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kemakoshume · 2 years

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Beneath the Wisteria Blooms ✾ — tengen x black!f!reader x rengoku

warnings; none for this part! this is all introduction/world-building stuff :D there are original characters in this fic and this chapter has some ~language~ but that’s it ~

a/n; uh wtf lmao i added notes and everything got deleted... anyway lol fair warning this chapter mentions rengoku and tengen but they don’t get into the fray until next chapter! this was at [5.4k words] already so i decided to split it in half. here's the mood/vision board for this fic [here] if you're interested in a visual. song i wrote this to [here]. the reader is meant to be black but like always, anyone can read my stuff (as long as you’re 18+ and respectful). okay... that’s it lol enjoy ~ [ch one; ch two, ch three, ch four, ch five] ~

Two hundred and eighty-six days have passed since the last time your household hosted a hashira. Many soldiers have passed through in the time between—beckoned to the wisteria crest on your gates like moths to a flame practically daily, knowing they would be safe under your care. Mizunoe, hinoto, even some kinoe-ranked demon slayers have entered your doors and healed beneath the care of your hands in the weeks, then months, that have passed—but finally, that long wait has come to an end.

“Mistress. Mistress!” you yelled, your voice shaking. “There are two crows here requesting access to the home.”

The crows flew overhead, squawking their message down at you on a loop as you waited for the head of your household to dismiss their alarm. The small middle-aged woman appeared soon after, walking up from your left on bare feet in a perfectly wrinkle-free yukata. Her feet thudded lightly against the wooden flooring as she approached, sliding beside you to look up at the birds.

“So?” she said, scrunching her slim upturned nose in annoyance. “We’ve housed more than two guests at a time, and we have no visitors here for the night. Let them come. There’s plenty of space and I hear some of the girls preparing things already.”

Though your Mistress happily did her duty without complaint, you could see that the woman was irritated at the early-evening interruption. Her long dark hair was loose from its typical bun, and the late-spring air moved the pin-straight strands around her face beautifully, though it didn’t hide how sunken her light amber eyes looked with exhaustion against her pale skin.

In the wake of the last large fight with a higher-ranked demon, your home had been void of visitors for the first night in ages. All was quiet as mostly all of the home’s inhabitants—girls and young women, just like you, plucked from the streets and taken in to support and build up the diverse home—were also excited to have some downtime, so they’d all planned to turn in a bit early as well. Alas, as you both basked in the moonlight’s glow from where you stood in the open doorway, that dream was quickly dashed. The words interlaced within the crows' caws rid all thoughts of sleep from your mind.

“Mistress Miya, the crows both belong to a hashira—two different hashira,” you said, widening your eyes to punctuate your words.

The woman was speechless for a moment as she processed what you’d said, but sure enough, her tired eyes took on a soft sparkle under the night stars, and her dull skin regained its flush of rosy-pink color. “Two?” she said, placing her hands on your shoulders. “For nearly a year, there hasn’t even been one, and now there are two?” She nearly yelled the words, her breaths growing quicker as she turned around to face the crows.

She kneeled, whistling up at the crows to dismiss their loud caws. She guided them down to the sizeable station made for them to rest their wings beside the home’s large shoji doors. Both birds landed gracefully, fluffing their wings and dipping their bodies in the wide bird bath imbued with lavender-scented oils and wisteria blossom petals. The Mistress shuffled her feet, squatting in front of the onyx-feathered birds’ perch to put her body at their eye level.

“Can you tell us your names?” she asked, her moderately age-withered skin stretching and exposing fine lines as she broadened her smile. You stood behind her in the home’s doorway, looking fondly at the birds as they balanced on their sturdy wooden perch beneath the wisteria vines.

*caw caw* the birds sang, notably speaking over each other as they rushed to tell you their introductions. You focused in your ears on them both but caught more of what the smaller crow of the two had to say—which was plenty.

“Child, what did this little one say?” she asked, beckoning you forward to polish your skills with decoding the crows’ language. “Every word.”

You giggled as you approached the birds, crouching down like your Mistress to put yourself at their level. You glanced at the larger bird before speaking, but the tangibly humanlike irritation radiating from him had already commenced due to what his counterpart had to say.

“Okay, every word.” You cleared your throat, looking politely at the bird as you repeated her statement. “Well, this one on the left is called Manju,” you said, motioning to the petite crow with a smile. “She said first and foremost that her master, Rengoku Kyojuro, is mostly unharmed—having only suffered some mild bruising despite multiple days of battle. She wanted it to be known that she is a lady, wholly unlike the tacky brute perched next to her, and that she would appreciate it if we added seeds mixed with dried corn to the feeder for her tonight, as she hasn’t had the chance to eat in two days due to their tumultuous schedule.”

As you wrapped up your summary of Manju’s introduction, you noticed the larger crow of the two shuffling closer to her, not so subtly attempting to knock her off of their perch while he said his peace in retaliation, though Manju elegantly dodged the petty swipes at her feet that the other crow made with his talons.

*caw caw caw caw caw* he said, so loudly in the still night air that you heard the last of the girls housed on the second-floor stirring, triggered by the second wave of loud birdsong that made them get up out of bed. You sputtered, an unladylike laugh escaping your lips as you processed what the male bird was saying. Not only taken aback by how loud and brash the jewelry-laden crow was but also how much petty malevolence the small avian animal managed to pack into mere sounds.

Your mistress turned her head, looking at you with eyes that would have marked you dead had they physically been able to shoot daggers. “Mind your manners,” she whispered, nodding her head towards the crows as if she were completely unphased by their bickering.

“Sorry, Mistress Miya,” you said, wiping the budding tears welling along your lower lash line as you stifled your giggles. “Do I have to translate everything he said or only the important bits?”

The older woman shook her head, motioning for you to continue with her hands. “ Every word. I can’t judge your accuracy if you don’t repeat it all back. Besides, we can’t miss a single thing regarding their messages for everyone’s safety, no matter how many curses the messages contain. Go on.”

You nodded, clearing your throat as you recounted the crow’s words. “This dashing, handsome, flashy crow on the right is named Nijimaru. He says that his superior master Uzui Tengen is also unharmed besides a few minor cuts and scrapes. He would like nuts and berries cut flamboyantly for dinner, if possible. He also says that “useless bitch Manju” should watch her words since his crown’s jewels have more value than her “full of shit” existence. Also, he said she wouldn’t know fashion if a demon sliced her down the beak with it, so we should disregard her childish, shitty insults.”

The female crow made a high-pitched squawk, insulted again after hearing the words through your mouth. Then, she extended her wing in one swift movement, hitting Nijimaru hard enough to disrupt his balance on the skinny wooden landing pole, knocking him off.

*caw caw caw* Manju said before flying after the retreating male bird, following him into the bath as he tried to escape her presence—muttering something along the lines of, “stupid pea-brained woman, besting me? Ha! Never.”

Your Mistress whipped around toward you in surprise, panic blooming on the delicate features of her rounded face as you both processed what Manju said. “They’ll be here in twelve minutes?” she yelled, corralling you into the house while shouting for all the other girls to make haste.

Once you entered the genkan—the home’s large entrance foyer—you were met with the pleasant sight of all of your housemates already busy at work, tidying and cleaning whatever their hands could reach. The smell of freshly steamed rice, grilled meats, and cooked vegetables wafted up into your nose, and your mouth began to water. The youngest of the girls walked around the home, skipping and holding hands as they hung talismans for good fortune and flowers for both virility and muliebrity all over the place; while the older girls who were outside of the kitchen took charge of dressing and grooming each other, while simultaneously darting around to get the items sorted and prepared for their hallowed guests.

You couldn’t help but smile watching them. You took a moment to pat their heads and place quick kisses against their cheeks as you walked by, whispering ‘thank you’ in each of their ears as you did so. Your household had done this a million times, but seeing the girls get quicker and quicker with it every night felt rewarding—to see your small family coming together to make your home a safe space for the men and women who kept you alive made your heart swell.

“Ayra!” your Mistress yelled, snapping you back into focus as she called out for the second oldest of the girls—at nineteen—under you.

“Back here!” she yelled, her voice carrying into the home from the spacious forest-protected garden nestled beyond your back porch.

You walked around the side of the large house, careening down the long stone pathway, until you felt the temperature in the air shift where the path forked. Both you and your Mistress easily navigated yourselves down to the trail's end, stopping once you reached the sizeable hot spring shrouded thinly in dense steam.

Ayra was there kneeling, hunched over with her arm plunged into the lantern-lined hot spring. Had her soft grunts from her efforts not been louder, you might have missed her slim figure hunched over into the large spring of water. It was half-hidden by the home's awning and the immaculately gardened flowers and shrubbery and could only easily be seen when the wind blew south, and the steam cleared.

“Is it hot?” the Mistress asked, squinting her eyes to look on as the olive-toned young woman fiddled with the thick layer of rocks on the very bottom of the spring, using—what you could only assume—was a very long stick.

“Yes,” she quipped, groaning as she flipped over what must have been a hefty rock, “it is now. I just need to move a few more stones out of the way to make the temperature perfect. Did I hear the crows correctly? Are we hosting two hashiras? Master Tengen and Master Kyojuro?”

You nodded, though you quickly followed with verbal confirmation. “Yes, you heard right. I wonder what sort of temperament they’ll be. Normal men find it within themselves to be cruel and flippant. I can’t imagine how men with their power will be.”

You heard Ayra chuckle before the water sloshed violently again as she moved another rock.

“I’ll be frank; I do wonder the same. I’ve never met these two before,” your Mistress said, pursing her lips. “Though, the corps soldiers do tend to be pleasant enough to us—some a little more fervidly than others,” she said with a knowing hint to her tone that you ignored. “It’s true that men with power seemingly can’t help but abuse it; however, you will give them your grace. Maintain your self-respect, but be kind to them. They deserve that much from us.”

You nodded, a hushed ‘yes Mistress,’ leaving your lips as the tall girl removed her arm from the hot spring—along with her stick—and stood, straightening her back to wipe her damp hands and dust off her knees.

“The last hashira we had was a woman,” Ayra said, hiding her stick in the nearby bushes as she jogged up to you from the cloud of steam. “What a curious thing she was with that wild watermelon hair. I wonder if the men will differ much from her. I’ve heard all the hashira are strange in their own ways.”

Your Mistress tsked, darting her arm out quickly to smack Ayra firmly against her forehead with the small fan she kept hidden in her kimono sleeve. Then she turned on you, popping you swiftly on the arm by proxy of Ayra’s comment. “Mind your tongues,” she warned, staring at both of you sternly. “Every person has their proclivities; the hashira are no different. If you notice anything off about them, at least have the good sense not to mention it.”

Your Mistress rolled her eyes, ignoring your giggles as she turned on her heels. She yelled into the side corridor of the house, telling the other girls to make sure they were doing their best work since your guests were especially superordinate.

“We have nothing if not our good sense, Mistress. We take care of our guests just fine,” Ayra teased, sharing a look—and a wink—with you. “I’ve heard the town girls speaking about that ‘Master Tengen’. Allegedly, he’s dashingly handsome and courted three wives.”

“Three?” you asked, fiddling with the sleeve of your yukata. “And what of the other one? Rengoku?"

Ayra pouted, huffing in frustration as she shared her knowledge—or lack thereof. “I’ve heard no rumors about him that will do us any good, unfortunately. He deeply loves gyunabe bento, and his hair looks like a sunset. That’s all I know.”

Your Mistress rolled her eyes again, sliding her arms back into her sleeves. “Ayra, you should focus more on your chores or reading and less on gossiping.”

“Oh, please, Mistress. As if my gossip isn’t why you came running back here as soon as you got word that the men were hashira,” Ayra said, mischief alight behind her hazel-brown eyes. “Besides, I made sure the girls are on it. Sopheary and Yua are putting down all the bedding for the men in the big guesthouse. Prisha and Lucía are getting fresh samue for the pillars to wear once they’ve bathed, and they’ve already heated the bath meant for cleansing. Himari and Dorothea are cooking up those premium meats that charming hinoe-ranked boy dropped off last week. I smelled sukiyaki nabe, sashimi, aloo gobi, kafta, plenty of rice, and…” she hummed, placing her hands on her hips as she let the train in her brain run. “I think that’s it. That should be enough for just two of them. Don’t you think?”

You smiled, pleased with your friend’s leadership and efforts. “You have no idea how much I appreciate you, Ayra,” you said, scooping her up by her waist into a crushing hug. “That should be perfect—and if it isn’t, we’ll just have to make do.”

Once you placed her back down, you found yourself sniffing in her direction, realizing that her scent slightly mirrored the weight of her efforts, and you told her as much.

“Gods, Ayra. Bathe. And take your sister with you,” your Mistress said, scrunching her nose even though she was too far away to smell the girl. “Dunk into the lake behind the treeline with soap and haste! You have eight minutes. Ayra, coil your sister’s curls with pomade and let her do braids in your hair once you’re finished with hers. I’ll arrange the crows' food and double-check the children’s work.”

With that she turned on the balls of her feet, leaving the two of you alone under the bright glow of the moon. Ayra sprinted behind her into the home, coming back to you with supplies in hand. She cradled a wooden pail filled with a boar's hair bristle brush, soap, cloth for cleansing and drying, two beautifully detailed kimonos, and a small chest that housed all the tools and accessories for your hair balanced on top. You reached for the items as she walked up by your side, but the younger girl refused, shaking her head softly before she started walking down the stone path.

“Hey,” you whispered, leaning in close to her ear, “let’s use the stream on the west bank. The water is so much warmer there at this time of night you know, and it’s closer,” you said, placing your hand gently on her back to guide her down the warmly lit pathway.

Ayra chuckled, her mischievous smile coming back full force due to your words. “I thought the Mistress said we had to bathe behind the treeline, sister. What should happen if a demon were to see us? Or, worse, a man—or two?” she teased, feigning horror—much to your humor. “Our propriety would be ruined if we were seen in the nude. What would dear mother Miya say?”

You rolled your eyes, continuing down the path lined with large coniferous trees that kissed the clouds in the sky. “Wisteria lives abundantly in these woods and along the water’s shores, and bushels of the stuff steep the water’s whole body. So, there are no demons out here to spy on us."

“And the men?” Ayra smirked, holding on to you tighter.

“Should the hashira come from the west, then I suppose they’ll get an intimate peek into our preparations for their visit. But, of course, what the Mistress doesn’t know in detail won’t hurt her.”

“Oh really?” Ayra chuckled, shoving you gently with her shoulder. “I suppose that’s true. I suppose it is better that she not find out just how much of a salacious trollop her second in command is. For shame, dear sister—her heart couldn’t take the knowledge of all your “tending” to our frontline soldiers.”

You shoved Ayra back, taking the wash pail from her before skipping a few steps down the pathway. “Boo. You make me sound like a whore. I only entertain the soldiers I see fit, not just any old mizunoto who thinks himself to be a hero simply by existing and holding a sword,” you said, tilting your head back to look at her. “We are a rejuvenation home, not a brothel.”

Ayra grinned, skipping to catch up and stand by your side. “Yes, yes, my apologies. I did not mean to insinuate anything of the sort, sister. Besides, if I were to call you a whore, I would be pointing one finger only to have the rest pointing back at me. I’m still too sore to retake a man after that hinoe-rank,” she smirked. “I didn’t know men from the city could be so… hung.”

You smacked her arm, laughing off the ridiculousness of your conversation. “Gods, you’re so crude. Who’ll marry you with that mouth?”

“The same type of person who’ll marry you with yours.”

The sound of your laughs echoed through the dense trees for a while as you neared the edge of the forest—the chirps and caws that resounded alongside them were clear indications of the animals lurking around you.

“You don’t think Mistress would actually be mad if she knew what we get up to, right?” Ayra said, glancing over at you. “With the slayers, I mean.”

You hummed in contemplation, though the answer came to mind quickly. “Frankly, no, not really. I’m sure she’s heard some murmurs about our occasional activities by now, and we aren’t exactly the most subtle about it. The Mistress is a lot of things, but being clueless is not one of them. If she had a problem with either of us having fun with the men, you know she would’ve said something about it by now.”

Ayra nodded, sighing deeply as you continued down the wooded path. Although to be fair, your Mistress had never genuinely seemed concerned for your purity. She nagged, and fussed, and sang her woes often about the lack of a permanent male fixture in the home and her hopes and dreams for her girls, but neither of you truly aspired to be docile, submissive, untouched wives, and despite her hopes for you all, she seemed aware of that fact. Still, despite her goals for all of you to be given away eventually, she never took on requests from your guests that demanded any of her girls perform sex for any man, primarily when their requests targeted the youngest of your home.

She’d worked hard for many years to provide you with an environment where you could embrace the fun of your youth without having to play ‘oiran’ like the less fortunate girls did in the cities. She gave you a space to enjoy the small moments of passion and joy that life offered amid all the chaos beyond your wisteria-filled trees. You had a secure—good—home and family that filled your hearts to the brim. In the times at hand, that was all you could hope for.

“Fair point, harlot,” Ayra said, blowing raspberries at you before taking off in a sprint. “The last one to the lake has to clean the baths tomorrow.”

Your protests rang through the night air as you picked up your pace, holding the wooden bucket tight to your chest as you skipped to catch up with Ayra. You met her at her side as you reached the end of the path, skidding to a halt once you cleared the lining of the trees and looked out at the vast lake before you. The lake’s noise met your ears as the steady tide rolled on, lit well by the shining full moon peeking over the backdrop of tall winding mountains and the scattered lanterns glowing along the water bank.

Neither of you dawdled then; you undressed from your garments quickly as you walked down to the lake’s edge—laying your kimonos down neatly on the dry rocks away from the calm waters.

“I’ll never get tired of seeing this,” you said, looking up at the full moon in the sky. Nude and warm from the late-summer air blowing against your bare skin.

Ayra hummed, reaching out her hand to grab hold of yours as you waded into the calm waters—going deeper into the lake until the water wrapped around your hips. Ayra was taller, but she stayed near you in the shallower end to keep you from slipping on the smooth rocks beneath your feet. You kept your hold on her hand as you dunked your body beneath the surface, dousing your skin and hair in the lukewarm stream. Ayra did the same, not letting go of your hand for a moment as she laid herself backward to soak.

“This is lovely, sister,” Ayra said, closing her eyes as her body floated on the surface. “We should come out and swim more often. During the day next time, maybe? It’s beautiful here.”

You chuckled, splashing water in her direction, which caused the brunette to shoot up onto her feet in surprise. “Mistress is more patient than she lets on, but she would hang both of our heads out as snacks for the demons if she found us nude in the daylight—for any lowly passing merchant or coal miner to see.”

Ayra scoffed, splashing water back at you and landing a big smack against your face with the waves. “Okay, you make a fair point. Now hush up and bathe,” she grinned, rolling her eyes as she walked you back into the shallower end.

She reached up to the layers of rock where you left your bathing items stacked around the lake and grabbed a small bottle from the open chest that housed your hair products.

“Here you go,” she said, squeezing some of the cleansing funori mixture into her hands before handing it over to you.

You both quickly scrubbed your scalps, pulling apart any knots you felt tangling around your coily strands, while Ayra did much of the same—running her fingers and a wide-toothed tokigushi comb through her lengthy, thick, wavy locks.

“How much longer do we have?” you asked, joining hands with your friend again as you shuffled back into the deeper section of the water. You plugged your nose, dunked your head beneath the surface to rid your hair of the cleansing balm, and came back up with a small gasp.

“Not long,” Ayra said, swapping out the cleansing balm for some soap.

She gave you a towel and the bar made from milk fat and rice bran to cleanse with while she turned your back to face hers. She tilted your head slightly to ring out the excess water in your hair while you scrubbed your skin, scrunching the curls from the bottom to solidify the shape. She rubbed some pomade into her palms and raked her hands through it, twisting the messy small sections with her fingers to define the strands.

You closed your eyes and leaned into her hands, pressed against your scalp to prevent pain from her tugging. Though she’d done your hair a million times, she always ensured that the process was painless for you. Her years of practice with your locks showed, since she finished your hair in less than three minutes. She scrunched again with her slightly sticky hands, then clapped down on your shoulders.

“Gross,” you giggled, scrubbing where her hands had touched before rinsing the soap mixture. You tossed the towel you used away into the wooden bucket nearby, then repeated the same process with Ayra. The tall, tanned girl squatted to accommodate your height, her muscular thighs and long limbs sliding into the position easily.

In comparison, doing her hair took no time at all; your hands were practiced too—not only from doing Ayra’s hair but also from helping the younger girls with their myriad of different hair textures. First, your fingers moved quickly to form two thick braids that met in the middle of the back of her head, laying down flat against the loose bottom section of her dark—nearly black—hair. Next, you lifted her hair from underneath to allow the girl easy access to her own back, not wanting to get the soap into it as she rinsed.

“You’d make a great mother one day,” Ayra whispered, the words nearly lost over the sound of the water.

You chuckled, cupping water in your hand to rinse the stray suds off her torso's slightly fuzzy expanse. “Gods. Between you and the girls and Mistress? Please. You all keep me busy enough!” you said, softly smacking her back. “Copulation is fun, very much so, but I have no intentions of being anyone’s mother soon. I have you all. My heart’s full enough.”

Ayra grinned, turning to face you again now that she had thoroughly cleaned the soap. “Fair point. Copulation with no consequences it is,” she said, holding her hand in the air as if she were holding a glass to cheers.

You rolled your eyes but mimicked the c-shape of her hand anyway. “Hear-hear!” you said, smacking your hand against your friend’s.

Ayra threw her soiled towel into the bucket with yours, then grabbed your hand again to pull you both out of the water. You jogged up over the bank of the lake back onto dry land, beelining over to your clean clothes and dry towels that were safe and untouched by the water.

“I got the white kimono for you and a black one for me,” Arya said, giving you a dry cloth to pat down your body as she smoothed the clothing. “We can at least attempt to make you look the part of virginal innocence. Men as strong as they tend to have quite the thing for dominance.”

You rolled your eyes at the young woman, smacking her backside with the towel. “Hurry and dry so we can get dressed. The wind is starting to bite and the smell of the food is starting to entice my stomach.”

Ayra heeded your words, quickly drying her skin and slipping into her own kimono with ease. She took a small jar out from the little chest she’d brought and waltzed over to you, looking down at you as she dipped her finger into the pot.

“Don’t forget this,” she said, running her lithe finger down the line of your neck, leaving a light trail of scented wisteria oil on your skin as her hand moved downward; across your collarbones, down the line of your armpits, and around the swell of your breasts. “There,” she said, eyeing her handiwork. “Now, if you decide to play with the hashira—should they be handsome and worthy of you—they’ll be just as intoxicated by your scent as they will be by your beauty.”

The warmth of a blush bloomed beneath your skin, goosebumps rising on your arms as you slipped into your kimono.

You grinned, pulling your friend into a tight hug. “You flatter me, Ayra,” you muttered against her chest. “Are you sure you don’t want to engage? What if the rumors are true about that Tengen? Do you not wish to see how he managed to woo three wives?”

Ayra sucked her teeth, scrunching her face in contemplation before she shook her head, pulling away from you as a quick “no” rushed from her lips.

“And why not?” you scoffed, looking at the admitted harlot in surprise.

“Well… because there’s one more little rumor I’ve heard about him that I dared not mention in front of Mistress… and a rumor about his dear comrade Rengoku.”

You stared her down as you tied the large sash belt on your outfit into a bow—cinching in your waist and giving the look of definition in the shape of your hips.

“And what might that be?”

“Well,” she whispered, leaning in close to your ear despite no one around you besides the squirrels in the trees. “I hear they’re both huge men, in both height and in length, so the rumors say. Even more so than that hinoe fellow, who I fear may have ruined my insides.”

Your mouth fell slack, gaping as you blinked incredulously at your housemate. “What?”

She laughed, waving her hand in the air as if it could dissipate your worries. “Oh, don’t fret dear sister, you’ll do well. I’ll be there in spirit, living vicariously through you. You’ve taken more than one man before, have you not?”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts! It will be fun, and you will live to tell the tale. Besides, rumors passed through grapevine after grapevine are almost always exaggerated. The girl at the fruit stall couldn’t possibly have meant ‘cocks like horses’ literally.”

“Ayra!”

The girl ignored you, giggling to herself as she gathered your things, rushing you along to start your trek back up to the main home.

You bent down to grab your wooden pale off of the rocks, and a ping of something rang in your heart that made the muscle’s pace quicken. You turned, squinting your eyes as you looked out past the water, and up into the mountains. The cloud cover was low, and the mountains were tall and sturdy, nearly touching the sky. Still, there in the distance were the faintest dots of yellow and pink, shining as they reflected the light from the moon.

“Come on, slowpoke!” Ayra yelled, distracting you. “I hear the crows cawing. Their masters are close. We need to be there to welcome them.”

You nodded, turning your head quickly to look up at the mountains again, but there was nothing. As quickly as you thought you’d seen something, it was gone.

Ayra groaned, complaining about the heavy weight of the items balanced in her hands. You sighed—exhaling the breath trapped in your lungs as you turned slowly away from the lake, shaking away the thought of those intense blurs of color that glared predatorily at you from off in the distance. You grabbed hands with your friend, dashing back down the path through the trees again with smiles on your faces as you went to welcome the two men—the two pillars of hope for your futures—into your home.

tyty for reading! see you in the next one || crossposted on ao3 — here || taglist — here || tags: @bokuroskitten @rosesandtoshi @murdereddaydreams @crystal-lilac @mxgenderbender

#demon slayer smut #kny smut #tengen smut #rengoku smut #tengen uzui x reader #black reader #x black reader #tengen x reader #rengoku x reader #kyojuro x reader #uzui x reader #kk.writes #kk.naughty #mdni #kk.kny

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swagphilosopherdragon · 6 years

Photo

#Onyx Ophelia #Munchkin's mediocre mood boards

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serys-writes-stories · 2 years

Text

Unboxing

Masterlist. Referenced Manual Page.

Word count approx 2650.

CW: Pet whump, unboxing, brief nudity, slight experiment whump vibes (but I promise Zaria is just eager and not insane, this isn’t a lab whump series), it as a pronoun, referenced conditioning and beating, fear of future abuse, dehumanisation, knives (not used, only displayed), misunderstanding, 130417 thinking he’s a Bad Boi TM.

—————

A dramatic score of violin and piano notes drifted through the air, dampened by the sounds of sighs, groans, pencil scribbles, crumpling paper, and a forehead hitting a desk. Zaria tossed a paper ball behind her. It landed in the already very full wastebasket in the corner, setting off a small avalanche of dead trees and even deader dreams.

Shadow’s Summit had begun in a dream, as pillars of onyx and silver, fine glitter, and a looming black mass that kept growing and growing until everything had been swallowed by darkness. Zaria had woken with a gasp and gotten straight to work plotting a new story—one she was really excited for.

Fast forward four months, and Shadow’s Summit was still nothing but a very rough draft of about a thousand words, half a dozen mood boards, two playlists, and nothing more. The main character didn’t even have a name yet.

A knock at the front door forced Zaria out of her chair for the first time in what could have easily been days—it had only been two hours, but it had felt longer to her. Maybe she’d take a walk later. Some sunlight would do her good.

She was surprised to see two white-clad men at her door. Between them was a crate with the letters WRU printed in black across the front. A smaller box was secured on top of it by long pieces of rope.

Zaria wondered if they had carried that whole thing up the seven flights of stairs to her apartment, knowing the elevator was out of order. Still, neither of them seemed to be tired. They were both absolutely ripped, though, so maybe they’d had practice and this wasn’t much of a workout to them.

“Zaria Jaleki?”

“That’s me.”

One of the men presented her with a clipboard and tapped a blank line at the bottom of the page before handing it to her. Once she handed the signed form back, the men invited themselves in with the crate.

One of the men presented her with a clipboard and tapped a blank line at the bottom of the page, then handed it to her while the other invited himself in with the crate.

She handed back the signed form and they each told her to have a good day. Then, she was alone in her living room with a sealed crate.

She knew people called them boxies, but who would’ve thought they actually came in boxes?

Zaria started with the smaller box. Inside, she found full-body, light-weight restraints, and a standard, padded crop—exactly what she ordered, except for the missing blindfold. She’d worry about that later.

Inside was also a booklet. The cover page was a colour-printed image of the nearest city’s WRU training facility. Standing in front of the main entrance was the branch’s owner with her two pets. One had long, purple hair, while the other, much larger one, had a black buzz cut. A domestic and a guard. All three of them were smiling in a way Zaria couldn’t help but find chilling.

She opened the booklet, pacing around the apartment as she read the first page entitled Upon Arrival. It was quite helpful. She skimmed through the rest of the booklet, wondering when the boxie itself would arrive.

Then she remembered the second box. The human sized one.

She returned to the living room and stared at it for a moment. There were no latches on the crate, it was sealed with nails; she wouldn’t get it open easily. Internet, she decided, and found instructions on how to open the crate.

After a brief struggle, the top finally came off, revealing a small, blindfolded boy—so that’s where the missing blindfold was—with copper curls and bound wrists.

He was naked.

Zaria’s eyes whipped up towards the ceiling the moment she realised the company hadn’t even given him the courtesy of boxers or a t-shirt.

She took a breath and looked back down at the pet—her pet. An interesting thing, really. He shook with what Zaria assumed was a mixture of fear, anticipation, and cold, but didn’t dare open his mouth, not even to let out the faintest of whimpers. She’s read that fesh pets could have a variety of initial reactions and had watched plenty of unboxing videos to prepare herself for whatever her boxie might do once he arrived. She was glad to have gotten a pet that, upon first glance, seemed to be on the calmer, quieter side.

Zaria slid her phone from her pocket and stood over him, taking note of the way his shoulders rose and fell with every shuddered breath, the way his skin was an angry red where rope dug into his wrists and ankles, how she knew his eyes were darting around by the way the thin blindfold shifted ever so slightly. Most of it was pointless, really. He was stored in a sealed and locked box for delivery, plus his wrists were kept in front of him, meaning he could have easily pulled off the blindfold. Maybe it was to show how well trained he was supposed to be.

Once she was satisfied with her notes, Zaria stuffed her phone back into her pocket and went to her bedroom to find some clothes that wouldn’t be too big on him, then returned to the living room. The pet hadn’t moved an inch inside the box. She reached in to untie the blindfold, earning a flinch from him when her fingers grazed his ear. He was taking deep breaths now, forcing himself to stay still and not run for dear life. He would stay, be a good pet for his new owner. He would.

—————

The black fabric was pulled away from him. He squinted at the contrast of the former darkness to the bright lights his eyes were now exposed to. They reminded him of the training facility. Of Handler Stark.

“Hi.”

He looked up and met the golden eyes of a woman with hair as black as night. His gaze dropped back to his knees. Rule number 6: Don’t make eye contact with Master unless commanded. He’d already made a mistake.

“Hi,” she repeated. He figured it was best to play it safe until he had clear rules of when to speak. “So, uh, I’m Zaria, your new owner.” Her voice dropped and she mumbled, “God, that sounds so wrong.” She cleared her throat and continued. “I’m going to untie you, tell you to put these on”—she waved a bundle of clothing—“and then you can introduce yourself to me too. Let me see your hands.”

130417 obediently presented his wrists to his Mistress and held them still while she struggled to find a safe place to slip the scissors under. Once the ropes were cut, she simply said, “Feet.” He instantly raised his legs, now sitting in a perfect V position. “Flexible, alright.��

She freed his ankles and helped him up, but the long hours of his delivery had left his legs numb. He apologised the instant he fell forward onto her. She was a few inches taller than him, he noticed. The difference would make it easier to avoid eye contact as he was taught.

She held him until he was stable on his own, then handed him the sweatpants and t-shirt. It was more than he’d been allowed at the facility.

130417 nearly exploded with happiness, though he didn’t show any of it, answering with a simple, but sincere, “Thank you, Mistress.”

She coughed. “Oh, god, no way. You’re not calling me that, it makes me sound creepy and old.”

Confusion flashed across his features before returning to neutrality as he slipped on the clothing. “Master, then?”

“That’s not what—” She pondered over it. “Actually, sure, why not? It makes me sound like an evil monarch and I’m down for the vibe. Better than Mistress, at least. You hungry?”

The grumble of his stomach was all the answer she needed. His cheeks flushed red in shame.

The kitchen was attached to the living room in a semi-open-concept design which would make manoeuvring the house easier, and 130417 was grateful for any small advantage he was given. The walls were a pale blue that matched the sky he saw through the window. He got caught up in the view of skyscrapers and clouds in the distance, a welcome change from the bleak facility rooms he was used to.

“Sit,” Zaria said, turning towards the fridge and snapping him from his reverie. He slid to his knees and waited.

She turned back around with a bottle of water in hand, stopping when she saw him. “You can sit at the table if you’d like.”

A test.

“Pets belong to the floor, Master,” he said.

“Whatever fits your liking, I guess.

She handed him the bottle and began preparing a snack—well, tossing some leftovers on a plate and throwing it all in the microwave, but he’d be grateful anyway, right? When she turned to give it to him, he was struggling to twist off the bottle’s cap, a crease between his brows as he tried this way and that way, skinny fingers slipping around the tricky plastic.

“Need help,” she asked.

His eyes dropped and his cheeks went pink again. “Yes, please, Master.”

He gave her the bottle, and she took off the cap without a second thought. Stupid pet, couldn’t do anything.

She placed the bottle and plate in front of him, gave him a fork, then seated herself across from him and waited. He waited too. The scent alone was enough to make his mouth water, so different from the bland crackers and shakes he’s been fed at the facility when he was good.

Now that he thought of it, the room itself smelt of cinnamon and something vaguely familiar.

“You can eat,” she said.

Hesitantly, he scooped up some cheesy potatoes and popped them in his mouth. His eyes lit up. He melted. He took another bite. It was so much better than the tasteless stuff he had become accustomed to.

He was clumsy with the fork, unused to using one, but he did his best, and he hoped his Master found his behaviour good enough as well.

Zaria smiled at his excitement. She was sure his tail would have already made a dent in her floor from wagging with joy had he been a puppy.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

He hurried to swallow and promptly answered with the words Handler Stark had made him memorise. “130417 is my serial number, Master. You are free to call it whatever you desire.”

“It?”

“Your Pet, Master.”

“Oh. Well, we’ll just have to come up with something later.”

130417 finished eating and waited for his next instructions. He was surprised when Master took the plate and put it on the counter rather than ordering him to wash it. He figured he would have to later, after she had finished her introduction—he hadn’t received any house rules, after all.

“Up,” she said, motioning for him to follow. He stayed a step behind as she walked back through the living room.

She explained that he was allowed to eat any time he was hungry, as long as he told her beforehand. He also had free-reign of the living room, but wasn’t allowed to use the TV until she had shown him how, and he wasn’t allowed to answer the door without her present.

Next, she led him to a small bedroom. The walls were pure white to match the dresser and nightstand. A platform of wood pallets in the corner raised a mattress about a foot off the floor. It was covered in soft blankets and fuzzy pillows in a variety of warm colours. String lights lined the perimeter and the window was covered by a burgundy curtain.

“This is your room,” Master said.

130417 startled, blurted, “What?”

“If you don’t like it, we can change it.”

“No,” he said quickly. “No, you don’t have to change it.” He loved it. It was beautiful. He simply hadn’t expected so much. Handler Stark had told him to expect a cold, dark closet, and to be grateful if he got so much as a soiled dog bed to lay his head on. “It’s more than it deserves, Master.”

She smiled. “You need somewhere to sleep anyway, so I figured I’d might as well make it look nice. It was a fun little project.”

130417 was about to fall to his knees and express his gratitude when Master pulled him out of the room to continue her tour. Beside his room was a bathroom with a black, tiled floor, and a counter and mounted mirror that spanned the entire right wall. To the left was the toilet and a glass walk-in shower.

“You can use the bathroom anytime you need, but tell me if you’re planning on having a shower and wait if the door is closed.”

“Yes, Master.”

Then, she led him to her own bedroom, and it hit him harder than the baton Handler Stark had used to make him better.

Paper.

That was what he could smell earlier. 130417 felt his temperature rise. Paper meant words. Words mean sentences and paragraphs and things he wasn’t supposed to look at. Pets didn’t read. He knew that.

His eyes darted around the room. They landed on a bookshelf. A big bookshelf filled with books and more books. Pets don’t read. He ripped away from it, landing next on a bin overflowing with paper. More paper. Pet’s don’t read. He averted his gaze again—and almost wished he hadn’t.

130417 found himself staring at a collection of intricate daggers mounted on the wall, all shining metal and deadly edges, his Master’s words now a distant, muddled blur.

Of course it had been too soon to assume he wouldn’t be hurt here. Of course he’d be. He knew pain wasn’t only used as a punishment: it was also an opportunity—to learn and become better. All owners wanted to make their pets better and all pets wanted to be better for their owners. It was stupid to think a life in service without pain was possible. How could it forget so easily? The daggers were a clear reminder of his place—one he evidently needed, but one that made his hyperventilating worse nonetheless.

A hand waved in front of his face. “Ginger? You listening?”

Ginger? Was that him?

He blinked up at his Master, who was looking at him expectantly, as if she’d just asked an important question. He dropped to his knees and stared at the floor.

“Please, forgive it, Master. It . . . it wasn’t paying attention,” he said with a voice threatening to leave him entirely. So many mistakes and it hadn’t even been an hour. At this rate, he’d be returned for retraining by tomorrow. 130417 didn’t want that.

“It’s fine.” A gentle hand slid into his hair.

She was petting him.

That was a good sign. It meant he hadn’t failed past the point of no return.

“I was just saying you’re not allowed to touch the books or the blades. I work in here, and sometimes I’ll prefer to be alone, but you can come see me if you need anything. Got it?”

His first thought was to tell her that a pet needs nothing but to please their owner. Then he thought it would be better to answer with a simple yes. Next, he wondered if this was another test to decide if he knew his place or not.

“Yes, Master,” he settled on,” but Pets don’t have needs or wants.”

She hummed. “That makes my life easier, then. But you will need clothes. I’m not giving you all my hoodies.”

Her hand pulled away, and he missed the warmth it had provided.

“Shower time for you,” she said. “Then we’re going shopping.”

“Yes, Master.”

#pet whump #whump #unboxing whump #bbu #corsen #box boy universe #box boy whump #nudity tw #conditioning tw #dehumanization tw

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 3 years

Text

Full Moon (Thorn x Reader) Smut

Summary: It’s already hard enough to keep his hands off his partner in usual circumstances. Now that they’re carrying his child, it’s impossible for Thorn to keep himself in check.

AN: I saw King Knight at Fright Fest and this was instantly born. Thorn deserves a partner who wants to give him a child as much as Willow deserves a partner who respects her decision not to have one.

Content warning: Reader uses they/them pronouns and is AFAB. They are three months pregnant. It’s barely smut, just a mild description of oral, but still MINORS DNI! Over 18+ only! If your age is not in your bio, you will be blocked.

Masterlist // Photo Credit // AO3 Link

Your name: submit What is this?

“It’s late. We should get to bed.”

Thorn had been edging towards the bedroom all evening, only stopping once Y/N reminded him that there was something else to do before retiring for the evening. Meditation before dinner, packing the leftovers and slotting them into the fridge, speaking to Alexandra about the upcoming Samhain celebrations, he seemed to have forgotten their entire calendar in favour of the sky.

This time, it was Y/N’s head tilting to the sink that caught him in the doorway, as they reminded him: “Still have to wash up. You know I hate leaving dirty dishes overnight.”

It took Thorn a second to process, then he briskly walked back to the kitchen. In his current mood, which was to prevent Y/N from doing more than their fair share, he took on both washing and drying up. The tiny bump in their belly would hardly be in the way, but Thorn still insisted that they rest at every possible moment.

The sun long since set. It was the moon that shone down and bounced reflections off the porcelain dishes slotted in their draining board spaces. Thorn’s rings dripped suds as he scrubbed vigorously at the bowl used for the salad. Hiding their mirth, Y/N moved behind him and allowed their bump to press up against Thorn’s shirt. They caressed up his left arm then onto his shoulder where it met with the other hand and squeezed.

“You’re so tense, my sweet. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, darling.” Thorn stopped his ferocious scouring briefly to kiss their cheek. His words did nothing to convince Y/N, but they didn’t require anything of the sort. Instead, they began preparations for their sleep. As if they would be getting much anytime soon.

As though he had been waiting for them to finish dressing, Thorn rushed to open the bedsheets. A stray soap bubble on his arm popped into nonexistence as he ripped off his odd socks – one was onyx, the other charcoal. Then he saw the look of expectation from Y/N and instantly he jumped up to put his socks in the laundry hamper.

As he got back in, Y/N gently prompted, “My love, the incense.”

Thorn’s eyes flickered down to their stomach, “Right.”

His trembling hands were so frantic he almost waved out the glowing embers as soon as they were lit. Y/N joined their life partner, allowing the smoke to waft over their rumpled bedspread. It was a new kind; their usual had made Y/N feel nauseated from the pregnancy’s get-go.

Back under the covers, Thorn pulled Y/N close to him and took in a deep draft of their scent. Y/N knew this and held back a smirk. They cupped his face, and he kissed their palm. His fingers curled like the incense delicately around their wrist, his lips dragging down to kiss against their pulse. He would have painted more along their entire arm and neck if he was not so impatient. The moment he could, he shared with them a deep long kiss. His palm twisted over their belly.

They were so close when they pulled apart that their lips brushed promises of future love onto one another. Through words, actions, everything they could purse and pucker for their beloved, and Y/N stroked under Thorn’s jaw while he spoke to them.

“If I could, I would veneer your body every minute of the day. I’d forsake all other gods to laud your name.”

His words were sweet yet Y/N acted alarmed at his words, gasping loudly as they gave his cheek a short sharp slap. “That’s sacrilege, Thorn!”

Thorn swallowed, and his untouched cheek matched the other in pink passion. “How can it be? You’re a deity. Every day I worship at your altar and I give up all worldly possessions in your name. Every thought is a prayer for you; I am always praising your abilities or thanking Moirai – Greek Goddess of Fate - for sending me to serve you.”

He leant in again but Y/N avoided his lips, their head tilting back with a smirk. His nose bumped their chin before their nose returned a nuzzling.

They cheekily reminded him: “Serve with me. We’re a team.” Their hands found each other again and locked fingers.

“We are,” and Thorn sighed in complete lovestruck awe, “But I will always submit to your will.”

In those gloriously kind eyes, Y/N saw them reflecting the Moonlight, as She - the full moon - reflected the Sun’s to Earth. Sharing the adoration that spread life and warmth throughout the galaxy but this love was just for Y/N. They would bask in it as long as they liked.

“Then get on your knees and you can prove it, Thorn.”

The covers were flung aside carelessly, for they have no purpose in comparison to a man submitting to his life partner. Thorn did as he was told, though he was quick to grow impatient from his kneeling spot at the foot of the bed. These traditions, he would follow them resolutely, if not slightly needy; he had been told to kneel, not yet to touch. Meanwhile, Y/N moved at their leisure towards him. They had an entire night to be worshipped and watching Thorn fidget, like a dog being asked to stay when a treat was balanced on his snout, was a good start. Those eyes were still bright with full moon delight. They watched as Y/N carefully removed their underwear, leaving the bed only to drop the pair with Thorn’s discarded socks.

“You’re so good sometimes,” Y/N reminded Thorn and the corners of their mouth ticked up. They perched on the bed’s left corner. As Thorn leant into their fingers, they fisted at his hair and dragged that hand around to his cheek. Unable to resist, they tenderly slapped it again. His beard was rough against their fingers, and the groan Thorn let out sweetened the deal.

Spreading their legs, Y/N leant back on their hands and their hips tauntingly raised before Thorn’s panting mouth. “You may begin your worship.”

He lunged and snatched their thighs with his warm rings stinging their stretch marks. Two long moans of relief sang out. Their harmonies vibrated where the two lovers connected, lips to lips. The tufts of hair pulling matched the scratch of a beard. The belly, the creation of their love, was not yet round enough to hide their life partner from view as he looked up at them hungrily, blinking slowly. He devoured. They let him.

And all this in just the first three seconds.

#thornton adams #king knight #thorn x reader #thornton adams x reader #thorn imagine #king knight imagine #mgg #mgg x reader #mgg fanfic #thorn fanfic #king knight fanfic #my writing #smut #mgg smut #thorn smut #wc: >1k #r: gn

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ackerfics · 3 years

Text

the parent trap — levi ackerman (iii)

part one | part two

— levi ackerman x female reader (modern au | the parent trap au)

— warnings: angst if you squint??? and another original character that was annoying to write

— summary: caelum was too excited coming back home to london but found out that there was someone ruining their plan with their advances.

— word count: 6.6k

— author’s notes: this has been updated yey !!! i’m so happy to finally write for their series again. i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it.

London was an entirely different world for the boy of eleven, blue-gray eyes memorizing every building and street as their car drove past the city.

The trip back home finished without a hitch; the only thing perplexing Caelum was that he was directed to the first-class section of the plane by one of the stewardesses. If there weren’t many people behind him, waiting for their turn to board on the plane, he would’ve stood longer at the entrance. The entire flight was spent vibrating with excitement on his seat, thoughts revolving around finally meeting you, his mother. His anticipation remained until he went out to look for Oluo at the airport, neck craning and standing on top of an airport seat to get a glimpse of the butler. Everything was going smoothly, Oluo never suspected anything when they did their handshake, however, the older man questioned him on his hair. Even though he practiced it a dozen times, Caelum froze in front of the narrowed eyes of their butler. Something was underlying in his gaze that made the gray-eyed boy nervous, managing out the reason for his undercut with a crafted smile.

“Now you remind me of someone I used to know when I went with your mother to a university overseas.”

Caelum was praying to any deity that this will not foil the plan.

If the first-class ticket and London’s bustling streets didn’t make Caelum awestruck, the house bearing the name [Last Name] in the gates definitely did. It was exactly like what was described to him and more. The first thing that came to his mind when he laid his eyes on the cozy home was that it looked like it belonged in a fairy tale. There were vines placed immaculately on the walls, presenting flowers with the color palette of lilacs, carnation pinks, and baby blues. The garden was a sight to behold and for Caelum, all the flowers he could remember were present there and taken with utmost care. Butterflies drifted in various areas of the estate, making it look magical than it already is.

It was a refreshing sight after all those years of seeing maroon and deep green walls.

When he heard the car door close behind him, Caelum jumped an inch in the air and composed himself. The tips of fashioning this aristocratic persona ringing in his head and reminding him of what he was here for — his gaze unknowingly going to the window above the front door, its curtains flying because of the wind. Oluo placed a gentle hand on the little boy’s shoulders, a smile painting the man’s lips as he gestured for the little master of the household to greet his awaiting family. With an excited smile, he went up the pathway and reached the door. When he placed a hand on the doorknob, he could feel his heart beating erratically in his chest with his cheeks hurting from how widely he was smiling since he landed from his flight.

A small, shaking hand was placed on top of his heart, a deep breath was released, and finally, Caelum opened the door.

A hallway greeted him, paintings coloring the plain background, and carpet leading to a set of stairs. There were two doorways on either side of the hallway. Caelum glanced at the closed door to the left side of the hallway before peeking excitedly at the doorway with a tantalizing smell emanating from it. As if he was about to enter Wonderland, the onyx-haired boy took careful steps into a vast living room. The couches were arranged to be surrounding a low table and facing a fireplace that was between two open doorways, which Caelum noticed was leading to a study or mini-library.

A vase with white roses behind the long couch caught his attention, making his way over there the moment he saw the card dangling from the stems. It wasn’t in him to be nosy but the scented card with romantic connotations was enough for him to feel nervous. The roses now didn’t sit right with him the more he stared at it. It was much too flamboyant for the eleven-year-old’s eyes after seeing the flirty card. He hoped to God that it wasn’t what he thinks it is.

Caelum looked up at the top of the wall presenting an open kitchen and dining table. There hung a banner with an explosion of colors saying, ‘Welcome home, Caelum’, in everything glittery that the kid snickered at. It sent a wave of warmth through his little body.

Then, there were giggles coming from the study — a series of small laughter that made Caelum abandon his curiosity of the feast dedicated to his homecoming. He followed the sound towards the library beside the living room, the rustic atmosphere reminding him of the library from the Beauty and the Beast. Even though a whole wall was covered with books from all generations, there was still an armchair positioned under the wide window letting in the cool breeze. A small laugh once again rang through the room. Caelum hesitantly glanced at the desk at the other end of the study, a person holding a newspaper piquing his interest.

Caelum remembered a name.

“Hange?”

A messy array of brown hair, shining glasses, and a lopsided smile were behind the newspaper. The person had stars in their eyes as they planted both hands on the desk, standing up from the chair with a squeal.

“Little bean! My, have you grown in those eight weeks. You’re practically a gangly young man now.”

Hange rounded the desk, arms wide open for the little boy running towards them. They let out a playful huff when Caelum wrapped his arms around their waist, the brown-haired person cooing. The little prince was like a koala, making Hange’s heart melt at the sight. They swayed the two of them back and forth, humming happily under their breath, smile so wide that they didn’t care if it hurt their face. Hange was so happy to finally have the boy home until their mood dampened a little when they felt their button-down shirt becoming wet by the second. Peering down at the onyx-haired boy, Hange panicked at the steady stream of Caelum’s tears, with the boy ducking down to hide his cherry red cheeks that seemed to bloom after realizing he carelessly cried.

“Holy shite, are you alright, little bean? Hey, you can talk to me, you know?”

The gray-eyed boy’s hug tightened around them, taking note of the warmth exuding from the person’s body and welcoming. “I’m home,” he muttered against the shirt of the family friend.

Hange smiled softly at the eleven-year-old boy, planting a kiss on the crown of his head. “Welcome home. Uhm, what are you doing, little bean?”

Caelum stopped from taking a deep breath against the crook of Hange’s neck, his face erupting in a pretty shade of rouge as he looked up at the brown-eyed person. His gaze bounced back from left to right, avoiding any eye contact with Hange. It was rarely that he could express his emotions freely like this and for once, it felt good. His whole life, he always kept his expressions in check when out of the comforts of his house, he hid them behind those scowls his classmates feared or the blank face he perfected under a certain someone’s guise. Caelum smiled brightly at Hange, eyes carrying an entire constellation map that the person gushed internally at. “Just smelling.”

“Smelling?”

“I’m creating a memory,” Caelum whispered only for the two of them, the books their witnesses.

Hange lightly tapped the boy’s nose with their finger. “So what do I smell like?”

“Years from now, I’ll always remember the person who taught me how to read and write short stories, acting them out before my eyes and making me see the beauty of the world. I’ll always remember this person and how they smell like,” he paused to inhale the older person’s scent, “old books, lavender, and orange marmalade.”

Hange snickered. “I miss you!”

“Caelum?”

The two pulled away, looking at the doorway towards the hallway. Hange had a knowing smile on their face, nudging the gray-eyed boy encouragingly to the direction of the melodious voice. “The queen is here, little bean. Go greet her.”

That gesture flew by Caelum’s head as he took careful steps out of the library and to the living room with wide eyes. It was finally happening. The moment he was waiting for all his life. The moment his father across the oceans was waiting for all those years of being separated. Caelum could barely contain the magnitude of feelings circling his stomach, going up towards his chest in the best way possible. He was nervous at the thought that what if you wouldn’t like him. He was excited to finally get a glimpse of your face in real life rather than in pictures. He felt like flying at every step leading him to the hallway that presented the winding stairs. Caelum gulped down his saliva before taking one step nearer the stairs.

There you were, looking like a seraph descending from the heavens with your white flowy, long-sleeved chiffon dress reaching to your toes. Or a fairy gracing the presence of the mortals as you stood barefoot on top of the stairs with the most beautiful smile Caelum received in his lifetime. Your hair was styled in effortless waves that framed your oneiric visage, eyes gleaming from the windows and hand pressed against your heart. Simple pieces of jewelry decorated your neck and wrists, making it seem like you were royalty. He could see how your breath hitched the longer you stared at him, almost as if you remembered something that was supposed to be locked and forgotten. He hoped it was because of this father that you smiled in a bittersweet manner that took Caelum’s breath away.

One thing was certain in the little boy’s mind — the pictures his dad owned didn’t do you justice.

“Mother,” Caelum managed to breathe out.

He can see Hange and Oluo peeking from the living room, the latter being the one tending to the finishing touches made by the cook of the family, but Caelum didn’t mind them witnessing the reunion of two pieces of an incomplete puzzle.

“You’re back,” you gleefully stated, carefully running down the steps of the stairs to engulf your son in a much-awaited hug. You planted a kiss on the side of his head and shoulder, feeling the boy nuzzling more into your figure.

You noticed how much he’s grown the past eight weeks he was away. Even if this was an opportunity for him to make some friends aside from the ones residing in your home, you didn’t want the only piece of your ex-husband to be away that long, much less with seas separating the two of you. Hours before Oluo told you through the telephone that Caelum’s flight just landed, you were mindlessly touching your bare ring finger, the silver band enclosing around it long gone and stored in the confines of your drawer. The blank sketchbook on top of your lap is forgotten with the unfinished sketches of beautiful wedding gowns that your clients requested. If this were set in the times when you were still a university student, the pages of this sketchbook would be filled with defined jawlines, soft light-colored eyes, and a small smirk that you loved so dearly. That person’s face can now be seen on your son, the undercut making his Ackerman features more pronounced.

You pulled away, placing both of your hands on the sides of Caelum’s face. “And with an undercut. Who helped you with this haircut?”

Caelum was crying when he answered, “A boy I met at camp. Do you hate it?” His face was contorted into a grimace since he knew looking like his father would probably affect you.

“Hate it?” You searched his face, kissing his forehead. “No, I absolutely love it. You look so much like someone I know.” Your eyes caught something shiny in his ears. A delighted gasp came out of your lips as you ran a finger on the silver stud earrings decorating Caelum’s ears. “Well, are there any other surprises? Bellybutton rings? Tattoos?” You shared a laugh with Caelum, only for the boy to start crying again. You caressed his cheek, wiping away a tear trickling down. “Oh, darling, what is it? Are you feeling blue at seeing me again?”

Caelum shook his head. “I just missed you so much, Mummy. Don’t worry, these are happy tears.”

You cooed, pulling the little boy in your arms again, patting his back soothingly. “I know.” You can feel him nuzzle his face on your neck, rubbing his back to help him calm down. “This summer has been too long without you, my little prince.” Your eyes met with Hange’s at the entrance of the living room and smiled when you saw them wiping away a stray tear.

“You have no idea, Mum.”

You pulled away from your son, cupping his face delicately on your palms. “Shall we have the feast that was waiting for our prince to come home? I’m sure you’re pretty famished from the flight.”

“Yes, little bean!” Hange exclaimed from the living room. “Oluo prepared the roasted beef especially for you. How about we murder that with our appetites?”

“Please don’t, Hange,” Oluo sighed at the animated person. “I don’t want to clean another mess in the dining table from you and the little prince’s small eating competition.”

“You spoilsport!”

Caelum laughed heartily. “I think that sounds amazing.”

Lunch was divine.

Caelum was hungry after that flight and all the pretending that he gobbled everything that he could place on his plate. It started with the mashed potatoes and gravy, something that he didn’t have for a long time. Then, he tasted the roasted beef Hange mentioned earlier and it took everything in him not to hum in satisfaction. He didn’t want his family to notice that he ate this dish in years when in fact, it was a certain someone’s favorite food. Hange continuously placed some more lunch on his plate that by the end of the meal, Caelum thought that there wasn’t any room in his stomach for dessert. You laughed at the boy’s remark and teased him that if he caught a glimpse of the sweet, he would think twice. And he did. The dessert that followed was a tall, clear glass of strawberry parfait that smelled heavenly for the onyx-haired boy. His father wasn’t too fond of sweets, which meant that whatever his old man was eating, he will entertain it, too. Parfaits after a hearty meal were just the cherry on top of a sundae.

“So you’re saying that you gained a friend in that camp?” Hange asked through a mouthful of the parfait. For some reason, Caelum still understood them despite the unintelligible blabber coming out of their mouth. “And that he’s like your soulmate?”

Caelum nodded as you scolded Hange. You took the napkin on your lap and dabbed it in the corners of your best friend’s mouth, making them presentable and not the mad scientist that they were known for in the university that they worked at. “Hange, at least use the napkin provided by Oluo.”

“Why would I do that when I have you?” Hange cackled after swallowing the full strawberry they plopped in their mouth.

You threw a playful glare their way. “Say that one more time and I won’t hesitate to throw you out of the house.”

“Oh, but you won’t! You love me too much to do that, [Name]!”

You shook your head with a smile before facing your son again with sparkling eyes. “So how did you and your friend meet, little prince?”

“We had a fencing match one time at camp,” he started, vibrantly ready to relate the story.

“Ooh!” Hange interrupted as if they were guests in a quiz show on the telly. “I bet you kicked your friend’s ass at first! You always had a knack for fencing even before Mike taught you the basics.”

Caelum choked on a strawberry, incredulously staring at the brown-haired person. Was he that weak compared to the person he was trying to be at the moment? Judging from the grin of Hange and the proud gleam in your eyes; that would be the case. The little boy they knew took private classes in fencing with a talented family friend, with his life homeschooled (the teacher in any field other than sports being the exuberant scientist just sitting across from him). And there he was, learned fencing because of a show his father was watching. He recalled everything that was told to him back at camp before engaging in an engrossing conversation with the members of his family.

“Uhm, he did a pretty good job parrying my attacks and I have to say, I was impressed when he managed to corner me in the pavilion. To think we managed our way there from the fields.” He prevented the grimace from surfacing. “But I was the one who pushed him in the washing area. His words were too colorful for the whole camp to hear — they gasped.”

Hange’s chortles rang through the dining area. Even Oluo smiled while he poured you another glass of iced tea. Your look of surprise was then replaced with a laugh, joining Hange, though yours weren’t as loud as theirs. “Little bean, now I need to see that!” The brown-haired person spoke in between laughs.

“It is quite funny,” you admitted with a light chuckle. “But think about it, we’re laughing at a boy’s demise.”

“What can I say, Hange’s happiness is too shallow these days,” Oluo interjected from beside the said person, making them stop for a moment to pout at the butler’s statement.

“At least I didn’t always have a stick up my arse,” Hange huffed. “You’re always moody, Oluo. One would think you won’t have any chances in picking up a partner in the future.”

Oluo gasped, a hand placed on his chest.

“Okay, you two, leave the fighting for when Caelum’s not in the room,” you reminded them with a cool stare over the rim of your glass. “This is his day after all.” When you saw them resort to glares to not spoil the atmosphere, you nodded in satisfaction. Placing the glass of iced tea on the coaster beside your plate, you turned to your son who was holding back his amused laughs. “What happened after that—?” Then, your phone rang and everyone’s eyes fixed on the device sitting at your side of the table. With a sheepish mutter of apologies, you stood up and answered the call from your wedding gown studio. “Hello, [Name] [Last Name] speaking.”

“Ma’am [Name], thank God you answered immediately,” Armin, your secretary, practically shouted in relief. “There was a problem here and we would like to ask for your inquiry. I know Caelum just got home today but Historia’s gown has some minor complications.”

You hummed, taking a glance at your son laughing at something Hange said (probably another one of their experiments that they recently tested out), and fixed a smile on your face. Armin was a sweet soul who always had a talent for managing your wedding gown business — being the brains of the whole team. You were kind of lucky when he applied to be your secretary because the way he organized everything around the studio and the way he conversed with your clients was just sent from the heavens. “How bad is it? What exactly did Historia say?” Your client, Historia Reiss, was one of the kindest people you welcomed in your studio. You only hoped this wasn’t as bad as you conjured in your mind because there’s not a negative thing that came out of that young woman’s lips.

“She said that the veil covers too much of her gown,” Armin sighed. There was a faint chatter in the background and you discerned Sasha’s voice asking if there was free lunch because Caelum came home. “Sasha, no, I won’t ask her that. Just buy something from the bakery down the road,” Armin exasperatedly answered his colleague’s question, his voice too far away from his phone. “Hello, Ma’am, I’m sorry, Sasha asked me something.”

You laughed. “No, it’s alright, Armin. Good to know that you’re all lively there. How about this, I’ll be right over the studio in about ten minutes to fix the issue with Historia’s veil and bring you some packed food. Is that alright with you?”

“Fuck, yes!” Came from the other line, followed by a “Sasha, she can hear you, mind your language! Ah, yes, Ma’am! We will be waiting for your arrival. Have a safe trip going here!”

“Always, Armin,” you replied, the call cutting off. You turned around and faced your little family with a bright smile. “Sorry, I bet that was a loud call.”

“Was that from the studio, Miss [Name]?” Oluo voiced out the collective question of the people at the dining table.

You nodded, taking a seat beside your son again. “They have some small problems with my current client’s veil. Didn’t specify the problem because Sasha asked Armin if I should bring some food over to them. They must be hungry from all those clients coming over for a photo shoot.”

“Ah, I miss those little rascals,” Hange sighed, leaning back on the chair with a satisfied hum.

“They’re not little, Hange. Connie is practically taller than all of us here.”

“Ah, I miss those rascals.” Oluo snorted from behind Hange’s chair. The brown-haired person turned around to give the butler a playful, narrowed look. “I heard that.”

You chuckled at their little banter, eagerly facing your son. He rose an eyebrow at your hopeful face so you told him with an arm wrapped around his shoulder. “Hey, little prince, want to clear your afternoon schedule and come with me to the studio? Everybody there has been dying to see you after eight weeks.”

“Really?!” Caelum brightened at the invitation. Too much that Hange and Oluo stopped their bickering to stare at the boy with surprised faces. Of course, their little prince always held an excitement whenever you invite him to your studio but this time, it seemed like he was too eager as if he never stepped foot in your safe haven of tulles and silks. Upon realizing the mistake, Caelum let out a nervous laugh, scratching his undercut sheepishly. “Uhm, because I miss them, too. Being away from home for eight weeks is taking a toll on me. Makes me forget the little things here.” He didn’t meet any pair of eyes around the dining room, hoping that they wouldn’t pay too much mind in his little slip-up.

It was always your son’s enthusiasm that made you cherish him his whole life. He was rather closed-off with strangers, making his first meeting with the people in the studio rocky. Seeing him express such joy at the prospect of meeting Armin, Sasha, and Connie again sent a smile on your face. You pinched his cheek endearingly, kissing the crown of his head right after. “I understand, sweetheart. Whenever I go overseas for a client, I would forget what home feels like, too. Well, then,” you turned to the two people smiling at your interaction with Caelum, “will you two hold the fort while we go visit the bridal shop?”

Hange flashed a huge grin that made you wary for a second, two thumbs-up for the dining room to see. “Don’t worry, [Name]! You know I’m more than capable of keeping this place squeaky clean and free of malignant atmosphere.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Oluo murmured.

“Again, I heard that, Oluo!”

“So we’re just going to forget how you nearly set the kitchen on fire because you wanted to try baking? Or that time where the house looked like a pigsty because you stayed inside your lab for who knows how long while we’re away for Miss [Name]’s client in Greece? Or—“

Hange waved their hands around. “Okay, okay! You don’t have to remind me of those, Oluo!” They all but whined.

“We don’t have to worry about those anymore because Oluo is here to make sure nothing of that sort happens again,” you told them, standing up from your seat and offering a hand to Caelum. “And, Oluo, can you pack some food fit for five people? I bet Sasha didn’t eat her lunch yet.” The little boy took your waiting palm with a warm smile, returning it with a grin of your own. “I’ll head first to my room to pick up my sandals and handbag, then we’ll be good to go.”

Caelum followed you out of the house after changing into a baby blue suit. He didn’t have any of this clothing in his closet back home, fidgeting with the collar of his undershirt that was buttoned up because he couldn’t breathe properly. The two of you were inside the family car, the chauffeur following your instructions of heading straight to the studio when you noticed how he kept fiddling with the top buttons of his white button-down. Reaching a gentle hand on his neck, you unbuttoned the too-tight undershirt, chuckling in disbelief. “You always unbutton the top button of your button-down whenever you wear your suits. What made you change your mind today?”

The gray-eyed boy froze for a second before laughing at his mistake. “I just forgot, I guess? I’m so excited to be in the studio that it completely flew from my mind.”

You hummed, putting this aside as you looked out the bustling city passing by. You felt a small hand subtly clutching your own, making you turn to Caelum who was also staring into the buildings outside their vehicle. You smiled, squeezing his hand tightly to let him know you’re always there for him. You didn’t miss the small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. The steady playlist emanating from the radio made you relax until you reached the white establishment that carried all your hard work.

“Have a good day in the studio, Miss [Name],” the chauffeur bid you goodbye.

“Thank you so much, Marcus,” you replied, going out of the car with Caelum in tow.

The studio was breathtaking just like your house. Caelum had to prevent the look of awe sprawled on his visage. The building was pristine white with a huge window showcasing the many gowns you designed through the years, some of them were made after the original dress was sold to remember the people who you made happy on their wedding day. There was a glowing chandelier visible through the glass and a huge space between hanger racks of white gowns. Caelum took the front of the studio in with a proud smile until his eyes stopped on the gold, cursive letters on the building and the glass windows. There was only one person in his mind who fits the letters L.A. and he was across the sea with his twin. Caelum glanced at you, a spark of hope flaring in his chest at the sight of your loving smile directed at the letters.

The plan will be sailing perfectly in no time.

“You know who would look really beautiful in that gown?” Caelum looked up to you with a wide smile. “Like breathtakingly beautiful?”

“Who?”

“You.”

You stared at Caelum incredulously. Did Hange say anything? Knowing your best friend, if a secret is shared with them, they wouldn’t hesitate to spread the good news. Despite that, they were still the most lovable person you know in your lifetime. You ruffled your son’s hair affectionately. “Did Hange say something? I was hoping I would be the one to tell you the news.” The look of confusion on Caelum’s face made you smile. “You know, eight weeks has been a long time, and,” you trailed off, staring into the initials on your studio, “I think it’s time for us to have changes in our family. Let’s go inside, yeah?”

What you didn’t notice when entering the studio was a pale, horrified Caelum following you.

Surely this isn’t what he was assuming at the moment. But the image of the bouquet of white roses sitting daintily in the living room back home was plaguing his mind. That flirty card he accidentally read. He couldn’t help but say,

“Fucking hell.”

You glanced at your son with raised eyebrows. “Did you say anything, sweetheart?”

An innocent smile replaced the scowl on Caelum’s face. “Nothing, Mum.”

There was some clamoring in the next room that attracted your attention. You squeezed Caelum’s shoulders before entering the main studio that housed the people you grew to care about. Connie was manning the camera and lighting, Sasha trying her best to help Historia with adjusting her veil, and Armin pacing in the middle of the room with a hand on his chin. Historia’s fiancé, Ymir, was standing at the side clad in a white suit, worried for her lover’s situation. At the sound of your laugh, the blonde man looked up and instantly brightened, almost as if you were a goddess relieving them from their hardships, which is exactly why you’re there.

“Ma’am [Name]!” Armin exclaimed with brilliant sapphires directed at you. “I’m so happy you’re finally here!” He turned his head to the side to catch the attention of his coworkers. “Guys, she’s here!”

“Yey!” Sasha cheered.

“Miss [Name],” Historia breathed. “You’re finally here.”

“Don’t you worry, Historia,” you reassured, walking towards the small group of people. “Can you tell me what the problem is? Oh, and Sasha, there’s some food for all of you in Caelum’s bag.”

Caelum lifted the lunch bag in the air, jumping back when the brown-haired girl dashed in his direction with stretched arms. He let out a yelp when he felt a bone-crushing hug from the woman. She reminded him of Hange when he arrived home earlier. Caelum shakily laughed at the grip and swaying of Sasha. He could tell she was a lovable person and when she pulled away from him, a large grin mirrored his. “Hello, Sasha,” he greeted.

“Caelum, little prince!” she squealed. “Aw, you’re still so cute as ever. And you got an undercut!” She gasped. “It looks so good on you, champ.”

“Thank you.”

“So the veil is covering the backside of the gown,” you noted as Historia wore the train of fabric. Caelum and Sasha looked on to where you were standing, hair now tied in a high ponytail, locks curling against the back of your neck. “But if the veil isn’t there to accentuate the dress, it feels bare. Historia, love, can you try turning sideways with your chin up?” Historia followed your instructions, revealing the back of the dress where flowers were sewed on top of a see-through fabric covering the blonde’s back. You hummed, “Darling, is it alright if we change the veil?”

Caelum stared at you, eyes shining as you started to wear the façade of being the known designer in Europe. It clogged up his throat that he finally saw you like this. Years and years of talking to the stars and asking them if they can align your fates together to meet you for the first time were all worth it. Caelum bets that if it’s nighttime at the moment, the little dots making up the cosmos would shine even more, and they would rain their lights down on you. Because you were so beautiful that Caelum felt like crying. His mother is finally at his reach. He truly loved his dad but a motherly lullaby will be the one completing his dream. His dad would be over the moon seeing you this way, with your flowy dress and genuine smile, Caelum hoped that it was enough to make Levi fall in love again.

“Your mum is amazing, right?” Sasha knowingly told him. The boy was out of his trance, facing the woman who was munching on a piece of chocolate chip cookies. “Every time you would visit the studio, you always have that look on your face while watching your mum. It’s like, to you, Ma’am [Name] holds the entire universe in her hands. And I agree.” The brown-haired girl smiled, looking at you picking out some tulle in the nearby rack, Armin helping you decide. “You know that feeling where a person feels so far away yet they’re there in front of you? That describes what Ma’am [Name] is like to us. She sometimes got this faraway look that it’s hard to bring her back to us.”

Caelum pursed his lips. “I think she’s just missing someone.”

“Oh?” Sasha was surprised to hear that, especially since you have someone at the moment. “Do you know that person?”

The onyx-haired boy looked up at Sasha with a sad smile. “It’s a person across the ocean, longing for her, too.” He looked down at the carpeted floor. “It would take years for them to meet again but I know this time, something will kindle again.”

“That’s the person behind the name of this bridal shop, isn’t it?”

Caelum nodded. “I hear he’s an amazing man.”

“I think so, too.”

“Caelum, sweetheart,” you called out. “What do you think?” You gestured to Historia, intricately woven hair decorated with the veil you made at the last minute. It was a shoulder-length veil of a single-layered tulle, the top bunched up to imitate a band holding the fabric together. There were pinpricks of small gems in the veil, making it lovelier than before.

“It looks amazing, Mum,” the boy whispered, the response a signal enough for you to continue the photoshoot. There was movement in the corner of his eyes and Caelum found himself looking at an awestruck Ymir, eyes solely focused on her fiancé. Did his dad ever look at you like that when you were still together? Will he still look at you like that after years of separation?

“Can you check these shots, Ma’am [Name]?” Connie asked, showing you his camera screen.

“That’s beautiful. I love how Historia shows the gown like that. Historia, love, can you do those turns again? And smile the widest, think of this as your wedding day and Ymir is standing at the end of the aisle, waiting for you. There we go! Did you get that, Connie?”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

“Darling, are you still here?”

An unfamiliar voice came from the entrance. Sasha groaned in distaste, making Caelum curious as to who would barge in the studio without an appointment. It seems like it wasn’t only Sasha who expressed their dislike to the person, Armin had a wince on his face and Connie rolled his eyes inconspicuously because you were by his side. Caelum turned to the sound of the voice and a tall man clad in a three-piece suit greeted his eyes. The man’s face was contorted in a smug, cocky expression that screamed he was above everyone else. The gray-eyed boy heard Sasha mutter, “Arsehole,” under her breath. He furrowed his brows in confusion and irritation as the man sauntered inside the studio, making his way to you. His jaw fell to the ground when the unknown man wrapped his arms around your waist.

Caelum missed the way your form tense under the embrace of the man.

“Lucas, I’m working,” you told him in a flat tone, the earlier atmosphere dissipating at the arrival of this Lucas person. “I told you through the phone that I’m unavailable today. Why are you here?”

“Aw,” Lucas cooed, planting a kiss on the side of your neck. “I just miss my bride-to-be. Is that too much? I went into your house and asked that boisterous scientist friend of yours. Hannah? Is that her name?”

“Their name is Hange and don’t refer to them with a specific pronoun or call them boisterous,” you reminded him in a tired voice. “You know the reason, right?”

“Of course, silly me,” he laughed. “I texted and called you too many times this afternoon. Why aren’t you answering?”

“I had my phone on silent because I’m working.”

“Why have a phone if you don’t even use it?”

“Why come here if we don’t want to see your face?” Sasha murmured, hiding it behind a bite of a cookie.

“Who’s that?” Caelum asked no one in particular, his incredulous face showing a multitude of emotions.

“That man is Lucas Williams,” Armin answered since Sasha was too busy grumbling and eating at the same time. The blonde gave the boy a sympathetic smile. “Maybe your mum didn’t tell you this yet but that man over there, clinging like a koala to her, is her fiancé. We were actually surprised one day at the start of summer when your mum entered the shop with him following her like a clueless child. I heard from Ma’am [Name] that Lucas was the man your grandparents wanted her to marry when she was young. I think they set her up with him the moment you went away for summer camp.”

“No,” Caelum breathed, repeating it like a mantra.

“The little shite is here?” Lucas asked, looking around the room until his eyes met with dull gray irises. “There’s my future son. How was camp, Your Highness?” That nickname immediately settled a bad taste in Caelum’s mouth. It was too mocking for his liking. “It’s boring, right? Your mum insisted to let it happen because you were deprived of social interaction your whole life. Oh, stop looking at me like you’re ready to murder me. That’s so cute.”

The boy’s eyes transferred from the annoying man to your worried ones. His glare softened into a pleading pair of eyes, wordlessly asking you if what Armin said was true. You could only look away with a hurt expression and a hand over your arm, answering all the questions in his mind. No, this can’t be. If you’re to be married, what was going to happen to the plan? He was sure that you still love his dad, that you long for him, but why did you accept this proposal? What’s more distasteful was that this man had no care in his surroundings, being too loud that even Historia retreated to where Ymir was.

If looks could kill, This Lucas person would have been too deep in the ground for it to be called a grave.

And the more Caelum glared at him, the more he noticed things that are amiss — just like that faint imprint of pink lipstick on his neck, just below his ear. His eyes widened in realization, analyzing the way Lucas looked at you.

It wasn’t like the way Levi would look at your pictures.

There wasn’t any lingering affection and adoration in Lucas’s eyes.

Caelum will do anything to cut off Lucas from your life. A new plan will be set in motion, he hoped the other boy in California will accept the changes Caelum will be making.

The next morning when breakfast wafted through every part of the first floor of the [Last Name] residence, his phone rang with a very mysterious caller name, ‘Weatherby’. He excused himself from the dining table and locked himself in his room, leaving behind the questioning pairs of eyes following his running form. Sitting on the plush mattress of his bed, Caelum leaned forward until both elbows settled on top of his knees.

A posh voice that he was trying to imitate rang through the other line of the call, “It’s me. We have a major problem here. A pest made herself known. What’s your situation over there?”

Altair took a deep breath, losing the British accent. “Please don’t freak out, Cae, but,” there was a pause, “Mom’s getting married.”

taglist:

@loveprisms @halparkebitch @omlbarnes @a--nonymousse

just give me an ask if you want to be added to the taglist !!

#attack on titan #aot x reader #snk #snk x reader #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi attack on titan #modern au #shingeki no kyojin #rorywrites #the parent trap

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x-heesy · 4 months

Text

𝚂𝚠𝚊𝚐 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚔

Hip hop hooligan, I never went back to school again

When I figured how to use the pen

On the path of revenge, on the loose again

Rollin' 20 deep with my Ghost Town bully clan

Who I am? You may call me the boogeyman

And if ya ass is fat, we can do a dance

Teddy Killerz steady kill it in the mix

Wicked with the lyric shit, you know I never miss

I ran into a million dumb people in the biz

They said I rap too evil, but now I'm gettin' rich

I don't give a shit though, kick it like a schizo

Another horrorcore banger for your disco

You think you're in the clouds, I will take you higher

Sound like a got a throat full of razor wire

(It's) Time to get dough, (It's) time to explode

How the rest goes, you can ask Dope

Rotten representin', raisin' tension

Nobody in your damn crew's worth the fuckin' mention

You're doin' quite well, it's an intervention

Kill 'em all off, it's just wackness prevention

Centre of attention, mow 'em all down, don't make no exceptions

Don't really care 'bout the house of correction

My fam right here don't need no protection, pay attention

No objections, it's time for redemption

Out for perfection, I'm gunnin' like Texans

Didn't see ya comin', ace in deception

Push this whole thing to another direction

Explosives, I've got a whole collection

I'll make sure you'll get a warm reception

You unaware, incoming detecting

The Master Xploder's blowin' up your section

What up is, I got some rough shit for you suckas

Fuck the police, never talk rubbish

Butterfly knives, comin' for your stomach

The GOAT nigga runnin', the dope nigga runnin'

I want 5 hundred motherfuckin' million

It's that or your children, blow up the building

Now hands to the ceiling and bitch we ain't kiddin nah

The way we livin' there's no fucks to be given nah

Puff loud even better than Cheech

Then I preach like a motherfuckin' Cherokee Chief

I got reach from the streets to the Pelican Beach

We got beats that'll breach through you pussy ass creeps

So what's good nigga, test me I wish you would nigga

Dope D.O.D. you misunderstood nigga

So cut the crap cause I'm colder than Cola

Better than Hova, (Who?) Master Xploder

@bigbonzo @boanerges20

Desperados by Dope D.O.D., Simon Roofless

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crazyfoxfur16 · 1 year

Text

House of the Dragon Mood Boards #35

Princess Alysanne Targaryen

“Aly”, “Anne”, & “The Dragonless Princess”

Wielder of the Valyrian Steel Sword “Purple Onyx”

Rider of the White Stallion

“The White Killer”

Author’s Note: Alysanne and the White Stallion are ocs in my Fan-fic, Alysanne is the daughter of Bailey. Please enjoy and feel free to ask any questions. Love y’all ;)

#the white stallion #alysanne targaryen #hotd

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 21

First time reader click here

TWs/SUMMARY: Wanda fluff, Loki fluff, we're getting a whole ass friendship! Dad sucks. The outfits are neat tho! Check the end for a mood board 😍

a/n: dress inspo and aesthetic visuals can be found here, here and here. (Paolo Sebastian, Firefly Path gowns and Viona Ielegems photography).

"Gi-i-irl..." Wanda drawled, seeing me arrive with Tony, both of us freshly showered and still hazy from the amazing orgasms. God only knew what she'd seen in both of our heads - if judging only by the vivid, crimson blush she spouted, it was definitely something very NSFW. Bruce already sat at the dinner table, quietly slurping his soup, his back and shoulders the most relaxed I'd ever seen. He gave me a knowing smile once he noticed my presence in my usual spot by his side.

The rest of the team appeared completely oblivious, preoccupied by their food.

"So, about the party. Got any costume ideas?" I cut straight to the chase, unwilling to wait for Wanda to start asking for details right in front of everyone.

Steve, Bucky, Pietro, Thor and Natasha all answered affirmative, the latter whacking Clint upside the head and firmly stating "no funny business". I couldn't help but wonder what kind of crazy shit the Bird had in mind and was kind of disappointed at Nat's intervention. A good chaotic moment was always worthwhile in my opinion!

The other bird, Sam, approached Bruce with caution as he wondered if the scientist was interested in doing a paired costume with him, only to be interrupted by Tony declaring, with childish glee, he had a "wicked project" that he and Bruce would be doing together. The scientist gave a resigned sigh and apologized.

Sam wasn't deterred by the slight setback; he approached Clint instead and after being given an okay from Natasha, the Birds decided to pair up. As they should, if you'd ask me.

"I have a costume but I need some accessories. Wanda, Lokes, join me on my lil' shopping trip?" I prompted, wanting everybody to be included. I was fully prepared for Loki to scoff and dismiss my invitation but the Asgardian nodded after a second of brief speechlessness. Didn't anyone invite him to birthday parties as a kid? Either way, Thor gave me a grateful smile, like a proper big brother. Both Asgardians had grown visibly closer during the past couple of months which made me hide a secretive smile behind a spoonful of soup.

It turned out, Loki hadn't exactly been introduced to the buzzing beehive that is NYC. He didn't get out much and when he needed to be somewhere, the man simply teleported to the desired destination. As convenient as it must've been, I still expressed my outrage at his lack of experience doing the usual "touristy" things that, in my opinion, every non-newyorker was obligated to do when visiting. Yes, even if said visitor had literally traveled across different galaxies.

Wanda wasn't much better in terms of city knowledge. According to her, she'd lived here for several years already but never bothered to go beyond the borders of the block surrounding the Avengers tower. The witch didn't have friends outside of her teammates (therapy. they all needed so much therapy. y'all...) so she simply saw no point in going anywhere beyond the local mall.

Which was trash. I mean, I loved Hot Topic and Forever 21 as much as any other young adult with depression and anxiety but it was literally impossible to wear clothes made out of cheap cotton and polyester all the time. I'm pretty sure I would have hives and ulcers if I attempted that.

"We're going on Sixth Avenue and that's final. No friend of mine will be wearing shit from Wal-Mart at a Stark party," I interrupted Wanda's defensive stuttering, using my other hand to summon an Uber.

"That is good advice," Loki, previously silent, added in a sweet tone. I counted on the fashionable Asgardian to be on my side and with his schmoozing skills, I didn't even have to drag Wanda inside the car by, like, her hair or whatever. The three of us barely fit into the small Toyota anyway.

A thought struck me when I had to consciously avoid stepping on Loki's leather shoes and keep away my elbow from Wanda's stomach. "Mister? I'll give you a hundred bucks cash if you turn around and drive to this address," I hurriedly rattled off my home address, delighting in the way the driver nearly did a U-turn at the mention of crispy dollar bills.

We arrived home quickly. Wanda gaped in mild disbelief at the size of my house while Loki looked about as interested as he'd ever be. His face was akin to an expression one made while smelling fresh manure. Opening the garage, I was greeted with an unpleasant surprise of my dad's outrageously painted Corvette standing neatly by my white Range Rover.

Loki looked and felt considerably less tense in the back of my car. The subtle signs of discomfort all but left his face replaced by slight wonder as I explained how to adjust the temperature and turn on the heated seats.

Dad met us at the gates. "You didn't come in to say hello," He pouted. His breath reeked like a five-day drinking binge hangover and he looked a dead man.

"We're in a hurry, dad. There's a lot to be done," I replied curtly, hoping to get rid of him fast. I hated being sober around my drunk father. My fingers twitched on the steering wheel.

"You're like your mother, always busy," Dad's laugh was coarse and bitter. "But at least you find time for Stark and his friends. That'll do your future real good," He clapped once on the hood of my car, heading back to the house with a wave of his hand, just in time to miss the disgusted shudder that ran through me.

I knew my dad well enough to understand the implications of what he meant by his words. In his world, fucking way up to the top was considered the norm. I'd rather cut off my own foot than use Tony that way.

"Sorry you had to see that. I thought he was still in Cali," I gritted my teeth, pulling out of the driveway.

"I'm sorry you had to experience that. I have no kind words regarding your father," Loki's look was sympathetic in the rearview mirror.

"Or your mother," Wanda added, messing with her seatbelt. Loki nodded tersely.

"Aight, aight," I sighed, set on improving the mood. "Let's not poop this party. We're getting some absolutely delicious beverages and wasting my money on outrageous pretty things. My treat."

Wanda's protests were drowned out by Motorhead and Loki's grumbling was overshadowed by Guns'n'Roses. Their resistance didn't stand a chance. Few blocks out, the witch was singing along to November Rain, heavily accented and terribly off-key, and the Asgardian watched New York city intently behind the protection of the tinted rear windows of my ride. He seemed mesmerized by the crowds and the variety of colorful shop fronts. This was the the one and only reason I eased off the gas pedal and drove the speed limit for once.

The atmosphere was, well, magical. Looking at my two companions, I discovered the familiar city anew with every question they asked, every remark they made. The desire to ask in turn about their homelands melted like the tension I was harbouring after the run-in with my father. Content and warm, I had my attention divided between Loki and Wanda juggling their wonder back-and-forth between themselves and the absolutely crazy NYC traffic.

So what if I parked in a no-parking zone just to get us the most delicious coffee in the city? Loki, the resident tea person, ordered himself something unpronounceable, something that made the barista twitch. Wanda got a sugary-sounding vanilla-white chocolate perversion. I just got a mocha, having had outgrown my adolescent desires to experiment with "how sweet can I make this coffee before I literally puke?" beverages.

With a laugh, I instructed them to pose in front of the nearest reflective surface to brag about our coffees on Instagram - this café deserved more recognition. My companions reluctantly obliged.

I wonder if the barista realized just who had bought the coffee - Loki was quite a media darling when it came to fangirls. Tony's PR team did a wonderful job on the Asgardian's redemption arc. The trickster only fueled the utter devotion his fangirls had for him by being extra nice and charming in every video I've seen. I guess you can't out-mindcontrol manners outta somebody, he was raised a prince after all.

It wasn't raining but the autumn chill seeped into the tiny spaces between my layers of clothing. I already managed to regret my fashionable dark academia inspired outfit at least twice, however the matching vibe all three of us had was positively dashing. Loki, wearing his usual onyx black and dark green. Wanda with a burgundy sweater dress and thigh high platformed boots - sweater dresses, out of all things, had no business looking this good on anybody. But she pulled it off.

"You said you've got a costume. Mind sharing what it is?" The witch said, curiously peeking into the windows of a nearby vintage boutique as we took our leisurely stroll with steaming paper cups keeping our fingers warm.

"A fairy dress. It was custom made for me last year and I actually didn't get to wear it. I need some jewelry to go with it," I explained, stopping to show a photo of the dress on my smartphone. "And some shoes, too. Let's hope the party will be held completely indoors, otherwise I'll freeze my ass off."

"Custom made?" Wanda squeaked, looking at the garment in wonder. Loki gave a vaguely approving nod.

"Yeah, there's a company that makes these fantasy dresses. You want one? What did you have in mind for your costume anyway?" I switched the topic quickly, seeing how Wanda withdrew into herself slightly. I heard from Peter she grew up poor, in the middle of a war and I didn't want to make her feel bad or anything. I wasn't good at these things...

"I thought maybe I could match with you," She replied, slowly taking a sip of her coffee.

"Sure. There are a couple of shops with really cute dresses that fit the aesthetic." Marchesa. We need a Marchesa store. And a Zuhair Murad - if there was one on this stretch of road. "What about you, Lokes? Anything in particular strike your fancy?" I asked our silent companion, frantically googling the information I needed.

"Black," He answered moodily.

"Boo, you whore," I rolled my eyes at his scoff. We had watched the Mean Girls recently and he got the reference, immediately raising a sarcastic eyebrow. "You know, you could do so much with this pale aristocratic look you've got going on. How about a medieval vampire?"

"Like Lestat? He's fucking hot," Wanda and I understood each other promptly. She jumped on the bandwagon immediately.

Combining my blunt honesty and her adorable fawning over a fictional bloodsucker, we managed to convince Loki into going on a hunt for brocaded, velvet suits and blouses with ruffles for his look. The trickster revolted at the mere suggestion of procuring some fake fangs, instead magically making them appear and showing them off in the middle of the crowded sidewalk, much to my and Wanda's delighted shrieking. He looked, I daresay, very attractive, like a porcelain figurine. Delicate but dangerous.

We arrived at the store that showcased beautiful, airy dresses of silk, chiffon and tulle. The lace was delicate and the seams invisible. I ushered Wanda into a dressing room with a shop attendant that was quietly but strictly instructed to not discuss the cost of the dresses and hide the price tags.

"I want it to be a gift. My friend here deserves no less than a magical experience," I explained quietly, winking at a bewildered Loki.

"Why did you do that?" He asked once Wanda was given a selection of several dresses in flattering colours and led into a separate dressing room.

"These dresses, they're special so they're a bit pricey. And knowing Wanda, she'll make a scene and refuse to let me buy them for her," I idly twirled my phone in my hands. "But every girl wants to be a princess and it's kinda sad she never got to be one. It's more than just a dress, it's more than feeling pretty, although it's a big part of it. She'll feel on top of the world."

Loki nodded. I'm certain he didn't understand it - being a man and all - and I wasn't sure I understood it completely, too. I never lacked pretty or expensive things, always got whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. But for a moment, I thought how it must've been for Wanda - seeing all these girls on TV, looking like pictures - and never having the chance to experience that. A concept that made me so sad, I was tempted to ask the customer service person for a glass of scotch. Being poor sounded depressing as hell.

Suddenly, Loki's cool, large hand landed on mine. "Thank you. I am certain Wanda will be the most beautiful lady at the ball."

I stared at him. Loki understood.

"Well, I... I don't know how finicky you are on gender labels for clothes, but there were a couple of blouses you might want to check out. They've got the neck ruffles and shit." My throat suddenly seized up and I had to clear it before speaking, steering away from the uncomfortably emotional moment. Thankfully, Loki wandered off without as much as a word.

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& the promised aesthetic

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