#Perhaps looks different from device to device?

[lelliefant]

Excellent meta, @tigermind108 !

I would just add that the standard response from Thor (and the rest of Asgard) when Loki spoke was to tell him to shut up. We see it over and over again, from “Know your place, brother” and Odin’s threatening growl in Thor 1, to Thor shocking Loki with the torture device in Ragnarok before he can get a word out. Loki is also repeatedly physically gagged in the movies—which, interestingly, never happens to any other character (in my recollection), not even when they’re otherwise bound/captured/imprisoned.

What this effectively does is to prevent the movie audience from understanding, much less believing, Loki’s position on events. We frequently hear negative characterizations of Loki from other characters—mostly those in opposition to him. Without hearing from Loki himself, the audience is predisposed to think he is what others say of him. Hence, everyone “knows” Loki “killed 82 people in 3 days” and he spent his childhood trying to kill Thor, when the facts actually presented in the movies contradict this.

1. In Avengers, Coulson specifically says that everyone got out of the compound before the Tesseract blew the place up (and furthermore, Loki did not deliberately destroy the compound. That was a side-effect of his arrival, not a deliberate attempt to kill).

2. We know from Thor 1 that Loki was the victim, not the bully, in his relationship with Thor, going back to their childhood. This is seen in the scene with the two as children with Odin in the vault, and also evident in how Thor, his friends, and Odin treat Loki in the movie.

Throughout the MCU movies, Loki is never given an opportunity to explain his position, not even to defend himself when he was “on trial” and sentenced to life in prison by his own father in Thor 2. That is why we don’t actually know how much Loki was under the Mind Stone’s spell in Avengers1, or what happened to him in the void before he wound up in Thanos’ clutches, or a myriad other events that would have allowed other characters to understand him, instead of snap-judging.

Thor makes an assumption in Avengers1 that Loki is attacking Earth only because this planet is special to him (Thor). Thor never even gives Loki an opportunity to explain why he has come to Earth—he just assumes the worst, and assumes it’s all about him. (If Thor had shut up for once, perhaps it could have been different. Perhaps Loki could have confided in Thor that he was being manipulated by Thanos. But that would have made a boring movie.)

What we consistently see is that Loki’s perspective is deliberately silenced by the other characters as well as the filmmakers, in order to move the plot and other characters forward. That was his purpose as a villain. It is only by consciously looking at the events in the films, and at the character, that we can see beyond what is said about him.

Despite these significant handicaps, Tom Hiddleston is able to portray Loki with such empathy that most MCU fans have come to love him anyway. Even silenced, with half his face covered, we can see the complex range of emotions Loki is going through in his eyes. We’re not supposed to sympathize with Loki, but we do, if we can see past the mischaracterizations about him.

But specifically in regard to the gag in Avengers 1, there is a moment in Endgame when we see Thor placing the gag on Loki (when Tony has gone back in time). Thor does it specifically to shut Loki up when he is talking, and he does it with obvious satisfaction. It’s portrayed for the audience’s amusement.

So, it may not have had anything to do with Loki’s magic at all. It may simply be that Thor gagged Loki simply to shut up his annoying little brother, whom everyone had always deemed not worth listening to.

With muzzle or without muzzle?

[theamateurreviewer]

Review: Star Trek: The Original Series Season One (1966, Original Effects)

Rating: 8/10

My first foray into Star Trek wasn't TOS, ironically. It was one of The Next Generation films (First Contact to be precise), but I can say that the first season of TOS was so much better than I could have ever imagined that I'm disappointed it took me 26 years of life to see it! Before the characters became flanderized and solidifed, the First Season of TOS still feels ground breaking over fifty years past the first air date.

(Page break: the final warning. These are the spoilers of @theamateurreviewer's review of the first season of TOS. It's goal, to make sure you see only what you want to see, to warn you about what is to follow, and to write on what everyone has written before.)

Strengths

For a show from 1966, the first season feels genuinely ground breaking. As a aficionado of "old people television" (the perks of having older than average parents as a child), I've grown accustomed to shows of this vintage, like Perry Mason, Adam-12, and The Andy Griffith Show. And while all of those shows are fine, and can give me a good chuckle or deep thought from time to time, they still feel like products of their time, for better or worse.

But Star Trek has different vibes. Yeah, the Enterprise is a model on a blue screen, as is the view screen, and the locations are very clearly sound stages or filmed at that one famous rock formation within the 30 mile zone, but 90% of the time, the content of the episode and the campy, completely genuine acting, feels evergreen.

One of my favorite episodes of Season One is "Balance of Terror," where the Enterprise encounters a Romulan Bird of Prey and plays cat and mouse with the Romulan's cloaking device. The tension of the bridge scenes, and the call backs to WWII submarine films like Run Silent, Run Deep, especially in the sound design and staging of the attack, sell me on the grounded nature of the setting and the boni fides of the production.

And of course, no discussion of Star Trek Season One is complete without bringing up "The City on the Edge of Forever," a standout episode originally written by Harlan Ellison, of I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream fame. The characters, the melancholic ending, and its commentary on pacifism in the face of fascism made it a instant classic. It's no wonder that it was given the 1968 Hugo Award for Best Dramatic Presentation, among other awards. Many to this day maintain that this episode is the greatest amongst all episodes of all Star Trek.

Weakness

As with all television shows, there are going to be lesser episodes. "The Squire of Gothos" and "Miri" are two good examples of this. They're both forgettable and fairly safe in their execution, but these are far from bad. To me, they could have used a few more edits, a few more drafts, and then they'd be on par for the show. But even these episodes are fun while being watched.

In summation, there are aspects of TOS that are progressive for our day and age. Women in positions of power that are respected not because they are women, but because they are officers. Men who show their emotions (yes, even you, Spock), and can express them without being looked down upon. Season Two expands on this, with African American doctors, scientists, and flag officers. It's perhaps a sad reflection of our current day that these concepts, fiction merely 60 years ago, still remain a hard fought part of modern culture.

[polling-sonic-fans]

yo is your icon slightly changing or am i tripping out...

Thank you for the submitted poll!

(Quip)

(Generic copy paste blog description)

[ahqkas]

Can you please write dumb/subtle/random/cute things batboys will do while they are crushing on reader?

♯ FEEL YOUR LIPS CRUSH . . .

— gn!reader, fluff

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

BRUCE WAYNE

becomes overly observant but awkwardly obvious

bruce wayne is a master of observation—trained to notice the smallest details in a room, a person, or a crime scene. but when it comes to you, this skill becomes more of a curse than a blessing. his crush transforms his usual precision into something downright awkward as he hyper-focuses on the tiniest parts of your life.

it starts innocently enough. you’ll be in the middle of a casual conversation when bruce interrupts, his deep voice breaking through your train of thought.

“you’ve switched your coffee order recently,” he says matter-of-factly, his piercing blue eyes locking on yours.

you blink, momentarily confused. “uh, yeah. i wanted to try something different.”

“it’s good,” he replies, his tone completely serious, as if your new preference for caramel flavored coffee over vanilla is a critical observation.

sometimes his comments catch you so off guard that you don’t even know how to respond. like the time you came into the room wearing a pair of old sneakers. bruce, who was leaning against the kitchen counter sipping his coffee, glanced down and said, “those laces are frayed. you should replace them.”

you laughed nervously, unsure if he was joking. “uh, thanks for the tip?”

but bruce wasn’t joking. “i’ll send alfred to pick up new ones. you don’t want them snapping mid-step.”

he tries to play it cool, he really does, but his constant streak of seemingly random observations only makes his feelings more obvious. one afternoon, you find him glancing at your notebook while you jot something down. without even looking at you, he says, “you press harder with the pen when you’re tired. your handwriting’s smaller today.”

you set your pen down, giving him a skeptical look. “do you . . . keep track of my handwriting, bruce?”

his face doesn’t change, though you swear his ears flush the faintest shade of pink. “no,” he says smoothly, taking a sip of his coffee. “it’s just. . . noticeable.”

it’s the way he says it—quiet and genuine—that sends your heart fluttering. he doesn’t realize how much he’s revealing, but his small, awkward comments and laser focus on the details of your life make it abundantly clear.

the funny thing is, you’re not the only one noticing. alfred, who’s known bruce wayne longer than anyone, often raises an eyebrow or hides a knowing smirk whenever bruce starts one of his “random” observations.

( “perhaps master wayne should focus on his own handwriting.” bruce glares at alfred, but his lack of a comment only makes the butler’s smirk grow wider. )

finds excuses to be helpful

bruce’s wealth is something he wields with the subtlety of a battering ram when he’s crushing on someone. his intentions are good—he genuinely wants to help—but it often comes off as over-the-top or hilariously unnecessary. for someone as logical and composed as the bat, using his money to make your life easier feels like a no-brainer, but he doesn’t realize just how obvious it makes his feelings.

it starts small at first. you might casually mention needing to replace something—your laptop is acting up or your phone is outdated. the next day, without fail, a box will mysteriously appear at your doorstep. inside, you’ll find not just a replacement but the absolute best version of the device, meticulously selected and clearly expensive.

“bruce,” you say, holding up the latest model of a WE laptop you can’t imagine ever affording on your own. “did you do this?”

he looks up from his work, his expression calm and unbothered. “it’s practical,” he says, as if that’s a reasonable excuse for gifting you a piece of technology worth more than your rent. “your old one was slow. it’s inefficient to struggle with outdated equipment.”

when you try to protest, he waves it off, as though spending thousands of dollars on you is no more different than buying a cup of coffee.

but it doesn’t stop there. one morning, you’re sitting in the kitchen with him, absently complaining about how your car keeps breaking down. it’s an offhanded comment, something you don’t think twice about, but bruce takes it as a challenge. by the time you’ve finished your coffee, he’s already pulled out his phone to make arrangements.

“wait,” you interrupt him, narrowing your eyes as you catch him murmuring something to alfred over the phone. “what are you doing?”

“nothing,” he replies too quickly, but later that day, you’re startled to find a sleek new car parked outside your home, the keys and a handwritten note from the butler sitting on your counter.

“bruce!” you exclaim, storming into the study to confront him.

he doesn’t even look up from his computer. “your old car was unreliable. this one is safer.”

“that’s not the point!”

“it’s just a car,” he says with a small shrug, though there’s a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

despite his attitude, it’s clear he’s putting an incredible amount of thought into everything he does for you. his gestures are less about showing off his wealth and more about making sure you never have to struggle, even in the smallest ways. because to him, it’s just logical—he has the resources, so why wouldn’t he use them to make your life easier?

DICK GRAYSON

finds excuses to touch you

for someone as physically expressive as dick grayson, touch comes as naturally as breathing—but when he’s crushing on you, it’s a whole new level. he’s not even aware of how much he does it at first, but the moments start to add up. it’s little things at first: the way he always seems to find a reason to brush his hand against yours, the casual way his shoulder bumps into you when you’re walking side by side, or the way he’ll lean close when he’s explaining something, his hand ghosting over yours as he gestures.

but then, it becomes less about the accidental and more about the intentional. when you’re sitting on the couch together, he’ll sling an arm over the back of it, his fingers close enough to brush against your shoulder. he’ll offer his hand when you’re stepping out of a car or climbing over something, even if you don’t need it, the contact lingers just a second longer than necessary.

“careful,” he’ll say, his voice soft and teasing, even though the step you’re taking isn’t remotely precarious.

“you know i can walk, right?”

he grins, squeezing your hand briefly before letting it go. “just being chivalrous.”

and then, there are the moments when he gets so wrapped up in the conversation or your presence that he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing. like the time you were sitting together, and he absentmindedly started playing with the hem of your sleeve. it wasn’t until you cleared your throat that he looked down, startled, his ears turning pink as he quickly let go.

“sorry,” he mumbled, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “didn’t realize i was doing that.”

but the blush on his cheeks told you everything you needed to know.

for dick, touch is a way of expressing what words sometimes fail to say. every hand on your shoulder, every playful nudge, and every lingering hug is his way of saying, i like being near you. i like you. even if he hasn’t quite found the courage to say it out loud, his actions make it impossible to miss.

teases you relentlessly (but gets flustered when you tease him back)

teasing is how dick shows affection, how he keeps things light, and, more than anything, how he tries to get your attention. when he’s crushing on you, though, his teasing takes on a new level. every little thing you do seems to give him material to poke fun at, not in a mean way, but in a way that makes it clear he’s paying attention to everything about you.

if you trip over a word while talking, he’ll immediately smirk. “careful there, shakespeare,” he’ll quip. “do we need to enroll you in a public speaking class?” or if you drop something, he’s ready with a dramatic gasp. “wow, butterfingers, do you need me to carry everything for you? i could be your personal assistant, but i charge by the hour.”

it’s playful, yes, but it’s also consistent. he’s always looking for ways to make you laugh, even if it’s at your own expense. like the time you were struggling to open a stubborn jar of jam, and he swooped in, popping the lid off with ease.

“guess i’m just the stronger one here,” he said, flexing his biceps with an exaggerated grin. “it’s okay; not everyone can have these guns.”

but if you so much as raise an eyebrow or fire back with your own jab, the tables turn in an instant. one day, after he’d spent a full five minutes teasing you about your choice of coffee ( “a triple-shot vanilla latte with almond milk? fancy. are you sure you don’t need a royal escort to carry it for you?” ), you finally snapped back.

“oh, and i suppose you’re the coffee expert, mr. regular black coffee? real creative. i bet the baristas have your order memorized.”

the grin on his face faltered for a split second, his eyes widening just slightly. then came the blush—the faint pink hue creeping up his cheeks as he tried to recover, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“hey, black coffee is . . . classic,” he mumbled, suddenly unable to meet your gaze.

and that’s the thing about dick grayson: as much as he loves dishing it out, he can’t always handle it when it’s directed at him. the moment you tease him back, especially if it’s about something he’s sensitive about (like his perfectly styled hair or his need to one-up everyone), he turns into an awkward, flustered mess.

“you spend how long on your hair every morning?” you asked him once, teasingly ruffling his carefully combed locks after he made fun of the mismatched socks you were wearing.

he froze, his hand shooting up to fix the damage. “it’s not that long,” he protested, his voice defensive but light.

“oh, come on! i bet you use at least three different products. don’t tell me you don’t have a favorite brand of gel.”

his cheeks flushed crimson as he stammered, “i—you know, it’s just . . . maintenance! can’t all of us roll out of bed looking flawless, okay?”

you laughed, and he groaned, muttering something under his breath about how you were “way too good at this.”

JASON TODD

acts nonchalant but is always nearby

jason todd is many things—brash, sarcastic, sometimes even reckless—but when it comes to feelings he doesn’t fully understand, he defaults to keeping his distance . . . or at least pretending he’s keeping his distance. the truth is, when he’s crushing on you, he’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame, always finding an excuse to be wherever you are without making it obvious. or so he thinks.

take your quiet sunday afternoons, for instance. maybe you’ve settled on the couch with a book, enjoying the rare peace. jason walks in, all nonchalant, like he’s just passing through. he glances at you—just a quick flick of his eyes, like he’s making sure you’re still there—and then he settles in the chair across from you, a spot he never uses otherwise.

“what are you doing?” you ask, watching as he pulls out a book of his own, the same one he’s been pretending to read for weeks.

he doesn’t even look up. “reading.”

you roll your eyes but say nothing, knowing full well he’s barely getting through a page. you can feel his gaze on you every few minutes, like he’s trying to memorize the way your brow furrows in concentration or how you chew on the corner of your lip when you’re focused. and if you catch him? he quickly snaps his attention back to his book, pretending obliviousness.

“didn’t know you liked this spot so much,” you tease, gesturing to the chair.

a smirk plays on the edge of his lips, though there’s a flicker of defensiveness in his eyes. “what, i can’t sit here now? thought it was a free country.”

it’s always like that—his attempts to mask how much he cares come with a side of sarcasm. but the truth slips through in the little details. like how he never actually leaves the room until you do. or how, even when you’re sitting in silence, he finds a reason to linger. maybe he’s scrolling through his phone, flipping through a magazine, or staring at the ceiling like he’s deep in thought. but really, he’s just soaking in your presence.

and then there are the times when he doesn’t even bother pretending. like when you’re sitting in the kitchen, finishing up some work, and he wordlessly sits down across from you, arms crossed and chin propped in his hand.

“what?” you ask, glancing up at him.

“nothing,” he replies, though the slight curve of his lips gives him away.

it’s not that jason is afraid to admit he likes you ( although there is a possibility he is but we don’t talk about that )—it’s just that he doesn’t know how. so instead, he hovers. he sticks close enough to feel like he’s part of your world but not so close that he risks giving himself away. so while he might act nonchalant, the truth is, he’s anything but. every glance, every lingering moment, every excuse to be near you is jason’s way of saying he cares—he just hasn’t found the words yet.

fixes things you didn’t even know were broken

jason’s way of showing he cares is a little unconventional, but it’s always in the small, unspoken ways. he’s the type to notice things that no one else would—things that have been lingering for ages in the background of your life, just waiting for someone to fix them. but because it’s jason, he’ll never bring it up. he’ll just do it, no questions asked, and then act like it never happened.

it starts with the little things. your chair in the living room? it’s been squeaking for months now, but it’s not something you’ve gotten around to fixing. it’s one of those annoyances you’ve learned to ignore, a piece of background noise that doesn’t really bother you enough to take action.

until one day, it suddenly stops.

you sit down in the chair, and for the first time in ages, it’s silent. your eyes narrow. you didn’t fix this—so who did?

“jason?” you ask, glancing toward him as he lounges on the couch, pretending to be deep in whatever he’s doing.

he doesn’t even look up. “what?”

“the chair. it’s. . . quiet now.”

he pauses for just a moment, but it’s enough to catch the shift in his demeanor. he shrugs, barely concealing the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “must’ve gotten lucky. or maybe it fixed itself.”

you know it didn’t. but before you can press him on it, he’s already back to whatever he was doing, like the whole thing is no big deal. it’s almost as if he’s trying to play it off, hoping you won’t notice that he’s been quietly fixing things in your life, one at a time.

the next thing happens a few days later. you walk into the kitchen, only to find that the light above the sink, the one that flickers every time you try to use it, is now working. perfectly.

you stop, standing in the doorway and just staring at it. there’s no way you fixed it. and it certainly wasn’t broken enough to need replacing. so once again, you turn your gaze to jason, who’s now sitting at the kitchen table, eating a snack and acting entirely uninterested in your investigation.

“jason, did you—?”

“no,” he interrupts and continues watching the video essay he turns on every time he eats.

“uh-huh,” you say, narrowing your eyes, walking toward the light and testing the switch again just to make sure you’re not imagining things. it stays steady, glowing without hesitation.

he’ll never say it out loud, but each fix—each thoughtful act—speaks louder than any words could. the broken things don’t matter, because jason is here, fixing them in his own way, piece by piece.

TIM DRAKE

gets shy when you’re too close

tim drake is usually the picture of composure. he’s calm, collected, and can handle himself in just about any situation, but when you’re too close, all that confidence seems to slip away. it starts small. you’re sitting beside him, maybe sharing a space while working on something, and without thinking, you slide just a little bit closer to him. maybe your arm brushes against his, or your knee nudges his under the table.

it’s enough to throw him off, just for a second. his heart rate picks up slightly, and he tries to hide it behind the screen of his laptop, pretending to focus harder than he really is. but he knows, deep down, that he’s hyperaware of you now—of the way you’re sitting, of the way your presence seems to fill the space between the two of you.

his eyes flicker toward you, but quickly dart away, like he’s afraid you caught him staring. it’s an involuntary reaction, the nervous little shift in his posture as he tries to seem as casual as possible. he clears his throat, his voice slightly quieter than usual. “uh, sorry, was just—just making sure the laptop was charging.”

it’s obvious to you that he’s not really talking about the laptop. he’s trying to act like it’s no big deal, but every time you’re too close to him, tim’s body betrays him. the way his leg shifts a little away from yours under the table, or how he tries to subtly angle his body so there’s just a little more space between you and him, even if he doesn’t want there to be.

you might not notice the subtle movements, but tim does. and every time you get close to him, whether it’s by accident or on purpose, he feels a flutter of nerves that he can’t quite explain. it’s not that he doesn’t want you near him—far from it—but the proximity messes with him in ways he doesn’t understand. his thoughts get jumbled, and his usual calmness slips, replaced by the flustered feeling he’s not used to.

if you ever catch him looking at you, his gaze quickly drops, and a soft blush creeps up his neck. “i—i didn’t mean to—uh, just making sure you’re not too cramped.” he mutters, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his laptop, anything to distract himself from the fact that he’s suddenly very aware of you being so close.

sometimes, when you get too near, tim will just freeze for a moment. it’s like his body can’t process the closeness, and the little awkward silence stretches between you two. it’s not uncomfortable—far from it—but it’s a vulnerable thing for tim, this closeness he doesn’t know how to handle.

but if you keep talking, or even just touch his arm gently when you lean over to look at something, tim’s composure slips even more. he shifts in his seat, trying to act like he’s calm, but his hand might twitch toward yours for just a second before he pulls it away like he’s afraid you’ll notice how he’s reacting.

follows you around during patrol

it’s late at night, the moon casting faint silver light across the streets, and the only sounds are the hum of city life and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. you’re out on a walk, maybe trying to clear your head or just enjoy the quiet, unaware that someone is watching you from the shadows. tim, clad in his suit, has been tailing you for a while now. it’s not that he’s trying to be creepy or intrusive, but rather, he’s just . . . concerned.

tim is the kind of person who can’t turn off his instincts, and tonight, for whatever reason, they’re telling him to stay close. he’s perched high above you on a rooftop, watching you walk along the street below, trying to remain unseen. his red robin suit blends into the darkness of the night, the shadows making him nearly invisible to anyone who might be looking.

he’s not sure why he’s doing it—it’s not like you’ve asked him to keep an eye on you—but there’s something about the quiet stillness of the night that has him on edge. maybe it’s because you’ve been a little distant lately, or maybe he’s just worried something might happen to you in the dark. either way, he’s got his eyes on you, and he won’t stop until you’re safely back where you belong.

he’s quick, agile, moving like a shadow himself. you might hear a faint creak of a fire escape ladder or the flurry of footsteps just out of your line of sight, but when you look, there’s nothing there—just the empty street, the soft glow of streetlights, and the ever-present hum of the city.

it’s when you stop for a moment, distracted by something—maybe you’re checking your phone or admiring a nearby storefront—that he’s closest. in that moment, tim takes a chance, moving closer to you, just a few feet away in the darkened alley. he’s not trying to startle you, but there’s something in his gut that tells him he can’t let you out of his sight, especially when it’s this late, and the streets feel a little emptier than usual.

he’ll hover just out of view, giving you space but never quite leaving you alone. if you keep walking, he follows, keeping his distance but staying close enough to ensure you’re safe. when you stop at a crosswalk or glance around, he’s already a few rooftops away, peering down at you from above, making sure you’re not being followed.

the closer you get to home, the more relaxed tim feels, but he never lets his guard down entirely. even when you reach the safety of your doorstep, he lingers just out of sight, making sure you get inside without any issues. he’ll remain in the shadows for a moment longer, watching as you lock the door behind you, ensuring you’re safe before finally letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

only then does he disappear into the night, his heart still racing, his mind replaying the images of your walk. he’ll retreat to his hidden vantage point, slipping into the dark corners of gotham once more, but the small weight of relief that you’re safe settles deep in his chest. even though he doesn’t want to admit it, there’s a part of him that feels content knowing you’re okay—even if you’ll never know how closely he’s watched over you.

[misswynters]

Broken and whole

pairing | Viktor x gn!reader

no warnings just passionate kissing

a short drabble until we wait for the next three episodes with jesus viktor <3 (he’s always been so fine)

– let me know if you would like to get tagged in arcane fics

[note | pls don’t just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned <3

In the night sky as the moonlight shines through the windows, the lab was filled with the low hum of machinery. It had a faint metallic scent of Viktor’s latest work. You leaned against the wall, watching him from across the room as he worked, utterly engrossed in his latest project. He had changed so much recently, both in body and spirit. The hextech augmentation now coursing through his leg gave him a powerful, refined look, yet you sensed a hidden struggle behind his carefully guarded gaze. You knew how he was. His mind was only half here, the other was lost somewhere between ambition and uncertainty.

He hadn’t noticed your arrival yet, too focused on the delicate mechanisms of the device in front of him. You admired him, his steady hand, his unwavering concentration, the way his golden eyes seemed to burn with a fire that was part passion, part burden. Yet you could see the toll it took, even if he would never admit it.

“Viktor,” you spoke softly, not wanting to startle him.

His head lifted, and his intense gaze softened slightly as he saw you. “Ah,” he said, letting out a breath, “I didn’t realize you were here.” There was a hint of relief in his voice, as if your presence offered him a reprieve from the depths of his mind.

You approached him slowly, your fingers brushing the edge of the table. “I wanted to make sure you were taking care of yourself,” you said, giving him a gentle smile. “It’s been days, Viktor. You need to rest.”

A flicker of defensiveness crossed his face, but it melted quickly, replaced by something almost vulnerable. “Rest,” he echoed, his voice laced with exhaustion. “It feels like a luxury I cannot afford.”

You stepped closer, your heart aching at the sight of him so worn down, so caught between his dreams and the demands of his body. “Even visionaries need a break,” you murmured, reaching up to gently place a hand on his shoulder. He was warmer than you expected, his skin cool to the touch from the metal but still unmistakably him.

Viktor looked down at your hand, as if surprised by the intimacy of the gesture. His gaze softened, and he let out a soft, reluctant sigh. “Perhaps… perhaps you’re right,” he admitted, a slight smile breaking through the intensity of his features. “You always have been, haven’t you?”

There was a warmth in his voice that pulled you closer, and for a moment, you forgot the cold metal and complex machinery that surrounded you. You reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face, feeling the tension ease from his shoulders under your touch.

“Viktor…” you murmured, your voice almost trembling with the unspoken words you had held back for so long. He looked at you, truly looked, his golden eyes reflecting something vulnerable, something raw that he rarely let show. “Yes?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Without thinking, you leaned in, your fingers tracing along his jawline, feeling the softness of his skin against the hardness of his prosthetic. His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he tilted his head toward you, his gaze focused solely on your face, as if you were the only thing grounding him in this moment.

“I worry about you,” you whispered, your voice almost lost in the quiet hum of the lab. “You give so much of yourself, but you leave so little room for…” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “For someone to care for you.”

Viktor’s expression softened, his hand lifting slowly to touch yours, his fingers tentative but warm. “I… I hadn’t realized,” he murmured, his gaze dropping for a moment before he met your eyes again. “But with you, it feels… different.”

A moment of silence passed between you, and in that silence, the unspoken words lingered, the weight of everything you had both held back coming to the surface. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Viktor leaned forward, his face mere inches from yours.

“Different how?” you asked, your heart pounding as you felt his breath against your lips.

“Like I could… lose myself in you,” he whispered, a vulnerability in his voice that shook you to your core.

Before you could respond, his lips brushed yours, soft at first, testing, as if he was afraid you might pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you leaned into him, your hands moving to cup his face as he deepened the kiss, his fingers threading through your hair, pulling you closer. There was a hunger in his kiss, a desperation that spoke of the weeks, months, maybe even years he had spent holding back, afraid to want this, to want you.

The passion between you ignited, his lips pressing against yours with a fervor that surprised you both. Viktor’s hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him, as if he needed to feel every inch of you, as if he were afraid you might vanish. His breath was ragged, each exhale a confession of how long he had kept himself from this moment.

He pulled back, only slightly, his golden eyes searching yours, his face open in a way you had never seen. “You…” he whispered, as if the words failed him, his hand brushing against your cheek. “You are the one thing that makes me feel whole.”

You could see the storm of emotions in his gaze. Desire and hope. They were all woven together, vulnerable and unguarded. You wrapped your arms around him, letting yourself sink into the feeling of him holding you, his heartbeat quickening against yours.

“You don’t have to carry everything alone, Viktor,” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his, your fingers trailing down his arm, feeling the cool metal beneath your fingertips. “I’m here. Let me carry some of it with you.”

He closed his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath as he held you close, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangled in your hair. “I never thought…” His voice cracked, and he took a moment to steady himself. “I never thought anyone could love someone like me.”

Your heart ached at the words, at the quiet self-doubt that he kept buried so deep. You tilted his chin up, meeting his gaze with all the strength you could muster. “I don’t love you despite anything, Viktor,” you said, your voice steady. “I love you because of who you are, all of you.”

For a moment, he simply looked at you, his eyes wide and vulnerable, and then he kissed you again, harder this time, as if pouring everything he couldn’t say into the kiss. His hand moved to your waist, pulling you even closer, his fingers pressing into you as though you were his anchor, the one steady point in the storm that was his mind.

The two of you stayed like that, tangled together in the quiet of the lab, lost in each other. Viktor’s hand traced gentle patterns along your back, his touch tender, almost reverent, as if he was memorizing every detail of this moment. And in that embrace, in the warmth of his kiss, you felt him let go of the weight he carried, just a little, as he allowed himself to surrender to you, even if only for this fleeting, stolen moment.

banner by. @cafekitsune

[a99jazzybean]

Let's Experiment a Little

synop: Viktor requests your assistance in testing out a new invention. Little did you know, walking into that lab would be your undoing.

words: 3.1K

includes: jayvikxfem!reader, sex, threesome, vibrators, fingering, cum eating, riding, a sprinkle of pathetic Jayce.

a/n: Besties, it's just porn. So 18+ only!

Stop by the lab tonight. Wear a skirt.

-V

You looked over the note Viktor had stuck to your door. Oddly enough, it wasn't a weird request from the man. Him and Jayce had begun working on technology for medical purposes, and you just so happened to be the perfect candidate for beta testing some of their inventions. While you had gotten a shock once or twice, most of the time it was generally safe. Plus they had perfected stabilizing the hexgems, so you weren’t too concerned. 

Obliging Viktor’s request, you donned a short skirt. Something you hadn’t worn for awhile as showing this much skin wasn’t necessarily something you enjoyed. But for science, you’d allow it. Sure, you could have picked something slightly longer, but you had a feeling they were going to need to connect something to your exposed skin. Might as well remove that barrier. 

Okay, maybe you were lying to yourself. Perhaps there was a small part of you that wanted to gain the men’s attention. Lord knows they always gave it their all on their work. Maybe they could give you some for just a little bit of time. Especially considering you had been pining after them for what seemed like forever. 

Little did you know, the two shared the same affections for you. Viktor being his cool, calculated self patiently waited for your entrance. Jayce was fiddling with hands as he waited as well. 

“Do you think she’s gonna come?” The larger man asked, hazel eyes glistening with hope.

Viktor hummed, a smirk on his face.

“Yes. She always does. Tonight will be no different.”

As he finished his sentence you pushed open one of the doors to the lab. Peeking in your head and beaming when you saw the men. You entered the room, not noticing the men appraising your appearance. Their eyes raking over your very exposed legs. Jayce was sure if you bent over he would be able to see everything. 

“So, what do you need help with?” You asked, nervously rocking on the balls of your feet. 

“Just some testing on a new device of ours.” Viktor said cooly. His gold eyes trying to read you. 

Your demeanor, sweet as always. Innocent. Though Viktor knew you better than that. Catching your lustful gaze one too many times as you watched his hands fiddle with tools. Enjoying the way your mouth would part in awe when he would dexterously spin screwdrivers with his fingers. 

“What’s the device do?” You asked, looking around to see if it was visible.

Viktor bit his tongue with a coy smile. He could just outright tell you, but where was the fun in that? He could already picture the flustered state you’d be in when you connected the dots yourself. 

“Something that can help provide relief.”

You raised a brow, a confused yet oh so adorable look on your face. 

“Yeah, relief.” Jayce echoed giddly. The action made him receive a warning look from Viktor. The man decided to let his partner do the rest of the talking. Jayce was never good at keeping surprises. 

“Like pain relief?” You asked. 

Something felt off. The air in the lab was charged with something, something you couldn’t place your finger on. Both of the men eyeing you up as if they wanted to devour you. Which they did, but you weren’t privy to that just yet.

“Something like that…” Viktor trailed, hoping you would catch on soon. 

“Why are you being so cryptic?” You felt your heart rate pick up. 

Yes, there was something different about this request of theirs. 

“I’m not being cryptic.” The man gave you another smirk. 

“Quit teasing me…” You almost whined. 

“Why don’t I show you the device?” Viktor waved for Jayce to grab the item. 

The taller man held a box in his hand, as he ushered you up to him and Viktor. You tentatively made your way over to the men. Still feeling their hungry gazes on you. 

When you stood before them, Jayce opened the box. Inside was a small somewhat cylindrical shaped item, but more organic looking. It was the classic blue of Hextech items, with a gold trim. On top, a smaller version of the hexgem was placed in a divot. There were three buttons on the object. Jayce picked it up and placed it in your hand. It was made of a softer material, almost rubber like. Your fingers skimmed over it, eyes filled with curiosity. It was unlike anything they had made before. 

“What is it?” You asked after observing it. 

“Press this button.” Viktor pointed to the one closest to the front end of the item. 

You did as he asked. The hexgem glowing blue, as a small vibration came from the item. The movement startling you, making you almost drop the item. Thankfully, you managed to keep ahold of it. 

“S-sorry!” You said, cheeks ruddy with embarrassment. “I didn’t know it was going to do that.”

“Press the one on the opposite side!” Jayce said, eyes glittering with anticipation. 

You nodded, pressing the other button. The vibrations changed into a pattern of buzzes. A look of confusion on your face. You didn’t understand how this could provide pain relief. Then you had a bit of a lightbulb moment. 

“Oh! Is it a massager? That’s what you mean about pain relief? The vibrations loosen muscles.” You looked at them with a smile. Catching them giving each other knowing looks. 

Viktor reached for the item, turning it off. Nimble fingers tracing around the edge of it. He chuckled.

“It’s a massager of sorts. Would you care to try it out?” That hunger was back in his eyes again. 

“Sure!” You said. You enjoyed helping your friends, even if they were being odd. It was for science after all. 

“Jayce.” Viktor nodded to the doors. 

Obeying the unspoken command, Jayce jogged over to the doors. Quickly flicking the locks on. The action making your heart rate speed up. 

“Why did you lock the doors?” 

“This experiment… is eh, best performed away from prying eyes.” That coy smile played on his lips. “Jayce, why don’t you come over?”

The man once again followed the command. Viktor patted the counter next to him. Jayce took a seat on top, legs spread. 

“Why don’t you sit here?” Viktor pat the open space between the man’s thick thighs. 

Heat shot to your face. The thought of the close proximity making your heart flutter. 

“Oh…um. Okay.” You said softly, walking to the counter and sitting between his legs.

Warm hands grasped your waist and pulled  you flush against the tall man’s chest. 

“Don’t worry, I don’t bite. Unless… you want me to?” He flashed a gap-toothed smile at you. 

Your heart was hammering in your chest. You let out a squeak of surprise when a cold hand grasped your thigh. Viktor had pulled up to you. He placed the device on the counter. Long fingers traced circles on your thigh as you felt your breathing pick up. Face flush with embarrassment. 

Viktor knew you would comply with their wishes. Always the people pleaser. You had put yourself in uncomfortable positions for the men before, and you would keep doing so. Something Viktor greatly appreciated. Such a devoted and pretty test subject. 

“Before we begin testing the device, we’ll have to see how you respond to more neutral stimuli.” His gold eyes locked with yours, making you shiver. 

The hand on your thigh, still affectionately drawing along your skin. 

“Neutral stimuli?” You squeaked, barely finding your voice. 

This position was something you had dreamed of for countless nights. It felt unreal. Having the two men touching you like this. 

“Yes, neutral. I suggest using my hands.” He said, placing his free hand on your other thigh. The action made you jolt, but Jayce quickly held your hips down. The man behind you chuckled darkly. 

“You can tell me to stop. I will. We’ll unlock the doors, and you can head home like nothing happened.” The man before you spoke lowly. “Or you can stay. Which is what you want, isn’t it?” 

You felt like you couldn’t speak. Instead, you nodded your head. Your lack of words making Viktor tisk. The hungry look in his eyes had you shivering.

“I need you to say it.” 

“Yes.” You breathed. 

Jayce stiffened behind you, a small whine leaving him. The sound shooting straight to your core. 

“Now, shall we begin?” Viktor asked. 

“Yes. Please.” You said.

The man before you chuckled. His hands pushing up your skirt. His amber eyes flitting up to you after he took in the panties you were wearing. A cute white lacy number. A long finger reaching under the waistband, snapping it against your skin. The sharp sting made you jolt, but Jayce held you down again. 

Trailing a finger on your clothed core had Viktor groaning. You were already so wet, so ready for them. He pulled your panties off, and groaned again. The sight of your weeping core making his cock strain in his pants. Behind you, you could feel Jayce’s own erection pressed against your back. He felt huge, and Viktor wasn’t anything to shrug off either. Through his pants you could tell he was hung.

Not wanting to waste any more time, Viktors fingers swept through your folds. A strangled moan leaving your lips as he did so. Jayce’s cock twitching at the sound, a groan of his own hot against your neck. The man began to leave wet kisses down your throat, occasionally nipping at your sweet spots to hear the sounds you made. 

“Such a pretty pussy.” Viktor was entranced by you. Loving how slick you already were. Practically dripping onto the counter beneath you. 

The pad of his thumb swiped against your clit, a tremor shooting through you. Then he inserted one of his fingers, drawing out a long moan. Jayce’s hands traveled up your body, warm palms groping your breasts. Squeezing them as Viktor continued to play with you. Inserting another finger, then curling them on that sweet spot inside of you. The loud moan you let out made the man’s cock twitch in his pants. His fingers continued to stroke at the spot, making sounds continually tumble out of you. Eyes rolling back as you felt him bring you closer to your peak. 

“Fuck, Jayce. She’s squeezing so tight.” Amber eyes looked over you. Already wrecked, arching back into Jayce. Mouth open and panting. “I bet you’re about to cum, aren’t you?” He crooned. 

“Mhmm.” It came out strangled.

“Do it, cum for us.” 

His words shoot electricity through you. Your pussy clenching against his fingers. Fluids covering his hand as you came. Continually moaning as you came down from the high. Thrusting against Viktor’s fingers, while grinding against Jayce’s cock. The man behind you holding your body in place, forcing you to take the overstimulating pleasure. When you whimpered, Viktor removed his fingers from you. Bringing them to his lips, sucking your essence off of them with a groan. 

He leaned up and offered his fingers to Jayce. The man gladly opened his mouth to taste the two of you. His tongue lapping at Viktor’s fingers with a groan. 

“Fuck, you taste good.” Jayce said, voice husky. He returned to kissing your neck. 

Viktor, despite having you rattle him internally, remained composed on the outside. 

“Now, let's try out the toy.” He said, grabbing it and pressing one of the buttons. 

He placed it against your clit, the vibrations unlike anything you had ever felt before. Pleasure coursing through you, practically making you scream. Gods, you were already cumming again. Your cum covering Viktor’s hand once more. 

His mouth was open in surprise at how quickly you climaxed. Cock twitching uncomfortably once again.

You relaxed into Jayce’s hold, unsure if you could take more. Based on the hungry gaze in Viktor’s eyes, he was going to make you. And you would gladly accept it. 

“Let’s try that again.” He said, turning on the device. 

The next time you came was less intense, but still left your body electrified. You were wet and sticky. Your spent coating your thighs and the countertop. 

“Jayce, why don’t we try what we discussed earlier.” Viktor said.

The man didn’t have to say it twice. Jayce excitedly pulled off his belt and scooted his pants and underwear down. Cock springing free against your ass. It was so hot, almost pulsating with want. 

“He’s going to fuck you, okay?” It really wasn’t much of a question. More like making sure you understood what was about to happen. 

The thought of Jayce filling you had your pussy gushing. You whined, pressing back against Jayce. The man letting out a hiss as you ground against him. He stalled your hips, easily lifting you up with his strength. Strong hands holding you in place as he lined his cock up with your entrance. Your slick dripping down onto his unbearably hard cock. 

Both of you whined as he slid you down his length. With how wet you were you took the man easily. Jayce’s hand reached around to your tummy, feeling him bulge through your stomach making him groan. 

“C’mon Jayce, fuck her.” Viktor stared at where you and Jayce were connected. Loving the way your pussy sucked up the man’s cock. 

Jayce didn’t need to be told twice. He forced you down his cock, making him moan. He was hitting you in places you had never reached before. 

“S-so tight, and wet. Mmph… why didn’t we do this sooner?” He whined out.

Suddenly, you both jolted as vibrations were pressed against your pussy.

“Shit V, that, that feels so good.” The man fucking you was practically drooling at the pure pleasure he was feeling. 

The sensations were turning you into a moaning mess. Jayce continued to force you down on his cock. Both of you feeling your climaxes on the horizon. You were sure you were going to squirt again. The pleasure was too much, but oh so addicting. These men were going to ruin sex for you, and you didn’t mind at all. 

“Please, baby. Please.” Jayce whined as he kissed up your neck. Leaving a trail of hickies against your throat. “Please cum on my cock. Need to. Need to feel you.” 

The vibrations and the man’s pleas made you shudder. White hot pleasure coursing through your body. Making you scream as you came, drenching his cock. Your plush walls clamping down on him made the man finish. Gritting his teeth and groaning as he filled you. The heat from his cum making you moan. His cock twitched with aftershocks.

Viktor removed the vibrator. He gazed over you and Jayce’s intertwined bodies. The man behind you grabbed your chin, making you face him. Hot lips captured yours, the kiss wet and debauched. Your pussy clenched around Jayce again, making him whimper in your mouth. 

He pulled you against his hard chest. Kissing all over your face and neck as you attempted to catch your breath. A very sweet lover he was. 

A cold hand on your thigh returned your attention to Viktor. The fun wasn’t over just yet. Through the fabric of his pants you could see his cock painful straining. 

“My turn.” Viktor said. 

Jayce shakily lifted you off of him. Groaning as he watched his seed drip down your thighs. Two long fingers swiped along your inner thigh, picking up the cum. Viktor placed them against your lips. You complied, trailing your tongue along his fingers, enjoying the taste of Jayce. Eyes fluttering shut in bliss. 

Viktor slowly stood up, and walked over to the couch the two kept in the lab to crash on. Sitting down, he shifted down his pants and boxers. Hard cock springing free, a bead of precum at the head. It made your mouth water. He grasped his dick and began stroking, eyeing you.

“Well, are you just going to sit there?” He huffed.

“I-I don’t think I can walk.” You said sheepishly.

He chuckled.

“Jayce, be a dear.” 

The man behind you nodded enthusiastically. Lifting you off the table, seating you on Viktor’s lap. Your overstimulated pussy grinding against his cock, making Viktor groan. His hands grabbed at your waist. Forcing you up, then down onto his dick in one swift motion. 

“Ah!” You gasped at the intrusion. 

Looking at Viktor you watched as the man’s eyebrows twitched from the pleasure of having you wrapped around him. 

“You feel so hot, so perfect…” He cut off with a moan as you lifted your hips and began to ride him.

“We should, should, should have done this sooner.” He groaned at the feel of you. 

His length making you whimper. Electric shocks sparking through you with each grind against him. With the little composure he had, the man slotted your lips against his. His tongue sliding against yours, making you moan into his mouth.

So much pleasure, too much pleasure. However, you wouldn’t have it any other way. Allowing yourself to fall into the bliss. Viktor’s hand reaching between your bodies, playing with your clit.

“Viktor…” You breathed. “You’re gonna make me cum… again.”

“Good.” He pecked at your lips. 

The look in his eyes along with a swipe on your nub, made you choke out a moan as you clenched around him. The heat in your belly was overwhelming. Yet you found your body couldn’t stop. Reaching for another high as you rode him like no tomorrow. 

“Again.” He groaned. “I need to feel you again.”

Nodding, you whimpered. 

Jayce was already hard again. Stroking himself as he watched you ride his partner. Biting his lip, he tried holding off cumming. The two of you were so hot. So much better than the man could ever imagine. He thumbed the head of his cock, then shuddered over as he came in his hand. 

“Viktor…” You whined.

“I know, I know. Cum for me.” 

And you did, another shudder making you clench around the man. The tightness forcing his own climax out from him. His cum filling you along with Jayce’s. The thought of having both of them in you making you clench around him again. Eliciting a strangled groan as Viktor’s cock twitched with aftershocks. 

The two of you came down from your final highs. Foreheads pressed together as you caught your breath. After a moment, you slowly lifted yourself off Viktor. Releasing a moan as his softening dick left you. His spent mixed with Jayce’s spilling out of you before you collapsed onto the couch cushion next to him. 

The only sounds in the lab were your labored breaths. You perched yourself on your elbows, taking in your surroundings. Viktor’s head leaned back against the couch. Jayce slumped over. Both men were looking at you, making your heart swell. 

“You could have just asked.” You breathed. “Not come up with some ruse to tease me with.”

“But what would be the fun in that? You make for a great test subject.” 

[sylus-doll]

Synopsis: It's normal to feel insecure every once in a while. But what would Sylus think of it? You wonder if he'll think that you're too much but you still ask to look through his phone anyway. And he willingly lets you.

Warnings: Low self-esteem and self-doubt, insecurity, jealousy issues (thinking he has other girls), bad relationships (not with Sylus), mentions of stalking (done by Sylus to you), mentions of threat messages.

Author's note: Is this controversial. Idk. I think I'm overbearing, so this is self-indulgent but I hope that it helps if you can relate to it as well. This is based on one of his Destiny Café and affinity level up lines. Comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3

You had always been a little insecure of yourself. Comparing yourself to others, envying the life they have, wishing to be a different person entirely. All of this had been ingrained into you like heated iron scorching skin, branding itself onto the fragile fabric of your soul. It would be alright, if it didn't consume your being and take the reigns of your mind at the worst of times.

Previous partners always brushed you off when you wanted to speak to them about your troubles. Telling you that it was fine— that they could handle it. Lies. Maybe they would indulge you once or twice, but they would always end up angry at you for being... difficult. Your jealousy is out of control, your clinginess is overbearing, your need for reassurance is exhausting. Always too much, too high maintenance. It all ends sour.

But you can't help it. The need to satiate this overwhelming emotion withers you away. Your desperate want for someone to claim you as their number one— the only one—overrides rationality. Yet you have learned to bite your tongue. Force your words to die in your throat because you never want to be too much. Especially not for someone like Sylus. Sylus who has always been so understanding and patient and you are terrified that this might tip him over the edge.

Sylus, however, notices that you seem rather lost in thought. Although he has been on his phone for quite some time, nothing gets past him. Not your jittery behaviour or the sighs that escape past your lips as if they were the words you wished to convey but held back on. He sees you fiddling with a trinket, some gemstone he left lying around the base that Mephisto probably went for. Switching off his phone, he sets it aside in favour of staring intently at you, two fingers resting on his temple as he leans on his elbow.

“You seem quite fascinated with that pretty gem, sweetie. Has Mephisto influenced you with a crow's instinct?” Sylus teases you, an opening line for conversation.

You jerk, scowling at the man, “Don't compare me to that bird!”

He only chuckles, shaking his head.

“What's on your mind, sweetie?” The tone of his voice shifts, now noticeably softer. So are his eyes.

Sylus is worried about you, it seems. You glance at him, taking in the way he keeps his eyes only on you. Then briefly direct your gaze towards that damn phone of his before looking into his eyes. Vicious scarlet turned lovesick velvet; it engulfs you in safety. Your lip quivers, and you bite down to stop it from doing so. What would Sylus say if you asked to look through his phone? How irritated or annoyed would he be? But his eyes are so warm, and you crave the gentle adoration it drowns you in.

“Can I... look through your phone?” You ask hesitantly, breaking eye contact first.

Well. That was the last thing he expected you'd ask him. He stares at you a little dumbfounded, only briefly, before regaining his composure. He expected a favor, something grand or perhaps requested the impossible from him. Of all things Sylus owns, and you ask for his mobile device. With a quirk of his brow and small tug at his lips, he gestures for you to come closer. When you do, he sits you across his lap, pulling his phone from the coffee table with his evol and drops it off in your hands.

“Go ahead, sweetie. I have nothing to hide from you, only the authorities.”

Sylus is patient when you begin your... search. Throughout all the apps he has; social media, websites, albums, contacts. You find that most of it contains you and N109 business. Pictures of you that you don't recall him taking, candid ones looking away from the camera. Auction sites where he's betting on antique weapons and vintage wine. Messages to Luke and Kieran regarding missions, and sometimes about keeping an eye on you. Ominous ones from others that come in the form of—

“What do the codes mean?” The question tumbles out of you before you fully think it through. Damn you.

His hand envelops yours, scrolling through the messages with his thumb.

“This one, is a location. Some sort of trap, most likely. The one you looked at earlier was a threat. And as for this...” Sylus explains every single one, not even hesitating.

Once you're satisfied, you give him back his phone. There was nothing. No other girl, no secret lover, not a single piece of incriminating evidence. Shame and guilt immediately take root within you. Sylus is not that kind of person, you should have known that. Should have trusted him more and let it be. Why were you like this? Apologize. It's what you need to do now because maybe he thought you were doubting him.

“I'm sorry—” he cuts you off.

“No. You have nothing to apologize for. Didn't I tell you that you have access to all my resources? Including, but not limited to, my phone. You can take a mile if I give you an inch.”

He brings your hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle. Even the tips of your fingers, and a final one on the inside of your palm.

“Next time, you don't need to ask. Just snatch it away from me if you think I'm giving it too much attention. I'll drop anything to show you how much I adore you.” He looks at you, gaze unwavering.

You will never be too much for Sylus. Everything that you have to offer, he will devour like a dog starved. He has been deprived of the intensity of your affections for far too long to be picky. If your love is tender, he will soften himself from metal to clay and be molded by your hands as best he can. And if your love is untamed ferocity he will embrace you with open arms, ready to be ripped apart. It will be alright— Sylus will stitch himself back together if that was what you needed him to do. That is what he will do to love you.

[1d1195]

Neighbors Extra VIII

Read Neighbors here | ~3.6k words

From me: this will probs be the last of them for a while 💕 I know they're a fan favorite overall, but I hope you've enjoyed this little family as much as I have.

Warnings: grab your tissues it's a little emotional. mentions of throwing up, family dynamics, pregnancy and baby-talk

Summary: Rory is going to be the best big brother. But he's a little nervous about what this means for their family of three.

“Hi beautiful,” Harry grinned sweetly.

“I feel anything but beautiful.”

His smile turned to a frown instantly and he came over to the sweet girl and wrapped his arms around her. “Why’s that, kitten?”

“She’s sucking the life out of me,” she yawned. “Baby girl is draining me of my beauty or whatever that saying is,” she mumbled tiredly into his chest.

“She’s not,” he assured her. “Y’look stunning.”

“Don’t lie, Harry it’s not becoming, and it sets a bad example for Rory.”

“Will you?” He mumbled and kissed the top of her head. “Come sit down,” he ordered. “What do you want for dinner?”

“We can’t even talk about food, or I’ll throw up,” she promised. “Morning sickness has turned into afternoon and evening sickness at the mention of anything. Just put it in front of me and I’ll try,” she flopped onto the couch and rubbed her stomach. She was just starting to show a little more. A little under six months she was rounder than she had been, her complaints about clothes not fitting and feeling uncomfortable was beginning. But Harry was entranced by the movement watching the diamond on her fourth finger glitter with each pass of her hand along the baby inside her. He remembered the day he told him like it was yesterday. She was late, her cramps hadn’t made themselves known and she was craving pickles like she did with Rory despite the fact she didn’t like pickles at all.

Harry was overjoyed to say the least. He was pretty certain he had tears in his eyes while he kissed her pretty face, down her neck all the way to her stomach where he spoke softly to the little one already growing. “Hi little one,” he whispered. “Mummy and I love you t’bits,” he promised. “Be gentle with Mummy these next nine months, I love Mummy as much as you do.”

He sat beside her and rubbed the pressure point on her wrist that was connected to relieving nausea. “How was your day?”

“Good,” she smiled sighing as the relief in Harry’s ability to take her pain away (no matter how small) was like his own part time job. Harry couldn’t get over how stunning she looked, yes, her stomach was a bit fuller but that was mainly the only difference in Harry’s eyes. She would say her skin looked lackluster, her fingers felt swollen but the only thing Harry could see was how she was growing their baby and she looked gorgeous doing it. “How was yours?”

Harry sighed. He didn’t want to worry her, but Rory was still being a bit closed off. He’d been that way since they told the nine-year-old that there was a little sibling expected in several months’ time. They waited the full three months to make sure everything was up to snuff before they said anything. Rory was still the wonderful little boy he was. He did his little chores, his homework, he listened when they asked him to pick up or go to bed for the evening. There were very few arguments. While Rory was excited to have a sibling, he seemed to be resentful toward her and Harry.

She frowned. “I might try again.”

“Be my guest,” he shrugged. “Yesterday was no such luck.”

They figured perhaps it was some kind of pre-puberty thing. Maybe he was closing himself off from them because that’s what pre-teen and teenage boys did. She hoped it wouldn’t happen, Rory was her best friend, and they did everything together. She waddled to his room, knocking and opening the door. “Hi, love bug,” she smiled.

“Hi Mumma,” he said quietly while looking up from his gaming device with a gentle grin. “Is it dinner time?”

She fought the wave of nausea off at the mention of food and she shook her head. “No, not yet. How was school, cutie pie?”

“Good.”

She frowned. “Did you learn anything new?”

“No.”

She closed the door behind them. “Everything okay, Rory?” He nodded, turned back to his device and remained silent. She took a deep breath wondering what kind of magic Harry could work on him from his psych degree angle. “Baby, are you sure everything is okay? You’re not acting like yourself. Remember the last time this happened we had to take you to the hospital?”

He looked at her briefly and then his eyes dropped to her stomach. She could see the battle in his eyes of whether to say it or not. “You’re going to get mad at me. Or I’ll get in trouble.”

“Rory,” she pouted. “You have to tell me so I can help fix it. I won’t get mad at you, I can’t promise about the trouble, but you have to let me help. You can tell me anything, remember?”

He swallowed and looked a little glassy-eyed as he decided if he should say it or not. He took a deep breath, set his gaming device aside, and looked at her directly. “Do you have to have a baby?”

Her mouth popped open in surprise. Rory was so excited to have a sibling. He talked about helping all the time. He was helping pick out the decorations for the baby’s room and everything. They discussed all the changes that would be coming and how Rory was going to be a huge help in playing with her and making sure she learned all the important things she needed to know (like how to make s’mores and blow bubbles, of course). “Well... yes, Rory. Of course we do.”

“But...” he sighed then shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Baby,” she said tentatively. “Tell me what’s bothering you. You’re supposed to tell me everything. If you don’t tell me, you almost always tell Daddy,” she reminded him. “We’re worried you’re not telling us something.”

Rory was nine now. Which meant that he was trying to be a grown-up when he didn’t need to be. So, when his eyes started to water, he looked away and shook his head. “Harry’s not my dad,” he mumbled.

Her frown deepened and she went to sit on his bed. He turned to face away from her, curling in on himself a bit. She placed a hand on his side and rubbed gently. “What are you talking about, Rory? Of course he is.”

“But not really, Mumma,” he sniffed. “I know he loves me, but he’s...”

“Rory,” she whispered. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he sniffled a little louder. It broke her heart. Tears filled her eyes too and she was grateful he was facing away from him because she wasn’t sure she could console him and herself at the same time. Not with that little face she loved so much looking as crushed as he sounded in his voice. “Harry—”

“Dad,” she corrected. She knew that Rory used his real name and Dad interchangeably. But right then it seemed like he shouldn’t. Like he needed a reminder that Harry was his everything.

“Dad,” he mumbled. “Dad has never had a baby,” he reminded her.

“So?” She asked.

“What if he likes the baby more than me?” He sniffled. “What if the baby is better than me because she’s just like Harry? Or looks like Harry? What if the baby—”

“Rory James,” she gasped. “Stop it,” she ordered.

“But Mumma, I’m not Harry’s baby.”

“You are, my love. Of course you are. You would break his heart if he heard this.”

“It’s why I haven’t told you,” he mumbled into his pillow.

“Rory,” she repeated. “You are never to hide something from us. You know that.”

“But I don’t like upsetting you, Mumma. I know Harry loves me.”

“Daddy does love you,” her voice cracked as she spoke. “Fuck,” she whispered.

“That’s a bad word, Mumma.”

She felt nauseous for a whole new reason. “Harry!?” She called, her voice breaking as she walked toward the door. Within seconds Harry’s footsteps were heard nearly running down the hall. His eyes were concerned as he approached the door she was opening, and she had a hand on her chest trying to keep her heart inside her body.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, holding one of her hips and the other hand cupped her face. His eyes scanned her from head to toe. Seeing nothing concerning, he turned his attention to Rory, still facing away from everyone in his little bed and ascertained that nothing was physically wrong with either of them so he breathed a little easier.

“Can you go hold him?” She hiccupped as the tears started flowing more freely. She swiped them away. “I have to go throw up,” she sniffled and headed down the hall for the bathroom.

“Kitten—”

“Please,” she begged and closed the bathroom door.

After throwing up, she quickly hopped into the shower to rinse herself off. As fast as she could without being able to fully see her feet, she changed into some comfy pajamas and returned to the bedroom. There she found her much too tall husband in a child’s twin bed, sitting against the wall and holding Rory in his lap. It reminded her of when he held Rory during the car wash, Harry’s arms caged around him so protectively. He rocked Rory gently, kissed the top of his head while the little one sniffled as he cried into his shirt. “Y’okay, kitten?” He asked.

She nodded. “Did he tell you what was wrong?” She asked, climbing into the little bed too. Harry shook his head, his eyes sad with defeat. “Rory,” she whispered, rubbing his back as Harry soothed him. “Please tell Daddy what’s wrong. He’ll make it better, I promise. Think about all the times he’s made everything better,” she reminded him and reached out to brush his hair away from his teary eyes.

“I don’t want you to have a baby,” he blurted.

Harry’s eyes flicked to hers and she shook her head and wiped the corner of her eye. It didn’t have to do with the baby. That wasn’t even the important part of anything he had told her. But Harry pouted. She could see the psychoanalysis beginning. The theories and research he’d done for his degrees in classes on child development. All the reasons Rory could possibly be upset, and he had no idea that it wasn’t a single one of them. “M’sorry t’hear that Rory,” he mumbled into his hair. “S’a big change, yeah? Like when y’learned t’use the bathroom while stand—”

“No,” Rory shook his head. “It’s not that,” he croaked. Rory was so smart and knew that Harry was going to look for the psychological answer even if he couldn’t say it was psychological in nature.

Harry looked at her briefly. She looked on with so much hurt. Her eyes were a watery mess, her lower lip quivered; she was aching to let out the sob she felt. He didn’t understand what he was missing. He felt so terrible his two favorite people were so heartbroken and upset. It was awful. It felt like his chest was caving in. Was this what a heart attack felt like? It was miserable—maybe worse than a heart attack. He couldn’t be certain.

“Tell him, love bug, please,” she begged.

“You’re going to love the baby more than me,” his voice was so small. Smaller than her bubbly baby boy had ever been. She covered a hand over her mouth to stop the sob from breaking through.

“What?” He shook his head, and he pulled Rory away from him. He kept his eyes cast down, he knew boys weren’t supposed to cry like this unless they were really hurt. But Rory felt really hurt. “Rory James,” he whispered. Then he flicked his attention to the beautiful girl who was just as heartbroken as their son. Surely, he misheard him and misunderstood. Surely the little boy that filled every crevice in the space of his heart knew how much Harry adored him.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffled hating the way his full name sounded in Harry’s mouth more than his mother’s. It was reserved for larger reprimanding—not that Rory needed much of it, he was perfect. But even still, Harry never said it. Ever.

“Rory,” he repeated softly. “That is crazy,” he promised, rubbing his thumbs on his little cheeks. Even if he wasn’t the little three-year-old he met in the driveway so long ago, he was always going to be little to Harry. “Rory, you’re m’best friend,” he reminded him. “How could y’think I would love anyone more than you?”

She was still crying hard behind her hand which made Harry realize there was still something he was missing. Something that was going to perhaps devastate the way he felt when he was already so upset. “Because the baby is going to be your baby.”

Harry was almost certain a heart attack would feel less awful at this point. “Rory, lad,” he sighed clutching him back to his chest. He kissed the top of his head. “S’horrible thing t’feel and say,” he felt like his voice was close to cracking. He wanted to cry as much as his wife and baby boy were. “You think m’not going t’love you as much because you’re not mine?” He nodded solemnly against Harry’s chest. “Rory, of course you’re mine. I love you more than anything in the world,” he reminded him. “You know that right?”

“But—”

“No buts,” he shook his head firmly. “Ever. You don’t question this, understand?”

“But—”

“No, Rory. This isn’t something y’get to cute your way out of. You’re my son and I will never love anyone or anything more than you. Get that out of your head,” he instructed.

“Okay,” he sniffled.

“You understand, right?” He repeated.

He nodded. “I understand,” he whispered.

“Mumma, y’okay?” Harry asked. She nodded, wiping her eyes.

She cleared her throat. “I’m good.”

“Alright, good,” Harry nodded. He didn’t let go of Rory but pulled her toward the pair of them. Harry moved the three of them to squeeze together on the tiny bed—Rory laying along the length of his body as he fit, and her beside him snuggled close without squishing the baby. Harry was certain the three of them were emotionally exhausted, so Harry made the executive decision to have them all get some sleep in before dinner.

*

“Daddy?” Rory asked.

“Hmm?” He hummed. Harry was doing some work at the table. Rory was skimming the newspaper for a news article to share with his class. She was making pancakes and chocolate milk for breakfast.

“Can baby hear us?”

He glanced up from his laptop and he peered at her near the stove. Her stomach was another month rounder now and things were a lot more normal now that they knew why Rory was so closed off. “Yeah, she can,” Harry nodded. “Do y’want to talk t’her?”

“Can I Mumma?” Rory asked.

“Of course,” she nodded. Harry walked over to the pretty woman that made every one of his dreams come true along with the little boy he adored more than anything. Harry crouched beside Rory and put his hand on her stomach. He rubbed his thumb on her shirt and smiled encouragingly at Rory.

“Go ahead, Rory,” Harry whispered.

“I don’t really know what to say,” he answered back.

“Just talk t’her, she already loves you. You’re going t’be her big brother,” Harry promised. “You’ll be the best big brother ever.”

It was quiet for a couple of moments while Rory thought it over. “Can I tell her about us?” He asked.

“Us?” She repeated.

“Like me, you, and Daddy,” he bit his lip.

“Yeah, you can tell her ‘bout us,” Harry looked on full of questions.  “Hi,” he whispered. “I’m Rory,” he put his hand on his mother’s stomach beside Harry’s. “Mumma didn’t eat you,” he explained. “I get that confused sometimes.” Harry smirked while she giggled above them. “She always says she’s going to eat cute babies though a lot so it might confuse you too,” he continued making Harry chuckle quietly while she rolled her eyes. “I’m your brother,” he told her. “We’re going to be best friends,” he promised. “I might not be good at sharing my toys sometimes, but I don’t mean it. Sometimes I won’t want to play, but that doesn’t mean I won’t love you. I’m going to love you a lot.”

Her eyes watered and Harry grinned brightly. “Mumma is really good to talk to when you’re sad or have questions. She always makes me feel better when I’m sick, helping with homework, and she’s really good at the hard levels of Mario Party,” he explained. “And she’s a girl so you’re going to have to play with her and do dress up and makeup or something. And she’ll show you how to use tampons,” she and Harry couldn’t contain their giggles.

“You forgot about craft time and s’mores,” Harry reminded him of his favorite lady.

“Oh yeah, Mumma is fun to play with on rainy days. And in the summer we eat s’mores until we get tummy aches.”

Harry grinned. “She’s the best little one,” he whispered to her stomach.

“Thanks boys,” she whispered trying not to cry harder than she was.

“Daddy is here too,” he told her stomach. “Daddy is the best too. He can blow really big bubbles and he loves to play board games. He won’t let anything happen to you in car washes or in thunderstorms and he knows Santa,” Harry was in awe of the little boy who was so scared that Harry could love someone more than him. Harry was a little worried he wouldn’t love the little girl enough. Well, not really, but it seemed impossible that he could love the little family he made like this and still have room for more. “Daddy is really smart too. He can teach you a lot about your brain and it’s really cool. He also knows where Mumma hides the good candy and he’ll share it at bedtime.”

“I knew it!”

“Rory!” Harry pouted.

He giggled. “I’m really excited to meet you. Mumma needs a girl to play with,” he explained. “I think we all do. And Daddy’s going to love us both—more than anything in the world.”

Harry nodded. “That’s true,” he agreed.

“He says he loves Mumma more than anything in the world too, but I think he might love us more.”

He chuckled. “Sorry, kitten,” he winked up at her.

“I’ll let it slide.”

“Mumma’s not a cat either. Daddy calls her that because she’s pretty like one. And his voice is funny because he’s not from here. It’s a little confusing.” Part of Harry wanted her to stay pregnant forever listening to the little boy list off hundreds of reasons why he and Rory loved this woman so much. It felt like heaven. “Mumma is going to make sure you eat your veggies, but I’ll show you how to hide them in your napkin,” he whispered.

“Rory,” she sighed. “Don’t teach her bad things.”

“It’s not bad, Mumma! Green beans are yucky.”

“Well, what if she likes them?” Harry asked.

“Well, she’s my sister so she probably won’t,” he shrugged.

Harry chuckled. “S’a good point, lad.”

“When do you want to come out?” Rory asked.

“She’s still in there for another two months,” she explained from above.

“Do you like pancakes?” He asked her. “Mumma makes them a lot.”

“She’s your sister,” Harry reminded him. “She probably does.”

He giggled and nodded. “That’s true,” he agreed. “Then I think she really wants some pancakes right now, because I really want pancakes right now. Talk to you later,” he gave a quick kiss to her stomach and popped back up to sit at the table with his comics.

“You have the cutest son,” she whispered to Harry who stood beside her and kissed the side of her face.

“You too, baby,” he murmured into her hair. “Thanks for giving me two really cool kids.”

“Two really cool kids who you give candy to at bedtime?” She asked turning to him and quirking an eyebrow at him suspiciously.

Harry grinned wickedly. “I haven’t a clue what he’s talking about.”

“Uh-huh. Gotta find a new hiding spot,” she muttered, silently cataloging where she could put her stash next. She turned back to the stove putting more butter into the pan to finish her batch of pancakes.

“Hey kitten?” He asked.

“Hmm?”

Harry was in awe of her. A single mom who loved Rory more than anything. Who pushed him away despite her own happiness. Someone who worried she would be too boring for Harry because she loved her kid so much. Who let Harry in and be the best dad in the world (according to Rory and every Father’s Day gift he’d gotten for the last three years). She was perfect and lovely. He kind of agreed with Rory, he didn’t know how it was possible to love three people so much. “I love you. So much.”

She grinned and nodded. “I love you too, Harry,” she tilted her head back so he could kiss her.

“Ew!” Rory covered his eyes dramatically. “She’s lucky she’s in your belly Mumma, so she can’t see it!”

Harry laughed, kissing her more and shaking his head. “Just you wait, Rory. You’re going to meet someone who you’ll love kissing.”

“No way, Jose, I’m never kissing anyone.”

“Not even Mumma?” she pulled away from Harry’s embrace and brought his plate of pancakes to him and kissed the side of his little face while he set aside his comics.

“Well... I guess Mumma kisses are okay,” he mumbled grabbing his fork and knife.

Harry smiled. “I couldn’t agree more.”

--

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach

@straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals

@angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams

@summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland

@lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles

@tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter

@kissitnhekitchen @indierockgirrl @stylesfever @michellekstyles @just-another-reader1098

@hermionelove @tiredinwinter @whimsy-willows @hannah9921 @fangirl7060

@vikiii07 @prettygurl-2009 @mads3502 @triski73 @angeldavis777

@dontforgtme @lizsogolden @me-undiscovered @you-sunshine @rose-girls-world

@claimingharrystigertattoo @inlikea-coolway @theseaview @lunaharrygurl @emmie2308 @fruity-harry @somebunnybaby @avas-queen-black @mema10 @tulips4harry @spinninc @sassamanda77 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @mp-269 @jmp1494 @fangirl509east @sideboobrry11 @drewrry @dutchtheatrelore @copiastricycle @mypolicemanharryyy @harry2121 @inharryshelter @fandomxo @sarah-thatstings-ann @yourlocalstilinski-valdez

neighbors taglist: @mopeymousey @vmpellie

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist here

[khywren]

Denouement

pairing: Astarion/f!reader rating: 18+ MDNI word count: 3.1k tags/warnings: smut, emotional sex, piv sex, fingering, soft spawn Astarion

summary: Bergamot and rosemary ensnare your senses, and your eyes flutter closed. Here in his arms, you are safe. Home. “I think I'm ready to try again,” Astarion says after a moment, pulling you close. “Just you. Just us.” ────────── In which Astarion is ready to explore intimacy with you once again.

a/n: based on this little drabble from the other week! the title is derived from a literary device where all the threads of a story finally come together - the a-ha moment, if you will. i thought it was rather fitting for this piece, given the circumstances. :)

AO3 ┊ masterlist

It's well past sundown when you join Astarion in your shared bedroom. You find him in his usual spot, needle and thread in hand as he busies himself with a bit of embroidery. Deft fingers weave the needle through the fabric, defining the outline of what looks to be the petals of a rose. Lost in his work, he seems not to notice your arrival.

You've already dressed for bed. The sleeves of his old camp shirt nearly fall past your fingertips, and although the garment doesn't quite swallow you, it's still loose enough to be comfortable in the lingering summer heat. 

Astarion had made plenty of sarcastic remarks when you had insisted on keeping it, teasing you about being overly sentimental. Perhaps there was some truth to that, but the first time he had laid eyes on you when you came to bed wearing little else but that same shirt, laces loose enough to expose the tantalizing swell of your breasts beneath the fabric, it had been all the vindication you needed. 

You wear it now out of habit more than anything, ensuring that you remain enveloped in his scent even during those rare times his arms aren't wrapped snugly around you in the middle of the night.

As you pad quietly across the floorboards, Astarion looks up, gaze sweeping across the room before finally settling on you. He's looking at you like he did that first time, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, and you catch his throat bob as he swallows thickly. 

His eyes never leave you, even as he sets his work aside on the nightstand. It's hard to know what he's thinking, and for a moment you almost wish you still had your tadpoles so you could peer into his mind.

Hand outstretched, he beckons you to him.

Few things about Astarion surprise you anymore, but there's something different about the way he laces your fingers between his own and tugs you down into his lap, something possessive that catalyzes a shiver of excitement within you. Gooseflesh blooms in its wake, and you settle comfortably on top of his thighs.

His fingers caress your jaw and glide through the soft hair at the nape of your neck, guiding your lips down to meet his own. The kiss is insistent but soft, a gentle tug on your roots prompting you to open your mouth for him. Astarion eagerly slips his tongue inside, humming contentedly into your mouth as he kisses you breathless.

When he remembers that you need to breathe, he reluctantly lets you pull away. He's waiting for the moment you let him have you once more, his impatience evident in the way he furrows his brow and slots his mouth back over yours when he feels you've taken long enough.

You laugh against the press of his lips.

“Astarion, what's gotten into you?”

He silences your protests with another barrage of kisses, tearing his mouth away from yours only to pepper more of them across the curve of your jaw as he traces a searing path towards your ear. You're fond of the way his fangs graze your skin, the gentle nips he gives you as he turns his attention to your earlobe.

Your breath hitches, your body becoming pliant in his arms as he clamps his free hand around your waist. Caged within your ribs, your heart drums its staccato beat.

“I've been thinking,” he murmurs against your ear between kisses, his voice barely above a whisper.

“That sounds awfully dangerous.” Your hands find their way into his shirt, bunching tightly in the fabric. It's the only thing anchoring you, the mischievous little inflection in his tone yet another spark that threatens to kindle a roaring inferno of desire within you.

When he pulls back to look at you, his eyes are the fire that finally sets you alight, blazing red embers that simmer with need. You feel warm, almost deliriously so, as the heat that had been pooling low in your stomach begins to ebb throughout the rest of your body.

“Oh,” he drawls, grinning through his fangs. “You've no idea, darling.”

You match his smirk, earning first a quiet gasp and then a satisfied sigh when you surge forward to kiss him once more. The grip he has on you tightens, fingertips digging into the plush part of your thighs as his hand slips beneath your shirt.

“Should I be concerned?” you tease.

“It’s nothing quite that scandalous, I'm afraid,” he remarks with a click of his tongue, breath almost warm as it fans across your lips.

Head cocked to the side, you sit back on your calves and study his face. He's been acting strange, but you can find nothing in his expression that might explain his behavior.

Astarion seems to sense your unanswered question when he says, “What? I'm quite serious, darling.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes incredulously.

“Then what do you call all of this?”

Astarion's lips are cool as he presses them against the column of your throat, enjoying the warmth of your skin and the feeling of your blood pulsing just beneath the surface. He groans quietly, and you feel the way the noise rumbles in his throat.

“Consider it a thought experiment.”

You aren't quite certain what he means by that, but when both of his hands settle firmly on the curve of your waist and he lifts his head to rest his brow against yours, your mind is immediately swept clear of all coherent thought.

Bergamot and rosemary ensnare your senses, and your eyes flutter closed. Here in his arms, you are safe. Home.

“I think I'm ready to try again,” Astarion says after a moment, pulling you close. “Just you. Just us.”

You remember the drow twins. Astarion had seemed so eager then, too, but it had all been too much, too soon. Later that same evening, he had buried his face into the crook of your arm to conceal his disappointment, and you had soothed him with a gentle hand through his hair, reassuring him that everything was fine.

That had been the last time either of you had been intimate with each other. You knew what he had needed was time, and you had more than enough to spare.

His body is responsive enough, that much you can concede. You can feel it in the way he tenses beneath you, and the hardening ridge of his cock beneath his trousers.

And yet…

You take his face in your hands, thumbs resting on the apples of his cheeks. Tipping his chin upwards, you search his eyes, but he does not balk under your scrutiny. You find them clear and bright. Present. The flicker of lamplight catches the myriad shades of red, reflecting brilliantly as an affectionate smile slowly spreads across his face. He lays a single hand over one of yours, squeezing gently.

“Okay,” you breathe, pressing a tender kiss to his brow. “Okay.”

The words have only just left your mouth before Astarion’s hand is on your back, supporting your weight as he flips the both of you over and eases you back onto the mattress beneath him. An errant wave of your hand extinguishes the lantern beside the bed, leaving the pair of you swathed in silvery moonlight.

In his haste to remove his shirt, Astarion gets caught somewhere in the tangle of his sleeves, and you giggle as he tosses it away with a huff of embarrassment.

You anticipate some sort of sarcastic quip from him, but his mouth is too busy lavishing you with open-mouthed kisses, anywhere and everywhere your skin is exposed to him. His hands, too, are ever-eager, bracingly cold against your bare stomach as he hikes your borrowed shirt up and over your shoulders. 

You sit up just enough for him to remove it, tossed aside as haphazardly as his own. The moment his hands are free, he resumes his exploration of your body, fingers mapping out every inch of you as they glide over your torso and the expanse of your thighs. Every time he reaches somewhere particularly sensitive, you feel him grin against you, mentally cataloging the information for future use. Every soft sigh, every wanton moan, all of them are music to his ears, a symphony for him alone.

“Stunning,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, drawing a low moan from your lips as he palms your bare breast. “You are simply… gods. ”

Astarion pinches your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling the taut bud between them. You whimper and writhe beneath him, breaths shallow as you squeeze your eyes shut. Your hands fumble for purchase in his hair, fingers threading through his soft curls and dragging his face close enough to kiss him again.

He captures every wanton noise you make for him as he kneads and teases your breasts, enjoying the ease with which a single swipe of his thumb stiffens your nipples into pert little peaks.

“Astarion…” you whine, high-pitched and needy. You meet his eyes again, vision hazy through half-closed lids. “I…”

“Shh,” he hushes you, coaxing your thighs open with the knee he slides between your legs. “I know. Patience, love.”

Astarion rewards you with the hand that trails over your stomach, purposely featherlight as he builds the anticipation growing within your core. You know what he means to do, and the thought alone has your heart hammering wildly.

You help him kick off your underwear after he tugs them down your thighs, exposing your aching center. You are slick with desire for him, quite certain you might just unravel completely the instant he touches you.

His fingertips dance over the inside of your thigh, trailing up, up, up. You throw your arms around his neck, breath caught in your throat.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, yes…”

Your body sings in ecstasy as Astarion's fingers drag a torturously slow path along your center, gathering the arousal that's pooled between your slick folds. The sensation is enough that your back bows off the mattress at the same time you dig your nails into his shoulders, throat raw as you cry out for him.

Astarion watches you with all the reverence of a devout worshiper, transfixed by the way you respond so beautifully to his touch.

“Is this what you wanted, sweet girl?” he asks, tracing his fingers in lazy circles around your oversensitive clit. Your hips buck against him of their own accord, pushing you even further into the open palm of his hand.

“Yes,” you say again, the only word your addled mind can grasp. “Yes, that feels – ohhhh… ”

Your voice breaks into a choked sob when Astarion presses two fingers against your entrance, slowly working you open as they slide inside your tight, wet heat. Your walls flutter around him, pulsing as he pumps his fingers in and out of you at a slow, delicious pace.

“Astarion, please…” you whimper, “make me come.”

Astarion uses his free hand to sweep an errant lock of hair from your face, tucking it affectionately behind your ear. His fingers linger on your face, tenderly tipping your chin up before he captures your lips in a brief yet passionate kiss.

“I will, my love,” he promises. “All in good time.” His expression shifts, not quite stern, but his face loses some of its softness when he asks, “Do you want my fingers or my cock?”

Astarion's face fits so nicely in your hands as you reach up to cradle it in your palms, and he has nowhere to look but into your eyes, a tempest of lust, love, and longing.

“Your cock,” you tell him. “I want to come on your cock.”

Something akin to pride flits across his face, a smile of pure satisfaction curling the edges of his mouth as Astarion reaches to unlace his trousers. They disappear with his underwear over the edge of the bed, his cock springing free as a relieved sigh slips past his lips.

“Thank the gods,” he groans, sliding a hand through his hair to tame his unkempt curls and sweep them back. “I can be patient when the need arises, but even I have my limits.”

You laugh and part your legs wide to accommodate him as he settles between them, one hand working his cock as he readies himself for you.

Even in the dim light, his eyes seem to glimmer like inset gems, his gaze trained on your face as he takes in the sight of you beneath him.

Astarion splays a hand on your waist to steady himself, guiding his cock between your legs. He slicks himself with your arousal, rocking his hips against you in slow, rhythmic motions.

He isn't even inside you yet, but he already has you whimpering, the friction igniting every nerve ending in your body.

Your eyes trail down the length of your stomach, unable to keep yourself from staring as he thrusts lazily against you. The blunt head of his cock grinds against your clit, sending wave after wave of arousal pulsing through you.

“Eyes on me, darling,” Astarion says.

You obey without thinking. By the time your gaze finds his, your face is flushed, mouth open as your breaths come in ragged little pants.

An easy smile spreads over his face, and the hand on your waist moves to gently cup your cheek.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

There is nothing but adoration in his voice, and you laugh softly when you tell him, “Yes, plenty of times. But never like this.”

“You are,” he reiterates, smoothing the pad of his thumb over your skin.

“Especially like this. My beautiful girl.”

Your cheeks burn, but Astarion doesn't give you enough time to feel self-conscious for very long before he begins to push inside you, slowly burying himself inside your waiting warmth with a few shallow thrusts. Your body molds to his completely, and it's as if the two of you were made for one another.

He feels so good inside you – so perfect, so complete. He can feel it too, almost lost within the mounting pleasure that knits his brows together and compels his mouth to fall slack.

Astarion doesn't move at first, content enough to simply be , eyes crinkling with the smile on his face as you take his hands in your own, interlacing your fingers.

There are no words to convey his thoughts properly, so he chooses instead to show you the only way he can. He pulls almost completely out of you, agonizingly slow as he drags his cock along your walls. 

When you give him what he wants, a low, breathy moan, he rolls his hips forward again, pushing himself deep inside. He sets a slow, purposeful pace, bottoming out with every languid thrust as your hips meet flush. It's amazing how even like this, he can build the tension inside you, every one of his movements perfectly calculated to bring you both incredible pleasure.

You can tell he's holding back, that he wants to lose himself in you completely. But you know that it's about so much more. It's about listening to the persistent beating of your heart, the way your hands feel as he holds them between your bodies and gazes into your eyes.

It’s about finally reclaiming the pieces of himself he once thought lost for good, a thousand nameless faces that did nothing but take and take and take until there was nothing left for him to give.

And you – you asked for nothing, letting him set whatever boundaries he needed.

It would be impossible for him to do anything but love you. And he does. More than anything, he adores you.

You use your grip on his hands to tug him closer to you, arms slipping around his back as he presses his chest to yours. Astarion’s thrusts gradually become less controlled, hips rolling into you with growing need as he savors the feel of you beneath him – so warm, so alive, so…

“Mine,” he affirms, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Mine, mine, mine.”

His arms bracket either side of your head, one hand cradling the base of your skull as he holds you close, like so much flotsam set adrift in the roiling ocean.

“Yes, Astarion,” you tell him. “Always, always…”

Astarion moves to adjust his position between your legs, angling himself just so that every snap of his hips thrusts his cock against that sensitive spot inside you. You cry out his name, little crescent moons adorning his back everywhere you've dug your fingers into his skin.

“I ��� I’m going to – Astarion –”

“Yes, my love,” he groans into your ear, lifting his head just enough to see the way your face contorts with pleasure each time he thrusts himself inside you. “Come for me, let me feel you come undone.”

His hand is between your thighs once more, expertly circling your clit with the pad of his index finger. Your toes curl into the mattress, pupils blown as you find yourself swept up in the intensity of his crimson eyes.

One, two, three thrusts more is all it takes before you shatter, back arched as you cry out for him. Your walls pulse around his cock as you tumble headfirst into euphoria, clinging to him desperately as he fucks you through it, elevating the intensity of your orgasm.

Only then does Astarion let himself go, grunting as he pistons into you, unable to deny himself this simple pleasure any longer. You feel the moment he reaches his own peak, spilling himself inside you with a stuttering groan as he clumsily kisses you over and over again.

He doesn't pull out immediately, selfishly indulging in your body’s warmth. You are a tangle of limbs as he finally falls to the mattress beside you, immediately pulling your body back against him with the arm he wraps firmly around you. 

Astarion gazes up at you, mouthing your name so softly, as if he's afraid it might break under the weight of his devotion.

“I love you.”

He says it again and again, his heart aching as you gather him in your arms and press a kiss against his mouth. 

“I love you too,” you murmur against his lips, sighing as you feel the wide grin that spreads over his face. 

You drift off with his head pillowed on your chest, comforted by the drumming of your heart and the hand you entangle with his own. By the time you wake, he's still nestled up against you, blissfully unaware of how beautiful he is as he slumbers peacefully in your embrace.

You smile fondly at him, content to let him rest for as long as he likes. Truth be told, there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

[sunny-fox]

Misheard

Fandom: Genshin Impact (SAGAU)

Reader's pronouns: they/them

Warning(s): implied toxic friendship, cult behaviour

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

As much as he hated to say it, Wanderer had to admit that he simply enjoyed it when he became your vessel. He loved the feeling of your warm gaze upon him, the sound of your voice as you hummed or sang, the way you'd give him and his team members your undivided attention when you played the game.

Today was no different. He hurled Anemo energy at his opponents, smiling smugly to himself when he defeated the final one.

"Don't be so smug about it," Faruzan snapped at him. "It's not like you'd be able to defeat them so quickly if we hadn't been providing support."

"And did I ask for your help?" he asked. "Their Grace was the one who chose this team. They should've just put me on the team, and me only. Then I wouldn't need to save the three of you all the time. And," he added with a grin, "I would be able to show them just how powerful I am, even without any help."

Bennett, sweating nervously, turned to look at the Geo Archon. The man just sighed and looked away from the Anemo vision holders, motioning for Bennett to step away from them. Perhaps he's worried that they'd start fighting again? Bennett wondered, but obeyed nevertheless.

Zhongli and Bennett said nothing as they picked up materials. They could hear your voice - you were humming as usual, sometimes singing softly. You started to sing a short but soothing song repeatedly - something about going on a journey - and despite not knowing its title, they enjoyed it all the same, successfully tuning out the bickering of their team members (or maybe the reason they no longer heard them was because they had stopped to listen to your voice).

But then they heard the creak of a door being opened, and you stopped singing.

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

You turned to your right just in time to see someone open the door and step into your room. Ah, it's them. You let out a barely audible sigh. You should've expected it - there were no knocks, it could only be them.

"What's the matter?" you asked as your friend walked towards you.

"I want to go for a walk and get some ice cream," they said. "Can you come with me?"

Your gaze flickered towards the screen of your device for a brief moment. "Sorry, I don't plan on going outdoors right now. I'm a little tired."

"How about later?" they pressed. "Or tomorrow?"

"I..." you hesitated. You really didn't want to go with them.

Right at that moment, a voice interrupted your conversation. "Huh. How irritating."

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

"Wanderer! You're not supposed to say that! There's no rain at all, let alone thunder!" Faruzan scolded.

"I'm just telling the truth," Wanderer said, shrugging. "They are irritating."

Zhongli tilted his head backwards to look at the sky. "Though we lack a screen to see Their Grace's face, I can tell from their voice that they're uncomfortable."

"Why won't that person leave Their Grace alone, then..." mumbled Bennett.

"Who knows? All I know is that they're so ignorant, they can't even tell when someone simply doesn't want to spend time with them, be it right now or in the future." Wanderer muttered, looking at the sky as well.

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

"Uhhh... What was that?" Your friend looked puzzled upon hearing the new voice in the room.

"Oh, that's just the voiceline of the character in the game," you said, gesturing at your screen. "The characters have idle animations and voicelines."

"Okay...so...can you go with me later?"

Why can't they understand that you didn't want to spend time with them? You mustered the courage to refuse and opened your mouth. But before you could say a word, there was that voice again.

"Ignorant idiot."

"Take a hint."

"Leave this room right now."

"Please leave Their Grace alone!"

You stared at the screen in shock. You were pretty sure that you've already heard all of Wanderer's voicelines by now, and that certainly wasn't one of them.

"What's wrong?" Your friend asked.

"Oh... Nothing! It seems like there's a problem with my device, I have to fix it right now, sorry!" you said quickly.

Your friend sighed. "Okay... But we'll go together in the future, right? You have to go with me during the holidays! "

You nodded with a strained smile, and your friend left.

You opened the Character screen and scrolled through Wanderer's voicelines. There was not a single voiceline where he'd mention "Ignorant idiot."

As expected.

There wasn't.

Maybe you had misheard him.

Or maybe you hadn't...

[dropsnectar]

Your Puppy Siren!: When a Siren becomes a House Husband

PART TWO

NSFW

Obviously, when Baby got his legs, you couldn't just abandon him. You weren't sure exactly what was next for the two of you,, so you took it one step of a time. Baby had an issue with that, as balance wasn't necessarily a skill he could magic up with his oceanic enchantments.

He leaned on you the whole way home, taking jerky steps through the grasses.

When you showed him around the house, and the first thing he did was ask where you slept. You had shown him your bedroom and he immediately made himself comfortable about the blankets and pillows. You set him up with a copy of ‘The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe”, before going to make him dinner: mild Japanese curry. 

It was mostly vegetables, as you had only had a few ounces of ground beef left, but you hoped his stomach was as human as his now legs. His whole body had changed, leaving him now almost albino pale, with large dark eyes that were still a bit too big for his human face.

When you went to walk him to the dining room table, you found him standing, holding the book to the ceiling as he read. He was leaning back and forth on each foot, as if the movement kept him upright. Perhaps he still had his sea legs under all that new skin. 

He still needed your help to get to the table but his steps were more sure now. He ate the food happily, making sure to compliment you whenever possible. On the way back to your room, Baby could now keep his balance as he went. The first thing he did was gather as many pillows and blankets as he could from the living room, before leading you by the hand to your room, and arranging them further on the bed.

“Do you like it?” He asked, eyes eager. It had never occurred to you that Sirens may nest, but you took it in stride.

“It looks very warm.” you apeased, tired. 

Sleeping on the nest didn't go as bad as you thought, but Baby had been a bit confused when you had tucked a blanket around the two of you

“It's to keep us warm.” 

He had responded by pulling you to his arms and wrapping his legs around you.

“I can do that just fine.” He beamed. You laughed and let him hold you as you fell asleep. You could figure out Baby's fate tommorrow.

You had always pushed off the deciding of Baby's fate to tommorrow. You couldn't face it. Going to your part time job, then nursing school had been difficult for you. You were exhausted everyday you came back home.

Baby made himself as useful as he could. You had taught him some of the basics of cleaning the house. He had seemed somewhat confused by the idea of cleaning, but he took it upon himself to make sure the place was gleaming when you got home. You had taken him to the library a day after his legs sprung up, and he had carried home a pile of books, one of them being “Martha Stawarts Complete Guide to Housekeeping”.

 You hadn't resided in the place long, but places you hadn't even realized were dirty were suddenly sparkling and smelling lightly of lavender and orange peels. 

He had also brought home a whole pile of fish. It seemed that he could now shift his form back and forth at will. You remember coming home, sweat covered and in need of ibuprofen, when you found a pile of fish on the kitchen table. He had looked so proud if himself.

“We can keep them all in the freezer! What a useful device!”

You had gently taken his arms in hand and explained that humans weren't able to eat fish whole like sirens could. They had to be stripped of their scales and deboned. He seemed a bit tired by this, yet another a strange human quirk, but had taken it in stride. Per his request you had set him up with an instructional video on the subject. 

He seemed to catch on pretty quickly, the only difference was that rather than using a sharp knife, he had preferred to use his talon like nails. They were retractable, he clarified later, and arguing they were cleaner than any knife when you had demanded he washed his hands before working.

“They will only get dirty again anyway!” He had argued, one of the few times he had ever done anything but smile at you. The concept of germs was met with raised eyebrows and apprehension. 

For the first time in your life, you gave him “the look”. As this seemed to be a communication move that spanned species, he gave in, washing his talons? Claws? Before going back to his work.

A silent system had begun to flesh itself out. You brought home the money and groceries, and did most of the cooking, he did everything else. And anything you asked of him. Which wasn't much, but he became more and more useful by the day. 

You couldn't help but feel a bit proud for Baby. The more you learned about him and Siren Life the more different the two of you seemed. But he had been adjusting so well, you almost didn't have to worry about him. Plus, it was hard to be mad at someone who made a point of taking care of you, like he did. 

He gave you shoulder messages, microwaved old dinners when you didn't feel like eating. Hed shush you, and sometimes carry you to bed, petting your hair and singing you to sleep everytime everything felt like too much. And that was often. 

It had been a week since he had taken up shop in your bedroom, and reality reared its big fat head like a snake. You had been whisked away to bed, and instead of cooing at you and humming that impossibly sweet voice of his, he had started to nibble on the side of your neck, hands reaching towards your pajama shorts. His tongue felt so incredibly good, and his touch was like silk, but you knew where this would leave.

“Stop. We don't have any protection.”

He had frozen and blinked at you, expression changing to the barely concealed mask of an adult trying to not laugh at a child's sudden declaration.

“If I sense any danger, I will deal with it immediately. Now come here…” His voice grew husky. You trailed back.

“I know we haven't talked about this before but what if… well you're a human so im not sure if it'll be the same but… I can't get pregnant. I don't know if it works the old fashion way or you might lay eggs in me or something but… we need to be careful.”

He was still smiling but he was biting his lip. “While I DO lay eggs, that part of me hasn't changed, I don't understand why it would be an issue. I am your husband, after all, shouldn't it be normal to have children at some point?”

“H-husband? Why do you think you're my husband?”

Babys face changed, the closest you had ever seen him get to upset. “We mated, we share a nest, how am I NOT your husband?”

“We had sex, yeah, but we didn't get married. Do Sirens mate for life? Is that why you think this?” 

His expression grew animated and confused.

“Sirens do not mate for life, we have breeding seasons. But Humans mate for life, do they not? Why do you think I have been doing all this? I mean, I even made you a nest and you slept with me in it! How much more is their to a human marriage ritual?” 

You stared at him, the realization dawning. You slowly put your hand over his and arranged your expression to one of patience.

“Humans used to mate for life. But ita a bit different now. We can have sex, even spend years courting before we agree to marry.”

Baby just stared at you, his confusion and anger turning to one of hurt.

“B-but what does that mean? I told you, I love you. I want to be with you.” He leaned forward tears starting to glisten at the corner of his eyes.

“I wanted a life with you. I threw my old life away the moment I got these legs. I have no idea where my pod is now, I can not return to them. I do not wish to return. I want to stay here, with you and be your mate.” He nuzzled his nose against yours and then took your cheeks in his hand. He gazed into your eyes, filled with longing.

“I may be new to being your partner; at being Human too. But I will do whatever you ask of me. Please. Be mine?” 

He started to kiss your forehead. Then your eyes. Then your cheeks. His gaze strayed to your lips and he whined out, full blown tears now streaming from his eyes. 

“I'll be so good. So good for you.” 

Your heart went out to him. You had to admit, life had gotten so much easier to bear since he had entered it. No one could make you laugh like he could, could make you as curious as he could, could kiss you like he could. 

You thought about it. Genuinely thought about it. You had a job, and nursing would pay you enough to pay for both of your lives once you started. You'd have to teach him how to properly navigate human society but he was so smart and charming, you were sure he would do so well. You came up with so many reasons why it could be doable, but the most important one was you didn't want to let him go.

“It'll be really hard for you. Are you sure you want this?” You whispered. “Want… me? You could spend the rest of your life sharing your season with mate after mate. Are you sure you would want to spend the rest of your days with me?”

He looked at you with intensity, the light finally dawning across his features. 

“It will always be you.” And then he was on you. Was kissing you.

He was quick to take off your clothes, and did the same. His mouth was hot and needy, the feeling of his tongue in your mouth being everything you could ever want. That was except for one or two other places. 

As if he could read your mind, he grinned, pulling himself down to stare at your groin, fingers grasping, teasing and exploring every sensitive curve and crevice. Then he got to work with his mouth and you groaned, your core turning molten. You could hear the noises of his mouth on your flesh, and it made your cheeks overheat. 

His tongue glided around you as he sucked with his full mouth, making you shake and jerk under him. He made sure to pin you down with his hands now, before he started to trill and sing around you.

You chocked, pushing your hips up against his big string hands, which were now a mix of grey and white. It seems he had been riled up to, as his form was caught halfway between human and Siren. It was a new sight and he was absolutely gorgeous and one long note made you crash over the edge, toes and fingers curling. 

The whole time his eyes were on you, gauging your reaction. He continued to auck you through the high but now started clawing at your entrance, circling slick little shapes. He seemed to take great joy in this, teasing your ache, before he plunged his fingers in making you choke and sigh all at once. When he was certain the area was worked enough, he gave you big puppy dog eyes. 

“Can I be yours again?” He whispered huskies slowing the rate of his fingers. You nodded and he pulled himself up, pumping his own cock a few times making sure it was properly slick. His cock was half transformed too. It was extremely veins and the ridges weren't as pronounced, but he was thicker. You licked your lips as you remembered how he felt inside you.

Aware that you were watching him he keened in pride. He then slowly inserted himself, pushing further and further until you took every inch of him. You gasped out and clawed at the sheets in pleasure as he pumped you, his own eyes glazing over as he unleashed low, pornagraphic moans. He was louder than he had ever been, snapping his hips into yours, fingers clutching deep into skin. He looked completely blissed out as he rocked himself into you, huffing and moaning.

“Sound. So. Beautiful.” You breathed, knowing he was getting close. You could feel a heaviness now in the air. He wouldn't be able to help it. He'd be so drunk he'd use that song of his and you'd cum and cum for him until he was too far in exctasy to make any noise. And you were right.

You could tell he was holding it in. But he couldn't help but hum out, a song that seemed to cup and penatrate your very soul, making your entire mind stuffy and silly. You didn't want him to stop, going over the edge as another one of his moans turned into a full blown note. He kept bucking into you, skin slapping skin, as he keened and hummed and sang out for you. He wanted you to feel good. Wanted you to cum and feel good only for him. Because you were his.

When you felt his cum splash inside you it was warm, and more sludge like. It took a while to seep put of you. A comedic point in the back of your mind noted, “No eggs”. 

He pulled himself to your side, pulling you tight to him. “Can… can I stay in you for a while?” He said it in a light begging tone. You nodded, a pulse of faraway pleasure as he pushed his soft dick inside you again. It felt nice, being one with him in this sweet comfortable moment.

You wanted to ask him about the magic, about the song and how for just a moment, it was like you could read his mind. But their was something so special about the moment, you didn't want to push him too far. Maybe next time, you could egg him on to use that power on you, to be completely encompassed by his pleasure and song. 

“I know your tired, and we can wait but… can we do it again?” He pushed his nose to yours and traced it up and down, his eyes watery and begging. You could feel his dick twitch inside you. 

“Please just let me spoil you. It is our wedding night after all…”

You had to stop yourself from correcting him. Tomorrow you would explain vows and wedding ceremony, but for now you'd just give in. But you had to admit, now a big piece of you belonged only to him.. So, in a way he had been right.

[catiroll]

𝒞ℴ𝓃𝒻ℯ𝓈𝓈𝒾ℴ𝓃𝓈

ั ू`๑ How arcane characters would confess their love.

Pairings: Viktor, Sevika, Jayce, Jinx, Ambessa (fem reader role changes between each)

Warning: nothin really ur safe

A/n: nothin just love, love everywhere man

Masterlist

νιктσя

Viktor would likely confess his feelings in a quiet, hesitant moment—half-science, half-heart. After weeks of nervous glances, distracted thoughts, and witty banter that always feels a little too fragile when you’re involved, he’d find himself unable to ignore it any longer.

One evening, perhaps in his lab or after a long council debate, he would try to brush it off with one of his usual clever remarks, but his voice would crack, betraying his nerves. His hands would fidget as he hesitantly admits, "I... I think you mean more to me than I intended." His tone would be uncertain, unrefined, but honest. His eyes would meet yours, hopeful but afraid, as if trying to gauge your reaction before he can second-guess himself.

It wouldn't be dramatic or grandiose. Instead, it would be quiet, vulnerable, and awkward—just like Viktor himself—laced with tension, wit, and a raw honesty he struggles to admit.

ꃴꀤ

Vi’s confession would come in a moment heavy with nostalgia and unspoken emotions. She’d be tough as always, shoulders squared and hands clenched, but her walls would be noticeably worn down around you—her oldest friend, the one who knew her back when the streets of Zaun felt simpler and her mom’s laughter filled their small home.

One evening, while the two of you sit in a dimly lit alleyway, the air carrying the sharp scent of soot and rain, she’d finally let her guard slip. She’d try to joke at first, something light and teasing, but her voice would catch. "Guess I’ve always been good at getting into trouble... But you were always there to pull me out, huh?"

Her smile would falter as her eyes drop to the cobblestone ground. She’d clear her throat, trying to sound casual, but you can hear the weight in her words. "You know, even when everything went sideways... I never stopped counting on you. Not for a second."

And then it would come—soft, simple, unfiltered. "I love you, y’know. Always have."

The words wouldn’t be grand, no elaborate plan, just Vi, raw and unsteady, trying to make sense of the feelings she’s buried since childhood. Her hands would nervously grip her jacket as she looks away, her voice barely audible, uncertain of how you might take them.

𝐽𝑎𝑦𝑐𝑒

Jayce's confession would come in the quiet of his workshop, amidst the hum of hextech machines and the glow of glowing runes. He’d be standing beside you, both of you hunched over a device that had you neck-deep in calculations and engineering. His focus would be intense, hands steady but movements sharp, the kind of passion only shared between two minds absorbed in discovery.

The two of you had spent countless late nights like this—testing, theorizing, debating, laughing over failed prototypes. Jayce would always admire your intellect, the way you challenged him and inspired him to push the boundaries of hextech, but tonight felt different. His voice would catch when he finally turns to you, his face lit by the flickering light of the machine.

"Hey... I mean, I know we’ve spent a lot of time building these things, but... I don’t just value you for your skill in engineering, alright?" His voice would be quieter than intended, hesitant, the confidence of a leader tempered by vulnerability.

He’d pause, his brow furrowed, before he could stop himself. "You’re more than that to me. I—"

And then he would take a sharp breath, trying to steady himself, his voice wavering, "I think I love you."

He wouldn’t look at you at first, his hands gripping the edge of the machine as if it could save him from his own nerves. His pride would want him to brush it off, to pretend it was nothing, but the weight of truth hangs there, heavy and clear.

ɉɨ⩎✗

Jinx’s confession would come in the aftermath of a quiet moment, one where the chaos finally gave way to stillness. She’d been spiraling again—one moment tearing apart a contraption, the next lost in whispers only she could hear. The line between reality and hallucination had grown thin, and her world felt jagged and unstable.

You found her in the dim glow of her workshop, sitting on the floor with her head in her hands, her breathing uneven. She looked at you with wide, glassy eyes—uncertain, fragile, lost. You knelt beside her, your hand steady on her shoulder, a calm presence in the storm of her mind.

"Hey, it’s okay. I’m here," you’d say gently, your voice soft but firm. "You’re safe now. I’ve got you."

The sound of your voice, steady and warm, broke through the haze. Slowly, she started to come back—her breathing slowing, her hands shaking but steadying as your words wrapped around her like a lifeline. She blinked a few times, the shadows fading, and looked up at you, vulnerable in a way she rarely allowed herself to be.

"You... you always know how to pull me out of this, huh?" she murmurs, her voice trembling. She swallows hard, her voice wavering again.

Before her mind can twist her feelings into a distraction, she takes a shaky breath and forces the words out: "I love you, okay? I’ve always loved you. Even when I can’t trust my own mind, you’re the one thing that keeps me grounded."

Her voice is fragile, almost like a whisper, and she looks away as soon as she says it, the confession coming too quickly, too emotionally raw. She braces herself for your response, half expecting you to pull away, but hoping, desperately, that you won’t.

The air feels heavy with her words. She’s terrified, but there’s a strength in finally trusting you enough to admit the truth.

𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚

Sevika never thought much about Piltover’s people. She grew up surviving in the undercity, fighting for scraps, always in the shadow of its towers. But you? You were different. A security guard with a steady gaze and strength that cut through the tension of every interaction. Calm, sharp, and resolute—you challenged her, in a way no one else did.

When she joined the council, she found herself seeing you more often. Meetings, patrols, brief conversations in the cold light of the capital—you were always there, always steady, always you. She began to notice the way you laughed at a sharp joke, how your voice carried that quiet assurance that felt impossible to ignore.

The divide between Zaun and Piltover always lingered in her mind, a constant reminder of the life she’d built for herself and the place you belonged. Still, being around you became easier, natural even. It wasn’t just admiration. It was something harder, something she wasn’t ready to face.

One evening, the two of you stood side by side on the balcony overlooking the city lights. The glow of Piltover shimmered like a living gem, sprawling and endless. Her voice broke the silence, low and husky.

"You know, you’re different from the rest of them," she said, her gaze fixed on the horizon.

You turned to look at her, and she struggled to keep her words steady.

"You’ve got this fire to you. Makes me wonder how someone like you fits in here."

She glanced at you briefly, hesitating. "I can see why they trust you. Why you make them feel safe."

The words hung there, unspoken but heavy. Sevika didn’t push further, didn’t need to. She turned her gaze back to the city lights, her feelings buried but clear.

ΛMBΣƧƧΛ

Ambessa’s confession came after a hard-won victory, the kind that sent her soldiers roaring in triumph and cemented her power, but it felt hollow without you there. She had always been a woman of strength and control, her presence a force that demanded respect and unwavering loyalty. But you—you had managed to burrow into her heart in ways she couldn’t fight.

After the final blow had landed and the enemy’s forces crumbled, Ambessa took a moment to step back from the noise of the battlefield. The firelight danced against her golden skin as she approached you, her voice smooth and commanding. She had brought spoils with her, treasures meant for reward, but these gifts felt personal, far more intimate.

She presented them to you in a collection—delicate necklaces, rare gemstones, silks from distant lands—all gleaming and perfect in the firelight. Her hands, always so sure and strong, trembled just slightly as she laid the final piece—a diamond necklace, intricate in design—around your neck. Her touch lingered, just for a moment, her eyes softening as they met yours.

"For you," she whispered, her voice hushed but unwavering. "A token of my gratitude... and my admiration."

You looked up at her, a mixture of surprise and curiosity in your expression, trying to read the emotions behind her gaze.

She hesitated, her voice dipping lower as her fingers brushed against the chain. Her composure wavered, and her gaze fell for the briefest moment before returning to you.

"I trust you more than anyone. I see you in every battle, in every moment. You mean more to me than I can put into words, but I hope you feel it anyway."

Her words came slow, deliberate, each one carrying weight. Her hands stayed close, her voice catching on the final words, soft yet final.

"I love you."

The words hung in the air between you, quiet and vulnerable, as the firelight danced between the two of you. Ambessa’s shoulders tensed for just a heartbeat as she looked at you, her pride and strength battling the emotion she couldn’t hold back. She braced herself, half-afraid of how you might respond but unable to take them back.

Masterlist

A/n: YALL it was between this or a 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 headcanon and lowkey writing 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 fics ain’t for me. But if yall want that than tell me in the inbox and I’ll release it I GUESSSSSSSS

WAITTT also did yall notice i tried to like do there names the way i think they would write there names like CHAT IM COOKINGGGGG

[hattersrabbit]

FAMILIARITY

absolute trinity x reader | sfw

CW! gn! reader, slight angst, character x reader romantically involved, multiverse shenanigans, drabbles, spoilers for absolute comics

Summary! Absolute Trinity meeting their s/o from the mainstream universe

BATMAN

"Bruce..."

His name was soft off your lips. The heat was hot on her skin as you looked up at the tank of a mine in front of you. The Batman from your home was less big, actually a lot.

"You know me...?" His voice felt hostile. Albeit it wasn't your Bruce it was him. He was big and still handsome. "You’re different from where I know you." You smiled at him.

He was still confused it seemed.

"You can take off your mask, Bruce." You asked hesitantly.

"How can I trust you?" His lips morphed into a scowl.

You faltered but you raised your head, “I’m not sure what’ll make you trust me, but I do know your parents would be very proud of you. I know that, and my version of you knows that. Even if he doubts it.”

Bruce stared at you blankly. His giant hand raised to bull down his cowl to reveal a very young man with still some wonder in those eyes. Short black hair and baggy eyes.

You stepped forward and cradling his face between you hands. Bruce didn’t know why but he allowed you himself to lean down for you.

“You’ve been working hard.” You smiled quite sadly, “Things never change do they.” You said it like it was a fact instead of question.

He titled his head with narrowing eyes. “The other you is rich, but also just as sad. He works so hard and is always blaming himself. Doing everything to make sure Gotham thrives. Things never change.”

He nodded. His blue eyes blanking as they stared at you. Only seeing love in those eyes of yours. No matter what he’s done, or perhaps violent, whether it was him or the other him you’d love him.

“He treats you good?”

“Always. He cares too much, so much it’ll kill him if he’d ever to lose me or anyone else he cares about.” You reassured.

Bruce found himself thinking that when he met his world’s you he’d protect you too. If this was you and your original then he’d protect you too.

Yeah, he couldn’t lose anyone else otherwise he’d lose it too.

WONDER WOMAN

“Woah you’re so tall and pretty!” You giggled when looking up at the woman with flowing dark hair, blue eyes, and red tattoos.

Diana, but not your Diana. Someone who belonged to the darkness, but good. She was intimidating but she was warm like the sun. Just like your Diana.

“Why thank you.” It was her, definitely. “You’re not from here. You came through with magic. May I ask how that happened?” She mused with a tiny laugh as you got a look at her prosthetic arm.

“A man named Savage made a device that sent people to different universes. It broke in the fight and I got sucked in.”

You played with the parts of your hero costume as you stared up at her tall stature. “My Diana, she tried to save me but couldn’t reach me.” You thought of your Wonder Women.

Just as beautiful and dressed in blue,yellow, red, and white. Flowing black hair and her blue eyes. She looked like a goddess and looked like light.

“My Diana? Another version of me, good [ ]?”

“Yes, my Diana is a lot less dressed in darkness and born in Paradise Island, a land full of women called Amazons.” You noted how she froze when she heard you speak.

You wavered over her expression. “You aren’t from Themyscira. From Hell maybe?”

“How did you figure it?” Diana’s brows were up to her forehead as you giggled. “You’re whole getup kinda screams hell. But you’re still my Diana. I can see that.”

Diana hadn’t met you in her reality. She hoped you existed here, and was just as kind as you.

A smile that made you shine like the sun. A sun that Diana only experienced when she arrived her on Earth.

“I see. Well I’m glad your perception isn't me being evil.” She summed up. Her arms bulking as she crossed her arms. Your eyes glittered in excitement as she did so.

“Of course, because no matter how my Diana looks I’ll always love her.” The heat from your cheeks were loud. Diana couldn’t deny the flush of her cheeks.

Truly you were the birth of the Gods. A treasure she would protect; in every universe and any version of you.

SUPERMAN

Clark, or Kal-El floating in the air with blue eyes that were haunting. He didn’t give off that golden retriever aura like you were so used to.

He wasn’t all that huge, and this Superman was lean yet fit. Those eyes weren’t all that calming but haunting. Bright gold was shining off of his suit. Long hair and fair amount of stubble on his chin and jaw.

He was distant.

So unlike your Kal-El. In fact there was no Clark Kent. Simply the his Kyrptonian identity.

If was it was there then it was nonexistent.

Suddenly you felt a red cape surround you. Kal-El coming down and wrapping it around you. Your clothes were ripped. How you got here, but all you knew is that a machine by Gorilla Grodd broke and here you were.

That last memory being Clark being too late in saving you. Tears flowing from his eyes as you escaped into a blue light, and here you were.

“Kal-El…”. You shakily spoke.

“You know me?” He spoke. His voice still as he stared at you blankly. His mind twisting in gears. “Yes, but not mine. I can see that. I’m not from here.” You looked around to see the torn down buildings.

“You’re so much different from my Kal-El. My Superman is much more smiley, but I can see there’s goodness in you.” You looked hopeful into your eyes.

“This world is ugly. Some of these humans are ugly.”

His words made you still. Kal-El looked at you when he felt you falter. Shock in your eyes. That expression fatally fell to a sad smile.

“This world has been cruel to you.” Your hand drifted to his face. He didn’t know why but he allowed himself to melt into your touch. “But you still want to help. Humans are horrible but still fighting will make a difference.”

His expression seemed somewhere else. Like he was hearing someone else’s voice. Blue eyes flickering everywhere for anyone around you two. They came back to you and looking your eyes, locking eyeballs.

A hopeful look in them, “In your world, is it good?”

“Yes, and evil. But we do our best because even the tiniest effort can make the difference, Kal-El.” You gave him a smile. Cupping his face to which he melted.

A loud explosion was heard from elsewhere. Immediately you found yourself in his chest. His suit feeling different, and not made out of cloth like your Superman.

Kal-El made up his mind. Until you could return back to your universe he would protect you. Your world needed your goodness, and so did his other version.

After all it was true. Even if his suit said otherwise. Because maybe a world can be saved from themselves.

Just one step at a time.

[slasherslittlesimp]

Cursed (Avengers X Reader)

Series Masterlist

Part Five

You sit in the lab on a table as your eyes flicker between armor man and nervous man- whose names you were told are Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. The two men stand on the other side of the room as they quietly discuss how to go about removing your muzzle without causing you any harm. You're quite glad that the files apparently mentioned what happens when you try to carelessly remove the device. It saves you unnecessary pain as the two know what not to do.

It feels like hours pass by before the two finally turn towards you. Tony strides off to the other side of the room while Bruce moves a bit closer to you while still keeping a good amount of distance. "We're going to do some scans on the mask to see what components it's made of. Hopefully then we can figure out how to remove it." Bruce rubs his hands together as he gives you a tight smile that looks more like a grimace.

You nod in understanding before turning your attention towards Tony who comes towards you with a device in hand. He moves to stand directly in front of you- roughly a foot away- as he lifts the device to your face. A strange blue light emits from it as it scans over the mask resting over the lower portion of your face. It does this for a few moments before stopping, a screen nearby beeping as it pulls up the information gathered.

Tony and Bruce both move to examine the results, once again quietly discussing things with each other. You pull your gaze from them since you have no clue what they're talking about and instead focus on your still bare feet. They had offered you shoes but you had shaken your head, denying the offer. After so many years without wearing anything on your feet you've grown used to it. The idea of stuffing them into such restricting things seems unpleasant.

All you really want is to get your muzzle off so you can finally shower. Hydra was quite stingy with letting you cleanse yourself, only allowing it if you had been particularly well behaved that week. Any time you failed a task, training, or even started to show signs of remembering anything, they'd take away your shower privileges. It's been a few weeks since you last stood under the cold stream of water and washed away the dirt that seems to always stain your skin. You've grown used to the way you smell but certainly you smell horrendous to the people around you even if they haven't mentioned it.

You also want a nice hot meal. When you were fed, it was often small meals that were enough to keep you alive and to keep you from growing too weak but they were always cold or bland. Applesauce, plain jelly sandwiches, slices of thin cut ham, and water. That was all you were ever really fed. At this point, you're curious if your body will even be able to handle other food or if it will simply reject it. Maybe you should start with something light and work your way up to fuller meals. Not like you really know what options there even are out there.

The longer you sit there on the table lost in thought, the more pathetic you feel. You know you were with Hydra your entire life- it's all you can remember. What you can't remember is if it's always been like that. Small meals, scrappy clothes, rare showers. You know it's at least been like that for a few years now but what about in the beginning? Were you treated better? Worse? Not knowing the answers makes you uncomfortable, especially since the two strangers in the room seem to know more about you than you do.

You want to ask to see your files but you also are terrified at what you might remember as you read through them. Natasha had stated that there were multiple pages worth of files on you- on... what was the name? (Y/N)? You believe that's what she had said. It's a bit hard to think of it when so many different thoughts have been racing through your mind lately. Perhaps you should just ask for simple answers like your name and age. Start slow with it and then progressively try to remember more on your own.

"Ready Hannibal?" Tony's voice forcefully drags you from your thoughts as he suddenly stands in front of you. You had zoned out so much that you failed to realize the two of them had finished with whatever they were doing and that Tony moved back to his previous position of standing just a foot away from you. He holds up another small device, this one a bit smaller than the other one. "This is kinda like a jammer. We're hoping it'll block the signals in your mask which will make it unlock and pop off."

You sit up a bit straighter, feeling a bit nervous. It's been a long time since anyone has seen you without the mask and the last person who had was a target you needed to interrogate and kill. This will be the first time someone is seeing it in a long time without you having the intention to cause them harm. The last time was when the markings first appeared. Since then, you've only been allowed to remove it when alone or with someone you've been ordered to use your ability against.

"Alright, let's see that pretty smile." Tony flashes his own smile as he pushes a button on the jammer. You squeeze your eyes shut, half convinced that something with go wrong and you'll end up being painfully shocked. After a few silent seconds there's the sound of a mechanical click before the mask falls from your face and clatters onto the ground. Tony and Bruce both let out sighs of relief, glad their plan worked.

You keep your face angled towards the ground as you bring your fingers up to brush against the markings. You can't physically feel them but you know they're there, same with the one on your tongue. Neither you nor Hydra knew why the markings appeared along with the ability but you're almost certain that if the markings go away then so will your Cursed Speech.

"How are you feeling?" Bruce questions, watching you as you stare at the ground.

Taking a deep breath, you gather your courage before lifting your head so the two men can fully see your face. You give them a shaky thumbs up, not quite sure how else to let them know you're fine. They don't really seem to pay much attention to that though as their eyes instantly zero in on the circles and lines coming off both sides of your mouth.

Tony subconsciously reaches forward, his hand moving towards your face. You naturally flinch despite the fact that he wasn't moving very fast. He pauses when he sees this, realizing what he was doing. He clears his throat as he drops his hand to his side and continues to simply look at the markings instead.

"Now that the mask is off, why don't we let someone show you to a room where you can shower and rest?" Bruce cuts in, noticing how awkward things have gotten. You nod in agreement, sliding off of the table and side-stepping around Tony. Bruce informs the AI to send down one of the others as he leads you to the door.

Taglist: @desiree-lee @seventeen-x @svtbpbts @that-b-word-lol @keshet2k @cl0u-dy @randoes-world @nynxtea @cinnamoroll-things @emily2003azalga

[gojossocks]

We can't be friends

Gojo x Reader Summary: You decided to erase Gojo from your memory.

“Who is Gojo Satoru to you?”  

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, before giving the doctor a tight-lipped smile. “W-we were together for 6 years.” 

He’s no one important really, just the love of your life. 

There has been an on-going trend all over the world— technology has upgraded enough that you can erase someone entirely out of your memory, as if they’ve never existed. If they do, it wasn’t like how you knew them. 

You weren’t sure what dragged you in this clinic with all of the most important things that remind you of him. Maybe it was the way he ignored you like the plague, the way the familiarity in his eyes disappeared just earlier last week when he spoke to you so freely like you’ve never been together. It was clear that he got his memory of you erased after that incident. You were just another colleague. Perhaps, the pain in your heart is too much to handle. 

You don’t remember the way to the clinic that much. It was a surprise you even got there in one piece considering you were sobbing the whole way there. So even if you aren’t entirely sure whether you’re ready to let go of Satoru, you signed the consent form anyway. 

If he’s got you erased completely from your life, then what’s the point of living in hell remembering him? You didn’t want to mourn for someone alive and well. 

You never really understood why he left because everything was just working out between the two of you. Satoru provided you with no explanation and packed up his things to leave you behind to your own devices. You almost wanted to back out when you started reminiscing vividly of everything you once shared with him. 

You remembered falling in love with him, how it feels like the first day of spring, how his kisses taste like daylight. How he squeezes your hand three times before you part ways for a mission.  How he holds you like you’re the only thing that matters in his world. How it was always you and him against the world, him making you laugh while you tended to his wounds. He would tell you that everything would be okay because he has you and only you. 

The bad outweighed the good that you had forgotten that loving him and being loved with him is something that you never wanted to forget, even if your relationship with him crashed and burned. You don’t want him to be a stranger you can’t recognize anymore.

But it had already been done and everything faded into nothingness as you try to grasp with whatever you have left of him.

-.- 

You have been working with Gojo for quite some time now, maybe about six years. But you’ve never directly initiated conversations with him outside work. He’s the only one you don’t know much about in Jujutsu High. Today is no different as you’re waiting with him in the clinic for your mutual friend Shoko. 

“That’s a beautiful necklace you have there.” He acknowledges you for the first time since you got there. Even if you’re just a few meters away, he doesn’t talk to you. You find that a little bit weird because everyone tells you that he’s obnoxious and loud. Somehow with you, he’s always quiet. 

You didn’t remember much of how you got the necklace. You figured that the reason why Gojo’s asking about it is because it matches the color of his eyes. There was a hazy memory though— you were crying, telling a doctor to ‘let me keep it, please. Just this one.’ but you didn’t think much of it. Maybe it was all a dream. 

You responded with a laugh before toying with the pendant of the necklace. “Yeah, It was a gift to me.” 

“Oh?” He looked at you through his glasses, his intense gaze making you feel a little nervous. “Mind telling me who?” 

“I forgot.” You replied,  slowly relaxing in your seat while looking around at Shoko’s clinic. He nodded at you, a small smile adorning his lips and he didn’t say anything more. 

You missed the way his eyes linger on you for a moment before putting back his blindfold on or the apologetic look that Shoko gave him before he leaves. 

“So, who’s Gojo Satoru to you?” 

“He’s the strongest of course.” 

But to him, you’re still his everything—because he didn’t really remove you from his memory. Maybe if he was braver, you’d remember him. 

a/ n: part 2? :0

[heliosunny]

Yandere lucky egg Welt Yang?

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Welt Yang x Reader

[Lucky Egg Dispenser]

Just a silly game, a gimmick at best. You thought.

But when you received the egg, something told you this was different. The vendor said it would hatch in three days, but by the second night, something strange happened.

As you lay in bed, a strange pull dragged you toward the egg. It was unlike anything you had felt before—like gravity itself was bending around you, sucking you in. Before you could scream, your vision blurred, and for a moment, you were inside.

A vast void stretched infinitely in all directions. Stars blinked in and out of existence. The weight of the universe crushed against you, yet at its center, a figure stood. His silhouette was imposing, his glasses reflecting an unreadable light. His voice echoed through the space.

"So you’re the chosen one."

You barely had time to comprehend before reality snapped back. You gasped, now back in your room, the egg still resting on your desk—silent, unchanged. Had that been… a dream?

By the third night, cracks raced along the shell. Light spilled from within, painting the dark room in a golden glow.

He stepped out.

As the egg cracked open and the light faded, you expected something to be fragile, small, and needing care. Instead, a person stood before you, composed, and radiating an aura of wisdom. He adjusted his glasses, his expression calm, his deep voice broke the silence.

"I must apologize. This is likely unexpected for you."

His tone was gentle, polite, so carefully measured, like he had already accepted this new reality without hesitation. He examined his surroundings before looking back at you with the weight of someone who had lived countless lifetimes.

"I am Welt Yang. And it seems I was meant to come to you."

Your mind raced with questions.

"Why are you fully grown? How did you come from an egg? What happens now?"

The next few days were surreal. Welt adapted seamlessly to your home. He moved through your space with quiet grace—reading books you had long since abandoned, and speaking only when necessary.

When you tried to ask him about his origins, he would smile.

"I have existed before, in many ways, in many places. But here, now—this is where I am meant to be."

You noticed the small things first.

He always positioned himself between you and the door, as if instinctively protective.

His gaze followed you—not in a way that felt invasive, but like he was memorizing every detail.

When you spoke, he listened too well, as if dissecting every word, every emotion behind it.

----

You weren’t sure if shopping was something Welt would enjoy, but you figured it was necessary—he had come from an egg, fully grown, with nothing but the clothes on his back.

The city was a blend of modern technology and old fantasy, towering skyscrapers laced with enchanted neon signs, trains that floated along invisible tracks, and adventurers in sleek, reinforced gear heading toward dungeons to farm points for their next upgrade.

As you walked through the bustling shopping district, Welt remained calm as always. His gaze lingered on technological displays, arcane artifacts, and the strange blend of magic-infused machinery.

"This world is fascinating" he murmured, adjusting his glasses.

You led him into a high-end boutique, a mix of modern fashion infused with enchanted materials. Welt didn’t resist, but he also didn’t seem particularly excited—his approach to shopping was practical, efficient, yet undeniably elegant.

He ran his fingers over the fabric of a long coat, analyzing the enchantments woven into it. "Durability enhancement… a fine choice."

You encouraged him to pick what he liked, but he only sighed softly. "If I must, I will choose what is necessary. But if it pleases you, then… I shall wear what you prefer."

You didn’t enter dungeons often, but you figured Welt might want something useful—perhaps a weapon, a device, or something enchanted for protection. To your surprise, he was far more interested in books. He browsed an ancient tome filled with combat theories, occasionally nodding as if confirming information he already knew.

"You have dungeons here… fascinating. Are you well-versed in combat?" he asked, glancing at you.

You shrugged. "I can manage. But I’m no expert."

"Then perhaps I should accompany you next time. I’d hate for you to get hurt."

The store was packed with enchanted trinkets, weapons, and gear for dungeon explorers. You reached out to grab something—a sleek, rune-etched device—but in your distraction, you misstepped. The uneven flooring caught your foot, and in an instant, gravity betrayed you.

But before you could even hit the ground, a soft yet firm force caught you mid-air.

A low, familiar tap echoed through the store—Welt's cane against the floor. A subtle distortion rippled around you, as if space itself had bent to his will.

You were weightless, suspended just inches above the ground before gravity gently readjusted, setting you back on your feet as if nothing had happened.

"I would suggest being more careful. But… I suppose I shall always be here to catch you."

---

One evening, you returned from a dungeon, exhausted. You barely managed to set your gear down before sinking onto the couch.

You didn’t expect him to say anything—Welt wasn’t one for unnecessary words.

Instead, he simply walked to the kitchen. The soft clink of porcelain, the quiet hum of a kettle. And then, moments later, he set down a cup of tea beside you. You blinked up at him.

"Drink"

You hesitated, then took a sip. The warmth spread through you, soothing, grounding.

And then, rather than returning to his own space, he stayed.

Not speaking, not hovering—just there, reading, sipping his own tea.

---

The marketplace was full of people—merchants shouting their wares, adventurers bargaining for supplies, enchanted displays flashing prices in shifting runes. You had been here countless times before, yet today, the crowd felt denser. You were focused on a shop window, eyeing a sleek new dungeon scanner, when the sudden shove of a passerby knocked you off balance.

A pressure settled against your lower back, keeping you upright.

"Careful" Welt's voice came, steady as always. Slowly, he withdrew his hand from you.

You turned to him, half-expecting a comment, a lecture on paying attention. But he only adjusted his glasses, nothing more.

"Didn’t expect the market to be this crowded today."

Welt hummed in agreement but didn’t step away. If anything, he shifted slightly—positioning himself between you and the chaotic stream of people passing by.

Another person brushed too close, and this time, Welt moved again, subtly steering you toward the safer edge of the walkway.

You glanced at him, a question forming on your tongue, but he spoke first.

"Shall we keep moving?" His tone was neutral, polite—as if he hadn’t just repositioned himself to guard your every step.

You nodded, falling into step beside him.

He was always paying attention. Always watching out for you.

And for the first time, you wondered—just how long had he been doing this?

----

The dungeon loomed before you—an ancient structure half-swallowed by time, its entrance pulsing with an eerie glow. You had been inside dungeons before, but never without a solid reason. This time, Welt was with you. And this time, you didn’t know what was waiting ahead.

The party of twenty adventurers stood at the entrance, murmuring strategies, double-checking equipment. A mix of veterans and newcomers, all here for the same reason—to farm, to survive. You adjusted your gear, your grip tightening around your weapon.

A hand lightly tapped your shoulder.

"Are you ready?"

You turned to him. He was dressed in sleek, reinforced attire, different from his usual formal wear but still undeniably his style.

"As ready as I’ll ever be." you replied.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he nodded.

The moment the dungeon gates sealed behind you, chaos erupted.

A tremor shook the ground, and before anyone could react, a force split the party apart—an unseen magic carving an impassable wall between you and the others. The stone beneath your feet shifted, rearranging the dungeon itself.

You barely had time to process what was happening before a deep, guttural growl echoed from the dark.

Your Battle: The Abyssal Maw

The chamber you had been forced into was massive, its walls lined with dripping black stone, pulsing like a living thing. In the center, a hulking creature uncurled itself from the shadows—a beast with jagged obsidian scales, eyes like molten gold, and a mouth lined with spiraling rows of fangs.

Your instincts screamed at you to move. The moment its claws lashed out, you barely dodged, feeling the wind of its attack slice past you.

"Tch—this is bad."

You had fought before. You could hold your own. But this thing was different. It moved with terrifying speed despite its massive frame, and the magic-infused air weighed you down, making every movement sluggish.

You launched a strike, a well-placed slash aimed for its exposed side—but the moment your blade connected, a pulse of energy repelled the attack, sending you skidding back.

"It’s reflecting damage?!"

No. Not reflecting. Absorbing. The wounds you had managed to land were already closing, as if the dungeon itself was sustaining it.

Then, the floor quivered beneath you—black tendrils shooting up, aiming to ensnare you.

You dodged too late.

A sharp pull yanked you downward, the abyss-like tendrils tightening around your limbs. The beast's maw opened wide, its next attack coming straight for you—

Welt’s Battle: The Chrono Tyrant

Elsewhere in the dungeon, Welt stood alone.

His battlefield was different—a massive, circular chamber lined with golden clockwork mechanisms, gears the size of buildings shifting with ominous precision. The air thrummed with magic, time itself feeling… distorted.

And standing in the center, a creature of regal terror.

Its form was humanoid but grotesquely elongated, draped in flowing robes made of shifting sands. A golden mask, cracked and ancient, covered its face, and in its skeletal hands, it held a massive staff with an hourglass embedded within.

With a mere flick of its wrist, the entire world slowed.

Welt’s body reacted before his mind fully processed it—his movements suddenly delayed, weighted. The Tyrant had activated its Temporal Field, distorting the flow of time in its favor.

Welt exhaled, adjusting his grip on his cane. "Hmph. A manipulation of time? I see… then I shall correct it."

The Tyrant struck first, golden chains of pure energy snapping toward him. Welt tapped his cane against the ground, and gravity warped.

The chains veered off course, thrown aside by an invisible force—but not entirely. A second chain materialized mid-air, twisting against the very rules of space and catching Welt's coat.

Time bent.

A vision flashed before him—a glimpse into a possible future. A strike to his left. A trap forming beneath his feet. The slowing of his pulse.

He adjusted.

His footwork shifted, moving not just in reaction, but in expectation. His power countered the Tyrant’s own—where it sought to manipulate time, Welt adjusted space.

The battle was not one of brute force.

It was a war of who could rewrite reality first.

As you struggled against the Abyssal Maw, as Welt confronted the Chrono Tyrant, one thought echoed between you both.

"Where are you?"

Because if you had already fallen—

Then neither of them had any reason to hold back.

Welt did not rush.

Even as the Chrono Tyrant screeched in defiance, the golden hourglass embedded in its staff fracturing, even as the dungeon trembled beneath his calculated strikes—he remained measured.

The moment he had seen through its abilities, the battle had already ended. With one final tap of his cane against the air, the very gravity of the chamber shifted.

The Tyrant lurched, its elongated form crushed under its own weight, ancient mechanisms groaning as time itself unraveled. Gears halted, sand reversed, and in one final, distorted wail—it shattered.

He had no time to linger.

His cane tapped against nothingness, and as if the air itself had become solid ground, he walked.

Not forward—up.

The laws of physics bent to his command as he ascended through the dungeon’s fractured space, his coat billowing in the unnatural wind. The dungeon itself was warping, sections of its structure breaking apart from his influence.

And then, he saw you. You were still struggling.

The Abyssal Maw was relentless, its black tendrils tightening, its body regenerating faster than you could wound it. Your breaths were labored, your body aching from the sheer force of resisting its pull.

It was only then that you felt it.

Your head snapped upward, and there, standing above you, as if gravity itself had ceased to matter, was Welt.

His cane tapped once against the empty space beneath his feet.

"KNEEL."

The very air shuddered as an unseen force crashed downward.

The Abyssal Maw collapsed. Its massive body slammed into the ground, the weight of existence itself crushing it into the dungeon floor.

And you, despite your resistance, were forced down as well. Your knees hit the stone, your breath stolen by the sheer magnitude of the gravitational pull.

Everything was on their knees before him.

The Abyssal Maw let out a strangled, guttural roar, but it could no longer move. The force holding it was absolute.

Welt descended then, slow, deliberate, his polished shoes touching the dungeon floor with elegance befitting a king. His shadow loomed over the beast as he approached, and then—one final tap of his cane.

The weight increased.

The beast’s body cracked.

Its form imploded into itself, crushed under its own mass until nothing remained but a whisper of the abyss.

"Are you hurt?"

What had once been a party of twenty was now reduced to a handful of survivors. The rest—gone. Some torn apart by unseen forces, others crushed beneath collapsing structures.

The dungeon had never been this brutal before.

You and Welt stood among the wreckage, taking in the eerie stillness that followed the battle. It wasn’t victory—it was survival, and barely at that.

Then—a new presence.

You turned.

At the far end of the ruined battlefield, half-shrouded in shadows, stood her. A girl. Purple hair cascading like silk, eyes gleaming with an unnatural glow. No expression. No hostility. Just… watching.

Yet—the sheer pressure of her presence sent a chill down your spine.

You gripped your weapon instinctively.

Welt, however, stiffened in a way you had never seen before.

And then—a flood of something.

Memories. Not yours. His.

You saw it in the way his hand trembled against his cane, his usually composed expression shifting into something unreadable.

A whisper of a name—long buried, long forgotten.

But this was not the time.

"Retreat," Welt ordered, voice steady despite everything. "Now."

You ran.

And for the first time in your life, you saw Welt Yang retreat—not out of weakness, but out of understanding.

Because whatever she was—

Even he wasn’t certain he could win.

Welt led the retreat with calculated precision. Not a single wasted motion, not a glance back—just forward. His grip on his cane was tighter than usual, his breaths controlled but heavier.

The survivors—those few who remained—followed, their footsteps unsteady, half-limping, half-running through the shifting corridors of the dungeon. The walls trembled, reality distorting in ways it shouldn’t.

Behind you, there was no pursuit.

No sound.

But the presence of her remained, like something watching from beyond a veil.

Welt felt it more than anyone.

Memories that did not belong to the present flooded him. Visions of battles fought in another time, another place. The cold sensation of déjà vu, of knowing something yet not remembering why.

"Welt!" Your voice snapped him back.

The exit was so close. The dungeon’s magic was shifting—trying to keep you in. Welt’s mind worked fast. He saw the exit crumbling before it even happened, understood the physics of collapse before the first stone fell.

"Keep moving!" He ordered.

A single tap of his cane against the air. The dungeon’s gravity twisted, shifting against itself. For a brief moment, space folded—a shortcut carved into reality. The survivors didn’t hesitate. They dived through the opening, one by one, escaping just before the structure sealed again.

You followed, but just as you passed the threshold, you turned—Welt was still inside.

The weight of memories, the presence of her, the strain of controlling the very dungeon itself—it slowed him, just for a second.

And in that second, the dungeon walls collapsed toward him.

"WELT!"

Another tap. A shift in space.

And then—he was beside you. The dungeon sealed shut behind him.

You barely had time to breathe before the survivors started counting their numbers, checking wounds, assessing what was lost.

Welt, however, was silent.

"Welt?" You asked, cautious.

For a moment, he did not respond.

Then—he exhaled. "It seems we have more to investigate."

----

Welt had always carried a calm vibe, so steady that it makes you depend on him. Even in the face of overwhelming odds, he remained unshaken.

But now, he was burning up. His body, usually so composed, lay fevered beneath the dim glow of your room.

You had done everything you could. Cooling cloths, potions, even magic-infused remedies. Nothing worked.

The nightmares never stopped.

Then—the system board appeared.

It flickered into existence before your eyes, its interface an unnatural light against the darkened room. A choice.

[Welt Yang is unresponsive. External interference detected. Do you wish to enter his consciousness?]

Your fingers hesitated.

Then—you pressed [Yes].

The world blurred.

And then, you fell.

Inside Welt’s Dream

You landed on solid ground—yet it felt… wrong. Like the weight of existence was shifting beneath your feet.

The sky above was fractured, shards of light and shadow twisting unnaturally. The air carried a heavy, suffocating stillness.

And ahead—Welt.

But he wasn’t himself.

He stood at the center of the dreamscape, frozen. His form was both him and not him, flickering between past and present. His eyes—haunted.

And then—a whisper.

"You should not be here."

Not from Welt.

From the dream itself.

A shadow shifted at the edges of your vision. Something watching. Something waiting.

But you had no time to hesitate.

You stepped forward. Toward him. Toward whatever had him trapped in this nightmare.

You approached carefully, the unstable ground beneath you shifting with every step. Welt remained frozen, caught in a battle you couldn’t see—a war within his own mind.

But then—a red-haired girl appeared.

She stood not far from Welt, her expression unreadable. As if she had expected you.

"You came for him."

Her voice was soft, almost gentle. Not a threat, not an enemy—something else entirely.

The dreamscape shuddered. Reality here was breaking.

Welt let out a sharp breath—a flicker of consciousness, a struggle to return.

You didn’t hesitate. You stepped between them.

"Let him go."

The girl tilted her head.

"You think I am keeping him here?"

The dream pulsed. Your heartbeat quickened.

You could fight. You could force her out. But something told you she wasn’t here to destroy.

She was a presence of the past.

"He doesn’t belong here anymore."

For a moment, she just watched you. Then, she smiled.

"Perhaps he doesn’t."

The dream began to crumble. The world around you brightened, the suffocating weight lifting.

And as she faded, dissolving into the cracks of memory, her final words echoed—

"Take care of him."

A final whisper. A final glance at Welt.

Then—she was gone.

The moment she disappeared, Welt gasped, collapsing forward.

You caught him.

The dream shattered—

And the two of you woke up.

You stretched as you got up, ready to cook something—your body needed food after everything that had happened. But just as you turned toward the kitchen, you felt a gentle pull on your sleeve.

He wasn’t looking directly at you, his gaze fixed somewhere past you, his grip light yet unwilling to let go.

"Stay."

You hesitated.

But then—your stomach betrayed you. A low, unmistakable growl broke the silence.

Welt finally let go. "Go on, then," he murmured. "Take care of yourself first."

Even as he let you go, you could feel his gaze follow you until you disappeared into the kitchen.

As you sat down with your freshly made meal, you let out a satisfied sigh. Finally, food. You scooped up a spoonful, about to take your first bite—

And then, in a blink, it was gone.

You stared at your now-empty spoon in confusion before following its trajectory—right to Welt, who had the audacity to be calmly chewing after swiping your food.

"Welt!" you exclaimed.

He barely looked fazed. With a small, deliberate motion, he tapped his cane against the floor and adjusted his glasses.

"To think of it," he mused, completely ignoring your glare, "I shouldn’t waste food, should I?"

Oh. Oh, he did not just say that.

"That was my food!" you huffed, scooting away protectively with your plate. "You literally said you weren’t hungry!"

Welt simply tilted his head slightly, watching you with a faint, unreadable smile. He looked way too satisfied with himself.

"Thank you for the food." he said.

You narrowed your eyes.

"Fine. Next time, I’ll just have someone else cook for me."

The moment you said that, you felt it.

Welt didn’t outwardly react, but something changed in the air. His fingers tightened slightly against his cane, his shoulders going just a bit too still.

"Someone else?"

You shrugged, missing the way his gaze darkened ever so slightly. "Yeah, maybe a friend or—"

The sharp clink of a spoon being set down cut you off.

You turned to see Welt calmly placing the stolen utensil beside your plate. His expression was still polite, still composed—but something in his eyes told you that he was absolutely not amused.

"I see." He leaned back slightly, "Perhaps I should make sure you have no need for… others."

Before you could question that slightly ominous statement, you sighed instead, choosing to ignore the weird tension he just created.

Looking at him now—this grumpy, elegant, thief of food—you couldn’t help but think about everything you had been through together. The dungeon, the sickness, the nightmares… and somehow, here you were.

You softened a little.

"From now on," you said, nudging his shoulder lightly, "I’ll be in your care."

The tension that had wrapped around Welt instantly unraveled.

For a moment, he just stared at you. Then, his entire demeanor shifted.

Gone was the faint edge in his voice, the almost possessive glint in his eye. Instead, something gentler took its place.

He sighed, a small, nearly invisible smile tugging at his lips.

"Very well," he murmured, voice softer now. "From now on, I’ll be in your care as well."