistical humor. Those with a demeanor such as that rarely gained my attention for too long; I was always frightened by what judgments they might make, how out of place I felt. In the beginning when our group happened upon him, it’d bothered me quite a bit and I was sure he caught onto that, thus, I did what any mature person would have done when met with some sort of problem.
I ignored it.
The sly fox had taken note of this reaction. Maybe that was what got him to be nicer to me so quickly, less… prickly, especially in the times where I let him feed. But as I’d grown closer to him in our travels and had more meaningful conversations, I found him to be a book I might like to read, and the teasing came back on its own. I wasn’t bothered then. I might’ve enjoyed it. I still find myself thinking of that evening back near the grove, where he nearly choked at the teasing he threw my way when he saw the small and clumsily crafted animal in my hand. I told him how my mother had made those kinds of things with me, back in Baldur’s Gate when I was just a child and felt lonely, and his laughter stopped.
He seemed hurt by that. Regretful, almost. I'd like to think that turned out to be a nice day, though.
I was pulled from my gnawing thoughts once again as a slender finger slipped under my chin. Astarion looked less playful now, eyes glazed with what looked to be concern. He sat there in silence for a moment, staring at me until I felt my skin heat with blood and my heart tremble, and then he sighed. “Sometimes, I don’t know how to go about talking. It’s easy to flirt, to say things you don’t mean. But I would like to know what you’re thinking. Truthfully.”
He continued to hold my chin up with that single finger, his eyes almost pleading to listen and talk. It was the Astarion less familiar to most, and like a timid rabbit spoken to with the softest voice, I found myself being drawn closer right then and there.
“You told me a while back that you were a magistrate, a long time ago,” I began, awaiting his response.
He swallowed slowly and shuffled to make room for me on the bed. “I was, yes. I don’t remember much more than that. That life is so distant now, a pained memory of what was and what could have been, I suppose.”
He didn’t move aside from a mournful wince that I was sure had little to do with the physical state he was in. He laughed bitterly, “It’s funny to think about. I remember that simple fact, but nothing about me.”
It almost shocked me, the way he seemed to care so little about his old role. To be of such importance in Baldur’s Gate, to have such power over just about anyone before you… and yet, have it taken away in an instant. It threatened to sprout an ache in my chest—the thought of such a family and stability gone in the blink of an eye, power replaced with powerlessness. In the quiet and my dwelling, I understood him just a bit more. I could only wonder what happened to make the paths fall as they did. 
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Thank you for helping me today. We might not know who you were back then, or what happened before, or what you looked like, or what you knew… But I know you now. And I’m grateful.”
I’d always been so cautious with him, so much so I could hardly form the words properly. I pushed myself to keep my eyes on him, though, and I watched as he looked to the ground with a smile. Those crimson eyes appeared much glossier.
In that moment, I did what any confident, self-assured individual would do. My heart pounded against my chest the minute I leaned forward to gently wrap my arms around him. He paused briefly and I heard his breath hitch, but he returned the gesture.
“I’m grateful to know you, too,” he sighed into my ear.
His breath and curls tickled my neck, where old bites were planted. I’d forgotten they were there until his nose brushed against it and a dull pain bloomed in their place. He stayed like that for a while. “I know that I’m in no place to have a passionate night,” he said a bit awkwardly. “But I would like to spend what time with you that I can, if you’d like..?”
It took me a second to understand just what he meant, and I couldn’t help but pull away with tensed brows and a muffled giggle. “I don’t know if passion is the best idea, seeing as though you’re still bleeding as is.”
I pointed to the fresh puddle of blood on the blanket, where his leg had pressed into the furs. He scowled and pursed his lips, but his smile soon resurfaced. “Well, perhaps that another night, darling.”
He leaned back to lay down again and I grabbed the rag from the bowl of water, wringing it out as the dark reds faded to pinks again. It was then that I’d notice what sat opposite of me while I crouched on the ground. Tucked away from most prying eyes was a spindly little nick-nack on his shelf, with leaves and vines coiled together to make a deer-like toy that you’d think only a child could love. It was placed within a makeshift forest scene, crafted impressively from grass and sticks. It’d been a while since I’d seen it.
I didn’t think I would again.
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themotherofblood · 5 months
Text
chapter 5 | RIVER OF FIRE | blood runs thick | d.t x reader x r.t
masterlist | series masterlist | previous chapter
synopsis: the aftermath of Alicent being wed to Viserys.
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~ “Did you think it all true, all these things will catch up to you now.” ~
It truly wasn’t much of a bother, was it. Here you were, threading together a bouquet with gold silk threads and next to you paced Rhaenyra, cursing practically anyone that would dare interrupt her maniacal pacing. Five steps she would walk forward, mutter curses under her breath and then she would turn, walk five more. The antechamber almost grew hot, burning along with Nyra’s ire, the dragon flames within her burnt so bright, you feared for the Queen’s life.
She was just next door, being readied for her wedding by her Hightower cousins, you could hear the rambling and muffled giggling and jangles of gold bangles and necklaces. Her wedding to Viserys - by the gods - even now brought bile to the back of your mouth coating it with bitter thickness. It wasn't unheard of but perhaps when the bride bleeds from so close to home, one might truly weep for her virtue. Even if she were to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, a girl and a grieving King. What bore far more pain was that she hid it, for months she hid her ongoing relationship with the King, from you, from Rhaenyra. Being unable to aid Rhaenyra through her grief to which Alicent sewed parts of Rhaenyra back together with such ease. She is wise, truly wise, yet she hid this. Rhaenyra believes her a traitor now, for weeks she voiced the fear of Aemma’s memory fading if Viserys were to remarry, Alicent listened and yet said nothing.
You were pulled from your thoughts as the doors to Alicent’s bed chambers opened, ladies poured out one by one, bowing to you and Rhaenyra before heading for the Grand Sept, the bells had begun to ring, marking the King’s arrival to the Sept.
A girl of six and ten turned into a woman, Alicent stood at the door with a stunning ivory gown, her cape sleeves curving around her figure and intricate gold metal work placed on her shoulders to mimic dragon wings, her beautiful brown hair pulled up. She was radiant as always, you couldn't help but smile at her, it was her wedding day after all.
Alicent’s eyes flicker to Rhaeyra, expecting to find some warmth within the purple of her eyes, Nyra gives Alicent a once over, taking in what had seemed like a nightmare come true.
“You look lovely, your grace” the hint of sarcasm coated thick in Rhaenyra’s voice as she bowed to Alicent before taking her leave.
You pitied her, the smile you gave her after screamed so, the Queen loved by all but the one closest to her. You walked her, reaching out to fix an untucked ribbon and then handing her the bouquet.
“Is there no way that I might mend this?” she sighed, sorrowful and guilty.
“Not today.”
She looked defeated as you fussed with pinnings of her wedding dress.
“Not today, because today is about you, our petty problems will be with us tomorrow too, my lady.” you give her a once over before once more smiling at her “today you become Queen.”
This time she matches your smile, a long breath shaking away the sorrow weighing upon her shoulders. You walked behind her, lifting her long train with both arms as she proceeded to walk.
There was this joy, your friend was being wed, a momentous event but you couldn’t breathe past how terrified Alicent looked, and torn over how perturbed Nyra appeared to mask her strong need to sob. Your lover and your companion, both bleeding from the wounds of court and you could help but one, a side that you had to choose. She had ripped through two dolls, sobbing over the one gown she managed to steal from her mother’s chests. She didn’t want a stepmother but most of all she didn't want to have to lose a friend so cruelly. No matter how tightly you held Nyra through the nights and gave her comforting touches, the dark shadow of doom that seemed to follow never left her, it loved her more than you could. More than the sunshine could cast a shadow, it persisted. At supper and at tea, it pained you to watch her so.
So much so, she wrote to Daemon, begging him to return, to stop this madness, speak some sense into his brother but what was done couldn’t be undone by a banished prince, now could it?
You reached for Nyra’s hand as you stood amongst the people, watching the Targaryen cloak draped over Alicent taunt her. All would be well, all must be well, you prayed. A marriage for the stability of the Realm, even with an heir, the lords never truly seemed satiated.
As Alicent and Viserys turned with their heads held high, the crowds cheered, roared in an out pour of joy. A new Queen had blessed the Realm, soon she would bless the Realm with a son.
A son, you looked to Rhaenyra. The whites of her eyes had gone red, moist.
“She is no Queen of mine.” she angrily whispered to you.
In the vast toll of things, one thing you had expected less. Rhaenyra had charged her ladies to be so frigid to the Queen. You sat with her and her ladies, leisurely pushing your needle through the fabric and then back out, every now and then glancing at Alicent and the growing mound of her belly hidden behind the plush blanket she sat under.
A rabid dog with a mustard collar, that’s what you were to her. Shielding her from the bitch-like behaviour many of these courtly ladies had directed towards her. Loud mouthed wenches, snickering behind her back, most of them had expected to be Queen– now they lick their wounds, playing those half cooked political games to gain Alicent’s favour. Most of all, you shielded her from Rhaenyra’s wrath, raging just as hot as Syrax’s fire, burning all those who might to diminish it, though you– immune to the brunt of it all, both figuratively and literally. The Targaryen in you kept you Valyrian-clad, and Rhaenyra’s lover in you kept you protected.
You looked out the window this time, you were sure she was up there– somewhere so high where if she was to let out rageful screams, she would be the only one to hear. Well– her, Syrax and perhaps a vulture or two. You and her had talked about it at length, while Viserys saw the possibility of a spare, all Rhaenyra saw was an heir, to overshadow her, to depose her before her father sold her hand in marriage to the highest bidder. A castle? Gold? Armies or perhaps a foreign political connection, casting her away. Just as Jaehaerys’s daughters suffered, so would she.
Your mother Daenereys was probably the most fortunate of the lot, along with her sister Alyssa. Both women married the men their hearts desired, Alyssa and Baelon producing the purest of Targaryen children and your mother bringing Dorne into the fold by marrying your father Allyrion Martell. You however bleed Martell through and through, unlike your brother that possessed purple eyes, the ravenous features of a true Dornish woman embraced you as you grew, full lips, sun kissed glow, a distinct head of loose curls, leaving but a few streaks of white, just like Princess Rhaenys.
That was besides the point that even with the macabre tradition of the Dornish and the contumacy of Targaryen traditions, you couldn’t fathom admitting that you indeed wanted Alicent’s child to be a boy, for that little child to be heir so you and Rhaenyra could fly east, just like you always dreamed of, marry and live in a quaint little hold with servants purchased from sold jewellery and a farm of your own. Yet once a prey tastes blood, it can only want for more, Rhaenyra’s purpose was this, to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, she found power within the title bestowed upon her and just as demanded flaunted his oddities with immunity so would she, you could do naught but follow her, obey her commands and prepare for the day that she would sit the Iron Throne– with a husband on her back instead of you.
You couldn’t give her heirs of her blood, no blood magic nor prayer could change that you too were born a girl, and the unnatural pairing of the two of you would lead to carnage.
“Princess?” the voice of Enorah standing by the doorway tore your attention, you looked at her, momentarily stunned– returning to the world of the living “The Princess Rhaenyra has demanded your presence in the Godswood.”
Demanded
Rhaenyra knew at the cusp at which she played at, your afternoons were Alicent’s by the King’s “suit,” you turn to Alicent apologetically.
“My Queen if I may…”
“Go on, I have my other ladies to keep me company, perhaps I might return to my chambers for some respite.”
You looked around the ladies scattered across the chamber floors before neatly putting away your embroidery ring, you stood, back straight and shrouded in formality. You bowed to your friend before taking your leave.
You knew how you find Rhaenyra in the Godswood, hair mussed— stinking of dragon on the rage of the fourteen flames in her eyes.
“Why must you be with her?”
Something so sacred but irreparable, such a bind of sisterhood never found again. Squandered yet again by what you knew to be the ugly politics of lords in their ivory towers. What irked you the most was the price paid was you— your companions barely old enough to bleed let alone be pawns to whatever bargains were being struck in the Great Halls of the Red Keep.
You remembered the fight they had so vividly, almost envisioning it as you entered the Godswood.
“Rhaenyra, slow down!” You huffed, hiking your skirts to chase behind her.
Viserys had just announced his proclaimation, you stood there. Among the choices he had, along with Laena. Alicent too was— oddly among the lot. It wasn’t a surety until he said her name.
You were sure Rhaenyra felt it harder than you did, right in your gut. A dagger wound, you should have seen this coming. She looked torn, regrettably so, but why? She would be Queen.
Thus you chased out Rhaenyra, down the stairs and to the Godswood where she wiped at her angry tears.
Dear gods
When the realization set it, your closest friend had lied to you, through her teeth. Under the disguise of consolement and wise words of religion and perhaps comfort. She hid her “affairs” with Viserys.
For her sake you wished that she would steer clear of Rhaenyra but such fate was beyond her for she too followed.
“You!” She whipped her head furiously towards Alicent.
“Why? I wept to you, afraid for my mother’s memory and you betrayed me!”
“Rhaenyra truly—“
“You do not speak! You do not breathe near me.”
“Ever again…”
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