❛ exploring LOVE AS A POISON. the consequence of turning CHILDREN INTO THINGS. the ferocity of the LIONESS. the sweetness of a VANILLA - FLAVORED KISS from a golden - haired temptress.
an independent, mutuals - only roleplay blog for an original character.
21+ muns only do to the nature of the material being discussed and explored.
divider credit & icon credit.
❛ ❤ ⋯ FURTHER INFORMATION UNDER THE CUT FOR MOBILE USERS.
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GENERAL. —
Okamura was primarily designed for the Yakuza video game universe as a side character to a friend and I’s stories. Since then, she has become an integral enough part of our lore to bring her officially onto Tumblr. Because of this, I will be very selective in who I follow and interact with.
Okamura is a socialite who spends her time flitting through the wealthy and elite. She seduces those who are easy prey in order to get information she finds interesting or blackmail them later. This will continue to be her default lore in non - Yakuza interactions.
In the Yakuza world, Okamura was ‘ hired ’ by Daigo Dojima to help him keep an eye on social ladders and dealings that quickly closed up when he was around. She sold him what she saw and learned through her own dalliances for a pretty penny. Okamura was officially on Dojima’s payroll as one of his two private secretaries. While the heiress never formally swore up, she did harbor feelings of loyalty to the Clan out of respect for Dojima himself. Okamura’s employment was dissolved with the downfall of the Clan.
* PLEASE NOTE : I have no desire to force Okamura’s lore on other Yakuza muses. If you would like to interact with her but under a different premise, I’m happy to discuss something new with you.
Because of the nature of Okamura’s work and the themes that will be inherently present on this blog, I am limiting it to 21+ only. If I cannot find some disclaimer pertaining to your age in your information, I will hard block you on sight.
My name is Dawn. My pronouns are she / her. I am 25+.
TRIGGERS. —
There will be a good deal of triggering material present on this blog. I will do my best to tag everything accordingly following the formula of ’ ___ tw. ’
If you have a specific trigger that you would like me to tag, please send it in. I’ll do my best to stay on top of tagging those posts for you.
SHIPPING. —
The normal rules apply : don’t force a ship on me or my muse ; don’t approach me with sexual ideas if you are a minor ; and do not assume that my muse will have affections for your character based on connections established in lore.
I am well - above age. Smut and sexual encounters will happen on this blog as a result of the material being explored. I will only discuss these scenarios with fellow writers who are over 21.
Due to difficulties with xKit, smut will be tagged nsfw and nsfw tw but not placed under a read more.
Okamura is bisexual with a preference for women.
FACECLAIM. —
This is a topic that I feel is very important to address. I am aware that Blake Lively is not Japanese. I do not use her as Okamura’s faceclaim with the belief that she is.
Okamura is a white woman who was born in America and adopted by a Japanese man as a young girl. She has lived in Japan ever since.
When Okamura says that she is Japanese, she is not referring to her race but rather her citizenship / sense of national identity. Having been formally adopted and raised in Japan, she has known no other home. The conflict of expectations between how people perceive her based on her appearance vs. her passionate loyalty to her culture and country is an integral part of her character and the environment that surrounds her.
INBOX. —
My inbox is OPEN for :
- plotting.
- mutual requests for my Discord.
- IC / OOC chatting.
- respectful questions IC or OOC.
- meme responses / continuations.
It is NOT OPEN to:
- attempts to start drama.
- hate of any kind (toward myself or anyone else).
- unjustified, disrespectful remarks.
- M!As.
Bear in mind that the anonymous feature is a privilege and not a right. I will turn it off if I see fit to for whatever length of time I decide.
REBLOGGING ASKS. —
It’s a pet peeve of mine. Unless reblogged to be saved / filed away out of fondness, please do not reblog my asks. Message me to repost the ask if you wish it to become a thread or merely do so yourself and tag me in the new post. I will do my best to answer as swiftly as possible!
❰❰ CARESS ❱❱ sender caresses the receiver’s cheek.
Okamura drew the brush through her long tresses again. The golden strands seemed to flow together, glinting in the candlelight of their bedchamber. Such soft illumination was far easier on her sensitive, ruby - colored eyes, and she preferred it over the muted bulbs in their electric lamps. Perhaps, it was left from her previous life — when all that glowed in the large castle halls were flickering torches in crude metal sconces.
The vampire set the thick - bristled tool on the vanity counter in front of her. She turned her head to look at their daughter, asleep in her mothers' spacious bed. Mai's feathers were glossy and bright thanks to the blonde's insistent plucking and cleaning of them. A quiet noise, like a purr, broke from Okamura's throat. Her lips peeled back with her smile, revealing her teeth.
Suddenly, Melissa appeared behind her mate. Her cool hands touched the younger creature's shoulders in greeting. Okamura sighed affectionately, angling her body so that she faced the mirror again. For a moment, Melissa simply admired her lover : the pearl details on her open, thin robe ; the pure white of her silken bra and underwear ; and the intricate lilies that stood out against the pale flesh of her stomach. Okamura was fresh from a bath, and she smelled like spiced vanilla. Everything about her was perfect — not a hair out of place, not a lash unshaped, not a wrinkle on her flawless visage.
"I have something for you," Melissa murmured. She withdrew one of her hands ( with a playful bit of regret ) and reached into the pocket of her blazer. The Queen clasped the necklace — a stunning, solid band of clear diamonds that hugged Okamura's throat — into place and carefully spread her waves back out. At the sight of her, glittering as she was meant to, Melissa's expression filled with deep feeling. Their bond thrummed with love. Her knuckles brushed against the blonde's cheek.
"It has a matching collar, of course," Melissa added, smiling at her favorite work of art in the mirror. There was not a master in the world, alive or dead, who could ever hope to capture her beloved on a canvas. Okamura's beauty was too rich, so divine in nature but marked with the influence of her bestial self.
Melissa's fingertips touched the necklace once more before they retreated to Okamura's upper arms. She pulled the younger creature into her front, admiring the way her new jewels and scarlet irises glimmered with the shift of the light. Okamura reclined gladly, content to give Melissa her full weight.
"You spoil me, monaka," the blonde replied, issuing a breathy exhalation that sounded like a sigh. "Must you go to work ?? I can think of so many better uses for your time." Okamura stuck out her lower lip, showing her trademark pout. "Who is going to kiss me ??"
The Queen of Tokyo chuckled. She took her mate's teasing as permission to stroke her hair. "You have our child to keep you company," Melissa rebutted gently.
Okamura glanced at Mai. "She is tired of me, monaka. I untangled her hair, wet her feathers, and oiled her talons while you prepared for your night. Can't you see ?? I have pampered her to death. Our precious monster will not even nap with me ; she would rather be among our bed - things than here on the bench."
Melissa squeezed Okamura lovingly. "She does not know how lucky she is," the royal responded. "You take excellent care of her, darling. I promise that I will lavish you with attention when I return home. We can try your collar, as well. I know it is going to look splendid on you."
The music had been perfectly selected (an array of some of the king's favorites with new pieces from this up and coming musician by the name of Johann Sebastian Bach, at Lilian's request); the seafood was remarkably fresh even if the castle was quite far from the shore, decorated with the vibrant colors of their garden's staples; finally, the flowers adorning every table and window from the many chambers occupied with that summer ball were also a testament to the queen's personal touch, named after a bloom herself.
Pretending that all was well for the sake of the people and also her family had turned into routine for the monarch; perfectly poised on her throne, Lilian was the expected picture of the sweetness and warmth next to a king that ruled with an iron fist and was thus regarded as an imposing and frightening man by the kingdom's enemy armies. Their subjects believed Frederik to be cruel to those abroad only - but those closer to the royal chambers knew better.
He just happened to be very careful with Lilian's face and limbs - none of the scars she bore were generally visible; nothing that could be used against him by anyone brave enough to oppose that match (or disrupt the much needed grain and other food supplies delivered to the capital from the queen's fertile homelands).
Sighing softly into a glass of champagne, the brunette nodded graciously to a servant that brought a sealed letter to the king, promptly gazing elsewhere to avoid any poorly disguised reprimands for behavior later. By doing so, her gaze fell on the dance floor, momentarily distracted by the colorful flow of bodies and fabric enjoying the festivities while the queen herself could barely remember the last time she had danced. Perhaps on their wedding day, when the foolish noblewoman had hoped that their union would at least be a prosper one.
Squinting, Lilian realized that the one in a beautifully rosé-colored dress and twirling in the arms of a dashing count was none other than Guinevere. Her favorite lady-in-waiting and friend, who kept company at all times - and who knew about all the cruelty endured behind doors as well. More than that - the beautiful lady had stolen the queen's heart and her true affections, something nothing short of a scandal if word got out. The genuine care from Guinevere was the true balm for the wounds sustained by Lilian from every second spent at the side of her abuser, and she knew that they needed to pretend.
Guinevere had to look available - even willing to be matched to a good man, for the sake of their lives. But even if the older woman knew that to be a ruse, the day where they would likely be forced to part grew near. There were so many incredulous excuses that Lilian could offer to deny the suggested recommendations, and it made her stomach turn. Gripping her champagne flute tightly, it was only when a minuscule crack of the delicate crystal appeared that Lilian realized the strength of the frustration and desperation boiling within, although neither of the women were at fault.
"Will you excuse me for a moment, Your Majesty? It seems that I require a change of gloves," the queen spoke, but Frederik's answer was a barely coherent murmur, eyes still glued to the ink of the letter delivered a moment ago. Standing up from her throne but quick to command all subjects in her way to remain at ease, the queen murmured for a servant to fetch her Guinevere as soon as the dance was done, and discreetly - they were to meet at her room.
As the doors closed to her inner chambers, the monarch's breathing was fast and shallow - recognizing for what it was, she quickly moved to the balcony, gripping the rails there and forcing herself to slow down and calm the nerves. Things were complicated enough with her 'feminine conditions', as the king described the mood fluctuations; a panic attack in front of the people was the last thing Lilian needed, even if it was getting harder and harder to swallow the horrified screams that threatened to erupt from her throat.
Guinevere hated it. Every moment that she spent on this floor, in the arms of an individual that was not her beloved, twisted up her insides. She wanted to vomit — on him, if possible. It would be her pleasure to ruin that pretty silk tunic and stain the useless medals pinned to his front. For bravery, they said ! His honor ! Never mind that he held her too close for a polite dance. His hand had already brushed her breasts, confined in a beautiful sparkling bodice, twice ; the leer he gave her both times suggested that these touches were not as accidental as any of the other dancers chose to believe.
This was the part of her life that Guinevere couldn't stand : the pretending. She knew that her relationship with the Queen was forbidden. Its discovery would cost them their lives ( or, at the kindest, she would be stoned and Her Majesty sent to a nunnery ). That was why Guinevere played along with the young men that were so painfully eager for her attention at these gatherings.
She was an attractive partner, she supposed. Unless her father claimed one of his many bastards, Guinevere was his only child that had survived infancy. That she couldn't inherit her familial wealth didn't bother the blonde, who would have preferred to go without it if it meant that she was able to remain at the Queen's court for the rest of her days. However, she understood that all of the potentially unclaimed land and gold tied to her name made her valuable in the realm of marriage.
So far, she had managed to hide in her duties to the Queen, avoiding the proposals and politics therein — but Guinevere understood that could not continue forever. Her father's letters grew more threatening, more insistent. The lady - in - waiting burned them. Seeing the pages curl and blacken in the fire gave her some sort of grim satisfaction.
Guinevere's dance ended with the song. She abruptly dropped the count's embrace and stepped away. Spluttering, he made an attempt to follow her. He caught her wrist just as one of the little serving girls appeared, hands twisted into her apron. Guinevere had never been so grateful to see one of these sweet urchins, who were often children of those bound to serve within the castle walls due to unpaid debts or long - ago pledged loyalties. The count snorted, sensing there was business to be done, and slithered back into the crowd to prey on a different doe.
Snake, Guinevere thought. She reached for a glass of wine and promptly drained most of it. If she was to endure a full night of this, she would rather do so with a pleasant buzz filling her head. Perhaps, the ringing in her ears would block out any further efforts to woo her verbally. The count's final grip on her would bruise, she assumed, and the image of him placing his fingers atop her dress suddenly turned her stomach.
Guinevere had always been disgusted by the idea of a man's hands on her. Meeting their Queen helped her understand why.
Once she was sufficiently recovered, the serving girl delivered the message that had trickled down to her from Her Majesty's direct staff. Guinevere looked up at the empty throne with a pang of sorrow. With murmured thanks, she gave her last mouthful of wine to the child, who scampered away with the glittering cup like it was a treasure.
The lady desperately wished to lift her skirts and run to Lilian's rooms, but she knew that such a display would raise the wrong brows. Instead, she quietly slipped out of the party, footsteps firm on the stone floors. Her heart was pounding against her ribs, and there was a pleasant flush along her cheeks from the amount of alcohol she had consumed this evening to play the part that was asked of her. Guinevere didn't need to think about her path — her feet brought her to the Queen's wing on their own.
At the impressive entrance, Guinevere did not bother to knock. She entered immediately. Hands, sparkling with diamonds similar to those that decorated her sweeping gown, locked the many doors behind her. The blonde released a long breath that she did not realize she had been holding when she entered the Queen's most intimate space : her bedroom. A quick glance around the spacious area told her that no one else was present, and Guinevere's shoulders relaxed. Concern flooded her face, raw and real ; her gem - like gaze, a rich green not unlike the shade of Lilian's gardens, sparkled in the evening light.
"My sweet flower," Guinevere said, voice low. The balcony made her nervous ( too many eyes, potentially ), so she stretched out her hands toward Her Majesty from behind the curtains. "I am with you. Please, come away from there . . . come to me." A tender smile curved up her lips. It emphasized the misty layer of tears over her eyes, born from a mix of frustration and longing that felt impossible to put into words.
❛ i don't know how you do it. how are you able to stay so strong when everything around you is falling apart? ❜ (this is for emotional fangy girls when we eventually shift to that verse again 8D)
Okamura pathed up the flight of the stairs to her mate's office with determination. The socialite did not pause for anyone — even the guards near the door to her beloved's sanctuary were given only a curt growl. It was a low, otherworldly sound ; the sort of thing to remind them that their attention should stay fixed to the floor.
The blonde slipped inside without any trouble ( evidently the valiant detail defending the crew valued their lives ) and approached the back of the room. She knew exactly where to go. Okamura knelt down beside the grand desk and extended a finger into the darkest corner beneath it.
After a moment, she felt a bit of warm fuzz cuddle against her digit. Their bond changed. It was no longer brimming with anxiety. Okamura smiled at the wave of relief that washed over her. Murmuring affectionate nothings, she brought the little creature who had crawled onto her into the light.
Okamura knew her mate was not fond of her bat form. Too weak, she said. Too small. — but the blonde couldn't help but adore it. She allowed Melissa to crawl into her palm before Okamura kissed her, colored lips brushing gently against the trembling body that was no bigger than her pinky. The Queen of Tokyo opened her mouth, exposing her minute teeth. Sensing her impatience, Okamura withdrew her features and brought her hand up to her golden waves.
"I'll get you home, monaka," Okamura promised. Her mate crawled into her hair, happy to be lost ( and therefore hidden ) in the thick yellow sea. Grateful that the little bat was safe, Okamura stood. With a last pat to the top of the desk as a thank - you for how many times it had been used to shelter the troubled Queen, Okamura left.
Many vampires would laugh at Okamura's mundane method of travel. She knew that a lion stalking the city streets would raise more attention than it was worth, however. Rather than taking the busy subway or hailing a cab, the blonde elected to walk. It was a nice, clear night, and she hoped the emptiness of the back alleys would soothe her precious cargo. Idly, Okamura tangled her fingers into her hair. To the average eye, it merely looked like she was playing with it ; in reality, she was stroking the bat clinging to the back of her ear with the edge of her thumb. Keeping her most valuable treasure, worth more to her than any of the diamonds and fine chains she wore, close.
it was only once they were inside their decadent flat that Okamura removed her sweet touch. She tenderly plucked Melissa from her dangling earring and carried the bat to one of the sofas that faced the window. From here, they could see a glimpse of the stars, just barely shining through the sea of pollution and hazy lights. The blonde sat. As she did, she carefully set Melissa on the cushion next to her.
Okamura had scarcely settled into place when the Queen shifted and fell into her lap. Melissa curled up on her mate's torso, head tucked beneath her chin, and gripped her clothing fiercely. Without hesitation, Okamura held her. An arm bent behind Melissa's back, which allowed the younger immortal to play with her tresses, while the other offered her wrist for the Queen to bite. Melissa accepted the offer almost mechanically. Her fangs slid into Okamura's skin. The Queen closed her eyes and took in the liquid, glad for the intimate connection.
It was rare for her to fall apart like this. Melissa did not usually acknowledged the stress of her position — normally, of course, it wasn't this bad. She was managing to keep the peace after Katsura's death ( with a skill few could rival, Okamura said often ), but that was hardly a simple task. The world was at her door, hour after hour. Demanding to know what could have killed an ancient. Asking where it was safe to hunt. Desperate to know if humans had discovered the parasitic species living among them. There were only so many vampires that Melissa could charm and questions she could field before other whispers arose. That she was a foreigner, a woman as well, who had been entertained on her throne for far too long. These tiresome statements were ones that Melissa was used to ; however, now, they just added to the overwhelming cacophony of voices aimed in her direction.
Some nights, she couldn't take it.
Okamura kissed the top of Melissa's hair, humming softly. She emptied herself of all of her own concerns and focused on how much she loved her Queen. How brave and beautiful she thought the brunette was.
Eventually, Melissa released her mate's wrist. Okamura licked the wound closed and tangled her arms further with the older immortal. "I don't know how you do it," Melissa whispered hoarsely, snuggling in tighter.
"Do what, monaka ??"
"You're so good at it," the Queen answered, clearing her throat. "How are you able to stay so strong when everything around you is falling apart ?? Our home, Gwen . . . all that I've worked for these past centuries. It's like none of it matters to them. I'm tired."
Okamura ran her fingers through Melissa's chestnut tresses, admiring how glossy they were in the moonlight. "Because, of the two of us, I am by far more selfish," she said thoughtfully, ending her sentiment with a chuckle. "I was born to protect you, Lily — quite literally. You were my dying and waking thought. As long as I see you are safe, I'm fine. No home or political arena will ever matter to me as much as your well - being."
The blonde hissed out something like a sigh. "I love you, monaka. That is all I need."
Okamura pressed her cool palm to the Queen's cheek and curled her fingers up in order to shield the elder vampire's eyes from the minimal light in their home. "My sweet flower. You love me, yes, but you also love them. Even if they are undeserving of you."
She did not know what else to say, but it seemed that her words had soothed Melissa. Okamura murmured again that she adored her mate, and the strength of her emotion was shared in their bond. Once more, the blonde attempted to wipe it clean, eliminating the confusion and anger she felt on her beloved royal's behalf. Melissa deserved better than her temper : she would give her, thus, a mental oasis full of calm and the assurance of an affection that would never cease. Okamura inhaled, filling her torso with air, and released it in one long breath.
"You used to hold me like this when he was through with me," Melissa finally whispered, voice soft. "Do you remember, Gwen ?? After he left, you would always bathe me and bring me to bed. For this."
Her mate snarled as her lips brushed against those brown locks. Okamura's eyes closed. Pointed nails scraped gently across Melissa's pale skin.
"I know," the Queen responded, kissing Okamura's exposed wrist. The silvery scar from her feeding glowed, showing clearly where the wound was still tender. "Thank you for protecting me — no matter what happens around us, I know I have you." Melissa turned her head slowly. She looked up at Okamura through her lashes, teeth glimmering as she spoke. "Why don't you put on your fur, Gwen . . . ?? You have been in your skin for most of the day."
The blonde fixed Melissa's hair with a single note uttered behind her closed mouth. Only once she was satisfied did she reply. "Not yet, Lily. I want you to rest. I'm going to go find you a pretty thing to play with. Let me fill your mind with a sweet girl and your belly with blood. It is my night to take care of you, monaka."
[PUBLIC]: sender and receiver are making out in a secluded but public place (verse of your choosing for the girls~)
Azumi stretched leisurely in her mate's arms, head tucked neatly into Melissa's chest. The younger of the pair was half - asleep, having long ago become bored with the subject of politics shared between her most beloved connections, and laid against Melissa on a spacious dark - colored couch.
She was without clothing, of course, the Countess noted with amusement. It was something that the noblewoman had often teased Azumi about when she was newly - born, though she knew where the blonde's preferences stemmed from. What Azumi really wanted was her fur, but it was difficult to speak with her maker in her preferred self. In the safety provided by her lover, this was Azumi's attempt to compromise.
— not that the Countess minded. They had been her last pair of wards, her last daughters, and the selves that emerged from their turning were just exquisite. She did not shy away from the chance to admire them, with the same appraising look that one might give a carved statue from the ancient days. Azumi's messy waves reminded her of marble turned to silk under a master's chisel, and her eerily still body carried the same grace as those stoic figures.
Behind her, a glass of blood held in one hand, was the only reason that the Countess could not declare Azumi the most beautiful of all her creations. Melissa was equally as striking as her mate. The curve of her smile was perfect, so disarming in shape but cruel in its ability to hide her pretty teeth and silver tongue. Her looks were darker than Azumi's, but that gave her a charm that the Countess found enchanting.
What a fine Queen, came the noblewoman's idle thought as she sipped at her beverage. A slow killer, much like the Countess herself, but no less deadly than the wild thing tangled up in her loving embrace. Melissa kissed the top of Azumi's head with her red lips, and the younger of the pair released an adorably pathetic noise that sounded like the mewl of a kitten.
The Countess' black - colored nails occasionally tapped against her crystal glass. She talked at length with her elder daughter about the state of the coven in Tokyo. Melissa did not hide anything from their mother, who had always been an impossible sun in their eternal night.
As the hours wore on, the Countess took note of how much lower Melissa's fingertips went on her beloved's body. Azumi had since truly slipped off into true, inky nothingness, but their maker did not doubt that the teasing touches from Azumi's mate would call her back. Melissa set aside her drink, and the Countess smiled. She crossed her legs and settled back into her chair. A non - committal hum was offered to Melissa's latest comment about proud men.
The Queen's fingers playing with Azumi's breast was rewarded with the sluggish return of the younger creature's heart. She warmed gradually, thanks to Melissa's encouragement. Flowing blood gave her body a strange semblance of almost - life, and her chest swelled into Melissa's hands. Those first deep breaths emphasized how soft and pink her flesh was when it was heated. Azumi made an attempt to sit up, eyes blinking open, but Melissa gently pushed her down with a hiss.
With her mate's golden waves spread out across her torso like a perverted halo, Melissa used both of her cool hands to fondle Azumi's chest. The younger vampire's legs were trapped inside of Melissa's, unable to open — all Azumi could do was succumb to the little game that had been started without her knowledge.
She growled softly with each firm grasp at her breasts. Melissa knew exactly what she liked, and Azumi's panting was evidence of how skilled the Queen had become with this sort of pleasure. Centuries of practice had taught her the right amount of pressure to apply to Azumi's nipples when she pinched them and how deeply to dig into the sensitive skin right beneath those alluring curves. Melissa murmured to her mate, scarlet irises sparkling with a sense of pride ; her smooth voice, dripping like honey, praised the blonde for her beastly vocalizations.
What a killer you are, Melissa crooned. My sweet, sweet killer.
Azumi's claws dug into her mate's silky pajamas, burying themselves in the Queen's thighs. She turned her agonized features to their mother, and another bolt of adrenaline rushed through her at the knowledge that the Countess was watching. Azumi mewled once more, imploringly, but Melissa used two fingers to turn the blonde's features back to her.
The Countess smelled Azumi's arousal from the other side of the table. It intensified with the sudden arch of the blonde's spine. Blood stained Melissa's clothing as Azumi's grip tightened. Her breasts were sore from the rough attention that Melissa had given them, and the younger vampire's hardened nipples were red. There were scratches along the underside of both and fresh red ran between them. Even with Azumi's legs closed and the physical evidence of her orgasm hidden, the Countess could guess that it was strong.
Finally, she fell back into Melissa, breaths shallow. The brunette carefully fixed her hair and cupped Azumi's cheek. She gradually spread her knees, giving her captured predator's delicious body more room to go slack. Azumi's satisfaction rolled out into the room, and the Countess very briefly saw the wet stain on the cushion before Azumi relaxed into it.
"Your new co - ruler, Lillian," the Countess said simply, raising a brow. "Tell me about him."
Melissa picked up her glass of blood. She began to tell the story of the strange fledgling and his irresponsible decision to mate a human. While she spoke, Azumi recovered, fingers pressed to her own opening to keep her needy.
In the middle of the tale, the blonde rose up, turning as she did. Thin hands grabbed Melissa's waist and tore away the fabric that was in Azumi's way. The Queen of Tokyo's little gasps, puncturing her recollections regarding the ( sometimes idiotic ) Daigo Dojima, drew out low hisses from Azumi. She ignored their mother, this speech, and the hunger in her belly.
How could she focus on anything else when Melissa's fluttering heart was so loud ?? and their bond was so alive ?? Azumi spread her lover's thighs and buried her face in the middle of them. Gleaming teeth sank into the Queen's flesh. That blood lingered on Azumi's tongue as she licked the length of Melissa's genitalia. Her wetness tasted better than the scarlet staining Azumi's mouth, and a noise strangely akin to a purr broke free from the blonde's throat. Melissa's drink shattered on the floor.
The Countess' grin deepened. She calmly set her finished beverage on the glass table in front of her. Her daughters' profane actions were reflected in the surface. Melissa's glossy hair tumbled over the arm of the sofa, moving with the force that Azumi feasted on her with.
Silently, the Countess made herself comfortable in her seat once again, hands folded in her lap. Perhaps, this was why she had stopped seeking out potential young after them — who else could compare ?? who else could possibly deserve this freedom ?? use it as fully as these two ?? Melissa's cries prompted their mother to sigh ( a needless gesture born from affection ).
When they were finished, the Countess would ask that they all bathe together. She wanted to wash their hair while they stole lingering glances at once another, like the bloodthirsty fledglings she remembered who had once been so fond of making love on her dining table. Time had not stopped them ; if anything, she thought lovingly, they were more voracious. Blood was not nearly as good as cum, and it seemed that the feeding high that most vampires enjoyed paled in comparison to this for the pair.
It made sense, though. After all, hadn't they been born this way ?? The Countess could clearly see it in her mind's eye : the night that Melissa ripped through her former kingdom's court ; slew her husband ; and buried that terrible life by forcing his dying gaze to watch her mate finger her. What terrible girls, the Countess had whispered then with her arms folded. Melissa's king died knowing that her hands were covered with his blood, just as Azumi's were slick with the desire he could never force out of the brunette. Those screams, echoing in her ears from the past, were not too dissimilar from the ones that Melissa uttered now.
That was why their mother adored them.
The Countess hummed an ancient song as she enjoyed her daughter's mischievousness. Azumi eventually left her climaxing mate's center to rise above her, forcing their mouths together. She wanted Melissa to taste the mix of blood and cum she carried while her knee dug into the crescent - shaped wounds on the Queen's thigh. Melissa seized the blonde by her throat and held her there, clearly quite taken by Azumi's offering. They kissed through the older creature's orgasm, tendrils of pink slime connecting them each time they briefly came up for breath.
Incorrigible, the Countess whispered, fangs flashing in the dim light.
Perched atop the railings of the rooftop right above the offices of Sky Finance, Melissa's gaze was directed down below - not at where the moneylender who had turned into her counterpart's dear one was (pretending) to work, but the actual streets at ground level and the figure of a woman with long dark hair and a trenchcoat.
For once, there was nothing human about the demoness - except for the shape, Melissa's body was dark like the outer space, reflecting a myriad of lights from within and those of the billboards flaring around the duo. The horns kept the hair from moving too much when the air blew through them, and the pointed claw of one hand tapped against the protective metal with a rhythmic beat to it.
Melissa was annoyed - and it showed in how the demoness didn't bother to hide her true form and glared ostensibly at an individual among others. At the street, the lady she had been watching tripped over something on the pavement - a common mistake for many, but that one had been caused by the darker one rather than an issue of the heels the woman wore.
A satisfied smirk pulled Melissa's lips up, but for a split second only - after that, she turned the head to gaze at her companion, expression softening for a moment before speaking up:
"Say the world and I'll push her down the stairs, Gwen. I can feel something is off about this one - big secrets and a troubled past. She wouldn't make for a bad meal," a pensive frown and humming sound followed, "This Yasuko is so incredibly boring - why your handsome fella is so hypnotized by her is beyond me. Men can be such dreadfully stupid creatures - if he only knew about the goddess watching over him."
Guinevere leaned forward as her demoness spoke. She was perched very carefully on top of one of the building's box vents. It allowed her to stretch her wings at her leisure and kept them off of the ground.
The angel's mouth curved into an amused smile. Bright irises studied Melissa's upper back, soaking in the void that composed her companion. She enjoyed staring into it — the quiet, unyielding emptiness of the other creature's flesh made such a nice contrast to her ever - shining, prismatic self.
Gwen resisted the urge to lace her arms around Melissa and sink into that blackness. Perhaps, it would help with what she felt. There was an unusual bitterness in her ; it welled up every time that Yasuko came to visit him. So far, the angel had managed to keep it sealed behind her pretty pink lips. She was no stranger to seeing her beloved moneylender with other women ( watching such encounters inspired a morbid curiosity in her ), but the way that he seemed to care for Yasuko poisoned Gwen's good nature.
The angel almost told her demoness yes. However, the words stalled on her tongue. To think of harming the woman, who simply needed help, made her feel cold. It was not the sort of chill that Melissa offered. This was unnatural, like a scolding fingertip made of ice on the back of her neck. Gwen blinked, and a palm came up to rub at her throat.
"I appreciate your suggestion," the angel replied eventually, sighing with a wistfulness that made the gesture as soft as a breeze. " — but I cannot take it, Melissa. She is only a scared girl. How could I punish her for that ??"
Guinevere's hand fell gracefully to her lap. She stretched out the other to her demoness, imploring the darker creature to move closer. After a moment of consideration, Melissa answered, steps long and slow. The angel smiled and wrapped her arms around Melissa's neck.
"Thank you," Gwen whispered, kissing the demoness' chin.
Melissa tucked a stray wave behind the angel's ear. She answered Guinevere's upturned lips with a grin of her own. It was unusually soft, given her company, but carried the same edge it always did. The neon light coursing through her darkness became mirrored in Gwen's gemstone eyes and made them dance. Without warning, the blonde suddenly rose up and stroked her palm down one of Melissa's horns.
What she failed to account for, though, was the little laugh from her demoness and the way Melissa seized her in retaliation. Gwen's wings flared out in response to her body partially sliding off of the vent. She sank into Melissa's chest without protest, dress pressing against the void inside of the other's pseudo - flesh.
"I would do it," Melissa insisted, nails digging into Gwen's back to keep her steady. Her teeth gleamed in the night. The darkness outside of them paled in comparison to the true blackness within the demoness' breast.
Gwen bit her lip, lashes fluttering shut. "I know," she said. " — if she hurts him, maybe I will . . . " Say yes, she finished silently, and the sentiment stirred up the rotten feeling again that made her stomach turn. Guinevere let out a deep breath and snuggled into her demoness.
"Thank you," she repeated, summing it up as best she could in those two words.
Melissa's smile broadened. Her sweet angel was such a strange little bird, so innocent and cunning all at once. The demoness placed her chin on top of Gwen's head.
"Another time, then," she replied with a playful touch of regret. Guinevere's muffled giggle was worth the tease.
Preening Gwen's feathers was something Melissa took very seriously - even if the wings were not normally visible to others, they were there for the two of them. Beautiful, warm and like a kaleidoscope of the sunset, the demoness enjoyed touching them - and aiding with the upkeep, too. It seemed only fair for them to help each other out given their type of existence - many mortals of interest would come and go; but their bond was forever.
Eternal as the void that threatened to consume Melissa if left unchecked; and which fostered the protective behavior of smoothening over feathers, even if her claws could get clumsy and she preferred to change forms for better access and care. And while she was at it, the darker one always came back to the tender spot where the wings never fully healed - like something had left an incurable trauma behind.
And what was the bane of an angel's existence if not the opposite?
"Gwen," the brunette asked, voice quiet - but it was clear that Melissa was pondering over something, and it showed in how the neon colors of her true self threatened to spill from within her skin, digits hovering over that patch of feathers with a frown and melancholy to her tone, "Do you think I caused this? Do you think I... hurt you? When we were made?"
A pause, followed by a confession murmured in such a way that it could have been mistaken for prayer, "I never meant for it."
Guinevere adored the feeling of Melissa's fingers in her feathers, stroking the soft shafts and picking out any residue left from her recent flights. It was necessary care that the angel had difficulty performing — and more. She enjoyed the closeness of her demon ; in a strange way, Melissa looking after her wings was as soothing emotionally as it was physically.
The angel wore nothing but a thin white slip, which was gathered around her folded legs. Its shimmering material reflected the brilliant colors that danced across Guinevere's wings. She murmured appreciatively, rolling her head.
When the demoness' hands grazed over that spot, Guinevere slowly turned to look at Melissa. Her eyes, so gem - like and deep in spite of her relation to the air, filled with a mix of emotions. There was a sadness, yes, but also a touch of reverence. The angel's apparently permanent injury, which consisted of a large fracture to a few of the hollow bones in her right wing, was still sensitive to the touch. It was functional, though — as much as it could be. Guinevere sometimes wondered if her lingering sorrow and awe over the old wound kept it from healing completely.
Her lips opened at Melissa's quiet words. With a thoughtful hum, Guinevere moved nearer to her demoness, gently crushing her wing between them. A slender hand pressed to Melissa's cheek. The angel used that touch to bring the other creature in for a short kiss.
Gold glittered on Melissa's lips when Guinevere was finished. She then nuzzled into the demoness' cheek and stayed there for a few long breaths. Warmth crashed over Melissa, bright and sure, as if Guinevere had opened the window on a brilliant summer day.
Neon light mingled with the angel's ever - shifting prismatic pattern. Guinevere drew in Melissa's deep chill, grateful for the way it seeped into her thin body. She shivered, and her companion drew her closer instinctually.
"We will never know what caused it," Guinevere intoned, emphasizing the we at the beginning of her reply. " — but it doesn't matter, really. I know you, and I know that you would never hurt me."
The angel smiled into Melissa's skin, hand slipping behind her demoness' neck to hold her. How they were coiled together reminded Guinevere of when she first awoke, aware of nothing except a sharp ache in an appendage that felt both familiar and strange . . . and her weight, laying against that break. Her cool, harshly - lit body, decorated with weaponry that would put any predator to shame.
listen i recently became obsessed with the amount of television shows that have a mystery person knocking on the protagonist's door as a major finale cliffhanger, and it got me thinking, and now we have this list that a few immensely talented people helped me with! that said, we know the drill by now. DO NOT ADD TO THIS LIST OR CLAIM IT AS YOUR OWN! IF YOU HAVE IDEAS FOR MORE PROMPTS SEND THEM TO ME AND I WILL ADD THEM!
[ KISS ]: sender shows up at the receiver's door and impulsively pulls them in for a passionate kiss that punctuates a lengthy slow-burn between the two.
[ WOUNDED ]: sender arrives at the receiver's door with considerable injuries, in dire need of help and emergency care that only the receiver is either trusted enough or convenient enough to provide.
[ TEARS ]: sender shows up at the receiver's door in tears and in need of comfort after a long day (or week, or month…)
[ DEFEATED ]: sender arrives at the receiver's door after having lost a considerably important battle (metaphorical or literal) and needing a place to recuperate from the loss.
[ FUGITIVE ]: sender, having just become a fugitive from the law, runs to the receiver's home in the hopes of finding shelter and safety with them.
[ GIFTS ]: sender arrives at the receiver's house with gifts for the homeowner themselves.
[ APOLOGY ]: sender goes to the receiver's house to apologize to them for a past wrong-doing (specify if you wish!)
[ DATE ]: sender arrives at the receiver's house to take them on a romantic date.
[ HANG OUT ]: sender arrives at the receiver's house to hang out with them for the day.
[ GO OUT ]: sender heads to the receiver's house to take them out for a day of fun/relaxation.
[ COLLECT ]: sender shows up at the receiver's house to collect something that the receiver has either purchased for them or borrowed from them.
[ DELIVER ]: sender shows up at the receiver's house to deliver something to them that either the sender borrowed or the receiver requested from them.
[ CONFRONT ]: sender goes to the receiver's house to confront them about an on-going problem between the two of them.
[ FAVOR ]: sender goes to the receiver's house to ask them for a favour.
[ RECRUIT ]: sender goes to the receiver's house to recruit them for an upcoming task that the sender is unable to do alone.
[ ROOMIE ]: sender goes to the receiver's house to move in with them.
[ COMFORT ]: sender goes to the receiver's house to comfort them after the receiver has a difficult time or experiences a significantly difficult event.
[ HELP ]: sender goes to the receiver's house to help them with something that the receiver is either procrastinating or unable to accomplish on their own.
[ LEISURE ]: sender goes to the receiver's house for a movie night or a game night.
[ WARN ]: sender goes to the receiver's house to warn them against doing something that they suspect the receiver is preparing to do.
[ THREATEN ]: sender goes to the receiver's house in order to threaten them.
[ REUNITE ]: sender returns to the receiver's house after having been away for a while, intending to reunite with them.
[ GOODBYE ]: sender goes to the receiver's house to say a final farewell after learning they're due to leave town, possibly for good.
[ SECRET ]: sender sneaks out to the receiver's house to meet with them in secret.
[ BAD NEWS ]: sender arrives at the receiver's doorstep to deliver some bad news to them (SPECIFY THE NEWS).
[ PARTY ]: sender arrives at the receiver's house to attend a party that the receiver is hosting.
[ NEIGHBOUR ]: sender, having just moved in next door, arrives at the receiver's house to introduce themselves.
[ ENGINE ]: sender's car breaks down in the same street that the receiver lives on, leading the sender to knock on their door to ask for help.
[ PRETEND ]: sender knocks on the receiver's door to ask them to pretend to know them for the sake of a cover story.
[ VISIT ]: sender goes to the receiver's house for a casual visit.
[ forest ] our muses have sex in a forest (banshee!wife, pls?)
It was a beautiful night. Akiyama hummed pleasantly to himself, eyes moving down to his wife. She was laying against his folded legs, long waves of golden hair spread out on their shed clothing around them. Above them, a light rain danced across the surprisingly intact ruins of the little stone hut that Azumi had found on their property in the beginning. The structure was crawling with vines and lacked windows, but it had served as their place of escape for several months now.
There was some sort of strange appeal to the ruined place for Azumi. It was old and dead, like her. The smooth white stone reminded her of her own flesh, and all of the creeping vegetation shared the color of her enchanting eyes. At Shun's request, they had snuck in a few threadbare blankets and rugs to make the floor more comfortable. Beyond that, this rotting oasis was exactly as the banshee had found it.
Shun smiled tenderly. His fingers continued to run through the banshee's hair, mimicking the precious comb folded into her discarded outer robe. Azumi wore only a crumpled white night dress now, with nothing left underneath ; her lord sat with his shirt open, breeches loosened, and boots still on.
A particularly lengthy stroke from Akiyama's hand over her tresses prompted Azumi to shudder. The bridge of her nose wrinkled with the light laugh that came after. Azumi reached up leisurely, palm landing on the side of her lover's neck. She had been staring at the soft flesh there for almost ten minutes, admiring the way it moved with his breathing.
The banshee's nails buried themselves in Akiyama's throat. He inhaled sharply, clearly excited by the sensation, but chose to smartly carry on. Azumi's eyes fluttered shut as yet another tremor overtook her. Her lips opened to issue a coo that never audibly manifested.
Azumi's fingernails dug deeper and drew a guttural sound out of her lord's throat. Draped perfectly over his lap, the banshee's lips came back together into a devilish smile. She opened her eyes, glittering green akin to the half - dead leaves stuck to the stones of their gruesome sanctum. Slowly, she spread her legs. The banshee's unoccupied hand raised the edge of her nightgown just enough to show her husband what she was up to. Once he had seen, she pressed her fingertips between her thighs and began to play with herself.
Shun's fingers in her hair had made the creature wet enough to slip a digit inside. The immediate pleasure was evident on her face and in the strength of her grip on Shun's neck. He groaned lightly, stare shifting to her chest. Azumi's breasts were perfectly outlined by her crumpled dress, and their movement emphasized how her play changed her breathing.
Another finger moved in. Azumi arched her spine over his thighs as she dug her heels into the floor to seek better leverage. Her husband quietly held her at the hip to support her. As always, he marveled at how light she felt. The banshee's cool skin contrasted with his warm palm.
In the midst of the faint rain, only the sound of Shun's breathing emerged. Azumi remained captivatingly silent, save for the occasional clipped note of song that made Shun wince. The banshee stared up at him while she masturbated. Gradually, the moisture from her fingers seeped into the fabric bunched up around her.
After several minutes, Azumi moved. Shun, enchanted by her performance, lifted his fingers away. He licked his lips, shaking hands held in the air. All that he could muster was a low groan when his wife slipped free of her garment. The banshee shook out her hair before she pressed her palms to his chest, pushing him down with insistence.
Shun now suffered the same fate as many of her prey had. Helpless boys, most of them, drunk on her beauty and driven by their greed to chase her into the wild wood she called home. They all ended up like her husband : in a state of shock, bound to the banshee's fickle whims and held prisoner by her. Except, unlike those unfortunate souls, Shun's ears were only ringing mildly, and the marks that Azumi's nails left in his skin were made from devotion. He would make for a fine meal, but she had no desire to gut him.
Azumi smiled, and the gesture caused the bridge of her nose to scrunch up in a way that Shun often found cute. Her fingers quickly opened his trousers and pulled out his half - hard cock. The banshee stroked it until he felt firm enough to satisfy her. Shun laid on his back, wide eyes watching his wife with a sense of admiration. With a coo, Azumi held his erection to her opening. She slid herself onto him, trembling, and suddenly the lord's world went white.
Beneath the fair creature, Shun gulped in air and dug his fingertips into the slippery stone under them. The contrast between her cool hands and warm core was strange but pleasant. At some point, he yelped, though the sound seemed far away. Azumi shifted over him until she was seated comfortably. Once she was satisfied, the banshee leaned forward. She grasped her husband's wrists and held them down.
"Look at me," Azumi whispered.
Shun's eyes snapped open ( when had he closed them ?? ). He felt the pressure of her words against his ears, as faint as they were. Above him hung the ghost that had taken to haunting his most wonderful dreams, a vision of pale flesh and hair that could rival polished gold. She could kill him in a single breath, if it so amused her, but instead she chose to love him. The banshee rode her husband slowly, drawing out each motion in order to savor his ever - changing expression. Shun whimsically wondered if he was being punished for something — but she had always been very deliberate when they made love.
It was torture,
and he treasured every moment.
On and on the minutes bled until finally Shun came, whimpering. His hair clung to his face, and the little bones in his hands ached from behind forced to the stone. Azumi stroked his brow, clearing his handsome features of those stray brown strands, and straightened above him. She tossed back her own tresses. Emerald irises watched her husband orgasm below her with clear satisfaction. He was terribly attractive like this, like a fragile bird whose wings she was keeping closed for her amusement.
Shun soon reached for the banshee's breasts, eager to see his wife reach a similar, glorious apex. She tipped her chin toward the damaged roof of their sanctuary and pressed her chest into his hands eagerly. Azumi continued to work atop his softening cock, pleased by the way they were linked together. Where penetration seemed to have failed, simply fondling the creature's breasts succeeded. Mere moments into the exercise, Shun felt Azumi tighten around him. Her legs squeezed together, and those beautiful lips opened soundlessly. It was mystifying to watch her come without making any noise.
The rain continued to fall. Outside, little frogs chirped. Azumi bent down to kiss her husband passionately, nails digging into the firm muscle in his shoulders. She kept him captive, tongue dragging across his teeth, until he was completely flaccid inside of her. With a murmur that made Shun inhale sharply, the banshee carefully separated their bodies and stood. Azumi seemed remarkably composed, given their recent acts ; Shun credited it to her nature.
Measured steps took the creature to the closest pool of moonlight. She stopped in it, eyes closed, and soaked in the touch of that heavenly body as well as the misty rain drizzling through a hole in their special place. Between her legs, the evidence of her husband's love was smeared. Azumi hummed. In spite of how desperately she wished for it, no child would ever come from their union, but that did not stop her from enjoying the feeling of his devotion left within her. He was so very special.
Shun rolled onto his side to watch her. "You're beautiful," he breathed. In the glow of the moon, his beloved banshee smiled wickedly.
i've never witnessed such a lovely sight. (any verse!)
The banshee moved through the trees, every step a part of an effortless dance of her design. She wore white, as she always seemed to ; the dress she had was thin and flowed with her, stirring mesmerizingly beneath the shawl around her shoulders.
Akiyama crept over the roots of the old trees carefully. He was stunned by the fact that the creature's bare feet never stumbled on them. It was as if she knew where each one was even with her eyes half - closed. The scholar could barely hear her strange song through the scraps of rags stuffed deep in his ears.
Odd — none of the materials he studied before he introduced himself to her said that banshees sung for their enjoyment. To lure young men to their deaths, a few texts claimed, but not . . . to play, if he read her behavior correctly. Her thin fingers touching the leaves as she went and the sort of open emotion on her face suggested that this was fun to her.
( to be fair, almost nothing in those books had been correct so far. )
This banshee was as alive as he was, though many would have classified her as a corpse on a technicality. She was not the mindless specter that the literature dubbed her kind — Akiyama was proof of that.
Lonely, he thought, as he watched her spin into a large clearing. In a pool of moonlight, she tipped back her head. The banshee smiled and reached for something that Akiyama could not see, willowy figure stretched up toward the heavenly bodies peeking through the canopy of these old trees.
She's lonely.
Akiyama stepped forward, driven by an instinct that he did not understand, and inhaled sharply as his heel snapped a thin branch. The banshee recoiled, arms wrapping around herself, and shrieked in his direction. She looked hurt, and Akiyama bit back a groan. Instead, he raised his hands in the hopes that she would accept that.
The banshee was breathing heavily. Slowly, she started to recognize him. Akiyama remained still, unsure ; he could only hope the inevitable straightening and curious tilt of her head meant that she remembered him from his last four or five visits. She came closer, lips pressed together.
Akiyama tried to keep his heartbeat steady as she reached for his throat. He let her grasp the top of it and turn his head. Sharp nails dug into his flesh, rooting him in place. Out of the corner of his eye, the scholar watched her pluck his makeshift protection out of his ear. The noises of the night rushed in all at once.
As she removed the other ball of cloth, it occurred to Akiyama that this was the first time she had ever touched him. Her skin was . . . cold, like crisp, fresh snow ; its frigid temperature sent a chill down his spine.
"I wanted to come see you," Akiyama said softly. He tried not to shift his mouth much. "I was hoping that we could talk, sort of — but then I saw you out here. I should not have followed you, but . . . that — " The scholar swallowed, paused, and started again. "I've never witnessed such a lovely sight."
The banshee dropped his loosely - shaped ear plugs and squeezed his neck harder. Akiyama resisted the urge to grab her forearm. Instead, he tried to focus on her eyes. They were a rich green, like the vegetation of her woods, and unnervingly full. He could see a whole life unfolding in them, and, yet, Akiyama knew that she was simultaneously looking at him.
Without warning, the fair creature released him. Akiyama coughed in an effort to soothe the bruised feeling and tried to grin. She stepped back once, twice, enough to give him room to recover.
Once he appeared to be stable, the banshee placed a fingertip beside her eye. Akiyama frowned thoughtfully as she pointed to his face and then his trousers. What — ??
"Brown ?? " he muttered, unsure. "My eyes are that . . . " Akiyama felt his stare widen. "Brown, yes, they are similar. Like these." A palm patted his trousers for emphasis. The banshee pointed next at the closest tree trunk, and Akiyama nodded. He had been startled to discover the banshee could not see color ; the subsequent game that had spawned from that realization included her picking objects that were familiar to her and using them to question the shade of something on his person. Akiyama quickly grabbed at his own hair. "Brown. This, too."
The banshee hugged her body once more, shawl drawn tight. She narrowed her eyes at him. Akiyama was not surprised that she didn't speak. Even her quietest words seemed to carry a weight to them, and he sensed that she was not fond of wasting them. Instead, he tried to read her body language and guess.
"Why am I here ?? " he asked, a hand scratching the back of his hair. " . . . again. Why will I not I leave you alone ?? "
She nodded, and the scholar chuckled. "I have told you," Akiyama continued, voice purposefully low and soothing. "I want to be your friend, if I can. You may eat me — should that please you, I certainly cannot stop you — but I would prefer to get to know you first."
Her expression changed. These were not unfamiliar statements ; he had issued such declarations every time they met. The banshee tugged at her shawl and stepped away. Something gold glittered in her fingers. Akiyama watched her go with a stab of regret.
Halfway across the clearing, though, she stopped. With an exquisite comb trailing through her golden waves leisurely, she turned to look at him. An eyebrow raised, and Akiyama's heart went into his throat.
"Yes, yes, alright," he assured her, moving forward with elation. "I am coming."
In his haste, the scholar failed to account for the closest root to his foot. He released a rather undignified yelp and fell hard to the ground. Akiyama laid there for a moment, weighing his options — but then he heard it.
Her laugh. Light in sound but echoing, filling the space around them, in a way that he had never heard anything do before. Akiyama smiled as he got back to his feet. How could he get her to do it once more, he wondered.
