#Ah well it was a fleeting thought anyway

[beargirldick]

Hate being hit by some sort of waking prophetic dream of a fetish and then try and find content of it and its just....none existant or what you search is filled with 100% NOT what you were fantisizing about

[crystalflygeo]

Heat haze ft Morax + fem!bunny adeptus!reader

cw/tags: heat/mating cycles, marathon sex, overstimulation, dirty talk, breeding kink, praise kink, creampie, sex toy, improper use of geo (lmao), Morax has a dragon penis, pet names, fucked stupid, reader calls Morax "My Lord" and Morax calls her "my child", power play??

notes: Pure self-indulgent filth <3 I love the concept of heats in general and though on applying that to adepti, then I remembered it's bunny year so why not... apparently there is a bunny in chinese mythology called the "Jade Rabbit" who serves the Moon Goddess soooo. Anyway. Breeding kink goes brrrrrr.

“M-my lord... I’m sorry I’m ah-” You gulp and try to breathe through your mouth, fingers clenching and unclenching trying to regain some semblance of stability. “I’m not feeling very… well”

Shameful. Lord Morax came to see you, probably talk about important matters regarding this year’s crops and yet-

“Is this your first heat alone?”

Your eyes widen and your cheeks burn, on instinct you look up panicked as your long ears stiffen in shock but just as quickly you avert your gaze, unable to look at him in the face at the revelation, and to avoid staring at his regal visage, fearful of your own reactions if you were to do so.

Oh he knows. He knows. Of course he knows. As much as you tried to suppress it your scent is probably dripping with want, especially when your thoughts were spiraling out of control mere minutes ago. Being an adeptus in heat is hard enough, but as a Jade Rabbit… it was especially hard on you.

You blink heavily, dumbly, your brain can’t keep up with all the emotions right now. You feel lightheaded but still manage to force out an answer. “N-No… no, I’m… used to it.”

Morax tilts his head and the light catches on his majestic antlers making them glow, and you find it impossible not to look “Of course.” He nods, still keeping immaculate composure. “But haven’t you found a mate yet?”

A mate. Your rabbit ears droop. Ever since you vowed to serve Lord Morax you never had time for such things, with the on-going war and protecting the humans, even as a non-combatant adeptus your duties were many. Agricultural care and development, medical support, logistics… you never had it in you to find a mate. You were devoted to your contract, and, to Lord Morax himself.

“I’m… I haven’t found the r-right one yet…” You mumble, hugging yourself and rubbing at your arm nervously in an attempt to mimic something.

“Oh my child, I’m sorry.” Morax approaches you and tentatively cups your cheek, fingers barely caressing your jaw, the touch is fleeting yet electric.

His hand is warm.

You unconsciously lean into the touch.

And he smells so good, so good.

“I could assist you, if you would allow it.”

You immediately flinch back at the words.

“W-what?!”

Morax simply blinks at you and crosses his arms, putting some distance between you two again. “I apologize if my advances are unwelcome.”

“No my lord it’s n-not that.” You can’t help but stare at his strong biceps, blackened skin accented by fine gold linings…

You try to control your breathing and think! Rationally!!

But still, you’re curious. What would it be like? To feel your God’s scent, your God’s touch, your God’s co-

You quickly shake your head. No, no! That’s indecent, scandalous! You’re not worthy, that’s…

“It’s okay, my child.”

The warm touch is back, hands placed at your shoulders, grounding you, stabilizing you. A shiver runs down your spine yet it doesn’t freeze you on the spot, rather it feels…

Tender.

You stare up at him and this time hold your gaze. He’s handsome and his eyes are the purest brightest molten gold you've ever seen, the bright diamond pupils mesmerizing.

You whine and rub your thighs together on instinct.

“My Lord… p-please…”

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

“Ha-aahh… f-faster, please my Lord please- Ah-! Faster!”

You’re reduced to a babbling, moaning, drooling mess as you lay on golden silk sheets. Head down ass up, your arms have long since given up supporting you and your thighs tremble as Morax rams into your dripping wet pussy over and over and over again.

He lets out a low chuckle “So tight…” He whispers, voice deep and raspy with sex haze, the scent of your heat spurring him on and causing his own illuminated beast features to manifest, such as his powerful tail undulating behind him. “You’re practically dripping all over the place, and yet you take me so well…” his breath stutters with another snap of his hips and all you can do is moan loudly, mind foggy with need.

“Oh…” You gasp. “Oh.”

Without pause, he’s slamming into you repeatedly, pulling you down on his perfect thick cock and fucking fast methodical thrusts into you wet hole, aiming for a certain spot that has you seeing stars once he finds it.

“Ah! Ah… Ah!” Your voice barely registers through your own lust-hazed mind. Tears prickling at the corner of your eyes from the rapid buildup in your lower abdomen. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve already came, your juices coating your inner thighs and soiling the precious silken sheets. Not that he seems to mind. “O-Oh… Ohhhh. My Lord… M-Morax…”

You’re pretty sure your God has ruined you for anyone else. No mortal or immortal would ever be able to compare to his divine cock, deliciously thick and filling, the dragon shaft lined with small ridges that rub just right against your insides and so utterly big you swear you can feel a slight bump on your navel every time he bottoms out.

You keen and whine when his strong clawed hands pull at your hips. Seems like your legs are also giving up on you so he holds you in place instead. And you love it. His musky scent. His smooth deep voice. His unfaltering stamina.

The Prime of the Adepti. A strong and virile dragon.

And he chose to mate you.

Suddenly you feel him drape over your back, his larger frame practically caging you, pressing against you until his chest meets your sweaty back and you feel his ragged breath against your neck, scenting you and your heat pheromones before sharp fangs graze your tender skin.

You moan and your pussy clamps down on him. You are so close….

“You feel amazing.” He growls. “So good... s-so good for me.”

You buck your hips up to him, clumsily meeting his thrusts as your small fluffy tail twitches. “Nnngh!”

You feel him bite at your shoulder and the sharp jolt of pain is enough to send you spiraling into another climax, moaning high-pitched and gripping him tighter inside you even as he fucked into your slick warmth. Despite the orgasm he shows no signs of slowing down, so neither do you, as the unbearable heat continues to burn inside you, an itch you can’t quite scratch. His hands reach out for your skin, caressing your soft breasts and marveling at how beautifully they fit into his hands. He rubs circles into one of your nipples before pinching it lightly and is rewarded with another high keen and a spasm around his cock.

“P-Please… please… I need it. Please-” You pant, voice laced with desperation, your nails digging into the bedsheets.

“What do you want?” Morax asks, nosing at your neck and lapping at the reddened bite mark he branded into your skin. “Tell me what you need, little one.”

“Breed me!” You choke out “F-Fill me up Lord Morax, I need you to… fuck m-me full, pleasepleaseplease-”

And how could he deny such a sweet plea? Morax redoubles his efforts, panting with exertion and pushing harder, faster, deeper. Shrill little gasps escaping you as your mind goes blank from the pleasure.

“Hah- I’ll breed you properly… mhh… fill you up.” He pants, his pace getting sloppier, his tail trashing wildly, you feel him twitch inside you. “You’re all mine. Mine to take… to fuck, to own, to breed-”

Morax’s breath hitches and he lets out a choked groan, spilling his load inside you in thick creamy spurts as you keen and squirm under him, too fucked stupid for words. You coo happily as the heat under your skin finally abates and you feel full, so full of his seed.

His grip loosens as his hips gradually slow down, head hung low as he catches his breath, his cock occasionally twitching inside you until it eventually softens. He gently pulls out admiring the way your pussy clenches on him, the way your legs shake, weakly trying to lock him there, keep him inside you. The drag and pull of his thick cockhead over your sensitive insides making you keen and whimper from its abuse until your pliant body falls onto the sheets, whining pitifully when you feel his slick seed dribble out of your swollen pussy. You try to close your legs and weakly paw at your core.

No, no, no… it’s supposed to stay inside. Lord Morax’s precious cum-

You squeak as you feel something smooth and solid press against your pussy lips.

“Shhh my dear, shhh.” He coos at you, deep voice soothing your frazzled nerves. “This is just a little something to keep it in, to keep you full.” He pushes gently, working what you now realize was a cor lapis plug into your body. You made another whimpering noise as your lips parted for the toy he’d created for you. Red, puffy pussy folds spread open as they did for his cock, taking the tip before he worked the rest until it finally sunk in, lewdly resting against your opening, a glittering orange gemstone keeping you full. “There, nice and snug, do you like it?”

Your only answer is a little chirp, your eyes half-lidded as your body relaxes.  

“Such a good little bunny. You were so good to me my child, so good.” You smile drowsily at the praise, cooing at him as his hand pets your hair and scratches your fuzzy ear. He kisses at your shoulder and starts softly massaging your aching limbs “You were beautiful. You did so well, you took me so perfectly…”

You lean into his touch, curling up to his body, both of you still damp with sweat and other fluids. Resting for now until another wave of neediness hits you.

You both knew your heat would last at least other 4 days…

You idly wonder if by the end of the week you would be honored with carrying his offspring.

[o-sachi]

Do a Somersalt ! ‧₊˚ ⋅ Blue Lock Chars. (Request)

ଳ how would the blue lock boys react to a gymnast s/o who is muscular? ଳ characters; isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, nagi seishiro, reo mikage, chigiri hyoma, michael kaiser, shidou ryusei ଳ tags; floof, afab reader, no y/n

ᯓ Isagi Yoichi

"You're going to the gym? Can I come too?"

The man is absolutely mesmerized by you. The way you look alone never fails to amaze him. But when you're in your element? He's definitely somewhere—melting into a puddle after witnessing your moves.

An absolute sucker for your muscles, especially the thighs. He'll poke at 'em, squish 'em, and lay his head on 'em.

He will always always always ask to watch your competitions. It's only fair that he provide moral support for you since you do the same for his football games. Hell—even if it's just practice, he'll try to come and watch you anyway.

He loves the way you look, but a small part of him wants to be more muscular as well because he thinks he'd embarrass you if he wasn't as lean as you :(

"Hey, what would you think if I were more muscular?" / "Hmm, I'd be pretty proud, but you look great as you are." / "Be for real." / "I am being for real though?"

Doesn't really dwell on that thought. It's more of a fleeting one if anything. He's more preoccupied about admiring you anyway.

ᯓ Bachira Meguru

"How the fuck did you flip like that? I wanna do it too."

Expect him to hound you about teaching him all your "cool" moves. He'll ask about the complicated ones even though both of you know that he won't be doing that with just an explanation, a demo, and a prayer.

Bachira's quite flexible though, so you do manage to teach him some stuff. He was SO ecstatic the first time he was able to do a move that you two had been going over for an hour.

"Babe, I think I'm ready to do a double back salto tucked with a triple twist." / "Okay, first of all, even I can't do that... and two, how do you know that?" / "There's this little thing called 'the internet'?"

He's not really one to be too observant of what body type his s/o has, but he'll always compliment your muscles.

The way his face lights up when both of you find out you can lift him up like a baby is priceless. It may or may not be the reason why he loves your muscles so much...

ᯓ Nagi Seishiro

"Ah... can you carry me back? What? I'm not that heavy..."

Nagi loves your muscles. They're firm, but they make good pillows. He says he falls asleep faster when he's in your arms or when his head is resting on your lap.

Another reason is because you can give him piggyback rides. Sure, he's more than 6 feet tall and still weighs more than you, but you suck it up and try to lift him anyway.

He's so in awe of all the moves that you do on the bars or on the floor. If he's watching you compete, he's most likely thinking about how much of a hassle those moves are.

"Don't you get tired of swinging around like that? Looks tough." / "You know that football matches are 90 minutes long, right?" / "...I know and I hate running for that long."

After both of your trainings, he'll invite you to take a long ass nap in the ac and under the comfiest blanket ever. It's impossible to say no to him.

ᯓ Reo Mikage

"Hey, your video got 500 likes already—as expected."

He pretty much has documented your entire career with how many pictures and videos he has taken of you training or performing. He has his own archive for your competitions too.

"Baby, there is no such thing as too much when it comes to you." / "Um... actually—" / "Shhh... shh..."

You two have the same trainer, nutritionist, manager—everything. He'll introduce you to his team that keeps him in tip-top shape for football so that you can be your best self in gymnastics too.

If he's unable to attend a competition of yours, he'll send someone to watch and record it for him.

Of course, he'll make it up by throwing an epic celebration for you regardless if you won or not. Reo will shower you with endless praise.

ᯓ Chigiri Hyoma

"The judges don't know what the fuck they're doing, honestly."

He's like... such a mom when he comes to watch your competitions. He'll be sitting in the audience—both amazed and a bit worried when you do risky moves.

When the judges score lower than what he expects, he'll start muttering under his breath about how stupid they are and that you deserve WAAAY higher.

The biggest hype man ever. It doesn't matter if you won or lost—he'll always express his admiration for you. If you did win, he'll celebrate the heck out of it with you. But if you lost, he'll reassure you and still celebrate for the effort you put in.

He likes choosing your leotard and hairstyle for you. When you give him the liberty to do so, the biggest smile appears on his face.

"Hmm... this purple one looks good, but I like the red one too." / "Hyoma, you know I'm only going to practice, right?" / "I know, I know."

ᯓ Michael Kaiser

"I only got into it because of you, y'know?"

He will shamelessly ogle your muscles. It's one thing that they look great. But it's another to know that you put in tons of hard work and discipline into building that kind of body. And he respects that quite a lot.

His knowledge of gymnastics when you first started dating was little to none. But suddenly he's so into it now. He watches other gymnasts' routines and learns the common moves and rules in competitions.

Mihya acts lowkey about it, but he feels a sense of pride seeing you happy when the two of you get to talk about the thing you love the most. It'll start of with him initiating the topic, then you'll just rant until you're tired. He won't complain though.

He felt like his heart was sucked right out of his chest when he saw your outfit for a certain competition. It was a black and blue leotard with blue roses on it. You swore his eyes watered a bit, but apparently it was just the wind...

"Well... you look great." / "Are you crying?" / "Huh? Crying? Psh. You're literally seeing things." / "Okay, Gaslighter3000."

ᯓ Shidou Ryusei

"Heh, wanna bet who can do more flips in a minute?"

He's actually glad that you're strong and muscular because it means he doesn't have to hold back as much. Also, he's just into the whole muscle mommy thing. Yes, he's that guy.

Shidou knows you can do pretty amazing things which, of course, leads to the most bizarre hypotheticals and bets ever.

"Babe, do you think you could flip off of that ledge?" / "Seriously. Look at it. It's like twice your height and it's all cement." / "Oh so then you're lame? I bet I could do that."

As much as you'd love to bring him to competitions... he just gets too excited (not that kind of excited). He'll start shouting and cheering you to the point that everyone will be looking at him.

His phone's storage is like 70% videos of you performing moves or you training. He finds it adorable when you're putting in work and doing things that can blow people away.

o-sachi © 2024 pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

Not Dead Yet | Part 01

-> Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x Medium-Fem!Reader

-> Sypnosis: After a strange encounter, Jeonghan wakes up outside of his body. The only person who can see him is Y/N, a woman with a gift (or curse as she would call it) who is able to see and communicate with the deceased. But Jeonghan isn't dead... not yet anyway.

-> Warnings: Supernatural au. There is a mention of God's and collapsing. Jeonghan is a bit of a heart breaker/player. Only mentioned once that reader has dark hair. This was going to be just a prologue but it ended up a chapter.

-> Word Count: 1,605

-> Taglist: open. Leave a comment on the masterlist post, send an ask or fill out the Tag List Form.

Not Dead Yet Masterlist | SEVENTEEN M.List

As Jeonghan walks with Ji-Ah, the woman he’s been seeing for the last three weeks, alongside the Han River, he takes this moment to do what he’s been trying to do all night. He drops her hand as he stops walking and turns to face the river, his arms resting on the railing. Ji-Ah notices the shift in the atmosphere as soon as Jeonghan lets go of her hand. The warmth of his touch is replaced by a sudden chill in the air. With concern, she turns to face him but before she could say anything, he starts to speak.  

“Ji-Ah,” he begins, his voice feigning regret. “I’m sorry, this just isn't working for me.”   

“What do you mean?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “We’ve only just started getting to know each other.”  

He can hear the hurt in her voice but he feels no sympathy. “Listen, Ji-Ah,” he continues, starting his well-rehearsed go-to break up speech, “You’re an incredible woman. It’s just that I don’t think we’re a good match. I’m sure there’s someone wonderful out there for you. I just don’t think I’m that person.” 

“But it’s my birthday,” she whispers, her voice trembling as she fights back tears. 

"Aish," he mutters under his breath, recalling the reason they had gone out for dinner in the first place. For a fleeting moment, he feels a pang of guilt but quickly suppresses it. 

“I thought we had something special,” she sobs, unable to contain her tears any longer.  

"It's only been three weeks," he blurts out, not realizing the words had escaped him until he sees her expression, a mix of hurt and disbelief with tears streaming down her cheeks. 

“Do you even care?” Ji-Ah’s voice is barely above a whisper as it cuts through her cries.  

“Of course I care,” he says looking at her with faux sympathy and feeling slightly awkward that this wasn’t ending as quickly as he hoped. After all, they’d only been on four dates in the span of three weeks. According to him, that wasn’t a long enough time to get attached to someone. “I’m doing this because I care about you. I don’t want to waste your time on something that’s never going to work out. This way, you can find someone who truly deserves you and is worth your time.” 

“So, this is it?” she asks wiping her tears away. 

“I’m afraid so,” he nods.  

“Okay,” she says trying to put on a brave face and forget the embarrassment and hurt that’s coursing through her. “Thank you for making my birthday awful. I hope I never see you again.” 

“I hope so too,” he says, his words once again slipping out before he could stop them.  

“Maybe you’re right,” she concedes, her expression taking on one of offence. “This wouldn’t have worked out because you’re an asshole. I feel sorry for your next girlfriend.” With that she walks away deliberately bumping her shoulder against him as she passes. 

He grumbles to himself about how that could have gone a lot quicker and pulls out his phone, finding the number of the woman he met the day before and quickly sends her a text 'plans fell through. Do you want to meet up in 30 minutes?'.  

With a smile on his face, he makes his way back towards where his car is parked occasionally checking his phone for a reply. As he reaches his car, he finds a strange man wearing a black top hat, a bright orange suede jacket and horrendous green pants leaning against the tailgate. His expression is blank, not giving Jeonghan any indication of what his motives could be, but his deep brown eyes are fixed intently on him making Jeonghan feel like he was looking right into his soul. 

"Can I help you?" he asks the man with a hint of annoyance.  

"When are you going to stop breaking these lovely ladies' hearts?" the man replies, his voice calm and steady. "Yoon Jeonghan.” 

"Do I know you?" He asks, his eyes widening slightly. He’s 99% sure he’s never seen this man before this moment. 

“You don’t, but I’ve been watching you,” he replies, moving away from the car and steps closer to him. The man’s gaze remains steady, and Jeonghan feels a shiver run down his spine. There’s something unsettling about the way this stranger seems to know him. It’s as if he’s been examined under a microscope.  

Jeonghan shifts his weight, attempting to shake off the sudden wave of vulnerability that washes over him. "Look, I don’t know who you are or how you think you know me, but I’m not interested in whatever you have to say." 

The stranger chuckles softly, a sound that feels oddly out of place given the tension in the air. "Oh, but you should be, Yoon Jeonghan. I’m not here to lecture you on your romantic escapades. In fact, I’m here to give you a warning." 

“A warning?” Jeonghan furrows his brow, trying to make sense of the cryptic words. The man’s presence is unsettling, and the way he speaks feels almost as if he’s reciting lines from a play or a movie. “What warning? And how can I trust you? I don’t even know your name.”  

“You don’t need to know my name right now,” the man tells him. “The only person who will be able to see you will know my name and that’s when you’ll learn it.” 

"I really don’t have time for this," Jeonghan sighs, shaking his head as he goes to take a step past him to get into his car. "I have plans that I need to get to.” 

"Plans, you say?” The man says, tilting his head slightly, as if considering Jeonghan’s words. “I’m afraid the only plans you have are with the Gods.” 

Caught by surprise, Jeonghan turns back to the man, confusion written on his face. “The Gods? I don-” 

“Oops,” the man winces as he clicks his fingers and Jeonghan collapses to the ground unconscious. “Probably should have given him a heads-up first,” he says and then shrugs before walking away. “I did try to warn him.” 

When jeonghan finally regains awareness, he sits up and finds himself in a hospital room. The faint beeping of machines that monitor his vitals, rings loudly in his ears, the smell of antiseptic fills his nostrils and the fluorescent lights are harsh against his eyes. Before he could panic about how he ended up in hospital, the man from earlier enters his mind. The stranger’s words echo inside his head, a haunting reminder of the bizarre encounter they had and the warning he tried to give him. 

Wanting to find a nurse or doctor so he could get discharged knowing there can't be anything wrong with him, he gets out of bed and makes his way to the door.  

As he exits the room, a nurse walks by. He tries to get her attention by calling to her but she continues as if she doesn't hear him. Thinking she was being rude. He tries again as another nurse walks past him but she too ignores him. 

"Excuse me!" Jeonghan raises his voice, desperation slowly sinking into his tone. "Can someone please help me? I want to go home."  

But the nurses and other hospital staff continue past him, their expressions blank. It's as if he’s nothing more than a ghost haunting the halls of the hospital.  

Frustration bubbles within him, and he takes a step forward, determined to find someone who will acknowledge his presence. The fluorescent lights hum overhead and his heart races as he wanders down the corridor. He glances into the rooms he passes, catching glimpses of patients lying in beds, some asleep, some having visits with family members and others staring blankly at the ceiling with nothing else to do. 

Finally, he spots a doctor in a white coat, clipboard in hand, walking briskly toward him. Jeonghan rushes to intercept him. "Excuse me! Can you help me? I need to know what happened to me," he pleads, his voice tinged with urgency. But just like the nurses, the doctor brushes past him as if he were invisible.  

Feeling confused and overwhelmed, Jeonghan sinks into a chair meant for waiting families. He rests his elbows on his knees and buries his head in his hands, mumbling to himself.  

Eventually he lifts his head, glancing around the waiting area. The chairs are filled with families, most of their faces etched with worry or relief, some with boredom, but none of them seem to notice him. The weight of everything that’s happening starts to get to him, and he fights back the urge to scream and demand for someone to see him. 

Taking a deep breath, he stands up, a spark of determination igniting within him. Just as he prepares to approach the doctor at the nurse's station, the elevator doors across from him slide open. His heart races as he sees a figure step out, exuding a warmth and confidence that draws him in. Her dark hair is slightly tousled, as if she just rolled out of bed, and her outfit—a black faux leather jacket, a white shirt, ripped jeans, and white sneakers—makes him think she’s not part of the hospital staff. 

Before he can make another move, she looks up, their eyes connecting, and for the first time since waking up, he feels truly seen and is reminded of what the odd man from earlier said. 

“The only person who will be able to see you will know my name.” 

©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings - do not copy/modify/repost anywhere. reblog instead

@staytiny2000 - @rainydayteacups - @hipsdofangirl - @do-you-remember-summer-127 - @cookiearmy

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[cocteaucherry]

First Time Christmas

inexperienced!Choso x fem!reader

inexperienced choso, fem reader,nipple play,, m!masturbation, fantasizing, implied drunk sex (not proofread 😔)

If it wasn’t obvious your boyfriend Choso was heavily inexperienced, you caught onto this little theory whenever you and Choso made out for the first time.

Everything was perfect and warm, the cooling summer breeze gently brushing over your bodies as you and your new boyfriend hastily ran hands over each other’s bodies... Well, you were the one being hasty, poor Choso was panting heavily from his bruised lips, a crimson tone over his blissed out face, his large calloused hands remained stagnant on your plush hips, his fingers occasionally dipping beneath the waistband on your slightly restricting shorts but never venturing further beyond that.

That was five months ago and since then you never really questioned Choso’s lack of movement you just thought he was taking things slowly and you appreciated your boyfriend's patience! But oh could you be more wrong?

On Choso’s end he was fucking struggling, each time he felt your soft lightly glossed lips on his he had to stop himself from cumming in his pants right then and there. The little mewls and whines you let out from the corners of your lips made him wanna leave purple bruises all over your pretty skin, after hours of you pressing your lips to his neck and him letting out pathetic moans that could rival yours.

soon you both would relax and fall asleep in each other’s arms he’d soon excuse himself to go home leaving an array of kisses all over your pretty face, once he was home he’d quickly lay in his bed pulling his boxers down as he softly fisted his cock in his calloused hand, his other hand would tweak at his soft pink erect nipples continuous whines and curses falling from his lips “A-ahhh..~ Fuck..!~” he’d moan out feeling a tight coil begin to form in his stomach, his taut balls would occasionally slap against his wrist as he fantasized about you, how would you hold him? What did your cunt taste like? Would you milk him for all he’s worth? All of these thoughts contributed to his imagination making him stutter his hips “Ah shit! Fuck me!” He chanted softly as splashes of hot white cum painted his abs and chest, he tugged gently at his softening cock, riding out his one of many orgasms for that night.

Choso never knew how to talk about these feelings; he'd often invite his younger brother over to talk about his feelings. “Wait.. how old are you again?” The pink-haired male asked as his fingers mashed the poor buttons on the controller, “Older than you, can you please answer my question?.” Choso sighed with a small whine as he buried his face into his large hands.

Yuji groaned dramatically seeing the glowing red screen and the following letters appeared: “You Died! Try again?” He placed the controller down turning to look at his poor brother sulking on the plush couch, “Listen, it’s obvious she doesn’t care about your experience! Or lack thereof- '' that statement just made Choso cave into himself.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Yuji exclaimed holding his hands up as he dropped his head in his hand gently propping it up, “Christmas is around the corner sooo how about you just do something romantic and ask if you could..” he slurred his words at the end as he propped his hands up to make a vulgar symbol, “God..” Choso murmured as he felt warmth creep up his neck, “How hard could it be?” Yuji grinned, flopping onto his back. “Anyways can we get something to eat? I’m starved.”

You wondered what was going on with Choso lately, he had been rather distant after his outing with Yuuji he swore up and down it had nothing to do with you but you had a gut feeling it was. That day was Christmas Eve and Choso’s attitude had changed back to his normal self, the unsure fleeting touches, the peppered kisses and his hands always engulfing your plush waist.

After a chaotic night out trying to outdrink your friends and exchange Christmas gifts you’re both left stumbling back inside your own apartment with a tipsy clingy Choso attached to your hip, “Cho! You have to let me get into the house!” You exclaimed stumbling into your apartment, Choso, closed the door behind you as he attached his lips to yours, “Just-“ kiss “love you” kiss “so so so much.” He mumbled as you gently dragged him towards the couch,

“Really? You love me that much?” You giggled as Choso plopped down and you sat on top of his lap pressing a kiss to his forehead, he drunkenly nodded continuing a barrage of now-wet kisses over your pulse point.

“Then show me.”

Your voice sounded muffled as he stared up at you, eyes full of longing and lust seeing you in a drunk bliss state caused a familiar stirring in his pants. “T-Tonight..?” He muttered glancing between you and the open window watching as snowflakes lightly landed in the window immediately disappearing as it touched the warm surface.

A smile grew on your face as you tilted your forehead on his confirming the silent question. “Tonight.”

//let me know if I should do a pt 2. ^^

[nibbelraz]

I thought about something the other day which I nearly wrote but I don't have the patience for- what if Mobei had a sudden epithany while snooping qinghua's house? cause obv hes gonna snoop. sqh is mad sus, and mobei has trust issues with his trust issues. but it suddenly occurs to him that the bed that he constantly steals from his little human is very much rather. luxurious. The mattress is thick and expensive, and sqh rotates and flips it frequently so it doesnt get lumpy. it has a topper(1)

(2) with cooling talismans all over it to make it a good temp for mobei any time he decides to sleep in it. the sheets are silk, soft, and light. they're in his colours. his shades. it's a huge bed- long enough for mobei to lay down fully stretched out and still have room. theres countless pillows made of whatever is best for mobei's hair. they're piled up and spread out in a decadance fit for royalty. its always clean. it always smells like him. hes never seen qinghua in it once.

(3) and surely, he must use it, right? it's still his bed, no matter how mobei frames it. But he knows what sqh smells like, and that scent has never been anywhere but in the fleeting touch of someone who changed the sheets. there's never been a lingering warmth from his humans body on the mattress. its the most luxurious, extravagant, expensive thing sqh owns. its not his. looking around the bedroom- is this his either? can he see anything that he might say with confidence is the cultivators?

(4) the answer is no. There's peak lord things in here, yes, but by the nature of being a spy, that's mobeis as well. So he looks- where does sqh sleep, if not a bed that (should? could?) be his own. The answer appears to be a cheap, small little daybed. It's uncomfortable. Mobei knows how big his human is, and this wouldn't fit him well. It's made well enough, but next to the actual bed in the room? It's a grade up from the floor. If Mobei laid on it he'd be off of it by his hips.

(5) honestly its not even good as a chair. It's uneven and kinda lumpy. There's a vague pillow- flat and showing signs of being folded often. A blanket that looks more like a repurposed curtain. It it bad so sqh doesn't lose it to mobei's wants? or worse, is it what he feels like he deserves? He already knew qinghua wasn't one to spend on himself but, he didn't think it was a possible fear of having it stolen from him. Does he have anything of his own worth having at all? Mobei doesn't know.

(6) anyway this obv leads into a comedy of errors where mobei is like. "qinghua. get into bed." and the man positively bluescreens because ??? literally how is he supposed to take that. and when he sorta makes a movement to just lay down on the day bed mobei is like. do you even fucking have any night clothes or do you just sleep like that. get night clothes. get into my bed. you're being cringe. my king with all respect due; crack? is it crack that you smoke? ))

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

He wants QINGHUA TO BE COMFY AND SLEEP GOOD IN A PROPER BED WITH PROPER CLOTHES AND WARM BLANKETS

Knowing them both it really would take Mobei an extremely long time to figure out that wait a minute, Qinghua doesn't sleep here at all?? Especially realizing the bed doesnt even smell like him, but the thought of him trying to fix that is so cute

I can also see him just picking Qinghua up throwing him into bed, Wrapping him up in furs and blankets and then tugging him to his chest

Yes he's comfortable now

ALSO QINGHUA BEING SO CONFUSED BECAUSE HE JUST UP AND DOES THIS WITHOUT ANY WARNING NOT EVEN SAYING ANYTHING

Ah I love how Mobei shows his love by trying to take care of his scared sweaty human

[heartsforscara]

“call me back?”

in the wanderer’s eyes, you are amicable, beautiful, and soft with a backbone. he loves you with his whole heart, albeit not the kind of love people fantasize about. love is not fluffy and all giddy emotions or warm hearts to him. love is painful. love is eating him alive.

in his opinion, he is none of those. he is rotten at heart, his is ugly, with scratches on his porcelain like skin spiraling upwards on his limbs, and he is so rude that his words pierce. he fears he will sully you, terrified he is but an impurity in your life who will taint you.

he refuses to let that happen. so no, he cannot give in, cannot admit to you that his pining over you has been brutally murdering him, your soft words skewering him again and again, annoyingly creating a hole in his heart only a certain someone can fill. he will swallow the words he wishes to say every single time, the three words he had practised in the mirror countless times compressed into nothing but ashes to rise from the dust the text time.

and the excruciating process has repeated once twice, three times. a science experiment should be repeated 3 times to ensure reliability, they say. is he so incompetent that he still cannot arrive at a conclusion even after the 3 repetitions?

he cannot fathom why he can’t let go of you. he knows fully well why he likes you— your perfects make up a whole list. but he is the villain. he is trying to change. he should at least not be so ridiculously selfish as to try to keep you all for himself. he breathes.

to him, you remain sui generis even in a crowd. their voices form a cacophony of ignorant fools babbling their incompetent minds away. your voice is what he describes as “grating” or “downright suffocating”, but the opposite is true, and he plays your voice on repeat in your head.

his reticent nature is one you know all too well, and yet you can tell how he truly feels. you notice his fleeting glances at you from across the room, his longing gaze not escaping you. you had wanted to express your feelings countless times, but you remind yourself; he is healing. you will wait.

but alas, a little push never hurt anyone. he is wont to your teasing nature, so when you call him, he does not think too much of it.

“kiyoshi! hi!”

Kiyoshi. the name you had bestowed upon him. it had brought him unbridled joy and confusion when he had first heard it, and to this day it still does. kiyoshi, ironically, means pure and soundless.

pure.

why would someone ever think he was pure? after all the things he’s done, all the lying, the killings, the crimes-

he breaks his train of thought.

“… [name]. hey. what’s going on?” his voice had an underlying tone of worry— he was always far too cautious for his own good.

“nothing. just wanted to ask you something.”

a pause, and none of you spoke, leaving an awkward silence.

“hello? are you… not going to ask the question?”

“ah. well, I need to hang up now. sorry. I texted you the question. and im not accepting a text response!”

“huh?”

“BYE!”

——-

he stares at your text, incredulous. “Will you call me back tomorrow?”

shit. he’s falling far too deep into this rabbit hole, isn’t he?

——

the next day, he calls you. “hello?”

“oh! hey! I assume your answer is a yes?”

“No. my answer is no.” his voice has an edge to it, as if expressing his defiance.

he can hear chortles of laughter from your side. “kiyoshi, you’re so funny!”

he dismisses the comment, ignoring how his cheeks burn at the comment. not the good kind of burn- the kind of burn that leaves him gasping, needing more.

“shut up. anyways. why go through this wild goose chase? you called me just to ask me to call you? that’s stupid. get to the point, [name].”

you stifle a giggle. “I just wanted to hear your voice, kiyoshi. I can’t see you everyday, so I just wanted to let you know that your voice is really pretty. I’ll ask you another question on text today. remember to reply, only through calls!”

you hang up on him leaving him aching. if he had a heart, it would have squeezed itself so tight it would be left with nothingness. what gives you the right to make his chest clench, to make his knees buckle, to give him hopes of a rose-tinted future?

grumbling, he opens the text.

“will you call me back?”

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 3 EPISODE 01 || THE BATTLE JOINED ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

Many a Highland chieftain fought, Many a gallant man did fall. Death itself were dearly bought, All for Scotland’s King and law. —“Will Ye No Come Back Again”

April 16, 1746

He was dead. However, his nose throbbed painfully, which he thought odd in the circumstances. While he placed considerable trust in the understanding and mercy of his Creator, he harbored that residue of elemental guilt that made all men fear the chance of hell. Still, all he had ever heard of hell made him think it unlikely that the torments reserved for its luckless inhabitants could be restricted to a sore nose. On the other hand, this couldn’t be heaven, on several counts. For one, he didn’t deserve it. For another, it didn’t look it. And for a third, he doubted that the rewards of the blessed included a broken nose, any more than those of the damned. While he had always thought of Purgatory as a gray sort of place, the faint reddish light that hid everything around him seemed suitable. His mind was clearing a bit, and his power to reason was coming back, if slowly. Someone, he thought rather crossly, ought to see him and tell him just what the sentence was, until he should have suffered enough to be purified, and at last to enter the Kingdom of God. Whether he was expecting a demon or an angel was uncertain. He had no idea of the staffing requirements of Purgatory; it wasn’t a matter the dominie had addressed in his schooldays. While waiting, he began to take stock of whatever other torments he might be required to endure. There were numerous cuts, gashes, and bruises here and there, and he was fairly sure he’d broken the fourth finger of his right hand again—difficult to protect it, the way it stuck out so stiff, with the joint frozen. None of that was too bad, though. What else?

Claire. The name knifed across his heart with a pain that was more racking than anything his body had ever been called on to withstand. If he had had an actual body anymore, he was sure it would have doubled up in agony. He had known it would be like this, when he sent her back to the stone circle.

Spiritual anguish could be taken as a standard condition in Purgatory, and he had expected all along that the pain of separation would be his chief punishment—sufficient, he thought, to atone for anything he’d ever done: murder and betrayal included.

He did not know whether persons in Purgatory were allowed to pray or not, but tried anyway. Lord, he prayed, that she may be safe. She and the child. He was sure she would have made it to the circle itself; only two months gone with child, she was still light and fleet of foot—and the most stubbornly determined woman he had ever met. But whether she had managed the dangerous transition back to the place from which she had come—sliding precariously through whatever mysterious layers lay between then and now, powerless in the grip of the rock—that he could never know, and the thought of it was enough to make him forget even the throbbing in his nose. He resumed his interrupted inventory of bodily ills, and became inordinately distressed at the discovery that his left leg appeared to be missing. Sensation stopped at the hip, with a sort of pins-and-needles tingling at the joint. Presumably he would get it back in due time, either when he finally arrived in Heaven, or at the least, at Judgment Day. And after all, his brother-in-law Ian managed very well on the wooden peg he wore to replace his missing leg. Still, his vanity was troubled. Ah, that must be it; a punishment meant to cure him of the sin of vanity. He mentally set his teeth, determined to accept whatever came to him with fortitude, and such humility as he could manage. Still, he couldn’t help reaching an exploratory hand (or whatever he was using for a hand) tentatively downward, to see just where the limb now ended. The hand struck something hard, and the fingers tangled in wet, snarled hair. He sat up abruptly, and with some effort, cracked the layer of dried blood that had sealed his eyelids shut. Memory flooded back, and he groaned aloud. He had been mistaken. This was hell. But James Fraser was unfortunately not dead, after all.

1 THE CORBIES’ FEAST ~VOYAGER

[mythica0]

Ten-tickles

🎂: Epic the musical

🧁:Poseidon, Odysseus

🍫: Poseidon, Odysseus, Crew

Summary: Poseidon decides that instead of murdering an entire fleet, he’ll just humiliate the captain instead. It backfires.

A/N: thanks to the Anon who gave me the idea! I hope it’s what you pictured! Once again not super proud of the ending but whatevs. Some of the lines might be used in No More Suffering, we’ll… sea. Anyway, Enjoooooy! :3

Cw: swearing and intense tickles!

Ten-tickles

A loud, roaring voice echoed over the water.

“ODYSSEUS OF ITHACA!… do you know who I am?”

It was Poseidon, god of the seas, and he was pissed, his voice full of malice.

‘Oh no..’ Odysseus’ thoughts rang like bells in his head, trying to think of some way out of this.

Time passed, the god ranting angrily about a ‘lesson’ and how Odysseus needed to be ruthless and cruel.

“Come here, Odysseus.”

He paused, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

“You’re… not going to kill me?”

Poseidon sighs. “Sadly, no. The fates have it in your future to get home safely. I cannot change that no matter how hard I try, so why bother.”

“Wait, really?” Odysseus grew so much hope at the words. He was going to get home. It was fate. But he was still confused. “Theeeeen… why?”

“You’ll see. I might not be killing you, but you do deserve a punishment, and I intend to deliver.”

Odysseus walks towards Poseidon, hesitant. But he doesn’t know what the god will do if he doesn’t obey, and how much worse it could be.

Once he’s in front of the god, he scoops up Odysseus, and taunts threateningly.

“I think a bit of public humiliation will be well suited~” Odysseus didn’t know why, but the tone he used sent shivers down his spine.

“what?”

With a sly, evil chuckle, Poseidon started to lightly scratch at Odysseus’ sides, forcing him to gasp and snap his mouth shut to prevent any more sounds from escaping. “Ah, I knew you’d fight~ makes it all the more embarrassing when you break, doesn’t it~?”

Odysseus was pursing his lips, struggling not to let the muffled giggles escape as he squirmed in place. Out of all the possibilities this was definitely not what he expected. He never would have thought Poseidon would resort to tickling of all things in a million years. And it made him feel a little more confident in what he could get away with. That’ll be important later.

In the meantime, Poseidon was still scratching gently against his side, getting faster and faster with each pass to increase how ticklish it felt. It was getting harder for Odysseus to hold back his giggles, muffled snickers and huffs of air that sounded more and more like laughter than breathing being released with every passing moment.

Then Poseidon worked his way under Odysseus’ arms- and he broke.

“Ppfft- fuhuhuhuck! Ehehahahahaha!”

Poseidon smirked, a smug expression dawned on his face as he spoke with a teasing lilt. “There we go~” he gave a sly chuckle before continuing, “I knew you’d break.”

“Shihihit- stohohop!” The unusual method of revenge was certain out working as intended, a blush dusting the captains face as he couldn’t do anything but laugh at the wiggling claws against his skin. His men looking on, confused and curious but also a little amused.

“Why should I? Seems to be working.”

Feeling a little emboldened by the lack of painful torture or murder, Odysseus decided to fight back. He started to move around and try to push Poseidon off, which wasn’t working. (At least not yet.)

The god let out another chuckle. “Oh? Trying to fight, are we?” After saying the words, Poseidon increased the intensity of the sensation, digging into Odysseus’ underarms with the exact pressure to make it extremely ticklish.

Odysseus twitched and let out a surprised bark of laughter before his giggles and laughs got much louder. “HOhoholy- gahahahah! Nohohohoho!”

“That’s what you get for trying to fight~”

Odysseus still felt that fire to fight however, and continued to do so, even though every time he did the tickles got more intense, making it harder for him to fight back.

“Ehahahahahaha fuhuhuck- ahahahahaha!”

“Stop trying to fight, stupid mortal. Every time you try I’m just going to make it worse.”

As Odysseus continued to struggle, Poseidon threw in some very corny jokes. “Seriously, Odysseus, you’d think you’d know better than to mess with a god, come on, water you thinking?”

If Odysseus wasn’t too occupied with being tickled, he would’ve blinked confusedly. “Whahahahat wahahas thahat? Thahat wahas hohohorrible!”

“I mean, you’re laughing. Can’t be that bad.”

“Thahahats Behehecause Yohoure tihihickling mehehehe!”

“Am I? I don’t know, sounds fishy.”

Odysseus groans through his laughs. “Uhuhugh, thahat wahahas wohohorse!”

Poseidon chuckled. What can he say? he loved a good ocean pun. “I mean, I like it, but that’s just how I Eel about it.”

Odysseus struggled even more, fueled by the amazing horrible puns. This led to Poseidon making the sensation stronger once again, forcing Odysseus into hysterics.

“Haha, I would stop struggling if I were you. You wouldn’t want to get yourself into even worse of a situation.”

But Odysseus continued to fight, and eventually going through the more intense feeling paid off, as he successfully got out of Poseidons hold and latched onto his side, quickly turning the tables.

“Whahahahat thehehe- hey!” Poseidon protested as Odysseus started to scribble and poke at his sides, flipping the situation to his favor.

“Haha, not so smug now, are ya?” He taunts with a chuckle, still scribbling his side. Odysseus turns to his crew. “Come help me with this, will ya?”

They immediately obey, a bunch of the men gathering around the now laughing, squirming god.

Poseidon could easily get out of this. Or at least he should be able to. He’s a god! But for some reason he finds that his strength is sapped from the tingling sensation, partially because.. he wasn’t sure he wanted them to stop.

“Hehahahaha dahahamn yohohou!”

Despite the protests, and despite the fact that he hasn’t really come to terms with the feelings himself, but Poseidon doesn’t entirely hate this. There are far too many men to count individually gathered around him and holding him there, scratching and scribbling on his whole torso, making him squirm and giggle endlessly.

But.. he found that he didn’t really want to make them stop. His angry mood from earlier was definitely fading, replaced by a giddy nervousness and happiness as the pleasant tingles zapped and sparked across his skin, sending him into fits of laughter.

Odysseus decided to use a bit of his own medicine, with a corny dad joke. “How many tickles does it take to make an octopus laugh?”

“Whahahahat-?”

“Ten-tickles”

Poseidon wasn’t going to lie, he did laugh a little harder at the pun. Which Odysseus picked up on, of course.

“No way you actually liked that.” The captain teased with a laugh, only making Poseidon blush a bit.

The men continued to scratch and scribble and tickle the god of the tides, as he squirmed around.

“Hehehahahahaha shihihit! Mohortahahals- stahahahap!”

“Hmmm… I don’t think so.” Odysseus teased again, only increasing the intensity of his scratching. “You got me first.”

“Ahahahahahah shihit- nohohoho!”

Odysseus laughed with an overly dramatic scoff. “Um, yeah you did.”

“Yohou knohohow thahahats nohot whahat ihi meheheant- FUHUCK!” He was cut off by snort and louder laughter as someone started to lightly trace his gills.

“Haha, good job, Polites! Looks like you found a good spot.”

“SHiHIHIT NOHOT THEHERE- AHAHAHA!” The god’s laughter was much louder and more hysterical now, as one man, supposedly Polites, scratched around his gills and another traced his ear fins, some of his most ticklish spots.

And it wasn’t just those two spots either, there were also wiggling fingers on his ribs, stomach, sides, armpits, everywhere. It was so overwhelming, a strong sensory overload, but at the same time it felt… good. Poseidon found himself enjoying this, even though he was desperately laughing and struggling as he was tickled relentlessly by several men.

“IHIHIHI CAHAHANT- SHIHIHIT! STAHAHAHAP!”

“What’s wrong? The great god of the seas can’t handle a little tickling?”

The words made a blush spread on Poseidon’s face. “SHUHUHUT UHUP!”

Odysseus hummed and tapped his chin with one hand in mock thought, the other still teasing and tickling the soft flesh of the sea god. “Hmmm… let me think about it… no.”

“COHOHOME OHON! OHOHO MYHY- STAHAHAHAP! AAHAHAHAHAHA!” His laughter was loud and hysterical, tears starting to form in his eyes from the force of it. It tickled so much and they weren’t. Stopping. He was overcome with laughter and snorts, the electric, buzzing sensation never letting up around his gills or anywhere else.

He didn’t want to beg. That was so gods damn embarrassing, especially for a deity. But he was getting pretty damn close. It was so bad, yet so good at the same time, sending floods of happy chemicals through his systems from all the laughter. But despite that, it was still far too much for him to handle, so he eventually lost his grip over his words and self control, and… he started to beg.

“PLEHEHEHEASE- STAHAHAHAP! IHIHITS TOHOHOO MUHUHUCH PLEHEHEASE! IHIM SOHOHORRYYY!”

Odysseus smirked. “You’re gonna be nice? You’re gonna leave me and my men alone?”

“FUHUHUCK- YEHEHEHES! JUHUHUST STAHAHAP!”

Odysseus raises a hand to signal his men to stop, and they release Poseidon, who starts to breath heavily, giggles infesting every exhale.

“Hahahaha… hoholy fuhuhuck..you dehefinetly took my lesson in ruhuthlehessness..”

“I did, didn’t I?”

Poseidon eventually managed to cool his leftover giggles, and then perched himself on a pillar of water, holding his trident.

“Lesson fucking learned. I’ll leave you alone.” He chuckles a bit and then drops himself into the water, fading into the darkness of the ocean floor.

Odysseus chuckles as well, retaking his position at the wheel.

“That was certainly… an experience.”

“That it was.” Eurylochus confirmed. “It’s not every day you see a god begging and laughing hysterically.”

They continued on their way, sailing away towards a nearby island. Who knows what they’d face there.

———THE END————————————————

[ponder-the-orb]

Ardently

Pairing: Fem Tav/Gale

Tags: 18+, Hurt/Comfort, smut and angst, Act 2 romance scene

Word count: 4.7K

Summary:

When the dust of his sacrifice has long since cooled and tales of this adventure are strummed by the city’s bards, Gale cares not if his involvement boils down to one line. The wizard that made his mistakes have meaning. It’s her version of the story that matters. The one she’ll keep to herself. The one that years in the future, she may find herself thinking of on quieter nights. That amongst the blood and steel and dirt, she’ll remember softer lips, careful hands, the shape of fireside stories told with words long since forgotten. And hopefully, when those memories flicker just right, that she was loved desperately and completely.

Even if the face of the man who’d said it has been worn away.

♥・。.。*♥*。.。·*♥*·。.。*♥*·。.。*♥*。.。·*♥

Can you truly fit a lifetime of love into just one night?

♥・。.。*♥*。.。·*♥*·。.。*♥*·。.。*♥*。.。·*♥

Read on AO3 or below.

“I’m no Goddess.”

“Yes you are. Trust me, I would know.”

There’s a small cluster of freckles that trail from behind Tav’s ear and down the hollow of her throat. Gale traces each one with his finger, following the shift of her body as she turns into him. He replaces his finger with his mouth, brushing back and forth to the open fastening of her collar until her neck flushes a darker pink. 

Her answering breath kisses against his ear, her fingers pulling his hair just hard enough that he sees flashes of gold behind his eyelids.

Never has he been more grateful that the summoned bed they’re tangled in doesn’t need concentration to maintain. It’s a small gesture on his part- something to anchor them to a fleeting sense of normality amongst the chill of the shadow curse. If he keeps his eyes to her face and his hands cupped to her skin, they can forget the claws of the world beyond and just be. 

She pulls his mouth back to hers and his tongue brushes the seam of her lips. There’s a lingering note of something rich there- a glass of raided wine or brandy perhaps. It’s an unexpected detail, one he’d have missed had they indulged in his original plan for the night. He’d been more than ready to make love to her amongst the breath of the stars, manipulate the fabric of reality around them and wring pleasures from her until their very souls were sated. And yet she’d simply taken his hand, looked at him with a feeling that almost felt too heavy for his shoulders and said that she wanted him as he is. 

And if there’s one thing Gale is, it’s thorough. 

He drags her clothed thigh to his hip and presses her harder into the mattress. 

If he can’t please her with his magic then he can damn well do it with his body- loving her in every way they can both imagine until she’s flushed and perfectly spent in his arms. He’d thought about it enough anyway, more and more with each passing day until he’d felt less wizard and more besotted school boy. 

It’s curious, he’d thought at first, how memories of his Goddess, so heavy and cold in their intensity could be eclipsed by such achingly mortal desires. The vision of Tav’s kiss in the weave had seared itself so thoroughly into his brain that he could scarcely watch her speak without wondering about the taste of her lips.   

And on hotter nights, the taste of her body as well.

“Wait- the poster curtains,” she gasps as his hand wanders under her shirt. When his lips don’t leave hers, she pulls him back and gestures to the open fields around them.

Ah. Privacy. Something he’d been far too pleasantly distracted to remember. He quickly turns around and waves them shut, his summoned aurora disappearing behind the thick drapes.

 As do his words when he faces her again.

Tav sits back against the cushions. She’s shadowed in the dimmer light but quite clearly completely naked.

The question of how she was able to do that dies on his tongue as he takes her in. He’d witnessed stars crash down like diamonds in the astral sea and magic born anew in the heart of Elysium and yet he can’t fathom a single sight that has left him quite so breathless as the woman smiling in front of him.

She chuckles at his silence and crawls forward, caressing the side of his face. “Ah so this is what you look like tongue-tied.” Her other hand slowly pulls the fastening of his shirt open until her thumb rests over the orb. “I think I like that.” 

His breath catches as she continues to stroke the spot. There’s a familiar fondness blooming over her face, something he’d only glimpsed during whispered conversations when the wine made her eyes shine. 

He wraps his arms around her middle and tips them both back against the sheets. He captures her mouth again, letting his hands find their own path across the miles of bare skin under him. He bites a groan into her shoulder as her hips rise to meet his, soft and blissfully warm.

“I wanted to do that,” he mumbles into her neck.

Her answering laugh rumbles through both their chests. “Well, I can put my clothes back on if you’d prefer.” 

Her tease melts into a gasp as he kisses her ear. 

“Don’t you dare.”

He sits back so she can tug off his shirt. He draws focus as she does, taking in every small detail: the scent of her hair, the sway of her hip, that previously hidden trail of freckles now spilling in a constellation over her breasts. He savours each one, pressing them like flowers between the pages of his memory. 

Tav takes her time undressing him, kissing every new inch of skin revealed. He swallows a string of rather unbecoming words as she mouths against his underwear, kissing and sucking in a devastating pattern. His eyes slam closed as she pulls them off and her lips close over him. He’s already fully, desperately hard and those sinfully wet noises are not helping his already precarious self control. Her tongue traces the full length of him and his hand flies to the back of her neck.

Gods, the verses he could write about her mouth if she’d let him.

A cooler air hits him as he suddenly feels her jerk back. He shifts onto his elbows and sees her sitting frozen by his legs. Her whole body is bathed in brilliant blue light, the orb in his chest now glowing under her wide-eyed gaze. It takes him a moment to realise she’s only seen it this way a few times before- either when he was doubled over in pain or as it greedily devoured the magical items they could part with. 

“Don’t worry. It’s safe, I swear to you,” he says, taking her hand and pressing it over the orb. It pulses under her palm, perfectly in time with his heart. “Before, excitement was something I had to avoid as such feelings made it hard to keep control. But now it’s not going to do anything unless I make it so.”

Her face relaxes as she looks from his chest to his face. Her lips twist into a gentle smirk. “So I suppose this is why my advances at the party were not getting me anywhere?” 

He laughs softly at the memory. “They were more than welcome. To know that what you pictured in the weave was no mere fantasy, but something you wanted- it was everything to me.” He cups his hand over hers, the orb still shining brightly under their touch. “Trust me when I say that I really considered testing the bounds of my self-control that night.”

He’d sat by his tent and thought in circles for hours about whether one night with her was worth disintegrating an area the size of a city. And as their journey went on, it became harder for the answer to that question to be anything other than a thunderous yes.

“Were you worried that I might seek different company?”

He pulls her a little closer at the question, pressing his forehead to hers. “Perhaps a little, but I couldn’t have really blamed you. With such danger around every corner, taking comfort with another in a moment of calm is… understandable.” His words are a half truth at best. He vividly remembers the looks she’d gotten from their other companions that night, ranging from sweet adoration to a much darker want. But despite it all, she simply made her rounds and bid each a brief goodnight. 

Even though he lay in his bedroll alone and aching that night- there was a new spark in his chest. That despite everything, she might be willing to wait for him.

“Do you know what I did that night instead?” she asks. She wraps her arms around his neck as he shakes his head and moves onto his lap. He audibly swallows as she shifts her heat against him. “When the party was finally quiet and everyone else had taken to their bedrolls, I let my mind wander anywhere it wanted. And as the night crept on, I couldn’t stop thinking. Thinking about you.”

His hands tighten against her thighs as her lips touch his chin.

 “What did you think about?” he whispers. There’s no hiding the want dripping from each of his words, the orb flaring brighter with anticipation. 

“A few things. Your face, the way your mouth quirks just so when you’re casting. But mostly your hands.” She presses a kiss to his fingers, her eyes alight. “I’ve seen what you can do with them. You’re always so very… precise. So when the fire burned low, I thought about what those hands might feel like touching me. But sadly I don’t think my own fingers could do them justice.” She leans back and he watches rapt as her wicked mouth continues in a low whisper. “So this won’t be the first time I find pleasure with your name on my lips.”

She kisses his cheek as she finishes. It’s the exact moment Gale feels his patience snap in two. 

He grabs both of her wrists and pushes her onto the mattress.

“You need not wonder any more,” he mouths against her neck, ready to show her just how precise his hands can be. 

He kisses down to her breasts. Her heart pounds against his cheek as he covers one with his mouth, licking over her nipple until it hardens under his touch. He lightly massages the other, savouring each little gasp and whimper that spills from her lips.

She cries out louder as he tugs her nipple between his teeth. He does it again, slipping his leg between hers and parting her thighs with his knee. There’s no hesitation in his touch as he maps a new path, softly caressing her stomach before dipping lower.  

Her breath catches as he brushes her folds, so he presses harder- spreading the wetness building against the pad of his thumb. He circles her clit slowly at first, lifting his mouth so he can watch her face twist and bloom with want. 

He kisses the tip of her breast, then her lips. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers, skirting his mouth down with clear intent. 

She cries out again as he strokes the length of her with his tongue before pausing to press a gentle kiss to her clit.

Her hands find in his hair as he circles the spot.

“Gods.Yes. Right there.”

He takes his time tasting her. Coaxing the weave is a specific art, one that requires such careful use of the tongue. It’s a skill he’s built over many years and one he can use right now- pulling pleasures grander than any magic from her body. He adjusts his technique as he goes, using the pitch of her cries to guide him.

His thumb takes over against her clit as he slowly presses his tongue inside her.

Her thighs clamp down against his head as she comes. He continues to thrust in and out as she rides her high, leaving him wondering how a litany of curses can sound so sweet coming from her lips. 

He’s back on her before she has time to catch her breath, kissing her swollen clit again and drawing it between his lips. He presses a hand just under her navel, finding a new rhythm with his mouth as she writhes under him. 

He isn’t sure how long he stays there, licking and massaging, feeling her finish again and again and again until tears well like burning stars in her eyes.

He could stop now. The ache in his jaw and shoulders are certainly begging him to. So many others would probably be more than satisfied having felt her come the first couple of times, but he knows he’s not there yet. Not until he’s sure that his name and this night are rooted in her memory as strongly as the magic inside her.

When the dust of his sacrifice has long since cooled and tales of this adventure are strummed by the city’s bards, he cares not if his involvement boils down to one line. The wizard that made his mistakes have meaning. It’s her version of the story that matters. The one she’ll keep to herself. The one that years in the future, she may find herself thinking of on quieter nights. That amongst the blood and steel and dirt, she’ll remember softer lips, careful hands, the shape of fireside stories told with words long since forgotten. And hopefully, when those memories flicker just right, that she was loved desperately and completely.

Even if the face of the man who’d said it has been worn away.

He returns focus between her thighs, licking with renewed vigour until her exhausted pleasure reverberates like a hymn between the sheets.

There’s one more thing he’d like her to remember, something entirely selfish but it would be a lie to say it’s not driving him just as hard right now. In a month or a season or a year when she takes a new lover, there’ll be that brief moment where her mind will wander, wondering if anyone can bring her to the heights that he was able to in a single night. 

She tugs his hair and he finally pulls back from her quivering flesh. He can only imagine his face right now- eyes bright, breaths ragged, chin shining with the evidence of her pleasure. What he’d give for a mirror so he can see himself truly undone for her.

He kisses the inside of her thigh. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Gods no, I -“ her words catch as he sucks the skin just hard enough to leave a mark. “We have all night,” she finally gasps out. 

He rubs the purple spot and climbs over her again. “Yes we do. And I intend to use every moment of it.”

He rolls to the side and pulls her back flat to his chest. He kisses her throat and rubs the planes of her body until she relaxes soft as water against him.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs as his hands brush over her breasts, cupping them gently. She throws her head back as he rubs his thumb over her nipple and kisses down the curve of her throat. 

His lips stop when they reach a scattering of familiar pin-prick scars. The marks left from Astarion’s bites.

It’s the first time he’s seen them so close and he’s a little surprised at just how many there are. Most are faded, but a few are pinker and clearly still healing. Something grumbles in his throat when he notices a pair closer to her collarbone. They’re raised and swollen, probably less than a day old.

He knows it’s just a means to an end. She’d assured him as such when he’d found her woozily staggering around after the first time. But here, with the taste of her pleasure on his tongue and her skin against his hands, he feels oddly bitter about it.

He covers the marks with his mouth and, in a sudden flush of possessiveness, bites down hard. Her shocked little squeak echoes between the curtains. He immediately lets go, but she grabs his head and pushes his mouth back down before he can even think to apologise. He follows her lead, sucking and nipping his own marks into the skin until he knows a bouquet of purple bruises are going to shine there for everyone to see come morning. 

He smiles at the thought as his palm drifts down to cup her sex.

She bucks against him, moaning as he presses a finger inside her. His breath leaves him in a long sigh as she thrusts down, working herself against his touch. He lets her find her own rhythm, enjoying the tight slick heat as he adds another finger. 

Tav cries out again, one hand cupping the back of his neck, the other flying down to cover his own. He kisses her jaw as she moves faster and gently presses her over-sensitive clit with his thumb.

Her back slams against his chest. Her thrusts are rough and jerky against his fingers, but her answering cry is different. It’s barely audible, but he catches the whisper as it brushes past her lips like a prayer.

“Gale.”

His hand immediately stops. 

He rolls over, removing his hand and settling himself between her thighs in one quick movement.

“Say that again,” he whispers, pressing himself against her heat until she sighs and shivers under him.

Her smile softens. She touches his temple, then his cheek, leaning up to kiss her answer against his mouth. “My Gale.”

Before he can react, she’s hooking her leg to his hip and rolling them over again. She brushes her lips to his forehead as she grips his erection and slowly eases herself onto him.

His hands clamp over her waist and it takes every iron-wrought fibre of his self-control not to finish right then and there. 

Her mouth falls open as she fully seats herself. He can already feel the curve of her lips spilling into his dreams: red and wet and parted with desire. It’s a heady sight.

He heaves himself up as she slowly starts to move, letting his mouth explore every inch of sweat-slick flesh he can find. She shudders harder as he brushes over her pulse, so he does it again, then one more time, groaning as her thrusts become more erratic.

The planes of their bodies glisten with the orb’s light. Gale briefly looks down to watch it brighten between them. It’s both salvation and extinction, the evidence of his own hubris burned like a death warrant in his skin. There hasn’t been a day since his fall where he hasn’t fantasised about clawing it out of his chest. 

He’s finding it hard to hold onto that feeling when it’s currently making Tav glow like the divine in his lap.

He closes his eyes and lets himself get lost in the feeling. Her mouth is everywhere, hot against his chest, his jaw, his ear. His fingers dig into her back as she softly bites the lobe.

When he pulls her face back to his, there’s something hanging between her teeth, small and glinting in the light. He stops moving when he realises it’s his earring. 

She doesn’t say anything as he takes it from her, but her eyes waver with uncertainty- waiting for his reaction.

He turns the star between his fingers. It’s slightly tarnished from years of wear and something burns right under the orb as he takes in every tiny scratch and imperfection.

They both know it’s more than just some trinket. It’s the emblem of magic itself, his everything, the person he’d been told he was ever since he’d been able to use his hands. And it’s Her. 

Mystra.

His chest burns harder.

Every night since she’d cast him out he’d thought of her. Her love. Her anger. How she’s still so intimately intertwined with his power just as the night and stars above. Once upon a time that thought had brought him some sense of comfort, that with every spell that crackled between his hands her eye may have been upon him, perhaps just long enough to feel his remorse. 

A year of silence that earned him. A year of stony unwavering devotion that he refused to shirk. Nights conjuring her visage, practising his apologies and admonitions, feeling those grey hairs lengthen under his own cold purple light. And when the sun finally warmed his robes again, there was a break in that silence, her final gift wrapped in Elminster’s resolute words.

Death. And then perhaps what she’d consider her forgiveness.

Gale drops the earring on the mattress and eases Tav onto her back. Her eyes squeeze shut as he thrusts harder, chasing that burning thread of their joint pleasure. Gone is the finesse of before, replaced with a darker, frantic want to feel her, love her and forget everything beyond the cradle of her arms.

He bites at the fruit of her lips, tastes her desire, then kisses that swollen curve as if he can press a lifetime of adoration into her skin.

She turns her face into the pillows but he guides it back to him, gently holding it there so he can watch every flicker of bliss as it rolls in waves over her. It’s a shameful want, but he needs to remember, to hold on, so that when this is done and she’s too far away to watch him burn, he can let the last thing he sees be someone who’d loved the whole of him. 

And perhaps, if he can cling onto those infinitely precious parts of her, something can bring them back together one day. Maybe after the universe has long since dimmed. 

“Wait- please.”

Her breathy cry pulls him from the thought. Her eyes are wide underneath his, her mouth half open with an unfinished thought. He slows his hips as she lifts herself and strokes the side of his face.

“I'm not letting you go, Gale. Not now. Not ever.”  

Her words are a whisper but their strength is clear, as steadfast as cliffs to the wind. He feels each one take root inside him. The promise of love, of someone so clearly ready to fight fate and the Gods for him- it’s so new and strangely wonderful. 

It threatens to break his heart all over again.

He takes her fingers and kisses each one before laying her down again.

“I know.”

She comes one last time with his name on her lips. He drinks the gasp from her, collapsing into her neck as he follows over the edge. She holds him through his final thrusts, humming softly against his hairline.

“That’s it. Let me feel you.”

He basks in the boneless feeling for a moment before pulling out, murmuring a spell so the mess between them disappears.

She chuckles and pulls him more comfortably onto her chest. The slowing beat of her heart drums a soft rhythm against his ear. He listens a while as he catches his breath, trying to centre his thoughts.

There’s a lot he wants to say, too much, speeches he’d written then rewritten in his mind as he’d sat waiting for her earlier. 

She runs a hand through his hair and the words catch behind his lips. It’s an unhurried movement, her fingers gently raking from the top of his head to the nape of his neck and then back. When her thumb caresses the tip of his ear, something hot forms in his throat.

He can’t recall the last time he’d been touched with such casual tenderness. Certainly not in Mystra’s embrace. Those arcane pleasures were so abstract and blindingly intense, there was never a moment to simply… feel. 

It’s then he realises: spending so many years making love as the Gods do, he’s half sure he’s forgotten what it feels like to actually be held. 

When he looks up, her eyes are trained to the canopy. He taps her collarbone until she blinks.  “What are you thinking about?” 

“Nothing.” Her voice is airy, her gaze still about a thousand realms away.

“That’s rather a lot of nothing that seems to be troubling you.”

She tugs his hair, rolling her eyes. 

He smiles and shifts over her, kissing the annoyance from her mouth until she finally relaxes again.

“Fine,” she murmurs, guiding his cheek back to her chest. “I was just wondering what the chances were that I’d actually end up here. If I’d stayed home that day or run faster or  hidden- I’d probably still be in Baldur’s Gate right now, none the wiser to any of this.” She sighs and starts stroking his hair again. “I’ve seen more of Faerûn than most people. I don’t think I’d even know this curse was basically on my doorstep if I hadn’t been captured.”

Gale nods. “Few have lived to tell the tale I presume. I doubt this is on anyone’s list of holiday destinations.” He brushes the cluster of freckles he found earlier, delighted at the gentle trail of goosebumps that follow. 

“It’s strange. I don’t think I regret it happening though. Not completely,” she continues quietly.

“Given what we’ve just done I can agree with that.”

She tugs his hair again, softer this time. 

“There’s still so much more I want to see,” she says.

“And you will. You don’t need to worry about that.” ‘Let me worry about that’ is what he doesn’t say. 

She hums her assent, gaze still lost to the material above. “I’ve never actually set foot in Waterdeep either. Maybe one day.”

His heart squeezes a little at the name. Home.

“You’d need more than a day, trust me. It’s called the City of Splendours for a reason,” he says, picturing that last lazy sunset he’d watched from his balcony. “There are ten-thousand things to see, a lifetime isn’t even enough time to appreciate all it has to offer.”

“Where would I even start?”

“I can always pen you a guide.”

“Or you can just show me.” She catches his eye as he lifts his head. “Not that I’m doubting your illusion didn’t do it justice but it would be nice to see that view properly.”

He tries not to let his smile falter. There’s no cruelty to her words; no hint that she’d forgotten what he’d told her before they’d kissed. He’s chosen his fate and even now she’s fighting him on it, like she has some grand plan up her sleeve stronger than the Netherese inferno waiting to detonate in his chest.

He sighs and holds her tighter. 

It would be a callous thing to argue. She’d wanted to make love in the real world, but between these curtains they can stay wrapped up in a different illusion until morning. They’ll both leave these lands. Alive. Together. 

He presses his lips to her heart. “Of course I will.”

Over the next hours, their conversation is slow and easy. He talks about everything and nothing until he feels her breathing even out and her grip relax against him. 

He should sleep. His body aches in a multitude of different ways but his mind won’t let him. 

One night of passion to sate his love, to give him something to hold onto as he followed Mystra’s command- that was the plan, the only plan he’d thought of. But now, lying in her arms and knowing she isn’t just going to stand back and let him end himself, he can feel that resolve crumbling.

He’d had his moment with her but it’s not enough, not even close. If he’s being honest with himself, he’d known that since he’d watched her walk through the image of his tower. She’d fit so easily, like she was made to be there. His illusions are good but it had set a deeper want inside him, to have her there for real. 

He can see it so clearly now: watching the sun brighten her skin on his balcony, introducing her to Tara properly, making love to her in his own bed-  could it be such a foolish thing to consider? 

His heart pounds harder and he feels his chest tighten again.

The orb is still an ever present danger. Even quelled right now, he knows Elminster’s spell is just a temporary stop- but it’s still time. If they defeat this Heart of Absolute another way, then he could hold on for weeks, maybe even months. It'll be enough to take her home and make some memories outside of this wretched adventure- give her something brighter to think on when she hears his name.

He swallows as he turns the picture over in his mind. He’d incur his Goddess’ ire a second time and potentially damn the world just to stay a little longer on this plane. 

The thought doesn’t taste so sour now- not if it’s with Tav. 

He’s a dead man walking either way. If there’s any chance he can fill those final days with love, no matter how infinitesimally small, he’s going to take it.

He closes his eyes and finally lets sleep take him.

For now his charge changes. For now, he’s choosing to live.

♥・。.。*♥*。.。·*♥*·。.。*♥*·。.。*♥*。.。·*♥

I actually think it makes complete sense for Gale to keep the earring the entire game buuuut I had this image of Tav pulling it off so... here we are.

This can kind of be read as a prequel to my other work: Stay , but isn't necessary reading.

[omgreally]

Hurried - Joel Miller/F!Reader - E 18+ - 660 words - Warnings: smut (duh), a light dusting of joel miller flavoured angst.

Joel’s panting against the side of your neck as if he's been running. Quick, edged with an urgency he thought had long since faded from his blood.

It's rare you get a moment, just the two of you. When it happens, it's usually fleeting, a snatched, fumbling encounter in some cramped, dark space away from prying eyes. This time feels the same, but you know you have time. Ellie's off somewhere with Dina tonight and Joel doesn't have patrol, for once. You have hours. But Joel is pawing at you as if you're both about to be attacked by Clickers.

Well. It wouldn't be the first time. But you're safe here in this little slice of civilization. You hope so, anyway, if only because you're not sure you would be able to get your clothes on in time if you weren't.

“I bet you haven’t got a condom,” you mutter against the press of Joel's mouth. He tastes like coffee and sweat and him.

“Didn't think about it,” he confesses when you break from him to breathe. You almost laugh. It's like he's surprised every time you sleep with him. As if he's mystified why you would choose him.

Sometimes you wonder how much you matter to him, but it's moments like these that remind you.

"For an old man, you sure do act like a much younger one sometimes."

"Is that supposed to be an insult?" Joel seems to take it as a challenge instead. He sweeps your wrists into his grip and pins your hands above your head, and this time, you do laugh. The mattress creaks beneath you, and you can only hear the quiet night noises of the house, but he shushes you with a warm finger against your lips anyway. You wait, patiently.

He slides into you unhurriedly, and this time it feels like he knows he’s got all the time in the world to make you feel good and he plans to savour it. You gasp at the sudden stretch of him, more than enough to crowd the breath from your lungs. Your heels settle against the small of his back as he comes to rest inside you, holding himself deep.

“Ah, fuck,” you gasp, a pathetic, punched-out whine. Joel agrees with a soft, deep noise as he pulls his cock out a little and plunges back in, quick enough to make your heartbeat skip. The frantic clench of your pussy welcomes him.

"Slow down," you whisper as he does it again, and again. You're dizzy, fuck-drunk and reeling already. The sharp, deliberate jab of his hips is threatening to push you over the edge before you're ready. Joel slows to a torturous in-and-out drag, pausing long enough to make you start writhing, and you catch the outline of his grin in the dark.

"Now you're just teasing m-"

He surges into you. Anticipating your moan - out of habit - he covers your mouth. You close your eyes, arching.

You’re already pretty sure you’re going to come by the time he reaches between you to gently and deliberately thumb your clit. That just confirms it.

You wanted to take your time, but Joel always feels like he's trying to beat the clock.

His rhythm is steady even when his breathing isn’t. You grab at the rippling bulk of his shoulders to ground yourself, but it doesn’t work. Your orgasm floods you with heat and endorphins and the rippling, uncontrolled pulse of your pussy around the thick of his cock.

He gasps as he feels it - “Jesus,” - pulling out just in time. He pulses warm, sticky white lines on your stomach, and groans deep in his chest.

“Christ,” you agree breathlessly, and Joel rests his forehead against yours, panting still.

“You're gonna be the death of me, Joel Miller,” you murmur, stroking his hair, kissing his chin.

You think it might be your imagination, but he seems to hold you a little tighter after that.

One day, you hope he'll realize that he's no longer living on borrowed time.

[vhstown]

tag team

— hobie brown x gn!reader

summary: Authoritarian regimes aren't immune to a bit of graffiti; you can't do it without Spider-Punk, though.

content/warnings: fluff, banter (that has the... unintended effect), mentions of politics + discrimination, brief mentions of police brutality + being shot (nobody is hurt dw), london slang is used (im a londoner but still might be a bit ooc lol).

word count: 1.9k

a/n: camden version of hobie. reader is a hopeless loser (rnt we all). ambiguous relationship sort of? criticisms accepted + appreciated ! (i dont write hobie much 💀)

"Go on, then."

Spider-Punk — or Hobie, as you knew him, stood opposite you in the backstreet, arms crossed and with a grin you could practically see under his mask. The metal spray paint can was cool in your hand, which was already clammy with adrenaline as you brought the it to the wall.

This was your idea. It was supposed to be a joke at first, but Hobie thought it was brilliant. He wouldn't let it go: tagging up places in this part of town — the part where people like you and Hobie weren't welcome. Behind the fences and less-than-subtle signs to "keep out", entire neighbourhood reeked of Wilson Fisk: anti-punk, anti-rebellion, autocrat, about class and "serving the man" — whatever the hell that meant. Now, it was going to reek of paint that probably wasn't safe to inhale — at least, the back of some rich white bloke's house was.

Well, "rich white bloke" and "random politician" were interchangeable. You'd be fine; that's what Hobie told you anyway.

The can rattled in your hand as you shut one eye, holding your breath before red paint spurted out onto the wall. Hobie watched in silence, probably in amusement too. You debated threatening him with the can as a joke while you marked out the start of your drawing, feeling the eyes of his mask on your back. The breath you'd taken in before left you, and you haphazardly drew in another shallow one.

You'd been thinking about this for a while: making trouble under the guise of your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Punk, or protest, as Hobie liked to call it. His vigilante persona didn't exactly have the best reputation around here, or anywhere, in fact. Maybe you could change that — or worsen it. Either way, you had to breathe, so you took in another breath.

"Ah, shi—" The tight feeling in your throat exploded into a fit of violent coughing, and you were barely able to feel Hobie's hand on your back as you reeled away from the wall. "What the...?" you managed, before your eyes squeezed shut again, feeling another cough wring through your lungs.

"A'ight, that's definitely not normal." Hobie leaned over with a hand on your shoulder before he took the can out of your hands. You could make out his frown behind the tears stinging at your eyes as you tried to swallow back another cough.

"Yeah?" You furrowed your brows, trying to straighten out your shoulders again. "Didn't know paint could give me TB."

"I haven't got TB," he shrugged, gloved fingers tapping at the can.

"Cause you've got a mask." Hobie suddenly gave you a ruthless thwack between your shoulder-blades, making you flinch. "I'm not coughing anymore, stupid!"

The eyes of his mask narrowed as you shot a look at him; the bastard was probably enjoying this. Maybe you were too.

"You wanna wear it?" he asked instead, thumb already hooked under the bottom of his mask before he pulled it back; his actual was expression more subtle, but still just as taunting.

"Don't you have a secret identity to keep?"

"Think you've got lungs to keep, big man." His knuckles knocked at the centre of your chest before pulling the mask over your face in one quick motion.

The fabric warmed your skin as you adjusted the neck of it a little, feeling the mask blink with you. It was weird; it was kind of like you had nothing on your head at all. But the warmth was definitely from the mask and not the fleeting feeling of his fingers on your chest — and not the devilish look he was giving you right now.

Creak...!

The two of you looked around at what sounded like a door opening. You looked at Hobie, and he just shrugged at you, lips pushed up in his usual unbothered half-frown. His Spider-sense musn't have gone off, but your heart rate did. If you were going do this, you better do it quick.

Though your reference was on your face right now, you knew Spider-Punk well enough to remember the mask. Hobie let out the start of a chuckle when he recognised the giant white eyes you painted over the red. The mask definitely helped. Your arm, already covered in specks of paint, made a popping sound as you reached up to do the spikes, finishing the giant mural of sorts of your lanky, loud-mouthed, anarchist best friend.

The punk in question gave you a slightly curious look as you stepped away, the eyes of the mask on your face narrowing as you scanned over the dripping wet portrait. Pulling it off of your head, your hair was somehow still completely in place as you handed the mask back; no wonder his wicks fit in there.

"Well," you started, watching him look at the mural. "Aren't you gonna sign it?"

"It's your work." He tilted his head down a bit, though mirth was already tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Yeah, and it's of you." It seemed like you didn't have to tell him twice before he zipped the can out of your hands with a flick of his wrist, already spraying an X onto the wall despite the mask hanging by his side. He didn't so much as clear his throat (lucky — you nearly died) as the letters F, N, S and M followed in each section of the X. That was the same symbol on the back of his vest, but you'd never bothered to ask about it.

"What does that stand for?" you questioned, arms folding as you mirrored his stance from before.

"Guess."

"I asked so I wouldn't have to guess." A silent grin you didn't want to entertain started forming on his face. "Fine, uh..."

You wracked your brain; it was probably more simple than you thought, but all your brain could conjure up was: "Fascists need stopping... uh, Monday?"

That got a ruthless snort out of him, making you press your lips together to try and take back your words. "Just Monday?"

"You told me to guess," you shrugged, rolling your eyes before they landed on the painting again. It was still wet; it was warm out, so the dripping wouldn't stop anytime soon. For some reason, it was always sunny in these neighbourhoods, almost like those autocrats had bought the sun too. Whatever, you didn't need the sun — a rebellious 6ft punk did just fine anyway; at least, that would explain why you were so warm around him all the time. "You gonna tell me or no?"

"Facists need stopping..." he mused, in a gratingly posh accent, hand brought up to his chin in a dramatic mockery of pondering. "Nah, I was thinkin' we should just leave it, you know? Let 'em be, innit?"

Hobie Brown — the only person you knew who would joke about their ideologies just to poke fun at you.

"Yeah, yeah, every other day of the week," you added dryly, getting a cackle out of Hobie.

"Thought you were meant to be smart, darling." The remnants of his mock-posh voice bleeding into the "darling". You could just tell he was being unserious — it was something you hated and loved about him. Why would you want him to be serious...?

"Thought you were supposed to be helpful," you spat back, getting another entertained breath out of him. Hobie shook his head before you suddenly snatched the can out of his hand, pointing it at him. The both of his loosely came up in mock-defense, but the grin on his face only grew.

"You threatenin' me now, yeah?" It sounded less like a question and more like another jab at your pride. Things had been a bit too quiet between you two recently, and you felt yourself getting fired up; it was a shame that your heart always raced like crazy whenever the banter started rising.

"Do it, then," he proposed at your silence, taking a step towards you and making you step back. "What's a bit of paint? You gonna cough again?"

"I actually will." You attempted to scrunch up your face in annoyance.

"Cough? I bet." His head tilted down to look at you, wicks shadowing everything but the amused glint in his eyes.

"You've got a serious problem." And you'd got a seriously warm face.

"Got more than just one problem, darlin'." You hated the way it came out of his mouth this time; you'd rather he pretend to speak like Fisk.

"Stop calling me that or I'll actually spray you."

"Didn't know you were a cop."

"Hobie." You let out a sigh, only serving to get another low chuckle out of him; he was so close you could almost feel the vibrations of his laugh. The fact that he was freakishly tall didn't help in the slightest, his silence along with the swirling feeling in your stomach making you unconsciously take a step back.

You winced immediately as you felt your back stick to the wet paint. "Oh, what the hell..."

Hobie's snickering didn't help. "You didn't have to move, you know."

You decided to ignore that, peeling yourself off of the wall and glancing behind you to see your back imprinted on the neck of your Spider-Punk portrait.

"Interesting artistic choice," he mused.

"Shut up, Hobie."

"On it, boss." You felt his hand on your shoulder before he turned you around, making the air catch at your throat as he peeked at your back, which now had a portrait of its own. "Blood of Monday fascists — very rebel. Got your outfit sorted for tonight."

"Your gig's tonight?" you groaned, trying not to look at his face over your shoulder and instead tossing the can back into the bag of other paint cans, still managing to catch how his lips pushed up in indifference, and probably mild entertainment.

"Nah, we're going out, darlin'," he snickered, and you felt him pinch the fabric wet with red paint to peel it off of your back. The rest of you was probably about to turn cartoonishly red too; this man just wouldn't give it a rest.

"Right, and I'm supposed to 'go out' looking like I got shot in the back."

"Like I'd let you," he muttered, removing his fingers from your back before shrugging off his vest, tossing it to you with the light clink of pins and buttons.

You raised an eyebrow, but he wasn't elaborating, so you put it on, trying not to cringe at the feeling of drying paint on your back. The vest was comfortable, though a bit heavy; it was cool, familiar, nice-smelling — like Hobie.

"Lookin' like a little me," he teased.

"I swear, if one more word comes out of your mouth—"

Your threat was cut short by the deafening blare of alarms, the wall in front of you flashing with a red that wasn't paint. Rich white bloke...

"Do all of them have alarms?" you whisper-shouted to Hobie.

"Looks like Willy does."

"Willy..." your brows knitted together as you watched Hobie pull his mask back on. "Fisk?!"

You'd just drawn a giant mural of Spider-Punk at the back of Wilson Fisk's house. A giant signed mural.

Without a chance for you to think, Hobie slung his arm around your back, and you weren't sure whether to be worried about being caught, annoyed about the paint pressing into your skin or absolutely bewildered as you felt your feel lift off the floor, clinging to him for dear life.

The bag of paint cans were zipped into his arm, with you, still wearing his vest, held against him by the other. Another one of his relentless cackles ripped through the air alongside the "thwip!" of his webs. Despite how absurd this was, a laugh of your own escaped too when you made out the fuming face of Wilson Fisk himself, a powerless, shouting little stain on the ground as you zipped away.

The fascists could wait 'til Monday. Right now, you had a gig to go to with Spider-Punk — or a date; he'd figure it out once the police were off of his tail.

🕸️🔭🎸

thank u for reading! i rly had to wrack my brain lmao ... not the best at writing hobie but it's okay im trying lol... again feedback is cool!

just fyi "big man" isn't really used as a gendered term! in my experience at least its used to casually poke fun at people. also if ur curious the FNSM symbol stands for friendly neighbourhood spider-man (i feel like im the only one that didn't know this um lmao)

if u liked this, reblogs r appreciated! catch the rest of my atsv stuff here <3

[greycaelum]

ahhh your kaleidoscope series is so heartwarming! i was wondering if its possible to write a timeskip where kikufuku is older and is basically really protective over his mum in public, i think itd be really cute but funny that hes acting like her bodyguard 😭🫶🏻🖤 thank you if you do this! (his parents taught him well)

Kaleidoscope Series—Clouds and Mochi Chapters: { SSS }

—Gojo Satoru X Reader

𑁍 Synopsis:

16-year-old Kouki is just as tall as the 5'8 man. He should thank his Papa's genes later.

"You need something from my mother?"

"M-mother? I w-was just asking directions." The man replied, looking at you and Kouki back and forth.

𑁍 Genre: fluff, family theme, time skip

𑁍 CW/TW: (1.1k)— stranger trying to hit on you, protective Kouki, Kouki can be a little menace, Kouki's thoughts about relationships, didn't proofread, sorry 'bout that

𑁍 A/N: I've been rewriting this ask for several times over the months and only until this very morning did I feel I could finally do it at my own pace. Pardon the very long wait sweetheart, but I do hope you like this one! I hope you have a great weekend everyone~

Kouki is used to being fawn over. Not even bragging, but girls do swoon over him in his class that he has to escape to the rooftop to evade them.

"Eh? Cause me and your Mama are pretty, that's why you look like that." His Papa answered when he told him that girls in his class kept following him.

Papa? Well, he's not really handsome. His Papa is weird. He looks like a really long sugarcane when he stands straight in his violet uniform. Has someone even told his Papa?

Mama though. He thinks you're very beautiful. Kouki really loves his eyes because it's the same color as yours.

So it's not a surprise having a pretty mother that when you go out guys look at you, a little longer than Kouki would approve.

"We have to buy you new clothes, you're not fitting in the ones we bought last year." You sighed and walk to the department store with Kouki trailing behind you. "I know your Papa is tall, but I never thought you'd be this tall too."

Kouki pouts and shrugs.

"You use me to get the high things Ma, why are you poking my height?"

You laughed, teasing him more about girls in school breaking their necks when he passes them. His sister can't keep her mouth shut to get back at him at dinner time.

His Papa told him it was normal. Those kinds of things, getting attracted to the opposite sex because of curiosity. But he's never felt the need to entertain it. Kouki does get confessions but all of them are politely turned down.

"Why should I? It's not like I like her." He sighed at Yusuke, his friend since middle school telling him he's been a real snob with girls, this recent one is the principal's daughter.

"But don't you get curious about getting into a relationship? All that romance and stuff? C'mon, you're not planning to be a hermit or a monk are you?"

He already knows what it's like. Seeing his mother and father every day, Kouki doesn't really feel the need to seek out relationships, especially fleeting ones. It's not like he likes anyone anyway.

"Oh! I know. You're waiting for Mayumi? Right! It's been years since she changed schools. Are you still exchanging emails with her?" Yusuke grinned ear to ear.

"She's like a sister to me." Kouki stood up and pat his pants from the dirt. "I have siblings, and I'm gonna get angry if some boy or girl just dates them for fun too."

Dating... Huh?

He's rather protective of the girls in the house than fooling around. The same goes for his Mama.

"I want this hoodie Ma." Kouki came back to the aisle with a white hoodie in his hand when he saw a man talking to you.

"Do you know where this cafe is? The mall is big and I'm lost." The man—looking late 20s—rub the back of his neck while looking at you intently as you told him the directions.

Asking questions? Probably the man is lost. That's alright, he'll wait here 'til you finish helping the guy.

"Ah, thank you. If you're free can we get coffee together? I'm Hayato."

Formation SSS

"Ma, I was looking for you." Kouki swooped in. Your eyes lit up and smiled. The man was taken aback by his presence but Kouki ignored him and put on a worried face, with a soft voice. "Papa told you to walk slowly. You can't stress my baby sibling walking around tirelessly. The first trimester is really delicate, didn't you hear what the doctor said?"

"What are you talkin—" You frowned and stare at him like he's ridiculously grown three heads.

"Papa mailed me he's waiting in the store, your rings just finished getting cleaned."

You frowned at him with the sudden remarks but he just winked at you and turned around, and everything changed. Slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans with a blank look on his face, Kouki took one step forward. The man steps back and looks at him with confusion and a glare.

16-year-old Kouki is just as tall as the 5'8 man. He should thank his Papa's genes later.

"You need something from my mother?"

"M-mother? I w-was just asking directions." The man replied, looking at you and Kouki back and forth.

"Go straight in that corridor, turn right at the corner then take the elevator to the ground floor you'll get there." Kouki flatly answered. "Excuse us, my father is not really a patient man."

Kouki ushered you out of the shop. The directions he gave led to the parking lot.

"Y'know, you're really a minion of your father. The only you got from me is your eyes." You chuckled, finding your protective son funnier than scolding his rudeness. "And what baby sibling? Really Kou-chan, after your siblings you still want to babysit another one?" You teased.

Kouki huffs. He really wanted that white hoodie but forgot about it. Unknowingly you didn't realize the direction you're heading.

It was the same cafe the stranger earlier asked you about.

"What took you so long? I was really hungry." His Papa waved.

"Satoru?! I thought you were coming home tomorrow?" You shook your head and sat beside the grinning man. You were quickly enveloped with smothering and teasing.

Kouki sighed at the scene in front of him and turned to his phone, the tread of the recent message is still there.

—————

Him:

Pa.

Papa:

Yes, yes? Miss me Kikufuku? I'm on my way home~ I brought you a ddeokbokki, the spiciest one!

—————

Great, he feels the love. Note his sarcasm, please. Kouki ignored his father's words and got to the point.

—————

Him:

Pa, formation SSS

Papa:

Roger that, where?

Him:

Department store.

Papa:

Okie-dokie on my way Kikufuku.

Him:

On second thought, wait at Cafe Rio

—————

"You two are really!" You huffed but a defeated glint in your eyes.

Kouki stared at his parents getting all lovey-dovey despite the public setting. He should've chosen a more private place to eat.

"I'm gonna get that hoodie, I'll be back." Kouki stood up.

"Owkay~" His Papa chuckled, shooing him away. "Oh, Kikufuku?"

"Mnnn?" Kouki turned back and met his father's thumbs up. This time a genuine tenderness in his Papa's eyes.

"Nice one, son."

Kouki shrugged and waved, walking out of the cafe. His Papa is weird, but he's the only man worthy of his Mama.

On his way out, he saw the man in the department store. The man's eyes were wide open as he stares at his Mama and Papa inside the cafe in disbelief. He then saw Kouki, walking on the other side.

Kouki smirked tauntingly crumpling the man's face and ego more than ever.

Guess what? You're right.

The only thing he inherited from his mother is her eyes. He could be a menace like his father.

—GreyCaelum

PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME

Check out the Masterlist for more

All rights and credits of the Jujutsu Kaisen character(s) mentioned images(s) and songs(s) used, belongs to their respective owner(s)

General/Kaleidoscope Series Taglist: @ice-icebaby @aeanya @gummy-dummy @tender-rosiey

[tellmeallaboutit]

knock knock (Raphael x F!Player)

Chapter 13, In Which Your Father Hangs Himself

AO3

MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING: this chapter deals with suicide and this is NOT the last time this work will feature suicide in graphic detail. Other warnings include: prostitution, sexual aggression / assault, xenophobia, toxic relationships.  

This is chapter from Raul's POV. This got too large for Tumblr so I will only leave the first scene here.

****

"Tell them to go to hell," your father said.

He wasn't even looking at you - he was looking at the fireplace, slumped in his chair, his hand rubbing Bella - his favourite cane corso, a beast of a dog, who lay at his feet with her heavy belly full of pups. She bared her teeth at you when you tried to approach, so you kept your distance. 

"Papa, I obviously cannot do that," you said.

He was in one of his moods, you could see that. 

One of those days he thought he had the holy right to make other people’s day hell. 

"Why not?"

You drew in a sharp breath before answering, "Because today is your eightieth birthday. Because everyone's here to celebrate. The house is more crowded than St Peter’s on Easter Sunday. Because the Prime Minister herself has just..."

He cut you off mid-sentence with a raised hand. "I'm not in the mood for a party. You deal with it, Raul".

Two months of preparation, in which you had to get personally involved because of the announcement he was hinting at. A public announcement he should damn well should make, because he clearly couldn't run Avernus anymore.

"Are you deliberately embarrassing me in front of all these people?" you said. 

"You're embarrassing yourself in front of these people, Raul”, he answered and made a grating initiation of somebody else’ voice, because you surely don’t sound like that. “Oh no, what if they don't like me, what if they think less of me, oh no, oh no. You always worried too much about what people thought of you. They should worry about what you think of them, if you ever wish to amount to anything”.

Merda! You should have known better than to return to Napoli for this farce.

"Ah, forget it. No matter what I do, you will find something to criticise."

Finally, your father looked at you. You took after him in appearance, or so they said; you barely remembered your mother anyway to cross-check. That’s what another thirty years will do to you; grey out your black hair, bloat your jawline, steal your muscles and mark your face with age spots.

There was not so much time left. For him, even less.

God willing.

"No matter what you do? You do nothing," he stated, a look of genuine surprise on his face. "What exactly do you do?"

Don’t answer. Don’t… you… bloody…

"I run an international law firm!”, you exploded. “I employ thirty thousand people worldwide... and I built it from scratch! I own estates EVERYWHERE! PRIVATE JETS! ALL WITHOUT YOUR HELP!" 

He scoffed and looked back at the flames. That was a special talent of his; reducing you to a raging mess while he remained an epitome of calmness.

"He has private jets, look at him. Without my help you'd be making pizzas for tourists, Raul."

This was pointless. It had always been pointless.

What had you ever hoped for? Did you truly think there would be something to make this man proud or happy?

"What did you expect from me?”, you asked. “What was I supposed to achieve to make you proud?!"

"Something that matters", your father shrugged. 

"And what's that supposed to mean? WHAT MATTERS TO YOU?"

"Legacy matters" he said, patting Bella's head. "Isn't that right, Bella? My sweet girl gives me at least five quality cubs every year. Did you know her last litter won Italy’s top prize? That's a good girl.” Then he turned his gaze back to you. "Not like those scrawny things you've been chasing since school. All this whoring, all this sin, and not even a single bastard to show for it".

Bella stuck her tongue out and panted, looking up at your father with sheer devotion. For a fleeting moment, you thought of putting a bullet in his head, and then in hers.

"You can't be serious. You know very well how hard I tried..."

"Obviously not hard enough," he said. "Here I am at eighty, and what legacy do I leave? For whom? Generations before you had given everything, sacrificed everything, everything, and for whom, for whose future? Who will inherit this country? The Muslims?"

He spat on the floor.

"I'll tell you who will inherit my fortune," he continued. "The Church. At least they have the decency to remember who we once were. What we fought for. What we dreamed of building. A nation of pride and ambition and honour. But you, Raul? You fled your home to where the money was and sold your soul to the golden calf”. 

What? No way. Not to the Church. The old man is getting dementia, he is incoherent. That's it, that's what's happening: your father is going senile.

"That's enough," you finally manage to say through clenched teeth. "I'm not going to stand here and listen to this madness any longer. I have too much dignity for that."

“You wouldn’t know dignity if it hit you in the face,” he said. "Maybe my mistake was loving you too much. Spoiling you rotten. Poor boy, he lost his mother so early."

You bristled at his words, but refused to let him have the satisfaction of a response. Instead, you turned on your heel to leave, only to collide with that damned bronze monstrosity.

That thing - the statue that haunted your childhood nightmares; always guarding the door, ensuring no one dared disturb the man who loathed disturbances - Mephistopheles as depicted by Jacques Louis Gautier.

"I swear to God," you seethed. "That damned statue... I've hated it my whole life. The minute you're in the ground, I'm smashing it into dust."

"It serves its purpose," he replied coolly. "Reminding me of my failures when your presence is not enough”.

You paused at the door, deciding that today was the last day you would ever try for him. 

Avernus Capital wasn't worth it. 

Nothing was worth it.

"You know what, Papa?" You asked, struggling to keep your voice as calm and composed as you father’s, "I hope it's your last birthday."

You were hoping for a reaction. But just like always, he failed to deliver what you hoped for. 

He offered none; even the shrug he gave was half-hearted. Bella fell asleep despite all the commotion; her head resting on your father’s shoe.

"Keep hoping," he said. "I plan on living until I'm a hundred and fifty, and then some."

[whyiseverynametakenpls]

I never asked for this

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

Genre : yay ( I think )

Tw : swearing

Pairing : Brother! Vox Akuma x male reader ( platonic )

Characters : vox, you, ike

Story : if you don't want to be my brother, then don't.

A/n : REMINDER THE READER IS A CHILD ( about 11 yrs old ), and pretend ike has like a lot of siblings, and read part 1 for more explanation

Vox remained in silence, his head throbbing with the aftermath of the argument. One part of him urged him to rise, seek you out, and extend an apology. Yet, another part kept him rooted in place, resisting the admission of his own wrongdoing.

Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing a disheveled brown-haired man, clutching a book with a hint of panic in his eyes.

His voice carried an air of urgency as he asked Vox about a missing quill. Vox's mind sparked with an idea, causing a wide, somewhat peculiar smile to spread across his face.

Perplexed, the brown-haired man questioned Vox's expression, anticipating an unusual response. Vox, however, seized the opportunity to divert the conversation.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He questioned, expecting something weird in response.

“Hey Ike, you have siblings, right?” Vox asked.

Ike nodded slowly in response. Vox clapped his hand in approval.

“Okay, so here’s the problem – my brother got mad at me for not spending time with him, and I kind of blew up… And now I need you to cheer him up!” He says unbothered by the weird look he was getting from Ike.

“Wait, wait, no – go back. You said that he got mad at YOU for not spending time with HIM. And now you want ME to go cheer him up instead of YOU?” Ike looks at Vox.

“Yep!” Vox enthusiastically says.

“Uh, no. That’s not going to work, Vox the problem is that YOU’RE the one not paying attention to him. If he knew that you sent me there, wouldn’t he be madder?” Ike explains

“Well yeah, but I don’t know how to cheer people up, you know? And you have siblings, so you have experience!” Vox replies

“I- Vox that’s not how this works…” Once again, Ike refuses.

“Ah, just do it! I’ll help you find your quill too.” Vox begs.

Ike stood in front of Vox’s desk, hesitating. But giving in eventually. “All right, I’ll do it, but don’t blame me if he gets even more mad at you.”

Vox's face lit up with gratitude, assuring Ike that he wouldn't hold him responsible for the outcome.

-----------------✧------------------

"(Name)?" A gentle voice called out.

But it wasn't your brother's voice—it was Ike, the son of the Duke. He was always gentle with you. Unlike your brother, or who you thought was your brother anyway.

“Ike...” You mumble.

Slowly, Ike approached you, his presence exuding comfort. With tender care, he enveloped you in a warm embrace, holding you tightly as tears streamed down your face.

The genuine concern in his eyes surprised him, and yet, it only intensified the depth of his emotions.

As your tears fell, mingling with the sadness etched on Ike's face, you found solace in his presence. It was as if the weight of your burdens could be shared, if only for a fleeting moment.

The words you had held within you for years spilled forth, carried on a current of raw honesty.

"He can't even make time for me. And now, you're the one here. He sent you, didn't he?" you whispered, your voice quivering with a mixture of disappointment and resignation.

Ike's nod, though confirming your suspicion, couldn't erase the empathy that radiated from him.

At that moment, your heart shattered further, confronted by the harsh reality of your situation. Gripping onto Ike as if he were your lifeline, you sought comfort and security in his embrace.

Ike held you steadfastly until the heaviness of your emotions gave way to exhaustion. Tenderly, he guided you to your bed, carefully tucking you in as if guarding you against the world's woes.

As you drifted into sleep, he released a weary sigh, burdened by the weight of the task that lay before him.

-----------------✧------------------

The following day, you awoke in your bed, your mind filled with fragments of the previous night's emotions and conversations. As you sat up, a newfound determination coursed through your veins, propelling you towards your brother's room.

With purposeful strides, you approached the door and swung it open, revealing the sight of your brother within. Without hesitation, you walked over to him and crossed your hands.

“If you didn’t want to be my brother, you could have just told me. No need to ask someone else to play your role.” You sharply commented.

“What?” Vox asked.

“You sent Ike, didn’t you? Yeah, I know. Next time, instead of playing the nice brother, just leave me alone. Do you know how hurt I was? My brother, my ONLY brother didn’t even bat an eye on me. Instead, YOU sent SOMEONE ELSE to comfort me. Knowing well what the problem was. You know what? Maybe you shouldn’t be my brother after all.” You continued.

“No, that’s not what I-“ He was cut off.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses, I gave you so many chances, yet not one time did you use them! Vox, I waited 6 years. SIX YEARS. AND NOT ONE OF YOU HAS TRIED IN ANY WAY TO SPEND TIME WITH ME.” You retorted.

“No, no, (Name), wait,” He said, before you ran off.

-----------------✧------------------

"You really fucked up this time, huh?" Ike's voice sliced through the tense silence, punctuating the weight of the situation that had unfolded before them.

He couldn't resist adding, "Told you it wouldn't work."

Vox released a heavy sigh, his mind swirling with a mix of regret and uncertainty. He felt at a loss, unsure of the next course of action to repair the damage caused.

But Ike's words resonated, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the turmoil.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Vox swallowed the lump in his throat and mustered the resolve to face the consequences of his actions.

With a determined stride, he made his way toward the door, bracing himself for the difficult conversation that awaited him.

-----------------✧------------------

Vox took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before softly knocking on your door. He heard a muffled response from inside, giving him permission to enter.

He pushed open the door and found you sitting on the edge of your bed, your eyes red and puffy from crying.

You looked up, your gaze filled with a mix of anger and sadness. Vox could sense the intensity of your emotions, and he prepared himself for what was to come.

He cautiously approached you, bracing himself for your reaction.

"What is it now?" you exclaimed, your voice quivering with a mix of anger and hurt. "Are you going to laugh at me?"

Vox flinched slightly at your words, his expression reflecting the weight of his actions. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, understanding the pain he had caused.

"I know, I messed up, and I deserve your anger," Vox admitted, his voice filled with remorse. "I should have been there for you, and I'm sorry for failing you as a brother."

Tears streamed down your face as you struggled to contain your emotions. In a moment of frustration, you reached out and lightly struck Vox's chest, a mix of anger and longing in your touch.

"You were supposed to be there for me! We're family, are we not…?" you cried out, your voice cracking with emotion. "I needed you, and you were nowhere to be found."

You made another light hit to his chest, your fist connecting with a soft impact against his body. Again, again, and again, each strike carries a mix of anger and sorrow. But Vox didn't flinch, instead, he held you even tighter in his embrace.

"You can punch me all you want," Vox said, his voice unwavering despite the physical blows. "But what I want to say is that I can't undo the past, but I want to make it right."

The weight of his words, coupled with his calm demeanor, began to quell the storm of emotions raging within you. The anger that fueled your strikes began to fade, replaced by a yearning for understanding and resolution.

"Why did you ignore me?" you managed to say, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. "I needed you, and you weren't there."

Vox's grip on you tightened ever so slightly as if to convey his remorse and acknowledgment of his shortcomings. His voice carried a mix of regret and determination as he responded.

"I'm sorry for not being there when you needed me," Vox replied, his tone filled with sincerity. "I was caught up in my own world, my own responsibilities, and I lost sight of what truly matters. But I promise you, (Name), I will do everything in my power to make it right."

The force behind your strikes began to dissipate, replaced by a growing sense of vulnerability and a flicker of hope.

You released your clenched fists and allowed yourself to sink into Vox's embrace, seeking solace and understanding.

"You better mean it," you whispered, your voice tinged with vulnerability. "I don't like empty promises."

Vox nodded; his gaze unwavering. "I do mean it. I understand that trust needs to be earned, and I'm willing to work for it. I want to rebuild our bond, to be the brother you can rely on."

A mix of emotions washed over you as you took in Vox's words. Your anger started to dissipate, giving way to a longing for connection and understanding. Slowly, you reached out and embraced Vox, holding onto him tightly as tears continued to stream down your face.

"I hope you're serious," you whispered, your voice filled with a mixture of hope and vulnerability. "Because I don't want to feel this way anymore. I want us to be there for each other."

Vox returned the embrace, his arms encircling you in a gentle yet firm hold. He rested his chin on the top of your head, his voice filled with sincerity.

"I'm serious, (Name). I'll do whatever it takes to regain your trust and be the brother you deserve," Vox vowed, his voice filled with determination.

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

<- MASTERLIST

<- first part

-> sibling angst my love 😍

[sarahwroteathing]

Project Amaranth (4)

[Bucky Barnes x Reader]

Word Count: 2268

Summary: Bucky and Sam move you to a new safe house.

Warnings: None

A/N: AH sorry, my loves. I had class tonight and didn't notice that the post didn't go through when it was supposed to. Nice to know that my queue still only works half the time. Reliably unreliable. Anyway! Happy Halloween!

Catch up here!

"How does he already look mad?" Sam sighed as the car cleared the last bend in the long, heavily forested road to Steve's house.

He was waiting on the porch, leaning on the rail with crossed arms and a displeased expression as he watched them approach up the gravel drive.

"His face got stuck that way when he was eight years old. Try not to take it personally," Bucky said mildly, smirking at the snort it elicited from Sam.

"Alright, I'll go talk to him. Let him know what's going on before we spring his new roommate on him"

"He's not going to say no," Bucky said, glancing at you where you sat in the backseat, hands tightly clenched in your lap.

"I know, but we still need to give him a chance to."

Sam put the car in park, pausing for a moment to meet your eyes in the rearview mirror.

"One way or another, we'll figure this out. We've never been good at giving up on people. You okay with me telling Steve everything you've shared with us so far?"

The corner of your mouth tugged down, but you nodded.

"Okay. I assume you two need to talk too. Bucky, I'll text you when we're ready for you. But take all the time you need."

With one last nod that seemed more for his own benefit than for yours or Bucky's, Sam climbed out of the car, leaving the keys in the ignition. You watched in silence as he approached Steve, clapping him on the shoulder and drawing him into a brief hug before gesturing him inside. Steve glanced towards the car curiously, but made no show of protest, disappearing into the house and closing the door behind them.

"You didn't warn him," you said quietly. "About me. He doesn't know I'm here or what you're going to ask him to do."

Though your words had a ring of accusation, your voice was flat, emotionless. He knew it well. It never meant anything good.

With a bracing breath, Bucky unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out of the car, moving quickly to join you in the backseat before you could jump to any dangerous conclusions. You looked a little startled by his sudden closeness, but you tried to hide it, scooting a couple inches away from him while masking it as a change in position. Your shoulder pressed firmly against the door, but you didn't reach for the handle, watching him closely.

"We didn't tell him because we didn't want to risk anyone else finding out. Sam called to tell him we were visiting, and that was enough to let him know something was going on without tipping off anyone who might have been listening."

You pursed your lips, turning your head slightly to scan the surrounding trees while keeping Bucky in your peripheral.

"I thought you said he was your best friend. Do best friends not visit each other?"

Bucky smiled a little.

"I visit. I just never ask."

Your eyes returned to his as you gave a speculative hum.

"And Sam Wilson?"

"Sets up visits at least a week in advance."

"He sounds like a better friend."

"He might be. But Steve's known me too long to give up on me now. He's always happy to see us anyway."

The small smile you'd been sporting slipped a little.

"Not this time."

"He's just worried. He'll get over it. I just want to make sure you're still okay with this plan before we go inside."

"Well, I don't have a better one, so..." You sighed. "Nothing can be worse than where I was before."

"Come on now. The couch wasn't that bad."

Bucky smiled when his comment shocked a laugh out of you. Fleeting and confused, but a laugh nonetheless.

"That's - That's not what I - "

"I know," Bucky said with a shrug. "But it made you smile for a second."

You stared at him, something strange passing through your eyes. He thought you may have been about to speak, but the chirping of his phone had you receding again behind a stoic mask. 

Sam, telling him they were ready. 

“You alright?”

You nodded.

“I trust Steve with my life,” he reminded you quietly. “He’ll always try to do the right thing. He won’t hurt you.”

“What if I hurt him?” 

“Do you want to?”

“No, of course not,” you said quietly, frowning down at your hands.

“Then you won’t,” Bucky said with a shrug. 

“That simple?” you scoffed, but Bucky stayed steady, nodding slowly. 

“This time? Yeah, I think it is.” 

You broke eye contact again to tug restlessly at the neckline of your borrowed sweatshirt. 

“Ready?”

“I guess.” 

Bucky slipped out of the backseat, holding the door open for you as you followed. Neither of you spoke as you approached the front door, the crunch of gravel beneath your boots softening to a nearly silent step on the porch. He couldn’t tell whether it was intentional or instinct.

Sam and Steve were sitting on the couch when the two of you walked in, but Steve stood slowly as you came into view. You held position one step behind Bucky and half a step to the right. 

“Hi,” Steve said with a gentle smile, keeping his hands shoved deep in his pockets to curb the habit of a polite handshake. “I’m Steve.” 

You gave an uneasy nod, face tense and blank like you were unsure how to act or what to say in this situation.

“I know we’ve just met, but I’m really glad you’re here.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, head tilting to the side in question as your eyes darted to Bucky and back to Steve again. Steve wasn’t smiling anymore, eyes solemn and projecting that 110% sincerity that only he could pull off. 

“Whatever happened before and whatever Hydra did to you, I hope you know that you didn’t deserve this.”

You blinked hard, faltering a shuffled step backwards. Bucky stepped in smoothly before the overwhelm could shift to panic.

“Does this mean she can stay here with you?” he asked. 

“Of course. As long as she needs.” 

Bucky glanced over to you, and though you still looked slightly dazed you nodded your acceptance. 

“Okay. Her stuff is in the car. Give me a hand with it.”

The sharp clap he landed to Steve’s shoulder left no room for argument, and you lingered uncomfortably in the hall as Steve followed Bucky outside. 

“You’re going to need to ease up a little, pal,” Bucky said softly as they trailed down the porch steps. 

The sun had already set, but full dark had not yet descended. Between the gaps in the trees, the clouds were clinging to the last of their fiery glow. 

“I just wanted her to know where I stand,” Steve said, holding out his hands obligingly as Bucky reached into the backseat for your borrowed duffle bag and the two heavy backpacks from the bunker. 

“I get that, but you can’t treat her the same way you treated me when you found me again. Even when I could barely remember you, I still loved you. Like muscle memory. It made things easier. But if you try to talk to her about her feelings, she might punch you.” 

“Give me a little credit,” Steve said, accepting the duffle and choosing not to comment when Bucky kept a tight hold on both backpacks. “I wasn’t going to start with that.”

“I mean it. Go easy.”

Something shifted in Steve’s eyes at the severe expression Bucky leveled him with. 

“Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll give her space. I’m not trying to scare her off, Buck.” 

“I know you wouldn’t mean to. But your heart's too big for your own good, and that can be… a lot. For people who aren’t used to it.” 

Steve nodded slowly, a smile starting to creep up the corner of his mouth. 

“What did Sam call it again?”

“Aggressive compassion.” 

“Yep that’s the one,” Steve said with a snort. “I’ll try to tone it down for now. No promises.” 

When they reentered the cabin, Sam had managed to convince you to sit on the couch with him. You still looked uncomfortable, but you seemed to be making a concentrated effort to push through it. 

Bucky surrendered custody of the backpacks to you immediately, and as you started to tuck them between your feet and the couch, Steve spoke up.

“Let me show you where you’ll be staying. So you have somewhere safe to keep those.”

You looked up at him, fingers tensing slightly around the straps before you nodded.

“Okay.”

The guest bedroom Steve led you too was the same room Bucky always stayed in when he visited. He’d probably spent more time here than he had in his own apartment bedroom. It was small but clean, the queen bed in the center was crisply made and covered with a plush green duvet. There was only room for one bedside table, equipped with a small lamp, a candle, and an unopened box of tissues. There were two extra phone chargers in the drawer. 

Steve set your duffle bag down on the foot of the bed.

“It’s not much, but I hope you’ll be comfortable. There’s a fan and an electric blanket in the closet if you get too warm or too cold…” he trailed off, looking around the room for inspiration before shrugging. “If there’s anything you need, just let me know. The bathroom is across the hall, and it’s just for you. I use a different one.” 

“Thank you,” you said quietly. 

“You’re welcome. We’ll give you some space to unpack. Look around.”

You nodded absently, already opening the closet and shoving the two backpacks into the back corner. Steve didn’t comment, leading Bucky back out to the living room in pensive silence.

“Everything good?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah, we’ll be fine,” Steve said. “How long does she need to stay for? What’s the plan?”

Sam looked pointedly at Bucky who rolled his eyes.

“We’re working on it.” 

“Working on it…” Steve repeated, his face carefully neutral.

“I’ve been focusing on getting her somewhere safe,” Bucky said, crossing his arms defensively. “I haven’t had time to think much farther than that.” 

“Okay…” Steve said quietly, but the slight strain lurking behind the calm facade made Sam snort. 

“I think you’re breaking his brain.”

“He’s done plenty without a plan before,” Bucky argued. 

Steve hummed noncommittally. 

“Having no plan is better than having a bad plan.”

Sam obligingly switched sides, hearing the frustration in Bucky’s voice. This was intensely personal for him. He was terrified of fucking it up.

“Give us a couple weeks. We’ll come by again and figure things out,” Sam said, standing from the couch.

“Okay,” Steve agreed, accepting the handshake-turned-hug Sam offered.

“We should probably go. Let you guys get settled,” Sam said, turning towards Bucky. “You ready?”

Bucky glanced back towards the door of the guest room. 

“I’ll meet you at the car. I wanna…” He gestured vaguely at the hallway, and Sam shot him a significant look.

“This was your idea, you know.”

“I know. I’m not - I just want to check on her before we leave.”

“You told me you’d be cool about this.”

“And I am. But I wanna see where her head’s at.”

Sam sighed. 

“Alright. Five minutes.”

“Or what? You’re gonna leave me here?” Bucky asked skeptically.

“No. But I am gonna talk to you about boundaries and countertransference all the way back home.” 

“Fine. Five minutes,” Bucky said with a grimace, waving Sam towards the front door. 

Steve shot Bucky a curious look that he pretended not to notice before following Sam.

You were sitting on the bed when Bucky entered the room, looking around the small space with the frown of a lost child. You glanced up at the sound of his boots on the old hardwood, but your expression did not change.

“Are you going to be okay here?” he asked, resisting the urge to close the door behind him. Sam and Steve would be outside by now. “You feel comfortable?”

You tilted your head curiously, gave a little shrug.

“I’m fine. Better than the alternatives.”

“So you’ll stay?” he asked carefully. “You’re not going to run?” 

“For now, I will stay,” you confirmed.

Bucky studied you for a moment, the way you always studied him. You sat still, patiently allowing his gaze to linger without comment. You looked sincere, as far as he could tell. Nervous but not quite restless. He had no way of knowing how long your resolve would last, but for the moment it seemed that you at least wanted to stay.

“Could you tell me if that changes? Please?”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. Not anger. Focus. 

“You’re worried,” you said softly, and Bucky took a deep breath.

“Yes.”

“Tell me why?”

He bit his lip absently. He didn’t want to lie to you, but he wasn’t sure how much of the truth to share. How much would make you feel safe. How much would make you run.

“I want to help you, but I’m not sure I’m doing it right,” he said finally.

You sat with that for a moment, never taking your eyes off him. 

“I’m not in chains,” you said. “I’m free to walk away when I want to. That’s what you told me.” 

“Yeah.”

“If you weren’t helping me the right way, I would leave.” 

“That’s… true.”

“It is,” you said insistently, standing to move a little closer to him.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “So… good, for now?”

“Good. For now.”

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

I've been missing this one - what about you? How are ya feeling? What are we thinking?

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