#verewrites

And when he faces you, there is no trace of this hidden emotion in sight. None at all. So, you are none the wiser to what storm you have brewed up inside his head. "Now why would you ask such a question hmm?" He murmurs, matching the volume of your voice. A soft whisper like sound that makes this conversation feel more intimate than it really is. Like the two of you are strangers tucked under a bridge together. Huddled up against one another for warmth as you wait out the rain raging on outside. The mere thought flustering you a little.

Noticing your shy gaze upon him. His sunset kissed eyes wrinkled up into a soft smile as he makes his way back to you on the bed. "I just . . . I thought I was doing the right thing. What was expected of me but I . . ." "Just made a mess of things?" He continues for you when you trail off with a knowing look in his eyes. His smile grows bigger and more comforting. "I have certainly found myself within these types of situations, after all I am no angel." His eyes dart away at that last bit but find themselves gazing back into yours again. You laugh quietly, "many would disagree with that statem-" "But that mistake matters not now. In truth none of our mistakes are unatonable." He speaks as he skilfully but with haste begins to bandage the mysterious gash on your arm. Eyes foggy as if recounting a faraway memory so you dare not interrupt him. "A rash and ignorant move in a tumultuous situation is not uncommon, but what you decide to do moving forward has far greater importance than what rotten seed you have sowed in the past." With that being said, the conversation is over. The doctor and yourself now both lost in thought.

You guided him toward the bathroom, his steps uneven, balance completely unreliable. He tried to straighten himself, to pretend he didn’t need the support, but every time his knees faltered, your hand tightened around his arm, steadying him before he could sway.

“Sit,” you instructed gently.

Kuras obeyed with a faint scowl of pride, sinking onto the edge of the tub. His breaths were shallow, heat rolling off him in waves felt even by the dove helping him around, usual composure slipping away with every shaky exhale.

The latter turned on the water—cool—letting it rise before returning to him. “I’m going to help you undress,” you said quietly. “I won’t look. Just… let me help.”

He gave the smallest exhausted nod.

You worked slowly, carefully, keeping your gaze fixed pointedly at the tiled wall, at the faucet, at anything other than him; him and the sleeves you peeled away from his overheated skin, buttons that wouldn’t come off, layers too complicated you just wanted to rip them all off and be done with it

When he was finally down to nothing, you helped him into the tub. He almost slipped, and you had to hold both of his arms just to guide him down safely… but his muscles kept giving out before he even noticed they were failing. You knelt at the edge and tried to keep him propped up, but he was tall and heavy and fever-drunk, and no amount of gentle repositioning was enough.

“Kuras—Kuras, you’re falling,” you muttered, alarm rising.

He let out a faint sound—an apology, or just the ghost of one—and his head dropped forward.

Kuras had birthed civilisations out of empty hands, made himself water for them to dig themselves roots, until they kept violently ripping them out. He had been waiting—for a miracle, a dawn, something or someone to become something he could shape into the melodies only the heavens knew, and the ones he wanted to give to the world.

He hated that. He was an angel, damn it—not a creature meant to be undone by human frailty. Yet humanity had taken root in his chest, turning him into an oversized infant with the immune system to match. He never thought it possible—never considered love and death being the same coin he held. And you were there, washing his mistakes away without a second thought.

Kuras slumped against you. You sighed—shoes, clothes and dignity all went straight into the tub with you as you slid in beside him, wrapping an arm around his back to keep him from slipping under. The water soaked instantly through everything you wore, cold fabric clinging to your skin, but at least he was safe.

“You really are helpless like this,” you whispered, more fond than frustrated. He nuzzled deeper against your shoulder and you held him there—soaked, uncomfortable, but refusing to let him drift.

You got him out of the bath as carefully as you’d gotten him in—slow movements and more than a little maneuvering to keep him from slipping. He leaned on you heavily, his damp hair brushing your cheek every time he swayed.

“Almost there,” you murmured, guiding him toward the bedroom. “Just sit for a moment.”

Kuras obeyed with dull compliance, having no strength left to argue. He sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders bowed, wet strands of hair clinging to his temples and falling in front of his eyes. You draped a towel around him and made sure he wasn’t about to topple over before stepping toward his wardrobe.

“Stay right there,” you said softly. “I’m just grabbing something dry.”

You rifled through his clothes, pulling out the softest clothes you could find; one pair for you and one for him—he can forgive you, you hope. Your own clung uncomfortably cold against your skin, dripping onto the floor. His clothes smelled like him—a little like old books and coffee. You were just smoothing them down your body when you turned back around.

Kuras had tipped sideways, half-sprawled across the bed with his damp hair fanned over the pillow, one arm twisted awkwardly under him. His towel had slipped off his shoulders, leaving his skin scattered with droplets of water that shone faintly in the dim light.

Kuras is not a god. He is mortal, flawed, destructive. The divinity he once held has been bleeding out of him long now. As if the sky he betrayed came back for him in the most violent way it knew how.

Kuras still didn’t believe he deserved it.

Before you could help him adjust, a hand caught yours. His fingers curled around yours—not tightly, just insistently—and he tugged.

“Kuras—”

You barely had time to brace before he pulled you down onto the bed with him. You landed beside him with a soft thump, his arm sliding around your waist as if this had been the position he’d been hunting for all along. His forehead pressed into the crook of your neck, the heat of him blooming against your skin.

“You’re… warm,” he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion. Warm like life.

The irony made something twist in your chest. He was burning up, and you were only warm compared to the cold air. Still, you shifted just enough to get your arm around him, keeping him from rolling off the bed or tangling himself further. His hand draped across your ribs, fingers splayed like he needed the contact to anchor himself.

“Kuras,” you whispered. “You need to rest.”

He hummed in response, already drifting, his breath feathering your throat. His grip loosened, body relaxing fully against you. You exhaled slowly, brushing a strand of wet hair from his face.

You think you are mortal—human. Kuras can never see you as something less than his salvation.

I don’t think, therefore I am not. If I wasn’t feeling kind and generous and a good person, I’d end it here and edge you, dear anon because that's how I am willing to take that /silly But I guess it’s been enough of that…

Disclaimer! They/them & Gn!Mc, no specific mentions of their or Mhin's bottoms

Ais

✩ Tis gettin spicy

✩ Said it before and will say it again—Ais is an ass man. He’s fiddling their asscheeks before they can call his name in protest. No matter, they’ll make up for that in a bit with the way they ain’t gonna remember anything BUT his name.

✩ Easiest to rile up sexually. Let the man want in PEACE. That peace just happens to involve his dick being ridden, but that’s in the details.

✩ Man’s ain’t afraid of water *looks menacingly at the seaspring that stares back*

✩ 🙏 Seaspring sex 🙏

✩ Ride him sat half-way into the spring

✩ Licks the droplets off their skin, letting his hands move along their curves like the water itself

✩ Would he cream on them? Yes, yes he would. Yes he does.

✩ And isn’t shy to lick it off after

Kuras

✞ Have you seen a thirsty dog? Now you have

✞ He is still, he is calm, he is patient, he is… horny—

✞ The moment the words leave their lips, he’s pounding on them

✞ I mean flying across the damn room

✞ Face down ass up either on the sheets or the wall—whatever is closer

✞ Eats their ass and fingers them damn near fisting them.

✞ Nearly cums in his pants; pulls out and spreads it all over their thighs

✞ I can hear you asking, ‘why ain’t he putting it in?’ …well—

✞ “Looks like you’ll have to shower again. Shall I join you?”

Leander

🗡 Dropping the towel in front of him invokes a reaction like he has discovered the holy grail

🗡 The surprised pikachu face? Him. No matter if MC has been fucking married to him for over two decades—it’s the same. damn. face.

🗡 Honestly, I’m with them. Who would be against pushing him down on the sheets, getting on top of him and—

Ahem

…

The fuck is “ahem” we’re writing smut here

🗡 Also a pretty ride.

🗡 Only he doesn’t shut the fuck up

🗡 Moans and praises fall between kisses over their skin

🗡 He offers to pull out and help them spread his cream all over their body

🗡 And his, because aside from his shit aim, if the two aren’t chest-to-chest like they’re trying to exchange souls, what’s he doing?

Mhin

🕊 Something something about Mhin being extremely affected by the elements and states of matter…

🕊 Please get them wet.

In every sense

🕊 Dinner for two. Six to the nine. gAyMEN.

🕊 They’re way too hot when they push themselves against MC with more strength than necessary, betraying their desperation

🕊 Their grip on MC is perfectly steady, despite the clinging water

🕊 Genuenly, what’s better than having Mhin cum on their face?

🕊 I guess a cure might fall just about short in comparison

🕊 Shower sex with Mhin is top tire. Pull them in afterwards

Vere

✦ …not a fan

✦ He loves really likes them wet, obviously, just not that kind of wet

✦ In this shitty ass city with the shitty ass weather full of moisture during the whole ass year he’s already having a hard time keeping his hair, fur and tail from looking like an amateur hairstylist’s passion project

✦ So, safe to say if they want to cum they can go ahead and touch themselves for all he cares or he can touch himself over them while they squirm in denial

✦ And if that plan falls through it’s the fault of their skin for being so… biteable. Glistening in the low light.

How dare.

✦ It’s basically provoking him

✦ Will keep the visual in mind to draw later—it belongs to a museum, at least.

✦ Swoops them up for yet again another round in the shower

✦ …yes, yes they can brush his tail after

🗡 It is still a great mystery whether this man would even be a good dom—much more a brat tamer. I wouldn’t trust the part of me that’s a brat with him.

🗡 Leander is very much an initiator, that we know—it doesn’t mean that you won’t be begging for it.

🗡 Is his absence better than his presence? Fine. If you don’t want to listen, he can just leave.

🗡 “Oh, you’re asking for it now” — sure, yeah, he’s flexible. But you have to make up for it.

🗡 I don’t see him be into task-managing as much, rather coldness and indifference.

🗡 Manhandling is a given.

As per the time I’m writing this, I be looking at his damn face to try making the gears turn. And I believe it just now clicked how MASSIVE this guy is. It’s like, when you see something every day in passing, you tend to underestimate it… until you confront it. The others? Fine; I had calculated, I had measured, fine—Leander and Ais? Nope. Just clicked.

🗡 He likes pissing you off just as much as you like making his eye twitch. He doesn’t give you what you want, instead he makes you say it, then repeat it back mockingly.

🗡 Leander wouldn’t be blind to your emotional state at any time—don’t get him wrong; he just conveniently ignores it.

🗡 He is naked of a power trip he rides daily, and there’s this saying where I come from; “where reason does not fall, a rod does”

🗡 In this case, a paddle, or a very hard slap that you don’t expect, just because it’s so out of character for him—but he’s not good at edging and there has to be an alternative; in his case, overstimulation

🗡 On the other hand, blindfolding and sensory deprivation are definitely on his plate. Now you see him, now you don’t. “But isn’t deprivation, edging?” Not necessarily, me thinks.

🗡 Like bondage for example, gags also count.

🗡 Actually, I’m quite confident he wouldn’t go for gags. He wants everyone to hear how disrespectful you’ve been, after all.

🗡 Similarly, bondage is also off the table for the sole reason of Curse™

🗡 And even if we don’t consider it as a variable, nails scratching and arms swaying wildly against him are just more reasons for punishment, no?

🗡 Having mentioned it, rip Leander, you would have loved remote controlled toys </3 

🗡 like, he be sitting on the other side of the bar after you’ve been a little shit and just carelessly playing with the intensity of a vibrator he himself had pushed earlier inside of you until you come crawling and apologizing?

🗡 Aftercare is very real. He, too, really needs it; will go on a limb here and claim that it’s not something he usually does with his escapades, BUT with a serious partner it matters to him to know and physically feel you’re fine afterwards—a simple confirmation just isn’t enough.

Nobody had seen Ais for a few days.

You, ever the good samaritan, ventured out to the Seaspring to solve the minor mystery and perhaps provide a shoulder in his possible trying times? Yet when you entered the temple, there was only silence.

The Spring itself was slightly rippling, which tipped you off. You climbed up, and made a turn towards where Ais’s bed was placed

He was right there, buried from head to toe under the covers. The little parts of his that were visible were flushed and sweaty, and his breathing sounded shallow.

“Ais?” You run to his side, pressing a hand on his forehead; burning.

“Leave,” he grunted, turning his back on you.

“What happened, why are you—”

“Leave,” His voice was frayed at the edges… not quite human.Ever the stubborn, you grabbed his bicep to turn him back around, but he didn't move. Instead, you pulled all the sheets away.

They fell away in one tug, and heat poured off him like a furnace. Your breath caught in your throat; he was completely bare beneath. His body was obviously tense; chest heaving with every breath and muscles trembling like he was barely holding himself together.

His dick—a thick, pulsing tentacle, ridged along the length—was already slick, hard, and leaking against his thigh.

“Ais—”

His hand shot out, catching your wrist before you could reach for him. His grip was bruising, pupils blown wide and wild.

You should’ve listened. You knew you should’ve listened. “You’re burning up…” Your mouth betrayed you.

Ais’s jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. “Heat,” he grunted out like a curse. Your heart jumped to your throat. Gods, no wonder he’d vanished for days. “It’ll pass. Go.”

You swallowed hard, trying not to let your eyes flick down again or deliberately notice how he was already rutting weakly against the sheets. But of course he noticed.

“Don’t… do this to you,” he rasped, tugging you closer without meaning to, his hand still locked around your wrist. His forehead pressed to your stomach, hotness searing your skin through your clothes. “I can’t hold back if you stay.”

Your knees went weak at the way his voice cracked. Absentmindedly, one of your hands ran through his hair, scratching softly at the back of his hair.

With a shudder, Ais pulled you down onto the bed—gentler than you’d think his instincts would allow—pinning you effortlessly beneath his fevered body. His lips were frantic on your throat, desperate as his cock started rutting against your hips now—instead of the sheets—leaving wet smears across your skin.

“Forgive me,” he groaned, every muscle trembling. “I need—duck—I need you—” He tried to kiss you, but it came out as teeth, tongue and mingling, panting breaths.

…

Something shifted.

From the base of his spine, thick, slimy tentacles uncoiled into the air. They glistened with a sheen that made your skin prickle, curling instinctively around your wrists, your thighs, your waist. You gasped as one wrapped your ankle, spreading you open without hesitation, another sliding up your chest to pin you down.

“Ais—!”

“Don’t look at me,” he rasped, face burning with shame and hunger altogether. “It’s worse during heat. I can’t—” His hips jerked, as though every nerve in his body was lit.

And yet, his mouth curled into a dangerous smirk. His cock pressed at your entrance; the tip probed, not blunt but alive, curling and twitching, almost teasing… or testing; at any case, lining up.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Ais rasped, as his tentacle-dick nudged in, stretching you wider than anything ever had, every ridge dragging against your walls. He swallowed your gasp with a messy kiss. “I didn’t want you to see.”

The first few thrusts carried that arrogance of his; slow and deep, rolling inside you as his tentacles stroked your skin and against your stomach, teasing your nipples, curling around you tight enough to leave a bruise. Your hands tugged at them, but they only tightened, holding you down as Ais drove in deeper, deeper and faster until your walls squeezed down around him.

His cock responded instinctively, wriggling inside you and flexing deeper. His smug rhythm stuttered as a low, startled moan ripped out of him before he could catch it. He bit your shoulder to hide the upcoming ones, canines sharp enough to break skin.

“F-fuck—” Ais’s eyes squeezed shut, his body trembling against yours. “—gods—” His forehead pressed to yours. “I can’t—”

You clenched around him again, and he whined—actually whined—hips bucking forward helplessly. Another tentacle slithered between your thighs, curling slickly against your sex, teasing circles that made you arch helplessly against him.

“I need you—please, I—” The words tumbled out raw. “Too much—” he panted, forehead pressed against yours. “Hurts—”

Ais’s mouth pressed against a bite he had left on your throat. His head dropped, hair sticking to sweat-damp skin and hands clutching at you like he’d drown if he let go. One tentacle lifted your chin gently, tilting your head so he could kiss you.

You could feel his dick knotting, swelling thicker near the base as the tentacles around your body pulled you tighter, tighter—

He finally spilled hot inside you, knot locking inside so you couldn’t move away even if you tried, body shuddering with frantic relief. You quickly followed suit, eyes rolling back.

By the end, he was trembling above you, sweat dripping onto your skin, his cock nestled nicely inside you.

He was too out of it to move. Instead, Ais nuzzled against your neck. “Don’t leave me like this...”

🕊 Mhin likes to hover. That means, either around familiar places, or breathing right over your lips—but you suppose it counts. Long, careful fingers like to wrap around your waist, playing with the hem as they pull it off of you unceremoniously. They mostly like how warm your skin feels against their frozen flushed cheeks—weather in Eridia is, simply put, enough to turn anyone into a popsicle.

🕊 It’s psychological warfare. You can already feel them hard in their pants—give them any reason to jump you; they’ll send you flying to the headboard and they’re onto you like a deprived animal. You know what—scrap any simile—they are deprived, hungry, touch-fucking-starved; the title is there for a reason; and that’s not even taking into account the whole divine magic whatever hands shenanigans.

🕊 We know their whole act of trying to look tough and unaffected when they very much are—and that song and dance continues as kisses down your neck when they lay above you, forearms flexing on your sides. Even if you’re quiet, Mhin won’t be able to swallow the small squeals—of pure reflex over anything—that escape the thin line that has become their lips; if you didn’t know them better, you’d say they’re in pain.

🕊 You’re the sweetest fucking thing they’ve ever tasted. They wouldn’t dare show you whether they’re shaking as they unbuckle their belts, pushing themselves inside you slowly—as desperate as they are careful. You’re getting pinned down if they can help it; slightly propped up over the pillows, chests flush, thrusting deep inside you till your bodies refuse them any more.

🕊 Otherwise, Mhin grunts when you dig your nails in them or pull their hair too hard, looking at you beneath their lashes in questioning daze; debatable if they’re willing to form a coherent sentence. They feel good—way too good—and you think you do too, when they hide away, hands gripping your hips as their thrusts become sloppy and uncoordinated, until they go limp in your arms. Perfect opportunity to run your hands through their hair, I say, despite their small protests.