#I AM LOSING EVERY SHIT I HAVE EVER POSSESSED

[winterarmyy]

Welcome home... Soldat? | Part I

That time when Bucky accidentally relapsed into the Winter Soldier.

Summary: Y/N had make a habit of greeting Bucky a warm 'welcome home' everytime he came back from his missions, but there was one particular day when she unknowingly greeted someone else.

Navigation: Part I || Part II* || Part III (end) || Extra

Words: 2.9k++

Pairing: winter soldier!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: implied 18+ content, implied smut, dubious con on groping reader's body, dark(?) possessive behaviour, google translated russian, our soldat is kinda cute(?) in his own twisted way, and well, basically fluffy times with the soldat.

P/S: Guys, I never planned this at all. I mean, who am I kidding? All of my fics are not planned and I clearly write things out of impulse. Therefore, this one don't have much of a story building/plot because it was born out of one scene that flashed in my head and has been replayed way to many times that I need to let it out. Anyway, I still hope you enjoy it, somehow.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N didn't know when exactly she started this habit but she swore to herself to never grow out of it.

It's been nearly 2 years since the fall of Hydra and the avenger has accepted the winter soldier under their wing. Begrudgingly by Tony, but the rest of them seemed like they're not against it.

Y/N used to be an agent from SHIELD but since the fall, she had been recruited under the avenger's programme and had been living in the tower since.

She remembered the day when Bucky first came in, he was quiet and weary all the time. Like an abandoned cat, picked up by a stranger to come to their home. And it took the whole team months before he slowly adapted.

Who knew he would morphed into a sassy, grumpy little shit, right?

Since the first day, Y/N had been making an effort to make him feel welcomed. Helped him to adjust to modern times. Though it was not regular but she's glad he came to her from time to time to ask about things.

Y/N only meant it to be casual when she greeted him back from his missions. Usually, it'll be something like,

"Oh you're back?"

"How's the team?"

"Good to see you well put together from such horrendous mission."

"God, you look like you fell from 5 flight of stairs."

"Are you even trying to fight back, Bucky?"

But one time, Bucky came back in the morning around breakfast, she wasn't feeling sassy or clever. So, instead of greeting him with playful remarks, in the glory of her messy bed hair and iron man pyjamas, she greeted him with a sleepy smile, "Welcome home, Bucky."

And that surely made the 6 foot, bulky hunk of a soldier paralysed in his spot. His ocean blues slightly widen, and his cheeks deepen in blush.

For a moment, he wondered if this is how he would feel if he had a wife waiting for him to come back from war back in the 40's. But, then again nothing can be compared to the sight he was seeing as he is now.

And Y/N didn't want to ever lose that memory of him.

Cute and flustered Bucky is a very rare sight to see. Perhaps, this was the only time she could witness it and she want to cherish it for the rest of her life.

Though Bucky never replied to Y/N's greeting, it didn't stop them from starting a whole new routine.

Y/N always knew that she had a thing for the sargent, but about 2 months from that moment, Y/N realized she was in love.

And she waited for him, every single chance she had for arrival of the team to come back. Just like she is now, at 03:45 in the morning, while scavenging for something sweet she can eat as she waits for Bucky's return.

When, she turned around she was not expecting to have her face into clashed into something, "Oww!" Y/N shuts her eyes close as she rubbed her aching nose to ease the sharp strike of pain.

For a moment there, she seriously thought she might have just bumped into some kind of a solid air that appeared out of nowhere, but when she opened her eyes, it was just Bucky who was standing rather ominously still.

"My god, you scared the shit out of me. I know you used to be an assassin but, you gotta announce yourself sometimes, man." She joked. Although she did find it impressive that he managed to silently sneak up on her with those thick, heavy combat boots he was wearing.

"Woah, someone's been having a field day kicking your ass, huh?" Y/N's eyes lingered a little longer on the wounds at the side of his temple that she didn't notice the void in his eyes.

"Anyway..." she continued as she shook of the thoughts of caressing the cut on the corner of Bucky's lip, before greeting him with a gentle smile, "Welcome home."

Bucky's unresponsiveness was nothing new to her. With the amount of silent glares and gruff eye-rolls that he had shot at her these past few months, she's used to it by now.

But, when she finally had the guts to look him in the eye, only then she noticed the underlying shift. Albeit, his signature frown was still as present as ever but, those eyes had made her questioned of the slight difference from what she recognized.

Bucky wordlessly step forward and cornered her until her back meets the side of the kitchen isle. He took his time assessing her, almost admiring the way her iris wavered in confusion.

Something is wrong.

Her guts were screaming at her to notice it but her body wasn't reacting accordingly. That's when the voice of the AI, Jarvis echoed through the walls.

"Emergency alert: Code Winter. Initiated by Captain Steve Rogers. All agent is advised..." The announcement went on based on protocol while the cogs in Y/N's brain finally moved, "Code Winter? That means..."

 "...to be cautious of Sargent James Barnes; reprimand on sight however try not to engage alone. Agents is..." Jarvis voice in the background interwoven with Y/N's internal deduction, "...This is not Bucky?"

As she tried to put her own mind into perspective, trying to make herself believe that this man in front of her is not Bucky Barnes who she had been adoring over for these past few months, the soldat's hands reached the side of her neck, squeezing the softness of her flesh while his thumbs grazed the shape of her jawline.

His heavy gaze remained on hers, willing her to stay as still possible.

"Bucky...?" She called his name in hopes of triggering something, anything for within his controlled mind.

At end of the corridor leading towards the kitchen, Steve could see how the soldat had already gotten his hands on Y/N and panic strike him like lightning, he sprinted towards her as he despretely shouted, "Y/N! Stay away from--"

But Y/N was not able to render anything she heard from Steve, especially after a long silence, the soldat finally spoke, "Yes, I'm home..."

He carefully pulled her face closer to his as his lips planted on her soft cheek, "...мое cолнышко (my sunshine)" he lifted for a second just to kiss her again on her temple as he whispered lowly, "...мое Родная (my darling)"

Y/N's heart was beating madly for several different reasons. Parts of her was terrified that the soldat might break her neck within an instance, but it gradually changes into something much more confusing, a conflicted joy, when he keep on trailing his lips all over her face.

What is happening?

Both her and Steve was practically frozen in pure confusion.

Steve's mouth hanged open as words failed to form, while Y/N was unable to comprehend any sort of thoughts, let alone counter movements; when the soldat continue to whisper Russian endearments against her skin, littering sweet kisses on every part of her face, except for her lips as if he wanted to tease her.

His hands slowly travel down her back and stopped on the side of her waist, pulling her body closer until there was no space in between them anymore, before he wrapped his arms around her.

The drag of his stubble on her skin burned but it felt so good when he kissed it after.

Seconds later, Sam managed to catch up with Steve and his cautious approach fell as he witnessed the soldat's rather domestic actions towards Y/N.

Sam foolishly let his guard down as he approached with a question directed to Steve, "Is the tin man back?" That was when a bullet barely grazed the tip of his ear that then buried through the wall behind him.

Both Steve and Sam forced to stop any sort of movement as the soldat's aim was still locked towards their direction; his cold blue eyes pierced with a menacing warning, all the while posessively holding Y/N in his arms as his kisses trailed the side of her neck.

"Nope, not yet." Sam answered his own question as he waited for Steve's order.

Y/N felt like she have to do something to de-escalate the situation. After a quick deduction, and based on the soldat attitude towards her, she took the risk of believing that he would not do anything to hurt her, so she decided to play along.

Will it work though?

Well, she got to have to try for it work.

She gulped nervously before softly calls for him, "Soldat?" she looked up towards him.

When the soldat gave her his attention, she watched the loose strand of his hair fall down to his face. Her hand went up and reached for it, "How about we go back to your room and let me tend these wounds, hmm?" She cooed while tucking his behind his ear and briefly caressing his cheek with the back of her fingers.

The soldat didn't reply but instead silently process her proposition.

However, the hesitation only worried her more, so she continued to persuade, as she cautiously slide her hand, following his arm that was holding her teammates at gun point, "It'll be just the two of us. How's that sound?" She smiled warmly at him as she managed to lower it enough to grab the gun away from his grasp.

There was a glint of indecipherable emotion in his eyes when she mentioned that, which then he nodded in agreement.

"Okay then, let's go." She put the gun on the kitchen isle behind her and replaced her hand in his, pulling him towards his bedroom. The soldat did not protest to her lead, in fact her followed her obediently.

But before Y/N makes an exit, she looked back towards Steve and mouthed a reassuring message, "I got this."

The captain had all the rights to be weary but at this point, he just had to believe in Y/N's action plan. He nodded and replied, "Be safe. We'll be outside."

Along the walk towards Bucky's room, all she could think was that she can handle it and she got this under control.

But, does she?

Well, Y/N did have it under control, in terms of keeping the soldat from going on a berserk rampage but what she didn't think through was how the fuck she should handle his behaviour towards her.

After they arrived to Bucky's room, she had instructed him to strip off his tactical suit and leave him sitting at the edge of the bed, only in his short to avoid him reaching for any hidden weapons he had, all the while she went to grab the first aid from his bathroom.

Now that she almost done tending the small injuries on his face, it finally dawned to her that the soldat had her immobilized in between his legs as his hands rubbed the back of her thighs, occasionally squeezing the softness of her body in his tender grip.

His intent gaze waited patiently for her to finish and as soon as she did, he pulled her on his lap, making her to straddle on top him as he smushed his face on her chest, "Oh, Родная (darling)... I have missed you."

Her hands found her balance on his shoulders while the soldat roaming hands held her body still by the back of her waist.

It will be a lie if she said her heart didn't skipped when he confessed; even if it was still the soldat's thoughts and words but it was Bucky's voice.

The soldat pulled his other hand to play with the buttons of her pyjamas shirt, specifically around her chest area.

Part of him wanted to just rip her clothes off from her body but another part of him didn't want to. He didn't want scare her; and his precious little darling deserved to be pampered.

He had her buttons popped off; one by one, slow and almost sensual while Y/N was still in a heated debate with herself on what she should to next. She wanted the soldat to stop but god the temptation of wanting more was beyond her will power.

This is not Bucky.

She knew that. But, she had been bewitched by the look in those familiar blue eyes. So enthralled and so keen to unwrap her.

Y/N let out a low yet sharp gasp as her chest was finally revealed, "Soldat, what..." The soldat take a quick glance into her eyes, "...are you doing?" before trailing back down to the curve of her breasts, cupped so beautifully with a simple black bra.

His hands went back to grabbed her thighs as he replied, "Just wanna hold you." He leaned closer and left a lingering kiss in between her breasts, mumbling deep, " Wanna feel you, мое Родная (my darling)"

Fuck, it feels so good.

"Wanna feel you..." Y/N's grip on his bare shoulder tightened as he lips warmed the top of her right breast, "...here." An unexpected moan slipped out of her lips as the soldat latched his wet mouth on her skin, bruising it with his mark.

He groaned to the taste of her, so sweet and soft, he wanted to pull the bra off her and suckle on her nipple. He bet that they're perky and so sensitive. Bet he could make her cum just by playing with them.

He wanted to leave his bite mark around them, make them look much more prettier. But, he needed to be patient.

He brought his left hand up to hold the other side of her chest; pulling another pretty noise as the cold metal of his thumb gently stroked the exposed skin of her breast.

"Wanna feel you..." His flesh hand made its way lower and cupped her clothed sex, unexpectedly making her grind down to his hold, "...here."

She couldn't help to find shelter in the crook of his neck when he began to stroke her sensually.

This is getting out of hand.

Y/N doesn't mind to entertain him if the soldat only asked for him to hold her but it was clear that he wanted so much more than just innocent touches. Especially when he languidly rubbed his middle finger in between the slit of her pussy.

She hates how easy it was for Bucky's touch turned her on, his hands and his lips; regardless if his actions was someone else's.

This is wrong.

This has to stop.

"No... soldat." She whimpered in his ears as his finger drew slow circles on her clit, his mouth latched on her shoulder.

"I can't touch you here?" He murmured softly as he pressed harder. Even with the barrier of the cotton panties, she was so sensitive to his touch; he loves that about her.

"N-no. You can't." She choked back a moan as she replied.

God, what if he doesn't care?

What if he'll get mad and force it on her?

She can't imagine the guilt Bucky had to experience if the soldat take her right now. And all because her stupid little brain cannot comprehend a plan to stop him, all because she let the soldat touch her as freely, as willingly.

Salty tears started to blur her vision when she sniffled them back.

Much to his deperateness, the soldat pulled her away and watched as her tears spilled out, "Oh darling, don't cry." He leaned in and kiss the corners of her eyes, murmuring his words of comfort, "I hate to see you cry, мое cолнышко (my sunshine)." His metal hand slithered to her back and his palm stroked her lovingly.

"Okay, okay. I won't touch your sweet princess part, okay?" He patted her pussy one last time before reaching to swipe her tears away. "I promise." He whispered.

As much as he wanted to fuck her stupid, fill her hole full with his load; however the soldat does hold her very dear to his heart and hates to see her sad.

"Just let me hold you close, darling?" He cooed as he kissed the edge of her lips.

Y/N didn't know why but she trusted his words. Maybe it was because he was so gentle with her, that she was tricked into believing him.

She watched the soldat waited patiently for her response and when she nodded softly, he swiftly lifted her in his arms and lay her down on the bed.

He tucked himself in under the sheets with her and naturally rested his face on her chest. His fleshed arms wrapped securely around her waist and his metal one around her thighs, as he pulled her closer; almost suffocating himself in between her warm breasts.

It was like an instinct for Y/N to encircle her arms around his neck while her hands run through the thick of his hair, absentmindedly playing with the softness of it.

She almost giggle when the soldat let out a deep-throated sound of relieved sighs as she continued to massage his scalp.

As the soldat started to sail deeper into dreamland, Y/N thought that maybe this will be the only and the last time she had the chance to hold Bucky like this and she knew it was wrong to feel grateful to the soldat because had done nothing but terrible, despicable things in the past.

But when she thought about it, none of those sins was his choice to make. He was created to kill and nothing else.

But what if he had something to hold on to?

A hope to look forward to?

A person to protect?

Or a home to go back to?

Would he still be the same monster he had been before?

She have not a slightest clue.

But, what she does know that this soldat who's clinging in her arms, deserves something kind.

And she hoped that she managed to give him a sense of peace for once in his life.

Y/N nuzzled to the side of his tired-looking face and placed a sweet kiss on his temple as she whispered ever-so-softly, "Welcome home, soldat."

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: This is possibly part 1? I'm not sure either. Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments! And reblogs is much appreciated!

[forlix]

‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 (besides myself)・l.f.

— you spend three years loving him, six months losing him, and four hours waiting for him to get the hell out of your house. but the human heart is more stubborn than you know.

words・5.4k

pairing・lee felix x gn!reader

genres・babysitter!au, girldad!lix, nobody look at me, toothrotting fluff, more angst than originally intended tbh, exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, happy ending yayyy, non-linear storyline

warnings・cousin has a korean name and experiences one (1) minor head bump, mc is temporarily heartbroken and experiences one (1) breakdown

playlist・house song by searows・glad by tori kelly・let's pretend by del water gap・you were good to me by jeremy zucker

a/n・hiiii my loves, i'm so unbelievably excited to bring u my first contribution to my and @astraystayyh's collaboration, "winter falls" ♡ every time i write for our ray of sunshine i'm reminded of how thankful i am to love him. this fic ruined me. hope it does the same to you (smile)

I. everything

“One day,” you muttered to the toddler sitting on your shoulders, “you’ll experience something deeply, irreversibly humbling, and I’ll be there to witness your downfall.”

Byeol responded to this with an unbothered babble. She then gathered two handfuls of your hair and yanked using far too much force to be biologically possible.

You folded like a lawn chair. “Mother—!”

Oh, that word was not suitable for button-sized ears.

“—oh, my dear mother, why? Why me?”

Technically speaking, your aunt should’ve been the target of your lamentations, but all she did was produce the child presently steering you around the kitchen like you were her own personal bumper car. Your own mother was the one who volunteered you to watch said child during the first weekend of your winter break. Only for an hour until the babysitter arrives, she’d said (raising her voice, so as to be heard over your groaning).

You adored Byeol. She made scarily accurate chipmunk sounds and possessed an immobilizing fear of grapes. She bust out a dance move before she took her first steps. The girl could have you floored with laughter without being able to say more than three words at a time. Still, this was far from how you imagined onsetting your desperately-needed few weeks off. Not to mention it was now half past three; your shift should’ve ended two minutes ago.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Byeol emitted an excited onomatopoeia like a golden retriever detecting the mailman. Your reaction wasn’t too far off; you swiveled your head in the sound’s direction, sang out “coming!” in a delighted vibrato, and twirled into the foyer, your hands around Byeol’s ankles anchoring her in place.

You cracked open the door and found yourself face-to-face with Byeol’s babysitter. The freckles scattered across his high cheekbones and sloping nose seemed to you like they were imprinted by the sun itself. His hair was dark, falling just shy of pitch black, and long, ending an inch or so below pierced ears. A few misbehaving strands rested over his forehead but did little to obstruct your view of his eyes: profoundly brown and pointed at either end, like poinsettia petals.

He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. You felt your skin warm, your heart flip. You opened your mouth. 

Then Byeol hit her head against the vertical edge of the front door, loud enough for it to echo.

The panic that seized you in that moment was truly unlike anything you’d experienced before. You caught one glimpse of the stranger’s expression (as mortified as you expected), and then you were seeing your own epitaph on the inside of your eyelids, engraved with the four words “Death by Furious Aunt.”

“Was that—?” The man sputtered, and his voice was rich and full and accented and just as breathtaking as the rest of him and holy fucking shit now was not the time.

“My fucking god,” you whispered, completely forgetting to watch your mouth. In a hurry, you swung Byeol off your shoulders and dropped to a knee. You leaned in close to examine her reddening forehead and cradled the plush of her cheek; she blinked at you a few times, fascinated by the sudden sight of your face again.

“You okay, Byeollie? That hurt a lot, didn’t it? I’m so, so sorr—”

Byeol started to laugh.

Not laugh as in those little chuckles she let out randomly, like there was something inherently amusing about the kitchen cupboard, but laugh as in a boisterous, resounding guffaw, like a great-uncle at a family gathering off one too many martinis.

This rendered you speechless for the second time in under a minute. Then, you lifted your other hand to cradle her other cheek, her face now sandwiched between your palms, and squeezed.

“I broke my cousin,” you whispered, your voice was so deathly serious that the man in the doorway had to stifle a laugh of his own.

His knee brushed against your shin as he sat down to your left, folding his legs into a criss-cross. You could discern notes of lavender and orange blossoms in the delicate cologne that clung to him, perforated the air and your mind both.

“Can I?” He asked.

“Please.”

Carefully, you shifted Byeol’s small frame towards him; the manner in which he accepted her was so smooth and practiced that there was no doubt in your mind you were watching a professional at work. He settled her on his right knee, then dipped his head to look her in the eye.

“Hi, princess,” he cooed with a dulcet smile. He curved his pointer finger, dusted it beneath her chin. “Why are you laughing, silly girl?”

Oh.

Oh.

You might just continue your lineage after all.

“Y/N-ie,” she answered, still tittering.

He looked to you with a slight tilt to his head, and you nodded affirmatively. He murmured a quiet ah. “What about Y/N-ie?”

Somehow you sensed that she was about to embarrass you and pinched the bridge of your nose—in preparation.

“P-pretty.” I knew it!

The man let out the laugh he’d been holding back since earlier and tapped on her button nose, lowered his voice to a whisper that he knew you could hear.

“I agree.” His eye glinted playfully, matching his tone. “And so are you.” The bashful, high-pitched giggle she responded with sounded eerily similar to your inner monologue.

The two of you spent a little longer on the floor of the foyer making sure Byeol was okay, and then the girl upped and made a mad dash for the kitchen while yelling something about a horse, and if that didn’t confirm that she was completely fine (albeit incredibly strange) you didn’t know what would. You found her rolling around the carpet in the room adjacent to the kitchen and left her to her own devices while you and her babysitter fixed up a small fruit plate for her afternoon snack. No grapes, of course.

He told you he usually went by Felix, but that his Korean name was probably easier for Byeol to pronounce, with its easier consonants and whatnot. You asked which name he preferred, and he said either or. He was a recent college graduate, a year older than you, who was determined to spend at least the next two years doing nothing but working out his future. He accepted the part-time babysitting position to pick up some light cash in the process.

“And ‘cause I’m good with kids,” he added, splitting apart a tangerine. “So I’ve been told.”

“Oh, you definitely are,” you said, plating a couple blueberries. “You melted her earlier.”

“She melted me. She’s so cute. And you’re so cute with her—I didn’t realize I was robbing someone of their job.”

You turned your head to regard the tot and let out a helpless laugh. Byeol tired of being a human lint roller a few minutes ago and had since moved on to staring aimlessly out the window.

“She doesn’t take me seriously, and I can’t stay mad at her,” you mused. “I would be a nightmare as her babysitter, trust me. She’s all yours.”

Felix held out two overturned handfuls of tangerine slices, to which you quickly moved the platter across the counter. He didn’t respond to your comments as he placed them on the outermost edge so that they looked like rays of sun emanating from a multicolored core. Adorable.

“Will you be around much, then?”

You made eye contact with him across the counter. On his perfect face was a teasing smirk and a subtle blush. Ah, you’d been mistaken, writing off his silence as concentration—he’d been contemplating how to best flirt with you.

“Y’know. In case I need any help teaching her cuss words,” he appended.

It was then your turn to flush a couple shades darker. “Please don’t tell her mom.”

“I won’t, I won’t.” He walked around the perimeter of the counter until he was directly in front of you; the lavender and orange blossoms returned. “On one condition.”

Not even one hour on the job and he was already trying to blackmail you? You respected it. “Which is?”

As he shifted some of his weight onto the counter, something too shifted in his smile, giving it a quality that was every bit as hopeful as it was gentle.

It was then, while Lee Felix was looking at you like that, all dilated pupils and long lashes, when you predicted that he would one day break your heart. You predicted you’d let him.

“Be around,” he said simply.

It wasn’t a question or a demand. In hindsight, you think it was more akin to a birthday wish, ill-fated the moment it hit the air.

II. has changed

Felix pulled Byeol’s hood up and over her ears, and you realized he was right about the winter coat getting too small for her—she looked like a bowling pin. You muffled your snort into your scarf.

“And what was the last rule again?” He asked, his breath puffing into the frigid afternoon in tiny clouds. Byeol sighed like she knew anything of the world’s woes.

“No barking at other kids,” came the sad reply, but a toothy smile spread across her face anyways when Felix nudged the underside of her chin. She loved when he did that.

“That’s my girl,” he hummed. “I believe in you.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you said, and the wounded look Felix shot you was like you’d just confessed to hating kittens. “Come on—she doesn’t have a good track record. I’m allowed to have my doubts.”

“I dunno what that means,” Byeol announced with admirable frankness, and then turned around and scurried down the porch stairs, scattering fun-sized footprints across the snowy streets.

As you braced yourself to follow her, Felix stopped you with a slip of his hand into the pocket of your puffer. His fingers first aligned with yours inside the insulated nylon, then chased the spaces in between. He leaned in close, placed a kiss on the apple of your cheek, another on the corner of your mouth. This brought a helpless smile to your face, too. He had a way of melting you and Byeol both.

“It’ll be fine,” he soothed. “A little barking never hurt anybody, baby.”

“Lix, last time somebody called animal control.”

“Ermm—a little barking never hurt most people.”

That winter, Byeol was four, and your relationship with Felix was about to turn two.

Funnily enough, you’d never figured out when your anniversary actually was. Felix wagered it was the day you met, as he knew he loved you the instant he saw you; you insisted it was months later, since it took both of you an entire winter break of open-ended flirting and informal dating to label yourselves for real. Imagine your horror when he showed up outside your college apartment on the last day of your fall semester, arms overflowing with flowers and gift bags brimming with your favorite things, the phrase “happy anniversary” on his lips three months before you perceived it to be. You’ve celebrated both days ever since.

You loved the ocean growing up. You didn’t get to visit it often, but when you did you would run up to the water’s very edge so that your toes dipped into the cold—and just stand there, observing, absorbing, until even the seam of your lips and the ends of your eyelashes were studded with crystals of seasalt. You found endless tranquility in its rhythmic whispers and unspeakable comfort in its oscillating waves, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.

Your fascination stemmed from the folktale your mother used to read to you before bed, about a sun goddess creating the earth. In the story, every component of nature was one of the sun’s beloved children. She allegedly loved them all, but you suspected the ocean was her favorite; it was obvious, the way she twinkled off its ebbing surface, the way every minuscule spot of light looked to you like a handprint of hers, left behind by eons of endless doting.

Felix reminded you of the ocean. Every day you grew more certain that you wanted to drown in him, to let his resonant voice and kind eyes sweep and keep you inside his depths. It was never salt that he pressed into your skin but warmth, stamped and sealed with caring hands and cautious lips. His deep whispers promised eternal love and temporary ecstasy and everything in between. You knew he would come back to you even if stranded in a different realm. And there was no questioning the goddess’ favoritism, either. The freckles on his face mirrored the sun’s very spots like an homage to his creator.

You didn’t love the ocean growing up, no. You had never loved before Felix.

The park was busy when the three of you arrived. Byeol and Felix recognized a few families as your aunt’s neighbors and hurried over to say hello. Your social butterflies. 

“I’ll be over there,” you called after them.

Felix stopped in his tracks, looked over his shoulder. It had started snowing lightly on your walk there, and snowflakes now sat atop his sable locks. He looked like a painting. “You okay?”

“Yes, yes.” You shooed them off. “Don’t worry about me. Go have fun.” 

With that, you withdrew to the sidelines, an unoccupied swingset adjacent to a baseball diamond covered in frost. 

Your baby cousin was brawny for her age, which you could’ve seen coming with how she was hauling at your hair two years ago, but even she couldn’t yet terrorize the playground without assistance. Who better to make her partner in crime than her favorite Bokkie? You couldn’t help but giggle as the two revolved around each other for the better part of an hour, Byeol’s smile colossal as she frolicked every which way, Felix’s smile worried but hopelessly endeared as he followed behind. He never let her leave his shadow. She never tried to.

It was there on those icy swings that you experienced a moment of strange clarity, like you’d broken the fourth wall of your own story. You could feel the winds of change blowing your hair across your shoulders. You were aware of time’s trickling from the gaps of your fingers like liquid mercury.

Your laughter dissipated to a bittersweet smile; your smile mellowed to dewy eyes. It seemed like just yesterday when Byeol was small enough to sit on your shoulders and Felix stepped into your kitchen for the first time. Now, she was scaling a rope ladder with the celerity of a crazed monkey while Felix hovered a wary hand by her waist. The muted sunlight caught on the silver rings he wore, particularly the thin, bright one on his middle finger. You had one just like it, adorning the same place. 

The last two years were the happiest of your life. Why couldn’t you remember where they went?

Lavender and orange blossoms announced your boyfriend’s arrival—that, and the sigh of fatigue that he expelled as he dropped into the swing next to you.

“I’m not cut out for this anymore.”

Byeol’s neighbor had temporarily relieved Felix of his post by taking her and his son to test out the seesaw, and you wouldn’t be surprised if the whole town could hear her enthusiastic shrieking.

“You know how people walk their dogs?” You mused. “Some dogs walk their people. She’s one of them.”

For a moment, he could only stare in disbelief at the grin creeping across your face; then, he groaned in a way that could only mean you were right on the money. You gave his thigh a sympathetic pat.

“You’re whipped, my love. It’s okay.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, suddenly perking up. “Hey, no barking though.”

“Are we considering that a win nowadays?”

“Do you see animal control anywhere?”

“Good point.”

Felix monitored your expression during the quiet interval that ensued—saw through the melancholy curve of your lips, the pensive slant of your gaze. There was a red tinge to the whites of your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

You saw him reach for you in your periphery. His fingers brushed a lock of hair behind the shell of your ear, remained there for three slow heartbeats, and then lifted away.

“Angel,” he murmured. “Talk to me.”

You shook your head. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not.” Not even ten seconds after the last time, he reached for you again, now to take your hand and bring it to his lap. “You know it’s not.”

“It’s just that—”

Felix thumbed over the ridges of your knuckles, his touch so gentle that it could’ve unraveled a chrysalis; it certainly unraveled you. You took a stabilizing breath.

“I wish could recognize my own happiness in the moment,” you sighed, “not just in retrospect. That way, even when it comes to an end, I’d still be able to look back and say with confidence that I was happy once. I’d like that, I think.”

His brows knit together as he processed your words, and, the next thing you knew, he left his swing trembling in his sudden absence and his trenchcoat became a black blur in the cold air.

Felix rested his elbows atop your knees as he knelt in front of you, cradled your face in his hands. He was achingly beautiful always, but you truly felt your breath swiped from your lungs at the new proximity of his ethereal features: petal-shaped eyes, wind-bitten cheeks, coral cupid’s bow. A painting.

“That’s easy enough,” Felix hummed. “How do you feel right now?”

You had zero agency in the smile this brought to your face. You wrapped your hands around his wrists, your answer quick, thoughtless. “Happy.”

He pressed his lips to the space between your eyes. “And now?”

“Happier.”

He pressed his lips to the curve of your jaw. “What about now?” 

“Even happier.”

His gaze flickered to his final destination, but you beat him to it, sealing your mouth against his with urgency. The kiss that followed was so intensely loving that your head went fuzzy. How was it that you felt his adoration for you even in his pliant lips, his velvet tongue? You ran your fingers through the part of his hair. You loved when you could feel the locks flutter back into place afterwards.

“GET A ROOM!”

You and Felix pulled away from one another, wearing matching expressions of bewilderment. Byeol was approximately five Newtons away from soaring off into the stratosphere, her legs jostling around as she clung to her seat for dear life. It seemed your neighbor had a very aggressive way of seesaw-maneuvering. It seemed your cousin had a very aggressive vocabulary.

“Where did she learn—?” The two of you began in unison, then shot your heads back towards each other.

“It had to be you.”

“Outrageous—you’re the Australian here!”

“You cuss like one too!”

“Because of you!”

“So we’re just lying now?”

“Well, yes.”

Felix cracked a smile—and then the two of you were dying of laughter, his right eye squinting closed and your forehead thudding onto his shoulder. You hardly managed to get out your next words. “We have to do something about her vernacular, don’t we?”

“Oh, badly,” he replied. “Badly.”

After you expended your giggles, you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, blissful, glowing. “Thank you, baby.”

“What for?”

“Being my happiness.”

He angled your face back to his and kissed you once more, whispering I love you like it wasn’t enough that it graced your ears; he needed it embossed upon your flesh in permanent ink.

Your intermingled breaths floated up into the air like flare signals over a capsizing boat. Here marks the time we were happiest.

III. (besides myself)

He’s blonde.

That’s the first thing you notice when you see your ex-boyfriend on your aunt’s porch: the slightly off-white color of his silky tresses, grown out longer than you’ve ever seen, pushed off his forehead and tucked behind his ears.

It’s not the only thing you notice, of course. His face has thinned ever so slightly, the shadows thrown over his features by the streetlights behind him particularly opaque. His outfit is glorious, expensive, with the black blazer and white dress shirt, the top two buttons undone, the pendant of a silver necklace resting between toned collarbones. His hands are almost overflowing with what must be gifts for your family. It’s impossible to discern all of them from this distance, but you know the bouquet of white poinsettias is for your mom, the batch of brownies doused in sprinkles and icing for Byeol.

But the hair is where your gaze returns, because tucked among the platinum strands are black roots: millimeters of the color you grew to adore, peeking out as if trying to catch a glimpse of you, too.

You’re so occupied with this game of “I spy” that you don’t notice the rampant footsteps coming up behind you. Your six-year-old cousin collides with the back of your leg head-on and nearly topples you like a bowling pin.

“Is it him?” She asks breathlessly.

You come this close to berating her as you steady yourself against the wall—what did I say about treating human beings like couch cushions? But you look down to see her chin resting on the side of your thigh, her eager eyes shining so brightly that she puts her own namesake to shame. Your scolding tirade dissolves on your tongue like popping candy.

You simply sigh instead. “Yes, but—”

“BOKKIE!” She shrieks, and Felix’s head snap upwards at the sound of her voice. His tender smile melts some of the frost laminating your heart.

You crack open the door, making eye contact with Felix for the first time in six months.

“Put everything down. Quickly,” you whisper, and he obeys right away, alarmed by the urgency in your voice. A wise choice.

The last present has hardly touched down upon the wooden planks when Byeol wriggles through the doorway and charges towards Felix like an angered toro. He swivels at her bright holler of his name, lowers himself to a squat just barely in time to catch her in his embrace. The delighted laugh that leaves his mouth as he staggers backwards sounds like the sun itself; you feel lost in orbit hearing it again.

“Bokkie,” Byeol murmurs, her voice muffled in the dip of his shoulder, by the tightening of her arms around his neck.

“Hi, princess.” He kisses her temple, presses his nose against her hair. “Whoa, you’ve grown strong, haven’t you?”

“She takes taekwondo classes now,” you hum from above, and the shock in his face asks the very question that your poignant smile confirms. Yes, because of you.

Felix pulls away, cocoons her cheeks with cherishing hands. “Is that true?”

She bobs her head. “I want to be like Bokkie.”

And his eyes go impossibly, terribly soft, like he’s gazing at the horizon itself. The sight twists the knife in your gut and yanks on your tangled heartstrings. It’s all because of you.

“And kick some ass!” Byeol adds, knocking you out of your sentimental spiral. You clap a defeated hand to your forehead. Felix falls over himself. So much for fixing her vernacular.

A few minutes later, Byeol is pirouetting towards the kitchen with a couple of Felix’s smaller presents in her arms, all too happy to be of help. You linger behind as Felix takes off his shoes, your cousin’s departure leaving the two of you alone in the dim foyer.

Felix straightens. The two of you come face to face. The air hangs so heavily with unspoken words that you half expect it to start dripping.

“Hi,” he says.

You nearly laugh at the cruelty of it. The man you were certain you’d grow old with greeting you like you’ve been forced to sit next to each other on the first day of school.

“Hi,” you answer. “You look—”

The two of you say this last part in unison; old habits die hard.

“—nice,” you finish.

“—beautiful,” Felix breathes, his eyes flicking off to the side abashedly.

Your throat constricts, pulse quickens. Says you. If he was a painting before, you think he’s a sculpture now, his perfection as tangible as if hand-chiseled by the greatest artists of old. As clear as the sun’s beloved sea. You can’t tell if it’s his stylist’s doing or simply a product of him growing into himself.

“Thank you,” you reply quietly. “And thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me. I didn’t think you would.”

“I didn’t do it for me.”

No part of you wants to see the subtle wince that crosses his face at your statement, so you turn your gaze to his jewelry-laden hands instead. 

For a split second, you swear you see the same promise ring settled in the same place on his middle finger. You realize what you’re really looking at only after blinking the phosphenes from your eyes: the thin tanline that it left behind. The realization fixes and destroys you all at once.

Then, Byeol starts wailing about Felix’s whereabouts like an actress hired to spare you from this very interaction.

“Her Highness beckons.” The smile you manage feels like drying cement. “Shall we?”

On your way to the kitchen, you notice the cologne emanating from his person smells only of citrus—no lavender. Its absence steadies you, deludes you into believing that it’s a stranger you’ve just let inside.

That illusion lasts for exactly three hours and forty-eight minutes.

It’s clear that the breakup has your family walking on eggshells, but it’s even clearer that their adoration for Felix has never wavered. You’ve never resigned yourself to the restroom so many times in one night, only to stand with your back against the door, unmoving, unfeeling, listening to the low thrum of his voice through the mahogany. Chatting comfortably with your aunt, bursting into laughter with Byeol, reminding you of the time you considered him family too. 

With every glance you toss your reflection, you discover new cracks in your composure. Has he noticed them yet?

After you come out of the restroom for the sixth time, you notice a light spilling from Byeol’s bedroom into the hallway. A low Australian accent graces your ears, followed closely by a tinkling giggle, and your body nudges you towards the sounds before your head can intervene.

You give your cousin’s door a feather-light nudge. It opens a few centimeters more and grants you vision of Byeol tucked into bed, Felix knelt at her side. Both of their faces are illuminated by the flaxen light of the nearby lamp.

Felix brushes her choppy bangs out of her eyes, a teasing smile on his lips. “Can I tell you a secret, princess?”

This wrests from her another fluttering laugh; you swear he’s the only person in the whole world who makes her shy. “Sure!”

“Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“Promise.”

“Not even Snernard.”

“M’kay.”

“Or Bong.”

“M’kay.”

“Especially not Trash the chicken. I don’t trust him.”

“I know, I know, I won’t!” Byeol huffs, and Felix laughs at her outburst. You also snort into your sleeve, amused (and deeply perplexed) by your cousin’s plushie-naming conventions.

“Thank you,” he hums, and he lowers his voice enough that you don’t catch the next thing he says.

All you perceive is the way that Byeol reacts. She sits up straight in bed, resting her back against her pillow. Her features rearrange themselves slowly, awfully, like the spread of cherry-flavored cough syrup over one’s sore throat, into the furthest thing from her trademark too-big-for-her-face smile.

Your stomach plummets to your fucking ankle.

“Why?” Her voice sounds microscopic.

“Well, do you remember what Bokkie’s dream job is?”

Byeol considers for a moment. “Being a singer?”

“That’s right.” He runs a knuckle over the hill of her cheek, the action achingly familiar, immensely fond. “And I found a place where I can do that, but it’s very, very far away. I won’t be able to come home very often.”

The telltale signs appear as he speaks; the final word sets them into motion. A tear streaks down the side of Byeol’s face. It hardly leaves the corner of her eye before it’s being intercepted by a doting swipe of his thumb.

“No,” she replies.

“You've grown so much.” Another tear falls. He wipes away that one, too. “You’re growing so well.”

“No,” she repeats.

“You’ve stolen the light of every star in the sky already. The whole galaxy will be yours someday, sweetheart. I know it.”

“I don’t want it,” she whispers. “I want my Bokkie.”

His vision starts to blur also. “But you don’t need me anymore.”

“We do.”

You know the precise moment Felix’s heart pauses in his chest because it is when yours does too.

“We?” He repeats, and she nods.

“Your dream job is being a singer.” Now Byeol is the one to reach for Felix, her delicate hand cupping the curve of his cheek. Her fingers are too small to catch his tears, she tries anyways—

“But what is your dream?”

It becomes too much for you.

You turn around. A choked sob escapes from behind the hand you have sealed to your mouth, causing both heads inside Byeol’s room to whirl in your direction. You don’t care that you nearly break both of your ankles beelining up the stairs; you only care to get the fuck out of that hallway.

You topple into your room, close the door behind you, and crumble.

Your quivering hands find purchase around your folded legs; your eyes squeeze shut against your knees. Rivulets of tears cascade over your shuddering lips like ruptured barrels of wine, left in the cellars of your soul to age, to spoil.

You never wanted your grief to see the light of day. Pouring your regret over every sidewalk wouldn’t change the past. Splashing your heartache across every wall like the world’s most fucked-up mural wouldn’t alleviate the pain of losing him. He was the one who left, but you were the one who’d asked him to. Feeling, yearning, mourning. Those always seemed so futile.

But you’re not just crying in this moment, rocking back and forth on your bedroom floor; you’re bleeding, the wounds you never treated igniting all at once as if exposed to vinegar, leaving you writhing and gasping in their wake. How you wish they’d been able to heal sooner. Maybe then seeing Felix tonight wouldn’t have splintered your soul like dropped porcelain.

Your door clicks open. Your breath hitches in your throat with a quiet scratch. The gulp of oxygen you intake tastes of oranges.

Every night before you fall asleep, you still think of the last time you visited the sea. The cool sand chafing against your toes, the coarse winds slapping your hair against your face hard enough to sting. The weather was terrible (you neglected to check the forecast before making the drive), but when you stepped onto the embittered coastline, you took what felt like the first real breath of your young adulthood. The fog melded to your skin as if melting a blindfold away, showing you the world in its entirety.

You return to that beach when Felix pulls you into his chest, and there’s no fog this time. Just the faint smell of lavender and your ocean, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.

Feverishly, Felix presses his lips to your temple, the apple of your cheek, rests his forehead against yours. Brokenly, he utters, “it’s you.”

You can feel his shaking in every part of him: the tickling breath, the fluttering eyelashes, the unsteady hand that reaches into the pocket of his blazer. You graze your fingers over his jaw, an attempt to steady his careening heart, only to lose yours in the fray also when he produces a small red box of unmistakable dimensions.

“God, it’s you. It always has been, always will be. Anything can change except for this.” His voice disintegrates as he speaks. You disintegrate as you listen. “Everything has changed besides myself.”

Felix leans back in to pepper kisses across the expanse of your wet features, then brings himself to one fated knee. He flicks open the lid. You don’t even spare the ring a glance; you don’t doubt its perfection. All you care to look at is the love of your life, deliquesced to adoration and tearwater.

“Thank you for being around, my dream.” His soft smile tends to your scars like ambrosia. “Will you let me do the same?”

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@skzms・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend ・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp ♡

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support!

[mt-oe]

Am curious,,, Mizu and a yandere/possessive reader 🫡 but like Mizu is also lowkey into it though

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Hey dears!

I apologize for not being active for so long. My mental health has been absolute shit. Admittedly, I have been wanting to put out a fic for quite some time now but I didn't want to put out a half-assed fic since none of you deserve that.

Got inspired by @pinksugarberry, specifically this work. A lot of us got our own OCs in our head that we can't quite put out into art so I hope this somehow grants you the opportunity to play in and maybe be the 5th secret route.

Hope you enjoy! Mwa mwa :*

warning/s: not proofread, she/her for mizu, panty shots, voyeurism (mdni), implied afab reader

Mizu was rarely fazed by anything.

With her characteristically stoic expression, she traversed the fields of her college program smoothly. Athletic, smart, and coupled with the calm of a deep river, she overcame the adversities brought by professors who clearly don't give a shit if you learn or not, an absurdly unfair grading system, and the stress of deadlines and exams.

She was cool, calm, and collected. Someone who never faltered, who's knees never buckled.

However, this was something different.

Something that she wasn't even sure she could ever prepare for.

.

.

"Is it this one?" your voice asked softly, reaching a book down to her as your smaller figure stood on the ladder, a few feet above her.

A library assistant. A cute fuckin' library assistant.

Upon hearing your words, her blue eyes looked up briefly to check if you've gotten the right book before widening a fraction and immediately looking elsewhere. Her cheeks heated up as the image of something—something cute and baby pink—plagues her mind, hand tightening its grip on the ladder until her knuckles turned white.

The library had always been her go-to place to study. It was quiet, usually cold, and the vibe brought by other students trying to study had also added to the ambience. There were lots of sockets and was open until the late hours. It was the perfect place to lock in.

However, her concerns started rising when she felt some sort of presence watching her intently. At first she brushed it off as the usual stranger's curiosity over her appearance. After all, her appearance was quite unique. But as the days passed by, she soon realized that the stare, it wasn't going away.

Someone was watching her.

Her senses were then on high alert every time she went to the library. She even tried not going just to see if she could lose the stare, but she realized that whoever was staring at her would only stare harder when she came back if she did. It was like she had eyes on her everywhere, watching every move.

With her wits and observant nature, it didn't take long for her to catch whoever was watching her. But to her surprise, it was you. The library assistant.

The two of you barely had interactions and she found you pretty timid. Always keeping to yourself, organizing papers, and barely interacting unless needed. The only times she'd ever talk to you was to ask for information or help. Even then, you were pretty shy. You were so harmless. Like a cute little rabbit.

With her recent discovery, she found herself intrigued by you and slowly became hyperaware of your presence. Your mannerisms, the slight intonations of your hushed voice, and even the times you went out of post to reorganize the returned books. But those weren't what intrigued her the most...

"Then what about this one?" you asked in a shy voice, holding out another book. She didn't even have to look up to know that it was the wrong book again.

Shaking her head, she pretended to clear her throat, eyes darting around. Anything to avoid looking up again. "No...It's the one beside that," she mumbled, trying her best to hide the unexplainable nervousness in her voice.

A soft, barely audible sigh left your lips at her response. "Please look at it properly," you whispered, waving the book to catch her attention.

At this point, Mizu was almost a hundred percent sure you were doing this on purpose.

Everyday, Mizu went to the library, and everyday she went to the library, she coincidentally had to ask for your assistance in finding some sort of resource. That wouldn't have been a problem. That shouldn't be a problem.

But it was.

It was because every time she did, she'd have to look up and see what was under your skirt.

She didn't want to seem like a pervert, but goddamnit...

You were doing this on purpose, weren't you?

Mizu wasn't stupid. She knew you wanted her to peek up your skirt, to see what color your panties were today, to see the cute prints it had, to admire the plushness of your ass. She'd notice how purposefully got on top of the ladder and get her attention before pulling on the fabric of your panties whenever you got a slight wedgie. She's seen the way you spread your legs when you sat in front of her, even going as far as to lift your skirt up a bit. She noticed the slight pout on your lips when she refused to look.

You've been at it ever since she remembered. Initially, she thought that you were just naturally unaware, maybe even a little bit clumsy. Maybe you just had this natural innocent lewdness? But continuing to observe you, she began realizing how you only acted like this with her.

You never watched the other people who studied in the library. You never asked anyone to look up when you fetched a book for them. You kept your legs crossed whenever talking to someone. And most of all, you never got upset when someone didn't look at you.

She knew she should be disturbed, possibly even upset. But somehow, Mizu found herself amused.

Intrigued.

Interested.

Deciding to indulge you, she turned her head to look up. Her eyes looked up your skirt, admiring the slight camel toe peeking, before looking into your eyes while pretending to be subtle. Her lips almost twitched into an amused smirk as she saw the slight shiver that went up your spine.

"Is this it?" you asked again, hiding your excitement upon feeling her gaze. She looked at the book, and sure enough, it was the wrong one again. Sighing, she shook her head.

Her eyes observed the barely-visible quiver of your lips as you tried to force an excited smile down and replace it with a disappointed frown. "O-Oh...um..let me see," you whispered before turning to look at the shelf.

A little bit of shuffling later, you decided that that was enough excitement and got the correct book this time. Handing it to her, you went down the ladder with a faux apologetic smile. "Sorry it took a while."

Mizu shook her head and let out a small huff of amusement. God, you were so cute when you acted dumb.

"No, no. It's fine," she said reassuringly, spoiling you a bit and patting your head softly before she went back to her seat, book in hand. Her eyes looking over your face for a moment, studying the slight blush that dusted over your cheeks as you took a seat again.

As she got back to her work, she could feel your eyes staring at her, watching her with unwavering interest. Your gaze was so intense it was becoming difficult to ignore. Almost as difficult as ignoring the way you were subtly spreading your legs, letting your skirt ride up a bit as you watched her.

No. At this point, you were waiting for her.

Waiting for her to look.

A few moments later, Mizu finally looked up. Her sharp blue eyes looking into yours deeply before looking down, staring at the baby pink panties you had on today. She tilted her head slightly to get a better look, admiring the way your thighs trembled in excitement, and the slight throb of your cunt.

Her gaze was so intense it almost made you want to shrink in your seat. The excitement was making your throat tighten, your hand going up to your lips to try and hide your smile.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

[blue-slxt]

Imagine petite!human reader literally being used as a living fleshlight😩

Like she’s so small she can just be lifted off the ground and pounded🥴

Honestly don’t even care who it’s written for feels like a Jake, lo’ak, or quaritch kinda senecio

Sincerely, a no where near petite girlie

Thank you so much for your patience. I've been working on like a million different things at the same time so I am so behind on requests. But I looove this idea. Something about just being manhandled however your partner wants you to be is so fucking aaaaaaaarrrrrrrrgggggghhhhhhhh😩! Anyways, I hope you enjoy this.

🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞

Smut under the cut.

“Make sure you don’t break my bed with your big ass.” You playfully scold Lo’ak while pulling on your spaghetti strap shirt. He flops his entire body weight onto your bed making it creak. It was times like this when you really took note of just how big of a size difference there was between you. Of course, the Na’vi were much bigger than average humans already, but you were even on the small side for humans. Watching how his body can’t fit properly on your bed while you could be swallowed whole by your sheets and blankets never ceased to amaze you. He waves you off with a ‘yeah, yeah’ while he makes himself comfortable putting his hands under his head. You roll your eyes at him and start to search through all the DVDs you have for something for you two to watch.

“What are you in the mood for this time? Something funny? Romantic? Dramatic?” you fire off the different genres as you toss aside disc after disc.

“Hmm…” he dramatically hums thinking about his answer.

You don’t bother to look at him while he mulls it over and you continue searching. You faintly comprehend the sound of him shuffling and moving around behind you, but you pay it no mind until a pair of big hands find their way on your small frame. Lo’ak’s lips brush lightly over the back of your neck and it almost tickles when he speaks.

“I think I’m in the mood for something sexy” he presses kisses onto your neck and shoulder.

“You are so corny” you say with a laugh, but you still lean into his touch anyway.

“Just put on whatever. I’d rather watch you anyway.” His low voice in your ear makes your nerves come alive with this intense fluttering all over your body. His impatience is rubbing off on you so you hurriedly throw whatever you can reach into the player without really bothering to look at what it is. Once the movie starts playing, you turn around to face Lo’ak and he immediately swipes you up off the floor and your legs lock around his waist while he presses his lips to yours. Holding onto him like this gives you the perfect feel of his cock straining against his tewng and poking you right between your legs. Clearly, he can feel it too from how his hands hold your hips and grind you down against him. Every move brushes against your covered clit and gives you small tingles of satisfaction, but it’s not enough. He’s got you so riled up now that you decide to have a little more fun and push his limits. On any given day, Lo’ak could, and would, fuck you until your body felt like jelly. But on occasion, he would lose himself and by the end, even your brain would feel numb and fuzzy filled with nothing but him possessing you completely. That’s exactly what you need right now.

Without warning, you unfold your legs from around him and let go completely dropping to your feet on the ground. His puzzled expression is nothing short of adorable.

“Shit, I just remembered that I have a report to finish” you say walking over to your computer desk and sitting down.

“Babe, you have got to be kidding me right now.” You were never one to deny Lo’ak what he asked for. Ever. Not even when you would join the clan for communal dinner and he would pull you off into the dark out of view of everyone else.

“It’s only going to take a few minutes, Lo.” You say sitting down and pulling your hair forward and exposing your neck. Lo’ak groans behind you. You know how much he loves when you present your neck for him to mark. He’s starting to catch on to your little game. If he wants it, he’s going to have to take it.

“If it’s only going to take a couple minutes, then do it after” he says pulling your chair away from your desk and over to the bed. He spins you around to face him and heat settles between your thighs at the way he’s eyeing you right now. “I need you, mamas.”

“You’re doing a whole lot of talking and yet, I’m still fully clothed” you say with a sly smirk.

He chuckles lowly to himself, “oh, you are asking for it.” In one swift motion, Lo’ak pulls you onto his lap by your waist. Your hands brace against his chest to keep yourself from flying forward. His face settles in the crook of your neck and he nips lightly at your skin making you jump.

“Now, am I going to have to rip these cute little shorts off of you or are you gonna behave and take them off yourself?”

“Don’t…I like these ones.” You whine.

“Then get rid of them. Right now.”

You shift yourself around so that you can maneuver out of your shorts while he pulls his tewng to the side to expose his thick, hard cock that was already leaking precum from the tip.

“Already so hard, love. Is that for m—”

“Don’t try to get cute with me” Lo’ak cuts you off by grabbing you by your waist and slamming you down onto his dick in one quick snap.

It feels like an electric shock is shot up your spine and goes straight to your head being immediately filled to the brim. He gives you no time to adjust before he’s fully lifting your body by your waist up and down on his cock.

“Ah! Fu-ck! Lo-ak!” Your words and breaths are broken from how he’s making you bounce on top of him.  

“Shit, your pussy is so fuckin perfect” he says through gritted teeth.

His big hands on your smaller frame completely take control of your movements and you have no choice but to let him have his way with you. His dick continues to bully its way into your tight cunt and kiss your cervix making your toes curl.

“Oh fuck, you’re gonna make me cum inside of you, mama. You want that, hm? Want me to fill you up?” his voice is lighthearted, but you can tell from the look in his eyes and his laser focus on you how close he really is and how badly he wants to give you everything.

“Yes, yes, yes, please Lo’ak!” your vision is already starting to spot as you near your own high while he keeps using you as his own personal fuck toy.

“Hng, shit!” he bucks his hips up to match the way he’s moving your body for you a few more times before the heat of his cum starts to fill you from the inside out. It sends you over the edge into your own orgasm and your pussy clamps down on him even tighter if that was even possible. Lo’ak sucks in a sharp breath feeling how tight you are around him and his forehead falls forward onto your chest waiting for you to stop milking him for all he’s worth.

His hands finally let go of your waist and they fall to sit on top of your thighs while you both try to catch your breath.

Suddenly the TV booms from across the room, “I am Bruce Almighty! My will be done!” making both of you snap your head in its direction.

“What the fuck movie did you put on?” Lo’ak laughs breathlessly.

“I have no fucking clue and I kind of don’t really care” you laugh equally out of breath. “But it looks like we still have some time before it’s over…” you lightly suggest.

He already knows what’s on your mind and a devilish smirk crosses his face.

[spacerockfloater]

hi! i noticed you learnt about what ryan condal said regarding blood and cheese. it was…something. i would like to know your thoughts on the matter. though it would be completely understandable if you need sometime to gather them together or if you would rather not at all! thank you and bye!

Hello beloved, thank you so much for asking me! I’d love to share my opinion!

If anyone’s wondering, @rhaenelle is referring to this interview where Ryan Condal essentially says he believes that Blood & Cheese’s brutality and heinousness was exaggerated by the Greens in a propagandistic attempt to convince their subjects that Rhaenyra and Daemon are the worst villains ever born, hence why he toned the event down; to show us what he thinks is the accurate version of Jaehaerys’ murder.

Now, I am aware that Condal had already warned us that HOTD was going to be a feminist retelling of the events of F&B, which practically means that his plan has always been to whitewash the everlasting fuck out of Rhaenyra. So what do I think about this?

Well, for starters, I think that Ryan Condal is an excellent businessman. He knows what kind of tropes are going to make the audience engage with his show. He understands that people need a hero to cheer for and a villain to hate, therefore he removed the moral ambiguity from all of the characters and divided them into two categories: the Blacks, enlightened revolutionaries full of passion, deserving of admiration and correct in everything they do, and the Greens, pious fools with a moral superiority complex who are stack in the ways of the past and commit despicable crimes. The average viewer does not possess the intelligence to comprehend that both parties have their good and bad moments, and that they’re both correct in fighting for what each believes is rightfully theirs. Simultaneously, he benefits from the modern trends that want women in media to take revenge when they are wronged and emerge as triumphant girlbosses, because of course a white upper class woman’s suffering in a western world (or Westeros) society has everything to do with her gender and nothing to do with her personality or decisions (even if this works solely for Rhaenyra, because Alicent seems to be held accountable for every single one of her actions). Finally, it is obvious that Condal is trying to appease disgruntled Daenerys fans, so he has rebuilt Rhaenyra into this tortured martyr that wishes to change the world for the better in an attempt to make her resemble her great granddaughter six times removed.

For all of these reasons, I find it very logical that he is going out of his way to minimise the tragedy the Greens experience. It just doesn’t make Rhaenyra look good and honestly, who wants that? The producers saw how unhappy Danny’s stans were when they made her lose her shit; they’re not going to make the same mistake twice. They don’t want their show to tank like the last season of GOT did, so they’ll do everything in their power to keep the audience happy. And it’s working! What’s the last thing Condal says in this clip? “You kinda start rooting for [Blood and Cheese]!” and boy oh boy, the TB stans sure do! Literally hundreds of memes that rejoiced at Jaehaerys’ death were posted on X this week, with tens of thousands of likes. But when Lucerys died, it was presented as the most foul thing to ever happen in the ASOIAF universe. It is the TB supporters that dictate which child murder is good and which is bad, and that decision usually depends on which child came out Rhaenyra’s womb, not let’s say, the fact that one kid was a toddler that could barely walk, while the other was a teenager that laughed at the disabled person he mutilated himself.

It’s all just marketing

That being said, I want to clarify that I understand why Condal and the HOTD producers do what they do, but being a good entrepreneur does not necessarily make you a literary genius. Now, I’m not gonna explain why stripping Rhaenyra off of every character trait that made her interesting is a bad decision and that in their attempt to remove the blame from her so that they can elevate her as this righteous patron of feminism, they’re accidentally removing all of her agency and turning her simply into a victim, because I have a whole blog dedicated to that. But let’s just say that presenting Rhaenyra as this sexually liberated idol that’s incapable of evil, when in fact she’s an entitled aristocrat who’s completely at the mercy of men around her, from her father to her husbuncle, is the most performative activism move ever pulled in recent TV history, as well as pushing the narrative that Alicent suffers from internalised misogyny because duh, a woman can only be good and a feminist if she supports Rhaenyra, not when she pursues her own interests.

Ultimately, I think we just have to accept that this show is not meant for TG fans. We are not going to find any satisfaction in it. Everything that was unique and admirable about the Greens in the book has vanished. Their family dynamic is fucked up, Alicent’s children hate her, Aegon and Halaena cannot stand one another, Alicent is constantly a victim and never someone that chases her own ambitions, Halaena is very vague, Aemond appears to be more angsty than angry, Aegon is a stupid rapist, Jaehaerys’ death was turned into a mockery, Alicole was weaponised in order to make us shit on Alicent and Criston even more and so on. This show barely caters to us because we’re not making them any money.

The reason that there are more TB than TG stans is because (I’m gonna get so much fucking hate for this) most people who watch TV are fucking morons. I swear, when F&B came out 6 years ago, no one gave a flying fuck about Rhaenyra, because we all understood that everyone involved in the Dance of the Dragons was fucked up in their own way and that the message of this story, just like the general message of ASOIAF, is that nobody deserves to sit on that fucking throne. We were all in agreement about that. But then this fucking show came along and all the oblivious simpletons that swallowed whatever the producers shoved down their throats, grabbed the book and decided that “Woah, this book is obviously a critique on patriarchy and Rhaenyra is obviously the victim of the story”! As if GRRM, the man who said that he doesn’t sit down and think “Oh, I’m going to write a woman now” but instead he believes women to be people just like men, with complex personalities, would ever do that. And they just can’t believe that it is possible for book!Rhaenyra to be an evil racist classist full of entitlement! Surely it must be because the Greens are rewriting history! There’s no way GRRM, the man that created Cersei fucking Lannister, would ever make a female character that’s vicious and crazy just because she feels like it! Y’all need to sit down for a moment. I say this as a radical feminist that supports the 4B movement: you’re projecting your own ideas onto George’s work. Not all the media we consume has to reflect our ideologies, but if you think that it has to, then this book isn’t the anti misogynistic masterpiece you wish it was.

Like, when it comes to F&B, I am firmly anti Targaryen and did not wish for any side to win. I wanted them all wiped out to be honest. But when it comes to HOTD, I’m TG basically out of spite at this point.

All in all, I just think that things are going to go downhill for us from this point on. They’ll just keep glorifying the Blacks until the very end.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

More Than You Could Ever Know - Part 3

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Falling into my well-tread pattern of everything I write getting steadily longer chapter by chapter. Enjoy!

Title from All I Want For Christmas is You by Mariah Carey

Word Count: 12.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You and Ben have a Christmas Eve date. Many gifts are opened. Usual Warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, tooth rotting fluff, established relationship, Christmas Special

Part 2

Read on A03!

When he wants to be, Ben is shockingly romantic. It doesn’t surprise you—you can feel the power and fervor of his love every second, its pious and wrathful devotion all focused on you—but he always manages to outdo himself. To be more romantic than any epic poem or tragedy, to know you better than you might know yourself, to be the best fuck you’ve ever had every single time. 

What does surprise you is how he still sometimes aches with mold in your chest. How you’ve shown him time and time again that, if he asked, you’d learn to raise the dead and travel through time and move planets with only your hands for him. You’d burn out the sun and create worlds fueled only by your love for Ben, and he’s always surprised that’s the truth. 

It’s always been the truth. It feels like more than the truth. A little more than a fact or law. It just fucking is. You’re Ben’s. He’s yours. That’s the end of it.

And you couldn’t do better than him. Nobody could do better than Ben, and it’s why you might feel really fucking possessive of him. The gossip magazines and Fake Face—you’re pretty sure her name is Deandra or something, but you don’t really fucking care—don’t look at Ben and see an angel. They don’t fucking get that he’s everything, and safe, and strong and warm and handsome. They don’t understand that he knows how to say every right thing, that he treats you like you’re holy, and cares more than anyone you’ve ever met.

They just want his body, and he’s not a fucking whore.

He’s a little bit of a fucking whore.

He’s your fucking whore. He’s your slab of meat to objectify and drool over, to tease and touch and pout at. Ben is fucking yours. And you’re his, and you trust him with more than your life, and you love him more than the whole universe.

And he’s such a fucking asshole. And you’re going to kill him.

Can I come inside now?

No, he grunts in your head, and you can feel him. Feel that instinct of Ben moving around inside the house, doing something that he refuses to tell you about. 

I never tell you no about coming inside-

Ben snorts. Smartass.

Is that a yes-

No. He says your name in the low hum of the stereo, and you feel rough affection start to cover your skin. Don’t lose your fucking mind, I’m almost done.

Done with what?

Nice try.

You sigh, leaning your head back on the seat. Are you ever going to tell me what you’re doing?

Are you ever going to tell me what that fucking secret shit was.

No, it’s still a surprise-

So is this. Fucking wait. You can almost see the cocky smirk on his face as hunger flashes through his blood. Patience is a virtue, darling-

Shut the fuck up, old man.

He chuckles in your head, and it still, somehow, rolls through your body. Brat.

Cunt. How about now-

Christ, woman. Ben in your head, and you know he’s about to open the door before he does, because your whole body starts to sing Ben. Ben, Ben, Ben, bigger than the universe and yours and Ben.

You smile at him when he appears, marching over to the car and opening the door with a glare you know is fake.

“You’re a goddamn menace,” he mutters, helping you out of the car. “Lucky I fucking love you.“

“I am, aren’t I.” You grab his face between your hands, your smile probably a little idiotic. “You’re so good to me, my love.”

He grunts, all his annoyance a good performance, but pointless when he’s still looking at you with an unyielding reverence and you can feel his love begin to pound out of his chest.

“Come on, Sunshine.” Ben offers you his hand, something alert and tight over his throat relaxing slightly when you tangle your fingers in his. “Let’s go.”

He’d insisted you dress up before you dropped Ryan off at Butcher’s for Christmas Eve. So you’d done full makeup and hair, put on your fanciest dress that was still slutty enough to make Ben’s nostrils flare and that part of him in you feel starved, and returned to the house with a strict order from Ben to stay inside until he was ready.

You’d been under the impression you were going out.

You’d been wrong.

But this is so much better.

Just to start, Ben cooked. And he’s turned out be an amazing cook. You think he doesn’t grumble and scowl about it because—in his mind—it’s another thing for him to do for you. Something he can make you, something he can care for you with. Something he can offer you, just like this. A stupidly romantic and dizzying gesture of dinner. Steak—eating birds is for fucking pussies, Sunshine—and potatoes and bread, laid out on a blanket in the living room, right next to the tree.

He knows you love the tree. Ben’s obviously figured out that you’ve been sitting in the living room so much—when you read or work or watch TV on your laptop—because of the Christmas tree. Because it makes the whole house smell even more like pine—even more like Ben—and is so colorful and warm it eases your whole body into simple happiness.

And this is making you feel high. Mindlessly happy and easy, Ben wrapped around your body—his chin resting on the top of your head as he waits for you to speak—and the whole world around you evidence of his love, and this is so good, and you love him so much, and-

“Thank you.” You turn in his arms, the smile on your face so real and made of purely love. “It’s perfect.” 

Ben grunts, and the glow becomes bloody and ardorous in his chest. “You like it.”

You give him an amused look, rising up to kiss him soft and long and slow. Allowing a little bit of your blood—of your love—to move from your body to his, allowing him to tangle a hand in your hair and pull you a little off the ground as he presses his tongue on your lower lip. As you part them for him, and he groans down your throat.

I love it. You whisper in his head, making a small, content sound of bliss as his tongue sweeps over your teeth. I love you, Benjamin. Thank you.

Neither of you rush to pull apart, and when  you to do there’s a long moment where Ben drops his brow to your, you curl your fingers in his chest, and you exist only in the feeling of each other. Heavy, traded breaths, bodies fit perfectly together, everything so easy.

This is so fucking easy.

It’s easy to let Ben guide you to the floor, and to watch him drop across from you with a wide, cocky grin. Easy to take whatever he offers you—food and affection and love—and smile the whole time. Easy to tug him to your side, because he’s barely a foot away, and that’s too far.

“The whole point is that it’s a date,” He grumbles your name, even as he shuffles to sit with your leg hooked over his, your body tucked into his side. “We should be fucking looking at each other-“

“I’m looking at you,” you shrug, smiling up at him. “It’s not that hard, Benjamin, you just sort of move your eyes-“

Ben leans down, kissing you until you make an undignified whimper and his chuckle sends a wave of thirst through your body.

“Fucking brat,” He mutters against your lips, pulling away with a slight shake of his head. “You’re happy like this.”

He’s talking about how you’re sitting. And you’re more than happy with that—Ben’s big and warm, still around you, still everything—but you make your words a little clearer, and little gentler. Filled with how fucking good this, he is, you feel. 

“I’m happy.” You whisper, pressing a soft kiss over his beard. “Really happy.”

Ben nods slowly and grabs his plate from across the blanket, pulling you fully into his lap and folding his body over yours as you eat.

“Butcher said we could go over early tomorrow,” you lean back to watch Ben as he eats, tapping your fork against your plate. “For Ryan.”

“We were doing that shit no matter what,” A little bit of potato falls into Ben’s beard as he grumbles, and he doesn’t stop speaking as you reach up to wipe it away. “He’s our kid, Butcher’s damn lucky he gets Ryan tonight.”

You hum. “He’s our kid?”

“Of course he’s our fucking kid, I don’t see anyone else-“

“I know.” You pull a piece of steak between your teeth, smiling backwards at him. “I just like hearing you say it.”

He rolls his eyes. “Brat.”

“Cunt. Do you,” you swallow, chewing on your lower lip. “Do you think we’re doing a good job? With Ryan?”

Ben shrugs. “Doing the best damn job we can, but the kid’s already seen some shit.”

“I know, but-“

“It’s a fucking miracle he can go to school and laugh, Sunshine,” he grunts, moving one hand to cup your chin, keeping your gaze on his. “That’s a good job.” Ben presses a soft kiss to your lips, speaking against them. “You’re doing a good fucking job.”

You let out a soft, happy sigh, and the constant tension over your lungs—that, just maybe, you were fucking up Ryan more—eases a little bit as you curl further into Ben’s arms. “Thank you.”

Ben scowls, but the glow blooms over his whole body. “Don’t. Tell me about work.”

“There’s not much to tell,” you mumble, setting your plate back on the ground. “It’s going well? Everything’s going smoothly, nobody is trying to kill anyone else, we- oh,” You grin at him. “Can you keep a secret?”

He nods, watching you carefully, and your smile grows.

“Hughie’s going to propose,” you whisper. “He showed MM and I the ring.”

Ben grunts, his fingers moving to touch your engagement ring, resting easier and natural next to your wedding band. “Good for them.”

“That it?” You tilt your head at him. “Just good for them?”

He rolls his eyes at your deep voiced impression of him, raising your hand to kiss your palm. “What the fuck am I supposed to say-“

“Congratulations?” You suggest. “Maybe call Hughie and offer him some advice?”

“Advice-“

“On marriage.” You smile at him, and the love in his body grow fervorish. “You’re doing a good job. Share your wisdom, old man.”

He scowls, but falls silents for a long moment. Rubbing circles on your skin as he scans over your face, pulling you carefully and reverently apart as he actually thinks about it.

“Keep your wife happy.” He mutters, and you think you might have melted from how firm and certain he sounds, how he’s looking at you like you’re the sun, how his love is alive and furious in your body. “And fuck her like she deserves.”

You giggle, the noise a little high and needy. “Romantic.”

“Shut the fuck up, brat, you love it.”

“I do,” you sigh, pulling his arms a little tighter around him. “How’s work for you-“

“Fine.”

“Just fine-“

“It’s easy shit, but I don’t fucking love it, darling. Christ, Butcher is my goddamn boss.”

“Well, at least he’s giving you the holidays off-“

“He fucking better be.” Ben glares into the air. “Pussy picks up another case, he’ll have to give me the best damn blowjob in history to get me to work it.”

You snort, giving him a fake pout. “I thought your dick was mine, Pretty Boy-“

“It is.” He grunts, kissing the top of your head. “So he’s never fucking getting me to go.”

“What if he asked really nicely?”

Ben raises his brows at you. “To blow me.”

“Yeah.” You hum, nodding, unable to contain the wide, bright smile on your face. “What if he begged?”

“Nobody,” Ben drawls, his deep voice moving through your whole body and settling, hot and coiled, in your gut. “Fucking begs me like you do, Sunshine. And Butcher would have to do it half as pretty as that.”

You flush, even as you whack his arm around you. “Fuck you-“

“I will,” he mutters in your ear, trailing one hand up your thigh and under your dress, his hunger starting to bloom and spread over your whole body. “We’ve got the whole house to ourselves, and you,” he kisses that spot on your neck, smirking at your breathy sigh. “Look fucking beautiful. I’d have to have lost my goddamn mind not to fuck you.”

You might have whimpered, but Ben swallows your every breath and noise with a deep, long kiss and everything turns into a warm haze of Ben.

I’m here. Ben traces his tongue over your lower lip, his hand resting at the very apex of your thigh, but not just touching you. What do you want, beautiful?

Right as he praises you, Ben presses his thumb over your clit, still covered by your panties, and your moan is loud and shameless as he starts to rub small circles.

Fuck, you throw your head back, reaching up to grab at Ben’s face, your fingers curling in his beard. Shit, Ben, please-

Please, what? He flicks you once, dragging two fingers over your clothed slit. Words, darling, need to hear that pretty fucking begging-

Ben, please, please more, need more-

He hums, latching his mouth to your neck and sucking, right as he presses his thumb firmly down on your clit, pulling a high whine from your throat. More what.

You, need you, need more of you-

I know, darling. He chuckles, resuming those slow, torturous circles. Bet you’re already fucking soaked for me, so fucking desperate, Sunshine, so fucking beautiful-

Benjamin, please- You cut your silent words off with a squeal as Ben pushes those two, broad fingers into your aching pussy through your underwear, his free hand palming at your breasts. Fuck-

You want to fucking cum, darling? That what you really need?

Yes, yes, please, Ben- You gasp as he slaps your dripping, still clothed pussy once, hunger and smug pride flaring in his chest at your whine. 

“Hold it.” He mutters, and before you know what’s happening he’s hooking an arm under your legs, standing up with you held carefully in his arms. “I’ve got something for you.”

You blink at him, still a little lost in his big, strong arms around you as he carries you upstairs, the power and zeal of his love inside you, the ache between your legs that’s only growing as you drown in warm and handsome and pine and Ben-

He grunts your name, and you swallow. “Are you-

“I’m good,” you whisper, offering him a small smile as he kicks the door to your bedroom open. “You have something?”

“For you.” Ben doesn’t set you down on the bed, but in front of the bookshelf, right next to your dresser. “Early gift.”

You tilt your head up to scan over his set, firm features, all watching you with an unraveling attention. He’s tensed in your body, sore in a way that doesn’t hurt, something electric in his hands and on his tongue. Ben grabs your chin and carefully guides your gaze back to the books, his chest pressed to your back and his words low.

“Try to burn them.”

You swat his hand away, your gaze shooting up to him with a glare. “Benjamin, there is no fucking way-“

“Trust me, Sunshine.” He wraps his arms around your waist, rubbing soft circles as he holds your glower. “Just do it.”

“But they’re books-“

“I fucking know that. Trust me.” He smirks, kissing your brow as your glare deepens. “Do I ever damn lie to you, darling?”

You scowl. “No.”

“Would I ever try to pull some sort of fucking trick?”

“Shut up.” You mutter, looking back to the books with a frown. “Burn them.”

“That’s what I said.” Ben rests his chin on your brow, his body still filled with that odd electrically. “Do it.”

You sigh. “If I burn down the house, we’re getting a divorce-“

“You’re not going to burn down the damn house.” 

“But if I do-“

“You’d remarry me a week later.” Ben says, his voice dry and bored. “Stop fucking stalling.”

You chew on your tongue as you raise hand, digging your nails into Ben’s arm and squeezing your eyes shut as you let a small amount of fire out from under your skin. Barely a spark, but enough to reduce paper to ash. 

Ben’s whole body starts to glow with pride, nothing smells like lingering smoke, and—when you wearily drag your eyes open—the room looks the exact same.

The books look the exact same.

“What the-“

“Got Frenchie to fireproof them,” Ben spins you in his arms, and the grin on his face is almost boyish. “He used some sort of fucking coating or some shit. And it took all goddamn month, he had to do one at a time so you wouldn’t notice.”

You gape at him. At his bright smile, and chiseled, rough features, and the pure love and adoration in his eyes. Your whole brain is just a hum of Ben. All yours. He’s all yours, and he’s everything, and you might start crying because, fuck, you really couldn’t ask for anything more than him-

“Ben,” your voice is a little hoarse, your body slumped fully into his. “I, I don’t-“

There’s a flash of soreness over his skin, his arms tightening around you, and you’re moving before it can settle into his bones. Throwing yourself into him with everything you have, before he can even properly doubt the gift, can start to think that you’re not happy. That this—that he—isn’t so fucking amazing it’s making you stupid.

It’s perfect. Your hands tangle in his hair, smiling against his lips as you melt fully into his body. You’re perfect, Ben. Thank you.

Don’t. He grunts, but it turns into a long groan that sparks in your gut and presses your thighs together. You’re-

I know I am. You press your brow to his as you separate. But you are as well. And I love you.

“I love you too,” Ben’s voice is low, his hands drawing rough patterns on your hips. “And you’re still the perfect one, darling. You’re a fucking miracle.”

You swallow, leaning back to watch him carefully. “I got something for you as well,” you whisper. “But it feels kind of, um, bad now.”

He scowls. “It’s not fucking bad.”

“You don’t even know what it is, Benjamin-“

“You got it for me.” He mutters. “Can’t be fucking bad.”

“Oh. Okay.” Your smile is a little idiotic, and you press a soft kiss to his cheek before taking a long step back. “Let’s find out, then.”

Ben looks like he’s going to say something—his brows knit and a small frown on his handsome face—but it’s gone the moment you pull off your dress.

It’s a little cocky to make yourself his gift. But Ben’s nostrils are flaring, his jaw clenched so hard you’re worrying he might break it, and everything in his body is hunger. Raw, feral hunger that’s making his eyes dark with lust and his muscles flex under his shirt as he takes you in. Scans over the lingerie set you’d bought specifically for him, dark green and lace and very easily rippable. Leaving more of you exposed than covered, possibly the sluttiest thing you’ve ever owned, and all for Ben. All for how he’s watching you like he wants to ruin you, and you’re more than happy to let him. 

“Christ on a fucking cross,” he mutters your name, shaking his head slightly. “You’re, fuck, Sunshine, you’re perfect. So fucking perfect.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, lowering yourself to your knees with your best innocent expression. “You’re not so bad yourself, Benjamin, my love.”

“Fucking-“ He groans as you crawl forward, stopping right in front of him before smiling up at his lust-blown expression. “Are you trying to damn kill me-”

You shake your head, your smile growing. “No. But,” you run a hand up his thigh, squeezing your legs together as you see his bulge, proud and straining at his pants. “I might be trying to do something else.” You rest light fingers over him, swallowing at his low growl. “If you want.”

Ben’s chuckle is animalistic, a big, warm hand tangling in your hair and pulling your face fully back. “Fucking hell,” he says your name with an awe that’s so out of place in the hot, undying desire etched over his every feature and organ, but still so painfully natural. “You want to suck my cock, beautiful?”

“Yes, please,” you grip his wrist as he traces his thumb over your cheekbones, not trying to hide the need and borderline desperation in your voice. “Ben, please-“

“So fucking good,” he mutters, and you moan when his thumb presses on your lower lip, his throat bobbing as you open for him without thought. “Christ, Sunshine, you’re a goddamn marvel. So fucking pretty on your knees, when you fucking beg and say my name. So fucking beautiful and perfect, fucking, shit-“

You’d been fiddling with his belt as he drawled, and the moment you get it off you’re moving. Freeing his huge, already throbbing cock from his pants, swiping your thumb over the head of him before licking a long, slow stripe on the underside. 

“Fuck,” Ben’s words are pushed through his teeth, his hand now braced on the dresser as you smile up at him, slowly pumping your hand over his shaft. “You’re, fuck-“

You take him fully in your mouth, bobbing your head slowly up and down as you swirl your tongue around him, moaning when he bumps the back of your throat and squirming as he groans above you. 

“Jesus, fuck, you’re a goddamn miracle, darling, such a good girl, look so fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth-“ He’s groan rolls through your whole body, and you start to grind onto the air. “Fuck, Sunshine, you’re so fucking beautiful, feel like a fucking sin, so- Fuck, you were goddamn made for me, fucking mine-“

Ben’s praise starts to slur as you move one hand up to play with his balls, your eyes never leaving his as you pick up your pace. 

Ben, you whine around him when his hips jerk. Please, just-

You reach back to grab his hand in your hair, squeezing his balls once and sucking on the very head of him as you pull almost fully off, and he understands without question. His grip tightens, his hunger and pleasure so close to bursting in his gut, and begins to fuck your face. It’s unrelenting and brutal, your teeth grazing his cock as the wood creaks under his free hand, and it’s all you can do not to climb up his body and beg him to fuck you. To just rolls your hips and rub your thighs together as Ben watches you under lidded eyes, his words barely a growl and his cock twitching as drool falls out of your mouth.

“Fucking Christ,” he groans, slamming you down on him until your nose hit his abdomen, your nails curling in his skin. “So fucking good, darling, fucking beautiful, goddamn perfect, smart fucking mouth stuffed full of me, going to make you taste me for a hundred fucking years, fuck-“

Ben’s orgasm crashes through you like a storm, washing all of you away and turning everything into Ben. His cum hot and sticky on your tongue and down your throat, his eyes flashing as he loosens his grip and pulls you off of him with a pop. Big, careful hands wiping a stray drop of his release from lip before smearing it over your cheek, and a deep voice like a song chuckling when you moan stupidly at the gesture.

“Like that, Sunshine?” He mutters, his face drawn in amusement but his touch and tone reverent. “Like me fucking marking you?”

You whimper of his name, and Ben shakes his head in slight disbelief, his hunger already ravenous in his body. 

“Already so fucked out you can’t damn speak?” Ben’s hand in your hair drifts down as he lowers down to his knees, pulling you into his arms and scanning over your face with a narrowed gaze. “Need to hear you, darling. Fucking words-“

“Fuck me.“ You whimper, because your body has decided to listen to Ben over anything else. “Please.”

Ben’s face is predatory. It’s made of the hunger in his body and this raw adoration that’s roaring in your chest. There are promises in his eyes, darkened and starving and primal, and his attention and touch seem to be searing into your skin. All of him is focused on you—Ben’s always just focused on you—and he’s massive and safe and warm, so you might have a small, mind-numbing orgasm just from his hands rubbing firm patterns on your skin and the growling promise of his voice.

“I need a minute,” he grunts, keeping you steady in his arms as he moves you onto the bed, laying you flat on the mattress. “But darling,” his mouth curving into a smirk as he takes you in, already writhing under him, your underwear soaked and expression slack with need. “I’m not fucking stupid enough to tell you no.”

“Ben,” you reach up, trying fruitlessly to grab his shirt and pull him down to you. “Please-“

“Fucking patience, beautiful.” Ben rises fully up, his eyes never leaving yours as he pulls off his shirt, his grin only growing as your hips jump off the bed from the sight of him. “Fuck, you want me that damn bad-“

“Yes, Ben, need you, I-” You cut yourself off with a gasp as Ben drops to his knees on the mattress, shoving your knees apart with a low grunt and ripping of your panties without effort. “Fuck-“

“Christ,” he mutters your name, running a finger over the lips of your pussy, his hand on your inner thigh tightening as you moan. “You’re fucking soaked. So fucking wet, Sunshine, fucking wrecked and I’ve barely touched you-“

“Ben,” you grab his hand, trying to hold it against you as you grind onto his fingers. “God, please-“

He yanks his hand away, and you make a long sound of desperation at the loss, but you’ve barely started squirming when you feel his mouth latch onto your clit, one hand planted on your stomach to keep you pinned down as he begins to suck. 

Your whole body lights up. Ben’s tongue keeps drawing circles around and over you, his teeth bumping whenever his lips pull you far enough in, and you’re not even sure you remember how to moan. All you know how to do is pull at Ben’s hair and try to fly off the mattress, to hump his face as his beard brushed your thighs and the pressure on your clit becomes painfully blissful, perfect torture, and to moan words that are supposed to be pleas and screams of Ben, Ben, Ben, fuck, please, Ben, fuck, Ben, I love you-

Love you too, Sunshine. Ben growls against you, and it vibrates over your pussy and makes your eyes roll back in your head. Taste so fucking good, need you to squirt on my goddamn face- Your body obeys, something snapping and rushing through your body as Ben groans around your clit and pushes a finger into your cunt, crooking it and playing that one spot inside you until you’re a moaning, dripping mess under his touch.

And he doesn’t stop. Your eyes blur with dizzying relief and you’re wet over his beard and skin, but Ben just keeps going. He starts to flick and nip, to pump that finger inside of you, and your mouth falls open with a strangled noise as you cum again. Your thighs start to crush his face, your hips bucking and rolling in the bed, and fuck it feels so good, you can’t really think but you know this is good, and Ben doesn’t stop. He goes and goes and goes, growing sloppier and rough on your pussy as you come apart over and over and over. You’re flying and falling and singing and drowning in Ben, touching you so right your brain is fuzzy and your whole body is just for Ben. For his hands and tongue and teeth and lips to devour, to try and pull inside you as you scream and unravel for him, as he ruins you- 

When he pulls away, your jaw is slack and your face might just be an open, drunken expression of Ben.

“You’re good.” Ben reappears in your vision, his handsome face coated in your release and his attention so devout—eyes searching over your face, voice low and firm, hands drifting over you like you were made for him to touch—that all you can do is whimper.

Ben, please. Just, you thrust your hips up, the movement uncoordinated and jerked. Fuck me, please-

His nostrils flare, his hands stilling on your body. “You want fucking more?”

You nod, flushing slightly, and Ben groans.

“Christ, you’re fucking perfect.” He presses a slow, long, kiss to your lips, chuckling when your lips fall open without thought. “You’ll never fucking understand, Sunshine, you’re-“ He cuts himself off, rising up to grin at you. “Fuck, you’re so good. Fucking love you.” He dives down to your neck, sucking and biting at that spot until you’re wiggling under him. “Love you so much it’s going to fucking kill me-“

Love you too, Ben, I- You almost scream as he moves to your breasts, ripping off the bra to pinch at once nipple as his mouth latches onto the other. God, Ben, please just fuck me, you fucking asshole-

He rises back up with mocking, raised brows. “Words. Tell me what you want.”

“You.” Your voice is hoarse, barely even a breath. “Please, Ben, I want you-“

He hums, and you gasp as the head of his cock nudges at your entrance. “You want my cock? Want me to fuck that perfect pussy until you’re screaming?”

“Yes,” you whisper. “Yes please.”

“Say it.”

You swallow, your nails digging into the bare skin of his back. “I want your cock. I want you to fuck me until I scream. Please-“

Ben’s mouth slams down into yours right as he thrusts fully into your already raw, aching pussy without warning, and you’re already on the brink of another orgasm. You’re so full, and Ben’s right up against that deepest spot, and his kisses are bruising but his hands on your skin are so careful, and he tastes like salt and vanilla and Ben-

Then he starts to move, and it’s a miracle you can still breathe. His hips snap, skin slapping against yours and cock hammering into your abused and weeping cunt, and you’re scratching at his skin and grinding into his movements but it’s still not enough. It might never be enough. You might be able to die here, with Ben deep inside you, with his own hunger and need so powerful he’s only groaning into your ear, any praise low and slurred.

“Feel so fucking good,” Ben rolls his hips as he hits that spongey spot inside you, and you whine. “So tight, Sunshine, so tight and warm and good, fucking perfect, so fucking pretty and good and perfect-“

You squeeze around him, and his head falls to your brow, his movements becoming rough and uneven.

“Best fucking pussy in the goddamn world, you’re, fuck, fucking love you, want to fucking live here, want to fucking worship this perfect fucking pussy until you’re fucking ruined-“

You’re already ruined. Ben’s stretching you out and fucking you so good you can only stare at him and take it with the hope that he can feel all of your thirst and need for him. You think he can, because you whimper a sound that’s meant to be his name, and Ben’s mouth returns to yours. This kiss is almost gentle. Passionate and deep with Ben’s tongue down your throat and your mouth hanging open for him to take whatever he wants, but laced with pure love and edged with how he’s rutting into you like a dog.

Then one of his hands glides between your bodies, over your stomach, and between your legs. Two strong fingers pinch at your clit, and you might have died and been reborn in the same moment as you cum, dragging Ben with you. You’re high on him, on his growls and groans down your throat as his stuttered movements as he fucks you through your orgasms. Everything is warm and hazy and Ben, and all you can remember how to do is lay there, breathe, and smile.

Ben brushes hair from your face, his ring cool on your skin, and his eyes are carving right into the deep, most delicate part of you. A part of him you always offer him, and a part he always keeps safe and tended to.

You’re-

I’m good. Your smile widens, and you manage to raise your hands up to cup Ben’s face. Really, really good.  

He nods, wrapping an arm around your waist and rolling you both over. “Fuck,” Ben presses a kiss to the side of your head, rubbing patterns on your skin as you shift above him. “I love you, Sunshine. More than goddamn anything.”

“I know.” And you do. If you’re sure of anything, you’re sure Ben loves you. That he’s yours just as much as you’re his. That you could give him everything, and he’d still find a way to give you more. “I love you too.”

You lay there for a moment, just inhaling Ben and letting him settle into a strong, pious hum in your chest. You drift off into an easy sleep that hardly feels like a blink, and when you wake up there’s light leaking through the windows and a massive weight over your body.

It’s always a little amusing when he does this. When, somehow, without fail, Ben manages to roll on top of you almost every night. Wrapping his arms around your waist, burying his face between your breasts, and snoring so loud it rolls through your bones. It would be a miracle you ever got any sleep, but he’s also warm and safe and touching you so carefully you’d never choose to be anywhere else.

You’re careful not to wake him as you twist to check the time, and any sleep vanishes from your body as you read the little number on the clock.

“Ben.” You hiss, shaking him slightly above you. “Benjamin.”

He makes a low grumbling sound, tightening his grip around you and tugging himself impossibly closer to your body. 

“Benjamin, wake up, we’re, shit-” You give up on trying to wake him gently, grabbing his face between your hands and raising it level with yours. “Ben!”

Ben grunts, and it’s the grunt that means you’ve got him. His hands start to knead slow patterns on your hips, his eyes still drooping as he yawns, and it would be the most adorable thing you’d ever seen if he wasn’t being so slow.

“What the fuck is going on.” He grumbles, slowly scanning over you with a small frown that turns urgent when he sees the wide-eyed expression on your face. “Are you-“

“I’m fine.” You pull him up to kiss his nose, and that seems to ease the hot, vigilant fury in his body back to concrete protection wrapped easily around your skin. “I’m good, my love. But we’re late.”

Ben scowls. “Late to-“

“Butcher’s.” You give him a pointed look. “Ryan.”

“Fuck, what time-“ Ben pushes himself up on his arms to read the clock, and drops himself back down with a scowl. “We’re not fucking late, Sunshine, we’ve got an hour-“

“Which for us is basically ten minutes-“

“It’s a fucking hour-“

“Benjamin.” You grab his face back between your hands, raising your brows slightly. “Can you honestly look me in the eyes and tell me you think we’ll be able to wake up, get dressed, grab gifts, and drive to Butcher’s all in an hour? And-“ You roll your hips slightly, Ben’s proud morning wood poking into your thigh. “Keep in mind I might be willing to help you with your problem if you’re honest.”

Ben rolls his eyes, but there’s a glow over his ribs and rough affection rooted deep in his muscles when he sits up, hauling you to flop onto his chest. “Brat,” he mutters pulling you into a long, slow kiss that makes your brain happy and fuzzy, and doesn’t help the situation at all. “Butcher knows we’ll be late. Told him to tell Ryan whatever time you told him, plus an extra hour.”

You blink at him for a second, then shove his chest. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that-“

“Because,” he catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “You thought we had an hour, got us up early as shit, and now we have all the goddamn time in the world for you to help me with my problem.”

You wish he wasn’t right. That he wasn’t such a stupidly good husband, that you could at least pretend to maintain the illusion of being shrouded in mystery, having some sort of intriguing allure to him. But he also doesn’t seem to really fucking care about that. Ben seems to be more than happy knowing all of you, because there’s a wide, smug grin on his face and a radiance pounding in his chest that’s golden and molten and folds you into him without resistance. Ben doesn’t want allure, and you can’t really find it in yourself to really want it either. Not when he starts to squeeze your ass and suck on your neck until you’re moaning and squirming in his arms. Not when he does know you, so painfully fucking well, that he gets you to cum three times before you’re out of bed. Once his fingers and twice on his cock, throwing in a fourth when you’re half-dressed and he backs you up against the wall, pressing his knee between your thighs and watching you chase relief with an ardor and devotion in his blood and a look of awe in his eyes.

After that you have to make a no sex for the rest of the day rule, giving him a stern glare he shrugs off as you shuffle off to take your second shower and Ben sets out all the gifts for inventory. 

He’s standing at the edge of the bed when you get back, frowning at the bags before him. 

“We’re missing three,” he grunts as you join him, hanging slightly off his arm as you scan over the bed. “Should be seven.”

You shake your head. “No, this is right. You said one of Ryan’s was too big to transport, and I dropped the Secret Santa gifts off with Ryan last night.”

Ben pauses, still glowering at the bed, then nods and starts to grab as much as he can hold—which is all of it—to move to the car, pressing a kiss to your brow before vanishing through the door.

You don’t get to drive. Ben grabs the keys while you’re in Ryan’s room, feeding Bowser, and the asshole is standing at the car with a smirk when you stomp outside. You’d push him on it more, but you’ve never been more okay with not driving in your life. Everything is a blur of cold white, the pavement coated in black ice, and you hate the winter. No amount of stupid holidays are ever going to be able to fix how much you hate the winter. It’s too sterile, too blinding, too cold. So fucking cold.

And Ben knows that. It’s why his grip on your thigh is firmer than usual, his speed a little reckless to get you out of the car that’s heated, but still too cold. Metal that bites your skin and glass that still radiates a chill when your skin gets too close to it. Which that means you can just talk to Ben, and pretend there’s not cracks on your skull that open up a little more when you’re frozen. 

“MM said he’ll be there early as well,” you hum, playing with Ben’s hand between your own. “He’s heading up to New York to see his daughter tonight, but he wants to make sure his gift gets given.”

Ben grunts. “You know who his is?”

“No, Ben, because it’s a secret-“

“Stupid fucking secret.” He grumbles, glowering at the road. “You’re never going to tell me what your damn surprise was-“

“Not if you keep bringing it up.” You smile at him, dropping your head on his shoulder. “Then it won’t really be a surprise. You’ll be ready for it.”

Ben frowns. “So it’s for me.”

“Obviously.”

“But not your Santa shit.”

You shake your head, biting your lip to stop a wide, stupid grin from overtaking your face. “Not my Santa shit. And don’t ask me who my person is-“

“Don’t have to.” Ben shrugs, parking on the curb outside Butcher’s apartment. “It’s fucking Hughie.”

You only hum. “Well, I guess you’ll have to find out with everyone else in two hours.”

Ben rolls his eyes, climbing out the car and carefully guiding you upstairs with an arm around your shoulders. Ryan’s waiting for you when you knock on the door, dragging you into a hug before you can even really see him. 

“Merry Christmas!” Ryan moves to Ben, and you giggle at the low grunt that escapes Ben’s mouth from the force of the hug. “Do you-“

“Brought all the gifts.” Ben says, giving Butcher a curt nod over Ryan’s head. “In the car. I’ll go back down-“

“Nah, Gov. I’ve got it.” Butcher moves to the door, giving you an awkward pat on the shoulder as he passes by. It shoots something sore, but not rotten or painful, through your body, and there’s an edge of something still and quiet over it. It’s like rest, where Butcher had previously be hateful and bloodied, and it’s better than most anything you’ve felt from him before.

Ben and Butcher exchange low words about getting the gifts as Ryan shuffles over to your side, and when Ben starts to feel hot and loud in your chest you clear your throat, raising your brows at them.

“What if you both get them?” You try to hide the slightly amusement in your voice, and you don’t really succeed. “That couldn’t hurt.”

There’s a moment where they both look like they’re going to protest, but MM’s voice calls from somewhere deeper in the apartment, cutting them off. “Both you alpha male motherfuckers better go get the gifts, or you’re not eating my goddamn delicious gingerbread!”

It works. Ben and Butcher shuffle out the door with low grumbles like they’re teenage boys being sent to their room for bad behavior, and you smile down at Ryan, letting him guide you into the kitchen.

MM gives you a mumbled greeting—mostly focused on the food and not letting anyone interrupt his process—as Ryan tugs you over to Butcher’s table, where a large gingerbread house is on display in the center.

“Look!” He gestures proudly, and your smile might consume your face. “Isn’t it cool! Butcher did all the crackers, but I did everything else. And you can eat it. All of it.”

You nod, and pretend to inspect the house like it’s the most important thing you’ve ever seen. It might be. “Did you use-“

“Licorice!” Ryan points to the roof, lined with black licorice. “They’re gutters. It was MM’s idea, he said houses need drainage.”

You shoot MM an amused look over your shoulder. “Drainage?”

“You ever dealt with water damage?”

“No,” you shrug. “But this is the first time I’ve ever owned a house.”

“Fuck, that’s right.” MM frowns. “Ben teaching you all the shit about upkeep-“

You nod, even if it’s not the full truth. Ben will guide you outside to point at the roof and ask you why should we be worried about that, Sunshine, and you’ll offer an answer that’s usually correct, and he’ll tell you how to fix it. But then he fixes it, because you’re not really good at it and he always grumbles that your hands shouldn’t be dirty. If you really want to know he’ll just break whatever was wrong again and let you fix it yourself, but he tends to hover—big and warm around you, muscles flexing and face so ruggedly handsome covered in grease and dirt—and you just end up almost fucking in broad daylight. And it doesn’t really matter, because you love watching Ben do stupid, domestic shit like that. Fixing your house, that you live in and own with him, that he wants to take care of because that’s taking care of you and Ryan.

When Ben and Butcher return, you think that might be why you love the sight of him with three boxes in his arms—Butcher scowling behind him with only one—and a little snow still melting in his hair. It’s so easy and normal and boring, but still Ben. Still full of the wrathful, focused love he’s always had when he dumps the gifts on Butcher’s couch and pulls you into his arms for a deep, heavy kiss that makes your head spin and your knees shake, but now lined with something easier. Something that’s set so deeply in it’s barely noticeable, but that you can feel in yourself as well. Comfort. Real comfort seeped into your heart because there’s no fear it’s going to be taken away. Nothing could ever take this—take Ben—away from you. Nothing could ever even dare to try.

Ryan bounces over to the gifts, sorting through them with a bright-eyed focus and pulling out one that you know is for Ben, and another that you assume is for Butcher. He shuffles up to you wide a wide, nervous expression, his voice soft when he says your name. 

“I, um, I did get you something. But it’s at home. I can wait, or tell you now-“

“Do you want to wait or tell me now?” You ask, giving Ryan a soft smile that seems to ease some of his anxiety, because his voice becomes a little more confident.

“Tell you now.”

You nod in encouragement, and Ryan swallows.

“It’s a bush. A butterfly bush. They, um, attract butterflies? And Ben helped me pick it out, and he said we should get the pink one. They’re kind of easy to take care of, I think, but-“

You pull Ryan into a long, firm hug, cutting off his spiraling. “Thank you,” you whisper, and you’ve never really meant it more. “I love it, Ry. Really.”

Ryan seems to believe you, because he squeezes you tighter and grins before moving to Ben, standing tall and silent at your side. 

“This is for you,” he passes Ben the larger of the two boxes, and turns to Butcher. “And you.”

They both grunt thanks, and you don’t both to hide your smile as you watch Ben open his. Ryan had come to you with the idea a few weeks ago, and you’d bought it the next day because it was an amazing idea. You’d known that because you know Ben, but if there was any phantom doubt inside you it’s erased when he flares in your body, and you know he’s seen the gift.

“Fucking Christ,” he mutters, and that’s a positive fucking Christ. That’s the one where he thinks what he’s seeing is a little too good, and can’t really believe his eyes. “Ryan, you got this for me?”

Ryan says your name, rolling on his feet as he watches Ben with wide eyes. “Um, she bought it. But it was my idea. Do you like it-“

“I fucking love it.” Ben mutters, and Ryan looks like he might burst with pride. You might burst with pride, because Ben whole existence in your body is just unrestrained, furious joy. His hands are so careful as he pulls out the refurbished Gramophone, glossy and bronze, complete with the stupid horn. You don’t own any vinyl’s right now, but you’ll find some. For the look of child-like joy on Ben’s face, you’ll buy a whole record store. He’s not crying, but there’s a look of softness that’s glazing over his eyes, his voice is a little hoarse, and you know it’s the closest you’ll get right now. “Good work, kid,” he mutters, running a hand over the polished wood. “Really fucking good.”

Ryan nods, shifting slightly on his feet, and you’re about to kick Ben’s shin in a silent reminder when he sets the gift down and opens his arms, pulling Ryan into a hug you’re sure would kill anyone else, but just makes Ryan’s smile wider and whole body relax. 

Butcher clears his throat, holding about five Hawaiian shirts in his hands. “I like mine too,” he mutters. “Nice fuckin shirts. Good material-“

Ryan grabs Butcher in an equally rib-breaking hug, and there’s only a brief moment of shock on the man’s face before he returns it. Ben takes the moment to grab his and your gift for Ryan, waiting until Butcher’s released to all but shove them into Ryan’s hands. 

“From me,” Ben point to one box, then the other. “From her.”

Ryan nods, dropping onto the couch as he opens Ben’s first. He’s barely halfway through carefully peeling the paper when a third one gets added to the pile, dropped by Butcher.

“Got a few more,” Butcher mutters. “Mostly just some of your mums old shit. Neuman got it with the Vought raids, should be fuckin yours anyway.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Ryan swallows, and when you pull away from Ben to sit at his side, he’s filled with an aching, heavy grief in his lungs, but a little lighter in his heart. And it’ll be like that for a while. But it’s better than even a month ago, and that’s more than enough for you.

Butcher grunts, making a loose nod for Ryan to continue on Ben’s gift, and you don’t have to look up to know Ben’s moved behind the couch. Only a second later his hand on your shoulder as he leans down to kiss the top of your head, and you hold him there as Ryan finally discards all the wrapping paper. 

“It’s built for people like us,” Ben explains as Ryan pulls out a brand-new, firm baseball glove. “Had Frenchie make it, so it shouldn’t fucking break or tear like that pussy shit at the school. Got it a few sizes too large, so you can grow into it.”

“Thank, Ben.” Ryan whispers, giving Ben a wide, toothy grin that you feel spark and glow in Ben’s chest. “I love it.”

Ben grunts as Ryan turns to Butcher’s gift, and you lean backwards to give him an amused smile.

Are you abusing Frenchie’s services? First my books, now Ryan’s glove-

I just fucking asked, Ben glares at you, his mouth tugging slightly upwards. Not my fault the pussy said yes.

Okay. You give him a look of fake, overly sweet innocence. Whatever you say, Benjamin, my love.

He rolls his eyes, running his thumb over your knuckles. Brat.

Cunt. You return your attention to Ryan, watching Butcher with wide eyes as he explains how the book in Ryan’s hands was one of Becca’s favorites, and that there hadn’t been a copy in the boxes Neuman turned over. Ryan’s nodding, looking happier and happier by the second, and when he finally turns to the last gift—your gift—you think your nail might be trying to break into your skin. He’ll love the gift. You’re pretty sure he’ll love the gift. You’re usually pretty good at gifts, but you kind of have a cheat-code with Ben, and there’s a slim chance you might have gotten Ryan’s wrong-

Ryan lets out a small gasp when he opens the box, and it sounds good. His excitement looks real. But it might not be. What if it’s not-

Breathe, Sunshine. Ben mutters in your head, squeezing his hand against you. Look at him, he fucking loves it.

He does look like he loves it. Ryan’s holding the Kindle in light hands, his mouth slightly open and his eyes shining as he turns to you. 

“I put some books on it already,” you say, leaning around him to turn the device on, trying not to be knocked out by the sheer fucking happiness in Ryan’s body. “And we can buy more. You’re allowed to take it to school, and keep it in your room, but you do still need sleep-”

Ryan sets the kindle carefully on his lap, and pulls you into a long, tight hug. His head buried in your chest, his arms around your waist, his strength obviously controlled enough not to snap you in half.

“Thank you,” he mumbles against your shirt. “And I promise I’ll still sleep.”

You huff a small laugh, squeezing him back. “Thank you. Merry Christmas, Ry.”

Everyone else arrives not long after that. You’re not entirely sure why you’d all agreed to do this at Butcher’s, because no one seems to really be benefiting—It’s loud enough that Ryan shuffles off to his room to read, busy enough that Butcher’s always shouting at someone not to touch something, and crowded enough that you’re all a little on top of each other—but you’re all here, and that’s what matters. You’re curled into Ben’s lap on one side of the couch, Hughie and Annie on the other sie, Butcher glaring at you all from his chair as Frenchie and Kimiko sit cross legged on the floor. There’s no talk of death or pain or blood, only sharing old stories about previous Christmases—Butcher once had to play baby Jesus in the naivety, and he doesn’t seem to find that half as funny as you do—and talking about the easier parts of work. Frenchie’s missing an eyebrow because of a flamethrower incident. Annie got to yell at someone in Singer’s cabinet last week. Ben broke the printer again.

Again? You grin at him, and he scowls.

It’s a stupid fucking machine, why design something with so many goddamn buttons that doesn’t even work half the time-

Benjamin, how many times have you broken the printer? 

There’s a pause, and then, Twelve.

You gape at him slightly, Holy shit, Ben, just let Kimiko print things-

I fucking do, but she can be busy, and I’m not just going to sit on my goddamn ass like a fucking pussy-

You pull him down into a long, soft kiss, opening for him when he presses his tongue on your lower lip, humming when his hands resume their slow patterns on your thighs.

Grumpy. You whisper between your head, and Ben snorts.

Shut the fuck up, Sunshine, you-

“We’re eating in 20,” MM’s voice cuts through the air, and when you pull away from Ben he’s standing in the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed. “Let’s do the gift shit now, so I can get on the road right after.”

Everyone nods, and slowly makes their way back to Butcher’s table, cluttered with the Secret Santa gifts. You all sort through them, passing each other the bags and boxes tagged with your names and holding onto them until you’ve all sat, gifts in your laps.

“I guess, uh,” Hughie looks around the group, scratching the back of his neck. “We can just go in a circle? MM, do you want to-“

MM grunts an agreement, not waiting any further before he carefully removes the paper from his bag, sets it off the side, and pulls out two paper tickets. 

“Children’s science museum.” He reads off of them aloud, looking around the group with a frown before settling on you, and grunting your name.

You shake your head. “No, but that does sound like something I’d do. Are they-“

“For the Boston one,” MM mutters, scanning over the rest of the group. “Annie?”

She nods, a wide smile breaking over her face. “That’s supposed to be the best one on this coast, I thought you could take Janine while you’ve got her for the new year.”

“She’d like that,” MM mutters, giving Annie a grateful nod. “Thanks.”

Butcher clears his throat, making it clear that he’s next, and you realize that—if you keep going in a circle—you’ll be penultimate, and Ben will be going last. Good. It’ll help.

Butcher’s not nearly as careful with his packaging as MM was, tossing the bag’s paper aside without thought and freezing slightly when he sees what’s inside. His glare shoots to Hughie, who’s watching with a slightly red face.

“This you, lad?”

“Uh, no-“

“MM?”

MM shakes his head, and Butcher glowers around the rest of the table. Frenchie and Kimiko seem to take pity on him, shaking their heads and leaving Butcher’s scowl on you and Ben. You give a half-hearted shrug and jerk of your head to Ben, and Butcher scoffs.

“Ain’t no bleedin way it’s the old cunt.” Butcher glares at Ben, who tilts his chin up and tenses at your side. “I don’t believe it-“

“Start believing it, you fucking pussy.” Ben snaps. “Tell her you’re welcome.”

Ben nods to you, and you sigh. If you’re being honest, you’d seen this coming. But you still have to pretend to be annoyed with Ben and act like you’re not completely turned on by the way he’s rubbing your thigh, filled with love and pride, and holding you against him like you’re the most important thing in the world. You have to glare at him, and sell the act that you don’t want to grab his stupid handsome face—glowering at Butcher like he can’t believe the man’s nerve—and kiss him until he groans, pins you to the table, and fucks you stupid.

“What do you mean thank her,” MM looks between you and Ben with a narrowed gaze. “Which one of you got Butcher the gift-“

“I did.” You mumble, giving MM an apologetic grimace. “But it was Ben’s name. He told me though, I didn’t ask, and he doesn’t know mine-“

“What is it?” Hughie leans over Butcher, frowning at the bag. “A dog collar?”

“I found Terror.” You explain, chewing the inside of your cheek until it might bleed. “There should be a card in there as well, with a number. You can call it and get him back, if you want. If not it’s just kind of, uh, a dog collar.”

“Ah.” Butcher looks between the collar, now in his hand, and the bag, his words a little lower than before as he turns back to you, something flashing in his eyes that might be a real, good emotion. “Thanks.”

Everyone seems to forgive Ben for breaking the rules immediately—you don’t think they had a lot of faith in him to begin with, which you’d be angrier about if they hadn’t been so entirely correct—and move on to Hughie, but you whack Ben’s chest, glaring up at him.

What the fuck, Benjamin.

It was a good fucking gift, Sunshine, you deserve the credit-

I didn’t care about the credit, dummy.

Well, I fucking do. Ben presses a kiss on the space between your eyes, right where it’s wrinkled from your glower. They should be thanking you all the damn time. 

You wrinkle your nose at him, but smile when his lips move down to your own, the kiss sweet and gentle, letting you sit in the taste of coffee and strawberries in his mouth, drown in the best possible way in Ben, warm and strong and all around you.

When you look back to the group, Hughie’s holding a small, strange device in his hands, having already made his guess and frowning at Frenchie’s explanation.

“Petite Hughie, you are not understanding. You can listen to Billy Joel entire catalogue of music, all on this!”

“So it’s, uh,” Hughie glances down at the device, shoved into his hands. “An iPod?”

“Non, it is a Billy Joel Musical Player.”

“Oh.” Hughie nods slowly, and you and Annie exchange a wide-eyed expression of we can’t laugh. You don’t succeed—breaking out into muffled giggles, Hughie shooting you both glares as he pats Frenchie nervously on the shoulder—but it’s the effort that counts.

After that, with slightly more limited options, it goes a little faster. Butcher got Annie tickets to a pop concert, insisting that she takes photos of Hughie looking awkward and nervous. Frenchie opens his bag to find only a key, and—after guessing Kimiko twice—learns that MM got him a large amount of completely illegal chemicals from questionable sources, only asking that Frenchie try not to murder anyone. Frenchie just shrugs, but before MM can demand a more solid no murder promise, Kimiko is ripping into her own bag, pulling out two Broadway tickets, and pointing to you with a wide smile. When you shake your head her attention moves to Hughie, who nods and tentatively signs that he tried to have them for Decembruary, but they don’t do singing until Walk, and he’ll pay for their sleeping.

That leaves you and Ben. You raise your brows at Kimiko, having done the math, and she gives you a bright smile, gesturing to the bag in your hand as he signs. Open it!

You nod, and find a disgusting wad of cash and sheet of paper with I promise I can cover written out in slightly uneven letters, signatures from Kimiko, Frenchie, Annie, and Hughie at the bottom. Ben frowns as he reads it over your shoulder, and when you look up to Kimiko with raised brows, her smile grows. 

You and Ben never got a real honeymoon. She gestures, and you feel Ben tense slightly at your side. You think he recognized his name. I didn’t know where you’d want to go, so I just gave you money for it. We’re going to cover you at work, and you can finally do that.

You don’t bother to put the card down when you pull Kimiko into a long, tight hug, basking in the genuine, bright sensation that’s in her hands and teeth when you touch. Affection for just you, and something that’s a little more wired, but still warm, for Ben. 

“Thank you,” you whisper in her ear, squeezing her once. “That’s amazing, Kimiko. Thank you so much.”

Kimiko just hugs you back—hard enough to bruise if you could be bruised—and Ben’s hand snakes onto your back, rubbing up your spine with warm, careful hands.

What the fuck is it.

I’ll tell you later. You pull back from Kimiko with one last smile, returning your gaze to Ben with a joy you know he must feel, because it’s too big to be kept in your blood. Open your gift, Ben.

He grunts, glaring around the table, and you know the exact moment it hit him. He sits a little taller, his hand stilling on your body, and something golden bursts and sings in his chest. 

You had fucking Hughie. 

Did I? You make a dramatic look of fake thought, unable to contain the grin on your face. I thought Frenchie did?

Ben’s eyes narrow on yours. Did you fucking rig it-

Me?! You gape at him, your smile full on idiotic now. Rig something? Benjamin, how dare you even imply-

He snorts, leaning down to pull you into a teasing, too-chaste kiss. Brat. 

Cunt. Your reply is a little weak in your head, most of your mind focused on Ben’s hands, opening the box with your gift inside. Ben, wait, I’m going have to explain it-

Ben pulls out the shirt, frowning at the bright words over the graphic of genetic, vanilla ice cream in a cone. “Bassets Ice- Fuck, this place is still open?”

MM frowns. “What place.”

Ben turns the shirt for MM to read, his eyes still on you. “Why the fuck did you get me an ice cream shirt.”

“All dad’s should have weird brand-shirts, Benjamin.” You mumble, leaning a little into his side. “It’s a hallmark. My father had a sriracha shirt.”

MM nods off to the side. “Hasbro.” 

“Ford.” Hughie adds, frowning into the air. “My dad didn’t even like cars.”

“See?” You gesture around the table, suddenly slightly nervous he won’t like it. He has to like it. If Ben doesn’t like it, you watched five hours of old Solider Boy interviews—watched Ben not be Ben, wearing that stupid helmet and grinning at the camera in a way you know is fake—for nothing. “And it’s, um, it’s not just the shirt-“

Ben grunts your name in your head, drawing a firm pattern on your thigh. Calm the fuck down. If it’s just a shirt, it’s a damn good shirt-

It’s date! You blurt, grabbing his hand and keeping it pressed on your skin. You said in the 50s that Bassets was your favorite ice cream shop growing up, and you didn’t say it like you said all the other lies, so I thought maybe that it was true and we could go get some ice cream there or something. And then, um, just kind of fuck around? Whatever you want, it’s your date, and it doesn’t have to be ice cream-

Ben, in an act of mercy, wraps an arm fully around your waist and pulls you onto his lap, kissing you long and heavy and deep until you’re slack against him, your arms around his neck and your whole body filled with only Ben’s thunderous love. 

It’ll be ice cream, he mutters in your head, squeezing the skin of your hips. And we can always fuck around, Sunshine. 

Horny- You swallow down a moan when his hand moves to your ass, only vaguely aware of your friends, now faded into the background. Horny old cunt-

I fucking hope so, darling, I’ve got a perfect wife who needs to be fucked stupid later-

MM clears his throat, and you pull away from Ben with a high, slightly whining gasp. “You two either get a room,” he mutters. “Or stop fucking Frenching each other at the goddamn table. Where we’re about to eat.”

You flush, mumbling an apology as you push off of Ben to go get Ryan, pretending you can’t feel the hot, cocky pride and hunger in Ben’s body that feels like another promise. 

Dinner is quick and easy. The rest of the night is quick and easy. MM put together a feast that could probably feed twenty people, but over half the table is made up of supes, so there are only clean plates with no leftovers. MM rolls his eyes, grumbles about being surrounded by a bunch of animals, and leaves for New York with tight hugs and firm nods. From there, it’s all drinks that only send a slight buzz of warmth through your body—Frenchie tells you he spiked yours and Ben’s, the fact that you can feel anything at all likely a sign that he may have just used straight crack—and a game of poker that devolves into threats, cursing and near-injury remarkably fast. You fold quickly, joining Ryan in the corner as he reads, and as the day creeps on into night you’re mostly just happy. Ryan’s slumping slightly at your side, your hand in his hair as you watch Ben call a pale-faced Hughie a pussy-assed lying motherfucker for the fifth time that game, and lose the game for the seventh time tonight.

And it’s easy. Hughie doesn’t flinch at Ben’s words, and Ryan doesn’t cower at the raised voice. He just yawns, eyes drooping slightly, and keeps trying to read when you can feel the daze of sleep creeping over his brain. 

You look up at Ben—glowering at Butcher as he deals the next hand—and he must feel your eyes because he turns in barely a moment.

What- Ben’s eyes land on Ryan, his frown deepening slightly, and looks back to you in a silent question you’ll always understand.

I’m okay, but I think I’d like to go home. You mumble between your heads, fighting a yawn of your own. You can finish the game though-

Ben shoots to his feet, and before you even know what’s happening he’s at your side, scooping a completely asleep Ryan up in his arms. 

“We’re leaving,” he says to no one in particular, glaring around the room at the scattered gifts and down to Ryan in his arms. “One of you pussies-“

“I’ll get the gifts,” you stand up, blinking away sleepiness from your eyes. “Annie, could you please start the car for us? It’s cold and I don’t want Ryan to wake up-“

Annie nods, grabbing Ben’s keys from the table and pulling Hughie with her out the door. Ben doesn’t fight you as you gather the gifts into one bag, but you can feel him tracking your every move, waiting for you to so much as stumble so he can insist you let him carry everything. But when Hughie returns—saying Annie’s waiting by the car—you’re on steady feet, and every good night is a warm hug, soft joke, and smile. Even Butcher lets you give him a strange, uncoordinated side-hug and nods at Ben with a respect that doesn’t seem forced. 

Downstairs, Annie gives you one last hug as Ben loads Ryan into the car, and the night is done. The drive home is short, Ben not helping your bid to remain awake by rubbing your thigh and humming something that you think is supposed to be a lullaby, low and off-key. He’s a little faster than you are, somehow getting Ryan and the gifts, opening the door, and refusing to walk upstairs until you’re clinging to his arm.

Get in bed, Sunshine, he mutters, kissing the top of your head outside your room. I’ll be there soon. 

You nod, shuffling through the door and not bothering with the dresser. You shed your clothing like they’re poison on your skin, pull on one of Ben’s shirts—cast thoughtlessly onto the bed—and crawl between the sheets to wait for him to return, wallowing in the smell of pine until he does.

He frowns when he sees you, his words low and stern. “You need to fucking sleep, darling-“

“No.” You shake your head, reaching for him a little pathetically. “Need you. More gifts.”

Ben shakes his head, pulling off his shirt as he joins you, a slight smirk on his stupid, handsome, amazing face. “You need me,” he drawls your name, and your thighs squeeze together slightly. “You have more perfect shit to give me-“

“Shut up,” you wrap your arms around his torso, burying your face in his chest. Maybe I do have more shit to give you-

“Good. I have more shit to give you,” Ben mutters, tugging lightly on your hair until you meet his gaze. “And I’m first.” 

You’re too tired to argue, so you let Ben shift you fully over his body, twisting your head to watch him reach into his bedside drawer and pull out two tickets.

“Everyone’s getting tickets,” you mumble, letting Ben pass them into your hands. “Are we going to see Frozen off Broadway?”

He frowns. “I don’t know what the fuck a Frozen is. These are for the opera.”

You blink at him, unsure if you heard correctly, and when you speak your voice is small. “The opera?”

Ben grunts an affirmation. “The internet said this one has cannons. And after they’re going to let us have the whole place, and you can sing, or we can dance or just fuck, but we’re not allowed to break shit or they’ll sue us.”

You want to kiss him. You want to pull his tongue into your mouth until he can’t ever stop tasting you, and let him push himself inside you until you’re melded together for the rest of time. But if you start that now you’ll never give him your gift, and it suddenly feels incredibly critical Ben sees your gift now.

“Do you want to know what my secret was?” You whisper, and something sparks in Ben’s chest.

“So it was a fucking secret-“

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Do you want to know or not, Benjamin-“

“Know.” He grumbles. “What the fuck was it-“

“Open my drawer.” You nod lazily to your bedside table, a little too drunk on Ben to move. “Please.”

He snorts, shaking his head, and any grumble of never having to fucking ask him please dies when he opens the drawer and sees what’s inside. 

“How the fuck…” Ben trails off, and you’ve never been more grateful for being able to sense his emotions than you are now. He’s reduced to silence because his love has turned to a roar in his body, and his head seems a little light from the raw joy and confusion clouding his skull.

“I got some old government files,” your voice is soft, scanning over Ben’s slack expression carefully. “Found your childhood home. Then I, um, I visited it and asked what they did with the old owners possessions. They said the government took a lot of it, so I made Neuman tell me where they were stored. I was, I was going through all the boxes, and I found that. And I’m just, I think I’m ready. Soon. When you are.”

Ben’s love becomes almost primal in your chest, but he still doesn’t look away from the baby blanket. His old baby blanket. Pastel green and soft, somehow not moth-ridden and unraveling, so small in Ben’s massive hand.

When he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “You’re sure.”

You nod, swallowing slightly. “I’m sure. I’ve been sure.” You trail your fingers over Ben’s beard, offering him a small smile when his attention returns. “I’m always sure of you, my love.”

That seems to be enough for Ben. He sets the blanket down with heartbreaking gentleness, and brings his lips to yours in a painfully loving and devout kiss. He doesn’t deepen it—even as his hunger becomes primal—only rubbing patterns on the back of your thighs and grinning against your mouth.

“If Ryan wasn’t asleep down the hall,” he growls into your mouth, igniting a heat in your lower gut. “We’d get started right fucking now. But,” he pulls your upper lip between his teeth, smirking at your soft moan. “I waited a hundred goddamn years for this, for you.” Ben says your name like it’s holy, and you can only grind weakly against him. “I can wait a few more nights.”

You nod, pulling away to give him a nervous smile. “So yes?”

“Fucking yes.” He grins, pulling you back into him. This kiss quicker, but filled with more undying heat and need, and it leaves you a little dizzy when he pulls away. “For you, darling, it’s always fucking yes.”

“Oh.” Sleep starts to catch you again, and you begin to sink fully into Ben. Warm and big and strong and Ben. “Good.”

“Damn right,” Ben grumbles, helping you squirm back down his chest. “I fucking love you. I’d have to have lost my goddamn mind to tell you no.”

“I love you too,” you hum, a little too lost in Ben to say much else. “Merry Christmas-“

“I think Christmas is fucking over, beautiful-“

“It’s not midnight,” you mumble, burying your face in his neck. “Take my Merry Christmas, Benjamin.”

Ben chuckles, running a hand through your hair and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Merry Christmas, Sunshine.”'

End Note: Happy Holidays Squad!!! Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the pure fluff and smut of this miniseries!! See you soon!

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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Taglist

@manicjk @lordofthunderthr @artemys-ackles @brtodd @ej13928

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[pursuitseternal]

“Our Blood: Into the Fire:” 🔥 a conclusion, three times hotter than ever🦇🐦‍⬛😈

A!Astarion x Tav (Cordehlia) x Raphael |E | 5.8K

Summary: One good and wicked turn deserves another… a tryst to sate all curiosity and balance all scales to leave no deal unfulfilled.

CW: poly, M/F/M, possessive dominate A!Astarion, submissive devil, voyeuerism, body worship, Cambion form smut, lots of oral sex, degradation, inappropriate use of the vampire mating bond, grab the devil by the horns… and balls.

Previous Ch | ao3 link | original series | Masterlist

Just an extra reward for them, a rejuvenating bath for the Ascendant and his Bride, a visit to the infamous House of Hope.

All three mighty beings reclined in the waters, bubbles in the water hiding most of their bodies, cups of wine in their hands.

“Even without the Crown of Karsus, you’ve come so far, devil,” Astarion gave a lazy half-smile as he lounged in the relative comforts of Raphael’s bath. Legs stretched languorously in front of him, he reclined in the magical waters of the House of Hope, at ease with Cordehlia seated on his lap. “Nothing like the hospitality of the hells under your care. I find my needs most thoroughly met.”

“I am but a humble purveyor of needs,” Raphael grinned from the top of his bright, golden chalice, his own posture one of flawless pleasure and relaxation as he lounged in the waters across from the pair of undead. “Wine, food, a bath, a rest…. It is the least I may afford you by way of hospitality for your efforts on my behalf today. I won't forget how gloriously you’ve returned the favor, my vamplings.”

Astarion hissed as Cordehlia sucked a bit too hard from her bite in his neck. “Easy, darling,” he admonished before taking a drink from his own bejeweled cup.

“Your pugnacious consort deserves every drop. She put up such a spectacular display of brutality, Astarion, it’s good to let her rejuvenate,” Raphael chuckled as he watched them. “I’m so grateful, I’d offer my own neck, if it would burn the pretty little tongue from her mouth.”

Astarion scoffed, sipping from his cup as he opened his mind to his love. “Sounds like the kind of shit Cazador used to have us go through…”

“Astarion… Play nice with yourself,” Cordehlia hummed back as she licked his wound gently. “Because of Raphael, because of his timely aid in the Rite, you can start living again… with me and forever.”

“I know,” he replied, a wave of adoration swelling from him to flood her heart. He tried not to think about just how close to losing her he had come. All because of that fucker. “Death was too good for Cazador. I still should have saved Cazador’s skull and made it into a piss pot…”

Cordhelia bit his neck anew, a laugh in her mind as he hissed and almost spilled his drink into the rejuvenation bath. “Don’t make a scene, or Raphael will think you’re not enjoying his favors.”

It was a warning and an observation all in one.

“I’m fairly certain he’s thinking up a nice long list of more favors to ask of us now that he rules Avernus.”

Crodehlia kept lazily feeding as they communed, “We are mighty allies to keep, the Ascendant and the Bone Picker.”

“I thought you hated that name?” He scoffed, annoyed and high-pitched in tone.

“I decidedly hate it less when Raphael uses it,” she admitted, running her hand gently over Astarion’s bare chest. “But it still pales compared to all your little monikers for me… darling.”

“I wasn’t worried… darling,” he stressed his pet name for her, emphasizing it with a squeeze of his hand around her breast. “But you do know that there’s one favor he’s silently asking…”

“What?”

Astarion gave her a look that spoke to his centuries that had jaded him. “I’ve seen that look a thousand times from… my past. But this time, I’m not the main course of his desire. He desires us… you especially,” the grip on her sensitive flesh grew more demanding, making her mouth break from his neck with a moan.

“If that bothers you…” Cordehlia started to bristle, and Astarion pulled her from those possessive, violent tendencies with a brush of his thumb over her pink, peaked nipple.

“Don’t fret, darling. I find myself surprisingly unbothered, now that I’m free to follow my own desires. Besides,” he paused to raise her bloodied mouth to his for a kiss, “I rather like flaunting what is so obviously… mine.”

The way he growled that last word into her mind made her back arch and her thighs shake. No touch required to bring her so near the crest of her pleasure.

“I’m more than happy to flaunt what I have, to dangle it before his greedy little devil eyes and have him watch you reduced to a mess in my hands,” Astarion’s voice rumbled in her head as his lips brushed hers.

Her teeth sucked his lip in between her own deadly fangs as she nibbled it. “A mess, you say?”

Astarion groaned, just loud enough for her ears… well maybe louder. “If he’s a good little imp, you could even let him have a taste, if you wish. But…” his fingers slipped so quickly into her, the waters of the bath barely parting in a wake as he moved. Thumbing her clit, fingers curling just as she liked it, he worked her damp folds, another groan sounding from his lips. “This is mine, and he will never know its ecstasy.”

Cordehlia lost all control, too pent up and hot blooded from the day. Only one thing could satisfy. Her lips devoured his, her thighs spread so that, even beneath the bubbling waters in the House of Hope, there was little doubt as to their actions.

A deep voice cleared its throat from across the waters. “Enjoy your indulgence. You’ve earned it, vamplings,” Raphael laughed as he emerged from the bath. Water flowed in steaming rivulets down his red-dusky skin, his toned and sculpted ass hiding most of his signs of arousal. A towel quickly wrapped around him, he moved inward towards his bed within the boudoir, where Haarlep’s fluttering wings twitched audibly.

“You know, devil,” Astarion crooned over his beloved’s shoulder. “You could stay here and sleep with that sad, sorry excuse of your own imitation, or…”

The Ascendant’s brow arched, just as Cordhelia let out a moan so desirous, the devil’s cock visibly twitched beneath his towel.

“If I’m right, and I always am about these sorts of things, devil… you want to cash in on one last favour?”

Something at the corners of his human brown eyes hardened, a flicker of desire fanning brightly in his gaze. Raphael smiled. “I must admit, it is something I have… long desired.” He gestured towards that inner room, that scarlet, opulent bed lying in the distance. “Shall we?”

“Ah, ah, devil,” Astarion tutted his tongue. His hand pulled Cordhelia’s head back, fingers tugging her fiery locks to display the look of bliss on her pale face as his finger still worked beneath the surface. “My precious prize is only savoured in my house… under my purview.”

“Is that so?” Raphael purred, shifting stance.

“From one master of the house to another, you can’t tell me you wouldn’t insist on the same…” Astarion ceased his talking, claiming her mouth with possessive ferocity, muffling her cry of pleasure with his tongue as she came.

Raphael’s skin barely rippled, his control, so precious and measured at all times, slipped away at the sight and sound of their play. He took a deep breath, steam fairly blowing from his nostrils. His deep voice bubbled with a chuckle. “Very well.” With a nod of his head and a snap of his fingers, he flew them from plane to plane, leaving only smoke in their wake.

Blues and golds, warm enchanting sunlight broke through the haze of smoke. The creaking floors of their bedroom under their feet.

Home, the Palace. With a guest in tow.

Astarion glanced around his chambers, the fading light of the sun bathing them in warmth and heat. He drew up to the flames that danced in the grate as light caressed those ridges and valleys of his chest, warming the whorls of his scars on his back. How convenient, he laughed inwardly, that they all apparated here, completely nude.

“Sit devil,” he ordered, waving his arm towards the chair by the fire. A bottle and chalices on the mantle glinted brightly in the beams of sunset. “A drink, devil?” Astarion crooned, holding up the bottle. “To our alliance, our victory…”

“To our deeper need for one another?” Raphael’s dark eyes narrowed, a leer on his lips and he closed in on them both. One hand reached for the silver chalice offered, while the other began to wind through the errant tendrils of Cordhelia’s fiery red hair.

Astarion’s dexterous fingers quickly batted the devil away, a silent snarl on his face. “I’ll be clear with you, Raphael, in this game, I make the rules. What’s mine is mine… and if you are worthy enough, you might just get your own chance to play by my rules.” A flicker of power in his crimson eyes, and Astarion released Raphael’s hand. “Are we in accord?”

Raphael eased himself into the chair by the fire, his bare chest still beaded with bath water. Conflict flickered in his brown eyes, the fires of his devilish nature flamed brightly, defying the mere notion of subjugating himself to a mere undead Vampire Lord. But that part of his nature that was human, that slice of him purred at the chance to be told what to do, to be given a chance to earn favors from the one female that had fascinated him for centuries. It was too good a chance for his human nature to ignore, to please his Bone Picker and her mate. “You have my word,” he crooned, holding his hands in the air in supplication. “Not a touch, or taste, or thrust without your permission, oh mighty Ascendant.”

Fangs glinted in crepuscular light as Astarion smirked. “Good boy,” he praised in those honey-dripping tones. Fingers wrapped around Cordhelia’s wrist, pulling her out of the devil’s reach. “Now, my angel, my Raven, my love,” he purred, tilting her face up into his, two fingers pressed beneath her chin, “shall we show the devil what he desires?”

Cordehlia’s voice hummed in approval, deep in her chest, her lips pursing to kiss her beloved. Fingers wound into her hair, those familiar nails scoring into her scalp as he angled her head just so. Her skin burned with the devil’s gaze, his lips drank from his cup, his eyes drinking the way her beloved’s hand gripped into the curve of her ass.

Astarion’s nails dug into the supple flesh, biting into the skin to draw angry red lines in her pale canvas of flesh. Marks that he made. Marks of possession. She didn’t need to tap into their bond to know; he was too deep into his desires for her.

His teeth and fangs bit into her bottom lip, drawing blood with a soft snap of flesh, another on her neck. Lower and lower he bit down her right shoulder, bites not for feeding. Bites to brand her.

There was blood in the air now, and every monster and predator would want a bite. Astarion couldn’t help himself, running that wide pad of his tongue up her neck. He knew Raphael watched, he could hear the slightly slick beat of his own infernal hand on his outwardly mortal cock.

A smirk on his bloodied lips, and the Ascendant turned his love around in his arms, caging her against his chest. One strong arm reached from behind to grip her chin, the other splayed wide over the rapid rise and fall of her belly. Strands of her red hair clung to her sweat-sheened cheeks and neck, and blood ran in trickles from his bites.

“Isn’t she divine? My elven lady, my vampiric bride…” He shifted her to one side, tilting her by her chin to smile down into her face. “You know, devil, I was the first to taste her precious delights centuries ago, and I’ll be the last to consume her when the world falls down. She is more invaluable to me than all the treasures you have amassed in your House of Hope.”

Cordhelia breathed, closing the distance between their lips, letting the wet sound of their mouths kissing resonate in their room.

“This is no mere trifle we offer you, so pay attention, and play nice,” Astarion chuckled, deep in his chest as he locked eyes with Raphael. “Well, my love, shall we to bed?”

Her crimson eyes glinted as she tilted her head, a little smile tugging the corner of her mouth. Ravishing. Confident. Commanding. “Only if the devil shows us his horns…. All of them.”

Astarion giggled. “Oh you naughty, kinky girl. You want to take the devil by his horns?”

“I should like to touch a Cambion’s… appendage, wing or otherwise,” she smirked. “But as for gripping the horns of his head, that is a privilege I leave to you, my love, my lord.”

On cue, Raphael stood in a burst of ash and fire, his form bubbling with magic. Tanned skin turned scarlet, smooth flesh wrinkled into the near-scaly, bone-ridged texture of his powerful frame. With a few flaps, Raphael flexed his wings, his tail twitching carefully behind him.

“An excellent choice,” Astarion purred his approval, “but do watch the wings. Don’t want you wrecking the furniture, devil.” A lilting laugh on his lips, and brought Cordehlia’s lips to him.

Just the slightest brush of her presence in his mind, and he opened himself up, their bond flooding with mutual sensation. Astarion could feel his own hands in her cool, alabaster skin, he could taste himself on her tongue with all its richness and heat.

Nothing held back. All of it shared between them. “This is going to be fun,” he purred, echoing in their bond.

“Astarion,” she sighed, “I want to taste you first.”

“As you should,” he smirked, casting a sidelong glance at the devil. “Watch carefully,” he instructed with a snap to his tone as he reclined against the pillows. He stared at Raphael a moment, those black and yellow eyes fixed on them as he pumped his cock lazily and shifted his weight

“I intend to, and I intend to do more than watch,” he crooned in reply, velvet tones rougher than usual as his lust grew with every stroke of his clawed hand.

The devil has come undone, Astarion smirked to himself, enjoying the little ways Raphael’s careful, controlled demeanor began to crack… the glaze over his eyes, the bulging of his veins in his arm as it began to work faster.

What’s better than a devil you know? A devil you know will be whimpering by the time they were through, the Ascendant smirked.

Astarion crooked his finger at his love, reaching that hand into her red hair the moment she crawled into range. Its weight settled at the nape of her neck, pressing her simpering and smiling lips to suck him.

Cordehlia grinned around his length, giving that rock hard shaft a few extra loud sucks, a few wet slurps as her own crimson eyes glanced up from the bed. A shiver of arousal, of pride, trembled through their bond.

Those black ringed eyes of gold drank in every move she made, the tips of his forked tongue absentmindedly licking at the corner of his lips. With every beat of his hand on his thick length, his tail twitched, just a little. Raphael clearly enjoyed her… wanted her… burned for her.

“Yes, darling, he’s being such an obedient pup,” Astairon’s fingers pulled the loose stands of her red hair that clung to her chin, pulling back the curtain of her hair to expose the workings of her mouth. “At this rate, he might just earn the right to worship you… if you wish it.”

“Yes,” his voice lacked its sonorous velvet tones. Raphael’s words strained through pointed, gritted teeth. “Anything for my beloved Bone Picker. Just to have those hands that have silenced civilizations barely brush my…”

He grunted, hips thrusting erratically into his own fist. Wet, strained pants sounded from his infernal lips as he shuddered. Voice lost, composure broken, wings falling as his cock twitched and spilled its load.

Thick ropes of cum shot to the floor, the slightest sizzle of heat hissing as it hit the floor.

A low chuckle resounded from above her head, fingers guiding Cordehlia to sit up.

“Oh, how disappointing.” Astarion shifted on the mountains of pillows behind him, a wry smile on his face. “Well, I hear Cambions are quick to go again…. You’re going to clean that up before you go…”

Fingers pulled her chin, her face pulled closer until their lips brushed. “Well, my treasure, how should we punish him for coming before we say, hmm?” His voice rang with pride and power. His crimson eyes were bright with delirious joy at the thrill of commanding every detail.

It made her shiver with delight. Made her body shudder as his hand turned her about and pulled her into his lap, her back resting against his chest.

Kisses peppered the sensitive nerves of her neck. “Look at him, my darling…” he whispered loudly, a sentence meant for her, meant for the devil to overhear. “So pathetic, son of the mighty Mephistopheles coming all over our floor because he just can’t contain himself. Tch,” Astarion’s reverent touch pulled her legs wide, draping them over his own spread long in front of them on the bed. “Centuries roaming the planes, craving untold power, and all it takes to bring the great Raphael low is a few sucks of my beloved’s pristine lips on my cock…”

Cordhelia giggled, for the looks that passed over Raphael’s scarlet face told his own inner conflicts and arousals. He could hide nothing, especially not the way his devilishly ridge cock hardened more the harsher Astarion spoke to him. “Tch,” Cordhelia imitated her love, “how… disappointing.”

“It won’t happen again,” Raphael interrupted, his voice strained even as he swallowed loudly, as if tamping down his pride by doing so.

And Astarion chuckled contemptuously, “Oh, devil, we both know that isn't true. I would bet you all seven-thousand and seven souls from my rite of ascension that my blushing Bride could make you come again with a single word and a well placed kiss.”

“Perhaps,” the devil grinned back, that bright fire behind his yellow eyes as his tail swished impatiently, “if only she would afford me the chance to prove you right or wrong.”

Cordehlia shifted in Astarion’s lap, her lover’s warm, familiar fingers sweeping to part her folds. “Well,” he purred in her ear. “You give the word, and you can be worshiped by the devil himself.” He grinned against her neck, fingers thrusting into her cunt with wet, sloppy sounds. “Doesn’t that sound… divine, heavenly almost.” He laughed loudly and deeply at his own humor.

A sigh from her lips, and she arched back against him. “Make him beg for it, my love,” she hissed, fangs bared in a twisted grin.

Rumbling in her ear, Astarion’s chuckle was deep and delighted. “That’s my merciless darling.” With a satisfied breath, both his hands swept down her thighs, spreading her wide. “I wonder just how quickly the new Archdevil of Avernus will drop to his red, leathery knees for a single lick?”

Two pairs of crimson eyes smiled from the bed, and Raphael’s wings shifted on his back, every muscle in that infernal body wound tight in anticipation. “It takes more than a single offering to bring me low…” his warm, silken voice forced through his pointed teeth. But he couldn’t hide the way his hardened cock twitched again, just at the sight of her wetness, the sounds of her rapid breathing, and at the scent of her sex that permeated the air more Astarion ran his hands up and down her toned thighs.

Astarion sucked his teeth in a show of disappointment, “Where are your manners?” he crooned. “I offer you the most… exclusive of my hospitality, and this is the thanks I get?” His fingers finally dipped into her cunt, teasing her folds apart as he dove his touch deep inside her.

Those black and yellow eyes honed in on the object of his desires, even the veins in his neck seemed to bulge a bit more at the sights and wet sounds.

With a sweep of his thumb on her clit, Astarion drew a wet, pleasured moan from his beloved’s lips. “That’s it, my Raven, let it all out. Make your pretty little noises for him. Show him just how tantalizing you are and maybe he will say please….”

Licking his lips, Raphael drew two steps closer to the edge of the bed.

“Ah, ah,” Astarion chided, withdrawing his hand and snapping her thighs shut. The sudden withdrawal made both of them groan in frustration. But the Ascendant only laughed, petting Cordehlia’s head soothingly. “Please is such a simple word, why can’t you say it? Aren’t you all about control and manners and decorum?” He paused waiting for the devil to cave. “See what you’re doing to her… one little word, and you can put her out of her agony. You just have to beg…”

Infernal eyes narrowed, wings fluttering as he rolled his shoulders. “Please,” he relinquished through gritted teeth and a slightly submissive tilt of his great horned head.

“Ah, there we are,” Astarion crowed in victory, parting those pale, muscled thighs again. “What say you my love, was that a pretty enough of a please?” While he whispered into Cordehlia’s pointed ear, his gaze stared, unwavering from those fiendish eyes.

“Not yet,” she groaned, hips bucking as the Ascendant’s digits thrust into her again. Her own sharp stare pinned him down, her parted lips turning in a wicked smirk. “Kneel for your lady. It’s what’s done when you’re so… inferior.”

Astarion tensed at the humiliating tone, but, as he watched the Cambion’s cock twitch as he sank to his knees, all worry left him.

This was going to be fun.

“How deliciously pathetic, isn’t he my love?” He purred, peppering kisses on her neck slowly. “Or should we make him get lower…”

“Lower,” Cordehlia affirmed with another roll of her hips. “Like a devil-skinned rug for me to walk on…”

Tilting his head back, Raphael sighed, long and deep, as his clawed hand wrapped around his cock to pump once more.

“You like that, devil?” Astarion growled, looking down at the mess of red at their bedside. “You’d want her to step on you, to bend you and break you like she has countless others?”

His hand beat faster on his red, ribbed cock. “Yes,” came his admission.

“My violent vixen, my wife of warfare, my bride of battle…” Astarion’s fingers swirled loudly in her slick. Then, he reached out towards Raphael. “I’ll deign to give you a taste. Savour it, for you’ll only get this once…” Sighing, he watched every movement the Cambion took to crawl to the bed, leaning over to suck his fingers into his red-hot mouth. “Isn’t she… divine?” he purred. “And just think, she mine to sample each and every night.”

Cordehlia breathed, heavy and lust-laden, watching her beloved bringing the ruler of Avernus to his knees. All for her. Only for her.

“My love… you’re so wicked,” she poured her arousal down their bond.

“Aren’t you just obsessed, and here I am, not even trying…” he smirked, pulling his fingers free from his lips with a loud and sudden pop. “You’ll enjoy his forked tongue, my love, if you think him properly submissive for you.”

“Let him approach,” she purred, leaning back against Astarion until she felt his cock press insistently against her ass. The bed buckled under him as the devil finally climbed on, red silk sheets dull and drab compared to the brilliant scarlet of his form. His great wings folded in tightly, tail curling its warm length around her calf as he slotted himself between her thighs.

Fingers closed around one rough and jagged horn, and Astarion jerked the devil’s head up with a snarl. His fangs bared, lips raised, he hissed in Raphael’s face. “Be a good… obedient pup and you might just be lucky enough for more rewards.” With a shove, he released him, “Don’t be surprised if I grab you by the horns when you displease us.”

“Very well,” Raphael nodded, his charming smirk revealing those pointed teeth. Lips pursed, he kissed those toned inner thighs. Warm, supple lips pressed higher, his hands gripping around the backside of her legs to bring her closer… and closer.

“Faster devil, before I lose my patience with you,” Cordehlia rasped down at him, angling her hips and threading her arms around her mate behind her. One hand wove into his silver curls, pulling this cheek against her own, and the other gripped hard into his own leg, clenching into his corded thigh for support. To ground her.

She pushed her presence into his mind, feeling his arousal return. Every nerve in his body trembled in anticipation, every touch on her body passed into his… each lick or bite, he could sense as if it were his own flesh. And that made him place a tender kiss on her flushing cheek. “My precious treasure,” he purred aloud, “mine…”

A cry came from her throat, strangled as her muscles bunched. Heat seared through her loins, that scarlet tongue swiping once up her seam. Another pass of his forked tongue, another muffled groan as Cordhelia buried her face in Astarion’s neck.

“Look at you, precious thing, you can withstand the heat,” he purred. “And the devil can work harder to earn that sweet taste now on his forked tongue.” Astarion allowed one more lick, that heat and pressure intruding deeper this time into her cunt. Grabbing the devil by the horn, he sneered into his face again. “Isn’t she delightful? And here you are lazily licking like she’s so two-penny sweet from a shop.” Shaking that devil's head he snapped his fangs. “Pleasure her, unless you don’t mean it…”

Released, Raphael’s mouth set to work in earnest. Little growls from his throat, he sucked her clit until wet, squelching sounds deafened the noises he made. Fingers slipping inside her channel plied in and out, careful not to scratch with his claws. And that tongue… hot, not warm, passed that searing forked pad up and down. Swirl after swirl of it on her clit sent her writhing and bucking back on her lover’s lap. He devoured her, messy and dripping, sloppily feasting on her essence to savor her taste on the tips of his forked tongue.

Panting as one, every sensation swept through their bond, and Astaion’s brow was growing beaded with sweat. One particularly persistent lick ended with a pinch of her clit between Raphael’s teeth, and two voices cried out at the pained bliss that flooded their bodies.

Raising his head and licking his lips, Raphael chuckled. “Curious use of your mating bond, little vampling. Jealous of your Bride? Or just… supervising my techniques?”

Astarion yanked his horns punishingly hard. Jerking the devil’s head to meet his fiery gaze, Astarion sneered from over her shoulder. “Careful, devil, you’re in my house, under my rules, remember? I’d hate for you to be the reason the Vampire Ascendant your father created suddenly got a taste for… fiendish prey.”

The threatening glint in Astarion’s eye, the way he let his fangs catch the firelight, Cordehlia practically swooned at his ferocity. A primal sort of purr came from her throat as she nuzzled against those twin scars of his neck.

Raphael fought to lower his head back down, but Astarion’s grip only tightened. “Apologize,” he crooned, voice like honey, eyes like flint.

Catching Cordhelia’s hand from her side, Raphael placed a kiss on her pale fingers. “I’m sorry, my precious lady…”

Another rough jerk on his horn, and Raphael grunted in surprise. A face full of fangs and ire, Astarion shook him like a naughty babe. “Not to her,” he snarled, “to me, you ingrate.”

The devil canted his head, relishing this tension with all his infernal heart. “My apologies, my lord,” he crooned in that viciously velvet voice.

“Good,” he released his horn to pat him on the cheek. “Satisfied, darling?” he nuzzled the hollow of Cordhelia’s neck. “Would you like for us to taste a Cambion’s ridged cock?”

The question hissed straight into her ear, her back arching with tingles that raced down her vertebrae. “If you like, my love,” came her reply, a wet moan as she leveled her sly gaze at the worshiping devil between her thighs.

“Good, because all this excitement has me in desperate need to fuck you, my dear. I’m sure you can concentrate on two things at once, can’t you my Raven?”

Gods… she simpered at him, glowing with lust and blazing with hunger. “On your knees, devil,” she sneered, a derisive grin on her lips as the devil rose up and sank obediently on his heels. That girthy cock twitched again… and again… with every move he observed. Her full breasts swayed as she shifted onto her hands, her face glistening with a greedy smile and eyes that gave sneaky little furtive glances at his bobbing cock. The hand that had gripped daggers for centuries as the Bone Picker closed on his shaft, unyielding and commanding.

Just like her.

He was… massive, she smirked as she lowered herself, breasts pressing into his thighs. Nothing she couldn’t handle, she assured herself. But the instant she laved her tongue over his flesh, she flinched at the heat.

Raphael chuckled, that staccato roll of a laugh as he carded his fingers through her red hair. “We Cambions are known to run warm… don’t worry, my lady. You’ll get used to it.”

Cordehlia’s eyes glinted at the challenge, her hand fisting around his balls, taking their weight in her command. Raphael grunted, a challenge in his eyes, and yet, he waited patiently and obediently for her to swipe her tongue up the length of him.

It was a strong sensation, the heat from the devil’s flesh. Even Astarion smacked his lips at the shared feeling in his mouth from their bond. She was a treat, his precious, indulging in the spoils of war… She was his treasure, he preened inwardly, his one finger slinking into her cunt from behind, spreading her slick as he soon teased his cock head against that glistening entrance.

And, just as she started to take the devil into her lips, Astarion thrust home, making her moan and arch until she lifted back up. Every roll of his hips filled her with that ancient familiar friction, that pressure that was just as much a part of her as herself.

As Astarion’s rhythm settled in her cunt, Cordhelia returned her mouth back to the devil’s need. “So patient,” she praised before her mouth took him in as far as she could. Ridges cut over her tongue as she sucked, that heat and salty taste a delicacy she savoured with every bob of her head.

“What’s the matter, devil?” Astarion sneered slyly, his hips snapping with expert precision against her ass. “Sweating already? Don’t tell me my love already has you desperate for release…”

Those heavy horns pulled his head back, his spine bending as Raphael arched into her waiting lips. A cacophony of pleasure, a tidal wave of bliss, Cordehlia shuddered with every thrust inside her, her voice moaning, nearly weeping as she sucked and licked every ridge of that cock before her until she nearly gagged. “He’s close,” she heard Astarion purr into her thoughts, “slow down, my love. Make him suffer.”

Just his fleshy cockhead in her lips, she licked and suckled, feeling it grow thicker and hotter against her tongue. It made her drool, made her lips smack sloppily around that red, ridged cock.

“Yes, my love,” the Ascendant growled, words timed with thrusts deep into her cunt. Red, scaled hands gripping into her hair harder, not daring to force her down but clenching as Raphael erupted inside her waiting mouth. Snarls echoed above her, so rough and consuming, waves of growls with each spurt of his cum down her throat. Hot like boiling water, burning like spice, she swallowed as much of him as she could, her hand working that hard, ribbed shaft until all the devil could do was level his gaze down at them once more.

“Isn’t she a gem, devil? Isn’t she… remarkable?” Astarion praised, licking his own lips and skating his fingers against her scalp. “You’ll never know pleasure like this again,” he groaned, pulling her by her hair, making that flexible, elegant back bend until he could kiss her neck.

Eyes locked together, black and yellow into those glinting crimson ones. Cordehlia was too lost, a thrall to his fucking, cum still dripping down her chin as she panted and smiled. She couldn’t care less about the straining power between two males.

As the Ascendant stared him down, power coiled in his muscles and heat flowed in his veins as he snapped into her with abandon. Every wet and noisy slap signaled his possession, every grunt screamed ‘mine,’ until he spilled into her with a guttural cry. He keeled over on her back, and Cordehlia shook in ecstasy, her own steely and toned sinews quaking in orgasm and relief.

A kiss on her neck, and Astarion pulled her nearly-limp frame in his arms to rest against the pillows. She nuzzled into that familiar dip of his chest, his thumb sweeping over her chin to clean that last stick of cum.

Cordehlia took a deep, satisfied sigh. “Well, Raphael, your offer of worship to your lady was acceptable.”

A laugh from his own slack mouth, a tilt of his head, and Raphael grinned. “Of course. It was, and is, my pleasure to serve,” he purred. Sliding from the bed, he untucked his wings. “Consider all our scales balanced and… satisfied.” That final word was graced with careful enunciation, and Raphael never felt more pleased.

A nod of contentment, Astarion kept his gaze roaming over Cordehlia’s blushing face. “I’m sure you’ll see yourself out, devil,” Astarion sighed, still stroking his fingers over the soft dips and rises of her shoulders and back.

A burst of searing heat and a wave of flame, Raphael vanished from their sight.

Astarion’s lips caressed the shell of her ear, “How do you feel my sweet?” His hands wandered over her every inch. “Properly victorious and thoroughly worshiped?”

Cordehlia lifted her head, the tangled muss of her hair falling to one side as she smiled. “Yes and yes,” she whispered her reply against his lips. “But that doesn’t mean I’m yet… satisfied.”

“Insatiable vixen,” he purred, pulling her familiar weight on top of him, losing himself in her body, heart, and soul. “You consume me more than any fire, more than all Avernus itself.”

And Cordehlia smiled at her love.

Thank you, dear reader, for joining me on this slide quest. Our heroes are Happy and sated…. For now 😈

The main arc of “Our Blood” will have a few more updates as well coming up.

And perhaps, some more of these companion side quests will surface. If you have ideas, compliments, suggestions, I’m more than happy to hear them.

On behalf of @marimosalad and myself, Thank you for loving Cordehlia, our Bone Picker, our Raven ❤️🐦‍⬛

[pseudowho]

Is living domestic life what you imagined it to be as a child/teen? I never thought I'd live this long and I dont know for how long I'll live anyway, but the thought of joy being found in the mundane keeps me going. Is it worth it?

By "domestic life", am I first to assume that you mean a 'nuclear family' in the classic sense?

Based on context, I'm going to assume so.

I also don't know why you feel, strictly, that you should have died and may yet die soon. I cannot make any assumptions on your health, physical or mental, so this also means all I can give you is my own experience. I don't mean to advise one not asking for advice, anyway; all you have asked for is insight.

So I came from the sort of family where, for the most part, being 'a mother' was every woman's main identity. It was just what the women were. For most of my life, I never assumed I would be anything but a mother. It's funny, because in hindsight, none of the rest of my life and career aspirations strictly matched with being 'a mother' in the traditional sense, so I clearly had a long term delusion, there.

If I had known how distinctly in possession of myself I was, I might have known how hard it would be to give myself up, for babies.

Either way...for context: I fell very hard in love, and we grew up together (from ages 14/15) still in love, and we are now 31 and 32. I am a midwife, he is an English Professor/Lecturer and Teacher. We married aged 22/23. We have three sons, aged 7, 4 and 1.

Good things about domestic life:

Loneliness isn't a thing, here.

Lots and lots of affection, both physical and emotional.

The load of life is shared (note: I have a husband who is very, very outside of the norm, with no toxic masculinity and an approach to equality/equitability in work, childcare and housework).

When you are your own family unit, you're pressured less by family to get involved in their shit. Because you've got your own shit.

Living with the love of your life is amazing.

Having babies who are half you, and half the love of your life, is an incredibly beautiful thing.

Raising babies, although supremely difficult, is a joy.

Taking turns being at home and at work is helpful.

You learn to be much more compromising, patient and forgiving.

Bad things about domestic life:

You don't realise how much personal identity, independence or privacy you will lose, being a parent.

Exhaustion.

Parenting is hard. Really hard. Really, really hard.

Finding time for each other, as a couple, is also hard. Any time you do find, at least one of you is likely exhausted.

Good god, so much cooking.

Good god, so much laundry.

Good god, I swear I just vacuumed yesterday.

Good god, groceries are expensive.

Barely keeping your head above water with life admin and finances and childrearing and housework and work and life and ever having any time alone, is absolutely real.

Very very little downtime.

If you are someone who finds joy in the mundane, then yes, you may find a lot of joy in domesticity. So much of it really is mundane; being at home with kids, is often simultaneously boring and stressful. Very odd. Perhaps I'll miss it when they're older.

My personal favourite moment, is the happy sigh at the end of every day, when the kids are in bed, and the house is largely clean, where you fall into each other's arms, and he looks at you like you built the world for him, and just says:

"Hello. You are beautiful."

And I bury my face in his chest, and breathe in the smell of him, and the stale cologne, and the sweat, and life, and say:

"God, I missed you. More than you know."

And it's basically the same, every day.

In a kind of beautiful way.

Love,

-- Haitch xxx

[wordstome]

I am having a goddamn nightmare of a time writing the university au (mostly because I have a shit ton of work to do…for my university…lol) so have some headcanons about the most toxic couple you’ve ever met. mdni under the cut

They’re like the definition of a situationship. They’re dating in every aspect except by name

At first she does try to sleep with other guys like she did before König but that doesn’t last long, because nobody else is as good as him. She will never admit this outside of the bedroom

Meanwhile he literally calls her his girlfriend behind her back

She’s emotionally unavailable toxic, he’s obsessive and possessive toxic

König enjoys the pursuit and just thinks it’s normal for women to be difficult like this. I would say “poor König” but he has a bad habit of picking her up and carrying her places against her will so he’s not that poor

She likes to tell herself she has no attachment to him, but she loves the ego boost he gives her by acting like a lovestruck puppy and following her everywhere. She’s also secretly into him being controlling

She does have her moments of genuinely caring about him, though. She brought him lunch once and he looked at her like she hung the moon the whole day. Her excuse was that she just happened to get/make an extra portion, but she did, in fact, get him a portion on purpose

She basically lives with him after a certain point. Her roommates barely see her anymore since she only comes and goes from her old place to get things. He constantly threatens to change the locks on her, but they both know it’s an empty threat. He much prefers to punish her in sexy ways

She'll just be minding her own business talking to a classmate or perhaps flirting with someone when König will come up behind her and put his arms around her. If she was just talking to someone she'll pat his face before attempting to shoo him off. If she was flirting with someone, she wrenches him off her and storms off in a huff (whoever she was talking to has definitely fled from König's evil eye by that point)

They don't really fight, they just have spats because König is endlessly amused by her anger and she is unable to stay mad at him for long. The one time they had a real fight was nasty, and they didn't talk for days afterwards

She's usually quite a chill, go with the flow person (because if she allowed herself too much stress or anxiety at once it would destroy her), but König brings out the spitfire in her

In equal measure, König is a bit of the shy and quiet giant type, but she brings out the brat tamer in him. They alternate balancing each other out

It's kind of easy to look at them and go "why are they still doing this to themselves" but when they get along (i.e. he's behaving himself and she's not pretending not to know him) they're as functional as any other couple

This definitely goes without saying: the nastiest most bed-breaking sex. They fuck like they’re trying to murder each other

I know it's a pet peeve of many people when they say the reader is ooooo so small and delicate next to the cod men, and I tend to agree. However, unless you are also nearly seven feet tall and built like an olympic swimmer, I'm just gonna say you're smaller than König

That being said, he LOVES using his size against her. Picking her up, bending her over things, bending her in half (mating press, his beloved)

If he wants her to stay, she'll stay. He'll have one hand on her throat pinning her down, the other keeping her open to slam into her

This brat will look him dead in the eye and ask "is that all you've got?", which obviously makes him lose his mind in the best way

She definitely has more experience than he does, which actually works out in his favor: him getting better at fucking really just means he's getting better at fucking her

They're so goddamn nasty they've definitely fucked in semi-public places because she teased him to the point of madness and he popped a boner so hard it was painful

Oh, the dirty talk. König is such a gentleman outside of the bedroom, but the degradation that comes out of him while he's fucking her is toe-curling. A lot of "nobody else can fuck you like this" and "all you're good for is taking me in your tight little hole"

He growls??? I don't know if y'all have heard his voicelines in German but he snarls at her when he's trying to teach her a lesson and it turns her into putty

This post is dedicated to @kneelingshadowsalome, who is waiting for this fic so patiently and is my shining beacon of motivation at this point lol

[hoshigray]

Back at it with pt. ii of the assassin duo! Toji x reader (finally!!): where the reader avoids Toji after the one-night stand, and it goes well for the most part. But can the same be said for Toji? How long can this quiet game go before someone snaps?

A/n: Am I writing this because I'm spitful of getting a community label on my sugar daddy! Toji x sugar baby! reader fic? Yes. Yes, I am. 🙃 Sighhh. But ya know what, it's all good because you lovelies gave it so much love, so tysm for 3k notes!!! And thank you so much for the 300+ followers!! Y'all are too kind~~~ Since I have no idea how to celebrate, I guess another poll will suffice so pick whichever prompt you'd like to see for next Thursday (as well as a bonus art from me hehe)!!!

Also, for context's sake, this is pt. ii of this drabble that I have written, so please give it a read if you ever feel confused. This fic was long overdue and is WAY longer than I EVER intended for it to be, so I apologize for this hefty piece of work. I do hope you like it tho!!

Also, also: @absoluteindulgence here ya go!! just as I promised ccc:

Cw: dom! Toji x fem! reader - fingering (fem! receiving) - Toji gets a bit possessive/jealous - sex in a public place (workplace) - biting - clitoral play (pinches 2x) - Toji is his coky self but reader doesn't back down - implied overstimulation (fem! receiving) - pet names (angel, angel face, baby, darlin', good girl, honey, sweetie, sweetheart, sweet thing) - third party interruptions (they don't walk in on you two doing the deed tho) - kissing session - edging (fem! receiving) - Toji steals your panties bc he's a cheeky asshat - ayoo Toji and reader catching feelings.

Wc: 5.1k (omfg I'm so sorry y'all lmao)

The last time you ran into Toji was the "I'll treat you for dinner with nothing attached" mishap you got yourself into. How can you not ridicule yourself for getting caught in such a moment? The man you hate with every fiber in your being practically had you folded like a pretzel, chuckling and teasing you in your most vulnerable state as he used your body in his way fit.

The most unpleasant thing about it was you reminiscing about those intimate moments you had with him that night. When his hot groans made you squeeze tighter on his dick. His thick fingers in your mouth play with your tongue as he kisses the nape of your neck from the back. When you hold him for support while he pounds into your wet folds, the naughty sounds make you bury your face into the crook of his neck.

Or worse: as Toji had his way with you, he called you the sweetest names as if he truly meant them, like he wouldn't mind calling you by them for the rest of his days.

Images of that night continue to haunt you, especially within the confines of your own home, in your own bed. How many nights has it been since you've fought the urge to touch yourself and failed? Losing count says quite a lot.

"Hnngh, shit shit shit...Fuck, y/n, you don't know what you're doing to me, baby." His voice is present in your mind as your fingers rub your clit. You shut your eyes close once you enter a digit inside your opening. "Awwh, are you embarrassed, angel? Don't wanna look me in the eye? No? Heh, then what are you grippin' 'round me for..." Another digit enters between your folds, and you grip your bedsheets while the memories still play in your head. "Damn, sweetie, lookin' so beautiful fr' me, ya know that?" Faster and faster your fingers go, your sensitivity inching higher and higher. "My beautiful darlin'."

And then you release. Cum slides down your inner thighs as your legs shake, your dignity and shame staining the dry sheets.

Damn you, Toji Fushiguro. Through gritted teeth and tears swelling up, you swear to not get mixed with that man from here on out.

And you do just that. Anytime you saw him within the same corridor or room, you would ghost him as if his familiar tall, solid build could never catch your eye. You'd go on about your business, onto the next task, onto the next client.

You didn't even take his missions anymore, nor did he for yours. Everything was going back to where it was before this incident of yours. As if you two never acknowledged each other in the first place.

It was for the best, at least that's what you told yourself. You had to get back to who you were previously, whether that meant being the top assassin or not. Whichever came first, as long as you were nowhere near him.

As for Toji, he could tell what game you were playing the moment your eyes no longer gave him the time of day. And Toji wasn't mad at it either; he preferred the "no feelings attached" approach. So he did his part to not get mixed into whatever you were doing, missions and all.

But as much Toji tries not to, he can't stop thinking about you. The way your hips sway when you walk past him, your voice soft yet stern when conversing with your handler, and when you check your small hands to see if you adequately cleaned off the blood from the mission prior.

His mind can only think of your wrists trapped under his single hand while he stuffs his fingers into your mouth with the other. Your legs and ass tremble as you ride him. Doing your best not to be too loud, but oh, Toji wants you loud. He wants you to let him know he's making you mewl and shriek, not giving a damn if the whole world knows as well. "Haaah—Ahhh!! T-Toji, please...I'm gonna cum, if you keep—Ohhh!"

Hearing you, kissing you, holding you, all of it. All of you. If he could have you close to him, he'd be as swift as a blink of an eye.

But again, he preferred this way. Less trouble, more work.

And it was going pretty alright.

Well, until you start going on missions with other hitmen.

Although your diligent work ethic and astute experience led you to the top, you've also gained respect and admiration from your colleagues, especially your junior subordinates.

And now that you seemed to stop associating yourself with Toji, some of the other guys tried to use this to their advantage to get closer to you and request your aid for some of their tasks.

And who are you to say no to helping others who wish to improve? There's no wrong in doing so.

Except there is a wrong. Its name is Toji Fushiguro, and the last straw was when he saw one of the juniors try to take you out to dinner (to which you declined, of course). He needed to stop this before some poor rookie's head decorated some walls.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

Another day goes by, and you go down the hallway from a meeting with your handler, only to see Toji leaning on a wall. You've done this dance several times now. Just keep walking. You walk past him like nothing, easy peasy. Now onto the next task and go see-

"Y/n."

You stop in your tracks when someone calls out to you. No, you know who it was that said your name. It's been a while since you've heard his husky voice. You sigh and continue walking.

Toji's brows furrow. Unless you were seeing things he wasn't, you two were obviously the only people in this hall. Stopping at the sound of his voice is evidence that you're aware of his existence. Yet you move right along.

That's strike one.

He gets up from the wall and follows behind you. Toji stares at your figure, and he knows you can sense him. He huffs, cursing you that you got him following you like some lovestruck schoolboy.

"Y/n." He tries it again.

You didn't stop this time, your face in the direction you were heading.

That's strike two.

Toji sucks his teeth. Now this is getting annoying. He takes five giant steps and places his hand on your shoulder, gripping it so you can stop at that spot. "Yo!!" He doesn't bother hiding his irritation.

"Hey!"

You free your shoulder from his hand in a swift motion, smacking his arm away. It was a small action, but it gave you enough leeway to hop a few extra meters away from him.

However, Toji was way quicker than that.

He grabs and pins you onto the wall of the hallway corner. You wince as the pain is slight, yet nothing too life-threatening. But that can't be said for the look Toji was giving you. Black brows are pulled down, and his forest-green eyes affirm that he's livid.

Strike three it is.

"I fucking dare you to try and get yourself out of this one," His rough hands are now on your shoulders, but they're keeping you in one place this time. "Try it."

A displeased frown paints your face. "Oh? Are you challenging me? I thought you'd have half the brain to know that's not a good idea."

He sneers at your attempt at sounding threatening. It always worked with others, but never with him. He found you adorable for always trying. "Hmph, your sassy mouth loves to spit out venom," Toji leans his face in, his nose almost touching yours. "Thought I fucked that attitude right out of ya."

You bring a knee to his groin, but again, Toji is one step ahead. Grabbing your leg and pulling it up with one hand while he uses the other to hold your wrists above your head.

Your eyes widen. This position, the memories, it's all coming back to you.

Pull yourself together, damn it!

"Tch, what is this about now, you reckless bear?" You glare at the man, trying to stay calm in this predicament.

"I'm fine playing the avoiding game—"

"You don't seem fine about it now." You cut him off.

"I wonder who's to blame for that."

"What the hell did I do? I carried on with my work and left you alone. Everything was going back to how it used to—"

"I don't think you avoiding me and going on other missions with other guys used to happen."

How you fought the urge to roll your eyes amazed you. "What are you, an elementary schooler? Why does it matter to you what I do with my time?"

"Shut up. You know I've been in this field longer than you have, and when you came into the picture, you always chose to be alone."

"Again," your patience wears thin by the second. "Why does it matter to you?"

Silence. He just stares at you as anger dwindles out bit by bit, but he's in his thoughts as his eyes hone in on yours.

"Well?" You press on while he's stumped. "Why?"

No answer, averting his eyes to the side like he'd find the answer there. Then, they come back to your face. Or rather, your lips.

Your breath hitches. "Fushiguro?"

His emerald eyes return to yours, yet his irritation is clouded in a softer tone. Those eyes now express the hooded look from that night. Toji places your leg onto his shoulder and leans closer to you.

"Fushigu—"

"Shhh," His deep voice sounded more demanding when hushed. "Let me have this. Have you."

His lips press onto yours before you deny him. Toji finally frees your hands to cup your face, and his tongue runs through your teeth, waiting for permission to enter. You should be fighting this. You have to fight it. But your mouth opens for him, and your hands grab his shoulders for stability.

You moan sweetly when he slides his tongue into yours, your balance starting to fail you. "I'm still on one leg, you asshole." You manage to say in-between kisses.

Toji laughs a bit before changing your position, pressing your back against the wall with your legs wrapped around him. Once you're comfortable, he's back on attacking your lips. It gets rougher and more passionate, teeth clashing and biting your bottom lip.

He groans when a hand pulls on his hair, his hands grope on your ass lovingly. He breaks up the kiss, you two catching your breath. He gazes at you, "You too, huh?"

Your lips quiver when you turn away from him and nod. He snickers. "Look at you being all shy. You were talking with a lot of sass not too long ago, and now you can barely look at me." He draws his face closer to your neck, giving it sweet kisses and tiny bites that cause you to gasp. And Toji was enjoying your reactions. "Knowing that I'm the one that can make you like this — Mmmph, makes me want to fuck you here and now."

And that's what you want. You won't admit it, but he already knows that. The cooperation with him at this very moment proves it. You want him just as much as he does you.

"Y/n! Where are you?"

The two of you freeze when another voice comes from the other side of the hall. Then you remember a rookie who needed help with a mission today, and you were headed to see him right after your meeting. And now you're pressed between a wall and Toji fucking Fushiguro with your legs wrapped around his waist.

If he sees me like this with Fushiguro, I'm finished!

"T-Toji," your whisper grabs the older man's attention. "You have to put me down. They're waiting for me."

Toji squints at you and then a look of realization. The grin that creeps on his face alerts something in your brain, and you don't know if you like it or not. There's little time for you to come to a proper answer because Toji moves away from the wall and brings you along for the ride. Your arms hold around his neck so you don't fall off as he enters a room and locks the door.

You're now in a tiny conference room with the lights off, only the sunlight peeking through the blinds of the sole window in front of the round table.

"What are you doing, Fushigur—Ack!" Toji throws you onto the table. The pain from your head distracts you from the fact that he's pulling your pants off in immediate haste.

His chuckles sound dangerously low. "So you thought I'd just let you go on some mission when I already have you right where I want you?" Toji spreads your legs for your undergarments to be displayed, whistling at the lewd image of a damp spot on the piece of clothing. "Oh, sweetheart, not with these cute lil' panties of yours."

You were about to get up and grab for his neck, but a finger pushed into your pussy through the cloth. A squeal slips out, and you're quick to cover your mouth.

"Careful, princess," his big hands pull your panties off you, and they meet the cold floor. His middle and forefinger slide up and down between slick-coated cunt has you biting your lip, and Toji likes the determination. "Don't want whoever lookin' for you to walk in on us. This pussy is for my eyes to see only."

"Haaaah...You're such a bastard, Fushiguro—Ooohh!!" Toji pushes his finger into your clothed opening, his free hand coming in the clutch to cover your voice.

Toji leans close to your face with the vibrations of your mewls rippling through his palm while his thick digit plays with your slit. "I mean it, kid. Don't play with me." You nod meekly, and he kisses your forehead for your obedience.

"Hmm, I wonder where y/n went. Hopefully, they didn't forget..." You can hear the voice of your subordinate on the other side of the door as if he's directly in front of it.

Another finger is added into the mix, and tears start to form as you wince through the pain of your nether lips being stretched. You try calling out to Toji, yet it's no use with his big warm hand dwarfing your sobs.

He does remove it, though, using it to maneuver your head so he can lay kisses on your neck. Your choked hiccups sound like sweet notes to his ears. "So good fr' me, sweetie. You smell so fuckin' good. Who're you trying to pull?"

"No-No one...Ahhhh..." You answer in gasps while his digits scrape your inner walls, your mind turning to mush. "I'm not trying anything— Oh fuck..."

"Bullshit." Toji groans and bites your collarbone, and a sharp gasp leaves you. "All this attention, all these rookies gawkin' at you like you're their prize."

"Why? You jealous, Fushiguro?" It wasn't meant to be a snarky comment, yet there was some spice. The glare he gives you sends a chill down your spine. One is sent back to show that you're standing your ground despite the humiliation you're going through.

You're about to say some more; however, you hear the doorknob jolt, and the clench of your velvety walls around Toji's fingers doesn't go past him.

"Huh? Why's the door locked?"

The shock on your face lights a lightbulb for Toji as a big grin takes over him. "Yeah? This space is occupied." He calls out to the person behind the door, the petrified look on your face only fueling his mischievous fire.

"Oh shit, Mr. Fushiguro!?" He snickers at the other's response. "S-Sorry! I didn't mean to disrupt you! I was just looking for someone."

A brow is raised when Toji turns his head to the door. "Who?"

You send your knife-piercing eyes his way, but he still doesn't face you. This motherfucker...

"Y/n," the rookie replies sheepishly. "They said they'd help me and a partner of mine with a mission. But I haven't seen them for a while..."

Please don't ask where I am. Just go somewhere else—Oh God!!

Toji's fingers fasten the pace, and you quickly cover your mouth before the person, oblivious to your absence, gets any inclination of where you are. And it gets worse when Toji's thumb flicks your clit prompting a choked cry. Oh, he's such a cruel man.

Toji hums with a sly smile as he peers at your writhing figure. "Oh, really? Didn't know that."

"By any chance, do you know where they went?"

You can't vocally tell him anything, so you rely on your eyes to convey your anxious pleas, orbs begging him through streamed tears and hooded with shame.

But Toji won't let you off that easily because the fun has just started. He whispers, "Say my name, baby." You blink with scrunched brows. "Say my name like you did that night."

This is too fucking much for me! Your mind is going through waves of turbulence. Of all people to be in this situation with, it has to be the fucker getting a kick out of this!!

Before you think up another sentence, a stinging sensation jolts your body upwards to him. Toji sneers playfully as his fingers leave your soaked folds and pinch your clitoris, your reaction too adorable for him to not stop tormenting you. "C'mon, sweetheart, say my name with your cute ass voice."

Your mind is clouded in this euphoric atmosphere that you can feel the climax inching closer and closer. Your lips are now swollen from having to bite them constantly. Another pinch has you screaming in silence, and you're pushed to accept your fate and give him what he wants: your submission.

"Hic-T-Toji, please," eyes hooded in a fuzzy haze, you reach out for his face. He obliges as you caress his cheeks. "Too much, 's too —hic... too much..."

His jade orbs focus on your dazed expression. A smile pushes his scar up for his teeth to peek through. "There she is. That's my good girl." He draws in to kiss you, his body weight pushing you down on the cold table surface. However, a knock from the door behind him halts him from moving any further. Toji clicks his teeth. Fuckin' brat.

And he removes himself from you, especially his fingers that were warm inside your cunt. The sudden subtraction of them have you exclaiming in soft whimpers. The orgasm you were so close to achieving is ignored and slowly depletes. You feel as though you could cry through the sensitive.

Toji whispers a quick apology and licks his digits marinated with your fluid. Then he marches to the door and opens it enough for half of his body to be visible. The rookie jumps at the tall man looking at the other with the most terrifying scowl. "What?" His gruff voice carries authority, and your pussy throbs as you watch him handle the younger hitman.

"S-Sorry, sir! I asked if you've seen—"

"No, I haven't seen them. Why not ask their handler since they just had a meeting together."

"Oh, okay...Well, excuse me!" Your junior quickly bows at the intimidating senior and scampers out of the scene.

A heavy sigh leaves Toji as he closes and locks the door, "Fuckin' finally." The exasperated tone of his tone falters when he turns to you, replaced with the returning lust. "Now, where were we..." His hands undo the knot around his pants and loosen the hold around his hips.

When his dick is set free, you can't help but gawk at such a thing. Seeing it for the second time is just as — if not more — menacing as the first. The girth and size alone has your mind in a whirlwind, questioning how that even fit inside you in the first place.

Nevertheless, it's no use thinking about such matters because Toji aligns his cock around your folds. When he feels you tense at his veiny organ, he rubs your thighs tenderly to coax you. "Relax fr' me, angel." Hesitation is shown as you nod, but you even your breathing and prepare for him.

Toji pushes his length into you with every breath you take, and it's difficult to adjust to the foreign organ intruding into your poor hole. You grimace every time the tip is shoved against you. Tears finally fall down your face which are wiped by Toji's calloused fingers. "I know, honey, I know."

It feels like forever just having the tip of Toji's dick enter you, and when it does, oh, it does. A loud gasp exits your lips from the intrusion, and inaudible babbles fly out as he pushes his length, stretching your vulva as it ventures deep within you.

Toji, on the other hand, shivers as your inner walls clamp around his cock. "Jesus...This pussy is still so fuckin' tight." He hisses through gnashed teeth. Once the base of his member reaches your opening, you two take a moment to recollect yourselves.

"Hmmm, damn, I missed this." He grinds his hips into you, his hands posted on your hips to savor the clenching feeling of your pussy. "Heh, bet that brat of a subordinate wouldn't know how to handle you like I do."

Even with your mind foggy and senses at an all-time high, you give the older man a look of annoyance. You make your cunt squeeze hard on him, the unexpected action catching him by surprise as he lowers himself to you, using all his willpower not to cum so early.

Before he can curse you out for the unforeseen kegel, you cup his face to have him look at you. "For God's sake, can you not mention him while you're fucking me, Toji?" Your voice hushed for him to pay close attention, but your beautiful dazed expression distracts him. "I'm not thinking about anyone besides you."

You don't even give him a chance to his answer because you pull him into a kiss and moan sweetly into his mouth. He groans and slowly rocks his hips into a stable rhythm.

His thrusts gradually get faster and faster, rearranging your legs around his waist so you don't go sliding on the table surface. Your pants get sporadic, and your cries are a little louder than earlier. But not too loud for the whole building to hear, only for him.

The slap of his balls hitting your ass is so vulgar to the ears that you hide your face. "Cut that out, sweetheart," Toji wastes no time removing your hands and holds them down with his. A feeling of deja vu blossoms in the air. "Don't try hidin' away from me, baby. I want to see all of you."

A sudden burst of confidence fuels your sentence. "Then fuck me like you deserve all of me."

A fire is ignited in Toji, and a sudden deep thrust is thrown at you out of nowhere. Your sobs only propel him to continue piston his length into the deepest parts of your gummy walls.

The conference room is filled with nothing but the sound of your sexes smacking together, skin slapping against each other, and groans and moans in heavy puffs and pants.

"Haahh! Haaaaah!! Tojiii, Tojiiii," you whimper as his pumps go erratically fast, shivering beneath him as your legs cage him.

"Oh fuckin' shit," Toji curses with eyes shut, removing one hand from yours and snaking it down to your clit, using his fingers to press down on the sensitive bud.

Your orgasm climbs back up, and you want to claim it this time. "Toji, 'm gonna, gonna c—Ohhh!!"

"Yeah? Gonna cum for me, sweet thing? Gonna cum on my dick like the good girl you are?" You nod lazily. Toji doesn't buy it. "Use your words, baby. Is that what you want?"

"Yes, Toji, yes!! Please, I want it!!"

And he gives it to you as the pads of his fingers swipe on your bud rapidly. Your release comes crashing down on you when your cunt spasms around the girthy length. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, and your body jolts with every wave of pleasure.

Toji isn't far from his peak, so he doesn't stop pounding into you for a few seconds. The hilt of his cock slams into your slick-covered opening, and you cry from the impact on your aching chasm. He fills you up with his own come and rests his body on you. His heaving figure feels pleasant on top of you.

The two of you begin to calm down as you finish each other's climax. Toji breathes on the crook of your neck and leaves a trail of kisses. "Fuck, pussy felt way too fuckin' good —kiss— Don't think I'd like the idea of sharin' you with the rest."

You shake your head and chuckle at him, placing your hands behind his neck and playing with his hair. "Whatever you say, you possessive loser."

Toji lifts his head and kisses your forehead before your lips, the two of you indulging in this tender moment as if nothing outside this space matters to you.

That is, until another knock on the door alerts you both, and Toji has to resist the urge to break the table you're lying on. Withdrawing from your embrace, he shouts at the person ruining his time with you. "Look here, brat! I told you this space is occupied!"

"I'm aware. That's why I came to get you." The different voice has Toji realize it wasn't the junior from before but his handler. Shiu Kong? "I was told by some rookie that you were in this room."

Toji groans as he puts his pants back on. For your sake, you keep your mouth shut and let the two men converse through the door between them. "What's up?"

"I just got you into a big operation. The client wants to meet with you to discuss plans and all that fun jazz. So meet with me outside the building whenever you're ready." And with that, Shiu's footsteps falter away from the room.

You finally get up from the table and grab your panties. Or, at least, look in the direction of where your panties should be. Looking to the left? Nope. To the right? Nada. Where did they go?

You hear the click of the door opening, and you run behind an office chair to hide your bare lower body. The culprit was Toji leaving to meet his handler, but what caught your eye was the familiar piece of clothing swirling around his finger. His childish smirk was plastered on his face. "Mind I borrow these for the rest of the day?"

Your face goes hot with unease. "Quit it, Fushiguro! I can feel your cum going down my legs, so hand it over!"

But he doesn't, stuffing the undergarments in his pocket, to your immediate horror. "Nah, I think I'll need 'em, ya know. A lil' motivation for me while I'm gone."

His dumb laugh fills his ego, but it stops when he sees you pick the chair up and throw it at him. He barely escapes as the furniture loudly bangs on the closed door, running away from the scene to meet up with Shiu.

"FUSHIGURO, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!!"

It's the first time you lose your cool with Toji, and all you can think about in this room of shame and humiliation is why did you get yourself tangled up with the older man again!?

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"I'm sorry for the sudden disappearance. Something came up on my end, and I had to take care of it immediately."

You found that subordinate later that day and apologized for your abrupt disappearance. They were accepted by the other, who nervously chuckled at your politeness.

"Oh, it's fine, y/n," he scratches his neck and looks to the ground. "I was just worried something happened with you, but I'm sure that wasn't the case since you're so good at what you do!"

You offer a small smile for his compliments, maintaining a calm composure so he doesn't see through the tiny nervous part of yourself. Oh, you don't even know the half of it, junior.

Your smile makes the younger hitman blush, but something catches his eye from behind you. "Huh? Oh, Mr. Fushiguro is back from his mission!"

You perk up at what your peer said, looking in the same direction he was. Shiu Kong was walking up with Toji tailing behind him. You greet Shiu with a brief bow, and he mirrors the action in return.

Once your eyes land on Toji, he's already grinning like a child with a hand rustling in a pocket, and you know what's inside it. "Hey, y/n." His patronizing tone doesn't go overlooked, causing your cheeks to heat up.

Your gaze averts from his cocky demeanor, yet you greet him. "Welcome back, Toji."

The look on the younger hitman across from you displays nothing but perplexity. Even Shiu Kong's brows shoot up with what you said. The junior is the first to say something. "Y/n, y-you just called Mr. Fushiguro by his first name!"

"Yeah, that's a first." Shiu agrees as the cigarette between his lips bounces at every word. "You only refer to him by his last name."

You blink once. You blink twice. And then it finally hits you. Oh shit.

The heat in your cheeks spreads across your face, and your lips lightly tremble as you try to explain yourself. But Toji beats you to the punch as he snakes an arm on your shoulder and brings you close to his chest, resulting in a squeak that your lips fail to suppress. He sneers at the younger man staring at the interaction.

"That's right, y/n and I have gotten pretty close, as you can tell." The grin on his face has a harmless glow, but those sharp emerald eyes of his are shadowed with a dangerous connotation. "After all, she is my special girl." Your subordinate gulps.

Toji snickers, satisfied with the younger hitman taking the hint. He then turns to you, and you do the same. "And as for you, darlin'," He leans in to whisper something in your ear. Something only for you to make your eyes wide and your breath still.

"Next time I see you with this brat, don't think I won't fuck the shit out of you with him watchin'. Show him just how special and good you are fr' me."

[alice-after-dark]

A Twist on the Standard RadioStatic

Not gonna call this a headcanon just yet, but it's a concept that has been swimming around in my brain.

Standard RadioStatic tends to go something like this: Alastor and Vox were friends, Vox caught feelings and confessed to Alastor, Alastor rejected him and fucked off for 7 years, Vox is now bitter and obsessed (insert details and personal preferences as you will).

Now while I typically think the falling out was both their faults (see this post), I have read some fascinating takes on alternative ideas to this norm and it has given me some thoughts (I am sure this is far from original, but screw you I'm having fun).

TW for abusive relationships, possessive/controlling behavior, victim blaming, and other canon-typical triggers. Contains abusive StaticMoth.

So imagine...it's Alastor who catches feelings. And he has no idea what to do with them. All he really understands is that he likes being around Vox and dislikes being away from Vox and he GREATLY dislikes anyone else showing any interest in Vox (more than one Sinner has been devoured for such a daring offense). He does not enjoy these feelings, no thank you sir. They make him confused and flustered and off balance and that is simply unacceptable. Of course this is Alastor, so he doesn't really process that what he's feeling is love. It translates more into a possessiveness in his mind. As far as he's concerned, Vox is his. What that means...best not to think too hard on it. It's hardly an issue anyways, with Vox always by his side like an excited puppy.

Until he's not.

Valentino slithers his way into the picture and this makes Alastor furious. Valentino is everything he hates; he's abusive, chauvinistic, disrespectful, and utterly full of himself. He can't stand that Vox is giving this walking shit stain the time of day. Vox learns very quickly not to bring up the moth demon around Alastor because he can fucking feel the hostility coming off Alastor in waves whenever he does (he doesn't understand why, of course. Val is perfectly charming to him. Okay, so maybe he loses his temper every once in a while every other fucking day and says some nasty things but he always apologizes...). And fuck forbid they are ever in the same vicinity. Vox has had to come between them on more than one occasion to stop a fight from breaking out. This of course only makes Alastor even more hostile because why is Vox protecting that wretched excuse for a demon? These encounters usually end with Alastor angrily taking his leave of both of them for the rest of the day. He ignores that so very loud part of his mind that protests leaving Vox alone with Valentino.

The breaking point comes when Alastor sees Vox's cracked screen for the first time.

Vox insists it was an accident, that Valentino didn't mean to. They just got into a small argument and Val can get pretty animated when he's upset and he didn't mean to shove Vox like that and it was Vox's fault anyways for continuing to push when he knew Val was mad he should have just given him space and Alastor is not listening anymore. He's heard this song and dance before. He's seen it played out before his very eyes. He will have none of it and WHY THE FUCK WILL VOX NOT JUST LET HIM KILL THIS FUCKING MOTH?!

Alastor loses his shit. He goes on a tirade about Valentino. This is not the mere hostile exchange of barbs Vox has seen between them before. This is pure unadulterated vitriol. Vox always knew that Alastor and Val didn't get along, but Alastor has never once let him see this absolute hatred he has been harboring for the moth demon. He has never seen Alastor's demeanor break like this before. He flat out demands Vox to never see Valentino again. They start to argue. Vox doesn't understand what is happening.

"Why the fuck do you think you get a say in who I'm friends with?!"

"B̃ͦͧEC̸͎ͯ̓̀Ą̨̼̠ͧ͜͝U͉̟͎̔ͩS͐E Y̢̦͂O��͖U͗'̿ͮͪ̒̐_R͎͗̉̒Ḙ̑ M̵͔̱͂́ͭI̳N̯̲̝ͯ̄E̳̤͎ͯ̓ͬ͜!͙̪"

"I'm...what the fuck?!"

Because Vox doesn't understand what Alastor is saying. Fuck, Alastor doesn't understand what he's saying. He just wants Vox as far away from Valentino as possible and Vox is just not listening. Why won't he fucking listen?! And then it click with Alastor what he just said to Vox and the panic starts to set in and he feels vulnerable and exposed and he's not even sure why but he doesn't like it and it needs to stop now so he does what Alastors do best. He attacks the cause of those feelings.

He starts mocking Vox. Viciously. Goes for every weak point, every crack, every loose thread. He tears into him, shredding him down and spitting out the refuse. Did Vox really think he cared about him? That he was special? That he was ever anything more than a source of amusement? How fucking hilarious.

Vox attacks him and the rest is very messy history.

TLDR Alastor basically confessed in a very Alastor way because what are feelings and well fuck he's eating them, then panicked and proceeded to handle his vulnerability in a very Alastor way, Vox took what he said at face value and did not react well to being insulted, and Alastor took it as a rejection (even though he didn't entirely understand that that's what he was feeling).

[informaltorching]

tell us about vesper gaining humanity 👁️👁️ i've never witnessed this in a game myself

Okay so, huge disclaimer: This is not how you gain humanity RAW. So, I apologize if that part is a bit of a let down. Sometimes we do things that just narrative-wise feels good because we are all just friends playing a game of imaginary vampires. I am gonna write a lil about some ooc / personal stuff as well. TL;DR: Owen's player schemed.

So, I don't know how closely you may follow my chronicle, but if you aren't aware, Vesper is the cringe fail loser vampire of all time. He kind of has had almost only bad things happen to him every day since before his embrace lmao and this has definitely continued on in our chronicle. The chronicle itself is also just kind of heavy. It is taken a little too seriously (by all of us) and we definitely embrace that there is darkness in World of Darkness. I think that is why I have a little bit of a tendency to post more about silly things / jokes than the game itself. I LOVE the game. Do not get me wrong. I enjoy the atmosphere and the intensity. It is more my speed, which is why I play in it. This is the best table and game I have ever gotten to be a part of. That being said, I think recently we got a little too overkill with it. We had to kick a player and then a lot of sessions after have been a bit overly dreary. Normally not a big deal, but it adds up when you get into that rhythm a bit. Vesper has kind of taken it hard. Like the others have problems, too, but it has become a bit of a theme that various characters both PCs and SPCs are afraid Vesper is going to say fuck it and get himself killed. He is very reckless as is. ( And I'll admit I've been having a lot of personal issues and very sad recently. ) Owen has a pigeon named Drone. Whenever Owen talks to Drone, I have a little joke going that Vesper gets envious. He wants to talk to birds, too :( So, Owen's player got the idea to talk to some thin-bloods to get a counterfeit discipline of feral whispers for Vesper. And they kept this as a surprise. Only, Owen had to really earn that shit because the thin-blood they spoke to tasked them with a very over the top fetch quests. Where Owen kept being like "we need to go to this dangerous ass place to get this weird ingredient and I am not telling you guys why". (This was over the course of multiple sessions.) They finally got everything they needed and was given the potion last session. So, Owen hit up Vesper to meet them at the fucking zoo. And Vesper literally just finished watching the tremere banish a possessed demonic statue meanwhile... and the fucker tells Vesper it is an emergency...

And well, we spent the end of the session fucking losing it because Vesper and Owen were at the zoo talking to animals. Our ST does the funniest fucking red panda voice. We had a blast. Owen gave Vesper basically a heartfelt I love you, you're my best friend, and I want you to stick around talk. Then ST dropped the "Vesper add another dot of humanity." Which was a big shock. He reasoned that Owen did way too much just for Vesper to only heal some WP from that and it just felt really fitting. It was a really nice breath of fresh air. We ARE going to resume the themes of tragedy, death, and gruesomeness next session. But yeah... It was very sweet.

[cheriecoke]

RYLIE . . . no cuz tbh i had a thought HEAR ME OUT 😇😇 ermm semi nsfw . . .

vampire bf! kento who hates sinking his teeth into u cuz he does need a little bit of ur human blood to keep him going . he thinks it hurts u too much , but after finding out u like the way his soft tongue runs against ur neck n sharp of his teeth meet ur skin , nanami' s chuckling to himself . his pretty, innocent girl likes when he uses u to his disposal ? he's more than happy to comply ><

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ BLOODLUST — nanami kento

YUYU I AM HEARING YOU OUT !!!! I AM LISTENING I AM ALL EARS OMGOMGOMG umm kinda nsfw ?? minors dni ig !!!

it starts out weeks before, when the two of you are making out on the couch. you’re sitting on his lap, your smaller hands resting against his chest as he kisses you over and over again.

the inside of your mouth tastes so good already, and kento can’t help but wonder what your blood tastes like too. he’s wondered about it a lot, recently, but he promised himself he wasn’t going to be that kind of vampire. he wasn’t going to kill humans, and he certainly isn’t going to drink from the girl he cares about so deeply. 

but you’re just so pretty on his lap, and you smell so good. the blood under your sweet skin pumps through your body, and you’re so warm, it’s such a distraction, such a contrast to his cold palms. 

you squeeze his shoulders and let out a little breath of air as kento takes his lips from your own, kissing down your jaw before his mouth is right over the vein of your neck, the tendons that flex every time you move your head. 

“kento,” you say, your voice high-pitched and soft. it’s the most angelic sound he’s ever heard in his life. really, he’s not sure if he ever had control of the situation; if, maybe, that sharp little addiction to human blood would start to come back with you so close to him all the time. 

he grazes his teeth over your neck and inhales, before biting softly, letting your sweet blood flood into his mouth. nanami moans, straining, and he nearly comes in his pants at how good you taste. 

you let out a gasp, your hands threading tightly through his hair as he licks the blood softly into his mouth, savoring the taste. 

it doesn’t last long, though. he realizes, quickly, he’s made a mistake, and he pulls away at your sharp little sound, because it must hurt so bad. 

“oh god,” he says, hands running all over your cheeks at your dazed expression, an shaky touch caressing your face. “i’m so sorry, sweetheart. shit. i’m sorry.” and he really is so sorry, because he’s an old vampire, and he shouldn’t be losing control so easily. especially not when he’s around his girl, the one person in the entire world he doesn’t want to hurt. 

“ken—“ 

he kisses the two little punctures on your neck.

nanami remains gentle, even though something animalistic possesses him, then, at the very obvious evidence that you’re his. 

“i’m sorry,” he says again, but it’s a little weak, less apologetic than he meant it to be. but you’ve already moved on, kissing him with a renewed passion as you slip his shirt off. 

he starts to notice, after that, you push his face into your neck a lot. 

still, it doesn’t hit him immediately, what you’re getting at. nanami gets so lost in you that a part of his logic switches off, and things that normally would’ve been obvious to him just aren’t anymore.

so, he kisses you more on your neck, leaves gentler little love bites, even if he'd much rather tear open the skin and let that sweet nectar pour into his lips. 

this time, you’re under him, spread out for him on the bed in the little black lingerie set you'd pretended to be too shy to wear.

he wants you more now than he ever has; ever since he got that little taste of your blood, it’s been all he thinks about. 

nanami loves you, though, and he’s not that type of man. he’s not going to ask you if he can have a tiny little sip of your blood again, because he refuses to put you through any pain for his own pleasure. 

but its almost impossible to resist you when you keep pressing your face into his neck, making those sweet little sounds as you writhe beneath him. 

“kento,” you say, a breathy moan leaving you, and he hums against you as a response, his fingers skimming across your body. “i want…” 

you don’t finish your sentence, but press his face into your neck again, tightening your grip on his hair. nanami laughs against your throat. “what do you want? gotta tell me, pretty.”

your cheeks grow hot, but you arch up into him as his fingers slip inside of you. “bite me,” you say, unable to look at him, too embarrassed by your desire. “like you did before. please, please.” 

nanami stops for a moment, glances up at your with a wrinkled brow, confusion locked in his irises. “bite you?” he hesitates, then lets the pearly fangs slip over his lips. “you mean…”

your eyes widened, gloss over with lust as you nod slowly, trying to get him back in your arms. but nanami laces his fingers with yours, pins you to the bed, his eyes darkening as he laughs. 

“oh,” he says, swirling his tongue along your vein as you whimper, squeezing his hand. of all the requests you might make, that, somehow, didn’t cross his mind. “you like it?” his fangs scrape over your skin, the smoothness of his tongue against your neck driving you wild. 

you whimper, and squeeze your ankles around his own, the desperation answer enough. 

nanami grins, breathless, and really, he shouldn’t have been surprised. you’re so desperate, hungry for him sometimes, his sweet girl who turns into such a fiend for him when no one’s looking. “you should've just told me," he licks a smooth circle around your vein, "don’t have to be embarrassed about it, sweetheart."

nanami pierces the skin, the hot, warm liquid flooding his lips, and you cry out again, but this time, nanami senses the pleasure in it rather than pain. the way that you fall apart, let him take you completely under control, and enjoy it.

"you're mine," nanami says, his voice horse, blood coating his teeth and his lips, the sweetest thing he's ever tasted. "no one's ever going to taste you but me, understand?"

you nod, whispering a string of incoherent syllables that nanami, in his drunken mind, can't be bothered to decipher.

he groans against your neck, truly believe that even if his damned soul could reach heaven, it wouldn’t be any better than this. 

[tubchunk]

me spitting out all my thoughts here as i watch tubbo's vod

"YEP innocent" "innocent to me" yeah like qtubbo doesnt give a shit if fred is bad, he will burn it all down to find her

"its time for me to step into the sun, you know? and who cares if everyone else burns?" HOLY FUCKKKKKKKK TUBBO??????

"this is more than a villain arc, this is a lifestyle adjustment" oh qtubbo you are going to fly so close to the sun and youre going to burn and i am here for it all

"you wrong me? you're not gonna be around to tell the tale" HES SODHDJDBFBFJ QTUBBO ENJOYERS WE ARE SO BACK

"this is not a story of villains and heroes, this is a story of revenge" WHAT WAS IN HIS FOOD TODAY WHAT WAS HE ONNNNN LINE AFTER LINE IS HITTING

qtubbo knowing the server underestimates him and is now ready to show what he really is capable of YOU GO BABYGIRL

"this is a conflict where there arr no winners, just mutually-ensured destruction" goddamn he is on it today

GIRL 26 STACKS OF TNT?????????

"anything to get the upper hand, am i right?" AND THEN MENTIONING THE FED OFFICE WARP PLATE IS ACTIVE OH MY GODDDDDDD FED QTUBBO ERA????

"in my own experience, the members of the islandhave been much worse to me than the federation ever has been" oh my gOD YES QTUBBO FEELING THE FED PUNISHMENTS ARE STILL "JUSTIFIED" CUZ THERE WERE RULES BROKEN BUT THE ISLANDERS HAVE BEEN POKING AT HIM FOR THINGS HE CONSIDERS UNNECESSARY OH VILLAIN ARC TIME IS REALLLL

HE CALLED FRED "THE ONE PERSON I CARE ABOUT ON THIS SERVER" IM SICK TO MY STOMACHDBDBFGBDBFJFJ

qtubbo deciding that morning crew doesnt need to know about what hes gonna do, cuz theyll always be his boys :(

"i think we show them a healthy does of regret" his qcellbit is coming out !!

just imagining qtubbo with his airpods in as he is dramatic, bumping classical music

"the suit stays on until he's found, safe and alive" thr fact that qtubbo does all this, still in thr suit for his date GOD its so sad

that post that said qtubbo, a machine guy, tearinf every block down by HAND is important cuz that shows how genuinely furious he is. cuz he needed to feel the catharsis of tearing it all down himself.

why did he research warp plate mods to figure out where fred is😭😭 gay love stories are getting out of hand

"i made a promise today. i said i would break every block he has ever placed. *i* will break. fire wont break. tnt wont break. *i* will break." holy fucking shittttttttt he got possessed by qtubbo

FIT LMAOOOOO

qfit noticing and asking why qtubbo was at quackity's but as qtubbo askes him to leave him be, he did. he knew qtubbo would come to him when he wanted to.

COY PISO INTERMISSION!!!

qtubbo's action plan just being pushing qquackity over the edge that is so fucked up and i am here for this downward spiral !!

"i could mentally destroy him until hes a quivering ball of tears and regret on the floor" HOLY FUCK???????

"youre trying to turn me against the federation while actively doing thr same exact thing they're doing, the fucking hypocrisy" GOD i think qquackity is justified in his reasons BUT QTUBBO ISNT WRONG HERE!!!! IN HIS EYES, WHY WOULD YOU SAY THEYRE BAD AND THEN DO THR SAME THINF AS THEM???

him still saving all the stuff qquackity got from the eggs and others cuz "those seem important" GOD

"he doesnt need a hoise, cuz home is where the heart is. and i feel like thats a lesson he ought to learn. too bad that his is dead and cold" QTUBBO HOLY?????

"its like you never existed at all. thats my mission" girl youre speedrunning that descent into insanity and evil and i love you for it

"youre crazy. maybe i am! i dont give a shit!" wow hes so aware

"i didnt have a purpose before. but now its to make sure quackity never has a mark on this server" he didnt have a purpose and now, after losing fred, his purpose is to make qq pay holyyyy

"i never said i was morally grey, i said i would fuck up all his shit" LETSGO BABYGIRL

HIM GOING TO THE FED OFFICE TO PoSSIBLY SNITCH, CUZ THE ENEMY OF HIS ENEMY IS HIS FRIEND

NOT THE SERVER RESTART STOPPING HIM LMAOOOO

him literally saying he doesnt care and the enemy of his enemy is his friend yoo

qtubbo not being silly and walking into fred's office and just quietly moving on STOPPPPPP

NOT THE LORE SPOILERSSSSS LMAO

RETURN OF CUCURUCHO OFFICE PODCASTTTTTTTTT

"if youve become as bad as the thing you are trying to destroy to destroy it, yourr not better. youre just a replacement" BARS 🔥🔥🔥

qtubbo's voice instantly softening looking at fred's office and the desk plant he got STOPPPPP THEY MEAN SO MUCH TO ME

him replacing the flower on fred's desk with a poppy :(((

QTUBBO REPLACING THE WARP AT HIS HOUSE TO THE FED OFFICE OH I CAN FEEL HOW THIS GOES DOWNHILL

"why do i bother making anything to help the server? this is the thanks i get" oh yeah he is fully turning against everyone soon

oh god convo with qfit

oh i know qfit is concerned hearing qtubbo talk this way but theres nothing he can do to make him change his mind, so he just stays by him

"just to watch him. not say a word. just watch him" WATCHER QTUBBO??????

oh qtubbo is actuslly scaring me rn

"theres an old sayinf that 'if youre on the quest for revenge, dig two graves" "thats alright. i dont care if i burn as long as he does as well. maybe ill dig 3 graves. maybe ill take some other people along with me on the way" HOLY FUCKCJDJFJDJFJFJDJFJ QTUBBO YOURE INSANE I LOVE YOU SO BAD

"so i take there was no date?" "i was invited on one. it was real to me" GODJDDHFB IM GONNA END IT ALL

qfit still reassuring qtubbo that fred is okay, he still cares for qtubbo so much thats someone he has grown to care for

TUBBO SHOWING FIT WHAT HE DID TO QUACKITY'S HOUSE AND SAYING "like i said. like he never existed" AND THEN JUST BOUNCED????? GIRL.

qtubbo gaslight gatekeep girlboss

"is it more satisfying to destroy a person. or watch them destroy themselves?" AND WE ARR WATCHING AS QTUBBO ALSO DESTROYS HIMSELF BIT BY BIT OOOOOOOOH

his ass spoiling stuff again😭😭

snack break!

PHIL HOUSE TIME

qtubbo instantly leaving when he sees quackity joined and fred joined god

the curse of bad nees bringer tubbo about to strike again with wilbur LMAO

distracted to spy on wilbur so real

QUIRKYDUOOOOOO

qtubbo just carrying thr flower from fred's office in his offhand im sick

qtubbo warning qpac that he may hear some stuff about him that isnt true i. coming weeks, and qpac saying he trusts qtubbo 100% MORNING CREW MY FAMILYYYYYYY

PAC MY BELOVEDDDDD

not pac and tubbo arguing over who has to break the news to wilbur lmaoooooo

qtubbo qquackity's biggest hater rn

damn im sad tubbo crashed before the event but that laptop was hanging by a THREAD

[xenaisnumber1]

Legend of Korra Rant incoming so buckle in

Every time I attempt to rewatch the series, I'm reminded yet again that Mako ruined the series. Any scenes with him in it is ruined because of what an emotional abusive sack of shit he is and because I'm reminded that people still think this soulless garbage is a hero.

Let's go through the reasons for why he's garbage.

He doesn't give a fuck about his brother. People defend him using the fact he took care of his brother after his parents died to pretend he's an amazing dude and that him and Bolin have an amazing relationship. So amazing that he warns Bolin off of Korra because he was jealous despite Mako rejecting her then when he finds out about Bolin having a date with her, he confronts Korra as if she did something wrong. They kiss and when Bolin sees them, he then blames Bolin for having feelings for Korra. Then when he finds out that Bolin told Asami about the kiss he blames his brother. Man he's such a loving brother isn't he? FYI Bolin still acts like he's a great brother through the entire series. Not to mention how the trash bullies Bolin the entire series. He continuously dismissed Bolin's feelings to make himself look better, he's always screaming at Bolin about something like when Bolin is using Pabu to free the trash's useless ass. Bolin is the only useful one of the two. His earthbending and later lavabending actually helps throughout the series unlike Mako's useless firebending and the ligteningbending the writers forget about until they need to make him look heroic. Asami makes better use of electricity than the trash does. Take the trash out and you lose nothing but horrid abusive relationships between Mako and Asami and Mako and Korra. What a loss that would be. There's also the fact that they had a funny, sweet guy that was interested in Korra and the writers put her with the abusive trash who treats his brother like trash. Gotta love those healthy heterosexual relationships am I right? Can't have two women kiss on scene but we can have Mako emotionally abuse the female characters because he's a cis het dude and can get away with it.

Now let's go to Korra. That sack of shit is trash to Korra the first time they meet for no reason at all and when Korra expresses interest in him, he rejects her. But when she has a date with Bolin, the trash attacks her for it as if he has any say in anyone she dates. But then the sack of shit starts to date Asami. So apparently he doesn't want to date Korra but he'll make damn sure no one else will date her. She's nothing but a possession to him. But do you know what really made me want to explode. When Korra finds out that Asami's father was a terrorist, the heartless garbage had the balls to accuse Korra of being so petty and jealous over his worthless ass that she would accuse a man of being a terrorist. And when it was revealed she was right, the spineless sack of shit deflected responsibility yet again by saying it was hard to believe that the man whose wife was killed by a firebender would hate benders. And the shit writers want us to believe that he was such a genius they needed him to become a detective to make him relevant the rest of the series. Oh and the horror show isn't done yet. The piece of garbage that was pretending to care about Asami when he could use her to attack Korra suddenly doesn't give a fuck about comforting her after she learns her father is a terrorist. Korra has to tell his bitch ass to go comfort his girlfriend. And there are actually brain dead people who try to blame Korra to defend this soulless monster. That's why I automatically dismiss anyone's opinions if they claims Mako is a good person.

And oh my God what he did to Asami. She is one of the kindest people ever and that piece of human filth treated her like she was nothing. She was nothing to him but a weapon to manipulate Korra into staying with his manipulative ass and once he was done with her he threw Asami aside like she was nothing. He's always screaming at her like any time she's driving. He thinks he knows who to drive better than the woman who races cars for fun. And she always end up saving his worthless ass while he gets his ass handed to him. Anytime Korra's around, this snake had his hands all over her right in front of Asami without giving a damn about how he's hurting her. Because he's never given a shit about her. Oh and they still do this in the final two seasons. They have Korra hug the trash heap while Asami is right there. But I guess since they're not dating they have him keep doing the exact thing he did while he was emotionally abusing them when they were dating. And his narcissistic ass had the balls to go to Asami expecting her to heat up the tea for the woman he's obsessed with despite him actually being able to create fire. It's so petty and heartless and it's obvious he just loves to hurt Asami. Because the only respect I'll give the trash is not believing he's stupid enough that he doesn't know that every action he does hurts Asami. And she still allowed this snake to stay at her place because he had no place to live. And she allowed his family to stay instead of punishing them for what he did to her. She's one of the most forgiving people ever.

And the fact he suffered no consequences at all for what he did infuriates me. Asami and Korra immediately forgive him and the shit writers have them act like they need his useless ass along to help find airebenders. And they yet again try to make us believe that Bolin needs his trash brother to come with them because they need him. And of course he ends up being useless the entire season until they need to make him look heroic in the final fight scene.

And they have Korra talk to this trash at the end so he can cry that he'll have his back. He's never had her back and he's always been garbage. But the writers prove they are shit writers by doing what shit writers do. Force the characters to act like the trash is a good person by telling you he is when his actions show otherwise and by writing scenes specifically to try to make him look heroic to get people to forget what he did because they're lazy and couldn't actually put in effort to redeem him. They also couldn't have given us a final scene between Lin and Korra to parallel their first scene together to show how their relationship changed to one of caring? Oh that's right, they needed to force the trash on us to make us believe that he has a deep relationship with the woman he claimed falsely accused a man of terrorism because she was jealous he was with Asami. They have such a deep relationship don't they?

The fact that Su Beifong gets more shit than this garbage pisses me off. Idiots act like she's evil because she made a mistake that hurt her sister as a teenager even though she's shown she's changed after 30 years and actively tried to make amends. But the trash abuses the female character for two entire seasons then never apologizes and refuses to even be around them because he's spineless and they act like he's a hero because the writers stop reminding you what garbage he is every scene. It really is pathetic how easily people forgave the trash just because the writers stop reminding them he's trash. That's why anyone who likes Mako but hates Su isn't worth listening to. Because unless they are spoon fed that a character is good by the other characters they can't determine what a good character looks like. Lin and Su actually care about each other even if they have fought. Mako has always been trash to Bolin and has never apologized for anything he's done but people act like Mako's a caring big brother.

And he's trash to everyone in general. Every sentence out of his mouth is the most negative shit and he's the most unbearable character to watch for those who don't immediately forgive him because they want to bang him. He's trash to Wu but people think that was hilarious because Wu was selfish when we first met him and he hits on Asami and Korra. And yet he didn't treat them like trash like Mako does. And Wu actually has an arc. He actually cares about people once he pulls his head out of his ass unlike Mako.

And what infuriates me is that the writers acknowledge the horrid love triangle in season 4 but played it off as a joke. They had the asshole act smug as he's telling the story because he manipulated Korra and Asami into fighting over his worthless ass. Then in the reunion he whines that Korra didn't write to his narcissistic ass when she was experiencing PTSD. Then the writers had him attacking Asami and Korra over and over again for everything they were doing even going so far as to asking Korra if he should trust her Avatar feelings only to acknowledge that they're doing the same thing that they did during season 1, getting on each other nerves ie Mako being abusive to Korra. And the writers portrayed this garbage as a hero.

The writers ruined this show with their desperate need to make us like this horrid character. I can't watch a scene with the trash without wanting to deck him. I have to subside on fanfics now or just not watch any scene with that trash in it. I don't trust anyone who wrote that trash to write anything ever again.

[monimccoythings]

Sore Loser

This fic was written using ai, which stands for an introvert, which is me. No, seriously, I'll never use ai to write, even if my writing becomes shit. Speaking of which, another one! :D This (fish) man has the worst of tempers and doesn't like to share.

Arlong hated many things: humanity, for starters; being mocked; waiting; discrimination against his people... and the list went on.

But if there was something he specially hated, was losing. Back in his early days in the Fishman district he was one of the worst options to play with, his competitiveness was such that just a small loss at any game was enough to send him into a fit of rage that made him punch the wall until it cracked or his knuckles bled.

There was something specially bitter about losing, it meant humilliation, it meant recognising that the other was better than you. There was nothing to learn about defeat. Just to do better next time, if there was any...

And losing to a human meant double the bitterness.

It's not like you were a great prize; Hell, you sure weren't, you were human after all, at least that was what he constantly told himself, just a simple reminder that was becoming more of a lie with each day that passed.

He wanted you. More than he had ever desired anything. He needed to possess you, to consume you over and over again, to have you by his side at all times and to wake up by your side every morning.

He didn't know where his infantuation had started, but it had spread through him like an infection. He had stopped fighting against those feelings long ago, it was pointless. At first he thought he could keep you as a trophy, a memorabilia of his triumphs over the lesser race, but at some point those feelings of conquering had begun morphing into something else, something he swore he would never allow himself to feel for the enemy.

His behavior towards you had also subconsciously changed due to his growing feelings. He found your presence increasingly more tolerable, not entirely welcomed, but more tolerable than it had initially been. At least he no longer threatened you with painful death each time you came across each other in the ship, and whenever he made a jab at the human race he made sure to separate you from the rest of humanity, referring to the whole species as them. That had to count, right? He was doing his best. And he was playing to win.

That's why he couldn't stand seeing you so close to another man, a human man. When had you two gotten so close? You had just met a couple of hours ago and had already achieved a deeper emotional connection than you had with the rest of the crewmates or him. Was it a human thing? Did he miss something?

As you laughed once again at one of those supposedly hilarious quips that idiot made, he clenched his fists with barely concealed rage, muscles swelling and veins bulging. He was making a huge effort self restraining himself from what he perceived a threat towards his territory, and somehow you weren't able to notice, too busy chatting with your would be suitor.

Arlong wasn't a patient fishman, and the second he saw that bastard's hand on your shoulder, he decided that enough was enough and that it was a perfectly good time to eat some fresh meat. His intimidating presence and furious expression gave him the look of a rabid sea king ready to attack, which was probably the reason why many of the people who saw him stomping towards you immediately ran away to avoid crossing in his path. First wise thing he had seen a human do in his entire life.

As he was about to lift his kiribachi to slice that asshole in two, you quickly said your goodbyes and turned towards him with a sheepish and apaologetic look on your face.

"Sorry to keep you waiting. Turns out his father is from the same island I was- I mean, am." Arlong rolled his eyes at your attempts to correct yourself, as he had no intention of letting you go from his side, ever. "One thing led to another and before I noticed we already knew each other's life histories!" You said it with a nervous chuckle, completely oblivious at the way Arlong gritted his teeth. Jealously raised its ugly head inside him.

"Stop wasting my time and let's go back to the ship!" It came out harsher than he had intended, but given his rising anger, you should be thankful he was behaving this well.

"B-but the supplies!"

"I do not wish to spend one more second in this dump, move it!" He was not going to risk another pathetic attempt at flirting in his presence. No human was going to beat him to you.

He put his webbed hand close to your lower back, which made you blush a little. It wasn't close enough to touch you but it was close enough so everyone who was foolish enough to look at you knew that he had already staked his claim.

And he was not going to lose it.