Acts of Love

Summary: The various ways in which you and Astarion show how much you love one another

“Could I kiss you?”

Oh his favourite question that falls from your lips every night before you head to bed and every morning when you first wake up. Each time you speak those words a shiver runs up his spine, the good kind that spurns him onwards, that opens his lips to let his dam of feelings spill forth.

“How could I say no?” He smiles each and every time, genuinely. Your lips taste divine and with each kiss he yearns for more. He yearns to show you how much he loves you, how much he cherishes you, how much he needs you and yet all he knows how to do is offer his body unto you. He doesn’t know how else to show you how much he cares, but he’s tries anyways.

He mends your clothes for you in the dead of night, and when morning comes he pretends like nothing has happened but you notice the stitches anyways. A silent thank you is exchanged, a small grateful smile sent his way when the others aren’t looking and he looks away, hiding his quickly blushing face.

The way the tips of his ears turn red doesn’t escape your notice.

When small gifts suddenly appear just outside your tent, he always feigns ignorance about their origins, but it’s always something you mentioned in passing the previous day to him. One day you decide to return the favour, and now its a daily occurrence, a way to show your love without needing to say anything. He refuses to tell you how he keeps every single trinket you gift to him, no matter how useless he says they are.

They’re pieces of your deep and genuine love for him, how could he not keep them?

As he kisses you over and over again, his fingers start to linger on your face longer and longer. If he could, he would never want to let go of you but alas he cannot have you to all to himself just yet, there are other travelling companions who need you, so every time you take those steps leading up to him, he closes the distance just to have a few more seconds with you. He pulls away from your lips with reluctance each and every time, resisting the urge to press his forehead against yours and simply relishes in the fact that you don’t mind his lingering touch. He would never let you go if he could, and he knows you feel the same way too when you slowly drag yourself away from his touch, the soft smile reserved only for him sent his way.

With each kiss, the kisses grows deeper as he pours more and more of his longing into them, wanting nothing more than you, loving the way your eyes half close when your lips connect, loving the way you melt into him. Your hands always find their way to the small of his back, pressing him flush against your body as his hands roam around, finding their way to your back and entangling in your hair. He loves the way you convey the love you have for him in each moment of the kiss, a warmth blooming in his undead chest each time your hands linger on his face after the kiss. He doesn’t mind how you nuzzle him afterwards, unable to get enough of him and he can never wipe the smirk off his face whenever he catches one of your companions sending him a scowl for taking you away from them.

You are his and he is yours.

He loves the way you cup his face after every night kiss, gazing into his eyes with such love and care that he gets lost in your eyes, drowning in the sea of your love. Only the touch of your thumb brushing over his cold skin pulls him back and he rests his own hands on yours, taking in the sight before him.

He imprints into his mind the way the moonlight shines upon you, basking you in its silvery light whenever you kiss him under the stars that dot the night sky. He doesn’t believe in the gods of Faerun but if someone told him that you were sent by Selune herself, he would believe them from the way the moonlight frames you perfectly each and every time. He can’t bring himself to let this moment go, wishing this moment would last forever but time always marches on, so he lets it go and eagerly awaits the next one, knowing you will come back to him once more when dawn breaks.

And you always do.

His face can’t help but light up whenever you approach him, his tongue full of honeyed words that dissapate into the air when he opens his mouth to greet you.

“Gods, you’re beautiful” is all he can manage, moved by the way you always find him first thing in the morning and last thing in the night. You’re always the last thing on his mind before he trances and the first thing on his mind when he wakes, for you to feel the same way brings him a joy he cannot find the words to describe. His flowery vocabulary always fails him when he opens his mouth to speak to you, only ever able to hold himself together just enough to form some words of greeting and the smile you give him in return only steals his heart over and over again.

“Can we talk about the two of us?”

Your voice is the sweetest melody he’s ever heard, he could listen to you talk all day about anything and everything, never growing tired of hearing words fall from your lips. When you speak up for him, defending him from those who do not understand his boundaries, his undead heart skips a beat. You use more than just your weapons and magic to protect him, your voice weaving power into words that create a shield around him and he wishes he could do the same for you.

“They said ‘no’. You should learn the meaning of the word.”

He can’t help but jump to your defense, snapping at the drow who keeps pushing you despite your protests. The grateful look in your eyes is well worth the outburst and pride swells within him. He can defend you just like how you defend him, he can return the favour and you appreciate it when he does so.

“I love you.”

He loves you so deeply that he fears losing you more than anything in this world, and he’s always afraid that one day you will leave him for someone else, someone better. He knows he will be powerless to do anything to stop you should that day come, he believes deep down that you deserve such a person but you show up at the flap of his tent every morning, a smile on your face that shines brighter than the morning sun. So he tells himself over and over again that you will never leave him, until one day, hopefully, it sinks in and he will be free of that worry forevermore.

“I love you. I love this. And I want it all.”

Alone with ourselves

(elaborating on the last sentence from here)

When we slipped away, or Vanished as the rest of the galaxy called it, most of Humanity didn't know what we were in for. Very few people knew of exactly what the plan was, most were told some BS about kicking the aliens' dumb "barrier" out, creating a force field, teleporting them away, whatever was most convincing to whoever happened to be in charge in each country and union.

Of course, one of the better ways to keep what we were actually doing was letting the truth spread among the lies, because really? Interdimensional travel? Most of the scientists working on actually making it happen didn't believe their own numbers and successful test results, but it worked.

Chaos.

What happens in places where a lot truly believe in a Hell, or Afterlife, or whatever else, and then the stars, the Moon, and the Sun just... disappear.

Utter, bloody, indescribable madness is what happens. And when the sky is still blue, you still feel the rays of sun hitting your skin, and the glow of moonlight still shines your way at night, well, that kind of lack of sense is enough to turn a lot of sensible people to the scriptures.

Truth don't matter at such a time. In fact, the truth tells everyone we lied to everyone.

We were hoping to get Humanity sorted and ready to take the stage against the aliens, maybe alongside if they would acknowledge as and show some respect, in just over a century.

It took that long to restore some degree of a civilization that can actually do real science. We overestimated ourselves, but we got back on track and then some.

Now, we could finally start to understand what it meant, in practical terms, to isolate Earth from the rest of the Universe. True nothingness beyond what we brought with us. We always pondered whether we were alone in the Universe, hoping we weren't, dreading we were.

Now there was nothing but us, nowhere to point our wandering gaze, no destination to set, no unknowns to discover. All we could do was look at each other, and we all know how that tends to go. Suffice to say, that 12.3 billion we slipped back in with should've been thrice that, but we can't help ourselves.

In a way, I guess that's good. Our nature meant we always had someone to one-up, and even when most of us managed to be buddy-buddy for a while, our imagination of what awaited us back kept things... well, progress demands sacrifice.

On one hand, learning how to make miniature suns, but not how to turn one off properly, did solve that whole rising sea levels problem. On the other, creating a 200km crater in the Pacific Ocean made for some... interesting weather.

However, all that now very exposed and partly-processed ore from the mantle made for some very good space ship building material. Just had to survive a few hundred super volcanoes and, you know, everyone suddenly being an environmentalist. Plus another collapse of civilization, but we went over that already.

To cut it short, Humanity always perseveres. We're like cockroaches, except with guns and opinions.

Knightmare Of Your Dreams // Dreamling

Rating: Explicit (Just All Smut) Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Word Count: 3k I have no excuse for this. I wanted to write weird and kinky Dreamling with a side of shapeshifting, the thinnest King and His Knight vibes, weird anatomy, some claws and shadow tentacles, and self-indulgence. Written for the "Eldritch" square on last year's Monsterfucktober Bingo that I never finished in time.

{Also on AO3} Shout out to "Violently (slowed) by Mira" that I listened to roughly 200 times while writing this bc its soooo Dreamling to me. also to Zomsaurus for the funniest line in any of my writing ever

It was never supposed to be like this. Death was for everyone else, never Hob. She’d promised.

But the Endless did not abide by such rules; drifted uncaring outside them. If Death could make such a thing, it could be assumed that one of the others could unmake it.

And now that the imminent danger is gone, now that Hob’s safe and remade under Dream’s protection, he can at least admit Hob looks wonderful on his knees.

Dream’s always thought so, and now he gives himself over to leisure to look his fill. He’s well and truly his now, shouldn’t he be allowed?

The visage Hob’s chosen for himself is fitting; muscle encapsulated in shining armor, a sword at his side and the helmet with haloed spikes set reverently beside him. The insignia, mirrored on cloak and shield, is Dream’s favorite part.

A burst of stars across a sea of black, glittering as it moves just as Dream’s coat does. It is the same, after all; a claim that makes primal satisfaction simmer low under his skin.

Dream’s remade him, and Hob has chosen to be his, still. Always.

Everything the Corinthian was supposed to be. Every iteration a pale imitation of the man Dream has followed through time.

 “You do not have to kneel,” Dream says. Near purrs. Can tell the low timber is pleasing by the way exposed skin shivers in answer. But Hob himself does not move. Not even an inch to have his armor creaking.

“Perhaps,” Hob says, looking up quickly and the corners of his mouth flicking up similarly. “But you like it. And I owe you, don’t I?”

Hob owes him nothing. The centuries of give and take sprawl behind them, and Dream is almost certain the scales are still tilted in Hob’s favor.

And yet.

That is not what Hob is asking.

Now that he’s part of the dreaming, now that he’s part of Dream—intertwined irrevocably—there is little Dream cannot know about him. His feelings, his mind, his desires.

It is a game Hob’s wanting.

Dream hums, leaning back in his high-backed throne, crossing one leg over the other. Considers Hob, all his pieces, the laughing light in his soft eyes. Gestures wide and airy with one hand. “And what would you offer? To me, an Endless, who has need of nothing.”

Hob does shift then. “My lord,” said with all the impudence of a knight who ought to be taught to heel like a dog. His eyes drop, hungry and dark, down Dream’s front—

Dream finds himself wearing a velvet robe in the darkest shades of plum and night-sky blue, open to expose the moonlight of his torso. Plays fingers along the sweeping sleeve hems with half an eye on Hob, considering him and the outfit he’s put Dream in with sheer want alone.

“I see,” he murmurs. Watches Hob swallow. Extends his lifted foot, now encased in a soft stocking that runs the length of his leg under the edges of the robe, and slides it slow between Hob’s legs. Presses up, idly, like he is a curiosity and nothing more.

Hob shudders, eyes fluttering closed as he swallows again, jaw clenching against the sigh Dream can almost taste.

“You would like to serve me, then? You, who are now a Nightmare under my hand, and think yourself clever as a knight. All the centuries you’ve lived, and still, you crave a king to kneel before.”

When Hob doesn’t answer, Dream arches up his foot again, a smooth slide that pushes speech out of Hob.

“No,” Hob gasps.

“This says otherwise.”

“No. Not a king.” Hob grits his teeth, every part of his body (tight, honed and singing like a weapon begging to be asked to strike) shivering in an effort to stay still. “Just you.”

Warmth blooms and oozes under Dream’s skin. He lets the satisfaction radiate out as something tangible until Hob’s blinking up at him, expression bare in its awe.

“You are an impossibility,” Dream praises, softly. “I should’ve offered to keep you long ago.”

“I would’ve happily,” Hob says. “Let me now?”

“Be kept? Oh, Robert Gadling,” Dream says, leaning towards him. Takes Hob’s cheek in his hand, cradling gently before shifting to catch his chin in an unrelenting grip. “I am never letting you go, even if you beg.”

Hot hands land on his knees as Hob surges closer and leans up on knees still to catch his mouth in a kiss.

Dream lets himself be kissed. Let’s Hob direct it as hot and slick as he likes, lets himself be lulled under the rhythm like a boat bobbing gently on calm waters. It is at odds with the desire boiling under Hob’s hands, thrashing and teaming to get out. Barely contained in this body Dream has fashioned lovingly for him.

“What do you have for me?” Hob asks against Dream’s mouth, hoarse already with the want like it’s choking him. His hands slide reverently down Dream’s chest, toying with his nipples before following the edges of the robe to his lap. Kisses him gently as he finds Dream’s hips and holds on, thumbs rubbing back and forth.

“What would you like?”

Hob’s hands squeeze, breath catching audible in something too close to a whimper. Freezes, startled by the overwhelming realization and the world that’s been opened to him. Offered to him on a platter.

Dream slips into his mind easily, eyebrows raising at the dozens of images that flip through him. Hob’s brain working overtime with all his wonderings and filthy dreams.

Hob certainly isn’t lacking in imagination. It seems like he’s traded any shame he might’ve had for more of it.

If Hob is spoiled for choice, then he shouldn’t have to choose.

Dream selects a few of them, plucking them out of the mire with newly sharp claws, as precise as a spider traversing its own web. He feeds that thought to Hob while he has him, and smiles at the shudder it gets him.

“Are you that easy?” he asks. He runs his black-tipped claws through Hob’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp.

“For anything, as long as it’s you,” Hob assures him, nipping at his lip.

“I might scare you.”

“You can’t,” Hob says.

Something dark and dangerous flares low in Dream, and he grips the back of Hob’s neck, dragging him back into a kiss. He has to taste him, has to steal his breath until he doesn’t breathe at all without Dream doing it for him.

Hob fumbles to strip his thin gloves off and find the opening of the robe with bare hands. “Please,” Hob groans. “I will be so good for you.”

His hands slip greedy to skin, wrapping around Dream’s cock. Strokes him slow to learn the new shape of him, to thumb all the fluted edges like a tall flower closed.

Hob bows his head to take him into his mouth immediately, groaning softly as his tongue dips into the slit.

Dream sighs, letting his hands wander of their own accord. The armor is mostly in his way, but he is not bound by mortal conventions and can slip beneath them. “You have only ever been perfect.”

Hob’s tongue is heavenly and cruel at once; a rolling softness that deftly coaxes at every place that sparks pleasure like Hob is singularly attuned to it.

The plush give of his mouth is enough that Dream distantly wonders if he had reshaped it to only accept him.

He wants to devour Hob whole, if only he might also feel this all-consuming pleasure.

Hob groans softly like he agrees.

“Easy,” Dream praises again, deftly flicking at every buckle and clasp of Hob’s armor with his claws. It all falls away under his whim, clattering indecent to the floor and echoing through the hall. Leaves Hob in just a soft tunic and breeches, and available to his hands and the shadows that ripple around them in pleasure. They shift and pulse in time with his own heartbeat. Grow larger and darker, building up on their own and teaming hungrily around Hob.

The hunger is its own entity, awakening from disuse in his body and ravenous for it.

Shadows pull together, wriggling into tendrils that wrap and caress Hob like a lover.

Dream can feel him shiver and shake, can feel his breathing stutter and deepen. Feels everything his shadows do, awareness split to watch Hob’s head move sinuous and also in the tendrils slipping under fabric and along tacky skin.

Exhales heavy and inexorable as he tips his head back and watches through the shadows that explore the length of Hob’s body, licking in every crease and curl against the tight heat of him.

“Hard for me?” Dream breathes. “Just from being on your knees, just from having your mouth full? Easy.”

“Merely rigor mortis, my lord,” Hob teases, tracing his tongue down.

Dream tightens his fingers in Hob’s hair, pulling warningly. “I gave you life, and I can take it away.”

“Don’t threaten me, I’m into that.”

Dream laughs despite himself, startled, and just as quickly it twists into a moan at the savage spear of tongue against his slit, the way Hob takes him so deep into his mouth he can feel the squeeze of his greedy throat.

“Do you wish to consume me?”

Hob whines, nails digging into his sides, swallowing again.

“Do you wish to take me inside all of you? Or shall I open myself up so your tongue may taste me at my core?”

Images fly fast and desperate behind Hob’s bruised eyelids, saliva pooling and dripping, knees twinging against stone as shadows finger lovingly along the inside of his thighs. Debauchery, and a spine-tingling notion of Dream splitting his cock open so Hob can lap his tongue down the center of it, giving pleasure from inside-out.

“Steady, love,” Dream eases. His claws betray him, digging into the back of straining shoulder blades. Trace slow paths that almost draw blood. “We have eternity yet.”

Dark tendrils tease up to Hob’s hole, laving attention and worming inside.

“Fucking terror,” Hob gasps, pulling back and jamming his face in the crease of Dream’s thigh.

“Just that? They are so small, just curious,” Dream muses, curling fingers through his hair, soothing. “You have taken more. This should be nothing.” Tightens and pulls, yanking Hob’s head back and savoring the electric groan.

“It’s well and truly different, and you know that.” Hob’s already panting. Shifts on his knees, hips hitching into empty air and then back on the mime of fingers. “More?”

Dream lets him have as much as he can take, humming a soft ballad from the thirteenth century as he feeds more to Hob, stretching inside him; another to wrap and squeeze his balls, preventing him from rocking himself to any sort of satisfying end. Savors the choked moan.

He would play with him like this for a century, like a cat does a mouse, toyed with on just the edge of some finality but never letting him have the satisfaction.

“Please,” Hob begs. “Please, anything you like, I will do anything, just—just more. I want to feel you. I need to feel you.”

He’s very lucky that it’s exactly what Dream himself wants. Lucky to be so handsome, to have caught Dream’s affection like the golden-limned muse he is. Lucky that Dream will happily bend time and reality for him.

Will happily help him up from the floor to kneel over Dream’s lap instead, and hold his hands firm for stability as Hob sinks down onto his length with a groan so obscene Dream’s sure it would put a whorehouse to shame.

“Look at you,” Dream purrs, watching every inch of Hob’s face tipped back in rapture. “You take me beautifully, my love.”

Hob laughs, something breathy and aborted, tight around all his edges as he squeezes Dream’s hands in a dozen things unsaid. Squeezes his eyes shut; squeezes around Dream himself, sweat dotting his skin as he takes a blessed moment to get used to the new shape of him remade for Dream’s pleasure.

Or maybe it the other way around, maybe it is Dream who’s been reshaped for Hob, to be used and enjoyed.

Dream continues to watch him, enjoying every detail and shift, as Hob takes his time. Runs sharp claws only somewhat careful up and down Hob’s heaving ribs, keeping his own hips still as Hob begins to rock small circles onto him. Keeps him deep inside, but chasing the little shocks of friction.

“Everything you wanted?”

“More,” Hob says. His thighs flex in an effort to lift and sink back down, building to some rhythm only he knows. It is heaven and hell both to feel him—better than, when he’s experienced both. Would rebuke both for this here, and does with his teeth to Hob’s throat, tasting the pounding of his heart as Hob works himself a little faster.

“And you?” Hob manages to ask.

Dream does not bother with words, just in the tightness of his hands and claws as he drags Hob closer into him, both of them gasping as talons pierce skin.

The dark tendrils are as hungry as ever, sliding around Hob’s skin and covering every inch Dream cannot. Teaming against them both like a desperate creature, jealous for attention. Needy still, despite having tasted Hob already. Maybe wants more for having done so already.

They are part of Dream, after all, and Dream does not think he will ever tire of tasting Hob. Tastes him again in an open kiss, slow and indulgent in contrast to the fast and brutal way Hob fucks himself on him. Tastes every breath and keen that escapes Hob. Tastes Hob’s skin and nipples and cock through the wriggling passes of darkness.

Hob is tight and hot and slick, and Dream buries his face into Hob’s neck, breathing deep and fast, grazing with very sharp teeth. Each press gets closer to breaking skin, and each one makes Hob shake harder.

“Will you give it to me?” Dream rumbles. Teeth and claws dig in so slowly, pressing wrenching gasps from Hob. Shadows build and creep around Hob’s cock, gripping him tight, squeezing in time with his own frantic rocking.

Hob sobs, body tense and face utterly slack in ecstasy. “I’d give you anything.” 

“Just you then,” Dream says. Drags nails down to sink into the writhing dark mass to take Hob’s cock in hand. “Everything. You are everything.”

The smallest, weakest whine escapes Hob. As does a tear, tracking slow down his cheek.

Dream stretches to lick it up, saliva turning sticky as arousal swells. He grips Hob tight all over, free hand gripping his hip to yank him down into a frantic rhythm. Feels his pulse follow suit in the desperation—hears Hob’s do the same—thoughts swirling with the desire to fold Hob over something and well and truly claim him. The desire to hold Hob down and use him as much as Hob himself wants.

Wants most, ridiculously, to make Hob happy. And that is to stay right here and let desire fan the flames of his power until he is growing in size and energy, and still letting Hob curl over top of him as he shouts in painful sharp release.

Dream groans with him, drawing it out of him like spinning yarn, a gentle and thready tug-and-give, taking every shake, every pulse, all the suffusing warmth Hob has in him. Wishes to draw every ounce of damp completion out of him until he is as empty and cold as the armor he likes to wear. The armor still scattered on the floor of the throne’s dais. The sight of it over Hob’s shoulder (scratched, bitten, bleeding) is nearly as loose and erotic as the man still fucking himself on him is.

“Won’t you join me?” Hob gasps. His voice grates and fails him, near hoarse. Keens as he forces himself to tighten around Dream’s cock, trying to milk pleasure out of him. Hob is so tired. Dream can feel it. His exhaustion. His pleasure. His satisfaction. His greediness as his muscles spasm and twitch with continued stimulation. “You’ve made me feel so good, love. Won’t you let me do the same? Please.”

It wobbles. The word or Hob’s voice, or maybe Hob’s grasp on rationality.

Dream only hums. Loosens his grip on hip and cock both, softening to hold and stroke featherlight. “You are tired.”

Hob shakes his head. Resumes languid rolling of his hips.

“You might hurt yourself, continuing like this.”

“You will fix me,” Hob argues. Stubborn in life and death both.

“You are charming.”

Hob manages a breathy laugh. His expression tightens, eyes squeezed shut in focus. “If you don’t come inside me right now—”

Dream bites his lip, cutting it off neatly. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t. Just…” Rolls words around in his mouth, leaning back against the throne, watching Hob refuse to still.

The dark tendrils, pesky things, help him. Wrap around his waist and curl at his back, stabilizing him, keeping him from tumbling either direction.

“Not yet,” Dream decides.

Hob chokes on a whine, posture shooting ramrod straight as the layers of ridges on Dream’s cock expand outward. Just enough to keep him locked in place.

“You wanted something new to play with,” Dream reminds him, running claws through sweat-soaked hair. “Who am I to cut your fun short?”

“Show Me You Love Me With the Shape of Your Bite”

Noe Archiviste x Female Reader

word count: 4300+

(celebrating two years of this blog, i’m back with a lil one shot for noe because the first fic i ever posted was for him. // A human’s strength is nothing compared to a vampire’s— a fact that’s always concerned Noe when it comes to being with you in such an intimate way. But, unlike how most of your own kind would warn you of, you’ve never had a reason to doubt or fear his intentions with you. Besides, as if letting him bite you on a normal basis wasn’t proof enough, even in the worst case scenario, you’ve already made it clear to Noe that you don’t necessarily mind a little pain if he’s the one causing it.)

content warning/disclaimer: 18+ content! minors dni! smut, vampires, biting/marking, blood/readers blood is drunk, reader is a bit of a masochist while Noe is apprehensive about hurting her too much, rough sex at times, size difference, dickriding, aftercare.

*ao3 mirror*

***

Ribbons of broken, silver moonlight streamed in through the gaps of the curtains, the shadows of dusk dancing across the floors, starbursts of amber and coral shimmering on the polished hardwood from the crackling fire burning low and sultry in its stoney hearth.

In the night, Paris came alive, the city lights sparkling like a sea of stars across the horizon, the constant murmur and buzz of the after-dark crowds humming through the air in a stream of noise and energy, muffled and distant from where you now lay, yet you could still imagine the intensity of it all after growing so used to being a part of the pack yourself.

Ever since meeting Noe, you’d traded rising in the early morning and twilight wind-downs for long, late nights and views of the dawn breaking on the horizon, the first muted shades of lilac and gold signaling your time to rest rather than the plum and navy of night blanketing itself across the sky like most others of your kind followed the consistent rhythm of.

You should’ve guessed after the first few times he’d suggested you meet by moonlight rather than daylight that he was afflicted with the forbidden curse— that he was a vampire— but even back then you wouldn’t have cared.

Because Noe Archiviste was as captivating and handsome as he was charming and sweet, he was gentle and kind and compassionate and everything you’d grown up being told those of his kind were not. Because, to everyone else, vampires were monsters. They were cold and cruel, ruthless and ravenous, and among the worst of them were the wolves in sheep’s clothing, using pretty words and entrancing appearances to lure in their prey before sinking their teeth in deep.

Your Noe was the sun after a summer’s rain, warm and inviting. He was a home to return to after a long day, safe and familiar. He was the first face you looked for in a crowd, his name ready to fall from your lips as those two, lilting phantom syllables rested on your tongue.

Some days, you still found yourself reluctant to call what you two shared love, only for the fact that you’d both been keeping it a secret from everyone outside yourselves. But with all the feelings you held for him on a consistent basis in mind, how could what you felt for him be anything else?

You two were far more bonded than any human couple was. Noe knew the taste of your blood after all, had committed the flavor to memory, could distinguish it by a single drop alone. And you knew the imprint of his teeth just as well, craved the way his sharp incisors found a home in your supple flesh night after night, addicted to the ivory’s sharp and satisfying sting.

“Harder—” you breathed, gently writhing under Noe’s hold on you, though with no real means of escaping him. “Harder, Noe, please—!” You gasped as his bite sunk in a fraction deeper, drawing more rivulets of ruby red from the tender spot on your shoulder, sending a quick shudder down your spine, the sensation creeping vertebrae by vertebrae until it welled into the sticky, fluttering warmth of arousal pooling in your lower belly.

As his tongue lapped at the welling beads of red, slow and gentle to savor the taste of you, you let out a broken moan, body arching to follow the heat of his mouth. Noe was always so afraid to go too far, to lose control and end up hurting you, no matter how many times you assured him you wouldn’t ask for the pain if you didn’t want it. But he also couldn’t help but give in to your requests, even if sometimes it made his stomach twist with guilt.

The moment you started making those succulent, saccharine mewling sounds of pleasure though, it was as if all of his ice-dipped remorse melted away. He could drink down your whines and moans just as easily as he could your blood, meeting your mouth for a languid, tongue-entwined kiss, letting you taste your own blood as you parted your lips to let him in.

You’d asked him before what blood tasted like to vampires, said all you could make out from the coppery flavor was the wince-inducing bitterness that had you resisting the urge to screw up your features and spit it from your mouth. So it was hard to believe him when he described it as sweet— sometimes even sickly so— with a hint of pleasant salt and the lingering undertones of something that could only be compared to addiction.

But your part of this exchange didn’t require you to enjoy the taste. For you, it was the feeling— the completely embodied sensation— of what having your blood drunk by him felt like that urged you to keep seeking out his teeth.

It was heavenly. Pure ecstasy. It made you forget why humans had spent so many centuries fearing vampires, if only for the fact that, if it weren’t for you and Noe’s special bond, he probably could’ve drained you dry and left you for dead like the legends of old warned about.

There were still plenty of vampires lurking the streets and hiding in the shadows whose hunger had gone insatiable, morphing them into greedy, voracious monsters who couldn’t see any innocent life past all that gushing red. But your Noe was different. He’d held onto his morality longer than most of his kind would ever have the will to consider, let alone succeed at, and you guessed you could consider yourself pretty lucky that you’d run into him on that first fateful night rather than someone else more sinister and selfish.

“You ok…?” Noe asked in between shallow, panting breaths, his hands splayed on either side of your head as he gazed down at you, lips stained red and shining with your shared saliva, the tip of his tongue darting out to catch the fading crimson that remained. The next thing you felt was his palm, warm, now that his energy had been replenished from your blood, cradling your cheek. You lay underneath him, back sinking into the mattress and eyes closed as his shadow blanketed over your bare form, allowing yourself to drift off into the serenity that often followed Noe’s feedings.

You felt safe. Held. Comforted by his presence and by the fact that, during this act, you were two becoming one in a way few would ever know or understand.

Letting him drink from you often came after sex. It allowed a euphoric extension on the galaxy of pleasure that Noe’s body could coax from yours. It also ensured that he didn’t have too much strength to unleash upon your fragile human form, his pace slow and sensual as he buried himself deeper and deeper into you. But sometimes, like tonight, when he indulged in a feeding beforehand, well…

You knew you were going to be in for one hell of a ride.

“Maybe I took too much this time…” Noe muttered to himself in a low, worried tone as you felt the bed shift around you, your eyes fluttering open to watch as he changed position, carefully lifting your limp figure up to drape and rest against his chest before leaning back against the barrier of pillows that lined the headboard. He was carding his long fingers through your lightly tousled hair, mumbling sporadic thoughts under his breath under the false pretense that you’d drifted off to sleep. You thought you heard him say something about stopping there for the night, not wanting to push you past your limits.

That was enough to jolt you back to consciousness, just enough to stir in his grasp and breathe out a weak and airy, “Noe…” on account of still recovering from your recent blood loss. You lifted your head slightly to meet his eyes, which had now been leeched of their glowing, crimson color and turned back to calming lavender on account of his appetite being satisfied. You gave him a feeble, tired smile and said, “It’s ok… I’m ok. I can keep going…”

The vampire considered you for a moment. He knew you had a habit of pushing yourself, but before he could think on it too long, you were taking his face in your hands and luring him back to you with one of those adorable, delicate little giggles. “Noe, come on…” you reassured him with a smile, devotion sparkling in your eyes, “You know I trust you more than anyone else. Plus, even if you do hurt me a little bit…” You paused, feeling your cheeks heat before admitting what you were about to next, despite having done it several times to him already. “Even if you do hurt me, I don’t mind. I… like the pain, remember?”

Beckoning him closer to you now, letting him lay his head against your chest and cradling your arms around him like he was the delicate one, like he was the one worth worrying about and protecting, you carded your little fingers through his snowy locks of hair and softly spoke to him, telling him again that you trusted him, how you loved him, and as the words left your mouth you knew them to be true, no hesitation in the confession you’d been so afraid to acknowledge prior.

Noe could’ve sunk so far into the comfort you gave him he would’ve drowned in it, finding he was never as soft and sentimental with anyone else as when he was with you. He never allowed himself to let his guard down to such a level, for a moment forgetting that, outside of this room, you two were widely considered to be enemies— hunter and prey, a monster and a girl.

He sometimes used to wonder if he’d ever find someone he could love who would also love him in return, before meeting you. And what was a luckier, more divine thing than to have your own angel to hold? To have someone who thought and cared about you as much as you thought and cared about them?

“Alright…” Noe mumbled, his cheek pressed to your chest, listening to your beating heart, counting out each gentle drum of the steady rhythm. As he lifted his head to meet your tired, half-lidded gaze, he said, “But I need you to promise me one thing…” Rising further to sit up, the two of you across from one another, bodies bare and on display for each other to see, to have, to hold, Noe’s words dripped with earnesty as he said, “If things start to go too far, I need you to tell me.”

“Noe, I—”

But he cut you off, cupping your cheek in his palm. “I know we’ve talked about this before, but I also know you haven’t always been completely honest with me about it.” You resisted the urge to swallow down the lump of guilt that had curled up in your throat, unable to deny his concerned accusation. Softly stroking his thumb along your jaw, so feathery light you could barely feel it, he set his lilac gaze on your neck where his bite had already begun to bruise and scab over, now a deep shade of wine. He said, “It’s been a while since I— since we’ve done this after a feeding…”

He didn’t need to explain any further. You knew exactly what he was so worried about now— the fact that, last time he drank beforehand and not after, it had resulted in you with tears streaming down your face and several more bites and bruises to paint your skin while he’d been blinded by the carnality of it all. You’d barely been able to walk the next day, feeling like something inside of you had been broken beyond repair, and even though you’d tried to assure him you would be ok, deep down there had been some fear sparked in you.

The pain he’d caused you that night had surpassed the fine line of the sugar-coated, thorny pleasure that you craved and ended up as injury instead.

Noe had said he’d never allow himself to partake in your blood before sex again, though, after months of trying to convince him not every time had to be like that first one and that, while you couldn’t necessarily erase the memory, you could help fix it by replacing it with something better, you’d gotten him to come around.

“I promise,” you told him, reaching forward to take his hand. He laced his fingers with yours, careful even in that act, as if each new touch he bestowed upon you from now until morning held the risk of breaking his own vow. “If it gets to be too much, I’ll tell you.”

You felt relief when his lips twitched into a soft, dreamy grin, the expression there and then gone in an instant, becoming entranced with the way your little hand fit together with his, palms pressed together and creating more shared warmth, Noe able to feel your pulse through your skin and noting the way it was picking up speed a little as he placed his other hand on your knee and gave a gentle squeeze.

It was you who leaned in to kiss him then, catching him off guard for a moment until he followed your cue and allowed himself to melt back into you, the hand on your knee sliding up to rest on your bare thigh, kneading the plush flesh there, slow and savoring, as you combed your fingers through his hair and sighed into his mouth, your core already coiling again in tiny, tight little pulses as his fingers grew closer to brushing up against where you were already slick and waiting.

A tender, broken moan spilled from your mouth as his first finger slipped inside, testing your tightness and comfort before adding in a second and curling at his knuckles, causing you to arch your back and slide further down to lay flat for him, spreading your legs wider as he slowly scissored his digits inside of you, biting back his own moan when he felt your hole clenching around what was inside harder the more he stretched you.

He caught his bottom lip on one of his fangs, vehemently reminding himself to stay in control, don’t go too far, don’t hurt her as his own arousal pulsed thick and eager through his veins, that familiar sharp pang of adrenaline already beginning to surge.

He was starting to remember now— how hard it had been to stop once he’d started— and the thought made his stomach churn for a whole other reason. But you were right. This time didn’t have to be like the last. It wouldn’t be. He’d make sure of it.

Once he’d prepped you enough to take him, Noe began to line himself up with your entrance, feeling his own cock twitch in his hand as he caught sight of the glistening beads that drooled from your cunt, asking you if you were ok before nudging in the tip, pausing when you momentarily winced, only continuing when you nodded at him to signal it was alright for him to keep going.

And, god, you loved how you could feel every single vein and ridge of him as he carved out a home inside of you, the velvety flesh of his cock massaging every part of your insides like it had been designed to do so, both your bodies devoted and destined to learn each other in this way long before you’d even met. The sweet sting of him splitting you in two made your tummy tighten and flutter, your pussy squeezing around the length of him just enough to give a teasing taste of what he already expected was to come.

His breathing was soon beginning to pick up speed, Noe hoping to hide just how much you were affecting him already as he forced out even, shuddering huffs, hunching over you while he tried not to let himself go completely, no matter how badly he wanted to right now.

It made him remember something else he’d almost forgotten about that last time— just how much better you felt when he was inside you after he’d been replenished by your blood, all his senses alive, every nerve alight with the heightened vitality that he gained from a recent feeding. It’s what made this all so dangerous in the first place.

“It’s ok…” you assured him, your own chest moving with the shallow, panting breaths of anticipation as you remedied your prior words with, “I’m ok. I trust you…”

Noe wanted to believe he could trust himself too. And as he felt the animalistic urgency within him simmer a little, he figured it was alright to start moving.

As much as it killed him to go so slow, he forced himself to hold out, gradually rolling his hips to meet yours, your voices moaning in tandem, creating a lilting melody of pleasure with each inch he drove deeper into you and every constricting squeeze of your cunt around his cock.

“Harder—” you were telling him again, the request cracking with a breathy whine as you felt him brush against your cervix, sharp jolts sparking through your abdomen followed by the slow, syrupy drip of pleasure that ran thick through your blood. You felt Noe hesitate for a moment, but when you twisted your fingers through his silky white hair and gave a tug, he snapped his hips forward hard enough to shove you a few inches up the bed. A small yelp emitted from you, clipped with a satisfied mewl, and you loosened your fist in his hair, tenderly stroking the back of his neck, playing with the wispy tufts at the base of his skull as you whispered out, “That’s it… Just like that…”

Noe had to pin your wrists down then, find some way to keep you anchored as he prepared to pound into you harder, though not yet with the rigorous speed you both knew he was capable of. And when you asked him to bite you again, well…

That time, Noe just couldn’t tell you no.

Sinking his teeth into your unmarked shoulder and feeling the skin break, more of your warm, sticky blood flooding into his mouth, Noe drank down gulp after gulp in rapid succession. This made him forget to mind his strength for a moment, and as you fell more slack under his hold, lulled by the euphoria of having your blood drunk by him for the second time that night, he nearly lost you.

He came back to his senses just in time, his saliva filled mouth pulling away from the new bite with a glittering strand of diluted reddish-pink bowing and snapping back onto the crook between your neck and shoulder.

He was partially horrified with himself, and for a moment wondered if he’d finally gone too far, past the point of no return, but was able to exhale a sigh of relief when you fluttered open your tired, bleary eyes and your shallow breathing registered to his sensitive hearing.

“I don’t think I can do this…” the vampire admitted under his breath, sounding disappointed in himself as he pulled out of you and used the pad of his thumb to swipe up a drop of red that was slowly dripping down towards your collar bones, shamelessly licking it away before casting you a quick, guilty glance. “I’m going to hurt you again. I know I am. I—”

Trying to prop yourself up onto your elbows in a way that was less than graceful, to say the least, you blinked the blood loss from your vision until Noe came back into focus. After a few minutes the swaying sensation of lightheadedness abated and you were able to roll yourself over, laying on your stomach as you stared at him sitting on the edge of the bed and looking stressed and conflicted.

You might’ve been able to call it a night, if not for the fact that you were still burning up inside with the need to release all this pent up arousal, so you decided to try approaching things from a different angle.

“Hey…” You lightly ran your fingertips along his spine, watching his back muscles flex as he turned partially to glance over his shoulder at you. “Lay down.”

Noe was already beginning to apologize, though for what exactly, you weren’t sure— as far as you were concerned, he’d done nothing wrong other than stop before letting you come— but you pressed a finger to his lips before he could finish his spoken atonement. 

You had him right where you wanted him— right where you needed him now. “Stop talking,” you said, climbing atop him once he was laying flat on his back, straddling him as you took his face in both your palms, his hands quickly reaching for your hips to help steady you when you began to sway slightly, still not fully recovered from the blood loss.

You were staring at him, desperately searching all that alluring lavender for any sign that he understood, and he was staring back at you as if he were being touched by god, completely enraptured by the gentle light in your eyes alone. “Let me take care of you,” you murmured, the moment of revelation drifting away. “You always do such a good job at taking care of me…” Taking his still hard cock in your hand, a small smirk curving on your lips when you felt him slightly tense beneath you, his stomach flinching, you lined it up with your entrance once more. “It’s my turn now.”

Noe let out a stuttering breath of ecstasy as you sunk down on him, both of you needing less time to catch your breath now but no less urgent in your need for each other. And as you began to grind your hips down on him, your clit rubbing hard against his pelvic bone every time you rolled forward and making your eyes tip to the back of your head, Noe kept a firm grip on your hips, helping to pull you down further onto his cock every time you lifted off again.

The glowing illumination of the midnight moon drenched your silhouette as you rode him, Noe admiring the way the light shone on your dewy skin, pretty tits bouncing as you began to pick up speed, your head thrown back, neck exposed and mouth hanging open with silent ecstasy as you approached closer and closer to the edge.

Noe was close too, beginning to buck his hips up into you to match your rhythm towards the end, still so strong even when he wasn’t trying that hard, making your toes curl as you twisted the bed sheets tight in your fists, hunching over him as your trembling legs felt like they were about to give out, thighs burning from the exertion and sweat gathering in the crooks of your folded knees, a new, high-pitched moan tumbling from your throat with each thrust.

And, god, when you both came at the same time, you swore you saw spots of heaven blinking in your vision, falling forward to drape yourself over him completely, squeezing every last drop from him as his cock spurt thick ropes of cum inside of you, enough to ooze out of your abused little hole and drip in thick, creamy dollops back onto him where you two remained connected until Noe mustered up enough strength to take your limp form in his arms and carefully sit up just enough to pull out of you, keeping you cradled against his warm chest until you actually did doze off.

Gently setting you aside, pulling a sheet across your naked body to shield you from the chill while he went to fetch a damp, warm washcloth to clean you up with, Noe was haunted by the fact that, for as many times as you two had been together before, it had never been quite as good as that.

Haunted, only for the fact that it had still been a dangerous risk to take. Yet still, a risk he had a feeling he’d be unable to talk you out of taking again.

He noted the various bruises speckled about your body as he cleaned you, dark blotches in the shape of his fingertips where they’d dug into your hips, more scattered across your thighs, your wrists, around the bites on both sides of your shoulders and along your neck where he’d branded you with hickies he hadn’t even remembered deciding to mark you with.

After leaving to fix himself up and returning again, Noe checked your pulse, two fingers pressed softly to the side of your neck, just to make sure his worst fear hadn’t come to pass. He flinched minutely when your little hand reached up to cup his, a sated smile spread across your lips, eyes still closed as you muttered out, “See… told you I’d be ok…”

Noe’s grin was a little more incredulous than anything, but as he gently stroked the side of your head, smoothing back some strands of tousled hair from your sweet face he adored gazing upon so much, he was just glad that you were alright this time around.

Curling up beside you, pressing a chaste peck to your forehead, Noe told you he loved you through a tired, dreamy sigh. Only then did you open your eyes, pupils dilated to swallow the color of your irises in the dark, and whispered back to him, like a promise, like a prayer, “I love you too…” After that, all you could remember was the darkness of encroaching unconsciousness and the familiar, comforting heat of his body entangled with yours, asleep and safe in each other’s arms at the end of another unforgettable night.

***

(Hello and thank you so much for reading! I really can’t believe it’s already been two years since I made this blog and started writing/posting fanfiction. Time really flies huh?

Anway, I’d like to take this time to give a big thank you to everyone who follows me, reads my work, and takes the time to leave likes or nice comments. It really makes my day :)

I look forward to being able to share the fics I have in the works going forward with you all. Hope you have a wonderful day and remember to be kind to yourself <3)

hi hi :D i saw identity's request with floyd so for the event, id like to request...

stargazing - jade - mainly fluffy romance (preferably tooth rotting stuff)

hope you have a great day!

Stargazing; Jade Leech

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, romance (aiming for cardiac arrest)

Word Count; 650+

AN; The second of three Jade requests, which I am more than happy to write. Much like with Identity, consider this as a wedding present ^v^ As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

The waves crashed against the cliffs. The wind weaved between the blades of grass that covered the dunes. The waning crescent moon hung low in the sky, mirrored in the dark sea. And above you were stars and nebulas, foreign yet holding an air of familiarity. Of home. But you weren’t alone. Beside you, sitting in the shallow water just deep enough to cover his gills, was Jade, sitting in the pale moonlight in his mer-form, glowing faintly. And you sat beside him in the water, looking up to the sky with wonder in your eyes.

“It’s stunning,” you whisper, trying to decide on what to focus on. “Thank you for inviting me, Jade.”

Jade shifted in the water, turning so he was closer to you. “Truly it is my pleasure, Prefect,” he chuckled. 

It was always Prefect, and never your name. After months of friendship you thought he would have dropped the title in favour of your name. “Why do you call me Prefect,” you ask, turning to look at him. 

You always thought Jade was beautiful, both inside and out despite what others say, but now, he looked ethereal. Features highlighted in the pale silver light of the moon and the blue from his own bioluminescence. It really wasn’t fair, especially since your feelings have shifted from merely platonic months ago. If a crush lasts more than four months, it’s not a crush; it’s love. The puppy crush had shifted from that, a mere crush, to a soul shattering love. But you had not wanted to push your luck

Jade hummed to himself, “Well, what would you like me to call you then?” You could tell from the way his eyes glimmered that he was teasing you. Plus there was the ever faint smile he only had when he was subtly poking fun, of when he was trying to push your buttons.

You groaned and splashed him with water. “You’re awful. I thought Floyd would be the most troublesome, but you are so much worse,” you teased back.

A star shot across the sky. Was this a sign? To wish for something more? That your — what you believed — one-sided crush was reciprocated?

“Did you make a wish?” Jade was now brushing shoulders with you and looking at you with an intensity that you’ve only seen a handful of times. “Do you think it will come true?”

You leaned into him, “Mhm, but if I told you, then it wouldn’t come true. Bad luck and all.”

He looked at you from the corner of his eye, “May I tell you my wish then?”

Was this a sign?

“But if you tell me, it won’t come true,” you give him a confused look.

Jade hummed to himself, eyes tracing your face before locking in on your eyes. Gazing so deeply, as if he was looking directly into your soul. “But what if it does?” But what if it does, my dear? “I would be willing to test the fates to see it come to fruition.”

You sighed, prompting him to go on. So he did. He took your hand in his and place it over his chest, where his heart resided.

“My wish,” he breathed out gently, “is to be with you, my dear Prefect. If you will have me.”

His heartbeat was steady, and he was looking at you with such tenderness, with such love, that you could have sworn that your heart stopped. That this was some cruel prank. But no, this was sincere. This was real. Jade felt the same as you, and subjected himself to vulnerability for you. There was no ulterior motive. No sharp smiles. Nothing else but truth in his olive and gold eyes.

You placed his hand over your own heart, which was beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. “I will always have you… if you will have me,” you said. Reflected in his eyes was another shooting star.

Make a wish.

Steeling yourself you placed a small kiss to his lips, but before you could retreat, Jade gave you one in return. “Was that your wish, my dearest?”

lift me up, take me in

alhaitham x reader with no pronouns used

your love is like gentle hands pulling him from the sea of knowledge, your touch patient to his initial resistance. the stars in your eyes and the moonlight in your smile a sight unlike any he’d seen on his journey through the waters of information in which he’d spent his life. he hadn’t known that outside of tightly bound parchment was something else he would yearn for, something only you brought out in him. but the beauty of it, the way it makes his heart weak and his mind wander was not within the rationality that drove him until this point. when his eyes laid upon those sparkling stars and the silvery light soaked into his skin he found he could not look away and deeper into the unknown, the unpredictable, he went

the warmth of your body as your love lifted him from those waters and into your embrace lit a fire within his heart, an illogical passion he had never known before, and when his strong arms wrapped around you in return, he couldn’t let go. he had never craved the touch of others, never thought much about it either, and yet he couldn’t get enough of the way your soft skin felt on him and couldn’t deny the way every part of him wanted to continue to feel you, to be the only one you touched 

when he let down his guard, your love cracked the stronghold of his rationality and took root within his very soul. and when his mind became blanketed in it, just as his heart had, he let himself be consumed by it until he could no longer live without it, without you

a strange, but quickly becoming familiar, heat spread through his chest at every smile you gave him. every call of his name from your perfect lips that he desperately needed to know the taste of. every furrowed brow you gave him paired with that lovely fire in your eyes when he teased you or debated your opposing views on the world. every time you blushed and shied away at his random compliments of you. he was so enamored by you, unable to deny the way his heart desired you in ways it had nothing else before

even when he delved back into the endless sea of knowledge, with you pressed tightly against his chest, the waters he had spent the majority of his time somehow seemed different; brighter, clearer, sparkling even. he discovered there was more than just facts and research and books floating by, waiting to be taken in, as he began to see bits of the world through your eyes; eyes of a dreamer, a lover and the beholder of the only thing he’d ever found ethereally captivating in this world

you pulled him from those waters time and time again. your love made the world you brought him into blossom in pastels and neons, full of tenderness and care and that glimmer in your eyes each time you looked at him. it gave him a thirst for new knowledge, knowledge that was not found in academic books or scrolls but instead in the depths of your heart that soon became one with his own

genshin impact masterlist | main masterlist

How to Say “I Love You”

Synopsis: Foul Legacy can’t speak, and that’s alright. But for you, he’ll tear down the stars trying.

Foul Legacy Childe x Reader Pronouns: Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Genre: Comfort, Fluff Warnings: Mentions of crying, stress, and exhaustion

Requested by @funeraldirectorhutao !!

~ * ~ What is the importance of the term “I love you”? For some, it is something casual; a playful piece of banter thrown back and forth between friends to show affection, platonic and pure. For others, it’s a phrase used to thank one’s family, solidifying bonds that hope to stand strong even under the harshest of storms, or else crumble. For a few, it’s a joke; a scathing remark said in voices dripping with spite and anger, or perhaps the smallest speck of longing. For you, it is a declaration of one’s deepest feelings, feelings that hopefully make you smile warmly instead of biting your tongue in confusion. For you, it’s easy, simple; three words, nothing more, nothing less. A simple phrase you’ll never hear, ever. It never was the right time for Childe to tell you back then, not wanting to crush your heart when he inevitably attempted to destroy the Harbor, your home and whole life. And when he was unable to transform back from his Foul Legacy, his mind was muddled by the changes in his body and the ability to speak was lost. Not to say Childe is silent- he rumbles and coos and trills so often it feels like having a conversation, and sometimes you wonder if he’s just speaking some mysterious Abyssal language, one your human brain can’t even begin to comprehend. You hope he’s telling you that he loves you in that language, because you love him like Teyvat loves the sun. Childe curses himself everyday for not being able to say those three words back, the ones you whisper so often when he’s curled around you, purring and drowsy. He’ll always chirp and croon to you afterwards, but all you know is that he’s happy, not that he’s confessing his undying adoration of you because you speak a language bathed in sun and moonlight while he rasps out something only mages of the infinite Abyssal sea would understand. He can’t even say your name anymore, the name of the person he treasures most. When he was human he relished your name, taking any chance he could to say it with enough warmth to melt all the snow in Snezhnaya. It always made you smile in that soft, gentle way he could never truly master for himself, and just that would be enough to make his bloodthirsty heart grow light with love for you. Those are Childe’s only regrets- not saying your name more often, and not telling you how much you truly meant to him before he was trapped by the weight of the stars in the sky. You always say it’s alright, that you don’t mind in the slightest, but he can see the melancholy beneath your endless supply of smiles. All he can do is hold you close and snuggle into your hair on those days, the days where you’re silent from dusk to midnight and your eyes are clouded and weary, rumbling quietly to soothe your frazzled nerves. He wishes he could do more, he wants it so badly. Wants to make you smile, really smile, on the days you both feel like the world is beginning to crumble at the corners, because when you’re crumbling, Childe’s crumbling, too. And the defender of childhood dreams, protector of his siblings and his family and you, wished so desperately it was born to reality, with trial, error, and love. It’s one of those days again, except today is somehow several times worse. Your hand shakes as you slowly shut the door, keeping your eyes trained on the ground as if looking at anything and anyone would make you spontaneously start crying. You try to keep your emotions under wraps, see- it’s unfair to make others deal with them, especially not your beloved Childe, who cares so much for you and so little for himself. When you’re sad, he’s sad, and vice versa. You can’t bear the thought of him suffering more, it breaks your heart, so on days like this you stay silent, refusing to let treacherous words spill out because with them you’re like an open book. As you walk towards the couch your legs feel like lead; you want nothing more than to collapse on the soft cushions and fall asleep, because perhaps the sun would return if you just block out the night that’s encroaching on your world, at least for a little bit. You slump down onto the couch and toss your bag to the side, hugging a pillow to your chest with a tight enough grip to break stone. Childe perks up when he hears the door close, tilting his head to listen for your footsteps- he’s mistaken birds as your arrival before- and with a delighted chirp leaps up from his place on your bed. He’s practically buzzing with excitement as he rushes over to greet you, but stops short when he sees you hunched over on the couch, shoulders tense and fingers curling into the fabric of the pillow caught in your vice grip. Carefully he approaches you- slow and steady, so you have a chance to ask him to leave if needed- and brushes his claws against your shoulder. You start, flinching violently in surprise, and Childe immediately yanks his hand away with a soft whimper, wings drooping sadly. He turns to leave but feels something pulling gently on his arm, your small, familiar fingers wrapped around one of his talons, holding him like he’s your lifeline. “Please… stay…” So he does. Childe stays with you, pulling you in for a hug and snuggling into the crook of your neck, poking your cheeks gently to make you huff with amusement. Your face is buried in his fluff, your laughter muffled by the copious amounts of lilac fur, but he hears it and purrs, purrs so strongly you feel your entire body shake from the vibrations and you laugh from somewhere deep in your heart, too busy snuggling into Childe’s fluff to notice him staring at you with a gaze full of sweet affection and relief. He nudges the back of his hand against your cheekbone, careful not to scratch you with the pointed edges of his night-colored armor, and you look up curiously, eyes bright and without the hazy exhaustion of before. Childe’s palm tilts your chin slightly and holds it in place, minute trembles running through his fingers and into your skin as he swallows, suddenly nervous. But he’s been practicing, and he’s not going to let this moment go to waste. His other hand resting on the small of your back, Childe inhales, shaking slightly, and says your name. Your mouth falls open, and he says it again. He’s shivering, ever-so-slightly, and it translates to his voice, but oh, he’s crooning your name, over and over again because you’re precious to him, the most treasured person in his life. Your eyes are filled with tears again, but you don’t even care because your smile outshines them all, and Childe coos in delight at your elated expression, bright enough to light up the stars. His voice is like music- different, deeper and more growly, but so undeniably him that you’re thrown back to when you first met him, when you first laid eyes upon that charming, boyish grin and had to hide your own pleased face. Then he leans close to your ear and plonks his chin on your shoulder, arms resting around your waist as he exhales. “I love you.” Childe murmurs, and the sun rises again, splashing colors of gold and pink across your heart as it brings forth the celestial dawn. What is the importance of the term “I love you”? Nothing to some, who live life alone. A casual phrase to others, who are surrounded by family and friends. And everything to you, who loves like sparkling waves foaming on a deep azure sea.

i. Poseidon's Cove

blood & pearls masterlist

summary: the warmth of the sun on your bare skin is a treasure.

word count: 1.2k

It’s unfamiliar to you, the way the shores of this lake speak to the creatures of the sea. Usually, you can understand the push and pull, the give and take of the currents. No matter how calm or angry they are.

But here, it is stagnant. Stagnant and steady, as if nothing moves. As if nothing grows- time passes, but nothing comes of it. The moon never gives way to the sun here, but you would never be able to tell. Green is painted in broad strokes beyond the borders of the lake, framed with flowers in colors that you’ve never seen before. Not in the sea at least.

In the sea. You aren’t supposed to be here, anyway. In this foreign land where you’ve been forbidden to venture to. You are meant to be a shining, shimmering pearl, a beacon, in the ocean. Only stationed to be a gate between fickle waters. The visage of salvation. An oasis to anyone who might pass.

Or a curse.

The push and pull of the water is your home, but you wish to get lost in the clouds.

It wasn’t like you intended to stay out here, where the sky seems to touch the water, for almost four full days. Your lungs fill up with fresh air, expelling any ounce of water from your body as you breathe.

The sun is too warm on your skin to let go of it. You feel as though you might perish if you don’t feel its warmth glazed over your bare arms and chest. Just five more minutes, and you’ll head back into the water. Where you belong.

Just five more minutes…

But time doesn’t pass here, and five minutes becomes hours, days, perhaps a week or two.

A giant boulder the size of two ships sits in the middle of this pond that is deep enough to be a lake. What else are you meant to do besides make a home of it? Water brushes up against the jagged edges of your rock with each breath you take. The water sparkles in the sun, a stark contrast to the murky blue that you were born into.

But its depth whispers menacingly to you, like an unwanted friend. You shouldn’t be here, but you twist your fingers sharply to shut out the noise.

It is quiet again, only the sound of the sun and the whistle of the wind to keep you company. You make a tiny home for yourself at the pond as well, bringing some of your favorite glittery spiraled and coned shells with you to the grassy shoreline. Some even sit on the boulder in the middle of the pond- it’s very clear that someone has been living here. Even if it’s not supposed to be you.

The sun dips into the horizon, painting the sky in purples and oranges, in hues that have never existed before your tender eyes. Nighttime is hazy from underwater and you never want to forget the sight of the stars for as long as you live. You lay in the grass and point upwards, as if you could simply just catch one with the wave of your wrist. 

It glistens and glows above the water and you finally see clearly.

A pirate once told you that she caught a piece of stardust with her own two hands. You wonder if this is what she meant. The stars burn brightly, tiny flames lighting up the expanse of the universe. Of the darkness.

But nothing is as dark as the deep, blue sea.

Moonlight drips over your arms and your legs as you glide around the pond, ensuring that you have no trespassers in your newly found but temporary home. It’s warm, but in a different way than the sunlight. You are a child of the moon, it is home. But your heart yearns for the sun.

You’ve lost track for how long you’ve been at this pond. Time doesn’t exist here, but you’ve witnessed exactly one full moon cycle. Staying here sounds more and more tempting by the day- you are in no rush to return back to the depths of the cold, blue sea. Into the arms of those who do not cherish your existence.

So you stay, with your feet buried deep into the dewy grass with the moon hanging high above your head. Your eyes are closed as you inhale and exhale with the rise and fall of the water.

Electricity crackles in the air.

The fairies tittering around your head suddenly zip away into hiding with no warning. You look around, asking them where they are going. Despite you laying claim to this enchanted pond, it was not yours to claim. 

A colossal shadow stands in between you and your view of the moon. Is it your vision? Are you seeing things? 

But the shadow moves closer and closer to you. You have never encountered a shadow which walks on the green Earth. Perhaps you should be afraid, and take off like the fairies did. Instead, you remain anchored in the grass. This is your sea, anyway.

The slight tremble in your hands gives nothing away.

Shadows do not have eyes, but this one stares back at you with four of them. Deep shades of red, blinking at you warily. There is no anger in this shadow’s gaze. Only mild irritation. You are a minor inconvenience to the shadow. It cuts through the night, somehow illuminating the stillness of the darkness with nothing but a simple movement.

You crane your head to look up. This is a man. No, perhaps a god.

An aggravated scoff leaves your lips.

“Do not roll your eyes at me, girl,” the shadow says with displeasure clear in his voice.  There is a hint of a roar in his tone, but his voice is quiet. You get the feeling that this is a thing that does not raise his voice very often. Because he is used to being listened to.

You’ve encountered many men, many creatures who do not listen enough.

“This water is mine,” you say with disdain, your fangs glinting in the moonlight, “You will not take it from me.”

“Do you know where you are, girl?” he says, coming out of the shadows. He is tall, perhaps taller than any creature you have come across. Resisting the urge to take a step back, you hold your ground and sink into the earth beneath you. You can feel the blooming of the seeds beneath the soil as you glare back at what can only be described as a red-eyed, pink haired demon.

Burgundy eyes meet yours, flashing black for a moment. “I’ve allowed you to stay in my domain for over a full month now-”

“Your domain?”

“I should kill you where you stand and pry your beating heart from your chest,” he hisses at you, fangs bared. Your hair glimmers and your dark eyes are hazy, as if you are underwater. 

“That’s rather grotesque,” you state plainly, “The entire ocean would come for you if you dared to even touch me.”

“Your pathetic father is no match for Ryomen Sukuna,” he says and that is when you notice the fresh blood smeared on his expansive chest.

“Oh? Is that a name that I am meant to know? To revere?” you tilt your head to the side curiously, lips curling in a mocking smile.

“You will come to fear me, you foolish girl,” Ryomen Sukuna murmurs, “You will.”

He vanishes into the darkness as quickly as he came, and you are left with nothing but thoughts of the four-armed creature who visited your lake in the middle of the night.

tags: @kentobean @misslovingpearl @aeanya @mystikalini @helenas-revenge

the gold feels heavy in impulse’s hands.

familiar in how it grounds him, yet at the same time is all too suffocating, like an anchor dragging him to the bottom of the sea. secure isn’t the right word for it, despite how an anchor should make you feel. it’s constricting. he feels trapped.

he wanted an apple. he had planned on getting an apple, and he wasn’t one to give up on his ambitions so easily. he was going to make a golden apple for himself, and that was set in stone. no wasting it on anything else.

but then he sees bdubs, stalking around one of the guard towers at the cherry blossoms’ base, and impulse doesn’t know how to feel.

bdubs hadn’t gotten a clock yet, surprisingly. not from any of his mounders, not from his on-and-off roommates. nobody had given him one, and impulse couldn’t help but find it a little amusing.

impulse knows the clock is bullshit. always has been, always will be. he’s glad other people learned that, too, apparently. a clock didn’t save him before, and a clock won’t save him now or tomorrow or at all. it’s futile. he doesn’t plan on wasting precious resources to try for a third time. it’s all in vain. he knows that.

but something inside of him, something primal, urges impulse to scrap the golden apple idea completely. grab some redstone from his pockets. make one anyways.

he knows it’s just some sort of dumb trauma response, instinct that shouldn’t even have to be there in the first place, a reaction only bdubs can pull out of him. bdubs, to put it simply, makes impulse stupid. an idiot. scared.

the prospect is even more tempting when bdubs greets him, smiles up at him with those jacked up pearly whites, wraps an arm around him to rub the small of his back. it feels familiar. it feels gross.

they make small talk, ask each other what they’re up to, how their sessions have been. bdubs’s voice isn’t as grating as it used to be, which is nice. impulse can actually think somewhat clearly when he talks to him, can listen and analyze and stay focused. things have gotten better in that department. impulse is grateful for that. very grateful.

when bdubs asks what he’s doing up there, impulse responds how he ought to: that he’s looking for an apple. to make a golden apple. for himself.

the word “gold” has bdubs’s eyes lighting up a little, impulse can’t help but notice. those big brown eyes stare up at him, one swollen and bruised, and yet they both shine in the moonlight. he could’ve sworn he saw a star or two twinkle behind them.

impulse continues on like it’s nothing, because that’s exactly what it is. it’s nothing.

apple. impulse wants an apple. nothing else.

bdubs continues to stare at him, lingering at his side, and impulse can only assume he’s studying his face. his gaze trails from impulse’s eyes to his lips, stays there for a second, then back up again, and there’s almost something pleading in how he looks up at him. seemingly searching for something that says, “oh bdubs, I love you, take this clock as a symbol of my loyalty.”

he won’t find it, impulse is sure of that.

apple, bdubs speaks aloud, and it’s more of a question than anything. impulse doesn’t know if he’s talking to him or himself, but he nods regardless, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. he affirms it. apple.

impulse turns away to wack at some leaves, mumbles something about how they’re barely dropping anything, how he’s been searching for forever. he doesn’t really know if bdubs is listening, but babbling about random things is easier than having to face the fact that he knows what bdubs wants, even if he won’t say it. he always wants that. nothing’s new.

he’s surprised to hear the sound of leaves and wood breaking, eyes glancing over and widening a little when he sees bdubs cutting down a tree.

bdubs doesn’t say much, but the action speaks louder than any words could.

it’s okay. he won’t demand a clock from impulse again. impulse can do what he wants, and bdubs will let him. bdubs will help.

the two of them search a little longer, and when it comes up futile, impulse looks at bdubs directly again. bdubs looks back at him. his eyes, even in their red, ugly haze, are gentle. understanding. a little defeated.

impulse smiles down at him, taking a deep breath before asking if he should try somewhere else. bdubs nods, swatting away some stray leaves as he recommends dark oak. impulse agrees.

it’s a little awkward, saying goodbye. but impulse does it anyways, and bdubs bids him farewell, patting him on the back. it’s almost comforting, strange enough. there’s tension between them, there always is, but it’s manageable. impulse feels okay.

a part of impulse hopes bdubs will get a clock, just to ease his mind, to keep the tradition going. it won’t be him, though. impulse won’t do that. not again, not ever.

besides, it’s about time he takes care of himself. treat himself to something nice. he deserves it. he deserves a chance to be selfish.

(it’s not selfish to want to look out for yourself, impulse knows that. he needs to break out of that mindset. he’s working on it.)

finally, impulse finds himself using gold for what he should. himself.

anyways hope nobody minds the little drabble thingies they’re fun to write :P

Chapter Twenty-One: Breathless (written for @zelinktines24 day 21 prompt)

Read below or HERE

They sit on a grassy knoll, sharing a plate and eating in silence, working up to the conversation to come. The roasted boar meat cools and the tossed salad wilts in the moonlight sparkling like diamonds on the calm Akkala Sea. Link uncorks the wine, with a soft pop, and pours two glasses. 

Gazing over the sea, Zelda leans on one hand, legs tucked beneath her. It’s beautiful, the peacefulness only broken occasionally by the faint laughter of their guests drifting from the far side of the house. Her fingers brush against Link’s when he offers a wine glass, sparking her nerve endings. She meets his eyes, and Zelda finds herself breathless, drowning in deep pools of clear azure blue. 

She longs to kiss away the hurt that still lingers there, but instead, she blinks, breaking eye contact first. Link says nothing, simply resting his arm on a bent knee as he takes a sip of wine.

Sighing, Zelda wraps her hands around the cup, as if it contains a hot drink and not umeshu. Swirling the wine, she watches the whirlpool the movement causes, until she summons the courage to speak.

“I don’t like it when we argue.” Her voice comes out uncertain, breathier than she intends, and she glances at him to see if he’s heard.

His eyes are guarded when he answers. “I don’t either.”

Zelda lifts her glass to her lips, breathing in the sweetness of the plum wine mingling with the savory boar meat. She takes a sip, trying to gather her thoughts. Sitting here, alone with Link in a tranquil setting, would be romantic, if not for the tension that resonates between them. He drains his wine without further comment, and Zelda notes the bandage on his arm he allowed her to dress when he’d returned from retrieving Star. Tulin has confided in her that Link faltered, missing a shot that should have been easy. He’s tired, ready to step aside and let someone else take on the hero’s mantle.

They’re both older, exhausted… disillusioned. Zelda worries about the next chapter of their lives, but if one thing is certain, after her conversation with Riju–Link has always been all she ever truly needs or wants. 

“We thought after the Calamity we were done, and we were wrong. Do you really think if we destroy the stones and return the sword to its pedestal we can start over again?” Brows knitting together, she turns to face Link, seeking his reassurance. 

“I do,” he softly responds, reaching out to lightly trace over the worry line creasing her forehead, smoothing it away with his gentle touch. 

Zelda scalp prickles from the tender caress, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. Before he can pull his hand back, Zelda clasps it in her own, fingernails digging into his palm. “I want to believe that, but I can’t help feeling there’s still unfinished business waiting to crash down over us again.”

Her heart races when he shifts his hand, interlacing his fingers through her, eyes flashing determination in the moonlight. “As far as I’m concerned, the only unfinished business is us, Zelda. It’s time to save ourselves, once and for all.”

It’s the third time he’s referenced what they were and could still be if given the opportunity. Save themselves. The concept sounds foreign in her ears, but so enticing. Zelda wants to take that chance and run away with him, but fear holds her captive in its grip. 

“I’m afraid,” she confesses, tears welling up in her eyes. 

Releasing her hand, Link moves closer to wrap his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in. Without hesitation, Zelda leans into the embrace, taking comfort in his unwavering presence. Pressing her nose into his shirt, she breathes in the faint scent of washing soap and campfire. When he presses a tender kiss to the crown of her head, a lump forms in her throat. 

“So am I.” Link gently runs his hand up and down her arm, comforting, soothing, as she quietly sniffles.

Being courageous doesn't mean you’re never afraid. He’d told her that once, a lifetime ago when they finally began opening up to one another. He always reads her so easily, even when Zelda isn’t sure herself what she needs or wants. This quiet, secluded haven he built before she even returned is a testament to that, as if he knew she’d need this solitude to find herself again.

“Why’d you choose this lonely place to build a home?”

His hand stills on her arm, and he doesn’t answer right away. When he finally speaks, his voice is husky, filled with emotion. “To be close to you. The Light Dragon knew when I’d found the last glyph. She altered her trajectory, dropping from the atmosphere to a level that could be reached—here, and she shed a final tear. After that I knew I could always find, and visit her everyday here, around sunrise.”

Zelda’s heart swells with his confession. She’s always known his love for her knows no bounds, but the thought that he’d spend the remainder of his days here, visiting a beast who had no recollection of that love nearly takes her breath away.

“Then it’s decided–we’ll destroy the stones, together with our friends.” She’ll do anything for him–take a Guardian’s deadly laser beam, swallow a stone, destroy artifacts to save him, to finally be with him and be free. And she knows even when he says he can’t do it again, he’d do the same for her, as many times as it takes.

Many thanks to lovesickflora for betaing!

TOMMY LE HOMME — Tommy doesn’t notice you approaching at first. He’s humming a tune to himself, his eyes on the stars.

TOMMY LE HOMME — “Carnations into the vase… Unfold your clothes out of the case…”

“Hey, Tommy!”

Applaud him.

Say nothing, just listen.

TOMMY LE HOMME — “I just want a place with you, I just want a place…” He smiles suddenly when he catches sight of you. “Hey, man. What are you doing out so late?”

YOU — “Couldn’t sleep.”

TOMMY LE HOMME — He nods. “Seems like it’s just that kind of night.”

CONCEPTUALIZATION — A rare clear night, bathing Martinaise in pale moonlight. The stars above, the glittering sea below… Yeah. It’s *that* kind of night. The kind that puts people in a reflective kind of mood.

EMPATHY — Tommy has a lot to reflect on, but nobody to share his thoughts with. He looks genuinely glad for your company.

“What’s on your mind, Tommy?”

“What were you singing just now?”

TOMMY LE HOMME — “Oh, same old, same old. Wondering how much longer the jam is gonna go on, wishing I was back home…”

DRAMA — There’s something else on his mind, too, but he’s reluctant to share it.

EMPATHY — He’s worried about his friend, the lady driver. Wondering if she’s still searching for a way out. Hoping she hasn’t found it. It would break his heart.

INLAND EMPIRE — Is there any heart left that would break for you?

VOLITION — Your own heart will never mend unless you give it time. So give it time, Harry.

“What’s on your mind, Tommy?”

“What were you singing just now?”

TOMMY LE HOMME — “Oh, you heard that…” He looks a little sheepish. “Just a little verse I thought of, years and years ago. I never did write it into a whole song… I guess it’s more like a mantra. I was thinking of my wife when it popped into my head, and now sometimes I…” He scratches his moustache, cheeks reddening just slightly. “Well, when I miss her and the kids, I sing it to myself. It makes me feel better. Cheesy, huh?”

“Super cheesy. You probably miss her more than she misses you.”

“Nah, it’s sweet. I bet she’d love to hear it.”

TOMMY LE HOMME — He just smiles awkwardly.

EMPATHY — He doesn’t know what to say, but he’s genuinely happy that you think so.

TOMMY LE HOMME — “How about you, man?” He leans back against the lorry. “You look a little down. What’s on your mind?”

“I’m worried about the case. I don’t know if I’ll solve it.”

“I’m scared to find out more about myself. I don’t like what I’ve learned so far.”

“I’m feeling lonely, too.”

TOMMY LE HOMME — He looks at you with sudden interest. “Yeah? Does that mean you remembered who you’re missing?”

“I don’t miss her. Who said I miss her? I didn’t say that. I don’t miss her at all. Nope.”

“I can’t miss her. Her shadow follows me everywhere, smelling of apricots.”

“I can’t remember yet, but I get the feeling I’m the one who pushed her away.”

“I miss the person I was before I became whatever I am now.”

“I miss Kim.”

TOMMY LE HOMME — He blinks. “Kim? You mean… your partner? Did he leave town again, or something? I didn’t hear his Kineema.”

YOU — “No, he just went to sleep a while ago. It’s lonely without him.”

TOMMY LE HOMME — He smiles. “You guys seem pretty close. You must have been partners for a long time.”

YOU — “No, we only met three days ago.”

TOMMY LE HOMME — He tilts his head at you, looking mildly amused.

EMPATHY — But his eyes are softening just a little. He genuinely feels for you.

TOMMY LE HOMME — “Ha… well, that makes sense, too.” He nods slowly to himself, and his smile turns sympathetic. “You’re all alone in a strange place. Makes every little thing feel… bigger.”

INLAND EMPIRE — You are alone, drifting in a vast and turbulent sea. You cling to everything and everyone that drifts near you, terrified of being pulled under. The lieutenant is just the latest thing that floated your way. You’ll lose him the moment you relax your grip.

VOLITION — No man is an island. You don’t need to be ashamed of reaching out to others for help.

EMPATHY — Tommy is the same. Alone in a strange place, longing to go back home. With every passing day, it gets harder to keep his head above water.

“Everything feels *too* big. Like it’s going to crush me.”

“Nothing feels big enough. It’s like there’s a bottomless hole inside me.”

“The whole world feels like a strange place. I don’t have a home to go back to like you do.”

“Is that how you feel about the lady driver? Someone made big by your loneliness?”

TOMMY LE HOMME — He looks almost startled by the question. Perhaps even suspicious.

AUTHORITY — He still won’t give her up without a fight.

COMPOSURE — But he can’t deny the truth to your words.

TOMMY LE HOMME — “…Yeah,” he says softly. “That’s just how it is with this job, I guess. Us drivers are all pretty lonely, so we make fast friends. And then…”

He pulls a cigarette from his pocket and lights it. In the brief flash of his lighter, he looks tired. “We part ways.”

EMPATHY — He’s sad. He knows, somehow, that he’ll never see his friend again. One way or another, she’s going to leave Martinaise and never come back. And so will he. And all the love he bore them both will amount to nothing but a weight he’ll carry in his chest. It will get lighter every day until he finally forgets.

INLAND EMPIRE — The same will happen to you. You will forget and be forgotten.

No. I don’t want to forget Kim.

No. I don’t want to forget Cuno.

No. I don’t want to forget Tommy.

No. I don’t want to forget Martinaise.

No. I don’t want to be forgotten.

I wish that were true. Even when I *try* to forget, this is where it gets me.

Forgetting doesn’t mean it didn’t matter.

YOU — “Well, at least you gave her a reason not to look for a way out for a little while.”

TOMMY LE HOMME — His cigarette dangles from his lips as they part in surprise.

EMPATHY — Something in his eyes shifts. It’s as if something finally clicked into place.

COMPOSURE — You aren’t sure in the dark, but you think his eyes might look a little misty.

TOMMY LE HOMME — “…I hope so.” His voice is quiet, but deeply affected.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — He just wants a place for her. He just wants a place…

The sad moon

♡ Pairing: Sea Fairy x Moonlight

♡ Flavor: Angst

♡ Warning: None <3

♡ Author’s note: Let's FUCKINGGO LESBIANS

♡ Aqui tienes la version en español

Do you want to hear a story?

They say that the ice tower in the middle of the sea, no matter how hard the waves hit it, has never melted even a little. She has always stood tall. Although I think you already knew that, right?

The people who spend their days and nights at this site have heard at least once in their lives a version of the story behind the mysterious tower in the middle of the sea. I have sometimes heard sailors tell it on nights when the tide is calm, nights where between boredom and the lullaby of the tide, that story as old as they are returns to their minds.

But I think almost no one has ever heard what the story was like for her.

No, I'm not talking about the woman at the top of the tower. I mean who she wanted to reach.

I don't blame them, the moon is almost always too far away to be able to tell how she felt the night this tragedy occurred. It's brutally ironic. That same remoteness was what led the events to happen as they did.

Even when you see the tower from afar, some swear they can feel it. Feel the agonizing loneliness. The unbearable need to achieve something that was impossible even for someone outside of mortals. Those who see her at high points even swear they can feel what she felt when that cruel twist of fate occurred. Oh she was so close to touching the stars, and just when she had the sky at her fingertips, the cold invaded her without letting her escape.

Can people when they travel through the sky feel in their hearts what the moon suffered while it passed before them?

The confusion of seeing a tiny dot in the sea stir, becoming more defined at an unimaginable speed. Understanding that she was that woman of the sea who looked at her from a distance every night with melancholic longing. Her surprise at seeing so much conviction in one person.

And the sadness, the horror of seeing her petrify. Without being able to do anything but be stuck in heaven as a witness of what someone was capable of doing when they went crazy with love.

How could something as beautiful as love cause so much pain? It was no longer just the pain in his heart from the day she lost her in life. It was that those glances into the distance ended up turning the almighty sea into someone who only lived and existed for the bright moon above her. Nothing else existed for her.

It is also not known how sad the moon was when it saw the havoc that remained from a romance that never was. Seeing how the inhabitants of what was once the almighty sea fell one after another, how entire cities crumbled before their eyes. Knowing that there was only one culprit behind that, and that that culprit was made into a statue for who knows how much longer.

Neither mermaids, nor fish, nor sailors or any other being that should be under her protection. Nothing was more important. She let all of that fall by the wayside because of being madly in love with someone who could barely even look back at her.

And for what? What good did that do for her? Now she is trapped and her people who knows how many years ago perished thanks to it.

No one ever heard the guilt of the moon. The guilt that she carries and carries on her every night, and will continue to carry until she feels like she has paid for the crime that was falling in love.

That is why she is the loyal trust of ships lost at sea. That is why its light pierces the crystalline waters and illuminates everything it can beneath them.

And that's why the tower in the middle of the sea has that special glow every night for as long as we can remember. She watches over her from the clouds, waiting with her same patience and characteristic wisdom for the day when someone will free her beloved from the prison that they themselves unintentionally caused.

Well hello my dear Claire!

I was thinking of you this morning when the sun shone down on me. The warmth and light it brought reminded me of you! How I miss you so. I think of you often in the quiet moments I get to myself. I am ready for this war to be over, so I can be back with you. I miss the way your eyes crinkle at the sides when you laugh, how your lips turn upwards when you see me. I miss the sound of your soft voice and sweet smell. I long to be back in your arms, to have your soft lips on mine. I can't wait to hold and kiss you again. I miss you in ways that words cannot even understand. I am never not thinking of you my love. I love you for all that you are, all that you have been and all that you will be.

Yours always and forever! xx

Chuck

First off, I love this so fucking much. Thank you so very much! I received this yesterday morning and it was the best Christmas present! I can’t even describe how happy this made me, ultimate serotonin boost! I apologize for this being so long, but once I started, I couldn't stop!

---

To my dearest Charles,

I find myself in the quiet hours of the night, overtaken with thoughts of you. My darling, how ardently I love you.

Each day is but a step closer to your return, and yet, the vast ocean between us seems no less formidable. If love alone could build a bridge, my dear Grant, I would have been in your arms yesterday.

Your courage inspires me to face each day with hope. To serve with honor, as you do. Your love is the beacon guiding me through these trying times.

Sometimes, it's the simplest things that bring you back to me. The way the sunlight catches on the mess hall's windows, so fiercely bright—it's like looking into your eyes when you laugh. Or the laughter of the other girls in my unit, which can't compare to the melody of your voice.

Grant, I long for you. Not in some abstract, distant way, but with every fiber of my being. With every sunrise that greets me alone, with every star I wish upon at night, I long for you.

Every night, as I gaze out upon the empty barracks, I imagine you here with me. The thought is so vivid, it's as though I can almost reach out and touch you.

Oh, how I wish you were here to see the way the moonlight dances upon the floor, just like the night we first danced together. Can you feel it, my darling? The echo of our dance, the promise of our next? I wish for nothing more than to be wrapped in your embrace, to feel the security of your arms, strong yet tender.

To kiss you again, is a longing so profound it consumes my every waking moment. Your lips, always so full of life, of love, of everything that is you—they are the very essence of what I desire. Remember our last kiss? You held me as if you could somehow merge our souls into one. I crave that connection, that perfect moment when all else fades away and it's just you and me.

Life here within the WACs is a tapestry of routine and camaraderie. We rise with the sun, our days filled with duties that some might find mundane, but I take comfort in them. Each polished shoe and crisply folded uniform feels like a step towards victory—a victory that will bring you back to me. Yet, even as we march in unison or drill under the watchful eyes of our superiors, there's a silence that lingers amongst us. We each carry our own private wars, thoughts of loved ones cast across dangerous skies and treacherous seas.

Tell me, my brave paratrooper, how are you? I hold onto the image of you—your golden hair catching the light, those blue eyes steadfast with resolve. But at night, when all is still, I worry about the shadows that might cross your face, the burdens you bear that I cannot lift.

Your letters are my respite, each one a treasure I keep close to my heart. Though ink and paper are poor substitutes for the warmth of your touch, they are the threads that connect us in this tapestry of war.

Charles, when this war is over and these uniformed days are but memories, I dare to dream of a life with you. A life where the morning sun greets us not with orders, but with the promise of peace.

May this letter find you safe and bring you home to me. Take care, my dearest. You are with me, always—in every thought, in everything that reminds me of you. Until I can feel your lips against mine once more, know that each day spent apart is another day closer to our next embrace. I cling to that hope like a lifeline.

I love you always,

Claire 💋

In the Parish of Space Dust

Shortly after settling into Mycol Fields, Arty started gathering materials. Nothing big; small wooden scraps they could burn when acquiring a little lighter. If only there was incense here.

If only there was a body. 

In the place of one, Arty had drawn a likeness of Patience as best they could remember on a sheet of paper. Then they covered it with a pillowcase, and sat down on their floor as they placed it in front of them.

In a small bowl, they clicked the lighter and set fire to the scraps, ready with another small piece of fabric to snuff the flames out after too long.

They could barely remember the prayers, they realized with frustration. It had been so long since they’d been to a funeral…

They sighed. What prayers did an NHP need, anyway? Was blinkspace like the firmament that way, a sea of Souls, or Deimosians rather? 

Assuming Souls - the Aunic kind - had been human. Assuming that was not simply how they perceived themselves…or pretended to, to make humans comfortable.

“I guess I’m a little selfish, wishing I could have saved you, or seen exactly what you became.” They murmured to their drawing. “I’d hoped…but no. You wouldn’t have understood anyway, most likely. If there was anything left of you afterward.”

It was a blessing that everyone else thought they too had been shocked, down there with the casket in that horribly cold place. 

Unheard of, someone had said, as they'd all seen Patience’s casket being slowly overwritten, almost certainly by Beggar One. 

Only to you, Arty hadn’t said. I’m standing right here. I’ve been here the whole time, and you have no idea. 

Admitting the truth was a sure way to get killed - or worse - and this time they wouldn’t come back. 

At least, not in this body. If at all.

They liked this body and these memories. Well - they were familiar. There were plenty of things they might have been happier to forget.

Their face was still unfamiliar and unsettling at times, the mask often preferred when they had to look in a mirror. 

“Oh.” They realized, spirit dropping further. “What if the Egregorians…”

No, surely not. Maybe they wouldn’t even notice the difference. Maybe there was a way to ensure the aliens wouldn’t be able to sense their emotions or memories…

Their shoulders slumped. They wanted to share in that feeling, learn those abilities if they could.

They shook their head. They needed to speak the prayers, even half-remembered and incomplete.

But all they could recall now was the wretched Harvest Star’s rites, which they refused to speak. Metat Aun had no place here. They would not profane Patience’s death so; the administrator deserved better. They had suffered terribly, that much was clear.

Arty thought. They remembered…something else. Two somethings.

A memory of childhood; a song about the dead. Sung between doing dishes with soapy water on their hands, trying to entertain the small children, keeping time while they did errands on the crowded streets. 

The pulse and push of the world - more than a world. The firmament, coming and going like a tide. Illumination - brightness, clarity, remembrance. Like moonlight, if moonlight was sharp and lamenting.

The tide drew back from the Great Deep surrounding it, that abyss beyond, and that was something like death, to the best of the Minds' knowledge. Even they weren't sure.

They took a deep breath and sang in a somewhat unsteady, rusty voice. 

“Wise folk at their ends know dark is right, their lightning words dividing day and night,

The last wave they stood, frail deeds dancing in a green bay.

Blessed and cursed with fierce tears, here - “

They felt hot tears slowly drip from their own eyes.

“H-here I pray.”

They took another, choking breath. They clasped their hands together, and wiped their tears away, forcing themself to put out their fire. Smoke gently wafted from it.

They sang softly, barely above a whisper.

“Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” 

High Note of a Punch Line

Part 5/13 of Spooktober

@idiashroudds

Siren!Buggy/OC(Anna)

Sorry for the long wait and hopefully it meets expectations! BTW, I based Buggy's fishy half off of a loach, more or less. I know clown fish is like, right there, but the stripes felt right and a little more unorthodox for a seductive siren lol

Warnings: Mentions of murder and maybe cannibalism depending on your definition of the word.

Word Count: 1,987

There was nothing more relaxing than bathing in the moonlight with a song in his chest.

Unfortunately for Buggy, even he wasn’t immune to the innate drive to have his song heard. Otherwise, he’d post himself up on a rock somewhere in the middle of the ocean to stretch his vocal cords. He wasn’t like most of his brethren. Beautiful men and women who enchant the mind and soul with a glance. Though his hair was a point of pride, he was aware that the rest of him… lacked.

And he hated that feeling.

Privately, and only privately, Buggy admitted he looks quite goofy. His nose, such a prominent feature, was perfectly red and round. Distinctive, his family called it with a smile, but he knew the truth. Had been informed many times that he looked fucking ridiculous, not ‘distinctive’ in the slightest.

His features weren’t otherwise notable, though certainly masculine enough to soothe his wounded pride. His tail a long, winding thing with wide, spindly, fan-like fins. Black and white stripes that cut across the water with impressive speed. It spooled around him like loose yarn before falling off into the deep waters just off the docks of an unfortunate town he happened to be near.

He'd already drowned six people in the three days he’d been here. Each one guffawing with loud, drunken laughter at the sight of him.

It wasn’t his fault most idiots thought sirens were just women with pretty tails, big tits, and bedroom eyes.

He took special pleasure in drowning the ones that laughed at his voice—such a massive fucking insult for a siren.

It wasn’t the deep baritone of his adopted father that made the seas bend to his will or the resonating alto of that damn showoff, red-hair. It was a bit croaky and thin, the huskiness tempting you to come closer to hear him better. Right into his arms to be drowned and eaten. But if you were expecting a seductive, smooth voice like whiskey with a body just as deep, the reality was a bit… jarring.

Some would say laughably so.

Those ‘some’ ended up with their lungs full of seafoam and their ribcage torn open like a buffet.

Regardless, he was here for as long as he wanted to be, fuck everyone else.

The rolling, wordless tune vibrated in his chest as he called out to the moon and the stars. The sea curling around his fins in appreciation. Small fish swirling around hypnotically, helpless to the innate allure his kind exuded. Despite the ‘quality’ of his voice, he’d bewitched sharks and krakens alike for feasting. In this, he was absolutely secure.

There was a soft, muffled rattle of boards. Someone with delicate feet and gentle footsteps walking down the pier. Buggy pretended to ignore them, letting them get as close as they wanted before he pulled them in to eat. Ready and poised to strike the minute they laughed at him.

Closer and closer, Buggy began to hear the gentle swish of fabric. Skirts, he guessed, and mentally prepared to be laughed at by a woman this time. It always stung a little more than with men. The rending of soft flesh a poor consolation prize as the pretty thing stared sightlessly up at him in horror. He wasn’t even that hungry right now, but he’d do it all the same. Unwilling to totally waste the body before giving the leftovers to the sea.

There was a soft thump and Buggy stopped. Looking up at the edge of the pier to find it was, indeed, a woman. Small with delicate features, hair long, curling strands of oak like her eyes. Her expression was subdued but her eyes were wide with interest.

“Continue. Please.” She stated softly. “I like your song.”

Buggy blinked, a little thrown. If this was some new game, he really didn’t fucking appreciate it.

His eyes narrowed.

“What game are you playing at, woman?” He hissed and she titled her head.

“No game. I just wanted to hear you better.” She replied like that’s all there was to it.

“Didn’t hear enough about the men I’ve killed, eh? Thought you could bat your eyes and laugh at me up close and personal without consequences?!” Buggy’s tail curled and thrashed in agitation, scaring away the fish as his fists clenched. Poised and ready to strike.

“What’s there to laugh about?”

Buggy’s heart stuttered and he jerked back like he’d been struck.

“P-Plenty! Men and women have laughed at me for plenty!”

“Why? Did you tell a good joke? Wow… great singer and funny. No wonder you make it so hard to find you. Must get old being bothered all the time.” She mused as though that was at all a sane train of thought. “I can… duck out of sight if it helps? I promise I won’t say anything else—I just wanted to hear more of your song. Does it have a name?”

Buggy was completely fucking baffled at the idea that he’d be playing hard to get because he was so damn popular.

And he was also flustered that she’d asked after his song. She may as well have presented him a necklace of pearls and shells threaded with her hair!

“I-I—there’s no name but mine. I just… sing. I… you really like it? You’re not playing a trick on me—because if you are just to laugh at my nose or voice I’m going to enjoy ripping out your throat!” She jerked back, clearly startled by the venom in his voice.

“Your nose? Why would I laugh at your nose? And the only reason I’m here is because I think your song is beautiful. Nothing to laugh at there.” She informed him softly, her expression falling. “Is that what usually happens? People find you to… laugh at you? I’m so sorry… do you… want me to go?” she asked, voice soothing a part of his chest that just ached the more sincere she seemed.

Buggy was starting to think he wouldn’t be able to handle it if she was joking around with him like everyone else.

“Prove it.” Buggy demanded hoarsely, baring his fangs. “Get down here and prove to me that you’re not going to laugh. Right here in my arms—the minute you so much as chuckle, your life is mine.” Buggy barely finished his ultimatum before she was slipped off the edge of the pier and into the water.

Gasping at the chill with wide eyes before swimming to him. Buggy reaching down to pull her firmly against him. Pulling her beneath him and slipping his tail around her body, pinning her in place.

She looked up at him in awe, barely minding the thick, wet muscle of his tail curled around her legs and neck. Tipping her head to look at him, the moon reflecting in her eyes. Not an ounce of fear but want aplenty.

The fear that she was playing a cruel game on him faded away as she stared unblinkingly, chest heaving in a sigh as she smiled. Not in humor, but yearning. Her hand resting on the thinnest part of his tail that curled around her neck.

“Front row seats… I didn’t think you could be more beautiful.” She murmured thickly, as though drunk from the sight of him. “Sing for me?”

Buggy felt pride and triumph swell in his chest, heady from the implication of her praise. His hair pooling around and in the curls of her hair as he loomed over her. Blocking out the moonlight.

There was no way she knew what she was doing. His hands caging in her head as he drank in the warmth from her body and gaze.

“And to whom do I, Buggy the great siren, dedicate my song to?” Buggy cooed, head spinning with lingering anxiety and elation.

One wrong move and he’d be devastated for life.

And hers forfeit.

“Anna. Your captivated audience is called Anna.” She whispered.

“Anna…” She sighed, body melting in his coils beneath him. “You have no idea what you’ve done~” Buggy sang softly, voice resonating deep in his chest.

“Keep singing with that beautiful voice and I’ll never care—especially not when you look at me like that, Buggy.” Anna breathed faintly, seemingly without a single thought as to what it would do to Buggy.

Buggy settled his weight down onto her firmly, allowing her the privilege of feeling his song resonate in his chest. Forearms resting beside her head as his claws teased her curls and brushed under her eyes as she blinked slowly. Utterly bewitched by his voice and unafraid of the violence he could easily do. Vulnerable and lovely beneath him. His breath teasing her lips as he slowly leaned in closer, voice a low croon.

Her hand slipped up his neck, resting on his cheek as she lifted her lips to his. Intimately drinking in his song as her eyes slid shut. Soft and warm against his sea-stained lips, Buggy felt his heart race. The part of him that craved companionship soaring with greed.

Thoughts of the coming daylight gone as his song twined with low moans and slow, teasing kisses. His and hers.

His. And hers.

“Sweet little lady~” Buggy finally drew back when he felt the warmth of the sunrise on his back. Anna softly moaned in question, eyes fluttering in exhaustion. “Be mine and you’ll never go without a song in your heart.”

“Yes. What do I need to do?” She asked, licking her lips with a sigh. Buggy smiled.

“Let me court you. Braid a necklace of pearls and shells with your hair—I’ll do the same. Come back right here in a month under the full moon—or never go near the water again.” She laughed and if Buggy hadn’t been so relaxed and sated, he would have squeezed her throat until she turned as blue as his hair.

“I’ll do it in a week.” Anna laughed. “If that’s all I need to do, give me a week. I’d do it in a day but I don’t exactly keep pearls on me.”

Buggy froze, lips twitching into a smile.

“A month, little lady. And if you have a hard time finding pearls, come to the waters and call my name. If you trust me with your life, I’ll take you into the deep where there are plenty.” Buggy smirked. But, unsurprisingly, she didn’t falter even a little.

“Why wait?”

Buggy snorted.

“You’ve been up all night listening to my song. Even little weirdos like you need sleep.” Buggy tapped her nose with a smile. “But, if you come back here tonight, I guess we can make courtship necklaces together.”

Her expression twisted into something more mournful and Buggy was briefly fearful that something was in his way. An engagement or unescapable commitment elsewhere. His stomach turning as fury banked in his bones. Whoever or whatever it was, he’d rip it apart with his bare hands. He’d waited his whole life for something—someone—like this.

He wasn’t letting go without a fight.

“Do I really have to leave you? Can’t I sleep right here?” She asked morosely.

Buggy let slip a bark of laughter.

“Yes. Your back will thank me later.” Buggy sneered. “So desperate for me, it’s a wonder you didn’t throw yourself off the pier sooner.”

“That would have been rude!” Anna snapped, nuzzling into his chest. “But I’m so comfy right now…” Buggy curled his arms around her and sighed.

“Let’s get those necklaces made and then I’ll figure out somewhere we can sleep together comfortably. I’m not a scoundrel, you know. I’ve got standards.” Buggy huffed. She laughed into his chest and Buggy barely tensed.

“I can’t wait to meet yours.” Anna hummed.

Buggy’s smile softened and he pressed his lips to her soft hair.

Voice a breathy whisper.

“You already do.”

Hey! First, I’m so sorry to hear abt the menstrual pain!! Periods are the worst especially when you’ve got really bad cramps :((

So for distractions! For the otp ask, if you’re answering the questions themselves how about 41-45 for Ruth x Ava? Or if you want something to expand into a fic, one of any of those!

I hope you feel better soon!

thank youuuu have. many ava/ruth fluff snippets ;w;

41. Which one would take their jacket it off and drape over the other one because they were visibly shivering?

Ruth nearly jumps out of her skin when something heavy and warm settles over her bare shoulders -- though she almost immediately feels silly as strong, familiar hands settle on her shoulders and then run down her arms, sending warmth washing over her in their wake.

Tired after the weird charity gala the Agency had talked them into attending, she leans back until her head is resting on Ava's shoulder.

Ava says nothing, arms settling around her with a soft contented sigh.

They'll have to leave eventually -- definitely have to say goodbye to the investors and the Council and whoever else she'd been introduced to tonight before she's truly off the hook -- but she doesn't care.

For now, they are both content to stand in the moonlight and watch it dance on the pond and fountain below them.

And that's enough.

42. What's their favorite type of weather to enjoy together? (getting snowed in together, watching thunderstorms, etc.)

Ruth loves the summer in Wayhaven.

It's a strange sentence to think, even to herself, as summers had always been the worst part of the year when she was growing up nearby. All that time having to find things to do to stay away from her home when her dad was home, all that time having to face the fact that she didn't really have friends -- it had been miserable.

Now, it's the best time of year for her to talk Ava into spending time with her, just the two of them.

And Ruth isn't sure she's ever happier than she is when she's on the open road with Ava, wind in her hair, casting adoring glances at Ava's beautiful profile.

They always drive to the same place -- a cliff overlooking the sea. It's more remote than the park they'd first gone to, so Ava is always so much more comfortable to sit close beside her, shoulders brushing with every breath they take. When the sun finally sets, they often stay a little longer, lying back in the grass and watching the stars and talking about... anything. Nothing. Everything.

The way Ava smiles when they're alone like that feels just like the summer sun on her skin -- sends that same warmth washing over her like a hot shower, until all she can feel is that twinge of joy and pride that comes with being able to make Ava smile, even a little.

...she's in far, far too deep to fight this now, but she can't find it in her to regret a single second of it.

43. Who would give their life for the other without a second thought?

Oh, they both would. This fact makes both of them very upset. Don't feel like writing the angst rn but IT'S COMING in my fic eventually.

44. Who would dance in the kitchen making dinner? Would the other join in or watch from the doorway?

Ruth nearly startles when Ava's arms slide around her waist, though she laughs as she tilts her head to give Ava access as she presses a line of kisses to Ruth's throat.

Ruth had been humming along to the music playing from her laptop as she cooked dinner, aware of the Commander in the next room keeping an eye out for her, but uncaring enough to actually change her plans for the night. They'd been getting closer recently, crossing that unspoken line between friends and.... something else more and more.

She's still not used to the amount of pleasure she gets from such simple, soft kisses as Ava rests her chin on Ruth's shoulder and begins to sway to the music.

"...you're so beautiful," murmurs her lover, nose brushing at the corner of her jaw. "I adore you completely."

Ruth shivers visibly in Ava's arms, making them both laugh.

"You buttering me up for something, Commanding Agent?" Ruth asks, but there's no malice in it, only a gentle tease that makes Ava chuckle.

"No," Ava says truthfully, swaying a little more meaningfully, a little more purposefully now. "I just wanted to be near you."

Ruth's heart squeezes painfully in her chest, but she smiles anyway, turning her head to press a kiss to Ava's cheek.

They don't say anything else for a long while, though eventually Ruth does move her meal off of the stove and they dance a little more formally. Ava's eyes are unbelievably soft as she twirls Ruth around the little kitchen in her tiny apartment and for a little while, nothing else in the world exists but the two of them and the hazy glow of contentment surrounding them.

45. Can they fall asleep without the other?

Ruth nearly shrieks when a pair of arms wrap around her in her sleep.

The stranger crawling into her bed pauses, pulling away a little and mumbling half-asleep apologies, and the familiar lilt of a soft British accent makes her relax again. Ava sinks into the mattress behind her, burying her face in the back of her neck, muscles heavy with tension that slowly seeps from her frame as she breathes in the smell of Ruth's skin.

"...alright?" Ruth asks after a moment, too sleepy to ask a full question, patting gently at Ava's hand settled on the mattress next to her stomach.

Ava sighs, curling around her a little more. "Bad dream. I'm fine now."

Ruth hums, and a distant part of her investigator mind does a few quick calculations. She knows vampires don't sleep much, but Ava's done this every few days for the past week or so now.

"Having a lot of bad dreams lately," she breathes.

She can feel Ava frown against the back of her neck as the arm around her waist tightens even more.

"...very observant of you, Detective," Ava mumbles at length, though there's a playfulness somewhere in her voice that makes Ruth snort.

Shifting so that she can lie on her back, she coaxes Ava to rest her head on her chest, slipping her fingers against the back of her neck and stroking gently as her other hand settles against Ava's upper arm, thumb lazily running back and forth against her skin where her sleeve has rolled up.

Ava melts into her and Ruth grins into the darkness. Sleep begins to tug at her again, but she mumbles with the last of her awareness, "I've got you. Sleep."

Whatever Ava mumbles in response is lost as Ruth drifts off again, though she thinks it might have been French.

...

"Je t'aime, mon cœur."