#albeit inadvertently

[xxprettyhatemachinexx]

Currently serving as the Adam Parrish of my trade school (collecting the mentally ill queers and forcing us all to do better)

[roobylavender]

a random thought but i really am very obsessed with how deeply committed bruce is to his love of people and to the extent that it’s a regular divide between him and talia. not that she is without love, no, hardly so, but love will never come before principle for her in the sense that the principle does stem from love, but from a selfless love, not a selfish one. and i use these two descriptors purely as a means of analyzing perspective, so selfless and selfish not necessarily as moral indicators as they are often used today but merely as expressions of whether you’re acting for the sake of others or for yourself. talia is someone repeatedly acting at expense to herself for the sake of others. she gives her child away, she ends her marriage, she doesn’t say a word about it again for years despite having the chance, she takes on a high level espionage mission without speaking a word to her ex-lover, maybe to protect herself, maybe to protect him. whether those were worthwhile decisions to take is certainly debatable, but she acts near strictly from a perspective of caring about others and the world first. bruce is comparatively a very selfish person. every victim an extension of his own trauma, every grief taken to heart, every desperation for companionship so heavily internalized that he ends up pushing people away bc at some point he can’t bear to take them down under with him in his sorrow. it’s funny that he tries to be the rational voice in a room bc up to a point he is, but he also cares too much about his own personal affairs to be that way consistently

and in light of all of that i am thinking about the conversations he and talia must have in that alternate universe where damian is normal and newly revealed to both of them as a concrete concept in their lives, for bruce as the son he never had and for talia as the son she gave away, come back to them by way of fate. why did you never tell me you didn’t actually miscarry. why did you never tell me you had a son and you gave him away. why did you pretend like it was over when it never was. why did you look me repeatedly in the eyes over the years like there wasn’t something more that was there. when you said you couldn’t talk about it before i boarded a plane back home i held my tongue. when you let yourself be beaten within an inch of your life bc your city was falling to pieces i held my tongue. when my father took the contingency plans you made and used them to turn your friends against you i held my tongue. when i worked for a man who would for all intents and purposes use the knowledge of my relationship with you against you i held my tongue

how can bruce, a person so wrapped up in his love for people, not understand the number of sacrifices that talia has had to make for his own sake. her repeated protection of him, of his sanity, of his sanctity, is simultaneously her greatest crime and her greatest benevolence to him. she carried that grief of loss for years and years bc of how important bruce is to her. and bruce loves her, loves damian, too much to even begin to understand what love means outside of the parameters of his own feelings for them. that is his dilemma writ large wrt people he loves. that he can’t see the extent of what they do for him, bc he loves them too much and doesn’t know how to get out of the sheer grief and possessiveness of it

[mantleoflight]

OKAY! FIC VERSE POLL!

A guardian has managed to secure an audience with Savathun to halt hostilities between Guardians and the Lucent Brood (pre-end of Witch Queen)

How will the guardian accomplish their goal?

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Cult. [M]

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Raw Dogging, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Implied Unwanted Pregnancy, Power Imbalance, Big Dick! Ghost, Soft Dom! Ghost, Cult Leader! Ghost, Submissive (and Breedable)! Reader, Implied Abortion Attempt, Fem Reader, Profanity.

He’s filthy in the way he treats you, like a common whore, spreading you out over his desk – once-varnished mahogany, now bleached with weeks’ worth of spend, of tears, rubbed raw in places, the phantoms of many a night relentless under your leader – and bearing your body like it’s his god-given duty.

In essence, it is. Albeit, a god he created – fabricated – to lead lambs into a wolf’s den. And with the primal, savage way he forces himself into you, his tip pulsing and throbbing with the many hours he’s subjected you to, you can very well believe he is the very image of a predator.

“Won’t stop ‘til you’re full – ‘til it’s– fuck– ‘til it’s taken,” Simon pants, his shadow cloaking you, the sweat from his broad chest dripping down onto your sodden back. Your cheek is pressed into the desk, and in the corner of your vision, between the narrowed eyes you fight to keep open amidst the electric annihilation sparking between your legs, just below your stomach, you see him with bared teeth and dark eyes that glint with some unholy purpose. A purpose that only makes the feeling writhing inside you stronger, heavier.

With a deft hand – his other planted by your head, a cage – he finds your clit and presses it between two fingers as if it were the stub of a cigarette. He squeezes. Hard. 

Your lips quiver around him and a strangled moan escapes you, euphoria becoming you, possessing you as something had him. 

You keen on his hand, desperate for contact, for friction, despite him already filling you utterly and without mercy. Your arousal drips into his hand, pools in his palm. It takes all his will not to drink it then and there.

“I know, Doll–” ‘Doll’ – the name he’d given you, the name that reminds you you’re his to use as he pleases. His fingers squeeze your clit between them, a flesh vice. You’re gasping. He doesn’t stop, subjecting you to a pleasure so carnal you know only he can grant you it.

His free hand finds your shoulder, slips down your soaked back – a collage of brutal love-making, of animal rutting, of feral and incessant breeding – leaving goosebumps in its wake. He finds your rump, squeezes it, his hand flipping further between your legs until he finds your epicentre.

You’re so sensitive, and so swollen. He’s done this enough times to know that you’re red there, too.

He finds the spot where you’re connected, the modest sliver of his shaft that hasn’t been consumed by your wanting hole – where your combined arousal slithers out of you, dripping down his tightening ballsack – and plays at the edges of your lips, those that create a milky ring at the base of his cock, those that twitch with the almost overwhelming orchestra of sensations he is subjecting you to, playing you as his instrument.

Your hips twitch, pushing back against him, inadvertently impaling yourself on the inch or two he’d spared you from. 

He’s swollen – painfully so. Plugging you, preventing you from getting away. Something you realise all-too late as you try to pull away, to ease the searing ache in your lips, in your womb.

You’re crying, he’s grunting, throat raw with hours of praise, of nothing short of feral growling – curses to something other than his god.

You whine as he withdraws his hand from between your legs, instead coming to cup your breasts and pull you flush against his chest.  Squeezing around him again, the bulge of his cock inside you becomes ever more apparent when his hand slips up to your throat and he shunts you forward with his hips.

You’re weak – a ragdoll against him – and you’re pushed back down against the wood. He presses your stomach to the desk, your head now handing over the edge.

“D’you feel it, love?” he rasps. “Gonna give you a baby – put it right there.”

You do feel him, like an eel, slithering into any space he can, any space he hasn’t already occupied. You feel your heartbeat pulsing between your legs, and you feel his in the head of his dick, rabid. You want to sob, want the pleasure coursing through your every fibre to overwhelm you, to send you hurtling into a high nobody else can give you.

But you know this will have consequences.

You know there’s no morning after pill strong enough to overcome Simon’s seed, none strong enough to stand a chance against the sheer amount of his spend. You know this because you’re already pregnant.

You’d originally tried using a multitude of contraband substances – pills, medication, anything you could get your hands on – to stop the inevitable. To prolong it just long enough for you to find a way out of the hole you’d dug yourself into.

When Simon had found them – no doubt with the help of one of his disciples, one eager to please and who would settle for the simple pleasure of being the dirt beneath his boot – he made absolutely certain to undo all your hard work.

For days afterwards, when he gave his sermons, you had to stand, hands clasped in prayer, with his cum rolling down your thighs beneath your compound-issue garments.

 And despite how you know you don’t want this destiny he’s imparted upon you, you still urge your hips against his. Especially as you feel him twitching, your hole leaking and almost squealing with his semen and the memory of the many times he’s already pumped you full this same night. He’s ready to bust at any moment, ready to find and create any excuse to empty his load into you, his favourite disciple.

You finish first in a fit of euphoric fury, an outpouring of devotion, a static explosion that leaves you utterly spent and entirely limp, unable to move as Simon continues to pummell you, using you, not stopping until you hear him give nothing less than a guttural roar, throwing his head back as he empties every ounce of his spend into you.

Any chances of escaping, any hopes of the world beyond the company you’d embroiled yourself in – they’re all gone now. Knocked clean out your head and from your reach, your mind nothing but a post-haze. You feel full almost to the point of bursting, but your body settles for a ballooned discomfort in your middle. One which you know will only grow bigger and heavier over the coming months. And no doubt beyond that when Simon deems you capable – worthy – of bearing him more offspring.

Simon is panting behind you, hands planted either side of you, head hanging between heaving shoulders. As if he’s impregnated you with his very soul.

His hand slips across the desk down to your front, where he manages to levy his fingers between your exhausted form and the hard wood beneath. And, as if by divine intuition, he gives a hum. Presses a languid kiss to your exposed neck, uttering a “Well done, love.”

He’s going to be a father.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad X

[lightseoul]

cw. worker!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (25), some more pining, cussing (bkg-typical), mentions of food, we're finally meeting the bakugous!, angst (if you look closely)

words. 4.8k (see why i had to split it...)

a/n. we have one more chapter to go, y'all! i'd love to hear your thoughts about the series so far, as well as how you think it's gonna end <3

masterlist | part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 9

It doesn’t elude you that the air entering your nostrils and lungs through the shaky inhale you take is nothing short of crisp.

It’s early evening in the suburbs where Bakugou’s parents live just in the peripheries of Musutafu. The sunset that graced you through the man’s car windows on the way over was now nowhere to be seen, having been replaced by the sight of the waning gibbous with a sprinkle of stars dotting the night sky.

Something you rarely see in the city, you think to yourself.

Your head craned towards the infinite ceiling, you continue to admire the view, or at least try to do so—the act seemingly becoming more and more impossible by the second, what with your nerves shot and your stomach churning with anticipatory anxiety.

Bakugou must have noticed your wobbly breathing, because the man side-eyes you for a beat before finally speaking. “What are you, nervous?”

You turn your head to look at him, taking in the sight of your boss in a dark brown sweater with a white collar peeking out at the top in an effort to ground yourself, although you find you’re not feeling any calmer.

You hesitate for a moment, before heaving another jittery, somewhat resigned, sigh.

No point in hiding the truth now.

You shrug, “Yeah…”

“Don’t be,” he promptly replies, catching you off guard. His voice is serious and deceivingly firm when he finishes it off.

“They’re gonna like you.”

You don’t get the chance to think about how to respond, let alone react instinctively because the front door opens as if on cue, and out comes a relatively tall woman with ash blonde hair, followed by a slightly taller brown-haired man.

You’ve barely gotten a word in when you get scooped into the arms of the woman you now identify as Bakugou Mitsuki, and when she pulls away and keeps you at arm's length—beaming, no less, in what you hope is happiness—it takes everything in you not to gawk at how stunning the woman is.

“…You’re overwhelming her, honey,” you hear the man, who you assume is Bakugou Masaru, say worriedly at your right side.

“Oh, right,” Mitsuki hurriedly releases her hold of you and retracts her hands, flashing you a bright albeit apologetic smile right after. “Forgive me, it’s just that I never thought this day would come!”

At that, she shoots Bakugou, who’s standing beside your left, a pointed look before turning back to grin at you, “I can’t believe Katsuki has finally brought a girl home!”

You don’t have to look at the man beside you to know he’s sporting a scowl. “Watch it, old hag,” he growls.

“You watch it, child. Mind how you talk to your mother in front of your girl.”

You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you as you watch the exchange, inadvertently catching the two blondes’ attention, their gazes drifting toward you at the sound. After a brief second, and to your relief, Mitsuki starts laughing along but Bakugou only looks away in what you think is irritation.

“Well, this girl is grateful for the invite, Mitsuki-san,” you start, mustering your most thankful smile. “But I hope I’m not imposing on your family…”

Mitsuki is quick to respond with a wave of a hand, “Not at all! You’re our guest of honor. Please, make yourself at home!”

Masaru nods in agreement, extending his right hand for you to shake, which you happily do. His smile is gentle—a stark contrast to Bakugou’s default expressions, you note—when he finally invites the both of you in. As you do—eager to escape the cold—you glance at Bakugou behind you, who’s apparently already been looking at you, although he averts his gaze when your eyes make contact.

Again with that solemn expression.

That unsettling expression drops down to the bottom of your list of priorities, however, when you enter the threshold of their home. You’re immediately hit with a glorious combination of fragrances emanating from what you think is the kitchen at the far side of the room.

“Everything smells great, Mitsuki-san,” you offer, hoping the sincerity can be heard from your tone.

You think it must have because the woman instantly lights up at the comment, “Why, thank you! Every day’s not Thanksgiving, after all.”

You nod, following them along into the living room, taking a seat on the corduroy couch opposite Mitsuki upon Masaru’s wordless invitation. “It’s so nice how you guys go all out to celebrate the holiday.”

You note how Bakugou, who’s planted on the armrest beside Mitsuki, frowns at the compliment.

“What?” you ask him before you can stop yourself, curious.

“They don’t really celebrate it,” he grunts, before tossing his mother a borderline disgusted look. “The old hag is just using it as an excuse to invite you over.”

That quip grants him a smack in the head from the said “hag”. Bakugou doesn’t yelp or cry in pain, although he does let out a slight hiss. You, again, can’t help the smile that creeps on your face as you watch them.

Mitsuki is facing Bakugou as she tuts in what you think is a warning, before turning to regard you again, a grin now having replaced the reprimanding expression that had just been on her face a second ago.

It grows even wider when she says: “What do you say we leave the rest of the cooking up to the boys and we go through Katsuki’s photo albums?”

“S-sure!” you quickly respond, the entirety of the suggestion not registering for a beat until it does, your head whipping to look at the man as you blurt out: “Bakugou, you can cook?”

At that, Mitsuki’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, eyes darting between the both of you. “Wait, are you saying he’s never cooked for you before?” Mitsuki asks, incredulous.

She then turns to her son, who now has his arms crossed in front of his broad chest like a petulant child, “Young man, what have you been doing?”

“God, relax,” Bakugou groans as he stands up from where he was seated, rolling his eyes as he makes his way to the kitchen. “We’ve just been busy with work. No time for that shit.”

“Busy with work, my ass,” she calls out to him, before once again turning to face you. “And honey, there’s no need to be all formal around us. Go ahead and call Katsuki by his first name—there’s really nothing to be shy about.”

Before you can think against it, your eyes widen in surprise for a fraction of a second before you school your face into what you think is an appropriate enough expression. “R-right, sorry.”

You chance a glance at the man, who’s now hacking away at the green onions like a madman albeit quite expertly, what you think is red creeping up his face in nothing else but scornful exasperation.

“So,” Mitsuki starts, and you turn back to see her wiggling her eyebrows at you, “about the photo albums?”

Just as Mitsuki suggested, you busied yourself with photo albums filled to the brim with close documentation of Bakugou growing up while the two men finished up in the kitchen. It didn’t come as a surprise that Bakugou was a cute kid, a signature boyish grin decorating his face in the few pictures where he isn’t scowling or glaring at the camera. You greedily took in the seemingly mundane details of Bakugou’s childhood as Mitsuki narrated the backstory of each photograph, smiling and even laughing along when she cracked a joke about how her son must have been born as the proverbial grump based on how early he learned how to glower.

Bakugou didn’t say anything the entire time you pore over the albums, probably used to his mom mouthing about her only child to friends and family who are willing to listen. Before you know it, dinner is eventually served, and the dishes that Bakugou and Masaru would bring from the island countertops to their hardwood dining table looked nothing short of scrumptious. It didn’t take long for you to conclude that they tasted exactly how they looked.

“Everything tastes incredible, but the miso ramen is glorious, Mitsuki-san,” you piped up in the middle of dinner.

The woman only tossed you a pleased, somewhat knowing look. “You’ve got your boyfriend to thank for that, dear.”

You must have looked like a deer in the headlights, because the man of the hour’s parents laugh at your expression. You stole a glance at Bakugou, who only slurped at his bowl in silence, face schooled into a rather neutral countenance.

A steady conversation gradually enveloped the four of you as you went ham on dinner, and you now find your shoulders relaxing, the tension from earlier leaving your body. You discuss current events, which then leads to Masaru asking Bakugou about how the agency is fairing in light of the recent spikes in crimes. The topic then drifts to you, like what’s your family like and what your parents do for a living; it shifts afterward to how work is going for them in the fashion industry, to the couple's retirement plans, with Mitsuki waxing poetic about how they really need to be there for each other when they do retire because Bakugou doesn’t visit them enough. To that, the man only scowls, mumbling something about how he does, in fact, visit them enough, and that the “old hag’s” definition of enough is stupidly skewed.

“But enough about us!” Mitsuki completely disregards Bakugou’s retort, shifting in her seat to address you, “I’ve actually been dying to ask you this question since you arrived. I know our Katsuki isn’t the easiest—”

“Hah?”

“—guy to be around, and so I’m really glad he was able to find someone as lovely as you. So,” Mitsuki tosses you a playful look, “what do you like about Katsuki?”

You barely stop yourself from choking on the maki roll lodged in your throat, quickly swallowing it rather painfully as you scramble for the proper way to react and respond. From the corner of your eye, you see Bakugou shift uncomfortably in his seat, but he doesn’t say anything to shut down his mother or even shift the topic of the conversation.

“Uh—” you start lamely, “What do I like about… him?”

At that, Mitsuki laughs good-naturedly. “Surely there has to be something, right? Please, indulge this old lady!”

You chuckle along with her, albeit rather awkwardly, before clearing your throat.

The only way to make it out of this conversation alive and relatively unscathed is by lacing your answers with the truth.

And so you do.

“Ba—” you start, catching yourself in the nick of time, “K-Katsuki—” you pause again, hating the way you uttered his name so tentatively like it’s something obviously foreign, “—is the most dedicated person I know.”

Mitsuki only nods in encouragement, as if urging you to go on.

And right now, you find that you’re nothing if not a people-pleaser.

“He’s admirable—there’s a reason why he’s risen to the top this quickly and stayed there,” you nod, pleased at what you think is certainty bleeding into your tone. “I don’t have any problems at all leading the HR department, what with him being the best example of what an outstanding work ethic looks like.”

The room falls into a lull, and as the seconds tick by with no one saying anything, you’re starting to think you said the wrong thing when Mitsuki finally speaks up.

“That—that’s great to hear, dear, really.” She seems to hesitate for a moment before holding your gaze again, and you brace yourself for what she’s about to say next.

“…But what about outside of work?”

There it is.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Uh—” you parrot again, mentally slapping yourself for stuttering when you can just keep your mouth shut while you think of an acceptable reply like a normal, sane person.

You glance at Bakugou, who’s now looking at you in what you think is anticipation.

Despite yourself, you feel yourself flush.

Yet you’re unable to break away from his gaze when the words finally come to you.

“…He cares,” you manage to miraculously get out while Bakugou’s crimson eyes bore a hole into you. “…Deeply. And, he makes sure it shows in his actions.”

You watch as Bakugou studies you for a few more seconds as if he’s searching for something—you don’t know what—hidden amidst your features, eventually averting his gaze back to his plate.

You follow suit, looking down at your half-finished ebi tempura, suddenly feeling too self-conscious and oddly vulnerable.

It’s Mitsuki’s soft voice that causes you to look up again.

“That’s… everything I wanted to hear,” Mitsuki almost whispers, and you think if you squint hard enough you can see tears pooling in her eyes.

You shoot her a tight-lipped smile, sensing an unusual sense of uneasiness blooming in your gut.

Thankfully, and to your relief, Mitsuki doesn’t ask any more equally humiliating questions after that, the conversation having been steered to more shallow and light-hearted topics, primarily by Masaru. Without you noticing, dinner time reaches its conclusion and it’s now time to clean up.

You stand up from your chair and start gathering leftovers to stack the plates right after when Mitsuki reaches across the table and pries them off your grip. You look at her in confusion, but she only shakes her head.

“We’ll handle the cleaning, dear.”

Behind her, Masaru nods in agreement, and you’re about to open your mouth to protest but Bakugou beats you to it.

“No use arguing with the old hag. Just give it up.”

At that, you sag in disappointment—you really wanted to pay them back, even if it’s just through helping out with cleaning—but obey nevertheless, putting down the cutlery you were just about to gather into a bunch.

Now with nothing to do with your hands, you stand at the edge of the table awkwardly, watching the couple swiftly clearing out the area. Masaru seems to notice your discomfort because he speaks up.

“Hey, Katsuki,” he starts, “why don’t you show her around your bedroom?”

Almost immediately, Mitsuki beams at her husband, evidently enthralled by the proposition. You fight the strong urge to furrow your eyebrows in worry. “That’s a good idea, honey. I bet she’d love to see your childhood knickknacks, Katsuki!”

You steal a glimpse of Bakugou—or his back, really—who’s now seated on the couch with a leg propped on it.

He’s not saying anything.

Why isn’t he saying anything?

You gulp despite yourself, shifting to face Mitsuki with a grimace-smile. “It’s okay, I don’t want to make him uncomfo—”

“Come on.”

You almost get whiplash from how fast you turn to look at Bakugou, who apparently isn’t giving you a chance to argue, already walking up the stairs to the second floor. You look back at his parents, who only gesture you to go on.

Well.

You guess you’re going, then.

You trail behind Bakugou in silence, your footsteps echoing through the stairway as you go up, one step at a time. Once you land on top of the staircase, you follow him as he turns to the right, down to the door at the end of the hallway, which you now identify as his bedroom.

He pauses a few feet away from the entryway, reaching forward for the knob and turning to face you right after, an indiscernible expression etched on his face.

“Don’t fuckin’—nose around,” he grumbles, voice gruff, “or some shit.” Despite his half-hearted warning, he opens the door, leaning back against it so you can squeeze in and enter.

Typical of the King of Consistency, Bakugou’s childhood bedroom is as impeccable as every other personal space of his that you’ve got the honor of visiting. The gray walls are pristine and are only disrupted by posters of pro-heroes, mostly of All Might, but also like that of Best Jeanist and Endeavor. Piles and piles of books line the shelves at the room's corners, speckled and lightly decorated with figurines and what you think are older gaming consoles. You study the rest of the arrangements, and before you can think against it, you find yourself smiling as you survey the room, feeling a paradoxical sense of comfort blanket you.

“…What’re you fucking smiling about, dumbass?”

At the call out, the expression on your face immediately falls. You glance back at the man who’s now leaning against the doorframe, arms once again crossed in front of his chest.

“N-nothing,” you immediately retort. “It’s just that your room is so clean and well-kept.” You pause, hesitating to say the next thing, but ultimately decide to go for it. “It’s very… you.”

You don’t know what you expected him to say or do in response—an eye roll, or a lazy scoff, or a challenge, daring you to expound on what the fuck you mean “it’s very him”, maybe?

But again, Bakugou doesn’t say anything; he simply grunts.

Against your will, you feel a wave of disappointment course through you.

“…Your parents seem like such great people,” you muse, finding yourself wanting to salvage the conversation as you continue to take in the endearing details of your boss’s childhood bedroom.

Bakugou grunts again, only this time you think it’s in agreement. “They’re alright,” he grinds out, “can get a bit overbearing at times, though.”

You hum in reply, sensing a seed of happiness blossoming within you at the thought of him opening up. “I get that. But I can clearly see they love you very much.”

The man hums back, sounding deep in thought.

Your fingers absentmindedly trail the backrest of his desk chair. “Your mom said you don’t really visit as much. Is that true or was she just pulling your leg?”

At that, Bakugou heaves such a heavy sigh, that it catches your full attention. “I haven’t been here since around early this year.”

You gawk, “Seriously?”

He shoots you a glare, although there’s not much bite to it. “Don’t look at me like that. You know how it is at work.”

You nod, “…You do put in an alarming number of hours.”

“Well, it’s not like I have a choice, do I?” he immediately retorts, although the question seems more rhetorical.

Despite that, you steel yourself to answer back this time. “I think you actually do. I know of so many heroes who treat their jobs like the typical 9 to 5. Believe me, I hear things at work, too.”

“…What are you trying to say?”

His voice is so uncharacteristically small, it catches you off guard.

In return, you try to make your voice as gentle as possible. “I’m saying I meant what I said earlier during dinner. It’s admirable—the work that you do. I think that’s what really sets you apart from all the others, putting aside your flashy ass quirk.”

You take a gamble and toss a smirk Bakugou’s way.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think the man was at a loss for words.

Well, there is a first for everything.

Suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed over the bold move you just pulled, you take advantage of the silence, walking a few steps towards the other wall. You carefully brush your hand against what looks like a vintage-looking All Might poster above the headboard of his bed.

“I didn’t know you liked All Might this much.”

His reply is almost instantaneous: “He’s only the best hero to exist ever.”

You, again, fail to restrain the smile that breaches your face. It’s adorable how defensive he’s become in a split second, having transformed into the diehard fanboy that he apparently is.

“Is he the kind of hero you aspire to eventually become?” you ask, curiosity bubbling in your head.

He shifts on his feet, taking a few steps in your direction. “Yeah,” he pauses, before continuing, “the kind that always wins.”

“Oh, now I know where that line from before came from.”

As if immediately knowing what you're talking about, Bakugou flushes in what you think is anger, but the more you stare at him, it becomes clearer that it’s more akin to embarrassment.

“Shut up.”

You snort, “So the philosophy you gleaned from All Might—that applies to all aspects of your life? Including being your underling’s fake trophy boyfriend?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

You can’t help the giggle that erupts from you as you watch Bakugou stew in what you think is shame, squirming from where he’s standing as if he’s itching to jump and strangle your frame. The man, once again, glares at you, but if anything, you can tell he’s more frustrated with himself than with you.

Still, you find yourself feeling bad. “Sorry,” you start, fighting the urge to chuckle, “I was just kidding.”

“You’re a fucking handful, you know that?”

At that, you pout, the words tumbling off your mouth before you can rein them in. “Sorry, sir.”

“Don’t—” Bakugo splutters, “fucking—stop calling me sir, dumbass. And,” he frowns, “stop calling yourself as my underling. That shit sounds fucking demeaning.”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, flashing him a grateful smile. He doesn’t return it, opting to roll his eyes and look away instead, but the corners of his lips are twitching like he’s fighting them from curling upwards.

An abrupt thought crosses your mind at that very sight of him.

And before you can talk yourself out of it, you blurt it out.

“I’m glad.”

Bakugou meets your gaze, an eyebrow raised in question. “You’re glad what?”

You shrug, fighting down the self-consciousness. “I’m glad to see you seem more relaxed and comfortable. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I’ve noticed you’ve been extra scowly lately—if that is even a word.”

“I have not.”

“Yes, you have. The other workers at the agency have noticed, too.”

“Who the fu—”

“I’m not dropping any names,” you interject, “but some have approached me asking if we were, you know, okay?”

You peer at the man, who’s now refusing to look at you. You brace yourself for what you’re about to ask. “Are we? Okay?”

Bakugou, again, conveniently decides to be mute.

“Did I do something wrong to slight you, or something? Or have I crossed a line during that get-together with your friends that one time? Because if I have, I want you to know that I really didn’t mean t—”

“I thought you didn’t want to come over,” he cuts you off.

You freeze. “What?”

He finally meets your gaze, a frown now seemingly permanently etched on his face. “Here. To my parents’. And you’ve been acting all weird around me, stuttering and stuff.”

Shit.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Bakugou huffs, “Am I making you uncomfortable, or some shit?”

You can only gape at the man who looks so pained, as if this conversation is physically hurting him, which, it probably is, knowing him. You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

He seems to notice this, because his frown grows even deeper. “What, am I?”

“No!” you exclaim, thankful to finally have your voice back. You vigorously shake your head, “No, please don’t think that. I—just—I just have a lot on my mind lately, that’s why. Explains why I’m all jumpy and stammering and all over the place.”

To your relief, Bakugou doesn’t prod any further, although you can sense a bit of suspicion emanating from the man despite your answer. He stares at you for another beat before shaking his head in resignation, opting to check his watch instead.

“It’s getting late. Let’s go downstairs and tell them we’re leaving.”

And just like that, Bakugou turns his back towards you and exits the bedroom.

Right after you followed Bakugou down to the living room where Mitsuki and Masaru were enjoying a glass of red wine, you informed the couple that you were leaving. The brunette immediately got to work, packing viands into Tupperware for you to take home despite your silent protests. Mitsuki, on the other hand, tried to convince you to stay for another hour or so, but Bakugou wasn’t hearing any of it. After finally accepting that she was getting nowhere with her case, Mitsuki called on her husband to see you out by the front porch.

With a bag of aromatic dishes in one hand, you stand in front of their doorway, not knowing what to say for the nth time in one night. You chance a glance towards Bakugou’s direction, the man having entered his car already, starting up the engine in preparation for the drive back home.

But you apparently don’t have to say anything because it’s Mitsuki who fills the air.

Her smile is so gentle and motherly that you can’t help the painful throb your heart makes at the sight. It’s quickly followed by the now-familiar feeling of uneasiness that has been revisiting you again and again since the evening started.

Still, you manage to smile back. At the sight of it, Mitsuki’s expression grows even brighter.

And her voice is low when she finally speaks.

“Don’t tell Katsuki this, but I’m glad you’re the one he’s decided to finally come meet us.” She reaches out to rub your shoulder, her smile not faltering, “I can see why.”

Thankfully, Mitsuki scoops you into another hug, sparing you the embarrassment and burden of having to react and respond with some intelligible reply to such a groundbreaking statement one can receive from any guy’s mother, no less.

At the couple’s request, you promise to visit again soon, and before you get to break character and admit to your mountain of lies in a crying heap, you beeline to the car and hop into the passenger seat.

Voice gruff, Bakugou nods at you. “Ready?”

You swallow thickly.

“Ready.”

The car ride home was silent. It felt long—longer than an hour, at least, your brain buzzing with unpleasant thoughts and stomach churning with anxious feelings the entire duration of it. You couldn’t seem to fall asleep no matter how much you tried. Eventually, you gave up trying to mid-way, opting to stew in whatever the fuck is going on with you instead.

You were so engrossed in your brooding that you didn’t notice Bakugou pulling into your apartment complex’s driveaway.

At the sound of his voice announcing your arrival, you sit up in your seat in alarm before promptly gathering your things, saying your usual quick goodbye and thank you, and stepping out of the car.

To your surprise, however, he puts the car in park and follows suit, stepping out of the vehicle himself.

You hesitate for a moment before starting the short trek toward the entrance, acutely aware of Bakugou trailing behind you.

When you get to the entryway, you finally turn to regard the man, whose eyes dart down to look directly at you, hands in his pockets.

In spite of yourself, you gulp. “Thank you… for today, Bakugou.”

He merely shakes his head, expression neutral. “I should be the one thanking you. You didn’t have to come with and suffer through all that with me, yet you did.”

“I didn’t suffer,” you’re quick to correct him because you didn’t. “I actually had a really nice time. Your parents were so kind to me, and I just—I…”

“What?”

You shake your head, unsure how to accurately phrase what you’re feeling. “I just feel bad, you know? You could be bringing home a girl that you actually like to meet your parents who they can fawn over instead of me, yet here you are presenting a decoy and fooling the people who raised you all because I—”

“Hey—”

“I roped you into pretending to be my boyfriend and now look at the mess we’ve made. And I know—”

“Stop it.”

His voice comes out so commanding that there’s nothing you can do but obey.

Bakugou frowns. “You didn’t ‘rope’ me into doing this, okay? I— We—” he hesitates, mouth opening and closing then opening and closing again before he finally just shakes his head in defeat. “I entered this arrangement willingly. You don’t have to blame yourself for anything.”

“But—”

“End of discussion.”

At that, you huff in irritation, but you know better than to argue with your notoriously stubborn boss. Nevertheless, and despite yourself, you can’t help but feel the gratitude that blooms in your chest at Bakugou’s reassurance.

“Now get in there,” he gestures to the apartment, “It’s getting way too fucking cold.”

As if on cue, you involuntarily shudder, which grants you a wordless ‘See?’ from the man. With a final nod, you reluctantly follow his orders and enter through the doorway, although you don’t immediately go to the elevator hall. Instead, you stand by the windows, finding yourself wanting to make sure Bakugou doesn’t get jumped on his way back to the car.

And as you watch Bakugou’s receding backside, the guilt that you’ve been tirelessly suppressing the entire night finally breaks free, threatening to swallow you whole.

This can’t go on.

tagging. @kitthepurplepotato @katsukis1wife @brunnetteiwik @bunnysaursushii @beab19 @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @lovra974 @chelbyisbord @k0z3me @meeeepsworld @asura-rose @dragonscribble @moonz33 @citrustsuki @deadhands69 @lemuhr @rosemarygalaxy @iluv-ace @eyesforbkg @carpe000diem @shushbruv @matchat3a @ttalgi @bakunianadecorazon @the2ndl @keiscwsz @onlyisaa @aizawa19 @471323 @bakugosgothhoe

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 they make such a huge, huge difference! have an awesome day ( ˘ ³˘)

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Brother's Best Friend - Part 10

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

A/N: I'm baaaack! Oh how I've missed these two idiots XD Thanks to everyone who sent in ideas for what should happen AFTER THE KISS!

Summary: The trials and tribulations of falling for your brother's best friend.

CW: swearing, shirtless Jake, SHIRTLESS JAKE, fluff, Jake's arms, did I mention shirtless Jake?

WC: ~2800

Part 1 | Masterlist

There are a lot of things you regret in life, but bombing your psych midterm because you were too busy making out with Jake Seresin to study is not one of them. Sure, you might not have remembered the ins and outs of Jungian archetypes, but you sure as hell can recite from memory every single word that had fallen out of Jake’s mouth following the inaugural kiss. You might have been a bit hazy on the details surrounding the birth of behaviorism, but you could certainly attest to the effectiveness of positive reinforcement in the form of Jake’s lips rewarding every correctly answered flash card. Thus, despite leaving the exam room with the sinking feeling that your GPA just took a nosedive, you couldn’t be happier.

Your excitement is short-lived, however, because you walk into the house to the unsettling sounds of grunting. You end up dropping your book bag loudly on the floor in an effort to alert any unsuspecting individuals of your arrival before you happen upon a scene you have no interest in witnessing.

But the groaning doesn’t subside, and you find yourself inching cautiously toward the living room, gripped by a nauseating curiosity. Slowly, you creep through the kitchen and peek around the wall into the living room. But what you see, albeit somewhat strange, is not exactly out of the ordinary. What you see is two grown men doing push-ups on your living room floor.

“Uhh,” you utter, stepping into the room to get a better look at the two of them positioned between the armchair and the coffee table.

Neither one looks up at you. They continue grunting into the carpeted floor against every thrust and then breathing heavily into the silence on their way back down. In unison. Shirtless.

“Okay, I’ll just…” you pause, waiting to see if your presence might be acknowledged before you continue speaking. Several seconds go by without any sort of greeting, as if they haven’t even noticed you enter, so you resume, “I’ll just go wait in the kitchen.”

No response.

“I’ll make myself a sandwich,” you add, your eyes inadvertently landing on the rippling muscles of Jake’s back as his shoulder blades contract.

Before you’re completely entranced by the hypnotic movement of Jake Seresin’s body, you shake your head and head back to the kitchen. But, just as you make your way out, you hear Jake’s strained voice, “We’re counting.”

You glance over your shoulder, but he isn’t looking at you; his mouth is taut and his nostrils are flaring and he winces slightly as he straightens his arms again. You decide not to interrupt them further and retreat into the kitchen to fix yourself some lunch.

You wander back in several minutes later, a jam sandwich in hand, and raise your eyebrows as your brother and your, well, Jake, finally finish with a host of groans and obscenities, and laboriously get to their feet.

You glance between the two of them as they pant and take a bite of your sandwich. Until this very moment, you had no idea how you would navigate your situation with Jake in Bradley’s presence. It wasn’t something that you and Jake had a chance to discuss over the course of the previous evening and you had been hoping to postpone the encounter for at least another day.

However, now that you’re all in the same room, you realize that nothing much has changed; Bradley and Jake are still up to their usual antics, and you are still critically observing them from the sidelines.

“Three sets,” Jake breathes heavily as he rolls his shoulders and meets your gaze. “Of a hundred.”

You stare at him mutely, wondering what kind of reaction he’s expecting you to have whilst your brother stands three feet away. You pull your lips into a tight smile and nod approvingly. “If only you put this much effort into keeping track of your socks,” you respond wryly, noticing the pair that’s tucked into the corner of the armchair; the third that you’ve located in the living room this week.

Jake bows his head and Bradley lets out a snort. “I have hot feet,” Jake mutters to the floor.

You eye the veins along his forearms – more pronounced than usual after his workout – and decide conclusively that his feet are not the exception.

Bradley, who’s just finished guzzling half a bottle of water, hums at you to get your attention. Immediately, you tear your gaze from Jake’s veiny hands and blink up at your brother in alarm, certain that he’s already caught on to you since you can’t seem to stop gawking at his best friend. Bradley grins, his eyes bright with excitement. “So,” he says, “how was your study date?” His smile widens slyly.

You stare at him awkwardly, not daring to look at Jake, even when the latter chokes on his water. Clearly, he has not said a word to Bradley about the events of the previous evening.

Bradley watches you expectantly, ignoring Jake’s coughing fit. “Uh,” you start, your voice sounding unusually fuzzy. “It was, um,” you clear your throat, still not looking at Jake as he finally straightens his back and takes another enormous gulp of water.

Bradley lifts his eyebrows. “That good, huh?” he asks with a chuckle.

You feel your palms start to sweat and it takes a great deal of willpower to keep them steady at your sides rather than rubbing them together and wiping them on your thighs. “Pretty good,” you say weakly, avoiding direct eye contact with your brother.

“Get much studying done?” Bradley asks, picking his shirt up off the couch and pulling it over his head.

You briefly lock eyes with Jake. “Some,” you croak, in response to which Bradley shakes his head knowingly.

“How’d you do on your midterm?” Jake asks, finally setting his water bottle down.

You hold his gaze timidly, not sure how long you can get away with looking right at him. “I probably could have done better,” you confess.

Jake winces slightly. “Shit, really?” he asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

“We warned you,” Bradley calls in a singsong voice as he heads out of the living room. “That dude wasn’t looking to study, and you fell for it.”

Jake tilts his head to the side and rubs the back of his neck guiltily. “Maybe he tried,” he says, still grimacing.

Bradley stops short of the entrance to the kitchen and looks back at him. “Yeah, right,” he says. “Is that what you would do?” he asks him.

Jake’s face visibly pales and he stammers out, “M-me? What kind of question is that?” He clears his throat and adds, “Even.”

“You definitely would not have tried,” Bradley says. Then, he looks at you pointedly. “Next time, just study at home. Trust me.”

You nod, trying not to think too hard about how ineffective studying at home has proved, in fact, to be.

“Want a protein shake, bro?” Bradley asks before disappearing into the kitchen.

“Yeah, man,” Jake calls back. “Thanks.”

The two of you stand very still for a moment, not looking at one another. Then, Jake bends down to grab his muscle shirt off the floor.

“Sucks about your test,” he says, his head hanging so low that his chin nearly rests on his clavicle.

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, suddenly uneasy now that it’s just the two of you in the room.

Jake draws the shirt over his head and then wearily drags a hand over his face. “I’m sorry,” he says, looking at you guiltily.

You shrug nonchalantly and give him a small smile. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He pulls his shirt down over his torso casually, but it’s probably the single most sexy thing you’ve ever witnessed. He sighs and says, “I feel responsible,” but all you could really pay any attention to is the sliver of stomach that he’s so carelessly left exposed. If anything, it’s entirely irresponsible.

You purse your lips and eye him humorously. “Well, that’s very self-centered of you.”

Jake laughs at your comment and you breathe a sigh of relief as the tension between you slowly dissipates.

“Dude, you coming?” Bradley calls, popping his head back in to check on Jake. “First fifteen minutes are crucial!”

“Be right there,” Jake responds and, grabbing his two stray socks off the armchair, starts for the kitchen.

You wander in after him to put your plate in the sink and Jake all but leaps out of your way when you get too close.

Bradley leans into the counter and speaks again, “So, apparently Jake had a wild night.”

The plate starts to slip out of your hand before you make it all the way to the sink, and you sort of toss it the rest of the way. It clatters against the basin but thankfully remains intact. “Oh yeah?” you ask in a high-pitched voice while Bradley watches you curiously.

“I didn’t say wild,” Jake clarifies, shifting his weight uncomfortably as he tries to find a less awkward way to rest his entire frame against the slightly protruding door of the refrigerator.

Bradley makes a face at him. “I paraphrased.”

You try not to smile as you ask, “What happened?” You glance at Jake mischievously as he digs himself further into the corner. The fact that he’s disclosed any details to Bradley is shocking, to say the least.

“Oh, just that he finally made a move on a chick he’s been obsessing over for weeks,” Bradley says with a proud grin.

While you try to process the words ‘for weeks’, Jake counters moodily, “I was not obsessing, dude. Come on.”

You lift your eyes slowly to meet his gaze and he glances at you reluctantly.

“Please, you never shut up about her!” Bradley cries.

Jake exhales sharply and glares over at Bradley, but he doesn’t deny his assertion.

“Who is she?” you ask hesitantly, ignoring the pointed stare you get from Jake as you direct your question at Bradley.

Bradley shrugs. “I don’t know her.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

Jake scoffs in the background while Bradley grimaces. “No, but he won’t tell me, so I’ve stopped asking.”

You withhold a smile and say quietly, “Wonder what she’s like.”

Jake rolls his eyes. “For the love of god –”

But his complaint is interrupted by Bradley when he says, “Apparently, she’s insanely hot –”

“Rooster,” Jake cuts him off sternly, pushing himself off the refrigerator to square his shoulders intimidatingly.

“What?” Bradley chuckles as you bite into your cheek to suppress a grin. “Those were your exact words!”

“Enough,” Jake says, glaring at him threateningly.

“Relax, it’s just my sister,” Bradley says, attempting to diffuse the situation gracefully. “She won’t tell a soul.”

You bat your eyelashes at Jake innocently. “Promise,” you assure him.

Jake narrows his eyes at you subtly. “Tell us more about your date,” he says, cleverly taking the heat off himself.

You lower your gaze and respond with, “It wasn’t a date.”

“But will there be one in the future?” Bradley asks.

You glance back at Jake instinctively before addressing your brother, “Not that I know of.”

Jake chugs the remainder of his shake and walks over to the sink to rinse the glass. He rests his hip on the counter right next to you and asks, “Would you go?”

You look up at him hesitantly, apprehensive about his proximity, even though he still stands a good two feet away. “Where?”

“On a date,” Jake clarifies. “If he asks.”

You gulp nervously, looking back at your equally curious-looking brother. The truth is, you’re afraid of showing all your cards so early in the game. Jake Seresin isn’t a dater, he doesn’t go out with the same girl multiple times. And if he’s only with you because you’re ‘insanely hot’ – his words – he might be spooked by an overzealous response. “I don’t know.” You shrug. “Haven’t thought about it.”

“Bullshit,” Bradley interjects obnoxiously.

“I agree,” Jake adds.

You clamp your jaw tightly, mildly annoyed at Jake for making you the target of conversation yet again. “Are you planning on asking insanely hot girl out?” you enquire aggressively, fixing Jake with an accusing glower.

“How do you know I haven’t already?” Jake asks in a patronizing tone.

You glare at him through squinted eyes. “Wild guess.”

“Of course, he’s gonna ask her out,” Bradley chimes in. “As soon as he stops wigging out about it.”

Jake gives him a peeved look before glancing back at you. “I’m considering it,” he says vaguely.

“Please,” Bradley scoffs and Jake shoots him another ominous glare. “There’s nothing he would want more.”

“That’s not true,” Jake mutters monotonously while you scrutinize the evasive movements of his eyes.

“You literally told me that –”

“Bradley!” Jake shouts. “Shut up!”

Bradley grimaces. “Since when do we keep secrets around here?”

“Since I fucking said so,” Jake retorts.

You glance between the two of them awkwardly and then look down at your feet, stretching out the already uncomfortable silence. You try not to dwell on what your brother has said but Jake wanting nothing more than to take you on a date has you feeling all kinds of giddy. Hesitantly, you say, “I’d probably say yes.” You bite your lip and add, “To study group guy – if he asks.”

Bradley nods, unsurprised. And you don’t dare check on Jake’s reaction. But before you could second guess your confession, Jake says, “He’ll ask.” You steal a glance at him and he catches your gaze. “He’d be an idiot not to.”

You give him a small, half-smile – the half that’s not visible from your brother’s vantage point. But Bradley seems to have lost interest in the topic now that he’s been censored because he starts to shuffle out of the kitchen.

“Hey Bradley!” you call after him. “How was your date?”

Bradley stops and spins to face you. “Finally!” he exclaims.

You smirk at him. “Did she like your shirt?”

Bradley grins. “She loved my shirt.”

“She loved it so much, she kept it,” Jake adds.

Your jaw drops in shock when Bradley yells, “Hey! So, it’s alright to air my dirty laundry?”

“Technically, now she’s got your dirty laundry,” you point out and Jake high fives you.

Bradley shakes his head, but he’s still smiling. “Real mature,” he says. “At least I had the balls to ask her out.” With that, he finally exits the kitchen.

You start after him when your feel Jake’s hand brush gently across the small of your back. You turn to face him and he rests it confidently on your hip. You wonder what he’s going to say but, just when you’re about to articulate your curiosity, he leans down and kisses you square on the mouth. His fingers slide into the hair at the nape of your neck as he takes a hold of your face and, as his thumb sweeps languidly back and forth across your cheekbone, you absently speculate on just how big his hand must be to support your head in such a way. You’re so engrossed in this calculation, in fact, that you nearly miss the moment his tongue enters the equation.

Of course, all of this happens so quickly that, before you can really even kiss him in return, he’s already taking a step back and glancing at the doorway to make sure that Bradley isn’t there.

You graze your teeth over your bottom lip, trying to contain your widening smile as you meet his gaze. It’s nice to know that Jake still wants to kiss you today just as badly as he did yesterday. So much so that he’s willing to risk Bradley walking in on you. You let yourself ogle him overtly for a moment, admiring his tanned arms and the little bit of chest that you could see above the low neckline of his muscle shirt. Then, you say, “I want to hear more about this insanely hot girl you won’t shut up about.”

Jake cringes, busying himself with the dishes sitting in the dishrack. “I’m not sure you’d get along. She’s very confrontational.” He puts away a couple of bowls into a cupboard.

You let out a shocked gasp as if you're offended. “Seriously?”

“Oh yeah,” Jake turns back to face you, grinning as he throws a dishtowel over his shoulder. “Super intense. A little scary.”

“I don’t know, she sounds like a catch,” you say, taking a small step toward him. “I mean, according to Bradley, you’ve been obsessing over her for weeks!”

Jake shakes his head with a chuckle and, pulling you in to give you a quick peck on the side of your head, he mutters into your hair, “I’m gonna kill your brother.”

Read Part 11

Hangman Tag List:

A/N: The rest of the list will be in the comments. As always, let me know if you don't want to be tagged anymore.

[julezo]

not to be insane but in a realistic tomarry/harrymort fic with good characterization it’s very difficult for them to not change one another.

a good fic acknowledges that harry only survives their canon interactions (and overall, his many different in-story challenges) from being tricky and clever. like it or not, harry is much weaker in magic, strength, mind, and political influence than voldemort.

so when he’s getting out of the third task, he doesn’t win, he cheats. when he’s getting out of malfoy manor, he doesn’t win, he calls dobby and gets out though a minor oversight. he doesn’t defeat umbridge in a dual, he instead helps run a covert defense club and repeatedly goes under her nose to do what he wants!! he doesn’t save sirius in book 3 because he fought peter and won, he used a time turner (albeit with help), broke ministry rules without anyone else knowing (bar hermione and dumbledore) and saved him.

that’s so slytherin!!!

it is my belief that Voldemort thus inadvertently pushes Harry to be more cunning. Harry is at his most slytherin during his daring but clever escapes from Voldemort and the indirect issues caused by Voldemort.

though it has less text evidence, i would also go so far to throw out that because of how pissed off Harry makes voldemort, it’s the same in reverse. Harry pushes Voldemort to be more reckless and daring in his effort to capture/kill him, as if a gryffindor.

i guess there’s a lot of poetry there. the more polarized they get from one another, the more alike they become. as they clash, they transform themselves into the other.

idk

[scenesniper]

You are my hero 😭 as a nonbinary afab person, I feel like almost all fanfics are meant for cis women. If it’s alright, could I request sfw &/or nsfw headcanons for Aesop please? It’s totally okay if not, thank you for your posts regardless 💜

☆ aesop carl ; general sfw & nsfw headcanons

pairing / aesop carl x afab gn! reader

disclaimer / possession, jealous themes, dacryphilia, overstimulation, mutual & guided masturbation, clothed fingering, mentions of being sex obsessed

word count / 1,346 words

author's note / thank you anon, i'm honored to know that you seen with my works! i went a bit far while writing this and i'm honestly shocked as i thought i didn't write as much.

SFW

☆ aesop carl is a quiet, reserved man. he keeps to himself, something that everyone knows all too well. he’s neat and tidy, nothing is ever misplaced as long as it’s aesop carl’s belongings. visitors would visit the mortuary and the sight of aesop being in charge was considered to be a blessing in that little town, a good sign as yours or your loved one’s will would be properly passed on by his respectable hands.

☆ meeting you and getting to know you, he’s unsure on what to think of you as. you’re just an inexplicable mystery to him. in fact, there’ll probably be times where he would believe what he feels for you is loathing.

☆ if you’re quiet, he’ll still think of you as annoying albeit he’s fond to those silent. if you’re loud and chatty, he’ll want to just shut up and imagine you still and dead but then felt uncomfortable with the idea of you dead, a thought he’s unfamiliar with.

☆ he will find your presence more bearable over time but would keep to himself, only truly looking at you in the distance. he wouldn’t pursue you per se, it would start off slow, aesop believing he’s involving himself in your life with the occasional nod and a greeting regarding the time of day (which only happens little often as aesop doesn’t want to admit, he yearns for an emotional connection with you).

☆ if by a miracle, he shows a bit of himself to you, take that opportunity as fast as you can as he’s fast to hide back in his shell. aesop is a listener. if you have a lot to say, he’ll listen despite not being very interested in what people tend to say, he’ll hyperfocus on you. if you’re not much of a talker, he enjoys your silent company. he’s not very fond of small talk, he prefers long and detailed conversations with depth.

☆ aesop randomly thinking about you during his day, whether it’s when he’s doing his job or he’s out late at night with little to no energy but a mere little lunch, that’s when he knows that there is something about you that his subconscious just desires. aesop is a possessive and easily jealous man but even he, himself does not acknowledge that. he feels entitled over you.

☆ getting to date aesop carl, you will have to be very patient as he prefers having it at his pace. it’ll start off with his shoulders brushing against yours, a quick glance at your direction, discreetly holding your wrist. you seriously questioned if he even liked you.

☆ aesop is a private man and is not a big fan of intimacy or public displays of affection. he hasn’t touched many people in his life, minus the dead bodies that he has to attend to. so for that very reason, he’s highly sensitive to the touch of another.

☆ once he does get a bit more comfortable (which will still take quite some more time), he’s prone to being easily flustered by you and your actions. if you got too impatient by his advances and started to lead the relationship, he gets very flustered by avoiding your gaze and covering his mouth, inadvertently unaware that he’s wearing a face covering.

☆ kissing with aesop is like a quick dream. not that it’s heavenly, but it goes by so far you can barely register anything of it and question what it even was. at first, he’ll give you quick pecks on the lips and call it a day. as you grow closer with him, those quick pecks would turn into needy kisses for you.

☆ he needs to feel you, skin to skin. your warmth and your little quiver, memorize the shape of your lips and mold his mouth with yours. he’s an absolute messy kisser (and not that very good with it). he’ll try to reciprocate your actions if you try your best to amend his awkward kissing but it’s all for naught. aesop is a fast learner and will learn but when he wants you, no, needs you, and you’re looking at him with that beautiful look that he so loves. he’s just going to go in with no thoughts attached behind it.

NSFW

☆ aesop isn’t the kind to touch himself, really, he’s never paid attention to his physical needs. never having anything to really think about while touching himself, he found it completely dull and tiring. until you, his muse. he’ll pleasurably touch himself to thought of you inside the confines of his bedroom with only a singular candle, its’ light dying away deep in the night. the guilt questionable as he got off more to how disrespectful he felt.

☆ having sex with aesop, he sees sex as something so intimate that it should only be kept in the bedroom and the bedroom only. he will be viewing your body more of like an examination as he does with corpses, his gaze not timid. he’ll touch the areas he’s expecting reactions from you and drag his gloved finger on your body, just for you to squirm over his cold touch.

☆ he’s average in size, it’s skinny but he does know how to use it. he loves doing all sorts of positions with you, each night a new position. he wants to feel all sorts of intimacy with you in every way possible. he loves to pin your hands above your head, your wrists would over time begin to strain from the pressure he’s giving your wrists.

☆ if you wear lipstick, he loves it plastered all over his collar. he finds it so appealing. he absolutely loves tears in the bedroom and god does he have an orgasm fixation. cry for him, whine for him, beg for him. gasp his name and hold him tight by his shoulders or grip his thighs. he loves to wipe your tears. “shh darling.. you’re so good so far.”

☆ mutual and guided masturbation. he loves being enchanted by the sight of you, staring at him in such a vulnerable state. he can’t contain himself, he has to touch himself as well. he loves guided masturbation for both ways, especially you directing him where he can and where he can’t touch to those areas that needs the most attention. he loves to be in control of your autonomy in this way, hearing you beg him. it’s serene.

☆ he doesn’t like the being all sweaty and your heated bodies touching one another so most of the overstimulating is from him fingering you. he does it with his gloves, in a trance every time he sees your essence staining his clothed fingers by the end of it every night. he loves to admire your cum seeping out but quickly tries to clean it up with his fingers as he’s not a big fan of the mess.

☆ once aesop has felt and got sex on his mind, he’s going to be completely sex obsessed. he’s always thinking about you with little to no clothing, in a cute little lace lingerie. those are the thoughts that’s been keeping him going after a tiring day at work. all he can think about is him being inside you, his fingers on your body and inside that perfect spot that he knows will have your back arching every time.

☆ aftercare with aesop is him always cleaning up. there will always be a bath followed immediately after he finishes changing the sheets and wiping your body off, preferably bathing together as he feels after a physically charged act with one another, this simple act of familiarity makes it feel more like he’s living.

☆ after the bath, he will rest in bed with you either being up for a few more minutes thinking about the littlest of things and salvage the importance of this memory. he’ll lean in with a forehead kiss, for the first few moments in his life, he’s finally content with his life. “rest well, doll.”

[nahoney22]

wondering if you could do something fluffy with Tech where he walks in on reader (f) singing softly to herself and he’s completely enamoured and mesmerised please? Many thanks and congratulations on the following - that’s awesome 👏🏻 ❤️

Songbird

Tech X F!Reader

word count: 1.8k

When Tech hears you singing for the first time, he can’t help but fall for you just a little more and let slip his feelings.

warnings: SFW, fluff only, mutual pining, non-established relationship, first kiss. Crosshair being a wingman.

authors note: such a cute idea! I’m definitely missing him this season 🥺 hope this is okay anon and again, as always, sorry for the wait 🤍

Tech found himself perplexed by the notion of Crosshair's teasing when he began to declare that he, Tech himself, harbored feelings for you. He wasn't programmed for emotional attachment; his purpose was solely to fulfill his duties and utilise his expertise. Yet, as he contemplated Crosshair's jests and observed you with what he could only interpret as affection, he began to entertain the possibility that his brother might be onto something.

But of course at first, he dismisses it.

“Are you going to look me in the eye and tell me she,” Crosshair looks to you from across the threshold and then locks eyes with Tech, “is not pretty?”

“I do not recall ever saying that she wasn’t.” Tech states with a frown. “Any sane person would find her beautiful-.”

Crosshair said nothing as Tech ate his words, his mouth tight lipped at his spill. Crosshair could only smirk before he strolls away.

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he scours his mind for a pinpoint in time where this crush had emerged; yet all he could find was that as he recalled being In your presence, his heart would race. His hands even fidgeted and his gaze lingered on you as you leaned over him, demonstrating a curiosity for his tinkering or the contents of his datapad.

Now that he thinks about it, he would try and control his breathing, not wanting to sound breathless when you asked him something. All the whilst Crosshair would smirk knowingly from across the ship. He was rather grateful he maintained the discretion not to divulge his feelings to you.

He knew he had to do some reasearch on this after recognising his unfamiliar emotions and so sought guidance from the holonet later that night. Though, he was unwilling to express his sentiments until he comprehended them himself. Thus, he opted to bide his time and maybe this will pass.

It did not.

As days turned into weeks, his affection for you only swelled. Simply witnessing you smiling at Omega or indulging in a mundane activity like blowing steam off your morning caf on your bunk brought a smile to his face. And despite his efforts to suppress these newfound emotions, he found the prospect of harbouring feelings for someone exhilarating. Albeit marred by bouts of jealousy, particularly when he observed a bartender attempting to woo you with pickup lines one time.

One warm evening, Tech finds himself outside the Marauder, engrossed in his weekly maintenance routine. Assuming you had accompanied the others into town for potential work opportunities, he's startled by your gentle greeting, causing him to inadvertently collide with a metal pole, eliciting a pained reaction.

“Tech!” Concerned, you rush to his side, apologising for the unexpected interruption. “I am so, so sorry! I thought you knew I was here?”

With a weak smile of reassurance, Tech brushes off the incident, though his heart races as you approach, your proximity sending a warmth to his cheeks. "I can confirm that I was not aware of your presence, but accidents happen.” Despite his attempt to maintain composure, your tender gesture—placing a hand on his face and tilting his head gently to the side to inspect him—sends a wave of warmth through him, momentarily leaving him flustered. "T-There is nothing to fret over," he added, his voice faltering slightly, though you seemed oblivious to his nervousness.

"No," you said softly, amusement dancing in your eyes as you smiled at him. "But there's nothing wrong with checking you over. Is there?" As you express your concern with a voice so soft and somehow alluring, his resolve wavers, unable to resist your caring demeanor. Succumbing to your gentle attention, he allows you to fuss over him, though he had initially insisted he was fine.

It was almost impossible for Tech not to melt under your gaze. "I suppose not, no.”

“So,” you begin, breaking out of the trance as you step back, “need any help with anything?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Tech, seizing the opportunity, requests your aid in powering up the ship, knowing your familiarity with the process from observing him countless times. Eagerly, you agree, practically bouncing with anticipation at the prospect of taking control of the Marauder's systems.

With a nod of confirmation, Tech passed you his datapad, meticulously detailing the steps for initiating the ship's systems from the pilot's seat.

To his relief, yet not entirely surprised, you flawlessly executed the instructions, following them to the letter and giving him your undivided attention. Another trait he mentally noted as a reason why he might harbor feelings for you.

After explaining over the comm channel that he would wrap up his work outside, Tech took just a few minutes to complete his tasks before returning up the gangplank. Yet, a soft noise caught his attention, causing him to pause in curiosity.

Quietly approaching the cockpit, Tech was taken aback when he heard it—your voice, singing softly. Entranced, he felt as though his entire being had turned to jelly, captivated by the angelic melody that seemed to cast a spell over him. Accompanying the serenade was the gentle hum of music from a makeshift radio, a project that you and Omega had persuaded him to undertake some time ago.

Normally indifferent to such things, Tech found himself utterly enchanted, simply content to stand and watch you. Seated in the pilot's seat with your eyes closed, swinging side to side slowly and lost in your own world, you appeared ethereal. It almost seemed a shame to interrupt you, but Tech couldn't resist the urge to linger a little longer, soaking in the enchanting moment.

As you swung around in the chair a bit too much, you ended up facing Tech directly. “Oh hi Tech!” You grin as you stand and approach him. “Are the repairs done?”

He found himself momentarily frozen, struggling to find his voice. When he finally spoke, it was not in response to your question about the repairs. "I wasn't aware that you could sing well," he remarked, his words lacking their usual technical precision.

Your laughter rang out softly as you tilted your head, teasing him gently. "I wasn't aware that I could either. Are you sure you didn't hit your head too hard?" you joked, though a hint of modesty coloured your words. However, as you noticed the earnestness in Tech's gaze, you began to reconsider.

"You sing beautifully," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your smile faltered slightly, replaced by a look of concern as you approached him. This was not like Tech to be so shy. You reach out to him once more, your touch gentle as you inspected his face for any signs of injury that you may have missed.

Closing his eyes, Tech savoured the sensation of your fingers against his skin, his thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. In a moment of vulnerability, his carefully guarded emotions spilled out before he could stop them. "I have romantic feelings for you."

Your eyes widened slowly, mirroring his realisation, as he watched the weight of his confession settle between you. Dropping your hand and meeting his gaze, you processed his words with a mix of surprise and disbelief. "Wait, what? You serious?"

Tech swallowed hard, his heart racing as he grappled with the consequences of his impulsive admission. "Yes, I am," he affirmed, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him.

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air, punctuated only by the soft hum of the ship's systems and the radio that still played in the background. Then, with a deep breath, you spoke again, your expression a mixture of confusion and curiosity. "I... I don't know what to say," you admitted, your words tentative as you processed the revelation.

Tech's gaze remained fixed on you, his vulnerability laid bare in the openness of his confession. "I understand if you need time to think, I… I shall leave you to your thoughts. I hope this has not jeopardised our friendship.” He offered quietly, his tone gentle as he turned to walk away.

“Tech, wait.” As you reached out to stop him, Tech's movements slowed, his gaze shifting to where your hand rested on his wrist. A wave of warmth spread through him as your touch lingered, guiding his attention to the intertwining of your fingers, a simple gesture that held a world of meaning.

"I never expected you to feel the same way," you whispered softly, your voice a gentle caress against the stillness of the cockpit. Tech turned to face you fully, his heart racing as he met your gaze, searching for any hint of uncertainty or hesitation.

His breath caught in his throat as he tried to process your words, his mind reeling with disbelief and hope in equal measure. "'The same way'?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes locked on yours.

You nodded, a tender smile gracing your lips, a smile that seemed to light up the dimly lit space around you. "Of course. Why do you think I always stay behind or bother you with questions about tasks?" you teased, the playful lilt in your voice bringing a sense of ease to Tech's racing thoughts.

A surge of relief washed over him, the weight of uncertainty lifting from his shoulders as he realised the depth of your feelings mirrored his own. "I did not think you would reciprocate your feelings for me. At all. I am not the most ideal—" he began, his words faltering under the weight of vulnerability.

"Don't," you interrupted, your voice firm yet gentle, refusing to let him diminish himself in your eyes. "I think you are perfect."

A soft exhale escaped Tech's lips, his chest tightening with a mixture of gratitude and disbelief. Gently squeezing your hand, he found solace in the warmth of your touch, reassuring him this was not a dream. "This is very gratifying to hear, I confess. But I must admit I do not know where to go from here."

Your eyes sparkled with anticipation, a hint of desire lacing your voice as you leaned in closer, closing the distance between you. "If it's not too soon, may I propose a kiss?"

A soft chuckle escaped Tech's lips, his eyes softening as he drew you nearer, his free hand finding its way to your waist, drawing you into his embrace. "I'd be happy to oblige."

Leaning down, Tech closed the remaining space between you, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss that spoke volume. The galaxy seemed to fade away, leaving only the warmth of your touch, the rhythm of your breaths, and the gentle cadence of your shared kiss.

Your hands move to the back of his neck, your body flushed against his eliciting a soft moan of satisfaction. With fingers tangled in his hair and his hand tightening around your waist, Tech felt a sense of completeness wash over him, knowing that he had found something truly special in you. “May I suggest you sing more often by the way?”

“If this is the result I get. Of course.”

Masterlist

More Tech Works

Tags: @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf f @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @mssbridgerton @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @imalovernotahater @whore4rex x @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder r @lulalovez @mysticalgalaxysalad @photogirl894 @id-rather-be-a-druid @the-bad-batch-baroness

[dissapointu]

I hope you are doing well, can I request headcannons from the arcane cast + mel and hemmerdinger with a reader who is a mage (like the one who saved Jayce and his mother) and the reader faces a lot of criticism for using magic but also wants to be very helpful to help those who need it and not think that they are all evil

I think something platonic would be better for this, but feel free to modify it however you want 😘

Of course! And I'm doing well annon<3

Ekko

• Ekko is protective of anyone who is unjustly criticized, and he knows all too well what it’s like to be misunderstood. He’d never judge you for your magic, knowing that your intentions are pure and that not all magic is inherently evil.

• He’s the first to defend you when others make harsh comments, using his quick wit and clever words to shut them down. He might not say it outright, but he believes in your cause.

• Despite his laid-back attitude, Ekko admires your resilience. He sees the way you fight for the greater good, despite the struggles you face from others, and respects you for it.

• He may even ask for your help with certain projects, knowing that your abilities could make a difference, though he’d keep it casual—he never wants to make you feel like you’re being exploited.

Vi

• Vi would be one of the first to stand up for you. She’s been on the receiving end of prejudice herself, and she knows how hard it can be to be judged based on something beyond your control.

• She’d never trust anyone who looks down on you for using magic—especially if they don’t understand it the way you do. If she sees someone being too harsh, Vi won’t hesitate to throw a punch or two in defense.

• There’s an understanding between you and her; she knows what it’s like to be misunderstood, and you share that bond. She’d be the one to sit with you when things get overwhelming, offering a quiet moment of solidarity.

Jinx

• Jinx, in her own chaotic way, would probably find your magic fascinating. She doesn’t understand the rules, but she’d be the first to encourage you to keep pushing boundaries—after all, she knows what it’s like to be an outcast, so she wouldn’t judge you for being different.

• However, she might get overly excited and inadvertently draw attention to your powers, which could make things worse for you at times. Still, her intentions are always to support you, albeit in her unpredictable way.

• If anyone criticizes you too harshly, Jinx might end up causing a bit of a scene, perhaps in a reckless or mischievous way, to protect you from the negativity.

Jayce

• Jayce can relate to the criticism that comes with using technology that people don’t fully understand. He’d empathize with your struggle, often offering advice on how to navigate the challenges you face.

• He’d be a strong supporter of your cause, often speaking highly of you in public and sharing your belief that magic can be a tool for good.

• However, Jayce would also worry about you, knowing that the world is filled with people who may not see the same potential in magic that you do. He’d try to protect you from harm by using his status and influence to help shield you from critics.

• But sometimes, his concern could be overwhelming, especially when he sees how much you’re taking on yourself.

Mel

• Mel is a bit more reserved than the others but has a strong sense of justice. She would respect your dedication to using magic for good, even though she is often cautious about how it is perceived.

• She’d offer advice on how to be strategic about your magic use, ensuring that you can help others while also protecting yourself from backlash.

• Mel may even take a more diplomatic approach, using her influence and connections to help clear some of the misconceptions about you, though she wouldn’t make a big show of it.

• Her method is quieter and more tactful, preferring to operate behind the scenes, but she genuinely respects your determination and your desire to help those in need.

Heimerdinger

• Heimerdinger would be deeply fascinated by your magic, especially if it’s connected to a scientific or mechanical purpose. He would be more interested in the potential of magic to complement technological advancements.

• While he understands the fear that comes with magic, he is not quick to judge. He believes that it is not the magic itself but the intention behind its use that matters.

• Heimerdinger would try to offer guidance on how to use your powers responsibly, emphasizing caution and preparation, especially in a world that fears what it doesn’t fully understand.

• He would be the kind of mentor who tells you that knowledge is power, encouraging you to keep proving that magic can coexist with progress. He might even help you develop ways to make your magic more accessible and accepted by society.

[thecapricunt1616]

Patchouli - (C.B. oneshot)

𝓢𝓷𝓲𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓽 (𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓑𝓣𝓒): Carmen would stumble in - long after you’d fallen asleep, albeit cursing himself for not being home earlier before you’d fallen asleep to your true crime shows, so you’d kneel at his feet as you usually did, and untie his sneakers for him, before gently coaxing him out of the shoes like the earth-ridden angel you were since his back was fucking aching after his near 16 hour day. He would silently slink into the bathroom, take a quick shower - just enough to scrub off the dirt, sweat, and kitchen smell from the day. Before he’d carefully pad to bed and do whatever he could to assure you felt oh so good to start off your solo-weekend together.

♡ Summary: carm is a munch. What else do you need to know?

♡ W/C: 1300

♡ Posted Date: 4/20/24 (blaze it)

♡ A/N: pure porn lol (prequel to Peonies)

♡ Warnings for BTC: smut. Pussy eating ass smut. this is fully unedited because I’m a lazy sack of shit we die like men.

➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡

➵ 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 / 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵 ♡

Carmy was nothing short of addicted to the taste of your pussy.

Like - he nearly found it embarrassing for Christ’s sake. He would get hard thinking about it, Jesus, his fucking mouth watered.

He’d tried the best food in the whole world- the most talented chefs would nearly beg for him to taste their art - but nothing was more decadent than your homemade liquor on his tongue.

He worked extra late on Friday evenings, since it was the busiest night at the restaurant. Date nights, birthday celebrations, any celebration- really that was big enough to warrant going to one of the only Michelin star restaurants in Chicago usually happened Fridays.

Carmen would stumble in - long after you’d fallen asleep, albeit cursing himself for not being home earlier before you’d fallen asleep to your true crime shows, so you’d kneel at his feet as you usually did, and untie his sneakers for him, before gently coaxing him out of the shoes like the earth-ridden angel you were since his back was fucking aching after his near 16 hour day.

He would silently slink into the bathroom, take a quick shower - just enough to scrub off the dirt, sweat, and kitchen smell from the day. Before he’d carefully pad to bed and do whatever he could to assure you felt oh so good to start off your solo-weekend together.

Carmy would come into the bedroom, damp, dripping curls from his shower, and ever so gently crawl between your sleeping supple, thick thighs. He felt welcome. As if you were asking him- no. Begging him- to devour your sweet silky luscious heat as soon as he’d got through the door.

This was coming home, at least to him- his true home was between your thighs, sucking and lapping at your folds until the both of you were sore. When you’d whine about it in the morning, he’d kindly make up for it and place the gentlest, most filthy kisses to your mound and nether lips, whispering sweet sorrys to your cunt and ‘promising to be gentler with her next time’ - he never was.

He hummed gently, dragging his heavy, knife calloused fingers over your clit. Your hips inadvertently jerked into his hand, it was only natural.

There would be times he would just simply lay there after an orgasm of yours, in a filthy, horny trance, thrusting his expert fingers oh so carefully into your seeping (embarrassingly wet) and over sensitive hole - slow and light due to the muscle being so so overused, almost achingly so - before taking them out and spreading the digits to see how sticky and messy you were.

“mmm someone was playin’ with herself before I got home?” He said, just barely a whisper.

He pressed his lips to yours, before gently taking the right one into his mouth and sucking the overly sensitive flesh between his lips. His tattooed hands gently rub over your thighs, squeezing the skin, hard enough to leave bruises, and his eyes fluttering shut, every stress of the day melting away. It was as if the man had an oral fucking fixation with your clit, with your folds. The way he’d suck and flick and kiss them - it was like he was playing a goddamn game.

He eagerly spread your lips with his ring and middle finger admiring how wet you were. “Absolutely - how dirty mmm? My filthy little girl” he he whispered, tonguing the wetness over your weeping hole and holding back a moan at your sweet, musky flavor.

Carmy relished in the way your core clenched around nothing, and the sweetest most gentle whimper fell from your lips. “Shhhh” he cooed, placing a kiss to your clit that made your thigh twitch

“I’m takin care’f ya’ - don’worry” he said softly, licking a hot wet stripe from the curve of your ass to the very top of your slit, flicking his tongue over your clit in the way that made you shiver.

Even in your sleep, you widened your legs for him to give better access to the delicious sensation that was lapping up the moisture that was starting to drip and tickle. It wasn’t long until you were roused, a small sleepy smirk coming to your lips.

“Mmmm thanks Bear” you muttered, lazily finding his curls and gently pushing them off his forehead. He reached his hand up to your stomach, palm up to you, lightly wiggling his fingers on your flesh. Allthough you refused to open your eyes, you felt the action and knew what he wanted.

You found his hand easily, lacing your fingers together and pulling his hand to your lips, kissing each knuckle as he kissed and sucked your folds. As he nudged your clit with his nose you gasped lightly, looking down at him in the dim light.

“Yes- like that baby- feels good, work ok lovey?” You gently tug his curls and he looked up at you, lustblown eyes and a wet nose he looked like a puppy this way.

“Mm. Ok. Marcus f’got a huge cake order. Kinda’a mess” he muttered before sticking out his tongue, slack jawed and adorable, slobbering over your pussy like a man starved.

You nearly giggled at the action but couldn’t as a moan passed your lips you couldn’t hold in if you tried. “Such a good puppy” you moaned quietly “so good t’me Carmy, I fuckin love you” you gasped, thighs nearly smushing his cheeks as he nipped at the sensitive flesh

“That’s new” he hummed, kissing your clit as he reached down with his other hand and slipped 2 fingers easily in your dripping entrance. Your back arched off the bed, electricity shooting through your thighs and abdomen, core clenching around his fingers, nearly sucking him in.

“Cus’y so good bear. Such a good boy” you praised, gasping as he starts flicking his tongue over your clit “shhh-ahh! Mmm! Thas’it. Thaaaatsit” you slurred, the coil in your stomach heating up and threatening to snap- and soon.

He moans into your clit, the vibration causing your hips to jerk and he leans his strong forearm around your luscious hips. “Still” he mumbled the order, thrusting his tongue into your hole.

“Jesus fuck! Don’t fuckin st- ohhhh” you let out nothing short out of a pornographic film like wanton desperate filthy moan

“Cmon, cum f’me pretty girl” he urged gently, replacing his tongue with his fingers and nuzzling your clit with his nose like a man starved as he sucked and nibbled your folds.

You whined, squeezing the hand you were still holding tightly. “N-now-nnnmmmmhhh” your orgasm washed over you like a tsunami, the aftershock being the strongest part. His lightest touch was causing you to jerk and twitch under him at the overstimulation.

“Shhhh angel. Relax. Relax” he coaxed, rubbing over your stomach with a light touch. “Such a sweet girl. My sweet girl” he caressed your thighs with a sweet touch for a few minutes, pressing gentle kisses to your skin before getting up.

You’d inevitably whine and beg him to come back, your core feeling cold and neglected without his presence. “Time f’sleep gorgeous.” He’d gently pet your hair, pulling you into his chest.

“I want French toast for breakfast.” You muttered softly, nuzzling into his chest, smiling to yourself at his tickly chest fuzz.

“Ye?’ We got bacon too, went shoppin’ fore I came home” he muttered into the skin of your neck tiredly.

Now that he’d fulfilled his daylong craving- he was exhausted and ready to sleep as soon as he could.

“The best boyfriend. Can I wake you up t’morrow with my mouth?” You asked, gently rubbing your hand over his half hard bulge.

“Please. Y’never gotta ask princess”

Fin

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 1, Unarmed - Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Mild language, Bucky and Reader being Tolkien nerds, light fluff, mention of rabies (it's a super scary disease and we should all be vigilant, okay?!)

Word Count: 1.6k

Previously On...: You just had the pleasure of meeting the very handsome Bucky Barnes. Despite a little bit of awkwardness during your first encounter, you have a feeling your life is about to get a lot more interesting now that he's been introduced into it.

A/N: You know what? I said I wasn't going to do this, but I thought "fuck it!" and decided to post all of Chapter 1: Unarmed. My anxiety is too high to just sit on it. So, please enjoy Ch1. Pt2! Pts 3 & 4 to follow!

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @blackhawkfanatic

The next evening, you were making your way back to your suite after a productive, albeit exhausting, day in your lab. You were working on a crisis prediction real-time monitoring system to anticipate global threats. You were convinced it would allow the Avengers to respond to trouble faster, but perfecting the privacy algorithm had been an absolute pain in the ass, and you still hadn't gotten it quite right. Technically, you could have farmed the project off to a subordinate; hell, even a team of subordinates of a subordinate, but this was one of your pet projects and you insisted on being hands-on in its development.

You had your tablet open as you walked, chewing on your thumb and reviewing the dataset from the run of your latest algorithm model one more time. Closer, but not good enough. If you were going to convince Tony that this was a program worth implementing, especially at its projected cost, everything had to be perfect. "Damn it," you muttered to yourself.

You rounded the corner and ran smack into Bucky's chest, dropping your tablet and causing him to drop the three books he'd been holding under his remaining arm. "Oh, shit-- I'm so sorry," you uttered as you bent down to retrieve the dropped items. Bucky leaned down to assist you, but you waved him off.

"’S my fault; I've got it," you told him, piling up his books for him. "I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Bucky leaned up against the wall and chuckled while you stood up and handed the books back to him. "I doubt you could hurt me," he said, smiling softly. "No offense."

You let out a small laugh. "None taken." He was a super soldier, after all. Stealing a glance at book spines, you couldn't suppress the smile that crossed your face. "Lord of the Rings," you nodded appreciatively. "Have you read them before?"

Bucky looked down at the books tucked under his arm. "No, first time. I read The Hobbit back when it was first published in '37, but these didn't come out until after..." he trailed off, but you knew what he meant. After he'd been abducted and brainwashed, turned into a murderer.

You nodded in understanding. "I'm actually really excited for you," you told him. "What I wouldn't give to be able to read them again for the first time."

"You a Tolkien fan, then?" he asked you. When you nodded, he continued: "When I finish them, maybe we can talk about them sometime? Steve's not really into fantasy."

"Yeah, I'd like that," you said. "If you're interested, we could watch the movies. I'll warn you though; they're long as hell, but their masterpieces. I mean, they didn't need to turn The Hobbit into three separate films, but still, they'll blow your fucking mind."

Bucky ran his tongue over his lower lip and you couldn't help but follow the motion with your eyes. "That sounds like fun," he said, his eyes twinkling with... something. "Your place or mine?" Was he… flirting with you?

"How 'bout you finish the books first, then we'll talk logistics," you teased. "Hey, speaking of, what floor did they end up putting you on?"

"Um, this one, actually," he said, tilting his head toward a nearby door.

"No shit," you remarked, laughingly. "You must have done something to piss Rogers off, because he put you right across the hall from me."

Bucky looked down, scuffing the toe of his boot against the carpeting. "He said it was the quietest floor, thought I'd prefer that."

You pursed your lips, considering. "Yeah, that makes sense; it's just been me on this level for ages. It'll be nice to have some company for a change."

Bucky looked surprised. "Stark's kept you down here all by your lonesome? That doesn't seem very nice."

You shook your head and dismissed his concern with a wave. "Oh, no-- Tony hates that I still live down here, actually. He put in all new living quarters a few years back. Everyone migrated upstairs, but I was the only one who didn't want to move."

"Why's that?" Bucky asked, appearing genuinely interested.

"I've lived here since I graduated college," you admitted, "back when it was still just Stark Tower. When Tony relocated here from Malibu to rebrand it for the Avengers, he wanted to redo everything, which meant fancy new suites for everybody. But I love my rooms, so I asked to stay put. They've been my home for so long now and I guess I just like the stability, you know?"

Bucky nodded thoughtfully. "And Tony thinks highly enough of you that he let the blow to his ego slide?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I have enough dirt on him that he felt like he didn't have much of a choice." You snorted, not able to keep up the pretense. "No, but seriously, I know you and Tony have a complicated... history, but he's not a bad guy. Ego as tall as this Tower, yes, definitely, but he's also incredibly kind and generous. He paid for my entire college education-- undergrad, post-grad, doctorate. I owe everything I have to him."

Bucky shifted against the wall. "That is pretty generous. And he never expected anything from you in return?" He didn't say the words out loud, but the implication was there. Had you slept with Tony in exchange for your diplomas? The innuendo should have bothered you, but it had been posed to you so many times over the years, you'd stopped being offended by it. Before Pepper, Tony had had quite the  reputation, after all, and an MIT education didn’t exactly come cheap. Most people couldn’t understand why he would offer a full ride to someone who, at the time, had been a complete stranger.

"Tony appreciates talent," you clarified. "When he finds it, he cultivates it, nourishes it, does everything he can to help it grow to its fullest potential. But he does like to get a return on his investments, and my skills have helped him make a lot of money." You shrugged your shoulders with a chuckle. "I love my job, I love the work we do, I love the stupid weirdo family we've built here, so I've always considered meeting Tony to be the best thing that ever happened to me. He's kind of like my own fairy godfather."

"So, what exactly does he have you do around here?" Bucky asked. "I know Steve said you did computer stuff, but you said it was an over-simplification."

You ran a hand up to rub the back of your neck while you considered your answer. How best to explain your position to someone who was born before the invention of the television? "Okay," you exhaled, "so, short answer is that I'm the CTO, the Chief Technology Officer, of Stark Industries and, under that, I run the Avenger’s Technology and Innovation Department. It's sort of our take on Research and Development. I've got a lab where I'm in charge of about 450 scientists, engineers, computer programmers, analysts, et. cetera. And our entire job is coming up with cool new ways of making things easier for the Avengers. Like, new features for suits, developing useful programs, coming up with new defenses and weapons, that kind of thing. And if we've got missions that require heavy computer- or tech-work, I come along for on-site support. I'm combat-trained and good with languages, so that comes in handy in the field. There’s probably a ton of field agents that could go in my place, but for Tony, it’s a matter of trust."

Bucky let out a low, appreciative whistle. "Damn. That's impressive. You're a little intimidating, you know that?"

Laughing, you tucked your tablet under your arm. "Please. I'm about as intimidating as a hamster." You paused to think. "Maybe a hamster with rabies, but still a hamster."

A series of beeps emanated from your tablet. As you pulled it out to check the alert, Bucky moved away from the wall. "I'm so sorry-- you were heading back to your room and I've basically been holding you hostage this entire time."

"Actually," you said, silencing the notification alarm that had distracted you, "That was just a reminder I set for myself to eat. Sometimes I lose track of time in the lab and completely forget to have dinner. Are you hungry? You could join me."

Bucky pulled his head back, regarding you as though he wasn't sure if you were serious.

"Or, if you don't want to, that's cool," you said quickly once you noticed his hesitation. "I mean, you wanted a quiet floor. Annoying neighbor is probably the last--"

"I'd love to," interrupted Bucky with a grin. "I'm just surprised someone like you would want to spend time with someone like me."

"Someone like me? Hey now, for all you know, I could be an absolute trash person," you teased, playfully punching him on the shoulder.

Bucky chuckled, his eyes sparkling with a newfound warmth. "Well, I highly doubt that, but I guess I'll find out soon enough."

"Don't say I didn't warn you when you do." You cocked your head toward the door to your room. "I'm going to change out of my work clothes. While I do, how about you decide what you're in the mood for, and we'll go from there. That sound good?" Bucky nodded as you let yourself into your room. The evening had taken an unexpected turn, but you found you were looking forward to spending more time in the company of Bucky Barnes.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

[aerynlallaboso]

aw2 lake house spoilers /

i really love how the marmonts are like. evil divorced alan/alice

i've only played through once so far but the first place it really struck me was this email late in the dlc, specifically the 'you always needed me more than i needed you' because it lines up exactly with what remedy have said about alan & alice's relationship (in the aw1 commentary), that he needs her more than she needs him

their background is similar in that they graduate and head off to their new jobs as co-heads of research (alan and alice hitting new york 'dedicated to/by their creative ambitions') but things fall apart for them because diana feels that jules is mismanaging things and getting too much credit (any credit) for their work -> mirroring alan's career kicking off and alice's being sidelined. jules's project also seems to be the one that ends up working (albeit with terrible consequences). the implication that alan might be responsible for their relationship falling apart via the manuscript is really interesting because. well. he was (primarily) responsible for his and alice's relationship falling apart prior to aw1... wonder if he's projecting a little

i have to replay to dig into it more but some other smaller things i noticed:

jules getting diana to participate in the elevator video up top parallels to me alan getting alice work doing covers for his books - it seems on the surface like a husband/wife collaboration, but it's more about the husband's personal public presence than a joint production (see also jules's? posters being everywhere... i assume they're his initiative bc his face is on one of them, but diana's is not)

jules doesn't really look like alan in person but me & a friend both mistook the bust in his office for alan initially LMAO

the nut allergy email plotline reminded me inadvertently of alan's skepticism towards stuff like homeopathy (noted by barry in the first game) turned up to 11 - jules is passive-aggressive about it rather than aggressive but he's still, in the same vein as alan, someone who is very dismissive towards stuff he doesn't believe in

[nerdishpursuits]

Well. This scenario really hits home with how realistic it is. Because they’ve both the right and the wrong of it, and it’s painful to see them struggle so much.

Marta really finds herself between a rock and a hard place. And she really damn tries to carve out space for them, however she can. Given her hectic schedule, that takes a lot of organizational gymnastics and praying for the best. Breaks my heart how hopeful she was when she told Fina she finally had good news for them. Only to be rejected. Ouch. Mind you, not ouch because no one’s told Marta no before. Ouch, because she was genuinely excited at the prospect of spending time with Fina at long last (I read someone commenting Marta deserves this and that she didn’t even apologize for the opera debacle. Mind you, why would she? Fina reassured her she’d be patient, trusting Marta to steer them to port, and Marta believed her. So amidst the storm, Marta kept trying to find time for them. And for someone like Marta? Who’s mostly logic and reason? Someone pulling a 180 like this? That’s whiplash and requires some adjusting. I do feel Marta genuinely believed Fina’s patience would have a longer tether and when it snapped, it took her by surprise. But I also feel, given Fina’s track record and Marta’s own workaholic tendencies? A lightbulb should have went off for Marta. I think it would have too, had she not had an endless string of duties to juggle)

Having said that, I do feel the show isn’t exactly clear in terms of time-line. My impression is that episodes are a day by day narrative? Which makes Fina’s Of course I’ll have patience ring hollow, when the very next day she’s all Let me recant that, my patience has run out. For someone as introverted and driven by logic as Marta? That’s a nonsensical and a bag of mixed messages (worth mentioning Fina has done this before, on the day of their failed picnic. In the morning she was boldly declaring I’ve made my choice and I’m all in, being with you gives me life. Then, in the evening, she changed her tune to Actually, I can’t be with you anymore. If I were Marta this would feel a little like déjà vu. Fina left Marta when things with Jaime got too hard. Now things are hard again, albeit for an entirely different reason. We all know Fina can be very mature in a lot of things. But she’s no stranger to the reverse of that coin either).

I do genuinely believe one of Marta’s greatest fears is letting Fina down, to the point she leaves again. When in the kitchen together Marta told Fina she didn’t want her to suffer. Not you. You’re the most beautiful thing I have. Everything else is nothing but problems. Those aren’t the concerns of someone who doesn’t care, or isn’t worried she’s inadvertently hurting the person she loves most in the world. Those are the words of someone who cares deeply, someone who would spare her lover from hurt if she could. If only life would go Marta’s way for once. She desperately needs to find a way to balance things out. And she needs a support system of her own, someone she can share her thoughts with, someone to give her a different perspective or simply a shoulder to cry on. She’s so unbearably alone and the current situation is untenable.

With this in mind? Do I think Fina is overreacting? Yes and no. As I mentioned before, ad nauseam: don’t reassure someone you’re with them, all the way, patiently, then blow a gasket the very next day. That won’t age well. Nonetheless, do I think Fina’s worries and complaints are founded? Absolutely. No one likes feeling like they’re never a first option, or like they’re expected to put their life on hold time and again, to adjust their own plans on a moment’s notice. That’s frustrating as hell. And Fina’s every right to feel unimportant, to fear that’s what the rest of their lives might look like if she doesn’t speak up and makes Marta aware that, long term, their current situation is unsustainable. Fina can’t stand at attention, or drop everything, the moment Marta calls. That’s unhealthy and Fina deserves to have her own plans and social life, as much as Marta deserves a healthy support system of her own.

Be that as it may, it’s also worth mentioning that of the two of them, it’s Fina whose schedule allows for more leeway and flexibility. Allows for room to wiggle. Whereas Marta’s is choking the life out of her. It’s why they need to have a long conversation about it all. Today’s scene was but the catalyst for the change that needs to happen. Marta is now aware that Fina is deeply hurt and unhappy and Fina has said her piece and spoken her truth. Ain’t no winners in today’s verbal match, but this was never about one winning and the other losing. It’s about assessing the playing field, laying out the pieces and finding ways to win, together.

Marta certainly has more food for thought now. And Fina has released a pressure valve by speaking her mind. The floodgates have been opened. Hopefully, this leads to a very healthy and beneficial heart-to-heart. Worth remembering, I’d say, is also that this isn’t a Fina va Marta match. They’re always on the same team. It’s a game that they are learning to fine-tune, to play in synchronicity. They’ll stumble and falter, grow frustrated and tired. But they’ll also rise and stand firm, grow taller and soar. There’s no such thing as a relationship sans obstacles. But the best ones learn to overcome them, as one. If anything, these two have proven time and again they know how to emerge victorious at the end of conflict. They’ll do so again and I can’t wait to see all this tension come to a head. Figuratively … and literally (we’re long overdue an Empotramiemto 2.0, just saying)

[sissyisawitch]

Rainbow in the Sky

Relationship: Ominis Gaunt x f!MC

Summary: What happens when blind Ominis learns that his best friend MC is a synesthete who associates certain traits of personality to all the colours he can't see? Synaesthesia = Perceptual phenomenon in which stimulation of one sensory pathway leads to involuntary experiences in a second sensory pathway.

Word Count: ~6.1k

Author's Note: Hi! It's been a while since I last posted, but college exams took up all my time. Anyways, I'm back with my first Ominis one shot, so I hope I did good enough for all the Gauntlets out there🤞 This one is for all my fellow synesthetes💕Enjoy!🌈

"Wake up, sleepyhead. Class is over."

"Mmh?"

MC's eyelids fluttered open as a hand gently nudged her awake. Still a bit groggy, she slowly realised that she had unintentionally dozed off during History of Magic. But most importantly, she noticed that she had inadvertently fell asleep on Ominis. A tidal wave of embarrassment washed over her, making her brusquely straighten up.

"Oh, Ominis, I'm so sorry, I didn't realise–"

The blond boy put his hand up to stop her, and smiled softly, "Don’t apologise. It's fine. That's what Professor Binns does to people."

MC tried to forget how much of a fool she had made of herself by gathering her belongings. Ominis did the same, then followed her out of the classroom.

As they began to walk together through the corridors teeming with students, the palpable awkwardness remained between them. The silence was thick, and neither knew quite how to break it. However, Ominis was rapidly becoming frustrated by the tension, and decided to inject some humour into the situation.

"You...uh, sleep really peacefully… like a serene Puffskein." He attempted to lighten the mood with a compliment, albeit clumsily. "Pardon me, I'm not trying to compare you to an animal... I just wanted to say that you were cute– Not that you’re not always cute, of course!"

Instead of easing the tension, his words hung in the air, unintentionally adding another layer of discomfort to their stroll through the corridors. MC mustered a polite smile, forgetting that he was unable to see it, as she was too busy worrying about whether the wand in his hand, with its tip pulsing with red light, could relay the fact that her heart had soared after hearing that he thought she was cute.

Screaming with joy on the inside, but trying hard to remain calm of the outside, MC desperately wished for a change in conversation, "Sebastian must've spent his free period at the library, like the bookworm he is. How about we go fetch him and head to lunch?"

MC thought Ominis would be happy to put an end to this moment of embarrassing torture, but against all expectations, his face contorted into an expression she had never seen on him before. He replied with one short, quick word, "Sure."

Without adding another word, they arrived at Central Hall a few minutes later, right when their mutual friend was coming out of the library and already taking long strides in their direction.

"Synaesthesia!" He shouted out of the blue as soon as he got in front of them.

"Bless you." Ominis joked, although his bitter tone was still present.

"Ugh, no!" Sebastian rolled his eyes at him before turning to his other friend. "MC, remember when you told me that you saw numbers as a certain colour, or that you gave personalities to colours?"

"You can do that?" Ominis questioned, quirking an eyebrow dubiously.

MC remained oddly silent, and turned as white as a sheet. It was Sebastian who answered for her, "Yes, she does. She never told you?"

"No…"

"Oh well, now you know." The brown-haired boy shrugged. " Anyway, I did some research at the library because I was curious and wanted to know why you had that. It took me hours to find a book about it, but I finally did. A Muggle did some research on it not long ago. He couldn't explain where it came from, but he did give it a name – synaesthesia – which is when someone perceives a sensation in addition to the one normally perceived.... So MC, you're a synesthete! It's exceptional!"

Sebastian's enthusiasm, conveyed in his loud tone, attracted the attention of curious ears around them. But as incredible as Sebastian considered this discovery to be, it was not the same for everyone else. It was just one more singularity, one more abnormality in the girl, making her once again the black sheep of Hogwarts.

"Synesthete? Wasn't being the Hero of Hogwarts enough for her? She just had to find something else to prove she was better than everyone else, didn’t she?" Leander Prewett scathed, thinking he was being quiet when in fact he was as discreet as a bull in a china shop. He scoffed. "What a stupid cow."

Next to him, Cressida Blume – Hogwarts's biggest faultfinder – nodded eagerly, “She’s such an attention-seeker.”

MC knew she should not allow herself to be affected by such stupid and immature words, but it was extremely complicated to do so when the people she was closest to could also hear these negative remarks, which could possibly have a bad influence on the way they viewed her. She looked away and bit the inside of her cheek, trying to think of something else.

Sebastian, notoriously impulsive by nature, recognised her expression immediately, which made his blood boil. He approached Leander at a slow but terrifyingly determined pace, until he towered over him, which made Cressida, who had a yellow streak, take several steps backwards

"The whole school already knows you've only got two brain cells left, Prewett, and yet you still open your mouth to prove you're still as daft as ever."

The redhead frowned as he looked up at him, "You tryin' to pick a fight with me, Sallow?"

"’Course I do! It's good that you still manage to notice the obvious. Even if it takes you a lot longer than what's considered normal. Perhaps you've lost another brain cell?" Sebastian smirked derisively.

Quickly tiring of being taken for a fool, the Gryffindor reached into his robe pocket to pull out his wand... but Sebastian saw right through him.

Seeing red at the idea of Leander having the ridiculous audacity to think that he would be able to defeat the best duellist of Hogwarts, the Slytherin drew faster than Leander, right before the redhead could complete his incantation.

Sebastian cast spell after spell with such an astonishing speed that his opponent was unable to evade the incoming magical onslaught. His wand danced through the air, sending various spells that formed a whole colour palette. He began with a simple Levioso to neutralise him, followed by a Flipendo to humiliate him in front of the spectators who had clumped together to watch the spectacle, and finally a Depulso to finish him off in style.

A powerful impact propelled Leander backward, and with a resounding thud, he collided face first with the solid stone wall, before falling limply back to the equally hard ground.

Preventing Sebastian from savouring his victory, Professor Weasley's horrified gasp resounded, "Mr. Sallow! What on earth possessed you to attack another student for no reason? Such savagery will not be tolerated! One hour of detention with me. Right now."

"But he insulted-" Sebastian tried to defend himself.

However, Professor Weasley cut him off sharply, "Two hours."

"But he started it! Why should I be the one to waste my time in detention?"

"You've wasted your time attacking a fellow student. Surely you can waste your precious time in detention too, can't you? Now, will it be three hours, or will you follow me in silence?"

Sebastian let out an irritated exhale through his nose before turning his gaze to MC. Without saying a word, the intensity in his pupils was enough to convey his message. 'If that's what it takes to defend you, I'd do it again.' Still, MC sent him a rueful yet thankful smile, and watched him follow Professor Weasley.

"Oh, Miss Blume." The Deputy Headmistress stopped momentarily in her tracks and turned around. "Take Mr. Prewett to the hospital wing, please."

Cressida rushed at Leander's side and helped him to his feet. His black and blue face was now displayed for everyone to see. He held on tightly to his housemate as he seemed on the verge of blacking out. But before they could disappear to the Hospital Wing, Ominis approached them, guided by his sentient wand.

"Prewett." Ominis spat his name as if it was an insult. When he no longer heard footsteps, he knew he had his attention. "If I hear or even get wind of you speaking ill of MC one more time, I won't hesitate to ask Black to have you expelled. You know how good friends he is with my father."

Ominis could not see his reaction, but his silence and the heavy tension growing between them was a satisfying enough response.

"That goes for you too, Blume." The Slytherin added, just to make sure he had made himself clear.

Ominis only heard Cressida make a short 'humph' of displeasure before the sound of their footsteps against the stone faded away. He subsequently turned back to his friend.

"MC?"

No response. He could not even sense her with his wand anymore.

"MC!" Ominis called out again, just in case she was still in the vicinity, but just far enough away to be imperceptible to his wand.

Still no response. She had run away.

"Fuck."

Obviously, she had not gone to the Great Hall to get lunch without him (Ominis knew her too well to think about that even for a fraction of second). No, he knew that she would want to hide after being the centre of unwanted attention, and he could only think of one place where she could have taken refuge... The Undercroft was his destination.

Trusting his instincts, he navigated the familiar twists and turns of the castle. He approached the secluded clock in the Dark Arts Tower, and opened the secret passageway with a simple flick of his wand. Once the gate to the Undercroft was raised, Ominis entered, the echo of his footsteps reverberating against the walls, making the boy doubt whether his friend was truly here. Nevertheless, the secret room did not remain silent for long, for MC made her presence known on her own.

"Here to make fun of me, aren't you? Another one of your snarky comments?" She asked, her voice coated with bitter sarcasm.

The jest failed to elicit a laugh from Ominis, who replied most solemnly, "I would never dare. Not with you."

"Good. Because you should know that if you did, I'd hex your arse until you joined Prewett in the hospital wing."

"I am perfectly aware of that." He smiled tenderly, approaching the direction from which her voice came.

"Good." She repeated. Once he had stopped in front of her, she pulled him by the wrist to sit on the floor next to her, their backs against the wall. Once he was settled, she released his hand.

Displeased at the loss of contact, Ominis felt the need to make himself interesting again, "Speaking of Prewett, I want you to know that I wanted to do something before Sebastian, but... you know how brash he is."

"I know."

"However... I talked to Prewett – well, more like threatened him actually – but point is, he'll never bother you again."

"Thank you, Ominis." She replied, and he could hear the genuine gratitude in her voice.

But something was not quite right because, if usually the way she pronounced his name with such warmth and how it rolled perfectly off her tongue did wonders to make him feel better... at this moment it was not enough.

“...You could have talked about your synaesthesia with me as well, you know? I could have been just as good of a listener as Sebastian.” He declared without thinking, hurt taking over his facial features.

“I know, you would. Even better than him, without a doubt.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

There was a moment of silence before he heard admit, “I was scared you’d think I’m stark raving mad, and–”

“I find it fascinating." He swiftly cut her off, not wanting to give her the time to depreciate herself any further. "How you give personalities to things that people don't even look at twice, I've never seen that level of creativity before. It just shows how deeply caring and thoughtful you are. You have a heart of gold, and the most kind and beautiful soul I have ever come across."

MC had tears in her eyes just from hearing him speak. Never before had such beautiful words been spoken to her, "Do you really mean that?"

"Every single word." Ominis insisted. "You have a unique talent. Do not let people's jealousy drag you down."

“It’s not a very useful talent though…” She mumbled.

“Allow me to disagree.” His falling intonation made it clear that his sentence was finished. Yet MC knew him well enough to recognise his expression when he had something to add, but did not dare.

“Go on.” She encouraged him.

MC’s soft words were the spur the young man needed to reveal what he had in the back of his mind, "Well, I always hear people talk about colours, or read about them in books, but I can't see what they look like, so...” He paused for a moment, either shy about his request, or afraid of refusal. “Perhaps you could help me understand what they feel like?"

“Oh, Ominis…” She cooed upon seeing the pastel shade creeping up his high cheekbones. She instinctively put a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to make him at ease again. “Of course, I’ll try my best. What colour do you want to know about first?”

“Let’s start with your favourite colour. Pink.” He declared without even having to think about it.

MC felt her own cheeks becoming beet red in turn. It was the way he remembered that insignificant detail they had rarely talked about. But it was also the way he had uttered the name of her favourite colour with confidence, without the slightest ounce of hesitation. He was always so attentive, and it made her feel all giddy. In fact, he always made her feel that way with the slightest show of affection, so it was nothing new, and yet it still remained exhilarating.

Unfortunately, as thrilled as he made her feel, he made her just as nervous, and she often ended up stammering (which she was sure ruined any chance she had of ever being able to charm him), “Uhm well… P-Pink is really sweet and kind, even if she’s quite naive. She's someone who looks at life through... well, rose-tinted glasses. She sees the good in everything and everyone, and is often lost in a daydream. Dreams mostly of love, while her cheeks turn pink to match her name.”

MC waited patiently for Ominis to respond in whatever kind of way, rather than remain agonisingly silent, with his eyes piercing right through her soul even though they could not see. She needed to know what he thought of her. If he understood her, or if he judged her. If he thought she was weird, or even worse, terrifying for thinking that way. She just desperately needed him to say the slightest word.

What she did not know, however, was that Ominis was remaining obediently silent because he was waiting for MC to continue with her explanations, which he found captivating.

“Am I detailing things enough? Does it help you?" MC decided to ask in a small voice to end the nerve-wracking silence.

Ominis offered her a soothing smile, "It does. You're doing a brilliant job."

"Brilliant...” She repeated awkwardly. “What colour do you want to hear about next?"

"Sebastian once told me the colour of the Slytherin house was green. What does it represent to you?"

“Pure joy. As soon as you see Green arrive, you're instantly relieved, because you know happiness is back. A bit like when grass reappears after a long winter when snow covered all nature and deprived it of its colours. But don’t get me wrong, Green isn't at all extroverted and attention-seeking. No, Green’s the kind of quiet, everlasting delight that makes for true happiness.”

Ominis took his time to process MC's explanation, before frowning, "Don’t people usually say that yellow is the colour of happiness?"

“Mhm, you’re right. They do. Usually because it’s the colour of the sun and a lot of flowers. But I think it's a hypocritical colour. She's always glowing, so brightly that all you can see is her, as if she wants to show off her happiness to everyone. But it's impossible to be that happy all the time! People like that are always hiding something.” The further MC went into her description, the more her calm tone disappeared and became louder.

Ominis listened intently to her, nodding along words, “Duly noted. I'll be wary of Yellow.”

“As you should.”

Even while being blind, Ominis knew by the tone of her voice that she was adorably pouting with her arms crossed in front of her chest. Witnessing how riled up she could get over colours, it made him inevitably chuckle, "All these colours, they really are like true people to you, aren't they?"

“They are. My brain has created all these characters for as long as I can remember. I’ve lived my whole life with them, so I can’t help but take this at heart…” She confessed, somewhat insecurely. “Is it weird?”

“Not at all. To be entirely truthful… I think it’s endearing, and makes me want to know how that beautiful mind of yours works even more. I only wish I could know you down to the smallest detail.”

MC could not understand how Ominis managed to say such sincere words out loud without the slightest difficulty. He admitted them to her as easily as if he were reciting the recipe for a potion, even when they were face to face. She wished she had even a quarter of his charisma... perhaps then she would have the courage to confess how she really felt.

She looked down, nervously tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, "So, uhm... let's continue, shall we? How about red?"

"I'm listening." He replied softly, smiling as if to give her confidence.

MC cleared her throat, “Red is really powerful, and so everything they feel is powerful. It’s always something like anger, or passion. They’re hot-blooded, but that’s why they feel warm and pleasant. But! You should be careful, because they can burn you if you come too close to them.”

"Sounds like a dangerous colour then." Ominis remarked.

"They can be. But if they like you, then you can trust them with your life. It's a really loyal colour, just like Blue. Blue is–"

“Oh, I know that one!” Ominis exclaimed proudly, now sitting more upright. “Blue is the colour that represents sadness. That’s why people say they’re blue when they’re sad, isn’t it?”

“Yes, you’re right…” MC paused hesitantly. He seemed so happy to finally know something about colours, that it broke her heart to have to tell him that she had a different kind of perception. “But… just like for Yellow, I don’t see things the same way as everyone else.”

Ominis's face fell a little. He had tried to impress MC by showing her that he was not completely ignorant, but he had failed miserably. Nevertheless, he forced himself to keep a slight smile on his lips to mask his disappointment, “How do you see it then?”

“Well, in my mind, Blue is the very definition of serenity and comfort. He's always perfectly calm and peaceful. He always knows just the right words to say. You'll never find anyone more trustworthy than him. You look up to him as you would look up to the sky.”

"Blue sounds majestic, I like him. I think it’s my favourite colour so far.” Ominis declared, making MC grin as she was delighted to be able to convey some emotions to him through her explanations. “Do you have any colour associated to sadness, then?"

“Purple. She’s always sad, because she looks like Blue and Red died and melted together to make her, so she can only mourn them. I wish there was a way to cheer her up, but it’s impossible. That’s how things are, unfortunately. She’s the representation of perpetual heartbreak.”

"And wouldn’t another colour be able to help her? Like Orange maybe?" Ominis suggested, now fully immersed in his friend's imaginary world.

MC could not hold back her scoff, "Oh, Merlin, no. Orange is so arrogant and big-headed! He thinks very highly of himself. He believes he's better than everyone else, because he's not a colour you often see in nature. So when he's around, he stands out so much from the crowd, that he's the only thing you can see.”

“So by that logic, someone who wears orange is a person who wants to draw attention to themselves?” He questioned, tilting his head slightly to the side out of curiosity.

“I guess you can say that.”

After concluding, MC recited the rainbow in her head, to make sure she had not forgotten any of the colours. Realising that she had presented them all to Ominis, she smiled in satisfaction.

"Well, I think that's it. We've talked about all the colours!" She announced cheerfully and clapped her hands together, just about to stand up.

"Wait!" Ominis held out his hand to stop her from leaving.

He put his hand where he thought her shoulder was, but his aim was too low. His fingertips brushed against her, running up her arm, and even through the layers of her uniform, it sent electric sparks all over her skin, resulting in her heart skipping a beat.

Blissfully oblivious to what he was making MC feel, Ominis continued, “I also read about brown. What does it feel like?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot about that one.” She hurried to answer, lest he think that she wanted to wrap up their conversation quickly. “Technically, brown's not a colour that's part of the rainbow. But anyway, it's a really basic colour that you cand find anywhere around you. Sure, he’s common, but he never disappoints you. He’s in harmony with everything. I reckon he’s the type of person that seems calm on the outside, but who has so many exciting – even chaotic – things going on in his mind. I associate brown to Sebastian a lot.”

Ominis jerked his hand away from MC's shoulder and recoiled from her, as if he'd received an electric shock. His jaw tightened and his eyebrows furrowed, creating a shadow over his misty opal eyes. They had always been full of light, giving them the ability to soothe MC, but seeing them at that exact moment, the girl could do nothing but wonder what she had said or done wrong to render them so dark.

(Un)Fortunately, Ominis was quick to give her some guidance on the subject with his next line, "So Sebastian gets a colour? What about me? Am I not good enough to have one?"

Piqued by the poison that was intoxicating his intonation, MC did not let it faze her, "Quite the opposite, actually. You're too important to only have one."

"Whatever does that mean?"

“It means that whenever I think about you, I feel red... like…" She flirted with the edge of the precipice, but her voice cracked and failed her before she could fully launch herself.

Even though he could hear the distress in her voice, MC was infinitely grateful at this moment that he could not see her cheeks as red as a poppy, as well as her eyes which were starting to fill with tears because her nerves were starting to fray.

Sensing that she was struggling, Ominis immediately abandoned his cold, distant attitude. Instead, he decided to reach out to her again, but this time he rested his hand on her knee, "It's okay. Take your time."

This simple gesture was enough to give MC the strength to continue what she wanted to tell him. She took a deep breath before crossing the point of no return, this time with determination, and seized the golden opportunity to reveal her true colours.

“I feel red like my ardent feelings for you and the way they overpower me whenever I'm around you. Or like my jealousy when I see you close to other girls. I also feel orange, because I’m pretentious enough to believe that I'm the right person for you, that we belong together. Yellow is hypocrite, just like I am when I pretend to be content with us simply being friends. I'm overcome with green every time I see you coming towards me with your beautiful smile. I see blue when I look into your eyes. They’re the most magnificent and reassuring place on Earth. They remind me that you’re the most trustworthy person I’ll ever meet. I trust you with my life, because I know you’d never do anything to hurt me. I feel purple when I remind myself that you might never return all the love I have for you. And lastly... I feel terribly pink right now, because I'm naive enough to think that my confession won’t ruin our friendship, and make you run away from me."

Ominis never really found himself at a loss for words, it happened once in a blue moon. He had always had a knack for finding the right comment at the right time. MC had said so herself earlier. But now, after hearing his best friend make the most beautiful and honest of declarations of love – and rest assured he had heard a good handful of them in his life with all the pureblood girls trying to charm him in the hope of joining the overrated Gaunt family – Ominis was simply rendered speechless. And a few seconds later, he also found himself breathless when he heard MC's melodious giggle echoing between the stone walls.

The girl was laughing for a whole list of reasons. Firstly, because the situation seemed so surreal. When she woke up this morning, she never thought she would end up pouring her heart out to Ominis. It was such a thrilling yet white-knuckle experience.

The second reason was how lighter she felt now that everything was off her chest, and out in the open. She could no longer understand why she had decided to carry such a heavy weight in secret for so long.

Lastly, it was impossible for MC to remain impassive in front of Ominis's hilariously adorable expression of frustration. With his defined arched eyebrows raised, and his remarkable eyes as wide as they could possibly be. Then there was the red tinge that had taken hold of his pale skin and even his ears. Not to mention his mouth agape, ready to utter the words that were stuck in his throat, while his bottom lip quivered, only making MC want to suck on it and graze it between her teeth.

"You're the rainbow in the sky of my life, Ominis!" She added with a radiant joy in her voice that was as obvious as the sincerity and beauty of her words. The warmth of her intonation was such that it could warm the cold, dark room that was the Undercroft. It was a sound that made Ominis's heart beat faster, and yet made all the tension in his muscles vanish. Never in his life had he heard anything or anyone as soothing and angelic as MC.

He took a moment to think about what he was going to say next, searching for the right words to express what he was feeling, and when he found them, he expressed them without the slightest tremor in his voice, “You’re right. You’re truly naive, because this is going to inevitably devastate our friendship.”

MC gasped out of fright but Ominis did not let her get a word in edgeways before he was finished.

“However, you were wrong about the second part. It did nothing to make me want to run away from you. Quite the opposite, in fact. It gave me the courage to finally act on my innermost desires, and get closer to you, like I've always wanted.”

Now that he said it, MC realised how he had scooted closer to her unnoticed, until their sides were leaning against each other, making their knees brush, and their hands touch. Using his little finger to caress the back of MC's hand and test the waters, Ominis fully grasped his beloved's hand and intertwined their fingers together when he realised that she was not reluctant to his touch.

Thrilled by his gesture, MC looked up at his beautiful face that she now could see up close thanks to their intimate proximity. She could not help but be mesmerized by the intricate details of his features, starting with the numerous beauty spots that adorned his pale skin and caught the light in such a way that it was impossible for her not to trace their contours with her eyes. She was fascinated by the realisation that, over the many years of their friendship, she had memorised the location of each of these moles, like familiar landmarks on a map she treasured. One small cluster as black as coal was just below his cheekbone, as well as on his jaw, highlighting its sharpness.

As she continued her silent inspection, MC's fingers began to twitch with the urge to gently trace the paths between those beauty spots, resulting in her squeezing Ominis's hand instead. She wanted to map them with her touch in the same way she had done with her eyes. Especially the isolated one next to his left eye. It stood out from the rest and added a touch of charm to his gaze, drawing attention to his unique and expressive eyes, with their irises that were a mixture of azure and creamy rays, giving them a welcoming depth in which MC wanted to drown. His eyes could not see her, and yet they looked at her with such warmth and admiration, echoing the emotions he concealed so well. Every nuance of his expression spoke volumes, revealing a vulnerability that only exacerbated her own feelings. MC could feel her heart beating faster, a gentle reminder of the unspoken connection they shared.

Still sensing the way she was admiring him as if he were the incarnation of Apollo himself, Ominis brought their entwined hands to his lips, and placed a tender, lingering kiss on her knuckles, “I've loved you since fifth year, and I've fallen for you more and more with each passing day, but..."

"But what?" She breathed, her voice barely louder than a murmur. She feared that her curiosity would put an end to their moment of complicity.

"...But I always thought you fancied Sebastian.”

“Sebastian is dear to me. But like a brother. He has been the confidant of all my admiration for you.”

With that revelation, Ominis's face drew nearer, until she could feel the warmth of his breath, a tantalizing whisper against her skin. The air seemed to thicken with anticipation, making MC close her eyes in an attempt to calm her rapid heartbeat. She soon realised it was all in vain, for the scent of the boy she cherished immediately overcame her senses and excited her even more.

Ominis's perfume wafted through the air, enveloping MC in its amalgam of cedar and bergamot aromas, a blend of sophistication and warmth. She allowed herself to briefly savour the fragrance, before opening her eyes again.

But, in the blink of an eye (literally), the moment shifted. Ominis, perhaps aware of the charged atmosphere, had leant in even closer. MC's gaze flickered to his lips, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. The unspoken tension lingering between them reached its zenith, and the uncharted territory of what could be hung in the air. A fleeting thought suddenly crossed MC's mind – was this the red-letter day where he would bridge the gap between friendship and something more?

And sure enough...

“Can I kiss you?” He asked in a soft, sensual voice. He was only a couple of inches from her now.

MC was tickled pink, “You don’t need to ask. I’m all yours.”

Ominis raised his hand to where he thought MC's head was and, sensing his hesitation, the girl guided him to her cheek. This small gesture gave him the final green light to do whatever he wanted with her. Once his palm made contact with her skin, he searched for her lips with his thumb, and when he found them, he traced their contours with as much delicacy as if he were touching the petals of a fragile flower, reflecting all the esteem and care he had for her.

Ominis smiled at the softness of her lips before deciding, at last, to feel them with his own. He kissed her in a slow and tender dance. He took his time to appreciate all the sensations that were new to him, appreciate his first kiss with the witch of his dreams. Each lick and suck were a deliberate exploration as if he aimed to imprint every subtlety and nuances about her into his brain – from her sugary taste of remnants of Chocolate Frogs, to the shape of her full and plump lips, by way of her hypnotic floral fragrance.

When she had explained all these colours to him, he had managed to imagine them, but now... Now, he understood them.

Red for the intensity of his passion for her. Orange because he wanted her to only have eyes for him. Yellow for his hypocrisy when he played the act of the gentleman who wanted nothing more than a chaste kiss. Green for... well, how could he be anything but unmeasurably happy in this instant? Blue because, just like it was his favourite colour, she was his favourite person. He always wanted to be with her, just to feel like he was somewhere he belonged. Purple when he thought of the possibility of this magical moment being nothing more than a dream, a wicked trick of his imagination. And yet pink, because he hoped he was living a dream come true, and would get to keep her by his side forever.

When he felt himself starting to lose control over his actions, when his urges threatened to take over his chivalry, he immediately pulled away. This was one of the rare occasions where Ominis was grateful to be blind. Because if he was able to see her tantalising lips, he just knew that he would be doomed. He would never be able to spend even a second of his life without kissing them.

His hand which was still cupping her cheek, started caressing her smooth skin, "Not only do you make me feel all these colours, MC, but you're also the first person to make me experience them as well."

Sure, Ominis's confession was lovely and went straight to her heart... but MC could not take her mind off the primal urge to kiss devour Ominis that coursed through her veins. And so, instead of responding with words, she chose to convey her love with a different language, a more physical one.

She threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, causing him to topple backwards, resulting in MC lying on top of him on the floor. Without waiting, she smashed her lips back on his – which, let's face it, was far more meaningful and accurate than any words she could have come up with.

She clutched his wrists to place them on her waist and hips, like an enthusiastic invitation to explore the new curves of her body, which Ominis accepted gladly, starting to trace her contours and memorise them. Whereupon, one of her own hands wandered up and down his chest, trying to feel as much of her lover as she could through the textile barrier that was his white shirt. Meanwhile, her other hand snaked around his neck until it reached the top of his nape. She tangled her fingers in his golden hair, pulling it lightly by the roots, earning a needy whimper from Ominis that was muffled by their fiery kiss.

Time seemed to suspend as they entirely immersed themselves in the experience, as if etching every fibre of the other into their memory. The way they pulled each other closer, the way they wanted desired and desperately needed each other...

They were so engrossed in each other's electric touch that they did not hear the rattle of the wrought-iron gate being opened. They only snapped out of their own little bubble when they heard Sebastian's whistling as he caught them red-handed, followed by his quippy voice exclaiming, “Took you guys long enough!”

[twstowo]

Prologue [Sorceress!Yuu x OB!Characters]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗SYNOPSIS: A powerful sorceress, capable of granting wishes, finds herself locked inside a mirror. To break free, she will need to seek the help of Yuu from another universe.

♡︎ The sorceress from the first universe is referred to with "she/her" pronouns, whereas the true main character (reader) is referred to as "they/them."

♡︎Inspired by the trope where the princess gets stuck in a tower but gets out by herself.

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In the heart of a dark forest stood a sorceress, dwelling within her solitary tower. Legend speaks of her uncanny ability to transform any wish into reality, albeit at a cost. In days long past, she had wielded her magical prowess for noble causes, yet the allure of power proved too intoxicating. Once one savors its might, the craving for more consumes their soul.

Before this sorceress could execute her nefarious plans, she fell victim to a curse, locking her within the tower's walls, forever barred from the outside world.

As time passed, the people gradually forgot about her, and tranquility returned to the land. Meanwhile, the sorceress found solace in her secluded existence, immersing herself in the pursuit of knowledge, delving into tomes of spells, potions, and enchantments. Unknown to her, time slipped away, and she faded into the realm of myth and legend, becoming but a tale told to children.

Isolated in her tower, she longed for connection until an unexpected visitor arrived—a curious man seeking to make a wish. Yet, instead of a quick visit, he became captivated by the sorceress's wisdom, and soon, a profound bond grew between them. Weeks stretched into months, and their intimacy deepened, blossoming into a love that transcended the confines of her imprisonment. However, the man, driven by his affection, sought to liberate her from the tower's curse, sacrificing his wish for her freedom. In a tragic twist, he deliberately became taken by a dreadful curse—one that plagued all who sought wishes from her, gradually corroding their sanity.

The freed sorceress, grateful yet burdened by the unwanted consequences, watched in dismay as the man, once her savior, transformed into a tyrant ruling his kingdom with an iron fist. Unable to undo the curse's grip on him, she fled, compelled to escape his descent into madness, a consequence of her magic that she could not rectify.

Seeking to distance herself from the haunting memory of her lost love, the sorceress embraced her newfound freedom, venturing into a world vastly transformed during her tower-bound years. She traveled across kingdoms, encountering six more men, each with their unique dreams and desires. Yet, inevitably, they too succumbed to the enchantment of her beauty, intellect, and mastery of magic.

One by one, they approached her, fervently wishing for their heart's desires, only to be ensnared by the curse that clouded their minds, mirroring the fate of the first man. Each succumbed to the same tragic spiral of losing their sanity, trapped within the vicious cycle born from their wishes.

Haunted by the knowledge that her powers led to this relentless cycle of despair, the sorceress carried the weight of their curse, burdened by the unintended consequences of her abilities.

Faced with a profound sense of helplessness and remorse, the sorceress found herself drawn back to the confines of her tower,battling with the weight of her actions. The toll of her powers had caused irreversible harm to those she had grown to care for, leaving a trail of shattered lives in her wake.

Overwhelmed by regret and the desperate desire to undo the havoc she had wrought, she yearned to erase the consequences of her wishes. However, in a cruel twist, once the wish was granted, it became an unalterable reality, binding the person to its irreversible effects. She realized the bitter irony of her deepest desires – longing to break free from her isolation had inadvertently led to the ruin of seven lives, all because she sought companionship and a glimpse beyond her tower's confines.

Haunted by the inescapable truth that she could never amend the past, the sorceress struggled with the agony of longing for a return to the solitude she once wished to escape. Trapped within the paradox of her own wishes, she yearned for a reality where she had never ventured beyond the safety of her tower's walls.

In a tragic turn, the sorceress's fate descended further into darkness. Amid her quest for undoing the curses of her once friends, an unsettling disturbance outside her tower drew her attention. Peering out, she saw—six of the seven men she had cursed. Their beings exuded the overwhelming aura of the curses that had consumed them entirely. Lost within their own tormented thoughts, their hearts filled with a relentless thirst for vengeance against her, their memories clouded by self-loathing and venomous resentment toward the sorceress.

Knowing that confrontation would only perpetuate the cycle of suffering, she stepped out, asking for forgiveness, her pleas falling upon deafened ears blinded by fury and hatred. Together, driven by their collective anguish and rage, they devised a punishment more merciless than mere imprisonment within a tower. Instead, they imprisoned her within a mirror—a cruel fate that denied her any semblance of escape or freedom.

Helpless and trapped within her mirrored confinement, the sorceress became a prisoner. They, in turn, carried the mirror to their kingdoms, parading her before the world she would forever be denied, a mocking reminder of the life she could never experience again. Forced to witness the outside world she yearned for, yet eternally barred from touching or experiencing it, the sorceress endured an unending torment crafted by the very souls she inadvertently harmed.

Trapped within the confinements of the mirror world, the sorceress found herself in a relentless pursuit of an escape, weaving incantations and spells in a desperate bid to break free. Despite her unwavering determination, her magic yielded no solutions within the confines of the mirrored realm.

Realization dawned upon her—a solution lay beyond the confines of her mirrored prison. She needed aid from someone external, but trust was a scarce commodity in her world. Amidst her predicament, a glimmer of hope arose: herself. She knew the depths of her own intentions, the truths that guided her, and the longing to erase the unintended consequences of her actions.

With a resolve forged from the depths of her isolation and remorse, she sought a way to reach beyond the mirror's boundaries, attempting to communicate with her own self outside.

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‎♡‧₊˚Thank you for reading!

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