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iphigeniainaulis · 2 years

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C means Coffee | What coffee shop drinks can be associated with Ikevamp suitors

I really wanted to participate in the content creation challenge hosted by @xxsycamore and @queengiuliettafirstlady but couldn't write anything satisfying. So, I ended up with short series about what I love most — coffee

Promt: Day 5 — Small shop AU

Characters: Mozart, Comte, Napoleon, Sebastian, Shakespeare, Dazai, Vincent

Warnings: minor spoilers

Lemon affogato — Mozart

Chances are you won't like it at first.

An affogato is an ice cream based beverage. A few drops of hot Nespresso make it taste less like crunched snow, but generally speaking it's better to take this drink slowly, especially if you have sensitive teeth.

The same goes to Mozart. He may seem distant and sarcastic, his room is always chilly from Parisian draughts even in summer, and his welcoming “I despise you” breaths with the cold of January blizzard, making your face twist in such grimaces as if you’ve eaten dozens of sour lemons at once.

But if you show patience, you'll actually see how quickly this colossal lump of ice melts under the warm light in your cosy coffee shop. That's when you learn that lemons are actually sweet, and ice cream is not as solid as it used to be at the beginning of your banquet.

And if you want to spice things a little bit, add a teaspoon of any rum liqueur, for example, Kahlua. You'll see how an iceberg can turn into a lava volcano. Or is it the same thing?

Espresso martini — Comte

The story behind the origin of this drink was literally one young lady coming to the club and asking for something that could “wake her up, and then fuck her up.”

Nobody described Comte’s nature better than her.

One of the reasons why Comte’s presence in the room is so thrilling seems to be his complicated nature that much like this heady brew of coffee and alcohol consists of millions of contradictory fractions mixed together in a single person.

The first feeling you get after taking a sip reminds you of tasting a rich viscous mixture of classical espresso and exquisite French liquor on the tip of your tongue — close in a way to trying mead or honey wine but with its top note having a bitter flavour. It’s similar to what you think of him when meeting the nobleman for the very first time. Honey associates with ambery sweetness and the serenity of evening sun, with the colour of his eyes and the ultimate comfort you enjoy in the company of the father figure of the mansion. Although deep inside you know there is this courteous nonchalance, the invisible distance that he prefers to keep between the two of you and that makes you ask yourself subconsciously whether the forbidden fruit is as sweet as they promise?

If you're bold enough to indulge further into the drink’s flavour, be prepared for another surprise.

The cocktail’s name provides an idea that Martini Asti — a sparkling strong but not too strong wine made from white muscat — may be on the ingredients list.

What do you end up with? Right, a wave of frosty heat is rushing to your chest. It's vodka.

Comte may act like a perfect gentleman, but you know that his true self doesn’t match such a flattering description. He is not about rules and etiquette — he is the rave of colours, the passion of wild nature, the deepest senses brought to their maximum.

Don't let fancy covers and titles misguide you. With good Comte you never get what you expect. What has been hidden under the dust of centuries of self-control, self-restriction and self-destruction may find its way out in your warm embrace, and in this case you better be ready.

Because his love will literally wake you up and then fuck you up.

Hot Peppermint Patty — Napoleon

Let me see the receipt. Hot chocolate, perfect!

Hot chocolate has this special power to warm you from inside and give some extra energy, to calm the nerves and distract you from dark thoughts.

One thing you can tell about Napoleon is that he is a giant, uncontrollable source of life. If he is not cooking in the kitchen, he is fencing with Jean. If you don’t meet him at école, you’ll find him in the stable or in the library surrounded by books.

Sometimes the residents — Isaac and MC in particular — mention “the elder brother” vibes Napoleon gives them, but there is nothing offensive about it. Them wording it this way is simply an attempt to explain that Napoleon’s presence is calming enough to feel protected. Mainly, because you have the whole controle over the situation. The man will never do more or less than you ask, because he has great respect for humans, especially those with a big and kind heart — you included.

No wonder he decided to become a bodyguard after his revival. This is what his nature — honest and protective, but never controlling or sermonising — demands to do.

Consuming chocolate generates endorphins which give you the feeling of being in love. Reminds you of a certain Monsieur de Wa-ha-ha whose charms make him loved by everyone around.

And when you see him, a wide smile always blooms on your face. Like a child laughing when seeing a pile of chocolate candies.

Also chocolate remained a privilege of the rich for a very long time due to the expensiveness of cocoa beans. The drink is worthy of kings or, as in our case, the great emperor and the Nightmare of Europe.

The hot chocolate taste is framed with the fresh scent of Crème de menthe made with Corsican mint — a symbol of protection and virtue now we know what colour Napo’s eyes are.

Mint is also famous for its calming properties. Sergei Rachmaninoff, for example, said that a glass of mint liquor steadied his nerves when performing an extremely difficult twenty-fourth variation of his Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini.

Napoleon is a safe haven for those looking for redemption in calmness. He savours delicious food, nature and tries to find peace after many years of wars, losses and betrayals shining with the colour of blood. Maybe he cherishes tranquillity so much now because he was deprived of it in his previous life?

Mint is for “enjoying the moments”.

Which is a great part of Bonaparte’s story — his lover showing him how to stop seeing the world as an endless spiral of unpleasant unexpectedness and painful goodbyes. The flower field will wilt, the moon will follow the sun, nights will banish days. But as we live in the present we create, life is worth fighting.

Traditionally prepared cappuccino — Sebastian

Cappuccino is so trivial. Hell, no!

Well, there is no point in denying that this coffee drink is a must in every coffee house, restaurant and railway car all over the world. You may not find caramel cheesecakes, sandwiches or souffle pancakes with a stick of butter on the menu, but you will definitely come across the line with a word cappuccino written there.

Let’s put it another way round. Cappuccino is the foundation of any cafe and restaurant. Its flavour may seem colourless in comparison to other more “exquisite” coffee drinks, but this so-called flaw is what makes cappuccino so favourable.

Sebastian always hides in the shades of the residents of Comte’s mansion. He demonstrates neither Mozart’s musical genius nor a scent for writing like Arthur and Dazai do. He is ordinary, almost boring in contrast with the great historical figures he lives with.

But it's this “not so special” guy clad in nondescript grey clothes who MC can trust while adapting to her new life in a completely different place. It's this ordinary man who is always the first to mention her feeling sad, anxious or overwhelmed, ready to listen, to warn and to give her the best advice possible. Sebas is that particular person she can rely on taking her first, the most painful steps in 19th century France. To some extent he can be viewed as a symbol of MC’s stability in an extremely unstable environment. Because he was born in the same country and time period, thus reminding her of everything she’s lost after walking into that mystical door in the Louvre.

Now, let's get back to cappuccino once more. An interesting fact about this drink is that although it’s not so difficult to cook, even the smallest change in receipt may lead to unexpected results. Try to add a little bit more milk, and you’ll have latte. Add less and enjoy caffè macchiato. And this is a brilliant reminder to all of us.

Even if you don't consider yourself special, remember that there is no other person on Earth like you. You don't need to be famous in order to win one’s heart. Your character, motivation and attitude — that's what really matters. This thought is an important refrain in Sebastian’s route, don't you think so?

Lady Grey tea — Shakespeare

Shakespeare once called jealousy “the green-eyed monster”. Well, this beast definitely tortures Will every time he remembers that the Duchess of Bedford was the one who invented the famous british custom of afternoon tea.

He loves tea and with assistance from gentle Comte possesses a large collection of multiple types of tea from luxurious pearl oolong to bitter like oak roots redbush tea.

Though it should be noticed that the writer enjoys not the taste of tea per se but rather its ephemeral, always different fragrance.

Canonically, Shakespeare's villa is full of little boxes with various exotic oils, vintage bottles with flavoured rose water and amphoras with aromatic lilac petals inside. He adores exquisite perfume and he is pretty good at distinguishing fragrance notes — a sign of a delicate soul and true esthete. Also it reveals his inclinations towards psychology and observation since one’s preference for particular scents can tell a lot about this person’s traits, habits and manners.

Bergamot is known to be the queen of citrus in perfumery. Historically, its essential oil was used as an ingredient in cologne or simply as a skin or hair cream. Bergamot fragrance is so intense that sometimes Will leaves a cup with unfinished tea on the windowsill to fill the air in his cabinet with this rich scent of smoke in the night sky, cut grass covered in summer rain and tobacco cigars lighted in the darkness of the room.

Apart from bergamot aromatic properties, this fruit is famous for being the only citrus that can’t be eaten fresh. To be able to understand the true value of this fruit you first need to know how to cook it, then and only then will the original bitterness turn into rich tartness. Sounds pretty much like Shakespeare, right? The way you begin to see him after some time spent together is completely different from your first perception of him.

This particular trait of Will’s character brings him closer to Mozart, but the difference is that dropping a mask from Wolf’s face is possibly hard while doing the same to Will is hardly possible.

It doesn't mean that your relationship will be based solely on lies. But you should be ready that this Janus has two faces, and guessing which one he’s showing right now may be a real headache. Well, citrus bergamia is a capricious tree, after all. It blossoms during the winter, and never gives the amount of plants you were planning to gather.

This is not the whole story, by the way. Know how to distinguish Lady Grey from her famous counterpart Earl Grey? Cornflower petals, exactly.

In the language of flowers cornflowers mean hope in love. And who if not the great Shakespeare can chant the praises of love so strong that it still wins over Byron’s sorrow?

However, this flower has another hidden meaning — single wretchedness. That's why sometimes they call it “the Devil's Flower”. Will himself realises this dark, evil side of his, and it tortures him a lot. On the one hand, he wants to be where the light is, which is perfectly described through the metaphor with candles in his story. And this is why he struggles to follow Vlad’s orders when they may bring potential harm to MC. On the other hand, accepting this role of a fallen angel, Shakespeare denies himself the right to be revived and forgiven, thus struggling even more from the idea that his own decisions might lead to him not having a place in the world he is living in. He is a visitor — never a part of the cast. A lonely soul.

Isn't it the irony of fate that the first recorded use of the word "lonely" was in Shakespeare's Coriolanus?

“Believe't not lightly—though I go alone,

Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen

Makes fear'd and talk'd of more than seen—your son

Will or exceed the common or be caught

With cautelous baits and practise.”

Flat white with cinnamon — Vincent

Vanilla matcha latte — Dazai

Typically when people only get familiar with matcha, their initial reaction is to call this drink weird.

Since it's hard to describe. The first time you try matcha it tastes like plantains puree. The second round reveals the bitterness of vanilla roots, but you're still uncertain whether you like it or not as it's levelled by the spicy sweetness of flowers. The fifth time you order matcha you are already so in love with this neither-tea-no-coffee drink that you cannot imagine your life without it.

Nevertheless, matcha is a nourishing beverage. There’s never too much or too little when we talk about it. Matcha possesses this ideal balance between a soft subtle scent of tea leaves and deep, satisfying taste.

Dazai almost also has this ability to keep balance between compassion and respecting other people’s boundaries, between oddity and seriousness.

We first talk about Isaac. Are Dazai’s jokes really targeted against the apple boy? Does he want to make fun of him, to disappoint or, what's worse, to bully Ai-kun? No, never. Most of the scenes where the two men interact are about how Isaac feels embarrassed and uncertain of what to do, and Dazai takes a step only when it's clearly implied that the scientist needs some motivation or advice to move on. Bantering with Dazai helps him get rid of anxiety and usually leaves some food for thought.

The writer’s strange attitude is often backed up by the simple prose of life. Everyone remembers his dramatic appearance in the prologue. Adult Peter Pan in the window. But from the story with his point of view we can actually learn that Dazai did it after seeing MC’s worried face. She was a mere stranger, but Dazai wanted her to laugh and to feel at ease in the mansion. In other words, his childish trick was nothing more than an attempt to lighten MC’s mood.

This is where we should remember another important trait of matcha — its healing power. It's a famous antioxidant, metabolism booster and a remedy for tired mind and body.

If MC is anxious about something, self conscious or uncertain of how to react, Dazai’s emergency room is open 24 hours to provide help, support and so many more (especially in Mozart’s route). He’s here to listen and his jokes boost her spirit, giving MC the energy to face new challenges.

Flat white with cinnamon — Vincent

Milk and cinnamon are associated with innocence and purity, no wonder they are frequently used in pastel moodboards. Milk is usually mentioned when describing the scent of baby skin, the colour of sky on Bouguereau’s pastoral paintings and the wave of angel wings. And when we want to say that somebody is very kind and pure, the cinnamon roll is the first combination that comes to mind. By the way, in the language of spices and herbs cinnamon means “soothing warmth”. Just the right thing to say about our sunflower boy’s bright aura and (impressionistic) lust for light, sun and vivid oil paints.

An important feature of flat white is its deceiving softness. It can be easily confused with latte, but the difference is that in this coffee drink velvety milk notes only support the flavour while the dominating ingredient is fresh brewed strong espresso.

With Vincent it's easy to indulge into the cliche of an innocent angel. But Van Gogh’s angelic image isn't the result of him trying to escape reality by pretending to be a good, convenient guy. This is a voluntary act of accepting the world with all its flaws and loving it in spite of their existence. And that's what makes his palette so strong. Many emotions are hidden behind those milky clouds in his eyes. Childhood traumas. The passion for art. The envy of life. The sadness that will last forever. But he still chooses to be kind, naive and a bit shy. Not because he is obliged to, but because he wants to be like that even though his decision may bring a lot of pain and disappointment.

Victoria Erickson once wrote, “Honey and wildfire are both the colour gold.” She was right.

#different universe same love ccc #ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen series #ikemen comte #ikevamp comte #ikemen le comte #ikevamp vincent #ikemen dazai #ikevamp shakespeare #ikevamp sebastian #ikevamp mozart

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bloomyagi · 3 years

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beautiful, beloved, mine (m)

summary: you set him ablaze. he can only hope you like watching him burn for you. alternatively: this love for you is consuming him, and it all comes out in a badly vomited confession after he corners you at a gala.

pairings: shouto todoroki x f!reader

genre: pro heroes au, characters are aged up 20+

warnings: smut, dry humping, shouto comes in his pants, sub!shouto, he’s a good boi for you, he loves you very much n wants to be your baby

length: 2,447

notes: can u tell how much i love him pls -

“Can I be yours?”

Shouto Todoroki, ranked third pro-hero in Japan, has his strong arms braced around your head. In all your years of friendship, he has never been anything but exceedingly polite. He is well-behaved, thoughtful and sharp. He is guarded, though not intentionally, not anymore—it is reflex, a shield he has never really learned to lower. A reminder of his childhood.

You think he’s drunk. He must be, beautiful dual-coloured locks dishevelled, black button-up half-open and exposing his gorgeous collarbone. You watch, unwittingly, as a bead of sweat trickle down his neck. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, biceps flexing.

The dimmed lighting unfairly accosts you with his devastatingly handsome features and muscular body. And his eyes. His heterochromatic eyes are alight with something fierce and intense. They are also clear, glowing, almost, in the dark.

The two of you are somehow on the balcony, shut away from the rest of the world, the bass and the sounds of life fading in your little bubble until all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears, the warmth of his breath, the heat of skin and the fluttering of your heart in your throat. The cement wall digs into your back.

No, you correct yourself. He isn’t drunk. He’s barely tipsy. He doesn’t like to drink, rarely acquiesces to Kirishima’s insistence of shots.

He doesn’t smell like alcohol. His scent has always been calming, detectable under the thin layer expensive cologne he uses—he doesn’t like perfumed smells either, only uses it on nights like these, when he’s obliged to look the part—that fresh, cool scent. Of clean sheets, laundry detergent.

Still, this is out of character. Todoroki has never once crossed a line with you, with anyone. He’s quiet, reserved, though he smiles more now, the forming dimples in the corner of his eyes a living testament to his character growth. He treats others fairly. He is not unkind, honest and straight-forward. He is many things, and with the way he’s gazing down at you now, you are suddenly reminded of Midoriya’s hushed remarks earlier.

“You can’t see it, but Todoroki-kun treats you differently. He thinks about you, what you’d like and what you like. He cares about you so he’s careful around you. He wants to cherish you. He’s cold because he uncertain. He doesn’t know what to do. This is all new to him.”

“What is?”

The number one pro-hero had looked at you strangely. “Being in love.”

Midoriya is indisputably Todoroki’s best friend. Still, his actions are baffling. Why you? Why now? No, you couldn’t see it at all.

“Todoroki, are you drunk?”

“No. Though I required a little … liquid courage, as they say,” he rasps. He’s so close. His voice, so deep and husky, has you biting your lower lip. His gaze falls immediately.

He doesn’t touch you. The way his arms flex, hands clenching and unclenching, and his stiff posture tells you he wants to. He’s visibly restraining himself. Waiting, watching. Hoping.

“You never … why me?” You say softly.

“I could not. I wanted to, so badly. I have always wanted you. I always thought it was impossible for someone like me—to find someone I would want to share my life with, given my upbringing and dysfunctional family. But then things changed, got better, and then I met you.” He takes a shaky breath.

“I found wordless comfort in your mere presence. I found I could be emboldened, empowered, changed by your words. Every day I wondered how I could be worthy of you—if I could ever be worthy of you. Then I realized it was you … it would not matter to you, so long as I was honest with who I was. That is just the kind of person you are …” He shuts his eyes. His lashes are so long, you note absently.

“I am touched by your existence … I find joy in your spirit, yearning for your embrace, for the heat of your skin pressed against mine, I crave it … these foreign desires, they elicit something dark within myself,” he continues, breathing a little ragged now.

“This need, this desperation, like fire spreading in my veins, uncontrollable and hungry … I feel restless, itching for something, someone … Now I finally understand. I feel like I want to—to devour you. It is no longer enough, seeing you as I do, being as we are, mere friends … I want more, need more. With this desire to monopolize, I fear I have become … insatiable,” he trails off, turning his face to the side in shame.

Oh. Shouto Todoroki is in love with you, you realize with a jolt. He longs for you. For your companionship, your wit, your soul and your body. Your heart.

You reach up with a trembling hand to touch his jaw, guiding him until he looked at you once more. He doesn’t resist, pliant and eager as he leans into your hold.

“Only if I can be yours in return,” you say.

He lurches forward, knees nearly giving out as he slumps in your arms. “Oh, thank god, I … I was anxious I would have ruined everything. I knew it was unlikely they would be reciprocated, but I—I had to try,” he gasps. “This desire, it was consuming me.”

“Todoroki …” You thumb his cheekbone. He sighs faintly, body curving over yours as he presses close. “Call me Shouto, please …”

“Shouto.” He makes a strangled noise.

“Again. Please. You must understand, I have longed for this for so long …” He pleads shyly.

“Shouto,” you whisper, stroking his cheek. He’s so unexpectedly adorable. So, so adorable.

“My apologies, darling. I know I’m taking liberties, but I’m weak … I’m not strong enough to resist such temptation. Not while you are here, in front of me like nights when I dared to dream… So beautiful.” He nuzzles your palm.

You flush at his term of endearment, at the rawness of his tone. He has laid himself bare, singing his truth like a Shakespeare sonnet.

“You woo me like you’re waxing poetry … does this often work with others?” You murmur. You think you’re in real danger of melting.

His eyes fly open in alarm. “No. Never. It has only ever been you. I speak only from the heart, I have never—never done this before, am I explaining myself poorly? I am often told my words could use some more tact …”

Your heart swells.

“I’m just teasing, Shouto,” you say softly, combing a hand through his locks apologetically. “Your words are beautiful, I’m touched, truly.”

He relaxes, curling closer in your embrace.

“You don’t know … how I dream of building a home with you, of sharing all my firsts with you, cooking and setting the table with you … breakfast after long nights, filling the space between us with laughter and joy. Sleeping next to you,” he slurs. And then he goes on plainly, “How I fist myself every night thinking of the swell of your hips, the curl of your lips, your sweet, enthralling scent …”

You inhale sharply. Part of you is entirely taken back by the dual-haired hero’s use of uncharacteristically vulgar descriptions. His words drip over you like a honeyed aphrodisiac. Sweet and addictive.

“May I?” He draws closer, hands releasing you to brace against the concrete behind. Your body shivers involuntarily, missing the heat of his palms immediately.

“Yes,” you whisper.

Shouto dips his head, beautiful heterochromatic eyes watching you carefully for any sign of hesitation or indication you wanted to stop. Ever the gentleman.

This is who he is, you realize. Respectful of your boundaries, honest and, with you, gentle. He eyes flutter close when his lips touch yours. They’re warm, sweet with a hint of the alcohol he consumed earlier. Your fingers bury themselves in his locks, the kiss unhurried, savouring each moment.

Then you open your mouth, tongue touching his. And Shouto falters. He groans throatily, your nose tickling at the scent of ash. Ah. He’s losing control. He jerks away quickly, right hand enclosing over his left.

“Don’t tempt me,” he rasps, blush rising.

You snag the rumpled collar of his shirt, pulling him close. “Kiss me again.”

And when you guide his hands over your hips, he grips them tightly and crushes his mouth against yours, kissing you hard. Spit runs down your chins, messy and sensual.

Something hard presses against your inner thigh. You push his legs apart and shove your leg in between. He chokes, eyes rolling back.

“Ngh—!” He gasps. “More—hngg—please!”

You pull back to survey him. He chases after you, lips slick and swollen.

“Shouto. You like this?”

He pauses, sucking in a breath sharply, eyes flickering. And then—

“Yes,” he whispers, a whisp of flame flaring on his left.

Your core clenches over nothing at his needy, humiliated tone.

“I like this too,” you confess, trailing a hand over the ridges of his abdomen, fascinated by the way the muscles clench.

Shouto mewls, chest thrusting forward when you pinch his nipples experimentally through the cotton. “Ah—ughh—yes!”

“Can you come like this?” You wonder absently as you twist his perked nubs harshly. He moans brokenly, hips jerking.

“I—I d-don’t—kno—hah,” he pants, eyes half-lidded as he struggles to focus. Pleasure clouds his senses, head fuzzy and vision hazy.

“Can you get off here, like this?” You ask softly. “I want to see you come undone.”

Shouto blinks blearily at you, nodding eagerly. “Hng—yes, wanna be good for you,” he slurs. Oh. My. If you weren’t dripping before, you certainly are now.

He stumbles a little as you push him against the wall, switching positions. He’s barely standing at this point, leaning heavily against the cement as he gazes up at you with glazed eyes. He looks utterly fucked out and utterly delectable.

You undo the remainder of his buttons, holding him back firmly when he whines, pawing at the fabric, wanting to rip it off.

“We still have to walk out of here,” you remind him, giggling. His only blinks at you blankly as if to say and? Too gone to think of the consequences.

“This view is reserved for my eyes only,” you murmur, nails scraping against his nipples. He gasps, back arcing. “Yes, yes!” He agrees mindlessly.

He grinds against your thigh desperately, the weight of his cock heavy and hot. He throbs at every touch.

“Kiss—kiss, please,” he whines, reaching for you. You oblige, internally fawning over his cuteness.

His hips move faster, chasing release as he moans and keens into your mouth.

He parts from you with a gasp and wet shlick. “Feels so good—sho good—hngg,” he babbles. His asymmetric temperatures intensify, the heat of his left searing you and the chill of the right piercing you.

“Oh—I’m—I’m c-cu—” he cries out, gripping you tightly as he fucks himself against your thigh urgently. You push your leg against him harder, nails digging into his stomach.

“Come for me Sho,” you murmur, biting his lower lip. His mouth parts in a silent wail, head tossing as his eyes roll. His body shudders, something warm seeping into the fabric of your jeans.

With a strangled groan, he sags against you, exhausted and spent. You stroke his hair soothingly, brushing back the sweaty locks and peppering chaste kisses over his face as he comes down slowly.

Faintly, you register someone calling your name.

“Oh, Midoriya. Over here.”

Shouto is too out of it, still coming down from his high, his soft moans tickling your ear

“Oh, there you are! Have you seen Todoroki-kun? I—oh!” He squeaks loudly, spinning on his heel immediately and covering his reddening face.

What a sight the two of you must be. A perfectly debauched Shouto, shirt falling over his broad shoulders, the fabric clinging to his glistening skin, raised lines over his bare chest that appear angrier in the darkened lighting, slumped over you, body trembling from the aftershocks of his orgasm.

The One for All user pales when he spots the noticeable burn the size of a palm on the wall behind your head.

“Uh—neverminditwasn’timportanthahahaohsomeone’scallingmegottagobye!” Midoriya practically screams in your face before bolting from the scene in the next beat.

Shouto manages a tired chuckle as you blink in the wake of his dust.

“You’re surprisingly shameless,” you remark when you turn back to him.

His wry smile slips, letting out a weak mewl when you squeeze his cock over his slacks teasingly. He’s already chubbing up, hips rolling slowly against your touch.

“I told you, didn’t I? I’m insatiable when it comes to you, darling,” he murmurs, cheeks dusting.

“Then let’s continue,” you say, helping him stand. He valiantly tries to salvage whatever is left of his shirt, but it’s hopeless. He gives up, letting it drift apart, sculpted abdomen and chest in full view.

“Hmm. I quite like this view,” your palm rests on his stomach, smiling when he jolts at your warmth.

“My place or yours?” He breathes, pulling you flush to him.

“Yours, I think. I’ve been meaning to try out your new jacuzzi,” you rest your cheek against his chest, tracing nonsensical patterns on his pec. Goosebumps rise on his skin, and you can hear the rapid fluttering of his pulse. He’s—nervous?

“I built it for you,” he confesses, burying his face into your hair. “After you mentioned how much you wanted to try one, I thought—well, I don’t know what I thought. I only know that I went out the next day to hire a contractor and expand my bathroom. I suppose part of me nurtured a hope I’d one day pluck enough courage to ask you to come over and give it a try …”

You pull away, looking up at him in disbelief. He laughs dryly at your expression.

“Yes. I know. It sounds as irrational as it felt. I still haven’t used it yet.”

“Then …,” you hesitate. And then you say shyly, “Then if you’d like … we could try it today? Together?”

“I … yes, I’d love that,” Shouto swallows thickly.

You take his hand as the two of you start to make your way back. He squeezes your hand once.

“Let’s go home,” you say softly. The corner of his heterochromatic eyes crinkle, lips curling into a gentle beam. He looks radiant, beauty amplified by his dishevelled and unkept state. He leans down to kiss the corner of your mouth.

“Yes,” he says. “Let’s.”

#shoto x reader #shouto x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki smut #shoto todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #bnha smut #bnha imagines #mha imagines

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thesevro · 3 years

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77 degrees

nanami kento x reader smut word count: 1.6K words

WARNINGS: Explicit SMUT, degradation kink, shower sex

HEAT RISES FROM water pouring from the showerhead above, while a different sort of heat fans from your panting mouth.

But your body is warmer than anything else.

Nanami pulls you closer to him by the bottom of your curved ass. His entire body is wet. Though his fingers are slick with something different.

His eyes are open. He watches with the relaxed, lidded gaze of a sneaking predator. Listens to your moans with the ears of a panther.

He slides his tongue further into your mouth. You are wet against his chest. Pressed into him with his arms clutching you in a snake-like vise. Body naked. Blushing red all over.

You are the most appetizing prey he has ever feasted on.

Nanami kisses you until you can barely breathe through the hot steam rising into your nostrils and the water that has begun to drown you. He is a devilish predator gorging on snatched prey. Diving his tongue between your lips then sliding it out ever so slowly to let it warm the hot flesh of your neck. His teeth aid him in tasting every part of the sumptuous little meal he has, one made of quivering flesh and breathy moans of his name. He bruises you with his incisors. You squeeze his shoulders with each nip, tossing your head back to let him devour you further.

You say his name again, "Nanami... please..."

"What is it, darling?" he says. "Use your words."

"I just—ah!" You tremble, your thighs shaking around his hand. He thrusts three of his fingers into your hole. Diverts your attention from your words because he wants to play a little more.

Nanami slides his fingers out just as quickly as he slipped them inside you. Holds your hip to lead you to the wet shower wall. Your back touches the wall. You watch as his body follows yours to pin you to the cold tile. Every muscle bulges and ripples with his movements.

"Apologies, my love," he says softly. Gets a thigh between your legs and smirks ever so slightly as you rut once into the thick muscle of his leg. "What were you saying?"

"I need you inside me," you whine, grabbing hold of his shoulders to rut in slow, seductive motions on his thigh. A lovely sigh escapes him as he feels your hole clench on his thigh.

"How badly do you want it?" he asks. "You're going to have to deserve it."

You frown with palpable discontent. Then you pounce on him. It is your turn to be the prowling predator.

Nanami retracts his leg from between yours to lean into you as you pull him to you. You open your mouth to bite at his collarbone with unrelenting clenches of your jaw. Nanami savors the sharp pricks of pain. Lets you have your fun.

Then he snaps your head back with a hand behind your head and hefts you up so you lie balanced between his body and the wall. A hand grips your thigh in a vise, palm on the back of your thigh while his fingers press into the outside of your leg.

"You want it, darling?" He prods at your slick with his shaft. Slides his cock up and down your cunt but never slipping it inside. "Show me how badly you want it."

Although... he has a feeling he wants you more.

Your pussy twitches around the length of his cock as he thrusts it against you once more. Always teasing. Never meeting what you beg for him to give you with your eyes.

"Please, Nanami," you whine. He indulges in your touch, your sounds, your warmth. Tries to quell the desperation welling up so monstrously inside him he almost ruts straight into you without a second thought.

"Please..." He leans into your ear. "What?"

"Please fuck me."

He chuckles. "Of course, darling."

You gasp with the first thrust. Throw your head back into the wall. With your throat bare to him he cannot help but sink his teeth into the water-wet flesh there, nibbling and nipping with the hunger of an emaciated predator. Nanami's brows furrow. You've always been so damn tight.

He draws his hips back to pound another thrust into you. He takes it slow, but makes each rut of his hips hard enough to send you scrabbling for purchase along the wide berth of his shoulders. He presses his forehead to yours. You hook your hands together from behind his neck to pull him closer. Kiss him with an open mouth and a lolling tongue he licks with his own. Your eyes are closed. He keeps his open. He's always loved seeing you like this, seeing how easy it is for him to make a mess of you with his cock.

You twitch into him. Pussy squeezing his cock, his naked thighs meeting yours. Nanami revels in each clench of your pussy. Slams into you harder with each one, the sounds of his cock sliding into you so deliciously obscene. So wet. Fucking you is like sliding into a hot vat of smooth, exquisite butter.

He forces you to look at him, grasping your chin between his forefinger and thumb. You can barely focus. Barely see him with the sinful jolts of pleasure shooting up your core with each thrust he slips into you. Your flowering folds suck him in with an eagerness even you have no control of.

Nanami warms over with a sick sense of pride at your crossed eyes. He drops his head into the junction between your shoulder and neck. Lets his hand fall to hold both your thighs open.

The next thrust he pushes into you is a harsh pound that makes your body seize up in pleasure. You cry out. Try to push yourself away from him.

"N-Nanami!" You are only allowed seconds to relish the hedonism before he truly begins to fuck you. Your eyes roll back. Toes curl. It is too much. "Nanami, please! Stop. Slow down!"

He pays your begging no mind. For once, Nanami Kento decides to be selfish.

"You tell me to stop when you're moaning like that?" he says into your ear with the trace of a laugh. "When you're milking my cock like a desperate whore."

Your body seizes up again. You seem to enjoy the denigration. He pulls the words from his lungs without really putting much breath into them. They are airy. Not real truths.

As long as it makes you feel good.

He's so close he barely has to lean forward to tongue the shell of your ear. His chest presses into yours while he plays with you.

"As if I'll stop now," he says. "There's still so much I can do with you."

He wraps your other leg around his waist. The movement frees one of his hands. He looks down to calculate his movements even when he doesn't particularly have to.

Nanami groans out loud at the sight of his cock meeting your pussy. At the unholy way he can see his cock slipping right into your hole. It's so much of a stretch that your pussy glows a swollen red. Every nerve on his cock erupts at the sight. He nearly cums.

"Look at that," he says. "Taking my cock so, so well. Do you really want me to stop?"

Drool slides down the corner of your mouth. He asks the question again, more firmly this time. It takes several moments for the words to register, and when they do you immediately shake your head.

"N-no, no! Please, don't stop."

"There we are." His fingers slide over to tease your sopping folds. "That's how it should be."

His thumb works up from just above the point where his cock grinds into your pussy to settle on the swollen bud of pleasure that he knows will make you unwind quick and sweet as honey.

With his forehead against yours, he watches as you unfold before him, his fingers and hips never ceasing their ferocious motions. He watches as your eyes cross, then shuts his as he finally reaches his high.

The sounds of your love-making grow slicker. White spills from your convulsing hole. His cock softens with the last shallow, slow thrusts he slips into you. His eyes remain closed. He savors everything with his other senses.

The smell of sex is heady in your nose. Heavier in his. He pants. You do, too, tired breaths mingling with his.

When he opens his eyes, yours are still shut, and he takes this as an opportunity to apologize for the words that had slipped from him earlier. He runs a hand through your wet hair. Cups your cheek with his hand. Each action is worth a thousand apologies, but he says one all the same.

"Darling, I'm sorry for calling you what I did earlier. You're anything but a—"

"Shut up," you mutter. "Call me that again and I might just ask for another round. And I'm exhausted."

Well. That's new.

"Though next time I do not want to go that far," he says. "It is not right of me."

"Baby," you say, "You can call me your little cum dump or whatever else you can think of and I would still beg for you to fuck me."

"That is a... tasteless pet name." He shakes his head. "Who comes up with such degrading combinations?"

"William Shakespeare."

"Then I must be a better lover than he ever was."

"Don't make me laugh while you're literally inside me."

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daisiesandshakes · 3 years

Text

Ikevamp fanfiction

One step closer part 2

Pairing: William Shakespeare & female reader

Summary: after confessing your feelings for each other (part one) it's going to be a wild night...

Words: about 4k

Rating: 18+ /NSFW PLEASE DON'T READ WHEN YOU'RE UNDER THAT AGE!

Tags/warnings: smut (you have been warned), sex, oral sex, (vampire) biting, overstimulation, mentions of cum & blood, light bonding

Special thanks to: lovely @yanderepuck for rereading and helping me with this 4k monster 💖 and for inspiring me with her simping post to put my thoughts into words 🙏💖

Enshrouded in his arms it is a silent carriage ride to Shakespeare's house. Neither of you speak a word, exchanging affection is the only expression of your feelings.

William caresses your silken locks as you reach out to touch his gorgeous face again. Is this really happening?

You're with him, HIM!

He holds you in his arms and he loves you!

Sighing, you trace the lines of his delicate lips with your fingertips. Why does the carriage take so long?

Locking eyes, William holds your hand in place, kissing every finger. His lips ghost over your knuckles, traveling over your fingertips to graze them with his fangs and the tip of his tongue.

Mismatched eyes, now like burning flames, swallow every provoked reaction.

His intense, sensual glance full of sweet promises is already enough to let the muscles in your lower belly clench and you whimper.

Dammit - this man is way too sexy.

His pupils grow wide at the noise that escapes your lips.

You could cut the sexual tension with a knife right now. Grabbing you by your hair at your neck he pulls you into a kiss.

At first it starts as a soft and tender touch, but then William's teasing tongue dances over your lips again and again.

You shift your legs due to the sweet sensation between your thighs.

Wanting more, you take his tongue in a sudden motion between your lips, sucking at the tip, then pushing your own hungrily against his.

Shakespeare moans loudly with pleasure.

Tightening the grip in your hair he pushes you down into the seat, kissing you deeply with feral desire. You can feel his other hand moving from your waist up to your chest, caressing the form of your breast through the fabric of your dress.

At this moment the carriage stops.

Slowly Will tears himself from the kiss and pulls you up.

"To tempt me with these cunning wiles...tis is a dangerous game of yours." He whispers into your ear.

"Though I'm begging you to show me more, it inspires me to make you mad with pleasure. Be assured my dear, I'm looking forward to pay back a tenfold the passion you intend to grace me with '', his voice seductive with bare desire. You swallow.

With a blank mind and weak legs you let Will help you out of the carriage and lead you the way to the house entrance, the bubbling excitement inside your stomach growing with every second.

As the door closes behind you, Will takes his jacket off and ties his hair up with a ribbon.

You turn around, unsure what to do with yourself, looking at the exquisite interior.

"Do you need something, my dear? A drink mayhap?"

Somehow his voice sounds unusually deep and suppressed.

You're turning back to face him "No thank you William, I am f-"

Your back slams against the door and you gasp in surprise. Shakespeare presses himself against you, his nose almost touching yours, you can feel his hot breath on your skin. While he pins your wrists with one hand over your head, his other hand moves from your waist up to your chest, dancing over your curves. Not breaking eye contact his fingertips trail the way up to your face, stroking your cheekbones and the lines of your lips with the lightest, tender touch.

He frowns "I am sorry... I fear I can't be that gentle servant you deserve my goddess..." his voice husky.

Your heartbeat drums in your ears and you lick your lips, his gaze immediately glued to your mouth.

"You bewitched tis pathetic wretch... making me shiver with lust, begging for even the barest brush of your skin".

William slowly pushes a knee between your legs to spread them.

"It is my eager wish now to favour you with tis sensation in return." He purrs as he lifts his leg between your thighs to press it softly against your womanhood, his hand now cupping your breast.

Your entire body trembles with want.

His lustvoll gaze still glued to your lips, as if he awaits words of a magic spell from them to set him free, unable to make a further move without them.

Tears of unbearable anticipation sting in your eyes.

"Don't hold back William, I am yours, here at your mercy. I love you and I want you so bad, I need you!"

With a cry he kisses you with untamed desire, pushing his tongue deep into your mouth to intertwine with yours. You bury your free hand in his soft maroon hair, trying to pull him even closer.

Lifting one of your legs around his hip, he bucks against you and your juices ruin your panties as you feel his throbbing erection. His lips leave your mouth, traveling along your jaw to your neck, his tongue leaving wet stripes on your skin.

Letting your wrist go Shakespeare breaks the kiss and yanks with one fierce move of your dress and corset down to your waist. You gasp at the act and the sensation of cool air on your bare breasts.

Feeling embarrassed you close your eyes and lift your arms to cover your chest.

"Don't.. I beg you" you stop at his pleading voice.

As you open your eyes to meet his gaze, the pure adoration lying in it shocks you and sends shivers down your spine.

He takes a step forward, hovering his hands above your chest.

"Oh my sweet darling, tis is such a breathtaking sight, it would inspire any artist's mind to create masterpieces.. " his fingertips graze slightly over your collarbones.

"I don't dare pretty neigh to touch your delicate form".

Nearly shy words, barely a whisper.

"If you don't touch me right now William, I'm sure I'll attack you instead" you growl, surprised by your own boldness.

He chuckles delightfully as he takes you in his arms.

"So greedy and eager, hm? Shush darling... Let tis bewitched wretch take his time to worship you..." he purrs at the sensitive spot behind your earlobe.

His tongue travels from your earlobe to your jaw, up to your lips to slip eager in between, kissing you senseless and you let yourself drown in the pleasure. Cupping and squeezing your breasts, his thumbs teases your nipples, making you dizzy with desire.

Not breaking the dance of tongues, your trembling fingers try to open the buttons of his shirt, hungry to touch his skin.

Impatient you just rip it open and as your fingers touch his solid chest you moan into the kiss.

Will pulls away laughing.

"Never thought to imagine you would desire tis body of mine this much." He smiles at your lips.

He has no idea.

His hands leave your skin only for a few seconds to take his shirt off.

Then again he presses his body against yours and heat waves run through you as his hot chest touches your bare skin, brushing over your stiff nipples and William's mouth captures yours with the greed of a starving man.

You let your fingertips travel over the sides of his upper body, down to his abs, noticing him breathing hard.

You break from the kiss, leaning the head back to watch his wide-eyed expression while your hands slowly travel to his loins.

Panting, with slight open lips he shifts a bit, giving you more space to go further.

One of your hands moves over his arousal to enfold it through the fabric of his pants. You hold your breath at the size.

He lays his hand on top of yours, pressing his pulsing manhood into the palm of your hand.

His hot tongue slides teasingly over your lips with whimpering noises as he rocks his hips.

Abruptly Shakespeare lifts the bottom of your dress and you hear the ripping sound of fabric at your panties, only a split second before a finger enters your tight wetness.

You cry out.

"Fuck!" Your hips roll against his hand as he bends the digit.

"Not yet, my greedy temptress" he hisses next to your lips, pulling his finger out, licking it clean.

William moans at the taste of your sweet juices and his intense stare with burning eyes forces you to look away, unable to bear this carnal sight anymore.

He cups your breasts again, sucking your nipples, letting his tongue dance around them and you squeeze your eyes shut with a groan.

Kneeling down he tears the rest of your clothes to shreds, stroking the sides of your hips with affection. His nose brushes over your thighs up to your loins, followed by his tongue. Lifting one of your legs over his shoulder he intrudes two fingers into your heat.

"Ah... so wet with juices sweet as honey and so tight on my fingers alone..., you're truly a divine relish." he murmurs before his tongue slips over your swollen clit.

Desperately trying to steady yourself you grab the doorframe and dove the other hand into his hair.

His digits moving in and out, heading deeper searching for the sweet spot that let you see stars, your wetness dripping down your thighs. With a flat, dancing tongue he moans against your sensitive nub.

"W- William... I can't..." breathless you roll your hips frantically at his hand to bring his fingers rubbing over the secret spot deep inside your aching core with every slight move.

You feel a tingle building up in your lower belly and back arching you grab his hair as you come down hard.

Crying out loudly, your walls clenched around his fingers, your wetness spreads over his hand.

Shakespeare pulls his fingers out, licking your folds and then his fingers to achieve every drop your body offers.

While waves of the aftershock run through your form, your shaky legs fail you.

He lifts you up into his arms, leaning his forehead against yours as he carries you into his bedroom.

"It only has begun, my dearie" he whispers, lying your body carefully down onto the silken sheets.

Hovering his body over yours his enchanting, mismatched eyes study every detail of your form, filled with love and adoration.

Graceful fingers floating over your chest, your breasts down to your belly, sliding over your hips to your thighs.

You weep as he reaches your knees, forcing them apart with gentle pressure, to spread them more for him.

To lie this bare, in such a vulnerable state open to his intense view, makes you shiver and yet you can feel more wetness drip over your slit.

"Never before have I seen such beauty, lying spreaded before me, bathed in moonlight." He confesses with a husky voice, kissing softly on your knees.

"Let me drown in you, my beautiful. I desire to get lost in your embrace, wishing never to be found again" his tongue caresses your thighs.

With piercing eyes Will observes every tiny move you make as he spreads your legs more and slides a finger into your heat again. You grip the sheets.

"Tis is mine, mine alone" he whispers fiercely, easing his finger in and out, hitting your hidden, sweet spot over and over again as he gazes down at you with glowy eyes, watching you closely, absorbing your slightest reaction.

You whimper "Will.. oh god.. I'm about to .. Aaah.. cum again!"

How did he find out so fast how to pleasure you the most?

"Who do you belong to? Scream it for me, my greedy temptress"

Ardent spoken words and his skilled finger sending you over the edge, tears of passion roll over your cheeks

"You!! I only belong to you Will!! Oh god.."

The world around you stops existing and you fall apart as the juices of your third climax spill again over his hand.

He lifts his wet fingers up, eyeing them stunned.

His hungry gaze darts to your glistening entry and with a groan he dives in, licking your slit up to your oversensitive nub, to caress it with soft, circling moves.

You squirm, trying to get away, overwhelmed from this stimulation. But his hands around your thighs push your hips down, holding you in place with an iron grip.

You're sure you can't take this overstimulation anymore.

Tears rise up again and you cry out "William! P- please... Too much!"

You begged him to stop, but you nearly yelped as his tongue left you.

Sensing the warmth of his body as he climbs on top of you, you cup his face and lean up to lavish his delicate features over and over with lovingly kisses, smiling shaky before your lips find his.

Without ceasing his hands travel over your curves, leaving burning traces on your skin.

Cupping your breast in his palm and giving it rough squeezes, he lifts your leg around his hip with his other hand, pressing his covered arousal against your entrance, making you feel the aching emptiness inside of you.

"Please...Will..."

"Hm? Please what my impatient goddess?" he asks teasingly, rolling his hips up again. You never imagined you were able to desire someone this much.

"Don't.. tease.. I need you! I'm begging you...! I beg you to make me yours!" You manage to whimper with a broken voice.

He freezes at your confession, staring into your eyes with a feral light in his gaze.

"To hear those tempting words from thyne sweet lips..."

His mouth claims yours with a fervent kiss, leaving you breathless.

"As my Queen wishes, I'm your servant at your command" he purrs.

Sitting up he pushes his pants down, kicking them off in a quick motion, to be over you again in seconds. You lay your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer and you sense the tip of his throbbing cock against your slit.

"Please, take me, please..." you breathe, thinking you can't stand another second without having him inside of you.

Guiding his cock with one hand to your entrance, he pushes the tip inside.

You throw your head back and mewl, trying to pull him closer with your legs.

With a slow but firm motion he enters you fully. Gasping for air, you try to relax, letting the muscles of your tight core adjust to his size.

William breathes hard, strands of wet hair fall into his face and his sweaty chest glistens in the moonlight.

"By all the gods, you must be created for my shape only... Aah.. .to feel your lustful tightness around me..."

Shakespeare didn't move yet, making you mad with desire and you think he knows it.

You buck your hips up hard to his and he groans.

"Move." you hiss at his mouth, biting softly his lower lip, digging your nails into the delicate flesh of his rear.

William loses all remaining reason. You could see it in his eyes.

Reaching down to take your hands, he pins them down over your head, holding your wrists with one hand. He pulls back until only the tip of his member remains inside, watching you as he pushes back into your heat unbearable slowly.

You sigh in delight by the sensation of feeling every inch of him. Pulling back again, Shakespeare lifts your hips to change the angle, instantly meeting the hidden, sensitive spot inside as he thrusts deep into you.

Your mind goes blank, eyes wide open as you moan out his name and a pleased smile appears on his lips before they capture yours in a messy kiss.

With every fierce thrust into you, his body slides over yours, the warmth of his chest brushing over your stiff nipples makes your toes curl.

His mouth travels down to your neck, leaving his tongue across your tender skin lovingly. He inhales the sweet scent that comes from that delicate place and before you can tell what he's about to do, his fangs plunge your skin.

"William... Not while.."

Barely noticing the short prick, you scream because of the unearthly pleasure that follows, spreading through you, setting every nerve alight.

You almost pass out, mind and body overwhelmed and overstimulated. The orgasm that hits you tears you in pieces, leaving you shattered and shaking.

The walls of your core clench around William's cock rapidly and you hear yourself crying out like a wounded animal, while your release drips down your thighs onto the sheets.

The waves of the aftershock doesn't seem to end, blissful tears spilling out of your eyes but you don't notice them.

The playwright leans down, his soft lips kissing the corners of your eyes fondly, to wipe your tears away with them.

"So sensitive to my touch and bite... I have to admit, I didn't presume to affect you this much", he murmurs at your skin.

You shift your head to meet his eyes, surprised to find joyful tears glistening in them.

"You affect me this way because I love you so madly, William".

Groaning loud he intertwined his fingers with yours, holding your hands down next to your head. His hips buck again against yours while kissing you fiercely, messy, senseless.

The nerves in your now oversensitive core spread with every stroke of his member arousing tingles through you, making you moan constantly.

Your whole lower belly seems to be on fire and you can feel the pleasure grow again.

Such rapture shouldn't be possible!

You throw your head back to expose your neck for his hungry tongue , trailing burning lines on your skin.

"I love you, I love you so much Will... ", you grind your hips to meet his slow, but forceful thrusts.

He let go of your hands, holding you against him, his eyes sparkling. You smile at each other between sensual kisses, tongues dancing together. At your lips he whispers "My darling, my goddess...fair maiden only mine, I love you more than you can imagine".

Suddenly William increases the speed of his deep thrusts and you gasp, the air filled with the sounds of slapping, wet skin and cries of pure pleasure.

"Oh f-.. oh god, you feel so good Will!"

Something changes in him at your words.

With fiery eyes and a moan on his lips he grabs the back of your knees, pushing them to your chest, desperately trying to get even deeper into you.

This new position allowed him to hit with every stroke the sweet spot deep inside your heat, making your vision blurry with stars.

Holding onto his slim shoulders as if your life depends on it, you breath his name again and again.

You dig your nails into his tender flesh when an incredible tingle starts to rise and the coil deep inside tightens.

"Ah.. I'm so close! More, I need more!"

His wet hair falls over his face as he slams forcefully into you. "So...as... I am! My love, let me hear your sweet voice, scream for me!"

Attacking your chest with love bites William pierces your nipples with his fangs and sends you with another hard stroke over the edge, licking up the blood from your sweaty, tender skin.

Intensified by the nibbles of his fangs, your orgasm crashes on you with a force beyond belief and you scream his name, voice cracking. Waves of rapture let your walls clench without cease and William groans out loud as the muscles of your core milks him, drawing out his climax instantly. With a few final, deep thrusts he buried himself deep inside you, moaning and shuddering in your arms.

You pass out as your ravaged body still rocks with the afterwaves, your blank mind dragged into a blissful abyss with nothing left in it but him.

It seems to be late in the morning as you slowly open your eyes. Stretching your body you notice that you're alone, William has already left the bed.

Instantly you are aware of the sore feeling in your lower belly and in between your legs. Heat rises up your cheeks as the past night comes to your mind and a pleased sensation runs through you.

'As you regained consciousness again, Shakespeare showered every inch of your form with loving kisses, begging you for forgiveness, that he wasn't able to stop himself, for being so reckless and feral in his desire for you. After you reassured him several times that there was nothing to forgive at all, Will claimed your body over and over in the most tender and affectionate ways until the morning dawned. He took possession of your body and soul while he breathed sweet nothings to your skin, words spoken with so much love and adoration, made you weak and your heart raced.'

With a dreamy expression on your face from those sweet memories, you pull your aching frame out of the bed as you realize that there's nothing left you could wear. William ripped every piece of fabric from your body last night.

Clueless you look around and to your surprise you find one of William's shirts on a chair, neatly folded with a red salvia flower on it. Your heart swells at this thoughtful and sweet gesture.

But how did he find out you love herbal blossoms? You never mentioned it?

After taking a shower you pull his shirt over, inhaling the scent of lavender and sweet sandalwood on it. For sure it is far too long and too big, but you are happy being able to wear it and maybe you can ask William later for pants.

With still damp hair you stepped on your tiptoes through Shakespeare's house, finding him writing at the kitchen table.

Standing quietly in the doorframe you soak up the view, William properly suited, his glance focused on the papers before him, silken strands of his maroon hair falling over his face shining in the sunlight.

You could stand here forever, only watching him. Then you notice he draped all kinds of sweets, fruits and bread on the counter, fresh brewed tea steaming in the pot. When did he manage to get and do all that? Did he even get some sleep?

Suddenly he looks up, giving you a sweet smile.

"There you are, my dearie. Come here."

Standing up William offers you a hand and as you step in to take it, he lets his gaze roam over you. "My my, I have to admit, the shirt suits you." He also takes a step closer, pulling you into his arms.

Listening to his heartbeat, a sigh escapes your lips. "Oh, this feels so good..."

He hums, his hands caressing your back. "Are you feeling well, darling? Didn't I go too hard on you?" he asks, his voice faint and concerned.

"Everything is fine William. Really." You smile at his chest. "To be honest, it was the luckiest night of my life."

Sensing his heavy exhale, you continue "Don't worry, I have a well trained body, I can take a lot."

As you lift your face to meet his eyes, you can see him cocking an eyebrow, giving you a meaningful look.

"Oh, I've been fully aware since last night, my love." A smile curls at the corners of his lips.

Uh, this conversation takes an unexpected steamy turn...

But then he lifts your hand to nuzzle his cheek in it, closing his eyes. "Please forgive me for ruining your beautiful dress. I've already sent a carriage to our dear Comte, to get some of your clothes and dresses. It must be back in a while".

When did he do all that??

"When you are able to suit yourself properly, I'd like to take you out." He kisses your palm softly.

"But the rehearsal? Your play? We should be there soon. The others will be waiting for us..." You frown.

"Oh don't worry about that my muse. Yesterday morning I informed all troupers they'll have a day off today."

You are relieved. But-

Wait - what? Already yesterday morning? You look puzzled, but then ...

"Okay, you've planned the entire thing out, haven't you? How could you tell how it would end?"

Shakespeare looks down, avoiding your eyes for the first time and a faint blush appears on his cheeks.

"I couldn't. "

He inhales sharply. "For certain I wished for a 'happy ending', to say so. A day off would have been delightful in that case, being able to spend some pleasant time together. It happened to end in a way more blissful than I could ever imagine." He cleared his throat. "And for the case I was mistaken, I thought a day off would've been good for my wounded heart to recover." He swallows. "Are you mad at me now?"

Oh, William!

Your vision turns blurry with tears. Blinking them away you throw your arms around his neck. "I am so happy you made it this way, that you forced me to react. I would never be bold enough to confess my love to you, Will. I love you, my heart belongs to you."

He wraps his arms around your body, holding you tight like a lifeline and kisses your temple.

"And mine is yours" he nuzzles his cheek into your hair. "As well as my soul and my love. All of me is yours, always and evermore."

Affectionately William kisses your forehead and you lift your chin. Your lips meet in a sweet kiss and his hands start to travel over your form, abruptly stopping at your hips.

He moves with you, changing the direction and you feel the table behind you.

"May I ask you something, my dear?" He asks at your lips and you only nod in response.

"What are you exactly wearing under my shirt?"

You freeze, feeling your cheeks growing hot.

"N- nothing... there was only this shirt on the chair..." You stutter.

"Hmmm.. hmm.. " he hums in your ear, "and you didn't notice the shortened pants I left for you in the bathroom?"

You- Wait... No you can't remember you saw something like that in the bath.

His hands travel further down to your thighs "Oh what a pity, I gave my best to trim it to your height tis morning..." he murmurs at your ear as his hands grab you to lift your body with a swift move on the table, settling himself between your legs. You gasp and your heart began to race with incredible speed.

"Don't you think you'll deserve a little punishment for your ignorant manner?" he asks, mischievous and yanks his shirt you're wearing completely open.

Your blood rushes through you, skin flushed from excitement and embarrassment at the same time.

With fervent eyes Will takes his time to soak up the sight of you, before he cups your face with a greedy grasp, claiming your lips in a fiery kiss.

His tongue slides inside, exploring and teasing, and you moan into his kiss as his graceful fingers dance over your exposed curves.

You entwine your hands in his silken locks, feeling a familiar pulsing heat rising up between your thighs again.

Pushing your upper body gently down on the table, he breaks the kiss to caress your breasts with his tongue, cupping them roughly with his hands. Your breath is coming in huffs and you close your eyes with a whimper as William bucks his hips against your sex.

Then he let go of your body to take a ribbon out of his shirt pocket.

At first you think he's about to tie his hair up, but he takes your wrists instead, tying them together over your head, up to a candle holder on the wall. Your eyes grow wide and a tremor runs through your form as he watches you intensely, swallowing your reactions.

Lying bare and helpless in front of him, being at the mercy of his hands and burning eyes, let your pleasure and excitement increase into the infinite.

"My goddess, my temptress..." he whispers as his fingertips slide over your chest, "You've robbed me, of all pieces of heart and mind, sweet bandit mine."

Fingertips moving down further to your belly.

You can feel your wetness already dripping out and you're unsure if you should be this aroused, considering the glowing soreness in your core.

The fingertips reach your loins, and a thumb circles ever so slightly over your sweet nub, his gaze filled with feral desire glued to your sex. Crying out, you tear your eyes away, unable to stand his view. Never before had anyone looked at you this way, craving and starving for you.

Kneeling down Shakespeare kisses the inside of your leg up from your knee, while his hands roam up and down the outside of your thighs. His lips stop at the apex of your inner thigh for a second.

"Such a sweet and alluring scent of yours my darling" he purrs at your delicate skin, shifts a bit to give your slit a quick but firm lick up to your sensitive nub.

Moaning out loud you have to resist the urge to close your legs around him.

"All of you is mine, mine alone," he breathes at your sex, sending shivers down your spine.

His mouth and tongue travel back to the apex of your inner thigh and William burrows his fangs into your soft skin.

Yelping you buck your hips. At this vulnerable spot it is more painful at first, but the waves of the following, overwhelming pleasure washes your mind away.

You cry out his name and your love for him repetitious as he greedy draws your blood, moaning and grunting at your skin.

Mind slipping you begin to realize what it means to love him and to be loved by William Shakespeare in return, but you are more than willing to take whatever it costs.

Thank you for reading! ♡

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp shakespeare #ikemen vampire shakespeare #ikevamp fanfic #ikevamp smut #ikemen vampire smut #ikevamp shakespeare x reader #reader insert #ikevamp william

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notquitequelled · 3 years

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tag yourself (types of academics)

(does not include typical dark or light academia, just aspects and takeaways that form even smaller categories in my mind.)

Historical: old books from goodwill, an altar in the corner of the room, the smell of the sickly sweet coffee fragrance oil, articles and pictures posted to the walls that are slowly peeling off, reading by candlelight with the windows open, pouring over topic after topic to anyone who will listen, sighing with exasperation after explaining to their friends for the fifth time why we can’t just print more money to solve things, many blank notebooks stored away, watching YouTube lectures on 1.75x speed, missing the feeling of museums and the life they bring.

Romantic: unsent letters with sloppy wax seals piling up in the desk drawer, lipstick or any other makeup smearing on the inside of their mask, staring longingly into the flame of a single candle, picturing dancers in the flame, saving posts on Pinterest that make your chest ache and your lungs splutter, reading a book from the 1950′s titled “India’s Love Lyrics” that they found in their grandmother’s library. the faint smell of cinnamon and lavender, falling in love with any interesting stranger on the street, a locket that holds secrets only they know.

Sage: smells of fresh linen and the way carpet does after you vacuum, watches the time carefully and is never late, great time management skills blending with the aforementioned attentiveness to time, silver jewelry and lots of rings, peppermint chapstick and hooded eyes, neat notes and actually pays attention in class most of the time, always wanted when it comes to group projects, cursive handwriting that is both somehow elegant and unintelligible, cable knit sweaters and green comforters, cold hands with a warm gaze.

Ephemeral: impulsivity and dramatic gestures, works at the public library, smells of coffee and cigarettes, late assignments for all but one class, energy drinks for breakfast, pure desire and passion dripping from their hearts, softly playing Chopin into the early hours of the morning, the need for something more; something far greater, piles of boxes and books scattered around their room, late night walks to gas stations; prolonged by the pull of empty parking lots and the pack of Camels in their pocket, writing poetry on the walls of public restrooms and yelling curses and verses into the night, lyrics dripping from their tongue like honey.

Slated: oh so tired eyes, observing the way people act from their spot in the corner of the room, winged eyeliner and jade rings, ironed clothing that matches their accessories, charcoal drawings, the smell of the wet earth after it rains, Plato over Shakespeare, sparkling water, the tapping of fountain pens on wooden desks, leather-bound journals and cracked mirrors, watching the city from the roof of a building, the type of competitive that rises at the slightest ruse, collections of perfumes and small items, has their morning coffee at the same café every day, knows their worth.

(let me know if anyone would like more!! i adore writing these more than you know <3)

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yourdeepestfathoms · 3 years

Text

with this unruly heart of mine

in which we all wish our parents reacted the same way as Alcina does when one of her daughters comes out to her

title is from Unruly Hearts from The Prom because it fit

-----------------------------

MERCUTIO

If love be rough with you, be rough with love. Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. Give me a case to put my visage in. A visor for a visor. What care I What curious eye doth cote deformities? Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.

Alcina read that line over and over again, but she still had no idea what the hell any of it really meant. She sighed and leaned back into the cushions of her seat. If she kept getting caught up on the literary meaning of every other paragraph then she would never finish this damned book.

She picked up the teacup sitting on the stand beside her chair and took a long sip. The tea was of sweet cinnamon on her tongue. It left a much better taste in her mouth than the rather gross relationship between Romeo and Juliet in this book. If the short amount of time the two knew each other wasn’t bad enough, the age gap made her teeth bare and nose wrinkle in disgust. What the hell was this William Shakespeare guy thinking when he wrote this?

The soft sound of bare feet padding against hardwood brought her back to the surface of complete awareness, her focus shifting away from the book and to the late-night arrival watching nearby.

A certain fly child stood, arm on the doorway. Her hair was shaggy from seemingly just waking up--or maybe she hadn’t slept at all in the first place. Unruly blonde locks were sticking up in various directions around her head, framing her face like an adolescent lion’s mane. The nightgown she wore was a size too big and drowning her thin frame.

The light from the fireplace made her golden-amber eyes look hollow.

“Mother?”

“Yes, dear?”

“May I sit with you?”

“Of course.”

Slower than she’d ever seen her move before, Bela inched her way onto the cushioned chair beside Alcina’s. She pulled her knees up her chest, bare toes poking over the edge of the seat, and Alcina regarded them with a scrunch of her nose.

“What have I told you about going around the castle barefoot?” Alcina chided gently.

Bela didn’t look away from the flickering fire in the fireplace. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

Something was bothering her.

Bela was a rather fickle little thing. Some days, she wanted to tell Alcina everything, every little fact of the new knowledge she had obtained from her books, all the small details of her latest stories or ideas. Other days, she put up walls and gave vague answers to questions prodded into her sensitive skin, curling into herself like a frightened snail afraid of being interrogated. This seemed to be something of the latter, and Alcina made a mental note to tread lightly to avoid upsetting her daughter.

“I don’t understand this at all,” Alcina said, waggling the book in her hands, trying to make small talk with her distressed child. She didn’t want to pry and further put Bela on edge more than she clearly was, but she couldn’t not do something about her bitter mood. What kind of mother would she be if she didn’t at least attempt to help with her kids’ problems?

“I can hardly make heads or tails of anything they’re saying,” she continued, hoping she wasn’t laying it on too thick.

Bela raised her head from her knees slightly. “What book is it?”

“Romeo and Juliet.”

There was a morbid snort. “How coincidental…”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Bela shook her head. “Lemme see. What part are you at?”

Alina pointed out the current line she had reread at least five times over without being able to discern the Shakespearean into modern-day language. Bela, however, looked it over once, scanned the other pieces of dialogue for context, nodded, then explained, “In this scene, Romeo, Mercutio, and Benvolio are sneaking into a party thrown by the Capulets by wearing masks to disguise themselves. Romeo is upset over Juliet and says he isn’t going to dance. Mercutio then teases him over this and turns all of Romeo’s words into gratuitous sexual metaphors to poke fun at him. Mercutio ends up going on this whole rant about Queen Mab of the fairies, who visits people in their dreams until Romeo and Benvolio cut in to get things back on track. Romeo also kinda foreshadows the entire play at one point. See? Right here: ‘I fear too early, for my mind misgives Some consequence yet hanging in the stars Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night’s revels, and expire the term Of a despisèd life closed in my breast By some vile forfeit of untimely death.’ I do believe that is hinting at his eventual fate of death.”

Alcina blinked at her for a moment before smiling fondly and rubbing her head. “Such a smart girl,” she cooed. “I could have never gotten that out of this .”

Bela smiled, but then it quickly disappeared, and she leaned back into her chair, curling up and watching the fire once again.

Now Alcina was really concerned. Bela was never one to let go of praise and affection so easily. Usually, she savored it a bit longer before moving onto something else, but here she was, brushing off Alcina’s words and touch as though they were nothing.

Something was very, very wrong.

However, before she had the chance to take the risk and attempt to ask questions, Bela spoke up.

“Have you ever been in love, Mother?”

Surprised, Alcina asked, “And what brought this up?”

Bela shrugged, not making eye contact. She kept looking at the fire as though she wanted to throw herself into it. Her voice was small, so small. “Just curious.”

“I see,” Alcina nodded. She looked up, thinking for a moment as she wracked her brain of the memories of her past life. “I have been in love before. Many times, actually.”

Bela gave her a curious look, finally pulling her gaze from the flames. “Really?”

“Indeed,” Alcina confirmed. “Though, I do believe that just comes with growing up. You gain lovers, you lose lovers. Some were real, some were fantasies I made up. Some lasted a few days, some a few months, some a few years.” She took a sip of her tea again. “None of them really mattered in the end, though. Clearly.” Another sip.

Bela nodded faintly. “Okay.”

“Have you ever been in love?” Alcina decided to ask.

Strangely, Bela went rigid. Her claws clenched around the sides of her calves as she stared forward with pupils that were constricted into pinpricks. Sweat beaded along the golden crown of her head.

“I-I-- umm…”

Alcina furrowed her eyebrows in worry. She closed Romeo and Juliet with a bookmark to mark her page, then set a hand on Bela’s back. Her daughter was trembling.

“Bela?” Alcina said, keeping her voice soothing and low to avoid setting off the poor girl even further. “Is everything alright? You don’t look well.”

“Yes, yes,” Bela answered her, much too quickly for it to be convincing. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Before Alcina could prod further, Bela shot up to her feet. She began to chew on one of her claws, flexing her free hand at her side in visible agitation. Pieces of her skin broke off into flies and buzzed around her head madly. She seemed to be dissociating in panic.

“Bela,” Alcina rose to her feet slowly, not wanting to accidentally frighten her daughter. “Bela, what’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Bela said, even when she was so obviously far from fine. Her chest was beginning to heave.

“Darling,” Alcina said, and that seemed to get Bela to crack a bit.

With a tight whimper, Bela shook her head. “Hard-- hard to breathe--”

Instantly, Alcina loosely took Bela by the arms and lowered her to the ground. In the firelight, she could see the pallor of her daughter’s increasing panic as it morphed into a complete attack on her anxiety. Bela grabbed her wrists with her claws dug in for desperate grounding, and Alcina let her, even when it stung her skin. Her comfort was far from important in that moment.

“Alright, honey,” Alcina said. “We’re going to do the thing we’ve been practicing, alright? Do you think you can do it?”

Wordlessly, Bela nodded.

“That’s my strong girl,” Alcina said. “Alright, give me five things you can see.”

“Y-you,” Bela stammered. The words shook when they left her lips. “Your hair’s kinda bushy.”

Alcina rolled her eyes in a good-natured way. “Thank you for pointing that out, Bela.”

Bela’s fight instantly gave in at that and she hunched her shoulders in, looking ashamed. Quick to correct herself, Alcina lifted her chin so they could make eye contact.

“I was only teasing you, honey,” Alcina said. “Keep going.”

Bela nodded. “The fire; it’s really pretty. Your-- your, umm, chair; it looks soft. The book; not the best of Shakespeare’s works. And, ah-- the teacup; it has doves on it.”

“Very good,” Alcina praised. “Four things you can feel.”

“The fire’s-- the fire’s warmth. My heart in-- my heart in my throat. The floor under me; I should have worn socks.”

“I told you,” Alcina cut in playfully.

Bela swallowed thickly. “A-and, umm-- and my anxiety. It’s like a Lycan in my chest.”

Alcina frowned at that but quickly wiped it off her face for now. She stroked Bela’s cheek, gaining a spark of hope when Bela leaned into her hand.

“I feel you, too,” Bela said.

“You only needed to name five, little moth,” Alcina said, bopping her on the nose.

Bela just shrugged.

“But you’re doing so well. Can you give me three things you can hear?”

“My heartbeat in my ears; it sounds like thunder. I don’t like thunder. Umm-- the fire crackling; I like that. And-- and a raven outside. I think that’s Merlin. His cawing is kinda raspier than the other birds’. I think he may have hurt his throat at some point.”

A small smile grew onto Alcina’s lips. She continued caressing Bela’s cheek as she talked to her. “Now two things you can smell.”

“Fear,” Bela said almost instantly. Her nose twitched. “I smell fear.”

Alcina could smell it, too. The thickened dread wafting off of her shaken daughter was acrid, bitter, and unsettling.

“Umm--” Bela’s claws fidgeted, clicking against each other softly. “And your tea. Smells like cinnamon. Cinnamon makes me sneeze.”

“One more. One thing you can taste.”

“Fear.”

“Fear?” Alcina echoed, one eyebrow raised. “Again?”

“Yes.”

“What does fear taste like?”

Bela stared down at her claws, which she splayed open before herself. “It-- it has a slightly dull metallic taste that’s mixed with urea, I think. Sometimes it tastes like popping a bloody, pus-filled blister in your mouth and squeezing every drop out with your teeth and savoring it on your tongue. Sucking the wound clean and swallowing it down.” She clenched her fists. “But it doesn’t get clean. It doesn’t dry out. The blister just keeps oozing and oozing until all the discharge comes pouring out of your mouth, but even then it doesn’t stop. Because you can’t force it all down. You can’t just swallow and think it’s done. That’s not how anxiety works. It keeps coming, even when you thought it was gone, and it leaves behind this awful flavor of bitter bile. It’s acidic, too, you know? It melts your chest and stomach and makes you feel like you’re sinking in your own skin.” She looked up at Alcina, and her eyes were shiny and blank. “I taste fear, Mother.”

There was silence between them for just a moment. Bela wasn’t looking at Alcina anymore; she seemed to think the floor was very interesting at that moment. Alcina was still considering her daughter’s dark words, replaying them over and over again until the subtle taste of sour gall spread across her tongue. She swallowed it down and winced when it drooled over the back of her throat like rancid molasses.

“You did it, baby,” Alcina finally said, smiling despite her worry, despite the flavor of fear in her mouth. “I’m so proud of you.”

Bela just nodded. Though she was no longer having a panic attack, she didn’t seem any less upset. Alcina considered letting it go, especially after just having calmed her down, but if something was bothering her daughter so much that she couldn’t breathe when she thought about it too hard, she knew she couldn’t just leave it be. It could escalate into something much, much worse, and she knew damn well that Bela was willing to go to such extremes, if her explanation of fear and the way she kept looking at the fire wasn’t enough proof of that.

“Now,” Alcina saw Bela tense, but she plunged anyway. “I need you to tell me what’s bothering you so I can help.”

Bela shook her head with a strangled whimper. “I can’t tell you.”

“Bela, I’m your mother. You can tell me anything.”

“You’ll hate me.”

“I won’t hate you.”

Bela was quiet. Then, slowly, she dragged her gaze up to Alcina. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise, Bela. I would never hate you.”

Bela nodded. “Okay.” Her claws clenched into fists against the floorboards, knuckles shaking and turning white. She took several deep breaths before forcing out, “I-- I don’t-- I don’t like people like that. Like how I’m supposed to.”

Silence.

Tears flowed freely from Bela’s eyes and she choked on a sob. Her head hung in shame as her entire body quaked. The poor girl looked terrified, and the sight hit Alcina right in the heart--though she didn’t quite get it.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said.

“No, no-- you don’t understand,” Bela’s breath was coming out thin and raspy again. She sat up straight, claws now knotted in her nightgown, tensing and pulling. “I don’t-- I don’t like people, Mama. The way other people do. The way everyone does. I’ve-- I’ve tried, but--” She cut herself off with a whimper, tears pouring down her cheeks.

“What do you mean?” Alcina asked. Trying to discern Bela’s vague words was like trying to discern Shakespearean. “Do you think you can explain it to me, hun? Like you did with the book and the fear. I want to help you.”

Bela sniffled, then nodded. “I-- I, umm-- I don’t feel anything towards people. Like-- like that. Romantically. And sexually.”

Finally, it dawned on Alcina.

“When I read those cheesy romance books Daniela likes, I don’t get the characters’ feelings at all. Just the thought of being in a relationship like that makes me so uncomfortable and I don’t know why, and that scares me, Mama.” Bela continued, her anguish oozing into every word she spoke. “I don’t like the thought of being tied down to someone like that, but it still feels like something has been stolen from me. That promise of a future with true love and marriage and a fairy tale ending that Daniela always talks about is gone, even though I still want it. Or, at least, I think I want it. I don’t know what I want.” She sniffled, looking miserable. “It’s the same for sexual stuff. When I come to scenes with sex in them in books, it makes my skin feel all weird, like severed hands are crawling all over my body. I get embarrassed and awkward and uneasy, and I don’t understand that, either. It just makes me feel so sick to my stomach.”

There was a pause. Bela was taking several shallow breaths and digging her claws into her legs, so Alcina reached out and took one of her hands, stroking her knuckles with her thumbs.

“Breathe, baby,” Alcina murmured. “Breathe.”

“I’ve-- I’ve tried to force myself to be like everyone else before,” Bela said unexpectedly.

Taken aback, Alcina said, “What?”

Bela swallowed thickly. “With-- with a maiden. You know how I am with them- too nice, too polite. I befriended one of them. We were kinda close. After a while, she started making moves on me. I knew what she wanted for so long, but I kept avoiding it because I was uncomfortable or scared. But then I had this revelation: maybe if I did this with her, I would finally feel something! I would be like everyone else! So I did. With her. And I didn’t like it.”

“Bela…”

“It hurt,” Bela whispered. “Like I was being scraped raw. Or my body was being turned inside out. I felt so sick. Humiliatingly, I started crying during it, but I don’t think she noticed. If she did, she didn’t stop. Not until she was finished. When she was, I threw up after she left. I was so sore.” Alcina squeezed her hand, and she sucked in a sharp breath, “But-- but I had to have liked it! I got, umm--” Her cheeks began to turn red with embarrassment, though Alcina didn’t blame her. Having to explain your sex life to your mother would be awkward for anyone. “I got…wet. And-- and that happens when you’re aroused! So-- so I do like sexual stuff!”

“Oh, sweetie…” Alcina sighed sadly.

Bela hunched her shoulders in. “R-right?”

“Honey, ‘getting wet’ doesn’t always mean you’re aroused,” Alcina said gently. “Simply viewing something erotic, like a naked woman, for example, could trigger this bodily response. It’s also a way for the vagina to lubricate itself to help dull the pain of penetration. You can be in a sexual situation and be wet, but not want to have sex. That’s completely normal and one hundred percent okay.” She lifted her hands to cup Bela’s cheeks. “Wetness is not an acceptable body language for consent. Who were you trying to convince: the maiden or yourself?”

Bela stared at her for a long moment, eyes wide and damp, breath hitched in the back of her throat. Then, she began shaking her head, pulling her hair, and weeping, “No, no-- I wanted it, I wanted it-- I know I did. I’m normal, I’m normal--”

It was truly heartbreaking to see her child in such a way. Bela seemed downright devastated over her own sexuality, to the point where she thought she was disgusting and unnatural for something that was actually completely normal.

Taking her daughter’s hands to keep her from hurting herself, Alcina went to say something, but Bela cut her off, getting to the words first.

“What’s wrong with me?!” Bela cried. “Why-- why am I like this, Mama? Am I broken? Am I heartless? I-- I love you and Cassandra and Daniela! I love Uncle Karl and Uncle Moreau and Auntie Donna and Angie and the Duke! I love reading and animals and writing, but-- but when I-- when I try to-- when it comes to sex and romance, I--” She finally gave up and sobbed.

“Oh, Bela,” Alcina said sadly. “Oh, my poor, sweet girl…” She pulled Bela into her lap and held her close, rocking her back and forth to help comfort her. Her fingers gently ran through Bela’s messy hair. “Shh, shh… You aren’t broken or heartless, sweetheart. This is an okay thing to feel.”

“You-- you don’t think I’m wrong?”

Alcina’s heart twisted at the way Bela looked up at her to say that, her eyes holding so much sadness and pain. She tucked her daughter’s head back under her chin and tightened the embrace.

“Absolutely not. Do you think you are?”

Bela answered in a strangled whimper. Alcina couldn’t help but wonder what put such a thought in her daughter’s brain--though, this was Bela she was dealing with. her anxiety was a wild, bestial thing that made her worry about the most obscene things.

“Did you really think this would change anything?” Alcina asked. “That I could ever possibly love you any less?”

Bela shrugged weakly.

“I-I just…”

That deep shame from before seemed to return and Bela’s head dipped. Alcina felt like she was going to try and pull away, so she tightened the embrace and used one hand to lift the girl’s chin.

“Hey, hey,” Alcina murmured, brushing away fresh tears on Bela’s cheeks. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with this, sweetie. There’s nothing wrong with you, either. And if anyone says otherwise, tell me. I’ll eviscerate them.”

That got a tiny, watery giggle out of Bela.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Alcina went on. “Sex and romantic relationships… They aren’t for everyone. And that’s okay. It certainly doesn’t make you broken or heartless.”

“B-but--”

“Hun, look at me. Do I really look like someone who will judge you for being this way?”

Bela shrugged a little. Her little body seemed to have exhausted itself of all its efforts to argue.

Alcina rocked her gently, stroking her hair the way she knew she liked it. “How about I explain something to you, hm?”

Bela looked up at her blearily.

“Your love may not be arousing or romantic, but you want to know what it is like?”

“What?” Bela asked softly.

“Your love is warm and fuzzy, like being wrapped in a blanket during a blizzard. It’s safe and reassuring. Your love is security and shelter. Your love is noticing all the little details, like my bushy hair because it’s late at night or your Uncle Karl’s finger twitching because he’s nervous at the meetings with Mother Miranda but is trying to hide it or Cassandra’s leg bouncing because she’s full of pent up, restless energy. Your love is knowing what makes each of us tick and doing everything in your power to make us feel better when we’re upset. Your love is like the first flower showing up in the snow as winter melts away and the beginning flickers of a tender flame and the gentle fluttering of bird wings.” Alcina let out a soft laugh. “I’m nowhere near as good at details as you are, my darling. But, most importantly, your love is normal and natural and what makes you you. And you shouldn’t have to try and change that for anyone, no matter what.”

Bela stared up at her in silenced awe, tears trickling down her cheeks. Alcina squeezed her reassuringly.

“I want you to know that I’ll always support you, okay?” Alcina said. “I’m always going to be here for you.”

Bela nodded, hiccuping softly. “Thank you, Mama,” she whispered through tiny whimpers. “Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too, Bela,” Alcina said. She kissed the top of Bela’s head and purred to her softly. “My perfect, perfect girl.”

#resident evil 8 #resident evil village #alcina dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #resident evil fanfic #dimitrescu family #with this unruly heart of mine

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cto10121 · 11 months

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Literally everyone circa 1590s-1600s: Mellifluous Master Shakespeare!!!! Honey-tongued Master Shakespeare!!! Sweet Master Shakespeare Shakespeare!!!! Cinnamon roll too good and too pure for this world Master Shakespeare!!!!

People writing Shakespeare fanfic/Anti-Stratfordians: But what if he were an arrogant narcissistic asshole, tho????? 👀👀👀👀

#william shakespeare #life of will #i’m just tired guys #even ben jonson couldn’t say anything bad about him #ben jonson!!!! literally the vegeta to shakespeare’s goku #ok granted a lot of the praise are toward his work #but those that did know him do use very similar terms for him #and yes the anti stratfordians count #a whole chunk of them stan the earl of oxford ‘nough said #anti stratfordians #cristina is silly

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raymondebidochonlifechoices · 3 years

Text

once again a late submission, this time for @riverdalepromptathon: week six

>> Fox Forest + violet

The Witching Hour

Jughead is aware that he’s dreaming. He’s in Fox Forest, at the spot where he and Betty had set up camp earlier that day. He remembers starting a fire and making dinner just as the sun had set. It is well past midnight now, the fire dying out, leaving most of his surroundings shrouded in velvety darkness. The sounds of the nocturnal fauna mix with the whooshing of Sweetwater River rushing nearby and the soft crackling of the firewood. The imbalance between sight and sound is disorienting. At night the woods feel otherworldly.

He feels her presence before he sees her. He has always thought that Betty was beautiful but here, in the eerie forest dreamland, she looks like a fairy queen, with her long blonde hair and green eyes. Betty extends her hand in offering and Jughead thinks of roots of relish sweet and honey wild. “Eat me” breathes Dream-Betty. Jughead looks down at his own hand and finds the proffered gift already in his grasp. As he brings his palm closer to his eyes, he sees that it’s a muffin on which the words “EAT ME” are beautifully marked in blueberries. Will this make him larger or smaller, he wonders, before taking a large bite of his Belle Dame’s confection anyway.

In his sleeping bag in a clearing in Fox Forest Jughead tosses and moans but doesn’t wake up.

*****************************************

“Do you think he’s having a sex dream?” Cheryl narrows her eyes at Jughead’s prone form before going back to inspecting her long red nails under the glow of the campfire. Veronica lets out an amused snort. Betty just rolls her eyes.

They image they make, the three of them, around the firepit is incongruous. Only Betty is in camping-appropriate attire, with her leggings and zip-up hoodie, her hair neatly secured in a ponytail. Both Cheryl and Veronica are dressed in long silk dressing gowns, made for lounging on plush divans while nibbling on canapés, which, Betty supposes, was what they were doing when she called Cheryl for their emergency gathering in the woods. Veronica apparently gets the munchies around 2 a.m.

They cast long shadows over the fire, upon which stands a cast iron tripod with what can only be described as a cauldron. This is, of course, Cheryl’s contribution to the night’s activities. In Betty’s opinion, a Dutch oven would have been more practical – or better yet, she should have substituted the first ingredient of her concoction for something that didn’t require melting . At least all she needs for the second (and final) phase transition is the heat from the tinder.

Betty is focusing on her knife as it sinks into soft flesh trying to keep the delicate skin around it intact. Her fingers are sticky with the squelchy innards that she deposits in a big violet plastic bowl. The smell is cloying and Betty’s glad for the breeze that carries the scent away from Jughead’s sleeping form.

Once she’s done with this, it’s time to bring everything together. She pours the golden liquid from the cauldron into another plastic mixing bowl and contemplates the carefully measured-out ingredients already laid before her in pots and cups. As she reaches for the jug on her left, Cheryl’s hand shoots out and grabs it. She dramatically holds the jug over the bowl and slowly pours as she chants “Fillet of a fenny snake, in the cauldron boil and bake.” Betty is making shushing noises, as Veronica giggles and excitedly grabs the next pot. “Eye of newt and toe of frog,” she intones, “wool of bat and tongue of dog!”

They both turn expectantly towards Betty, who is clearly not amused.

“You realize that Shakespeare is not The Young Witch’s Book of Spells, right?”

Cheryl and Veronica just stare at her. Betty stares back, but the only thing that accomplishes is to make Cheryl’s eyebrow climb higher and Veronica’s smile become toothier.

“Fine!” Betty grumbles. “Adder’s fork and blind-worm’s sting, lizard’s leg and owlet’s wing. Satisfied?”

Veronica and Cheryl clasp their hands cackling manically “For a charm of powerful trouble, like a hell-broth BOIL! AND! BUBBLE!!!”

“Shhhhhh!” Betty desperately whisper-shouts looking over her shoulder at Jughead, whose sleep remains, impossibly -but thankfully- unperturbed by their shenanigans.

“That’s not funny, Veronica!” Betty scolds. “You two screeching like … like … like witches! You’ll wake Jughead up and then what?”

“Well, B, it is the witching hour after all” Veronica says. “Besides, you seem to have worn Jughead out! I don’t think he’ll be up any time soon.” She sounds delighted. With a satisfied nod Veronica bends over the violet bowl and sniffs. “Hmm …” is all she says before picking up the bowl and a fork. Cheryl is looking over with mild distaste.

Betty tosses a handful of berries (Vaccinium corymbosum to be precise) in her own bowl and begins stirring: not too much and not too little, unless she wants her effort to end in disaster. Tonight, is her only chance. Once Jughead is up in the morning, it will be too late and all this will be for naught.

“Remind me again”, says Cheryl, frowning down at the bowl in Betty’s hands, “why are we making blueberry muffins in oranges in a campfire in the middle of the night, instead of buying them from a bakery like normal people?”

“I am making muffins”, Betty huffs, vigorously stirring the batter, “because, as you just pointed out, it’s the middle of the night, so there are no bakeries open?” Betty holds the peel of half an orange in one hand contemplating how to tip the mix in without making a mess.

“We are making muffins,” Veronica interjects around a mouthful of scooped-out orange flesh from the violet bowl, picking up a plain platinum band from Betty’s side, “because dear Bettykins found a diamond ring while snooping in Jughead’s bag-”

“I was not snooping!” Betty protests. “I told you, a mosquito woke me up and I was searching for the bug spray and thought it was my bag-“

“A likely story”, dismisses Cheryl with a wave of her hand.

“As I was saying”, Veronica clears her throat, “It’s because Bettykins” -Veronica wiggles her eyebrows at her direction- “just found out that Jughead brought her in the middle of a creepy forest to creepily propose – no, don’t protest, Betty, I know you’re loving this, but it’s still creepy.”

“Is romantic, is what it is” Betty mumbles miffed, filling more oranges with blueberry muffin batter –

“So Betty”, Veronica turns to Cheryl, “wants to beat him to the punch.”

“And I, of course,” Veronica exclaims magnanimously handing the band over to Betty, so that she can press it inside one of the muffins, “will help my bestie in her hour of need!” She leans over to smack a kiss on Betty’s cheek and then lies flat on the ground, the empty bowl of oranges precariously balanced on her very pregnant belly. “Gosh! I’m completely stuffed!” Veronica kicks out her feather slippers and wiggles her toes. “Those were some good oranges!” she sighs contentedly. Cheryl removes the plastic bowl and rubs soothing circles over her wife’s stomach.

*****************************************

2 years earlier

Betty feels the adrenaline still coursing through her veins as sheriff Keller and his men haul Glen in the back of a police car. She and Jughead had finally tracked down the Trash Bag Killer after four months of investigation. It took them another week to uncover the evidence of Glen’s involvement in the murders and two hours of a mad manhunt through Fox Forest to finally capture him.

As the flashing lights of the police cars disappear around the curve of the dirt road, all Betty can think of is dragging Jughead to the nearest tree and ravishing him. Or, better yet, tying him to said tree and not letting him go until he forgives her past transgressions and agrees to have her babies. She doesn’t have time to implement her ingenious plan, because she finds herself backed against a tree by Jughead, who proceeds to kiss every accessible part of her, explaining -whenever he resurfaces for air- his own plans for them.

She has her legs wrapped around his middle using the trunk for purchase as she grinds down on him, when she comes to her senses and stops him. Getting off in the middle of the forest is not the getting-back-together story she wants to tell her future offspring, she tells him. Jughead laughs and proceeds to unbutton her blouse. “I” -nip- “promise” -kiss- “to come back here” -another kiss- “for a romantic proposal” -Jughead looks straight into her eyes- “so that we can have a non-horny version to tell our kids.”

Jughead is very distracting but Betty insists that while she finds the idea of a proposal on the spot where they arrested a serial killer’s accomplice excellent, it’s still not suitable for more innocent ears.

“Fine” Jughead concedes. “What would you consider a family-friendly proposal then?” Betty is at a loss of words. In between wanting to tie Jughead to a tree and convincing him to have her babies, a proposal had completely slipped her mind.

“Umm…” Betty stalls. “I don’t really know … A ring hidden in a muffin?” She cringes the moment the words get out of her mouth.

Thankfully Jughead finds it more funny that absurd. “You do you, Cooper” he says as he lets her feet touch the ground. “You put that ring in a muffin. The trick is, of course, to propose before I do.”

And, with that, he drops to his knees pushing down her jeans and panties.

*****************************************

In the witching hour, in a clearing at Fox Forest, Betty Cooper (soon to become Cooper-Jones) puts the empty half of an orange peel on top of one filled with batter (and a ring), wraps the orange with three layers of heavy-duty aluminum foil and places it in the camp fire. She’d be damned if she’ll not have fresh blueberry muffins for Jughead come morning. All she has to do now is make sure that he doesn’t scarf down the ring along with the muffin.

Notes:

Apparently, campfire muffins in oranges are a thing, though I’ve never tried them! What Betty’s melting in the cauldron is butter. She should have used oil, but I needed the cauldron, so …

“Roots of relish sweet and honey wild” belong to John Keats’s La Belle Dame sans Merci.

The blueberry muffin that spells “EAT ME” comes from Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland. The original is a small cake with currants.

Betty, Veronica and Cheryl are, of course, reciting part of the spell cast by the Three Witches in Shakespeare’s Macbeth (Act IV, Scene I).

A bit silly but, hopefully, a bit fun too!

#riverdalepromptathonweek6 #Bughead fanfiction #by yours truly

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k1ng-for-a-day · 3 years

Note

Could you possibly do some fluff/nsfw Headcanons for The Shape x Killer! S/O? Like maybe his s/o gets stuck in the entity’s world too? Thank you!

:000 Oh my god thank you so much for this request!! I honestly never thought I would get one I feel really flustered just by looking at this.

A Michael Myers and killer S/O... how would that go...

❤️SFW❤️

🔪🖤 When Michael first saw you, he thought of you as another killer who landed into the entities arms. In short he never had much of a heart for you. At all.

🔪🖤 After a couple of rounds and seeing your tactics, he immediately became invested. He was intrigued by this seemingly new found power a killer like you would have. Whether it was your weapon that was sharp yet pristine, or the way your body shapeshifted into many directions. It was very amusing in his eyes.

🔪🖤 The thing that really kicked it off was how you would ask Michael for some advice. He found it oddly adorable, but he would never admit it. He would say things very bluntly, or write it down for a more in depth explanation. (Down side to that was his somewhat horrendous hand writing). At first you could barely understand it at all, and ask what he meant on a certain sentence or paragraph, which would cause him to demonstrate it. In his mind he believes that his handwriting is decent in a way.

🔪🖤 When he discovered that you couldn’t read it fully, he was somewhat shocked at this. He tried to make it a little bit better, which worked mostly. You could finally read his notes properly, and studying his handwriting really did help you a lot. (Keep this is mind)...

🔪🖤 After you two started talking more and more, he became a bit more close to you, and showed you things he wouldn’t with anyone else. Hell, he wouldn’t even show Danny these at all. (Or Ghostface. He’s really close with him).

🔪🖤 What he presented to you was this:

A picture of his family. It was wholesome, sweet, and his cute little blonde hair made you smile. This was something he showed Danny.

A key to his house in Hadonfield. This was something that was somewhat special to him due to the nostalgia of his old family, even though he did kill Judith. He definitely didn’t show Ghostface this place. (Knowing Danny he would trash it in an instant).

His favorite blade- A kitchen knife. It’s vertical simple, but to him it’s like an artifact. It’s like a painting at a museum, or some beautiful necklace at an expensive jewelry store. He enjoys it very much. Danny has seen this one too many times.

His face.

🔪🖤Once Michael finally revealed his face to you, it felt like your goal was achieved. Something inside you felt complete; you were finally whole. His beautiful eyes gleamed at you softly, but somewhat shyly. He was kind of blushing. It was weird to see this man seem so defeated, but satisfying nonetheless.

🔪🖤At first when he revealed his face, he felt a bit insecure about it. After you quickly examined his face, he covered it up instantly. He was scared that you wouldn’t like it, however that was false.

🔪🖤You would attempt to ask him if he would take it off, but he shook his head no. Course you were sad about this and ask why. He would shrug. He just doesn’t want to. If you annoy him enough, or give him a small gift, he might slip a small peak. However, he’ll quickly put it back on afterwards.

🔪🖤Later on he started to gain a bit more trust, and take off his mask for a little more time. (This phenomenon was only when you two were alone). At first it was only for a quick second, but slowly grew on to be a bit longer. A minute, five minutes, fifteen, and the longest was an hour.

🔪🖤This ‘special hour’ of mask-less Myers was a glorious site. His hair was so fluffy, his eyes were so soft, and his skin was surprisingly smooth. Everything was amazing. You two would talk about your past lives, feelings for certain killers, and just deep conversations in general. Sometimes you would even lay on his shoulder. It was soft as well.

🔪🖤After a while, Michael starts to lighten up to you about stuff that swirls around his mind. Not only does he talks about the survivors, but he talks about his day in general. (Most of it is written on a paper though). Even though Myers doesn’t feel emotion, his writing almost seems like something from a Shakespeare play. It’s somewhat sweet, but very talented.

🔪🖤You complemented Michael every time he wrote these things to you, but he seemingly shrugged it off. It seemed like you were ignored. It was kind of strange.

🔪🖤Months later you were mainly focused on hunting down survivors, and attempting to talk to Michael. Even though you tried to talk to him before a match, he became a bit more distant to you. It was to the point you thought he wasn’t fond of you anymore. You almost felt used.

🔪🖤When you confronted Michael about this, he just stared at you blankly and didn’t say anything. He didn’t even write anything at all. The reason for this was because he was scared. He was paralyzed. You didn’t catch onto this, and just walked away thinking that he didn’t actually care about you. Then again he isn’t suppose to feel emotion.

🔪🖤The next day he wrote you a small note explaining why he was distant. It was mainly due to the harshness of the entity and how displeased he was. He became so distracted by you that he started killing less and less victims. It was to the point no one was hurt at all. He was very sincere about his apology, and even brought you a small gift; an Ebony Mori.

🔪🖤Was he this crazy to give this to you..? This has to be a mistake. He didn’t need to do this!

🔪🖤The next day Michael tapped you on the shoulder, and lead you back to his house, but in a secluded area. This place was empty, but slightly warm. It was welcoming.

🔪🖤He handed you a small piece of paper, and rubbed his arm nervously. He stared at you, blushing underneath the mask.

🔪🖤You read the note, carefully: “My dearest, S/O, I wanted to know if you’ve had these odd feelings before. These stimulants that react in your brain that seemingly damage your heart once it all crumbles. This void then replaces those crumbling bits that fell through your heart. It’s like a burning passion that your to afraid to leave. I never understood these feelings of grief, pain, happiness even. I only knew hatred, death, and seemingly nothing more. I was only a prodigy made to enforce pain, but once you came to me, my eyes opened into newer possibilities. I was seemingly morphed into this new being that could finally see what others saw with my own eyes. I could finally feel. So I have to ask, do you truly love me? Would you take my hand and hold it close to yours?”

🔪🖤You looked back at him and blushed in shock. You never thought that he would do something like this, let alone to you. He stared right back at you with his mask off, awaiting your answer.

🔪🖤”Michael,” you spoke, “of course I love you!”

❤️NSFW❤️

🔪🖤Later that night, Michael stared at you with a soft smile. He thought about how beautiful you were, and how your body was perfectly made. It made him feel something much more interesting; lust. He longed for that smooth touch of your body near his, and was somewhat needy,

🔪🖤When he writes his notes, he’ll sometimes ask if you want to do something ‘strange’ with him. You didn’t realize what it was, but he’ll elaborate onwards about it.

🔪🖤If you do consent to this ‘strange’ thing, he’ll show you what he means by using his own collection of “tools”.

🔪🖤When you saw this ‘collection’ you were immediately shocked. Michael was into collecting.. sex toys? What the fuck..? You stared at him blankly, just merely in disbelief. He simply twitches his head to the side. ‘Was it not normal to collect things like this?’ He ponders for a bit.

🔪🖤You just shook your head, and decided to follow through with this ‘strange idea’ of his.

🔪🖤The first thing Michael wanted/needed was to be loved. To be kissed specifically. He likes affection before the actual event begins.

🔪🖤He took off his mask and stared at you with his widened eyes. He observed you like an a diamond, and slowly pulled you towards his lips. He kissed you on the cheek for starters, since he was inexperienced at the time.

🔪🖤He slowly started to go near your lips, and peck them gently in order to assert some form of neediness. Sometimes he would bite you lip on purpose in order to hear you squeal quietly. It was adorable, but he’ll never admit it.

🔪🖤As he kissed your lips, he finally advanced to something much more enticing; he inserted his tongue.

🔪🖤As he entered your mouth, you were in a bit of shock, but hypnotized by this taste. It was addicting to feel his mouth, and the soft but tough texture complemented both of you perfectly.

🔪🖤The next thing he would do was slowly take off his jumpsuit, (or whatever tf it’s called), and tease you a bit. He wouldn’t fully take off his clothes, and leave you there to beg for more.

🔪🖤And honey, you really did beg. You begged so badly that you were practically on your knees at this point. And he was amused by it. Definitely amused if you know what I mean.

🔪🖤You slowly crawled towards him, and pull it fully down to reveal his trousers. You could tell he was hard in an instant. You weren’t to sure how big it was at first, but once his boxers was off it was revealed in its entirety.

🔪🖤It seemed like a horse cock in your eyes. It was pretty thick, and was about 8 maybe 9 or 10 inches. No matter the size, you were still intrigued. You placed your hands on it in order to give him a good start. You just stroked it gently. Since it was your first time, you were very nervous. Extremely scared about this.

🔪🖤After stroking it softly, Michael was about to cum. He slowly grabbed your delicate head, and rammed it on his snake! He would then proceed to pull your hair while you were sucking it so delicately. When he was at his full release, he would cum inside your mouth and pull out. His last bit of white was all over your face. Just like he showed you.

🔪🖤From then on, when Michael was horny, he would bring you into his ‘sex dungeon’ of sorts. What you both discovered was that he was big into knife play. He enjoyed bringing your/his weapon up against your throat, and slowly licking your neck.

🔪🖤What you also found out was when Michael had extreme urges, he would deadass break into your match and fuck you in a bush or a closed off area. Sometimes you would ask, “what about the entity? What about the survivors?” But he didn’t care. All he wanted was you, and he was able to cum inside you. He didn’t give a flying fuck if someone like Jake Park saw this shit with his own eyes. Hell, he wouldn’t mind if he joined in! (Actually he definitely would).

🔪🖤Before you two would complete his desires, Michael would give you a piece of paper asking if you would partake in his acts, (even if you really wanted to for the whole day).

🔪🖤He also uses his sex toys during these phenomenons when the time comes. He also likes to put marks around you, add a collar on you, and degrade you when he’s really in an enraged mood.

🔪🖤Sometimes he’ll threaten to record a session on Danny’s camera if you don’t behave. Of course he wouldn’t do it since he doesn’t know how it works, but that usually gets you to behave in an instant.

🔪🖤Aftercare with Mikey is actually quite wholesome. After you use the bathroom, eat something sweet, or some other thing he’ll ask if your ok. If you say ‘yes’ then he’ll kiss you on the cheek and tell you how much he loves you. If you say ‘no’, he’ll start to feel bad and tell you how much he actually cares for you, and positive things to brighten your mood. He’ll even take you to Sally if you’re not feeling well.

Well I hope you enjoyed this headcannon I guess. I know it’s probably not up to your expectations, but I tried. And again thank you so much for requesting this. I was just shocked when someone finally said something! Thank you so much!

(Also please don’t mind the weird spaces! I copied and pasted this from my notes, so that’s the reason why the spacing is weird. I can’t stop it from doing that..)

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desolindistress · 2 years

Text

I would do anything and everything for you. Anything you can think of; just say the word and I would try to find a way, or tear the world apart trying. You could have my mind, my body, my soul if you believe in that kind of stuff. You could use me, and discard me, and forget me. You could have anything you want from me. It wouldn't be enough. Maybe nothing will ever be enough again. But I am all I have to offer you. I'm only sorry that it's not enough.

I hope one boy is singing a love song forever, and the other finds a new melody to dance to.

I hurt for you. I mourn the long line of people you used to be, the versions of you that you mention in past tense. I grieve the people you have shed like a second skin over the years, endlessly trying to survive.

One day, you ought to thrive.

You tell me that you don't regret any of it, and you say it was all worth it. You won't let anyone take away your kind and trusting nature. Some days, I wonder if you would be less hurt if you had a guard as strong as mine. Some days, I wonder if I could defend for you, if I could fight for you. If you'd let me do that for you. But most days, I know that I am nothing to you, just one more anomaly out of a long line of unpredictable situations in a chaotic life. I know that I can't fix your problems, and I know it would be wrong of me to try.

I want to sleep next to you, and that's all I want to do right now.

In the space between your voice, your breath, and the faraway look in your eyes is contained a universe. I bet you didn't know that. I want to fall asleep in that universe every night. I want to hold your body against mine. You tell me about the things that haunt you, but most of all I can still feel her lingering near, ghostly hair brushing against your face and the drifting scent of her shampoo.

I know what she did.

I know exactly how she hurt you, and I know that doesn't change how beautiful it still was, and I know that bad things don't erase good things. The universe is so cruel. You never stop loving, no matter what you find out, no matter how situations change. You never forget every beautiful moment, no matter how many ugly ones followed. You just keep loving her, and the scab over your heart just keeps reopening, and I wish I could bandage you up but all I've got is myself to give and that will never be enough. You have to heal yourself. I can't do anything but watch. And it hurts so much to see you wounded.

The scraped up skin on my knuckle matches yours.

Every time I see it, I remember that I can work myself a little harder than I thought, break myself a little more so I can put the pieces back together a little better. Every time I see it, I remember you, even though I am trying to forget. I hate that you have marked me so permanently yet so invisibly, because now, everything reminds me of you, and I can't get away from it all.

Even the trees whisper your name.

As I wander through the woods after you leave, I can still see the traces of where you sat, where you held me, and where you told me I would be okay. If I close my eyes, my body aches as though missing a part of itself. If I open them again, I spin in a dazed circle, convinced you will emerge from behind me. The trees are old, and kind; they calm my wandering spirit and still my trembling heart. They take away the tears. But most of all, they echo your name, because you told me plants have feelings and know when they're loved and now I kind of think that they all know you cared for them. Now when I see roses, I remember you; now when I see pink in the corner of my eye, I remember you; now you line the pages of Shakespeare's plays; now, now, now, I am shaking with the thought of losing you and losing the world you have given me.

I wake up with your name on my tongue.

It tastes... inadvertently... like honey. Sweet, but sorrowfully so; a medicine for hurtful souls. It is an honor to love you and not be loved back, to offer you everything I've got in exchange for nothing. If it breaks me, so be it; you are a worthy cause to break for.

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optimistic-dinosaur-nacho · 3 years

Text

Ransom Drysdale x Reader (Dad!AU)

Summary: Ransom Drysdale, a man who didn’t make wise decisions in his teens. Wasting three years of his life in jail, he takes his freedom for another two. Little did he know, a woman he long ago had a thing for, ends up leaving him with a 16-year-old for the holidays. Hazel Rose Drysdale. His daughter.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

This takes place after Knives Out. Family will be mentioned, there will be minor spoilers for Knives Out.

Warnings: Bad parenting, swearing, Ransom being an asshole, minor spoilers for Knives Out, angst, mentions of murder/jail, minor mental abuse, mentions of abortion/pregnancy, Mentions of suicide

I do not consent to have my work hosted on any second party app or site. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but tumblr, it has been reposted without my permission.

There’s a Hamilton reference in here and I couldn’t help but throw it in there.

You always thought San Francisco was a horrible place to be on your own for. Having a job there, you’d be an hour late if you lived outside the city. This year had been tough on you. You felt like your rent was going up or that your job was getting lower paychecks. Your head was spinning every day that you could barely answer anyone’s questions. The lack of sleep you get every night, especially having to wake up every day at six.

You fix yourself a coffee but then end up at a nearby Starbucks to grab one. They always had better coffee for your energy gain. You weren’t really a money maker, you drove a very old red Honda. You have bills coming in through the mail slot that it has you wanting to burn them to ashes. You couldn’t handle enough stress, especially having a 16-year-old daughter.

At that age that’s when you had your only precious little girl, Hazel. You always made sure she never met any boy that could have her end up like you long ago. Being a teen mom wasn’t easy. Even lying to your daughter was something you couldn’t bear to keep from. It was only to protect her.

Hazel never spoke once about who her father was. As a child, she had dolls and those dolls were a family. One mother, one daughter and a father. Hazel made them the happiest dolls in her mind. She never asked anything related to her family’s relations or where they lived.

She was home schooled since, you were too afraid to have her at school and be bullied by boys or girls. It was something you dealt with and you didn’t want that to happen to her. You didn’t have the money for her too. Gas money, bills, dinner and rent were your only priorities. To have a roof over Hazel’s head, to drive her to the library or stores to get new outfits, feed her every morning, afternoon and night. Like you said, it wasn’t easy.

Your parents live up in Oregon for a while now and you would sometimes visit them over the holidays. Their reactions to your pregnancy, it didn’t end well. The few weeks of being pregnant, they were disappointed. The father’s side of the family had been one of the most entitled families in town. You grew up in Massachusetts and when you got pregnant, your parents moved to Oregon after you had Hazel.

And Hazel’s father abandoned you. Being 17 and 16, you were the one scared while he watched you in disgust and asked to abort your child. That decision was one of the hardest decisions of your life. Either live with the pain of delivering your baby girl or painfully lay on your bed thinking you could’ve had a good life with your daughter.

And you did have a good life whether you struggled to keep her happy. You hope no boy or man could ruin her reputation and lose hope in the world to make someone happy. “Miss L/N.” The dark velvet voice made you lose your trance and your eyes darted over to your boss. Or someone who is your guide for three years.

Mr. Charles Leyman. His blonde hair was combed to the side, his piercing blue eyes could have any office women get lost in. His suits were always made fine by a professional and his watches always came in different colors. Surely, they were over a thousand dollars. Charles had been your guide since you joined the large business in San Francisco. He was very kind, charming and he always knew personal space.

He always had a circle around him and it’d smell like his expensive cologne. Out of the cologne you’ve known, this one smelled like Guilty Intense. The Italian lemon, patchouli, amber, mandarin, and orange flower topping aroma was always attracting women. You wondered if he was a mama’s boy just on how much of a gentleman he was.

You saw his side grin creep up to his face, “You must be preoccupied in your own mind palace,” He mentioned towards you. Your hand reaches up to the small strand of hair and you pull it back. “Sorry.” Charles folds his hands in each other and leans on his desk. The man was in his thirties, a couple more years older than you.

“You know, you don’t always have to apologize for everything you do that is no harm. I just didn’t want you to be stuck in your head, Miss L/N.” Your head lifts up to him. He softly grins, “I wanted to discuss your recent report on the Berkeley College. Something about the Science and Technology Event on October 28th.”

You gently tilted your head, “What about it?” Charles lifted the print of the page and scanned through as if he wasn’t sure himself what the problem was. He clicks his tongue, “You kind of repeated yourself in a couple paragraphs. Even spelling errors. Have you been using-”

You nod, eyes closing slowly out of embarrassment, “Yes, I was. But I think our internet was shut off due to th-”

“That forum doesn’t need the internet to correct your mistakes. It corrects off Wi-Fi.” You sighed softly, turning your gaze away from him and he lowers the paper down to look at you, solemnly. “Look, Miss L/N. I’m not here to criticize you, I’m here to help you. And I know you have a 16-year-old at home and the father’s passing, you-”

“I will say this once and I hope you take it as it is. I’m fine.” Charles leans back a little to your response. Watching you closely to see your hands fidget in your lap. He almost felt like a brother to you, but there were moments where he offered you to dinner and almost walked you over to your car. It was embarrassing to see him and his silver Audi. You were sure he had a Tesla. The invites to his home were always nice. Charles knew your daughter well.

They got along well and never heard a single bad thing from Hazel, saying she had a good time with Charles. Hazel always told you how much fun she had with anything, she walks over to the public library, tells you about a book she read. You know she went to the library when she texted you earlier this morning.

That day, you relaxed at your desk and looked over the recent drafts of your future reports to go on the papers. You feel your phone ring and your hand picks it up from the desk.

Incoming call from Hazel-Bear

You picked up the phone and held it up to your ear, “Hey, baby.”

“Hey, mom. Can you pick me up?” You look over to the wall with the clock, showing the time. You were only a few ways away. “Can you wait for 10 minutes?” You hear Hazel hum in a yes, “Yeah. I’m just sitting in the library.” You began to close your computer and logged off. “Okay, honey. I’ll text you when I get there.” You started to put your papers in your bag and slipped in your laptop. “Okay. Bye, mom! Love you.”

“Love you, too. I’ll see you.”

Hazel was always the type to listen. As a child, she wasn’t spoiled as much because of what you had as a teenager. You were glad she didn’t end up like her father. She was sweet. Her smiles always made everyone welcomed in her space. Gatherings and meetings, your co-workers and friends always chatted about your daughter. Hazel would always keep a conversation lit up and she’d make every interesting comment. Being a book-worm, she would go on and on like a Stephen King book or become William Shakespeare and her words were strong.

You’d do anything for her, no matter what. Picking her up at the library was always a doing for you. The distance wasn’t long but you enjoyed picking her up there.

You pull up to the front of the library and see your daughter come up to the side of the door and jump in. “Thank you, mom,” She says, you greet her with a smile and watch her hold a book in her hand. “You’re welcome, honey. Did you return Hesse?”

Hazel nods and looks over to you, “Yeah. And I found this interesting book called Vulcan’s Den. Everyone’s been reading the author’s books since he died 5 years ago.” You glance over to her, seeing her eyes read the story in her hands. She looked like she was through 10 chapters already. “Hm. Who’s the author?”

“Harlan Thrombey.”

Your face froze into a fit of shock. Your fists twist around the wheel and Hazel spoke the whole time but then realized you had been temporarily deaf. “...he committed suicide.”

You look up to see the red light and you step on the break causing the car to jerk forward a bit. Your eyes lower to your hands on the wheel, “What, sweetheart?” Hazel turns and gently closes her book. “I said, he was found dead in his home. Committed suicide.” Hazel turns back to her book with a grin. “He was a really good author. I’ve been thinking about writing stories, too! He always knew how to make crime and mysteries such a good genre.”

Your eyes stare in front like you just ran over someone but all you could do is nod and say, “That’s... tragic, sweetheart. I’m sure he would’ve loved to hear your stories.” And your way back home was silent for the next 10 minutes. The only name coming to flood your mind like a banshee. Screaming internally, your heart felt like pin needles were jabbing into it and your breathing somewhat became more quite. As if you died in your seat but your mind kept going on.

Harlan Thrombey.

A man who writes like he’s running out of time.

That night, you had just made dinner and sat in the small living room watching television as usual. Glancing over to the kitchen sharing with the dining room, you see Hazel at the table, eating and reading the book she got today. You couldn’t help but grin at her read the book with such concentration.

You turn your gaze over to the TV but you didn’t pay mind to it. The sounds of your neighbors playing music or their dogs barking above you. Hazel closes her book and sighs softly. “Oh mom?” She asks, you turn to her, raising your brows up. “Hm?”

Her hand rests on the table as she turns her body towards you, “There’s this musical coming into Oakland in December and I was thinking we can get tickets? I don’t know if you’re familiar with Hamilton.” You tried not to give Hazel the look of ‘I’m sorry’, you just stared at her blankly, trying to sound less of a bad mother. Sure the tickets were a bit over 50 dollars. You couldn’t even nod as you sighed, “We’ll see, sweetheart.”

Hazel turns away and picks up her book to head over to her room and you tried not to think about Harlan.

Yes, he was familiar to you. A famous author who published hundreds of books based on mysteries and murder. You weren’t there when Harlan was killed. But you knew someone at work who actually wrote the report about him. Police finding out about not only his suicide but his oldest grandchild was in jail for murder and arson.

You didn’t know much but you’ve read the report so many times. Harlan was a good author and you were happy to see your daughter read a book from someone who was related to her. Hazel never knew much about her father’s side of the family. You tried your best to keep her silent about it and she never asked once.

You remembered you had things that could make her brighten up. You stood up from your spot and made your way into your bedroom. You walked over to your closet and turned on the light to look up. Seeing a dark box written ‘Books’ on the side, you reach up and slid it off the edge and into your arms. You placed it on your bed and reached in for the book collection with Harlan’s name printed on every book.

You opened one and saw a small message written in cursive with his name at the end. Harlan always gave you the first copy and made sure you gotten them. His books made it into films and he gave you the movies and that’s where these old films laid in. Hazel will like to watch these over and over. “Ro, baby,” You call out.

You hear her call back and made her search around the apartment and met you in the bedroom. You turned and sat on the edge of your bed. “You love books, right?” You asked. Hazel nods questionably, “Yeah?” You placed your hand on the edge of the box, “These are special and old. It might not sound real to you but these are all first copies.” Hazel makes her way over and slightly gasps.

“They’re... Harlan books?” She pulls them out and opens the first book, “And he signed them!” Hazel looks up to you with a smile. Shockingly, it made you smile, “I want you to take care of these really good for me, okay? You can take them to your room and read them.” Hazel slams herself into your chest and hugs you tightly.

“Thank you, mom.”

You wrap your arms around her and held her there, placing a kiss on her head. “I love you, too, sweetheart.” Hazel wasted no time into bringing the books into her room. Her eyes scanned every letter written in the books by the author, himself. He kept calling you, sweetheart. Hazel wondered if you knew him really well. You collected every book from him and they were all first copies. The films were never used and they were amazing. Hazel began to pull each of them out on her bed and reached for the last book that was wider than the others.

Hazel lifts it up and sees the cute designs.

Memories.

Hazel turns around to sit on her bed as her fingers graze over the small stickers that were worn out. She read your name on the front of the cover and flipped the page over. Photos of her grandparents, your mom and dad taking you out to the lake. A couple pictures of you reading books. Your 15th birthday photo was very old and you looked just like her. Hazel flipped the next pages and the photos gotten bigger. And the months grew further on.

Pictures of you in a dress. Your junior year in a blue silk dress, your hair was perfectly done with a bit of makeup. Hazel had not seen you so beautiful with makeup on. With a small grin, she flips the page and there’s a photo of you again at what looked like your prom dance. Her grin slowly freezes when she sees someone stand next to you with a small grin.

His hair was slick back, his tuxedo was a matching blue and his bow tie was black. His jaw was sharp enough to cut paper. Hazel knew you had her at the age of 16, the date takes back a few months before your birthday. Hazel had to think he was someone you were with. A picture of carved initials with a heart around them.

The ‘R’ was carved along with your initial and in between your initials was a plus sign. Hazel grew more into the photos and kept going over the pages. The next photos never had the boy in the photos any more. But you had your hands on your stomach with a grin. You had to be about one month pregnant. But the boy you had in the other photos never appeared in these.

Then you happened to be in Oregon. You said you were born in Oregon and lived there since you were born. Where were you before? Hazel flipped a couple more and her photos came into view. Her baby pictures were old and very nicely situated. Hazel grins softly at the photos and opened the last page to have things slip out.

Hazel catches the piece of paper and small patch from a high school logo. She looks over the patch that must’ve came from a private school. She flipped it over and read it.

Hugh D. MA, Boston

Hazel furrowed her brows at the name. Hugh must’ve been a different boy you dated. She reaches for the paper that was partially ripped in half and placed the two together like a puzzle.

Ransom (xxx) xxx - xxxx

She read the letter and saw the added heart to his name. Ransom. Who was Ransom and Hugh?

“Honey! Did you want to finish your show?” You called out to Hazel. The teenager puts the things back in the book and puts it back in the box. “Uh... Yeah! I’m coming!” And she covered it up with the others and made her way out of her room into the living room. Hazel couldn’t help but think about who her dad was.

The next morning, you made breakfast and Hazel began to eat what you’ve made. Bacon, eggs and some toast. You poured her some juice and began to clean up your mess on the counter and placed a couple dishes into the dish washer. The sounds of Hazel’s utensils scrapping against the plate, she glanced up at you and saw your calm content face doing normal chores.

“Who’s my dad?”

You drop a plate from your hands and it falls into the sink once again and shatters in pieces causing Hazel to painfully watch and you turn to her. It was bound to happen, but you didn’t expect it this soon. You did you? “What?”

Hazel nibbles on her bottom lip and gently puts her fork down and pulls her hand to her lap. “I... I want to know who dad was.” You cross your arms and reached to grab your grin and rub the sides. Hazel lowers her gaze, “I saw two names in this photo book. Hugh and Ransom. I want to know who they were. And did my father actually die in an accident?”

It was like your worst fear and the countless nightmares were coming to life. Hazel sat there for answers now. You needed to give her small details in order for her to freak out less. You never wanted to upset Hazel. Just like you didn’t want to upset her father when you first told him the news.

“But I knew Harlan very well. I met him as a kid and he gave almost every first copy of his books. I knew him because I met his oldest grandson at the age of 15. His name was Hugh.”

“So is Ransom my biological father? And Hugh was just-” Hazel noticed the shook of your head, your lips pierced together as if you tried not to spill everything towards her. The fear to see her get scared of the truth. “Those names are from one person, sweetheart. He was complicated between his first and middle name. Hugh Ransom Drysdale. He was just a year older than me.” Hazel turns her head and whispers.

“Hazel Rose Drysdale.”

You hum in response, furrowing your brows. “Is he alive?” She asked, you instantly stand up, pushing yourself off the counter, “Honey, please. Finish eating.”

“I want to know, mom. Don’t I get to say anything about him-?”

“Hazel, please. Eat your food, I’m not in the mood now to discuss your family relations-”

“You’ve lied and I need to know what else you’ve been keeping away from me.” You turn away from her and finished off the last Tupperware and sighed. It was gonna take a while for her to lose the thoughts to go away and have her continue on something else. “Mom-”

“Hazel, please! I can’t discuss this now!” You snapped. Hazel’s fingers curl into her palm and she fidgeted her thumb under them. Her feet kick herself back and she stood up. “Thank you for dinner,” she muttered, leaving her plate on the table while making her way into her room. You sighed out of regret and turned to the window.

You couldn’t tell if Hazel was crying or playing music to calm herself. You never outburst on her like that. Never in your days you’d shout at her. The mention of her father had to come out sooner or later. The truth never made its way over to you. Hazel wasn’t ready to find out. You weren’t ready to give it to her. Maybe never.

You just cleaned up her plate and put the leftovers in the fridge in case she wanted more since she barely ate thinking too much about her father.

You got a shower going and left the house, leaving a note on Hazel’s door. Your drive to work was a bit long but you managed to get there in time. Taking the elevator to the office floor, you set up your stuff on your desk and began to go through your recent reports.

Checking every wording and errors you can spot.

A soft knock hits your wall and a woman peaks over. Your office neighbor. “Morning, babes. How you doing?”

You let out a soft sigh, “Morning, Ciara.” Your fingers worked against the keyboard, writing away till someone takes your chair and spun you around. The red-head lightly glares in your eyes. You turn your head, “What?” You asked, Ciara squints her eyes. “What happened?” She replies with the same questionable tone. All you did was shake your head and Ciara pouts at you. She was never going to let you get away that easily.

“She knows about her dad?”

You nod towards her, raising your mug up to your lips to regain your energy. Ciara pinches her chin to be in a thinking stance and her brows bounce up, “Well, shit.” You look over to her and she lightly laughs. “What am I going to do?” You ask.

Ciara thinks, “Well... I don’t think you can keep her away forever.”

“What do you mean?” You ask once more, Ciara tilts her head at you and that made your heart drop. “No. No! I cannot do that-” Ciara drops her arms from the crossing and sighs. “Y/N, you really messed up the pooch here. If my mom lied about my dad being dead, I would’ve wanted to meet him.”

“You don’t know what he’s like,” You said, “He’s arrogant. A complete asshole-”

“Okay! Okay... but your daughter would have to at least get to know him. Give her a few days. Weeks. Who knows? Maybe he’ll come around. Hazel needs a father figure in her life and every kid would want to have their parents together.” You shook your head softly and raised your glass back up to your lips and took a large sip.

You wouldn’t trust Ransom being with Hazel for who knows how long. You couldn’t trust yourself to stay a day there. You wouldn’t last a minute to be in the same room with him. But you thought about Hazel. You felt more selfish for yourself than for Hazel. You had your dad but she never got to see him once. You kept him under a rock that Hazel couldn’t lift up and now she found his photo.

She found you and him together.

There can’t be a way to change her mind. Unless she stays with him. The holidays were coming up. Thanksgiving was only a few weeks away. Maybe you’d give her that much time with him. Ciara’s face leans down to look at you in the eye. For some kind of response for her to agree or to push.

Your mug lowers from your face and you two just shared looks.

That day, you made your way back home after your work was finished. You felt like you swallowed bees. You didn’t bother to text Hazel you were coming home or that you were going to talk to her. You just needed to be home right away to talk to her. To tell her everything.

You were afraid to give her everything about him. You needed to take it slow every now and then.

The moment you stepped into your apartment you dropped your bag and opened Hazel’s bedroom, seeing her on her bed with her laptop on her lap. “Hey, mom,” She says.

You grin softly, “Can I talk to you?” Hazel did not refuse and she watches you sit on the edge of her bed. Hazel knew this certain stance of a parent. “I know this morning was not my morning. But... I want you to know that I love you very much. And that I did not mean to yell. But I am willing... to tell you about your father. He didn’t die in an accident.”

Hazel closes her laptop and gently pulls her knees to cross in front of her. You did it yourself, crossing your leg over the other. “What do you want to know?” You ask in a calm voice. Hazel lowers her gaze to think about the millions of questions already scrambling through her head like a roller coaster.

She finally caught one, “What was dad like?” She says, shyly. This was the question you didn’t want to hear from her. But you had to anyway, “He was... difficult to work with in school. His family was rich and so anything he could do wouldn’t be a problem. He was kind in some moments, I remembered his father always fought with him.”

“Did he leave when... you were?”

Hazel noticed your soft nod and your head lowers, picking at your nails like you were a little girl again. How much you blushed when he came toward you like you saw him for the first time. The way he pulled a strand behind your ear. He never complimented much nor did he say ‘I love you’.

“We were around your age when I found out about you. After I told him, his parents flipped. And after a few days, he yelled and left. That’s when I moved to Oregon with your grandma and grandpa.” You reach for her hair and pushed it behind her ear. Just like he did to you.

Your hand rests on the sheets and you softly sighed. Regretting these words slip out like a load of cash falling out of an ATM. “If I trust you... to call me everyday, every night. I might consider something.”

“Consider what?” She asks, you don’t respond to her and that made her eyes slowly go wide. “To visit him?” You take her hand and gently grasped it. “I am sending you to Boston.”

“You can’t come?” She asked. You shook your head and reached up for her cheek. “I think it’s best to stay here and keep going to work. I have a project and I hate to leave you, but I really want you to call me. I love hearing your voice.” Hazel grins and nods. “Thank you, mom.”

You smile at her and pulled her to your chest. Placing a kiss on her forehead, you trusted her more now. The least of trust was from her father. The most scary thing to do was to call him. Hazel pulls away and she slips something into your hand. “What’s this?” You asked.

You opened the small note and read the similar number with his name written nicely in. “In case you didn’t have it.” You held the paper tight in your hand and turned to Hazel one last time before standing up. “Dinner will be ready in a couple minutes.” Hazel nods and went back to her own things as you left her room and went into yours.

You pulled out your phone and stared at the keypad. His number sitting on the paper, urging you to not call. 16 years apart, you never thought it’d come to this day. His daughter to stay with him for a while. What if he was still in jail? He could be with another woman and it’d be too late for Hazel to be with a man who’s married to another woman.

It’d be awkward.

Your thumb automatically pushes the numbers and your thumb hovers over the call button. Your breath began to get caught in your throat. Your eyes began to water and your fingers shook. You clicked the button and heard it buzz in your ear.

The ring went off.

You waited.

It rung again.

You swallowed hard. “Hello?”

“Hugh.”

“Who is this?”

“It’s me.”

“Who?”

“Y/N.”

There was a long pause.

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#dad!ransom drysdale x reader #dad!ransom drysdale x you #dad!ransom drysdale x y/n #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x y/n #hazel rose drysdale #dad!au #knives out au #Bad Blood Short Series #Short Series #Bad Blood #optimistic-dinosaur-nacho #opti-dino-nacho #opti-dino-nacho series

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aliveandsleepingwithgiants · 2 years

Text

Our Tasty Love

- wholesome and soft

- Idk fun and silly this is like a one time thing maybe.... bad grammar don't hate me please. Not shakespear

"Darling look at this! The desserts look extremely tasty today dear!"

That's your girlfriend. Stephanie soo. She stands there, smiling and giggling while talking to the worker and ordering food. You walk towards her as her command followed.

"Which ones should we get! There's so many sweets! Ooh, the Doughnuts look good. Let's get that darling!"

You sigh, take out your wallet and face your dearest stephanie

"Yes, yes we should."

"Honey, if you don't mind could we get ice cream!"

"Mhm"

You two walk to a local park and stephaine sits down on a bench and begins eating her ice cream while you take the doughnuts to the car.

You walk back to see her getting ready to eat her icecream and sit beside her.

"Darling! I tasted some on the side and it tasted so yummy and so good it was so delicious! Here here here! Try some!"

She gives you a spoon which you softly take from her hand. You dig your spoon into the soft velvety icecream. You proceed to eat it. Wow, this is amazingly good. Stephanie wasn't joking.

"Stephanie, it's really good. You weren't kidding huh."

"I know right! It's so so so good thank you so much the flavors are all coming together and melting on my tongue it's so delicious darling!"

"It really is. Next time we come we should get this."

"For sure!"

You both finish the icecream and start walking back to the car.

"Darling, we haven't opened the doughnuts yet!"

"You're right. You should open them now"

Stephanie opens and makes a cute pose. You fumble but manage to take out your phone and go to camera and click the white button.

She looks so cute it's crazy. This is the girl you spend almost all your time with everyday.

"Darling, these are so tasty! Here! Here! Try one!"

She forces the Doughnut on In your mouth, you can't help but realize this reminds you of your tasty, eweet, exciting love. Your Tasty Love.

°bye this is so ugly and so cringe to read but I Worship Stephanie soo so here it is anyways.

#stephanie soo #mukbang #stephanie soo fanfic #soft fanfic #cutefanfic #fluff fanfic

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pathofcomet · 3 years

Text

how can i love the heartbreak, you’re the one i love

fandom: ikemen vampire

pairing: isaac/MC

summary: written for isaac week, day 1; prompt: firsts. OR Isaac recounts meeting his lover, and what it means to love to begin with. (AO3)

notes: This narrative is inspired by whatever the fuck Jeanette Winterson's books make me feel.Title belongs to a song by AKMU.

Isaac can remember the first time he has seen her, his heart thrumming in his ear, trying to make his disinterest visible. In the end, what is it to him, that there is now a woman here, disrupting their everyday lives, even as she is supposed to help out? Like with everything else that doesn’t interest him, Isaac actively ignores her.

That is, until he cannot anymore.

The first time he found out that he is supposed to be a vampire; and a monster on top of everything else, an aberrant even in the midst of the scariest of creations, he remembers the taste of his own death. This must be, then, a punishment from God – for wanting to overcome the most logical, most obvious step of life. Physics, as he has learnt to know them, relies on that which can be proven.

He doesn’t have the calculations for this place, for the reason why his heart is beating in his chest again, for all the memories that he carries from a life that is centuries old at this point, or for the failure that his particular body presents.

He only knows that when thirst overcomes him, ignored for too long – the tickling at the back of his throat turns into an itch, and then into an open wound, clawing at his being, clouding his judgement, darkening his vision. He came back to life just to not have entire control over it.

He has promised, in the clarifying moments after he almost bit her, after her edges cleared for him, by virtue of her tantalizingly sweet blood – he promised that this first misstep will be his last.

It’s the first promise that he breaks, in this second life he’s given.

To be fair, this entire thing feels like it’s his first time, all over again. And Isaac is mal-adjusted and clumsy, like a new-born, like a baby. He knows she jokes sometimes, that the geniuses of the world are so bad at knowing basic worldly skills. Arthur, despite his inability to go without it, has no idea how to get the mix of coffee just right, to his own liking. Vincent, bright and smiling and understanding almost to a fault, cannot see the ugliness, pick at the shadows. Mozart, so focused on his art that he forgets his words should be filtered. And then, finally, Isaac, with his lack of words entirely.

Even now, so much further down on this path she agreed to share with him, he catches her smiling as she reads a book – and he stops on the spot, dumbfounded, feeling his tongue heavy in his mouth, his head heavy with words he doesn’t know how to say. In the morning, as she kisses him, he’d like to tell her he loves her, with the same ease that she possesses. Maybe keep going: with his gratefulness, thanks that he’d like to lavish upon her always, for choosing him every single day, a choice that she keeps on making. With her beauty, which disarms him entirely.

But Isaac fidgets on the spot, patiently ties the ribbon in her hair, most annoying strands of hair out of her face. Isaac stares, opening his mouth and closing it again with no sound in-between, wringing his fingers together.

And she chuckles, her soft lips over his cheek or forehead – or pressed harshly against his own mouth. His fault as a genius, the touch of humanity, to teach him humility.

Isaac still tries. It’d be a first not to.

If an experiment fails, you just change the variables. With her at his side, it’s really hard not to change, or at least not want to change.

That’s a first in itself, as well. Isaac, his life so long and so objectively successful – thinks he has the recipe to living quite perfected. He has avoided most tragedies of living (though isn’t living in itself a tragedy?), he has poured his most in his studies and research. But to have her by her side, always open, always charmingly demanding, makes something inside him shift.

He wants to be better; he wants to finish his writings sooner, so he can join her in an evening of reading in the library, by the fire, comforted by the sound of her heartbeat, the fast turn of the page as she’s immersed in a story. He wants to be a good professor, so that when she comes and visits the university, the Recteur can speak of him with pride to his beloved, the students respect her by virtue of what she means to him.

And he wants to give her the gift of surety. He’s had a long and objectively successful life to learn the possible readings of a gesture, and centuries added on top of that; she has a couple of decades. His heart aches with fondness at the miracle that she is, alive and here and his. It doesn’t feel fair, to be loved so much.

And of course, Isaac loves her, his first love, coming so late. He would have waited forever for her, and it almost feels like he did. He’s glad he didn’t quite have to. Isaac, in his mal-adjusted and clumsy way, tries to make it known.

He kisses her wrist over breakfast, thanks for straightening the collar of his shirt before he heads out for work. He picks all the books on her beautifully scrawled list from town. He sits through her favourite theatre plays, even if he despises the author (Shakespeare). He waits for her in his office with a cup of tea, exactly to her liking (Earl Grey with two teaspoons of sugar and a bit of milk). He knows those things, at the top of his head.

And she smiles, like she knows. After all, if there is someone who can read him at a glance, it’d be the woman who has his heart. Maybe it’s because she knows that he wants to do even more; he never settles with his research, why would he when it comes to his curiosities about love?

Love. What a strange word. An even stranger feeling. The expanse of her skin, where it touches against him in the cold hours of the night. The familiarity of her smell, when she hugs him as a welcoming. The thoughts of her, that accompany him in his lonely hours. Her kisses, soft lips against his. Opening his eyes to her hair splayed over his pillow. Her.

She’s heading in town with Sebastian; stops by his room to ask if he’d like anything. He stares instead of replying, the familiar limits of his abilities welcoming him once again. Isaac shakes his head.

“Return soon?” he says, plea and order, shy inquiry and desperate yearning both.

She promised she’ll read one of his papers. He corrects more easily, when ideas come in her soothing voice – even if she continues to vehemently deny any understanding of his subject. Maybe this time together is all the more precious exactly because of it.

She leans close to him; Isaac pauses his writing, just in time for the touch of her hand, playing through his hair.

“Of course,” she says, voice soft and tinged with… love.

Isaac looks at her, how darling she looks, how dear she is to him.

“Y-you know,” he starts, and then sighs, resting his forehead against her waist. She wraps her arms around his shoulder, protective and lovingly.

“I know.”

“I still want to say it,” the slightest pout in his voice.

She lets him go, he straightens in his chair. Expectant, fingers crossed in her lap, like she shouldn’t hurry because Sebastian is waiting for her, like she’s not keeping him from his work: she stares at him.

Isaac’s tongue pokes out, wetting his lips – a dash of colour that catches her eye. She wants to kiss him; she always wants to kiss him. Her want for it is the closest she’ll feel to his hunger for her, she imagines, so she calms herself down, like he almost always does. She opens her hand, palm up, an unspoken invitation.

Recognized, Isaac laces his fingers with hers, raises hers to press it against his cheek, with the adoration of one who holds on to love for dear life.

“I love you,” he breathes, murmurs, the words barely even there.

“I know, you’ve been telling it to me for a while now, you know?” she replies, bringing his wrist to her lips.

She kisses the thin skin, his pulse fluttering under her lips, a mimicry of his own gestures.

“I-it’s different,” he stutters, his face warm.

“It is,” she hums in agreement. “But not more.”

Oh.

She taps her fingernail against his mug: his tea, as he prefers it (green tea, with a slice of lemon and a teaspoon of honey), prepared by her earlier in the morning, before getting ready to go out for her errands.

The vastness of her heart, knowing him in his entirety. Disarmingly so.

“Won’t take long,” she adds, and she’s gone and he’s alone, but not entirely so.

Not when everything around him is proof of what they share.

Oh.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp isaac newton #isaac/reader #isaac/mc #isaac x mc #isaac x reader #ikevamp fanfic #isaac week

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imsorryimlate · 3 years

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Specific references in Pomegranate Seeds, sorted by chapter

Title of work: Pomegranate Seeds

A reference to the myth of Persephone and Hades, where Hades is the god of the underworld who kidnaps Persephone – the daughter of Demeter, goddess of agriculture and harvest – and makes her queen of the underworld. He gives her a pomegranate to eat, and for every seed she swallows she has to spend a month with Hades in the underworld. During the months she is with Hades, she is gone from her mother, and that’s why autumn and winter exist (since Demeter is grieving the loss of her daughter). Spring and summer are the months when she is back with Demeter, and Demeter is once again happy. The myth has lots of interpretations, but my favourite is the one where it is said to be based on the trauma of both daughter and mother as they are separated when the daughter gets married and enters a new household.

Even though Giorno’s mother didn’t treat him well, her death was most likely traumatic to him. He enters the new household of Dio (Hades) and every time they touch each other in a way that isn’t befitting father and son, one could say that Giorno swallows another pomegranate seed, and it binds him to the underworld. In this case, the underworld would both represent the criminal world, but also the trap of their incestuous relationship that he then cannot leave, should he want to.

No specific references in chapters 1 & 2.

Chapter 3:

Demetra – Giorno’s mother doesn’t have a name in canon, so I made one up. Demetra is the Italian version of Demeter, which is the name of the Greek goddess of agriculture and harvest. The goddess is the mother of Persephone, and the title of this fic – Pomegranate Seeds – is a reference to the myth of Hades and Persephone.

The biblical paintings in the church – John the Baptist (martyr) was beheaded, and Judas (traitor) hung himself. The imagery around Eve, the snake and the red apple, well… depending on how you interpret the story in the Bible, this could mean that the scene doesn’t represent a fall from grace, but rather that it was God’s intention to have humanity step into the broader world.

Dio’s books – I mostly just had a look at my own bookshelf, but I purposely included Nabokov, Machiavelli, and Plato. Nabokov, of course, references his infamous novel Lolita. Machiavelli was an Italian politician and philosopher during the Renaissance, and he’s most famous for his book The Prince, where he gave rulers quite… devious advice, not shying away from unethical and corrupt means. Therefore Machiavelli and the derived term Machiavellian often denotes (political) deceit. And Plato, well, in his text The Symposium he speaks of the ancient practice of pederasty in a very positive manner, and claiming that it is the purest form of love.

Aniara – I picked the book because it’s my sister’s favourite. It is a book-length epic science fiction poem that narrates the tragedy of a large passenger spacecraft carrying a cargo of colonists escaping destruction on Earth veering off course, leaving the Solar System and entering into an existential struggle. This is the “space-travel” Giorno later reflects on while in the bath.

No specific references in chapter 4.

Chapter 5:

The next reference to Machiavelli – Giorno thinks about Machiavelli and the question if it is better to be feared or loved, which is something Machiavelli writes about in his book The Prince, where he states that it is better for a ruler to be feared than loved, if they cannot be both.

No specific references in chapter 6.

Chapter 7:

Reckless – Giorno notes that Dio wants him “recklessly, passionately”. This is one of the two times the word “reckless” is used in this story; the only other time being in the first chapter when Giorno’s mother dies after her car collides with a reckless truck. Dio’s desire for Giorno is tied together with that accident, as if it’s equally dangerous.

Jewel – “Yes, Giorno would like something like that; to show Dio that he was a prized jewel, cut to fit perfectly in the curve of his palm.” This line directly references the Song of Songs 7:1 “Your rounded thighs are like jewels, the work of a master hand.”

Eden – “How truly unfortunate, that the most tempting fruit should be found in the middle of Eden.” The garden of Eden, in the Bible, is where life is first created by God. It can therefore also symbolise family, where life also is created. So what Dio essentially says here is “what a shame the most fuckable person is found in my family”.

Draconic tendencies – Giorno having “draconic tendencies” is a reference to his earlier thoughts about Abbacchio hoarding Bucciarati like a jealous dragon.

Chapter 8:

Buttercups – Giorno picks a bouquet of buttercups for Dio, and buttercups have traditionally been associated with childhood. It is meant to express that Giorno, no matter how mature he himself is convinced that he is, still has a childish edge to his affection. As a fun aside, the Latin name for buttercups is Ranunculus, which means “little frog”.

Leda and the Swan – the painting Dio has in his study. It is, of course, an erotic yet controversial motif in itself, but there are some references to the Greek myth it is based on. In it, Zeus disguises himself as a swan and copulates with Leda. It is not entirely clear if it is by rape or seduction. Zeus, of course, is known for his sexual escapades, his violent temper and jealousy, but here he disguises himself as a swan, which is an animal that in European culture often has symbolised love and fidelity. This story of a shady person disguising himself as someone loving, to enter a relationship where consent is dubious at best, well… I think the implications are clear. As a fun aside, the name Zeus and the name Dio are directly connected.

Uneasy lies the head – the whole quote is “uneasy lies the head that wears a crown”, a saying from Shakespeare’s play Henry IV, Part 2, meaning that someone with great responsibilities won’t be able to rest properly.

The prodigal son – it’s a reference to a parable in the Bible, from Luke 15:11-32. The story goes that a son requests his inheritance early, spends it all irresponsibly, and then returns home to beg his father to let him work for him. His father, however, welcomes him home with open arms and throws a feast, which indicates that he has hopefully waiting for the son to return.

Nakedness – the scene in Giorno’s room, where he lowers his duvet to display his “nakedness”, the word choice here is important. Except for Genesis 42, all biblical occurrences of the common idiom ”to see the nakedness of” or “to uncover the nakedness of” are explicitly sexual, usually referring to incest. The Classical Hebrew word 'erwā is not “nudity” but “nakedness”, in the sense of something that is unseemly or improper to look at or expose; often used to denote forbidden sexual relations.

Chapter 9:

Wine-dark – Dio’s eyes are described as wine-dark, which is a reference to the use of “wine-dark sea” in Homer. It’s an epithet used in the Iliad and the Odyssey, of uncertain meaning. What exactly does it mean that the sea is “wine-dark”? Is it a reference to the stormy sea being unpredictable, like someone who’s drunk on wine? Or does it tell us something about how ancient Greeks perceived colours, where maybe depth and opacity levels were more important than hues?

Ambrosia – Giorno compares the taste of Dio’s seed to ambrosia, which is the food and drink of the gods in Greek mythology.

Lollipop – Giorno is sucking on a lollipop while he’s out shopping. This is a shameless reference to the most culturally recognised image of Nabokov’s Lolita, where Sue Lyon, the actress who portrayed the character Lolita in Stanley Kubrick’s film adaption of the novel, is sucking on a red lollipop while wearing heart-shaped sunglasses. It’s worth noting, however, that the character Lolita doesn’t eat a lollipop in the novel or Kubrick’s film, and the images were only used for promotion. Either way, the lollipop has nonetheless become a symbol for playful, youthful temptation.

No specific references in chapter 10.

Chapter 11:

Dio’s alarming beauty – Giorno reflects on how beautiful Dio is, that he is alarmingly beautiful. This is a reference to a quote from The Secret History by Donna Tartt: “Beauty is rarely soft or consolatory. Quite the contrary. Genuine beauty is always quite alarming.”

Chapter 12:

Kisses – there’s a lot of descriptions of kissing in the beginning of this chapter, and it is all a reference to the biblical book Song of Songs. “Honey-sweet kisses that melted his tongue” is a reference to Song of Songs 4:11 “honey and milk are under your tongue”. On a more complicated note… “those kisses, Giorno drank them from his mouth like they were life-giving water” is a reference to Song of Songs 1:2 that should be “I want to drink kisses from his mouth”, however, most translations will read “let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth”. It’s really complicated as to why I and others would translate it differently, but in general it has to do with the manuscript and the Masoretic editors’ vocalisation, which in turn has a lot to do with evaluating Classical Hebrew grammar and poetic conventions… I am going to spare you that lecture, but I still wanted to let you know that you won’t find that wording in most English translations of the Bible.

The garden, Eden, and juvenile sex – this all ties together. The garden of Eden is, in the Bible, where life is created and before “the fall of man”, it is a place of peace and innocence. Now, it might seem strange to refer to innocence in a story like this, but there still is a certain kind of innocence to their relationship, especially on Giorno’s end. They are described as “easy and unafraid, in full view of God”, which again is a reference to the biblical creation story; after “the fall of man”, when Adam and Eve have sinned, they are suddenly afraid of God and tries to hide from him, and for the first time shield their nudity, since they have now lost that innocence. So, Dio and Giorno being unafraid in full view of God is another reference to them being fairly innocent. At least that’s how Giorno conceptualises it.

Satyriasis – a word for excessive sexual desire, and an outdated term for hypersexuality. The word was developed in relation to the satyrs of Greek mythology, who were lustful woodland gods.

Nipple play – Giorno sucking on Dio’s tits, well… quite obvious reference, but if you missed it; it’s a reference to breastfeeding and nourishment.

Sunlight – in Stardust Crusaders, Dio tells Polnareff that he too has pain in his life because he can never see the sunlight, since he is a vampire. In this story, Dio isn’t a vampire, but I still wanted to include this pain. Dio’s love for the sunshine, and the depravation of it in his childhood, is my attempt to reconceptualise it.

Chapter 13:

Ice cream – elder flower sorbet has a tendency to taste like laundry detergent if you’re not careful, so Mista definitely picked the wrong flavour that time.

Know thy enemy – “know thy enemy” is a famous quote from The Art of War by Sun Tzu.

Chapter 14:

Paradise burning – more Eden references, they never truly stop.

Loins – in Classical Hebrew, one specifically emphasises that a child has sprung from someone’s loins to indicate that it is a biological child rather than an adopted one.

Deadly sins – Giorno notes that one of the seven deadly sins, sloth (that is, excessive laziness and indifference), doesn’t come as naturally to him as others would (such as lust or pride).

Know thy self – another reference to the famous quote of Sun Tzu’s The Art of War.

Companion – Giorno thinks about how the universe has blessed Dio with a companion that can keep up with him, which is a subtle reference to the creation myth in the Bible. There, God creates the first human, Adam. Adam attempts to find a companion amongst the other creatures, but cannot find an equal until God creates another human – incidentally, God creates another human from Adam (by his rib), which of course parallels with Giorno being created from Dio, since he is his biological child.

Clay – the dream Giorno has of Dio forming him out of clay and breathing life into him is another direct reference to the creation myth in the Bible, where God forms the first human out of clay/soil/dust from the ground and breathes life into his nostrils. Similar creation myths are found in several ancient Near Eastern religions. If you want a little more “fun” fact, the first human is named Adam, a name he gets from the Classical Hebrew word for “man” (as in human – not male), which is adam, and the word for “ground” is adamah, which ties to all together quite nicely.

Nakedness – Dio uncovers Giorno’s nakedness, and just like in chapter 8 it’s a biblical reference. Except for Genesis 42, all biblical occurrences of the common idiom ”to see the nakedness of” or “to uncover the nakedness of” are explicitly sexual, usually referring to incest. The Classical Hebrew word 'erwā is not “nudity” but “nakedness”, in the sense of something that is unseemly or improper to look at or expose; often used to denote forbidden sexual relations.

Chapter 15.

Cuddling – after having breakfast, they cuddle, and their position is described as Giorno resting his head on Dio’s left arm, and Dio draping his other arm over Giorno’s waist. This position is a reference to the biblical book the Song of Songs 2:6 “His left arm is under my head, and his right arm embraces me.”

Angel lust – Dio gets hard after Giorno chokes him, which he says is a perfectly natural reaction to being choked. Which it is! “Angel lust” or “death erection” refers to the phenomenon of men executed by hanging having an erection, because of the increased downward blood flow. After observing this, doctors in the 17th century started prescribing choking sex to men with erectile dysfunction, and that’s partly where erotic asphyxiation comes from.

England – the phrase “lie back and think of England”, alternatively “close your eyes and think of England” is an old-timey reference to unwanted sex that one doesn’t enjoy – specifically used for sex within a marriage, which at least back in the day was more of an economic arrangement than a love affair. Disgustingly, it means “just lie back and endure it”.

Bone of my bones, flesh of my flesh – this is another reference to the creation story in the Bible. The specific verse is Genesis 2:23, when God has created another human to be a worthy companion of the first one. Adam, the first human, has searched for a companion among the animals but been unsuccessful to find an equal. But when he meets the newly created Eve, the second human, he exclaims “At last! This is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh” (since she was created from his rib). That “at last!” is very sweet – and fits in this story too! Dio has finally found a worthy companion to share his highest highs and deepest lows with.

Chapter 16.

Roses – Giorno buys a bouquet of roses for Dio. This is intended as a contrast to the buttercups he picked for Dio in chapter 8, being that roses are a much more “mature” flower than buttercups, therefore showing that Giorno has matured. Also, the fact that he buys the bouquet of roses while he picked the buttercups indicate a certain loss of simplicity and naturalness in their relationship.

Fin.

#/#//#///#////#/////#just fanfiction stuff pls look away #i tried to make this a private post but tumblr be fucking with me #pomegranate seeds references

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