#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

[corameiwrites]

𖦹 searching for love 𖦹

pair: jason todd x gn!reader

plot: your shift at a small bookstore is about to end when a handsome stranger walks in five minutes before closing

wc: 2k

pt. 2

A far off chime sounded from the old grandfather clock, signaling the passing of another half hour. That meant it was 8:30, and more officially, 30 minutes past closing time. Normally, you would have been packed up and locking the door by 7:58, eager to get home to your grouchy cat, messy room, and half-written research paper. There was nothing normal, however, about the six-foot something man with biceps the size of your head, meticulously browsing the shelves of your bookstore. 

Well, not yours, but the number of shifts you picked up having to pay the bills for your not-so-cheap Gotham apartment had basically made this place your second home.

So when the very fit and handsome stranger walked in a mere five minutes to closing, you lingered a little. Behind the counter at the front of the store, of course. It was far too scary to go and ask him if he needed help—you would run the risk of embarrassing yourself further. 

Earlier, when he had entered, you made the mistake of welcoming him with a rushed “Good Morning” despite the full moon visible through the store windows. He had glanced in your direction, nodded, and walked further into the store, going to start his long search of whatever it was he came here to look for. 

Which, by the looks of it, he found. 

He set the books down near you, looking at an assortment of random trinkets and bookmarks displayed on the counter. 

You smile, recognizing the titles. “Are you a fan of Austen?” 

His head sprung up as though he hadn’t been expecting you to speak to him. “Uh, yeah. Used to read some of her stuff when I was younger. Thought I’d pick them up again.” 

“Ah, I see. Pride and Prejudice is one of my favorites.” Looking up the titles on the rather out-dated computer, you ring them up on the register. 

“Then I’ll be sure to read it first.”  The corners of his mouth twitch up in a semi-smile as his hands retreat into his leather pockets. An odd choice to zip a leather jacket all the way to his chin, but who are you to judge? It's only now you're looking that you notice the scars littered across his face, as well as the few wisps of stark white hair across his forehead. You look down into his eyes, and though it was only a fleeting moment of prolonged eye-contact, it made you feel far too vulnerable.

 Looking away and vaguely remembering some staff meeting about professionalism, you read the total amount due to him. “Cash or card?”

“Uh–cash.” His face blanks, and he blinks twice before digging through his pockets. His brows furrow. “Sorry, I…” his hands pat down his cargo pants before his shoulders slump. His face turns to one of slight annoyance. “I lost my wallet.”

“Oh.” Frankly, you don’t know what to do in this situation, and by the looks of it, neither does he. It's a little awkward—do you suggest he trace his steps? Call the bank to pause all his cards? But he’s paying in cash. Oh god, a thought crosses your mind. Is he a criminal? Fortunately, your mouth speaks before you even process what's coming out of it. “I could…put these on hold for you, if you want?” 

He runs a hand through his hair, and it's embarrassing the way your eyes track the movement. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother. It's my fault, anyways.” 

“It’s not a bother, it happens to the best of us,” leaning over the counter, you point to a small poster with store hours. “I work tomorrow and Wednesday until closing if you want to come in around this same time, but I could tell my other coworkers of the situation if you come in a different day or time.” 

Silently, he stares at the poster. You recline back to your standing position, mentally slapping yourself for sharing your work schedule with a complete stranger who could very well be a criminal. A hot criminal. 

“...You close at eight?” 

“Yes sir, every day except for Sundays.” Thank you for finally showing up, customer service voice. He frowns, lifting his arm and pushing the sleeve of his leather jacket up before looking at you in shock. 

“You're closed right now?” he asked, though it sounded more like a state of a fact. 

You start to fidget with your clothes. “Technically speaking, yes.” 

His hand flies to his face, semi-face palming. “Shit,” he starts to back away slowly towards the door. “I am so sorry, I didn’t know.” 

You smile at his panic, feeling a little amused despite yourself. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” 

“No, it's horrible, I’m horrible.” You can’t help but let out a small chuckle at his apologetic demeanor. By now he's halfway out the door, but turns back at your laugh.

“Trust me, it’s completely fine. I’ll keep these,” you lift up Pride & Prejudice, “behind the counter. Good luck finding your wallet!” 

To that he nods, leaving and walking down the sidewalk in a rush. You stand for a minute, replaying the strange yet exciting interaction, hoping that the man would come again to claim his books. 

You were absolutely going to text your best friend about this when you got home. 

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩  ♥  ✩˚｡⋆𖦹｡°⋆✮

Jason Todd had lost track of time. Maybe it was the warm lighting that made the strain on his eyes decrease, or the soft music soothing his aching head, or the various earth-tone decorations that made him stay longer than he intended. He had only meant to hide for a couple minutes, enough to get Condiment King off his trail and onto Tims. That was until he spotted Pride & Prejudice on a shelf with the exact cover of the one he read in Bruce's library when he was younger. Blaming it on nostalgia, he picked it up, and before long the quaint bookstore became less of a hideout and more of an actual store. 

In all honesty, he could have spent the rest of his patrol in the place if not for an angry text from Tim cursing him out; something about going MIA and getting the mustard and ketchup smell out of his suit. Snapped back into reality, he found himself with a rather large amount of books he definitely couldn’t fit into his motorcycle bag. 

Through little internal debate, he lowered the amount to three books, Pride & Prejudice, 1984, and This Is It, chastising himself as he made his way to the front. It was reckless spending so long hiding when he was supposed to be out on patrol. Hell, his helmet and guns were thrown behind a dumpster in an alleyway down the street! For all he knew, they could be stolen and pawned by some homeless person. 

But there was just something about this store and its ability to make him lose track of time. 

He hurried to the register, glancing at the super-hero themed erasers. He spotted some of his family's personas, grimacing inwardly. Ever since coming back to Gotham, they had been pestering him to join them at the manor outside of vigilante duties. Personally, he would rather be shot ten times before–

“Are you a fan of Austen?” 

He looked up, a little spooked. Did he totally forget that there was another person here, working? Maybe. Scrambling his head for a response proved a daunting task, and that smile you were giving him wasn’t helping. “Uh, yeah. Used to read some of her stuff when I was younger. Thought I’d pick them up again.”

“Ah, I see. Pride and Prejudice is one of my favorites.” You looked through the books, ringing them up on your computer. You seemed almost pleased with his choice in literature. 

“Then I’ll be sure to read it first.” That knowledge, for some reason, makes him happy. From what he remembers, he also enjoyed the tale of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy when he was younger. 

He put his hands in his jacket pockets, slouching a little more than usual as he studied your clothing and your face. You were young, probably around his age and good looking, working at a bookstore; definitely not anyone dangerous. He knew his height and build tended to intimidate people, and despite its uses when he wore the mask, off-duty he rather disliked it. He didn’t look kind or soft the way you did. Conscious of his build and the darkness outside, he did what he could to hopefully put you at ease. 

You turn back to the register, clicking a few buttons. “That’ll be $14.33.” you look back up at him. “Cash or card?”

“Uh–cash.” Legally, he couldn’t use cards since he was supposed to be six-feet under. He moved his hands around in their pockets, trying to find his wallet. “Sorry, I…” Patting down his pants, he inwardly groans, remembering leaving his wallet in his safehouse of the week before going out for patrol. “I lost my wallet.” 

“Oh.” Yeah, he's a dumbass. “I could…put these on hold for you, if you want?” Your voice is hesitant and he swears on everything he will always check if he has money in his pockets before entering another establishment ever again. 

Running a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he picked up on, he waves you off. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother. It's my fault, anyways.” 

“It’s not a bother, it happens to the best of us,” leaning over the counter, you point to a small poster with store hours. You're still talking to him, but he looks at your face, noticing small details he hadn’t before, like the unique slope of your nose, the shade of your lips and how delicately your lashes fall over your eyes. When you stop talking, he averts his gaze at what you pointed to. 

“Open Mon.---Fri. 10 A.M. to 8 P.M., Sat.---Sun. 12 P.M. to 5 P.M.” He reads it again, trying to remember the day. Damian wasn’t on patrol, so it was a weekday. “Open Mon.---Fri. 10 A.M. to 8 P.M.” He rereads it once more in confusion. Given the darkness outside, there's no way it wasn’t past eight already. 

“...You close at eight?” he hesitantly asks. 

“Yes sir, every day except for Sundays.” If you were closer, he probably would have teased you about the customer service voice. He checks his watch. His whole body freezes as he reads the time. 

8:34

His head whips to you in confusion. “You're closed right now?”

“Technically speaking, yes.” You seem almost bashful as you answer.

Instant mortification fills his body, and he could hit himself for what he’s done. Not only did he unintentionally skimp out on patrol with Tim in a bookstore, potentially scaring the innocent and hot worker, but he wasted that workers time by wandering around for thirty fucking minutes past closing.  He starts to leave, apologizing to you, and despite your assurances, he can’t bring himself to face you knowing he’s kept you working later than you should. He's halfway out the door when he hears you laugh, and he momentarily pauses, turning halfway to face you. 

You’re smiling.

“Trust me, it’s completely fine. I’ll keep these,” you lift up a book, waving it at him, “behind the counter. Good luck finding your wallet!” 

His throat seems to close up, and whether it's from embarrassment or that smile, he can’t tell. Nodding, he quickly leaves the store, walking in long strides back to his gear. Guilt, shame, and confusion all pile up inside him as he puts on his thigh straps, holstering the guns he put a little more care into hiding. Zipping down his leather jacket, he puts his helmet on, which immediately reconnects to his line with Red Robin. He's met with instant accusations and threats. 

“Wait for me down Fourth and Main, I’ll be there at nine.” He murmurs quickly, grappling to the top of the nearest building before disconnecting from the line. He perches over the edge, watching the lights in the bookstore shut off before you run out, closing and locking the door.

He takes extra care to keep himself hidden from your sight, ducking behind various rooftop structures and grappling to different buildings, silently protecting your late walk home. It’s only when you’ve entered your building and he sees a corner apartment window light up that he leaves. 

He’ll return to that bookstore tomorrow.

[beloveds-embrace]

(a series in which you are a witch living in the woods, and a group of knights have decided to keep you safe and sound in exchange for kisses and charms.)

Johnny’s arrival was always a joyous affair, heralded by the lilting whistle that preceded him through the trees, hung up bells tinkling through the breeze. You recognized the tune before you even saw him, a signal of his approach as familiar as the rustling leaves and the delighted the hum of your wards.

“Hello, bonnie lass!” he called, stepping into view with his usual bright grin. He strode up to your door with an armful of wildflowers, their petals slightly crushed but still vibrant. “Brought these for you. Dinnae ask what they are- I just grabbed the prettiest ones I could find.”

You laughed, reaching out to accept the bouquet. The mix of blooms, some medicinal, some purely ornamental, spoke of his eager hands plucking whatever caught his eye. But you didn’t mind- the thought was appreciated regardless. “They’re beautiful, Johnny. Thank you.”

“Ah, well. Pretty flowers for a pretty lass.”

You shook your head fondly and stepped aside to let him in. Johnny’s presence was like a burst of sunlight through the dense canopy, and the magic in your cottage reacted to him like ivy reaching for warmth. The air inside seemed lighter when he was near, the flickering candle flames burning just a little steadier, the herbs hanging from the rafters swaying as if drawn to his energy. Even the floorboards, which creaked under every step but yours, barely made a sound when he moved- perhaps the house itself leaned into his presence, unwilling to startle the warmth he carried

As you arranged the flowers in a ceramic vase, he leaned against your wooden table, arms crossed, grin never fading. “You’ll never believe what happened today!” He began, and without any prompting began retellinh you of his day.

You listened with rapt attention as he spoke of training exercises gone awry, not unusual, of weapons misfiring, and- his personal favorite- Gaz slipping face-first into the mud.

“And then wham! Right into the muck, poor bastard! I swear, he was swimming in it!” Johnny cackled, slapping a hand against the table. He kept in mind not too slap too hard, and away from your little bottles.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Poor Gaz. You’re terrible for finding it so funny.”

“He’ll live,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. His face softened as he watched you place the flowers in the vase, the firelight catching in your hair. “Got anything for me today, lass?”

You reached for a small leather cord, from which dangled a small, hand-carved wooden charm, smoothed by your touch and etched with runes only you could read.

“For speed and sure footing,” you tied it around his wrist, your touch sure and gentle. “You’re quick enough already, but this should help in a chase- or when dodging.”

Johnny turned his hand, studying the charm with quiet admiration. His fingers brushed against the carvings, tempered by something more serious and came. “Aye, that’ll come in handy.”

He flexed his fingers, feeling the weight of the charm- or perhaps the weight of the thought behind it. When he looked back at you, his smile was different. Softer.

“Cheers, lass. You are a delight.” He murmured, and it was almost reverent.

As he turned to leave after stealing some cookies, you tugged him down for a quick, fleeting kiss on the cheek.

He winked at you, and his grin returned. “Careful, hen. I might get used to this.”

“As if you already aren’t… but anyways. Thank you for dropping by!”

You loved his visits, truly. They were always so… carefree. But little did you know, his visits weren’t always as untroubled as they seemed.

Earlier that day, before his cheerful whistle cut through the trees, Johnny had dealt with a different kind of visitor- one he would never tell you about.

No need to worry your pretty head, after all.

A small group of the crown’s men had wandered too close to your woods, their voices carrying through the underbrush. Johnny had been returning from a patrol, then on hisbway to you, when he spotted them, their armor glinting brightly in the midday light. They spoke in hushed tones, movements cautious as they studied the ancient trees around them for any traces that could lead them to you.

“Reckon she’s real?” one of them muttered.

“Don’t be daft. ‘Course she is. Locals swear by it.” Another replied. “A witch, hidden out here, practicing magic. If the king knew- ”

“Shut it,” the third man snapped. “We get caught sniffing around lile this with no evidence, we’ll have bigger problems than a witch’s curse.”

Johnny had heard enough.

With the ease of a man who moved like he belonged in the wild, he circled behind them, steps silent. By the time they realized they weren’t alone, he was already there.

The first man barely had time to turn before Soap grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back, slamming him against a tree. The others froze, their hands inching toward their weapons. In the face of a knight like him, they couldn’t even pretend to hold a little respect. Nothing more than fear.

“Now, now,” Johnny crooned, deceptively light. “What are you fine gentlemen doin’ in these woods?”

The man in his grasp stammered. “We- we were just-“

“Just stickin’ your noses where they don’t belong?” Johnny interrupted, his grip tightening. “Bad idea, lads. Very bad idea.”

One of the soldiers shifted on his feet. “We- we meant no harm. Just heard stories-“

“Aye, you heard stories,” Soap repeated darkly. “And I suggest you keep ’em as stories. ‘Cause if you so much as breathe a word about these woods to the wrong folk, I’ll make sure you don’t leave ’em.”

The threat hung heavy in the air. None of them doubted he meant it.

“You understand me?” Soap asked, bright blue eyes- you often likened them to the ocean- now cold and sharp.

They nodded, their confidence crumbling under the weight of his presence.

“Good lads.” Johnny laughed, finally releasing the man in his grasp. He clapped a hand against the soldier’s shoulder, grin returning- but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Now, off you go. And remember: some places aren’t meant to be found.”

The men didn’t need to be told twice. They turned and fled, disappearing into the underbrush without a second glance.

Soap waited until their footsteps faded before letting out a slow breath. He rolled his shoulders, casting a glance toward the distant outline of your cottage, hidden safely within the forest’s embrace.

You’d never know.

He wouldn’t let you.

By the time he reached you, his usual mirth had returned, and the only thing he carried with him was a bouquet of wildflowers and the promise of laughter.

The flower field did so nicely to mask and wash away the scent of blood clinging to him, after all.

Witch of the Wood Masterlist || Simon “Ghost” Riley

[stellar-haikyuu]

dependable ace ☆ ushijima wakatoshi x reader

synopsis: when reader develops a fever after training camp ends, she quickly realizes why ushijima is a dependable ace—just in a different way. details: fluff, sickfic, ~1.3k words, f! reader, relationship leaning toward romantic. warnings: none, other than this isn't proofread lol. also what's with me putting my readers through sickness in my shiratorizawa fics...

It was rather unfortunate that you developed a fever on the last day of the team’s training camp. 

With the inter-high tournament approaching rather quickly, you wondered if the stress and exhaustion from keeping up with the team had finally caught up to you. Then again, you didn’t exactly have the best immune system to begin with.

That morning, you were still fast asleep in your assigned room as everyone prepared to leave. Goshiki had knocked on your door, asking if you were alright. All you could do was hum weakly in response.

At some point, more voices started to appear from different directions. You assumed the coaches and the other members had come to check in on you, but their words just blurred together.

However, one voice cuts through the fog with startling clarity.

“She is not feeling well. What should we do?”

You force yourself to open your eyes. Multiple blinks later, Ushijima’s face finally comes into focus. For a moment, you wonder if it’s a fever dream—there’s something different about his usually stoic expression. It’s much…softer.

The chatter of the team fades into background noise as you focus on the team’s ace. Something about him just keeps you grounded in all the haze.

Your breath hitches when he suddenly makes eye contact with you and calls your name.

“Can you understand what I am saying? Would it be alright for me to carry you to the bus?”

Carry me?

You blink at him, nodding slowly. There’s not much you can do about it anyway—it feels like a hundred bricks are weighing your body down.

Someone gently peels your blanket away and Ushijima squats down in front of you.

“How should I carry her?” He looks at the rest of the team for help. Suggestions are thrown around, but in the end, everyone agrees that the best way is to ask you.

The thing is, you don’t know the answer to his question. 

You take a few deep breaths to think. As your eyes wander, you notice the sunlight slowly creeping across the room, nearly reaching your futon. Some of it shines on Ushijima, bathing him in an ethereal glow.

In your feverish delirium, you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Doesn’t matter…I trust you.”

The world seems to stop as the words leave your mouth. His eyes widen a fraction before he nods once, resolute. “Alright.”

He slowly moves forward to pick you up, his movements careful. You try your best to be helpful, adjusting yourself when he slides one arm under your knees and the other under your back.

“Ah, bridal style.” You hear a snicker from somewhere. “Not bad, Wakatoshi-kun.”

As Ushijima pulls you securely to his chest, you feel the rumble of his voice. “Bridal style? Then…is this inappropriate?”

“No, no, that’s just what it’s called. Don’t worry, lots of people do it, not just married couples.”

“Ah. I see.”

You glance up at his face, taking in the solid line of his jaw and his calm, focused expression. For a fleeting moment, the thought of being Ushijima’s bride runs through your mind. How lucky his future wife would be…

The thought lingers longer than it should, but your imagination is cut short when Ushijima lifts you effortlessly. The sudden motion and slight shift in your orientation make your head spin, drawing a soft groan from your lips. Instinctively, your hands reach out to steady yourself.

Ushijima stiffens for a brief second, and you realize that your arms are wrapped around his neck.

Although you’re pretty sure your entire body is a furnace, you feel more heat rise to your face. Thankfully, no one comments on what you did.

“Her body temperature is very high. We should move fast so she can recover as soon as possible.” 

He directs the rest of the team, following a clear, continuous train of thought. You hear something about retrieving your belongings, checking for forgotten items, tidying up the room, things to buy at the convenience store, and lots more you can no longer process.

At some point, you nod off. It’s the absence of his deep voice that jolts you awake, just as he starts walking out of the room. 

You shift in his hold, braving another glance at his face. He notices and returns your gaze, but none of you say anything for a while.

(And well, it might be better not to, since he’s about to descend the staircase.)

It’s rare for someone to be carried by the Ushijima Wakatoshi, so you try to etch this memory in your mind forever. You focus on his strong arms and how they have not wavered once since he lifted you. 

When he reaches the parking lot, the cold morning breeze hits you. You involuntarily shiver, wishing you had worn your team jacket. 

“You are cold,” Ushijima comments. “Even though your body temperature is rather high.”

“Y-Yeah. That’s how a f-fever works,” you chuckle at his observation. You can’t help but pull yourself closer to him, arms tightening around his neck. “S-Sorry.”

“You do not need to apologize.” He continues walking and the bus quickly comes into view. A pang of disappointment hits when you realize that this moment with him will soon end.

As he brings you onto the bus, you tense at the temperature. A chill runs up your spine as you realize the air conditioning is at full blast. A shaky breath is all you can manage when Ushijima looks at you with…great concern.

“Tendou told me that cuddling increases body heat. Would that help you?”

You freeze, rendered absolutely speechless at his offer. “W-what?”

“He said that it makes a cold person feel better. Do you agree?”

You cannot bear another second dealing with your body’s baffling thermoregulation. At the same time, you want to fulfill a selfish wish to keep him closer to you for as long as possible.

“Yes,” you respond with no hesitation, sucking in a breath.

Ushijima nods at your consent. As he takes the paired seat in front, he gently lays you down next to him. To your surprise, he takes off his team jacket and silently offers it to you.

The generous action nearly makes you swoon. You thank him softly with a promise to return it later.

Ushjima waits patiently until you finish putting his jacket on. As expected, it’s quite big, but you’re just grateful for the extra layer over your pajamas.

“How would you like to...” There’s a tinge of uncertainty in his voice that you’ve never heard before. You can’t help but grin at how endearing he is.

“Um…” You turn towards him, shifting a little closer. Initiating the contact is a lot more daunting than you thought. Slowly, you lift your legs to rest them over his thighs. Then, you lean into him and wrap your arms around his torso.

“Is this okay?” Your voice comes out a little breathless. “If it’s uncomfortable, I can-”

“I am fine with this.” Ushijima responds, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “Would you like me to do anything else?”

His earnest desire to make you feel better tugs at your heart. “You can wrap your arms around me too.”

Ushijima hesitates for a moment, unsure of where to place his arms. You guide him gently, adjusting until the two of you settle into a comfortable embrace.

You close your eyes, sighing in content as his warmth finally envelops you. Throwing caution to the wind, you rest your head on Ushijima’s broad chest. The steady rhythm of its rise and fall is relaxing. 

“I feel better,” you mutter.

“I am thankful that is so.”

Would Washijo-sensei kill you if he sees this? Whatever, you can always blame it on the fever.

As the seconds pass by, you start to hear the thumps of his heartbeat. The rate is a little rapid, but you suppose it’s because he just spent the past few minutes carrying you. It doesn’t matter though, it’s soothing either way.

Before falling into slumber, you hear him speak in a low voice. “Thank you for your trust in me.”

“Of course, Ushijima-san,” You whisper in response. “You really are the dependable ace.”

masterlist

[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.

[yume-joshi]

Gamgin's H-Scene!!

people wanted it, sooo I deliver!!! ;3 again, just send an ask if you want another one transcribed!! SMUT BELOW THE CUT!

ASK: Anonymous says, "YES PLEASE do Gamigin's one next please please please please please"

NOTES: if there is any text which differs slightly from the game, just ignore it!! OCR's do not do well with the mass amount of whb punctuation..

WARNINGS: smut with a little but of funny character interactions, dragon-fucking, shower sex, double penetration

EXTRA: want the visual? scroll to the bottom and click on the link!

Descending the endlessly repeating staircase was as much of a struggle as climbing it. Despite the structure being reversed, it was still called a 'tower,' so there should be a top... meaning an end, but you couldn't tell when it would finally come.

MC: Hah... hah... hah...

Foras: MC, are you alright? Your breathing is pretty heavy... Would you like to get on my back?

MC: I'm... fine... They say it's harder going downhill than uphill... and it's really true..

As you continued descending the spiral staircase, you started to feel a little dizzy. Meanwhile, Leviathan had confidently said, "I'll go ahead and scout," and quickly disappeared down below.

MC: (Right, we're not here for fun, right? Ineed to pul myself together or I'll holdback the devils...)

Just then, while your mind briefly wandered, your foot slipped, causing you to lose your balance.

MC: Ah...?!

But instead of the sound of a fall, you heard a pleasant jingling sound, like a bell.

Gamigin: Are you okay, MC?

With a pure, boyish look in his eyes, Gamigin, now fully in his grown body, pulled you into a hug from behind and asked. In that moment, a cool breeze, like a refreshing northern wind on a summer day, blew from behind, and your peripheral vision was filled with his blue hair and clear, sharp features. Though it was just a few seconds, you felt that fleeting moment as if it were in slow motion.

Thump, thump, thump...!

With Gamigin holding you from behind, his broad chest pressed against your back. You hurriedly tried to hide your flushed ears and quickly expressed your thanks.

MC: Mmm, thanks, Gamigin. If it weren't for you, I would've fallen over!

Gamigin: I knew it! I was just waiting to see when you'd trip!

MC: Ah... I see... Anyway, I owe you one. I'm alive because of you.

Gamigin: Saving people? That's my job.

At the perfect moment, the sound of a bell ringing softly blended with his smile, as if it was echoing in tune with him.

MC: (Wow.. he's really handsome..)

From any angle, whether up close or from afar, this flawless young man was a bundle of charm, and his easygoing nature only made him more perfect.

MC: (I wonder.. does even someone like Gamigin have any weaknesses?)

As you idly thought that, your group started moving again after briefly pausing when you stopped.

Barbatos: Does anyone know how far we've come down?

Glasyal La Bolas: You should ask that devil who moonlights as a debt collector. He must be used to counting and calculating things.

Bimet: What did you say? Are you saying there's another devil like me?

Glasyal La Bolas: I mean you, of course. The chancellor of Tartaros.

Bimet, realizing that Glasyal La Bolas had been mocking him, shot aterrifying glare at him.

Bimet: I don't have any hobbies related to counting things that aren't money.

Glasyal La Bolas: Oh, really? What a shame.

Bimet: All I know is that we've probably descended about 34,280 steps so far.

Glasyal La Bolas: ...You said you didn't have any hobbies?

Glasyal La Bolas reacts with a look of disbelief, releasing a long sigh as if theair itself had been deflated from him.

Buer: To be exact, since I joined, we've descended 34,000 steps, plus another 13. Counting the steps we're on right now, that's 14, 15..16 more.

Glasyal La Bolas: ...Are all Tartaros devils like this?

Valefor: Hopefully not.

As Glasyal La Bolas glances at Valefor, who now seems to radiate an aura of normalcy, his previously frustrated expression softens.

Glasyal La Bolas: How long has it been since you moved to Paradise Lost, and yet you're still acting like a Tartaros devil?

Buer: Hmm.. It's been about.. today marks roughly..

Glasyal La Bolas: No, no. That's not what lasked for.

Gamigin: Well, since Paradise Lost doesn't really have any specific rules, I suppose it's hard to shake off habits from where you came from, right?

Gamigin, stil walking closely beside you, interjects with his calm voice. At that, Barbatos lights up with curiosity.

Barbatos: No rules? What do you mean by that?

Gamigin: Exactly what I said! We're here because we like Lucifer Hyung, nothing more. There's no real set of rules.

Gamigin: Well, of course, there are the nine virtues you need to follow when greeting Lucifer Hyung, the thirteen unwritten rules for meeting him, and of course, the thirty-six taboos in his room... And then...

Bimet: ...I thought you said no rules? What do you mean by that?

Bimet hesitantly asked the exact same question Barbatos had asked earlier, but Gamigin brushed it off with a light laugh.

Because he was walking so closely, you could feel his laughter and the slight tremor in his body, both pleasant and comforting.

Buer: Many of the devils in Paradise Lost are from different lands. Each of them has their own circumstances, and since they've been in their original countries for so long, we tend to avoid touching on those things.

Gamigin: Exactly! That's why Buer still counts prescriptions like money!

Buer: Gamigin, stop saying things you're not asked to.

Gamigin: Sure thing, Buer!

Gamigin nodded eagerly, like an obedient dog with sparkling eyes. However, it didn't take more than a few seconds before he stared intently at Buer with a look that screamed, "I'm dying to say something!

Buer: ...If it's really necessary, then speak... I swear, how does His Majesty Lucifer put up with you...

Gamigin: MC looks like she's about to die!

Buer: What?

Foras: What did you just say?

The sudden and dramatic declaration stopped everyone in their tracks. You were just as shocked as the others.

MC: No, I'm just... Hahhh... I'm a bit winded... feeling dizzy, that's all...

Gamigin: No, it's not that. There's something you're missing right now, MC. Something really crucial.

Foras: Ah...! Could it be that you're running low on demonic energy...?

At Foras' words, the other devils' faces shifted into expressions of realization. Even Buer and Gamigin, who had no clue what was going on, paused for a moment to listen to Foras' explanation before their faces mirrored the same understanding. As if on cue, every devil in the room simultaneously had a sharp glint in their eyes.

Foras: I think it would be best for someone experienced to help you, MC. So come here...

Glasyal La Bolas: Experienced, huh? You're not the only one, Foras. Trying to make it sound like you're the only one who knows what's going on... You really are a sly one, aren't you? Just like your looks.

Barbatos: That's true! I can help MC anytime. It may not be our secret garden, but if it's to lift the mood, I'm more than wiling...

As the devils from Hades continued to chatter, Bimet and Valefor exchanged an incredulous glance.

Bimet: They have no idea they've already lost.

Valefor: Well, maybe it's better that way.

Buer: I'd rather they keep fussing like this until those two get back.

Buer quietly glanced back. The stairs they'd already passed were swallowed by the deep darkness. And 'those two' were now climbing back up against the shadows. As the Hades devils continued their meaningless argument, you had already leapt into Gamigin's arms, quickly escaping the scene. The place you arrived at was one of the 'lounge' Kesi had mentioned earlier.

[FLASHBACK]

Kesi: [We couldn't go too far down, but still, this place and I have set up some conveniences here and there to make it our base. Feel free to use them if you need.]

[CURRENT]

MC: (I didn't think I'd actually end up using it.!)

You swallowed nervously as you eyed the neatly prepared shower room inside.

MC: So.. Gamigin, why did you bring me here?

Gamigin: For a patient, cleanliness is crucial. If you wash well, eat well, and sleep well, you'll get better. That's the basic rule.

MC: ???? Huh???? Wait, hold on. I'm not that kind of patient...?!

Despite your confusion, Gamigin, clearly unwiling to bend on his healing philosophy, turned on the water and adjusted the temperature. Soon, the shower room was filled with thick steam.

Gamigin: MC, come here.

His large hand gestured toward you. The thick, cold steam filled the room, making his figure seem almost otherworldly, even though he was just a few steps away.

As if under a spell, you walked toward him, only to suddenly realize something crucial.

MC: ...Aren't you going to leave?

Gamigin: I was taught that a responsible healer should never leave their patient's side, from beginning to end.

His clear eyes, free from any hidden agenda, made you feel guilty for doubting him earlier.

MC: ...I understand. But... are you really sure you know what kind of 'treatment' I need?

Despite being one of the 72 devils, Gamigin was certainly hundreds of years older than you— an experienced and wise figure. Yet, his innocent expression and youthful behavior made you wonder if he truly understood the complexities of adult matters.

MC: If you're not sure, I can always bring someone else in to help..

Gamigin: MC, you don't know anything about me.

His words could've sounded sharp, but the gleam in his eyes, paired with the playful curve of his lips, seemed almost like an invitation to a secret, unspoken game.

Swahhh—

In the tense silence between you two, unable to make a move or speak, Gamigin took a step forward as if to demonstrate, boldly walking into the stream of water.

In an instant, his entire body was drenched, from head to toe, the water dripping off him, and once again, his large hand reached out toward you, compelling you closer.

Gamigin: MC, come here.

Ding—

A delicate, almost ethereal chime seemed to echo in the distance, like the sound of a bell ringing somewhere far away, as everything around you started to blur.

The overwhelming presence of Gamigin and his handsome face consumed your senses, making everything else fade into the background. You were left with only him, his energy, and the magnetic pull he exerted. The sound of the shower's water, once so crisp, began to fade, and the thick steam that filled the room slowly cleared. The walls, floor, and ceiling seemed to disappear as if erased by an invisible hand. Leaving only Gamigin standing in the center.

Gamigin: Ah, so you really are human, after all..

His voice held a faint trace of self-reproach. You tilted your head in confusion, unable to grasp the meaning behind his words.

Swahhh—!

The sound of the rushing water grew louder, and suddenly everything snapped back into focus— the sound, the steam, the surroundings— everything was once again vivid.

MC: ...Wait, what was that just now...?

Gamigin: Sorry, I got a bit too... 'eager' with my words.

He apologized in a way that seemed almost flippant, puling you closer. Before you even realized it, your hand had instinctively reached out and rested on his.

MC: (When did I...?)

Pulling you so close that your toes almost touched, Gamigin couldn't help but laugh mischievously, taking in the sight of you, drenched from head to toe just like him.

Gamigin: If you keep those wet clothes on, you're going to catch a cold, MC.

MC: Haha,nI didn't get wet on my own! You're the one who dragged me here andnmade me like this. I haven't even taken my clothes off yet.

Gamigin: True, I did get you into this situation. So, I'm the one who should help, right?

MC: (I thought he wouldn't know about adult matters.. How could I have everbmistaken him for someone innocent...?)

He skillfully created an arousing situation and reached out to your waist without hesitation. Soon, his large hands invaded your clothes.

Gamigin: Raise your arms, MC.

Maybe it was because he was wearing a blazer that reminded you of a school uniform, but Gamigin's skillful attitude and actual age clearly showed that he was much older, but somehow you couldn't shake the feeling that you were being manipulated by a younger man.

MC: (Of course, that in itself made you get turned on!)

You obediently raised both your arms as he told you to. He rolled up your wet top from the bottom.

Whenever your waist, belly button, upper stomach, chest, and collarbonebwere exposed one by one, Gamigin looked at the exposed skin as if he was going to warm it. It was clear that the dizziness and shortness of breath were no longer due to poor condition or the heat of the steam.

MC: I hope you don't catch a cold either.

Gamigin: ...How kind of you.

When Gamigin, who had stopped for a moment, opened his mouth, the voice that had been refreshing before came out, but instead it was an unfamiliar voice that had become husky and feverish.

MC: (...Just now, the bottom is definitely wet. It's already soaking wet, so it won't show..)

With his permission, you started to take off Gamigin's clothes just like how he did. Taking off clothes that were heavy from soaking up water wasn't as easy asyou thought, but your hands were just as skilled as Gamigin's.

When you came to your senses, Gamigin's upper body was already soaking wet without a single shirt on.

MC: (Wow... The skin soaked in water... It's so beautiful, like it's wrapped in transparent cloth...)

Who said that a man's body is expressed as a straight line and a woman's body as a curve! Gamigin's body muscles were firm but soft and flexible, so it was hard to resist the urge to touch them and lean against them. The water streams flowing down between his split abs were clearly just regular shower water, but if you licked them, it felt like your life would increase.

Gamigin: Now, you should take them off too. Are you going to catch a cold?

You smiled slightly because Gamigin was still cute complaining about his cold, but as soon as you realized that his expression wasn't cute at all, you had to bite your lip to keep your pounding heart from jumping out. Finally, the clothes that had risen up to your neck and chin were caught in your nose, and your eyes were about to be covered next.

Gamigin: Turn around, MC.

MC: ..!

As soon as your eyes were covered, his order was given. Your eyes were covered by wet clothes, and as you groped your way around you ended up facing the other way. Then, as if he had been waiting, two large hands grabbed your waist and pulled you tightly.

MC: (It, touched... it's touching...)

A hard thing that you could tell was pressing against your butt without even looking.

MC: G, Gamigin?

Gamigin: Yeah. I'll take the rest off.

MC: (That wasn't what I meant?!)

Gamigin said calmly and took off your bottom and lowered it. When the wet, heavy clothes got caught around your ankles, they felt like shackles that Gamigin had given you.

Thuuud—

As Gamigin's excitement rubbed hard against your very thin, even wet, meaningless underwear, you felt your strength draining from your body due to the excitement that had been transferred to you. As you were staggering, unable to hold on, you bent down and barely held on by supporting yourself on both knees, you heard the sound of Gamigin's pants buckle coming off behind you. And a moment later, your wet butt no, your panties were rubbed by a surprisingly hot, firm, huge pillar. You glanced back and looked at Gamigin. And immediately, you regretted it. Even without that, you were lying face down in the heat, so blood was rushing to your face, but because of his appearance, you really thought you would get a nose bleed. He leaned his back against the cold tile wall, thrusting his waist toward your butt and moving back and forth slightly.

MC: (How can he make such an expression...?!)

Gamigin, who exuded a masculine aura, frowned slightly as he felt his excitement rising. The tight, manly muscles that were covered by his slightly loose clothes swelled up solidly as if showing his excitement.

Gamigin: Haa.. MC, the sound of the water falling on your body, the water droplets splashing everywhere, it's so erotic that I can't stand it...

Now that you look at it, Gamigin's penis, which was rubbing against your butt, was feeling the ticklish, continuous stimulation from where the water was falling the strongest.

MC: (Ah, is this Gamigin's fetish?)

Only then did you realize why Gamigin had brought you to the shower room, and you secretly reached behind him with one hand and turned the water on harder.

Swishhh—!

The water stream grew stronger and immediately hit Gamigin's pillar so hard that it hurt a little.

Gamigin: K, kagh...!

MC: Do you like getting wet or getting hit more?

As you secretly moved your waist back and forth and bumped your body against his center, Gamigin lifted his chin and tilted his head back as if he couldn't hold it in any longer.

Then, a shiny and foreign part of his neck, different from the rest of his skin, was clearly revealed.

MC: ...Scale?

The moment you muttered, Gamigin lowered his head, which he had been tilting down, and smirked at you with slightly creepy eyes.

Gamigin: Did I get caught?

MC: .......?!

You didn't even know what he meant, but just because of Gamigin's scary sexy expression, you got goosebumps.

Wooosh—!

Gamigin's pillar slowly began to enter your wet panties, finding its place.

MC: Agh...?! Gami...gin...! W-wait...! This position...!

Gamigin: MC, I just found out about a very important weakness of yours.

Gamigin: What should I do about this?Gamigin continued to ruthlessly dig inside you while talking nonsense. Soon, even the place you thought you couldn't go in anymore was filled with his stuff.

MC: No... don't... ugh..

In this position.. you're going too deep...!

Gamigin: That's what I wanted.

Gamigin grabbed your waist while you were lying face down and started to move slowly. He moved very slowly, whether to give you a way out or to be considerate. But even so, because of the volume and pleasure that filled your stomach, you felt as if your whole body and internal organs were moving together with his waist movements. Your skin, which was already feeling a sting from the strong water stream that continued to hit them, became more and more sensitive, and everytime your soaking wet skin hit each other, a dirty sound of slapping echoed in the shower room.

MC: No, no, no, this is too much...! Haghh...

Gamigin: That thing on my neck that you found. It's called the dragon's 'reverse scale'.

MC: ...Dragon, then are you really...? Agh...!

When the tip of Gamigin's glans kissed your deepest part once again, you couldn't continue your question properly. No matter how much you curled your toes, you couldn't disperse the pleasure that dully pushed up your inner wall and lower abdomen, so your face, where the blood was rushing to you, felt like it was going to burst from excitement.

Gamigin: Yes, I'm a dragon. A mysterious being called a god in some worlds. It's an open secret. But right now, I'm definitely [Gamigin]. You couldn't understand what Gamigin was saying. All you could tell was that he could make you orgasm right away with just a few slow, intense piston strokes. You flinched like a child because of the dull, enormous pleasure that made your body tremble every time he pressed.

MC: Secret, I'l keep it, I'l keep it, ugh, ugh...! Hagh...! No, rather! If it's an open secret, then it's not really a secret, righ-right hagh...?!

You refuted as your faint sense of reason shouted, but you were startled when Gamigin's waist started moving a little faster, and you changed your words.

MC: Secret, I'l keep it, I'll keep it...! Hagh...!Gamigin: Really? Everyone tells me not to trust humans.

MC: Really, I me-mean it, ugh, hagh, I-I promis...! Hagh...!

Gamigin: Hmm.. Isn't it too risky to silence someone with just a verbal promise? Somehow, you felt a chill down your spine, and when you were about to turn around, Gamigin gently covered your eyes with his large palm and turned his head away again.

MC: ????

Gamigin: It would be better not to see it.

The laughter, tinged with excitement, felt oddly unsettling. At that moment, just as your hole was finally getting used to Gamigin... a familiar sensation of discomfort came from the hole above it.

MC: (......??????? A finger...? No, no. This is too big to call it a finger...)

Your instincts blared a deafening alarm, but the moment you heard the creaking sound of the hole widening, that warning signal abruptly stopped, as if it had broken down.

MC: Ga, Mi... Ugh... What is this...?

Gamigin: Remember, MC. Even if I can't block your upper mouth, I can block your lower mouth without any gaps.

The next moment, it was clearly not a finger, but a hot and hard pillar that was almost the same as the one that already filled your hole and inner walls, squeezing into the narrow hole that only knew how to spit out.

MC: Haghh...!

You trembled, your body stiffening as if you had been pierced by a skewer.

Gamigin: Hahh... it's so hot... inside of you...

Gamigin paused for a moment and let out a hot sigh of satisfaction. On the other hand, you were trembling with your whole body filled with his. If you spoke, it felt like one of his things would pop out of your mouth through your throat.

MC: How, how can this...?

Gamigin: Dragons, we have two of them.

MC: ......?!

He whispered sweetly and started to move as if he had waited long enough. A pitiful uncontrollable moan and scream flowed out of your mouth thatyou couldn't stop.

MC: Ahh, haghh, ahh, agh...

Gamigin: This isn't a threat, ha... It's a request to keep a secret, MC.

MC: (What are you talking about...! It's completely a threat!)

You screamed inwardly, feeling the pressure that made you suffocate. However, after Gamigin bent down exactly three more times, you completely changed that thought.

MC: (I feel like I'm going to die...! Ahh...! Down there...! It feels like it's going to melt... burn... and disappear...!)

The two penises he was thrusting into were definitely different from those of ordinary devils. They filled your insides flexibly as if they had a will, and then hardened at the crucial spot, making you dizzy. And after two of them, you were so ecstatic that you couldn't come to your senses, and you almost screamed. The hole and the inner wall that were tight at first, as if they would tear apart, were now completely loose and sucking in his things on their own. Gamigin, who didn't miss that change, gradually increased his speed. The sound of the water splashing became faster and more urgent, and Gamigin's low moans flowed thicker and clearer. Gamigin: If you don't keep the secret, this is what's going to happen from now on...

MC: Eeeeek...! I'll keep it, absolutely, definitely, I'l keep it...!! Please, keep going...!! Keep going, keep going like this...!! Don't stop...!!

You couldn't wait for Gamigin to speak and started crying, pleading first. Then Gamigin laughed and caressed the hollow part of your back and waist in a creepy way.

Gamigin: Yes, it's a secret and promise between the two of us?

Even though your mouth was clearly empty, you couldn't speak because ofthe pressure that felt like even that hole was full, so you nodded like crazy.

At that moment, you felt Gamigin's lower abdomen tightening more than before. In your vision that had already turned white from excessive excitement, like shooting stars were flashing, but you could feel that the 'real thing' was coming soon.

Gamigin: Ah... Now that I think about it... Can I come inside... I'm not a devil, so if l get you pregnant with this...

The moment he muttered to himself, you squeezed your insides as if you were squeezing them and thrust your butt back!

MC: If you don't give it all to me... I won't forgive you...!

Gamigin: ..........!! Kagh....?!

As Gamigin's tip was thrust deep inside, somewhere deeper, embarrassment and excitement that he couldn't hide burst out from his mouth. On the other hand, you were shaking with your mouth and eyes wide open due to the violent pleasure that was more intense than you had expected.

MC: Ah......Ahhhh.....!!!

Woosh, whoosh, woosh......!!

More than twice the usual amount of semen poured out inside you. The feeling of your lower abdomen bulging was strange, but you were satisfied when you thought that it was all because of Gamigin's spilling out.

Tskk......

Gamigin slowly turned of the shower. After a long time, only your and Gamigin's heavy breathing echoed in the quiet place. Soon, with a hug, the two pillars that had filled you slowly withdrew. Then, like a spilled saucepan with the lid open, his semen flowed out inside уоu. As the part connected to him withdrew, your body, which had barely held on while supporting his weight, swayed once again. But this time, Gamigin held you securely and hugged you. But...

MC: ...? Why are you making that face?

Gamigin: ...Were you scared?

MC: (After everything he's done, he asks this now?! Ugh...! This dragon definitely knows...! He knows that the more shameless he acts, the more unbearably adorable I find him...!)

You reached out and gently ruffled Gamigin's damp hair. Even though you were still trembling slightly from the lingering rush, you managed to push through the embarrassment.

MC: ...I wasn't scared. (Though it was so overwhelming, it might as well have been fear.) But it does feel a little unfair that you don't trust me. (Not that I'd trade it for missing out on that incredible moment.) From now on, try trusting me more, okay? (And keep those moments coming!)

You carefully navigated your words, making sure not to let your inner thoughts slip through. Gamigin's expression brightened again, his usual dazzling smile spreading across his face.

Gamigin: Got it! I'll trust you, MC!

MC: Ugh.. If you're going to smile like that, looking so good, could you at least do it from a little farther away?

You squeezed your eyes shut, half-worried that his striking looks might drain all the strength you'd just managed to recover.

And so, one day, after some time had passed, Gamigin and Buer found themselves alone together.

Buer: ...? W-What? What did you say MC found out?

Gamigin: That I'm a dragon! And even that my reverse scale is right here, near my neck!

Buer: No, no. Everyone among the 72 Devils knows you're a dragon! And honestly, anyone with eyes could spot the reverse scale on your neck!

Gamigin: Hmm? Really? As expected of you, Buer- you're so smart!

Buer: That's not the point...! What's shocking is... that you have two of those.

At that moment, someone called out, "Gamigin." Lucifer's voice interrupted Buer. A few steps away, Lucifer gestured toward Gamigin, signaling that he had something to say. Gamigin gave Buer a cheerful wave.

Buer: ...Honestly... Does that dragon really not understand what's supposed to be a secret?

Buer scratched the back of his head a few times, muttering to himself, before quietly walking away. Unseen, Gamigin glanced back at the now-empty spot and narrowed his eyes, a sly grin spreading across his face.

Gamigin: (Whatever the case, what matters most is that MC and I now share a secret.)

The playful young dragon, who wasn't as innocent as he seemed, harbored a mischievous thought.

[END]

[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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[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————————————————

[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

[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

[quietbluejay]

Dark Imperium #1

guess who's back back again

so okay i really liked this trilogy first time i read it, you know, chewing on the furniture in a good way type of deal so i'm hoping it'll hold up

okay so let's start out with DEATH OF A PRIMARCH so the whole thing starts by going on about how human minds just can't grasp the size of space and reality, especially if you add in the warp etc etc I'm pondering, whither this somewhat-flowery prologue why did Haley choose this way to introduce his book? honestly, I got nothing right now

this is what it segues into btw yeah i'm remembering how i didn't like this opening blah blah two fleets are fighting hey wait okay let's look at this

right from the beginning, we're doing this, huh right from the beginning, Haley is drawing an equivalence between them

anyways the narration goes on to talk about the space marines

yeah this is continuing to not pull punches again i am wondering why people say Haley unironically thinks the Imperium is the good guys etc etc even a giant void battle that seems all consuming is nothing compared to the death of stars, etc etc

"care how they are spent" nugatory that's a new one

dangit, haley, why'd you make me eat my words and now it's time for our narrator to judge Fulgrim's decoration abilities

narrator: even though Guilliman's ship had more gold on it, it was still in better taste than Fulgrim's "an affront to decency"

Fulgrim and the EC managed to outmaneuvre Guilliman and turn a rout into a trap [4:40 PM] I feel like when your whole thing is being plan guy, and the guy who just wants to go back to Margaritaville and who has quit fights before because they're boring regardless of the strategic consequences outmaneuvres you, that you should take a good hard look at yourself and also not compound the mistake by being a leeroy narration: Once, Guilliman wouldn't have made such an error

narration: he's at his freakin limit

i thought that was the funniest way to phrase that sentiment, in case you are wondering

I'm not really a fan of the style of the beginning, tbh i don't think haley can really pull off this style it just feels kind of obnoxious ah! it's like what thorpe did except thorpe did it for the entire book it's basically writing prose as if it was game fluff like if this was game fluff i'd say it was great

THIEL THIEL BBY ITS BEEN SO LONG Guilliman is going out in the armour of reason, which sounds like something a redditor from 2011 would make up and with Captain Andos and Thiel who is a captain now i do especially remember this section and how Guilliman and Thiel are written felt pretty jarring after Know No Fear and I was complaining about ooc thiel he's got more sass than this but you know what i'm gonna let it go as a different writers thing ok back to the story as per usual when a primarch shows up, there's the obligatory simping annnd also im just gonna let it go as a "this is guilliman's pov of thiel"

guilliman sadly thinks about how the new kids look so reverently at him and like dude thiel isn't one of those but like "thiel" and "modest" don't really go together anyways, i'm letting it go, i say

Andos is concerned-

yeah cmon man

andos: this is a bad idea guilliman: have you considered that IM BITING FULGRIM BITING HIM BITING HIM BITING HIM

oh, so he did actually put a little thought into it she said, throwing aside a large rock

okay but like the defenders have the advantage guilliman, bro

etc etc "he would not let his sons pay the price for his mistakes" well well well let's see what happens next like yeah okay guilliman is being stupid here but once again fulgrim is proving that he got smarter after he went full chaos

guilliman has weird experiences when being teleported

they're back to reality though it's not a very pleasant reality lol, there's a brief summary of the weird and horrifying places and things Guilliman fought in the heresy oh huh i thought it was going to say Fulgrim's ship was worse but it just says it's "of a similar ilk"

as we all know guilliman's special talent is microsoft excel yes that's relevant here it gets a brief mention

symbolism it's also lmao Haley took the whole thing about painting with bodily fluids and ran with it and was like "yeah everything is covered in mold" oh, hey, it's Corvo, I remember that name Novamarine dude (all the chapter masters are checking in with guilliman as they're fighting) Guilliman remember the last time he was on this ship and feels sad okay time to for real go into the main room everyone: it's a trap! guilliman: exactly! thiel: he could kill you guilliman: yeah i know thiel: dude i'm worried that the reason you want to do this is not entirely practical guilliman: what do you mean? thiel: pride goes before a fall guilliman: pshaw don't worry about it guilliman: anyways if i can't kill fulgrim in single combat i'll call you guys all in

and the chapter ends on guilliman walking into the room and yes this prologue has at least 3 chapters

Guilliman enters the Heliopolis which is full of bones and smells like "smoke and stale musk" grudgingly, i have to admit that at least some of Haley's style here is doing it for me even if i know he can do better

it's once again creepily silent and empty meanwhile he's getting the updates on his helmet

also we get informed that Fulgrim always kinda sounded needy but now it's the main tone of his voice "a poison masquerading as confidence" Fulgrim twits Guilliman about breaking up the legions which is an interesting first choice

Guilliman: I got honoured Fulgrim: nah, that was me Guilliman: anyways I'm a winner because I was slow and steady whereas you raced ahead into damnation Fulgrim: yeah actually I'm saved Guilliman: for fuck's sake and he gets a good look at Fulgrim

Fulgrim: yeah look what MY god did for me, a much better god than Emps Guilliman: the Emperor isn't a god yeah we really are getting a chunk of the high points of the trilogy established here

Fulgrim gets up in Guilliman's space enough for "his hot perfumed breath to caress guilliman's face" and either he's got really strong breath or - actually wait how does this work isn't he a giant snake is he leaning down to talk to guilliman like a child Fulgrim: join me Fulgrim: waggles eyebrows Fulgrim: aren't you tired of being nice Fulgrim: don't you just want to go ape shit Guilliman: nope, you got tricked Fulgrim: no, it's YOU who were tricked Guilliman: no YOU you can tell they're siblings Fulgrim twits him about loyalty and being more loyal to his little domain than anything else Fulgrim: oh yeah and how much of that is left after Angron and Lorgar? lmao Guilliman: bite bite kill kill kill Fulgrim: well that's convenient because i'm here to kill you as well

oh yeah Fulgrim revealed that the whole thing was a giant trap not just this but them showing up in the first place

as usual i'm not going to cover the fight scene Guilliman almost immediately calls in Thiel and Andos and then Fulgrim one-ups him by having a whole bunch of Emperor's Children hanging out silently in the room Fulgrim's evil sword cuts into Guilliman's armour and Guilliman somehow feels it "a spicy agony" ah, so, allergic reaction Guilliman manages to break the sword, which gets Fulgrim mad

meanwhile there's a ferocious battle going on between Guilliman's troops and the EC, and his side is rather outnumbered

Fulgrim is by this point pissed off with Guilliman he comes over and yanks off his helmet Guilliman gets a whiff and gags Fulgrim: pathetic is this foreshadowing for the mortarion confrontation yes, not even i am immune to making mortarion stinky jokes

Fulgrim aimed for where Kor Phaeron got Guilliman with the athame

guilliman collapses meanwhile the Ultramarines rush in to save him

:D Andos is panicking and uhhh i thought the whole point of making Space Marines not feel fear was to avoid this kind of thing??

that's a great bit "his armour caught on the corpses of his sons" he hears a voice and can't place if it's Thiel or not, and once again thinks about how many Ultramarines died to save him they teleport him out

and realizes he's dying for real and that Andos was right and he starts to panic about what's going to happen to the Imperium without him

and that ends the prologue!