#also still working my way through pale fire

[cbk1000]

Listen. Nabokov had a fine ear for the musicality of language; but if people had been less afraid of that crabby old man and his sharp tongue, they definitely would have accused him of purple prose.

[ichorai]

snow spider ; miguel o'hara.

pairing ; miguel o'hara x spider!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; you were the ice to his fire—and miguel was burning for you.

words ; 4.4k

themes ; fluff, slight angst

warnings / includes ; set before the events of atsv, descriptions of injury/violence, cursing, a bit suggestive, mentions/appearances of other spidey characters, ben being a dramatic idiot, peter & may being adorable, cameos of magneto and doc ock, miguel is down so bad, can you guys tell i'm also in an asoiaf phase ? (winter is coming !!)

a/n ; there will be a part two set during the events of atsv !!

main masterlist.

You were Miguel’s seventeenth recruit. The first of your name. The first that wasn’t a Peter Parker, or a Jessica Drew, or a Ben Reilly. 

When Miguel dropped into your universe, one rife with crime and tragedy, stricken by a never-ending winter, he fell into a large pile of snow. 

“Damn it,” he whispered through chattering teeth, brushing off the frigid frost clinging to his suit and glancing around the iced-over city. There were sparse few people littering the streets, hovering over trash-fires and clutching rumbling stomachs. This was certainly a stark contrast to Nueva York—the universe looked dead, almost. A ghost town, frozen over into nothing but a glacial artifact.

Before Miguel could start forward to look for the Spider of the universe, a sticky web shot out from seemingly nowhere, binding his hands together. Ah. It seemed that you’d found him before he could find you.

“You’re not from here. I can’t smell the winter on you,” a voice echoed, saturated with curiosity, edged with caution. A second later, you materialized in front of him, clad in a white suit, sharp silver lines running over your form. On your chest was a spider, a pale snowflake engraved into its abdomen. Miguel stared at you with wide eyes. “Who are you?”

A beat of silence. 

“Your universe is cold,” was all he could think of saying, still caught off-guard. 

You took a step back. “My universe…?”

After clearing his throat, he shook himself out of his reverie. “My name is Miguel O’Hara. I’m from a different universe. I’m here to recruit you into my team to help keep the multiverse from collapsing.”

You shifted, muscles still tense. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Lifting his wrists, Miguel twisted a hand and used his sharp claws to cut himself free of the sticky bonds. “Let me show you.”

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Miguel wasn’t supposed to like you this much. You were just meant to be another recruit for the Spider Society… maybe a close work companion, or a trusted friend at best. 

But as he watched you dart in and out of visibility, your suit only but flashes of white and silver, he couldn’t help but marvel at how easy it was to work with you. How much he genuinely enjoyed working with you, spending time with you, listening to you laugh at his stiff quips. And he really thought he was being subtle about it, but Jessica had already picked up on Miguel’s keen interest in you, always teasing him about having a crush on another Spider.

It wasn’t a crush, though. No, Miguel just really liked your work ethic.

Right?

“Heads up!” you yelled, swinging forward and using the momentum to kick an incoming car barreling right in his direction. The metal doors caved in beneath the power of your strike, veering to the left just in time to miss him. 

The two of you were taking down another anomaly that’d cropped up, one of the several dozens in only the past week. This anomaly, however, wasn’t the regular neighborhood villain they’d usually get, but instead an omega-level mutant: Magneto. 

Shards of metal rained down around you, but you were quick to deflect by thwipping out large, sticky webs to catch them before they could impale you. 

“This guy manipulates metal, Miguel!” you yelled. “Cuffs won’t work on him!” 

Another large metal pole rocketed straight for you, but Miguel dove towards you, yanking you out of the way.

“Thanks!” you told him, a bit too wound up to notice his large hands tightly wound around your midriff. “Can you distract him for me?”

Nodding wordlessly, Miguel shot out several glowing, synthetic webs in quick succession to momentarily blind Magneto. You used his shoulder to launch yourself upward, turning invisible in mid-air. 

Before the man could realize what was happening, you yanked his protective helmet off, landing a calculated strike to the back of his head. Immediately, all the bits of metal floating in the air came plummeting to the ground, and Magneto went limp in your hold. You swung down to the ground, coming back into view. 

“You’re gonna have to alert one of the Spiders that we need a metal-free cage for him,” you told Miguel, a bit breathless. 

Okay, a lot breathless. There was a sharp sting on your side—a broken piece of metal must have grazed you during the fight.

Miguel wound an arm around you to help you walk, concern festering within his chest at the sight of crimson staining your once-pristine white suit, his other hand dragging an unconscious Magneto by the scruff of his collar. With a tap of the watch, a portal opened up, flashing a multitude of bright oranges and purples. 

Back in his universe, Miguel was quick to hand Magneto over to a few Peters, telling them to be careful not to get any metal near him. You pulled off your mask and squeezed Miguel’s bicep in gratitude when he shifted his hold on you, ensuring that you wouldn’t put any weight on your injured side. Even exhausted, you were beautiful. Miguel remembered the first time he saw you without your mask: the entirety of his linguistic vernacular went flying out the window and he was left embarrassingly spluttering out a long string of incoherent sentences. You were patient with him, beaming wide and nodding emphatically, even though none of what he said had made sense. 

Yeah, alright, fine. Miguel had a crush. It really wasn’t a big deal (it was a very big deal). He’d be damned if he’d ever admit it to Jessica, though—that woman would never let him live it down.

Several Spiders waved hello to the two of you as you hobbled by, and you could only give them a winded half-smile in return. Some of them asked if you were alright, noticing the blood on your suit, but you reassured their worries away, “I’m fine. Miguel’s got me.”

A rush of protectiveness fell over him, and he clutched onto you all the tighter, hurrying to make his way back to the base. There were a few Spiders hanging around the control panels, chattering amongst themselves, and Miguel gave them a quick scan to make sure things were going smoothly since his departure. Once everything seemed to be in order, he finally tugged you into a more secluded room, helping you sit on a table as he grabbed the first aid kit. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, ripping off his mask as well. His dark hair was disheveled, sharp brown eyes softening with guilt. “I got distracted during the fight.”

“Hey, it happens,” you replied warmly, fingers lifting to pat his cheek. The feeling of your cold skin pressed up against the blistering heat emanating from his cheeks made a shiver dance up his spine. “We’re alive, and we got the anomaly. Everything’s fine.” 

“But you’re hurt.”

“I’ll heal.”

With careful, fleeting touches, Miguel drew back the ripped fabric of your suit to inspect the gash in your side. He cleaned away as much blood as he could, murmuring gruff apologies every time you flinched. The guilt worsened when he began deftly stitching up your wound—it didn’t go past his notice when your face twisted with the pain, and you bit your lip in a fruitless attempt to keep the sharp agony at bay.

“You did good out there, Y/N,” he said, desperate to distract you. “What was it like being the Spider in your universe?”

You spared him a loose grin, appreciating his attempts to keep you entertained. 

“Tiring,” you admitted, fingers digging into his shoulders when he began another stitch. “I mean, I’m sure you’ve heard the same story a million times by now. I was a scientist, trying to find a way to reverse the never-ending winter. I was bitten by a radioactive winter-spider… the only kind of spider left after our world iced over. I, uhm… I lost my uncle. My mom, shortly after. She was captain of the police force.” 

There was a long pause. It was obvious that you weren’t too keen on divulging all the details just yet. Your eyes watered with the memory, a glimmering film of tears warbling over your lower lashes, and Miguel gently patted your knee in understanding, silently reassuring you that you didn’t have to tell him everything.

You drew in a deep breath. “I realized I had powers—I had all the abilities of a spider, and I could turn invisible, and withstand the cold much more than before. I was known as the Snow Spider. A lot of people died from the frost. I couldn’t save them. I tried to help as much as I could, but it was just never enough. And then… I met you.” A smile graced your expression, one that sparked life into Miguel’s heart. “I moved from just helping my city, to helping the entire multiverse.”

Before you knew it, Miguel was tying off the last stitch, biting the thread short with his sharp fangs once he was done. You murmured a sincere thanks, placing your palm flat against his chest, feeling the quick thrum of his heart slamming against his ribcage.

If you noticed how his pulse seemed to kick up a notch with your ministrations, you didn’t say anything. For that, Miguel was grateful.

“There you go. That’s a brief summary of my life story. It’s only fair if you tell me yours.”

The man met your gaze, irises dark and warring with conflict.

“What’s there to say? I got powers, just like you. I lost people, just like you. I built the Spider Society… and then I met you.” The last bit was said as he nudged you gently, and he offered you a tentative smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Hesitant, you lifted your hand, softly grazing your knuckles against his cheek. Icy was your touch, but it felt nice—almost addicting. He found himself leaning against your hand, shutting his eyes as he exhaled.

“You’re a mystery, Miguel,” you murmured, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to his cheek as thanks for patching you up, before sliding off the table to stride away. Miguel watched you go with a lump in his throat. “Luckily for you, I like mysteries.”

“How long has that been a thing? I haven’t noticed because I’ve been too busy thinking about my… miserable past,” sighed Ben, coming to stand beside Jessica, the two of them watching Miguel follow after you like a lost puppy, face uncharacteristically mellowed with an undeniable lovesick expression. 

“It’s not a thing,” she replied with an amused scoff. “Not yet, at least.”

You halted what you were doing and turned around to grin at Miguel. “Look, I stitched my suit back together. It’s good as new!” 

His dark, molten eyes gleamed with affection. “It looks great.” He caught sight of your web-shooters, fixed against the base of your hand. “I still can’t believe you need those.”

“Well, I can’t believe you have spinnerets embedded into your skin. I can’t tell if I’m more grossed out or curious to know more,” you shot back, taking his hand to inspect his wrist with narrowed eyes. “What other kind of powers do you have?”

With a roguish grin, he bared his teeth, sharp fangs drawing out. 

“I can never get over those. They’re kinda intimidating, but in a cool way.” Before you could stop yourself, you tacked on, “And really fucking hot.”

Heat crawled up his neck. He stared blankly at you. “They’re poisonous.”

Still, you smiled at him, all sweet and flustered. “Hm. It’s a shame, really. I definitely would’ve asked you to bite me if not for the venom.” Neither of you were quite sure if you were joking or not.

Miguel was certain he was going to combust into flames. “I can still bite you without injecting the poison into your system. It’s a voluntary response.”

To his surprise, you burst into a fit of laughter. Gods, he was absolutely smitten with that sound. The way your nose wrinkled, the side of your eyes creased, the shaking of your shoulders as you chuckled… it was all too much for Miguel.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time,” you warned.

“Oh, I can do much more than just tempt,” said the man in front of you, making your laughter taper away into silence. 

You studied him for a moment longer. Before you could say anything, both of your watches beeped simultaneously. With one more amused huff, you patted his shoulder, brushing past him and pulling your mask over your face. “Come on, mister. Anomalies to catch, universes to save… we can continue this conversation later.”

The months pass by in a blur. 

You were wrangling back another Doc Ock anomaly, having webbed up all his metal tentacles, easily tossing him into a temporary laser cage with a sweet smile. The villain was spitting obscenities, going on and on about the power of the sun in his grasp, how you’d ruined everything for him. 

“You’ll pay for this!” he yelled, slamming his fist against the glowing barrier. 

“Sorry, Doc,” you said with a mild grin. “I’ve met around a dozen of you, and so far, you were the most compliant. That makes you my favorite!”

You saluted him with a wink, before turning on your heel and striding away. It wasn’t long before Miguel found you, falling into step with your stride.

“Look at you, taking on anomalies all on your own,” he murmured lowly, nudging your side with his elbow. “Good job.”

With a scoff, you pulled off your mask, regarding him with an expectant gaze as you leaned forward, so close that your nose nearly brushed against his. He could feel the cold frost of your breath blow over the heated planes of his cheeks. “Well, then, Mr. O’Hara, wouldn’t I deserve a reward?”

The vampire-spider only flushed at your words, mouth falling open and shut as he struggled with a rebuttal. 

Your laugh, soft and tinkering, made his heart nearly seize within his chest. Still chuckling, you shoved away from him, saying that you had to get back to your universe to make sure everything was still in order there.

As you made your way out of the room, using your watch to portal through to your wintry hellscape, Jessica appeared out of nowhere beside him, one hand on her heavily pregnant belly, and the other cocked upon her hip. 

“God, you really can’t be more obvious, can you?” she asked.

Miguel spared her a glance, snapping out of his reverie and standing up straighter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Everyone knows you’re in love with the Snow Spider. And don’t you deny it—I know a liar when I see one.” She watched Miguel frown, but didn’t bother protesting her claim. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. Tell them, you big grump. Y/N deserves to know.”

Before he could reply, Jessica was already hastening away, yelling over her shoulder that she had to go to the bathroom because the damn baby was kicking against her bladder again.

Jealousy was not an emotion Miguel was well acquainted with. Ever since he witnessed an entire universe crumbling away in front of him, he was careful not to get too attached to anything. To anyone.

But he did. He grew attached to Jessica, who was his most trusted friend, always giving him the best advice and always available to lend him a helping hand. Though he’d never admit it, Miguel was also rather fond of Ben and his obnoxious penchant for his dramatic tragedies. And, most obvious of all, he was undoubtedly very close to his best soldier, Lego Peter.

Then there was you.

It infuriated him—the way you’d smile around him, give him the most fleeting of touches, always pleasantly cold, leaving prickly goosebumps in your wake. You would offer him an affectionate nudge and a myriad of teasing compliments that made his stomach want to fold in upon itself. But Miguel tried not to think too much of it: you were a generally kind person, with many of the Spiders in the society taking a certain liking to you. It didn’t go past his notice that you’d caught more than a few romantic eyes. Every time a Peter or a Ben would openly flirt with you, he could feel himself bristling, bile rising within his throat.

Again, Miguel wasn’t used to feeling jealous. He wanted to be the one cooking dinner for you, holding you in his arms, kissing you, touching you—

To his relief, you never paid them much mind, often politely declining with a poorly-forged excuse of having to return to your universe.

It was nearly a year since you’d first met Miguel when you were at Headquarters, holding a babbling Mayday as she crawled all over you. You laughed when she climbed up onto your shoulders, slipping down into your hands with a gleeful coo, blue eyes bright and wide. With gentle hands, you brushed her messy ginger hair away from her face. 

“She doesn’t look like you, huh?” you asked Peter B. Parker. “She must be a carbon copy of her momma.”

“A good thing,” admitted the man beside you, muffling a yawn as he dug the heels of his palms into his sleep-deprived eyes, adorned with dark bags. “Wouldn’t want her taking after her old man, now would I?”

“Why not?” you asked, amusedly watching when May shot out a web from her tiny shooters, swinging away to clumsily scale a nearby wall. “I think you’re very handsome. Trust me, the sleep-deprived look is very trendy right now. In my universe, at least. Nobody can really sleep well with the never-ending cold we got going there.”

Peter gave you a loose smile. “You know what, you’re right. Dad bods are making a comeback. By the way, did I tell you about my coin collection—”

Before Peter could finish what he was saying, your watch beeped noisily, and Ben’s slumped hologram appeared over your wrist. “Y/N, I’m glad you’re here,” he said. You had to hold your tongue not to retort that he was the one that’d called you. “I need you to come comfort me and hold onto my strong, muscular arms as I tell you about my gruesome past.” The pale image of Ben flickered as he flexed his biceps. 

You rolled your eyes to the side. Ben had become a close friend during your time with the Spider Society, nearly inseparable after you’d saved his life from an Electro anomaly once. That man was quite the emotional one, he was.

“I’ll be there, just give me a minute.” 

“Bring me one of those Spider-burgers, will you? Extra ketchup and no p—”

You tapped at your watch and his hologram disappeared before he could finish his request. With a mild wince, you glanced at Peter. “You wanna come with me and listen to Ben dramatically mope for an hour? I’ll treat you and May to Spider-burgers, because it looks like I’ll have to stop by there, anyway.”

“I would, I really would, but I gotta put May down for a nap,” he said with a sympathetic slant of his lips. As if on cue, the baby fell back into Peter’s arms, yawning widely. Bouncing her up and down, Peter absent-mindedly remarked, “Make sure Miguel doesn’t catch you being all sweet with Ben. That guy is crazy about you. Hah, he’d lose his marbles!” 

You blinked.

“What?”

Peter froze, realizing what he’d just said.

“What?” he parroted.

“No, uh, what did you say, about Miguel being…”

“Nothing! Huh? I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, you did. I heard you. Peter, what are you saying? Miguel is—?” 

Sheepish, Peter scratched the back of his head. “Oh, wow, would you look at the time!” Peter pulled down the sleeve of his pink bathrobe to mimic looking at the watch. He hastily stepped away. “I have to go. I didn’t say anything. Bye! I’d love a Spider-burger with you another time! Bye! See you later!”

You watched in bewilderment when the older man swung away with his baby in his hands, muttering out a long string of panicked curses under his breath.

Miguel was crazy about you?

After a few seconds of deliberating your next move, you shot out a web and swung away, heading to Miguel’s private office, where you knew he would be buried in figuring out a solution to the influx of new anomalies. Surely Ben would be alright with you showing up a bit late (he wouldn’t, but you had more pressing matters at hand).

“Hey, Miguel,” you greeted with a soft voice, slipping inside after knocking twice. “Hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

The man offered you a warm grin. “Never a bad time with you. What’s going on?”

“Well, I just… I had a rather interesting talk with Peter B,” you started, striding across the office until you stood just in front of his desk, with Miguel on the other side.

He tilted his head. “Was it about that collection of coins he lost to an anomaly? He needs to get over that.”

“I—what? The poor guy lost his coin collection? He’d been working on that for years!” Shaking your head, you mindfully got back on track. “Well, no, that’s not what we talked about.”

Dark eyes narrowing, Miguel crossed his arms, deadpanning, “What did he tell you?”

There was a rather mischievous hue to your expression that Miguel misliked. Slow and deliberate, you stepped around the desk, fingers dragging along the smooth top. You stood so close to him that your chest was only a hair’s breadth from his—if he were to take too deep a breath, the two of you would be touching by now.

“Hm… Peter accidentally let slip that you have feelings for me. Is that true, Miguel?” The way his name rolled off your tongue nearly made him choke as his brain short-circuited. 

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, echoing the exact thing he had said to Jess a month ago. 

You studied him, gaze dragging from his stiff face, to his tense stature, and back up again. It may have been a trick of light, but Miguel could swear he saw your eyes linger on his lips. 

With a hum, you leaned even closer. He could hear your heart thrumming now, a steady, strong beat—which completely juxtaposed against his own rapid pulse, drumming loud within his ears. Up this close, he could smell your perfume, see the flecks of color within your pretty eyes, notice the way your lips quirked up with a sweet smile. Even whilst teasing him, you made sure that you weren’t overstepping any bounds, giving him ample time to step away if need be.

“Oh,” you said, feigning confusion. Your hand rested upon his clavicle, nails lightly dragging down his neck. A sharp thrill struck down Miguel’s spine at the sensation. You were barely touching him, for God’s sake! “So you wouldn’t mind if I… go ask Ben out for dinner?”

A beat of silence. Miguel’s brows knitted together.

The next words were susurrated as you dipped forward to nudge your nose along his neck, pressing a cold whisper of a kiss along the underside of his jaw. “Or if I… I don’t know… if I invite him to stay at my place for the night?” 

Of course, there was no real weight to your words. Ben was simply a good friend, but damn if you didn’t enjoy the way Miguel’s eyes twitched.

Finally snapping, a low growl rumbled within his chest, his hands shooting out to grab your waist. You were cold to the touch, the ice to his fire, as his fingers curled over your back, shoving you up against the wall behind his desk. As if on instinct, your hands came to clutch at his broad shoulders.

You smiled, wide and triumphant. You’d finally broke him. 

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he gruffed, staring deep into your eyes to make sure you were alright with this. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable. From your gleeful expression, Miguel could see that you were just the opposite. 

“Oka—mmph!” 

His lips slanted over yours, warm and rough, yet cold and soft at the same time. It was a kiss of starkly juxtaposing contrasts, heavy with months and months of unspoken yearning. His large nose brushed against your cheek, angling his face to kiss you harder—deeper. 

When one of your hands slithered up the back of his neck to tug at the roots of his dark hair, he sighed against your mouth, breaking the kiss to lean his forehead over yours.

“He was right,” said Miguel.

“Who was?”

“Peter. I do have feelings for you.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth, nudging your nose against his sharp cheekbone. “Really? I would’ve never guessed.” He surged forward to kiss you again, relishing in the way you just about melted into his touch. “If it wasn’t obvious already, I really like you, too.”

At your admission, Miguel beamed, loose and hesitant. “You still planning on asking Ben out to dinner and having him stay over at your place, then?”

You tapped a finger onto your chin, pretending to have a good, long think about it. “Give me a good reason to stay, and I won’t.” At Miguel’s slightly crestfallen expression, you patted his cheek, quick to say, “God, Miguel, I was just kidding. Ben and I are good friends. You and I, however… I wouldn’t exactly call you a friend—”

His lips met yours again, stealing the rest of your words from you. 

When you smiled into the kiss, he smiled back. It was a bit too early for love, sure, but Miguel already knew he was in too deep to back out.

He was falling in love with you. 

The thought terrified him to no end, but he merely kissed you harder, and clutched you all the closer to him.

[notjustjavierpena]

Dream

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: A little Acacius piece to jumpstart my brain again!

Summary: Out on a war campaign, Marcus wakes up in the middle of the night to a dream of you. Oh, how hard it is to be apart.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18, YEARNING, kisses, piv sex, emotional and passionate sex, slight breeding, creampie

Word count: 2.6k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60742789

Dream

The Roman encampment lies quiet underneath the starry sky as Marcus startles awake, his legionnaires long ago having extinguished fires with dirt, downed the last goblets of drink, and found rest in their cots. It is in the middle of the night, the general judges by the silence around him that’s only disturbed by the hoot of an owl somewhere. Along with the warm sun, early mornings also bring the sound of a bustling camp - its soldiers chatting and preparing for the day’s march across the country - but right now, all is still. 

Marcus also deduces that it is way into the night because the moon hangs high and silent on the horizon, its pale and beautiful light shining into his tent. With sleep still clinging to him, he realizes that he has been woken up by a warm breeze catching the flaps of the tent, the entrance repeatedly opening and closing with a whipping sound.

His first instinct is to reach for his dagger, sure of the fact that he secured the entrance to his makeshift bedchambers before falling asleep, but the second he wraps his fingers around the hilt, he sees you standing there with the moonlight bathing you from behind in a bluish glow that makes you seem almost ethereal. 

You approach his cot, and he lets his hand fall from the dagger and drop onto the chest of his tunic. You are so beautiful, radiant in the same nightgown that he saw you in the night before you parted ways and he went to war. It is a memory that keeps him going even through the hardest of days; the way you had kissed him so deeply, sprawled out beneath him. This was while you had looked at him pleadingly and with tears on your face that he tried to catch with his thumbs before they rolled down into your hair. The way he had made love to you is burned into his mind, keeping him warm when temperatures outside drop along the seaside. He promised you that he would return to you as soon as he could but here he is in your company much sooner than he anticipated, and he knows it cannot be real. 

Your gown flows around you with each step you take, draping so perfectly along the curves of your body as if you’re the personification of Venus herself. He knows what the white fabric hides, even if it weren’t for the rounding of your breasts being outlined or the peaks of your nipples poking against the front. You perch yourself on the edge of his cot, leaning over him and smiling tenderly down at him. 

“This is a dream,” he says quietly. He reaches out to curl his fingers into your dress, wondering if you’ll evaporate into thin air if he touches you. He doesn’t think he can handle it if you disappear from his grasp.

“If this is a dream, then I wish never to wake," you declare and the sound of the melody that is your voice has Marcus’ heart nearly leaping out of his chest. You stay with him as he tugs you down for a kiss, solid against him and nowhere like the mist surrounding the tents in the morning like he had feared, “Yet some say that we must be thinking of one another at the same time to be meeting like this.”

“I am always thinking of you. I miss you more than I can bear,” he says weakly, a lump having formed in his throat, scratchy from sleep. You rest your forehead against his, the both of you sighing softly in relief at being so close. Then you place a hand on his cheek, and Marcus feels a whole universe of emotions inside of himself, expanding so fast that he can’t breathe, that it threatens to overwhelm him. 

“You have me,” you reassure gently, opening your eyes to look at him even as you kiss him softly on the lips. Your scent envelops him, jasmine flowers - his favorite - from the garden where he took his first stroll with you. And there his heart and mind go once more, feeling relief yet longing, happiness yet sadness. 

“This war,” he whispers and his gaze is fleeting, “It feels meaningless if I cannot be with you, beloved wife. We are parts of the same soul, you and I. What good am I here if I am merely a puzzle missing its pieces?”

“Shh, look at me, my love,” you soothe and it’s like his body is draped in the warm blankets of your shared bed, hearing the sound of his home bustling with happiness. You brush your fingers across the stubble on his cheek. He leans into the touch, knows that his eyes are wide and pleading as he returns them to you. You scratch his beard again, “You are whole, Marcus Acacius, even here. You carry me with you, just as I carry you.”

“My clever wife, yet again you are right. It is my weary heart that speaks. Of course, you are always with me, always in my thoughts even when it feels like the skies will tumble down upon me and the world will end,” he replies, taking in the way you look to the version of him that dreams. He wonders if the picture before him will etch itself into his mind, so deeply that his thoughts will conjure up fresh images tomorrow during broad daylight. 

“Those skies are skies we share, always under the same sun and moon,” you smile, and he sighs, closing his eyes as you trace his face with your fingers. You draw invisible lines across his features, gently over his cheekbones and carefully down the length of his nose, fingertips dancing across his eyelids with featherlight touches, “Do you remember nights spent under the stars? You love that spot close to the river back home.”

“Tell me of home," he asks of you, a bead of desperation rattling around in his chest, "Tell me of the river, the fields, and the stars, of the songs the birds sing at dawn."

“The river flows like it always has, my love. The fields stand golden and the wind makes it seem like they are one with the water surrounding them. Can you see it?” You sound like a lullaby. 

Marcus nods, the sight is painted on the back of his eyelids. He knows each hue of blue and golden, each curve of the bending riverbanks, and he can almost feel his heart beating slower at the mental image. He finds peace in the idea that nothing has changed back where you are waiting for him, the familiarity more soothing than any draught or potion. For a moment, he is home with you and all is well. 

You peck his lips while brushing his cheek with the back of your hand, “And the birds. Can you hear them? The way the larks greet each morning?”

“I hope the Fates are not so cruel as to keep us apart for much longer. I want to hear them again soon,” he murmurs, opening his eyes to find himself staring into yours. He reaches up to cup the back of your neck, feeling how warm you are despite not actually being here. 

“Sleep,” you encourage gently. 

“I can’t, not with you so near,” he whispers and draws you nearer to his mouth again. He captures your lips in a longing and deep kiss, a quiet urgency rising in his chest when you sigh the way he loves. As you thread your fingers through his graying hair, he reaches for your waist and guides you to sit on top of him. 

Your dress pools around your thighs and him like the mountains and valleys he crosses each day. He pulls back to drink you in, committing you to memory as his eyes dance over the curves he had noticed beneath the fabric as you entered his tent. 

"Then touch me," you let out a little breath of desperation, a fire having ignited in your eyes while you stare into his. He feels the flame within himself too. 

One of his hands moves slowly up your bare arm, the other tracing the length of your spine on top of your dress until you shiver. He lets both hands grab at the straps of your gown, guiding them off your shoulders until your chest is bare to him. You lean down for another kiss but he grabs your soft shoulder to stop your advances, his thumb resting against your pulse point. He marvels at how real you feel, can feel your heartbeat underneath the tip of his finger as if you are truly here. 

"Marcus," you plead him quietly and he doesn’t hesitate. He sits up slowly until your breasts touch his chest and then he finds your mouth again, his fountain of youth. He slips his hands underneath the skirt of your gown and feels that you are already ready to welcome him if he wants. He touches you there for only a moment but you still beautifully furrow your brow with pleasure from how much desire Cupid has sent through your veins. However, he decides that he has no time to prolong this moment with you because only Somnus will know when he’s going to wake up. 

“Lift your arms,” he guides after hearing you make a feeble noise when he removes his digits from your slick core. 

You do as he says and he lifts the waves of fabric over your head, throwing the discarded gown onto the ground with a smile on his face. In return, your hands find the hem of his tunic, sliding it up and over his head. The tunic joins your gown on the floor, the both of you finally touching each other’s naked bodies with soft chuckles. There’s something euphoric about simply being naked in each other’s arms before making love, something so vulnerable and private that it’s reserved only for each other. 

Your palms roam over his broad, strong chest and your fingers thread through the coarse hairs there. His hands mirror yours but instead, they feel the softness of your skin that prickles his with warmth. He skims them over the swell of your breasts, the touch full of worship while he buries his nose in the crook of your neck. 

“My beautiful wife,” he murmurs while he showers you in kisses from neck to collarbone to the top of your breast. 

“Make feel whole,” you moan and cradle his head, holding him against your chest while his mouth trails across the valley of your breasts. He doesn’t need to be commanded twice, already helping you to sink down on him to the very hilt of his length. 

The connection has the both of you gasping and chuckling further in relief, none of you moving as you get used to having him so deep within you. He stares up at you as you’ve elevated yourself slightly to sit down on his cock, blown away by your beauty that’s enough to make him twitch inside of your pulsing heat. 

"I love you immeasurably, my wife.”

"And I love you, my husband.”

You move against him for the first time and he groans low in his throat, already feeling the stirrings of pleasure. With his hands on your hips, the two of you slowly begin moving together, your bodies finding a rhythm that is instinctive and familiar. He finds that he doesn’t need to intervene in your sinful ministrations on top of him; he knows the pattern of your hips’ movements like the back of his hand, knows when to leave you to do as you please and when to help you. Right now, you are an expert in driving him to madness. 

His hands are everywhere as you take what you need from him. He touches where he can reach - your thighs, your hips, your back - as if he cannot figure out where he wants to hold you the most. Eventually, your hands find his to anchor him, entwining your fingers together to ground him in his longing for you. 

However, Marcus is not a man of restraint when it comes to you. He needs you in ways that make him yearn for you even when you are on top of him. 

“Faster,” he brushes his lips against your jaw, kisses your chin when he was supposed to find your mouth. You hold his hands and oblige, the rolls of your hips quickening to a pace much faster than how you’ve been imitating the waves of the sea. Your skin is glistening in the moonlight coming through his tent, sparkling like you are a goddess descended from the heavens and into the arms of him, a mere mortal. 

You’ve closed your eyes as you near your crescendo, your lips parting in a breathless moan while the world outside is lost to the both of you. He can feel you choking his length, tightening around him like a fist. In his belly, heat is tightening like a rope about to snap in two. He feels it within you too, both of you teetering on the edge of unmatchable pleasure. He wishes it was real and not in the realm of dreams, wishes that this was the moment he created a family with you and made you his entirely. There’s so much to look forward to in his return. 

“Let go, my love,” he says in an almost commanding tone, “Let your general feel you.”

And you do. Your peak hits you like a bolt of lightning to the point where he has to keep up your pace, his hips thrusting up to meet yours while you lose yourself in the sensations running through your veins. He drags your entwined hands to his chest, placing your palm on his pounding heart, and mirrors his own hand on your chest too. Your hearts beat in unison and he can’t take it anymore, can feel his control slipping from his grasp. 

He comes with a quick intake of air and then a growl, his hips stuttering before he spills inside of you. His body tenses up for a moment before it relaxes thoroughly, chest heaving and head swimming with the intensity of it all. You say his name and he finds himself saying yours, repeating it like were they prayers for the Gods. 

Eventually, your body slumps against him and he slips out of your spent heat. Your breaths are synchronized, even as they slowly start to calm down in your bliss. He holds you close to his chest, feeling you stick to him but he doesn’t care. He’ll take anything you have to give when his body and soul miss you so thoroughly. 

“Sometimes I wonder if the Gods are punishing me for loving you so deeply,” he murmurs with a trail of kisses along your shoulder. A loud, satisfactory sigh leaves him when you slide your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. 

“Your ability to love wholly and completely is yours alone. Do not let the Gods take credit for what belongs to your heart,” you whisper back to him, stealing a kiss when he looks up at you. 

“Stay with me,” he begs of you, “Don’t ever go.”

“I will stay as long as the night prevails,” you reply gently, “But come dawn, I have to go.”

It is unbearable but it makes it more precious. He reaches to brush a strand of your hair from your forehead as it has fallen into your face during your intimacy. He smiles as he takes in the sight of you, how beautiful you look with heated cheeks. 

“Tell me about home again,” he requests, “Please.”

And so you do.

.

.

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[ak319]

Yan Socialite Brother x reader x Yan?Hubby

YOUR LITTLE EZZY'S BACK! So I couldn't help but write more about him. I will also write a version with the reader's wife. Enjoy reading ♡ Ezra Headcanon

In the dark hours, the Alvarez estate was shrouded in a thick silence, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fire that danced in the hearth. Shadows stretched across the grand, dimly lit room, adding to the air of peculiar mystery that seemed to cloak the entire estate. Ezra sat motionless, his gaze fixed on the flames that flickered with a restless energy, mirroring the turmoil within him. The news you had shared with him still echoed in his mind, fanning the fire of his emotions, making it burn hotter, fiercer.

"Amir?.." his eyes were fixed on your back as you scrummaged through the bookshelf. You replied back gently. "Yes, Amir. The boy who works on one of the farms."

So a slave huh?

And then you explained everything to Ezra, from how you saw Amir, appreciated his gentle nature, and were now thinking of bringing him here as your groom. Ezra’s rage simmered beneath the surface, though his fake smile and curious eyes never left your face. But your tone didn’t match the word "thinking", it clearly said, "I am bringing him as my groom." He was happy… happy for you. But on the other hand, he wasn’t happy for himself.

This was the day he had dreaded. For his own peace of mind, he sent one of his attendants, Rowan, to inquire about this so-called Amir. The report? Amir was a poor servant with three siblings and parents who also worked on the farm. Amir was the oldest. Hm. Poor, innocent, loyal, and not too bad-looking, though in Ezra's eyes, everyone pales in comparison to Alvarez's. Nobody can ever be good enough for you. He just didn't want his sister to marry a dirt-face. After all, their family has a certain dignity in society. There was something he relished in this situation, Amir’s meekness, bred by his lower status, was something Ezra could use and if his sister were to marry, it should be to someone who knows their place.

༺𓆩❀𓆪༻

Amir couldn’t shake the memory of the way you approached him that day.

“M-my lady-”

“It’s okay, relax. Just came to greet you and see how the work is going.” His hand continued to glide through the horse’s mane, though his gaze, filled with shyness and respect, lingered on you. You loved that. “What’s your name, boy?”

“A-Amir…ma’am.” You asked him more questions, and with each one, his initial fear of you began to fade. Eventually, he even dared to ask some of his own. He didn’t realize that he had backed away to the fence, cornered by your every step forward.

“I don’t think a…” You gently removed a leaf from his silky hair. “A pretty thing like you belongs on a farm.” His quick breaths brushed your face before he turned away. Did you just compliment him?! How could you not? He was so unique with that snowy hair and those pale green eyes. “U-um, but I have to-w-work to earn-for-”

“What if I say, not anymore?”

On that very day, you boldly asked his parents for his hand in marriage, right there on the farm, while Amir stood paralyzed in disbelief. His parents, naturally, agreed without a moment's pause, and his heart raced as he caught your final glance over your shoulder before you rode off with your men. How could a humble servant like him ever be worthy of becoming your husband? The idea felt impossible, undeserved. But as the reality settled in, he came to see it not as a blessing but as a test---a daunting trial between love, loyalty, hate… and obsession.

༺𓆩❀𓆪༻

'Time to play some games' Ezra smirked in the mirror as he gave himself a once-over. "Nobody can outshine you Ezra or take your place, nobody."

The grand staircase of the mansion, lavishly adorned for his sister's wedding, became the stage for Ezra's entrance. As he descended, everyone’s eyes were drawn to him. His gaze landed on you seated beside Amir on the sofa, and his smirk widened at the sight of Amir’s expression. Those doe eyes that have seduced his sister were now filled with embarrassment, as they should be.

Amir was at a loss. His brother-in-law, dressed in an outfit nearly identical to his own--albeit more glamorous and in a different color--had just exposed Ezra's facade. All the sweet words and actions before the wedding had been an act. Ezra settled onto the cushion next to you, casually nibbling on some food from the table, savoring the revelation of his little game.

"Ezra, you should have rested," you said, your tone carrying a hint of concern. Amir was taken aback, noticing your relaxed demeanour. It seemed you hadn’t caught onto Ezra’s stunt. It wasn’t your fault, after all. Maybe you are too tired to notice or don't want to scold your brother, whom you cherish deeply, especially in front of guests—many of whom were now eyeing Ezra with a mix of admiration and curiosity. His display was a calculated reminder that he would always eclipse Amir. Ezra had even missed the official ceremony, claiming illness as his excuse and retreating to his room.

"Nonsense!. How could I have missed my own sister's wedding? And did you forget that I managed all these preparations?. I would never miss it."

'Oh, but you missed the vow ceremony, how convenient and now he's here to remind everyone how he managed all of this and such a good brother-in-law he is by being sweet to me and my family.'

"Do I look good, sister?"

"Of course you do. When have you ever looked bad?" You reached out to pat his head affectionately before pulling a small pouch from your pocket. "This is for you Ezra, a token of appreciation for your efforts, as tradition dictates."

Ezra’s eyes sparkled with delight as he accepted the pouch of gold. "It was nothing. Thank you so much. I just did my duty."

He got up soon to cater to guests including Amir's family probably to show off how humble he is.

The only thing keeping Amir sane and easing his worries was you. Your hand held his gently, and he felt comforted by the ring you put on his finger. He placed his other hand on yours, needing the reassurance that you were there for him.

‘As long as you’re here,’ he kept praying silently.

However, as days passed since the marriage, Ezra's facade toward his brother-in-law began to crumble in your absence. Amir couldn’t understand why Ezra, who had been nothing but nice to him, now seemed to act cold and distant.

The taunts, the disgusted glances, and the deliberate ignoring of Amir had become a painful routine. What troubled him the most was Ezra’s ability to put on a friendly front when you were around. He wondered how a person could even do that? Can he be this deceitful too? His parents always taught him to be kind and true to people. That is why he bared himself to you, he opened his heart to you and gave himself completely. By now he had come to terms with it that Ezra won't ever see him as part of the family much less as an equal. But he remained focused on making sure you were happy with him, that he never made you upset with him because that is what Ezra wants but with Amir's modest and docile nature, it was nearly impossible,

"You know, Amir, since my sister is away on a business trip, you might as well stay with your parents for a while." Amir looked up from his untouched breakfast, confusion and concern etched on his face.

"U-um... why?"

"Why?" Ezra's lips curled into a dismissive smirk. "Well, your duty is to her, and since she’s not here, you might as well go. It’s not like you’re doing anything important around here."

"But—"

"I’ll have the carriage prepared." And just like that he got up and left, Rowan tailing behind him. And so, Amir found himself spending days with his family. His spirits lifted somewhat in their comforting presence, but his thoughts were always clouded by how much he longed to be in your arms. However...

"You don’t just get up and leave like this. Did you even realize how badly this reflects on me? My spouse just vanished after a few days of marriage. I expected you to be waiting for me at the door, but instead, you were here." Your words felt like sharp needles piercing his heart, making him clutch the carriage’s cushion tighter. His mind was filled with images of Ezra welcoming you back, whispering deceitful tales of how he had left.

'He was bored.'

'He doesn’t like it here. I think he doesn't even want to make an effort to adjust.'

'He didn’t even bother to greet you. What kind of husband is he, sister?'

"(Y/N), I d-didn’t mean to leave. It’s just--" What could he say to avoid further anger? Should he blame Ezra? The thought of making excuses or casting blame only added to his distress.

"I don’t care. Next time, don’t leave like that. And if you feel the need to, ask me first. Got it? Also, you can just call your family to visit there. That’s your home now, you don’t have to keep coming back here." He nodded, biting his lip. 'As if your brother would ever let my family feel welcome there. I would never subject them to that mansion of thorns, to be insulted. That’s something I won’t tolerate.'

"Forgive me?" he asked softly, leaning closer to you. "Please, I missed you with every breath." A tired sigh and a gentle caress on his face were all he received, but even that was more than enough for him.

༺𓆩❀𓆪༻

Time seemed to pass slowly for Amir, each day filled with torment and venomous words from Ezra. He hid his tears, letting them out in some corner of the mansion , so that when you returned, he could greet you with a smile. He didn’t know what to do. He didn't want to stress you by complaining about your brother or involving you in this petty game. He felt like he was going mad as he dwelled on his thoughts. The books offered some solace, but he wished his life were more like a fairytale.

“Well, I thought you should take care of the household budget now, but I think it’s too soon for you to handle this. There are a number of reasons for my distrust, which... I would prefer not to share.”

“It’s alright... I just joined the family, so I think it’s inappropriate for me to take on that responsibility. And brother Ezra is handling it well anyway.”

“Thank you for understanding.” You gently played with his hair as his head rested on your lap. “I love how understanding you are.” He melted under your compliment, the magical touch adding to his contentment.

“Anything for you, wife. You know better than me. Whatever decision you make, I’ll always accept it.” He kissed your finger, his heart swelling with happiness at the sight of the ring you wore. The ring his family had bought with whatever they could afford, and yet you wore it. You were the only one who hadn’t looked down on him because of his status. You even cared for his family, sending them provisions and gifts.

Actually, there was another person who hadn't looked down on Amir--your mother, Ms. Grace. She was a woman who preferred solitude, keeping herself busy with her hobbies after her husband's death. Whenever Amir felt alone, he made sure to check on her, offering company and conversation.

“You’re a really good boy. My daughter found a gem.” Amir smiled, but his eyes told a different story. They were seated in Grace’s study, having tea. “Something troubles you, and I know what it is. It’s Ezra, isn’t it?” Damn it, is it that obvious?

“N-no, no, he’s nice. I’m just--”

“Oh, save it. He’s my son, I can smell his shenanigans from miles away. And that daughter of mine—utterly stupid!. She’s the reason he’s like this. Either she’s too aloof or just chooses to ignore it.”

“No, no! She has a lot on her plate. I just don’t want to burden her with such petty problems. She brought me here so that she could find peace, not for me to disrupt it.” Grace’s heart swelled with pity and love at his words. “You are my son too, okay? And I’m just trying to help you understand that you’re the only one who can help yourself.”

“W-what does that mean?”

"It means you have to be strong. You’re not some piece of garbage my daughter picked up. She brought you here, gave you a title, and bestowed you with respect--so honor it, and don’t let anyone take it away just because they think you don’t deserve it. My in-laws were a piece of work too. May their souls rest in peace, but I went through some tough times with them. What kept me firm was my husband. Do you get my point?"

Her in-laws--oh, what a tragedy that befell them on that ferry. The whole town was shaken. Perhaps it was their karma.

“Yes.”

"You love her, right?" His head snapped up to meet her eyes. Was that even a question?

"More than anything! Always."

"Then don’t beat yourself up like this. Just do your part and leave the rest to God. Everything will be alright one day." Amir nodded and took a sip of his remaining tea, feeling a bit lighter and more hopeful. She was right. Being depressed and crying wouldn’t get him anywhere. Worse, you might even leave him because of his sulky behavior. His fingers tightened around the saucer.

༺𓆩❀𓆪༻

"Sir Ezra has called for you," Rowan informed him as he was putting on his shoes. The two of you were getting ready for dinner. "Me?"

"Yes, you, sir. In his room."

"I'll be there." He glanced at you as you were fastening your coat. "Yeah, go ahead, I'll be waiting downstairs." He nodded and left, but not before helping you with your sleeve buttons and giving you a quick peck.

"You called for me?" His smooth voice reverberated in the quiet room, his eyes finding Ezra nestled in his giant bed.

"Oh yes, you two are going out, right? Could you tell (Y/N) to bring back those pastries that I love?" Something felt off.

Amir swallowed the uneasiness and glanced between Ezra and Rowan. "Sure. Anything else?"

"No. That would be all, thank you."

As always, you had chosen a high-end restaurant, and your presence and attention made him forget all his worries. This was what he cherished the most, his time with you. Your care, your love. He felt, no, believed that he was the luckiest man alive. Contrary to Grace's words, you did pick him from the trash and made him your treasure.

When you both entered the mansion hand in hand, your smile immediately faded into a worried frown.

"EZRA!" Amir barely had time to react as he saw you rush up the stairs where Ezra was now slumped against the railing. The bag of pastries had been thrown from your hands and lay at his feet.

"ROWAN! CALL THE DOCTOR! What happened, Ezra?!"

"Di-did you bring the med...?" Ezra's one hand gripped your collar as the other his stomach.

"What medicine?!"

"The one I asked for..." Ezra's weary, hollow gaze turned to Amir, sending a chill through his very core. "Rowan, help me carry him." You shot a sharp glance over your shoulder at Amir as you hurried up the stairs.

'He did it again... God,' Thought Amir as he bent down to collect the crumbles scattered on the carpet. They mirrored his own shattered emotions and the fractured state of his new life.

༺𓆩❀𓆪༻

"I swear he asked for pastries... you believe me, don't you!? Please!"

"I said, let it go. Just shut up." You settled onto the bed, sighing as you saw him standing in the corner, emotionless.

"Amir, come here. There is something you should know." Your tone was soft, almost apologetic.

He sat beside the bed, his eyes cast on the floor. "Listen, I feel like you both don't get along, but that needs to change, okay? He is my brother, and you are my husband. Both of you are important to me. And I wanted to tell you that soon after having a talk with him, I will ask Mother to find a suitable bride for him. This family needs an heir."

Wait...

"Heir?"

"Yes, an heir. Even though, as you know, I'm not a fan of children in any shape or form, the line needs to continue. That is Ezra's duty, so he is essential to me. This whole tedious business of having children...ugh." You rubbed your forehead in frustration. "Whatever. But we will also treat them like our own, okay?" You loathed the idea of carrying a child yourself, and Amir was just as opposed to the thought of you experiencing any discomfort. The thought of losing you over that made him shiver. The business was more important to you than anything, and you made that very clear before marriage. Your word was law. Still, he couldn’t help but ask.

"C-can't we both... adopt, though?"

"That's for another day and why adopt now when we can have our own? Ezra has to marry someday. It’s completely fair. He needs to grow up now."

Your tone and earlier outburst made him nod frantically, but a new emotion stirred within him , something close to amusement. Oh, how will Ezra react when you make him marry someone. Maybe it’s for the best, 'At least he’ll get off my back, hopefully.'

Yet, he also felt pity for the woman who would be bound to that two-faced bastard. Is your only goal to use your brother as a breeder? That’s even more amusing.

As you lay down, he went to the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror. If Ezra were to provide you with a child one day, wouldn’t that make him more honorable in your eyes?

'No, after today’s stunt, I’ve had enough of this.'

You want a child, an heir--that’s clear, that's fine. But he won’t let Ezra exploit this situation.

༺𓆩❀𓆪༻

"I--I mean--" Ezra stammered, his usual confidence wavering as he tried to find the right words.

You held his face in your hands, your grip firm yet gentle, your eyes searching his. "It's not like I am asking for something outrageous here," you said, your tone soft but laced with expectation.

Ezra's eyes darted away for a moment, then back to you. "I get you, but isn’t it too soon? I mean-"

"You're of age," you cut him off, your tone now tinged with a bit of annoyance. "You’ve never rejected anything I’ve asked of you before, and now you are?"

"NO! No, absolutely not, sister!" Ezra's voice was a mix of desperation and determination. "How can you even think that? I will do it. I will." Inside, though, his mind rebelled. It’s not the marriage that Ezra hates, it’s the idea of spending his life with some annoying woman. What if she turns out to be a snake too?! Oh, he won't forgive that, ever. His eyes betrayed a flicker of dread before he quickly masked it with a forced smile.

"Great, then. Mother will surely find the most amazing match for you," you said with finality, turning to leave. "Just make sure to tell her what your type is. Remember, she shouldn’t just be a good wife but a perfect mother for my heir too."

Without another word, you exited the room, leaving Ezra alone with his spiraling thoughts. Did Amir put this idea in your head? Sometimes, Ezra just wanted to kill that son of a-

"Deep breaths, Ezra, deep breaths," he muttered to himself, trying to quell the surge of frustration. Yeah, his sister wouldn’t be happy if her husband was torn to pieces. 'This is your life now', seeing Amir’s face in this mansion every single day, and soon enough, a wife’s too. Ugh! He threw a vase at the wall in a fit of irritation. He won't ever be in peace until you divorce Amir.

He couldn’t afford to dwell on that for now. He had to carry out your order, even if he despised the thought of dealing with an annoying woman and whining babies. You had given him a task, a job, and he couldn’t let you down. He would never let you down.

༺𓆩❀𓆪༻

Ezra's bride, Jean Aston, had been chosen--an arrangement made with a family friend. While Ezra couldn't have cared less about the choice, he at least appreciated that Jean stood out with her striking red hair and green eyes. His wife needed to be of some caliber, though in his view, only one person could be the true beauty of the marriage, and that person was unquestionably him. However, he also acknowledged the importance of passing on good genes to the heir you desired.

What he hadn’t expected was Jean’s bubbly demeanor. Wasn't she the one who had been too shy to meet him before the wedding?

"Can you be quiet? Can you be a bit more demure?" Ezra snapped, his patience wearing thin as she chattered incessantly, sitting beside him after their vows. "Look at me--am I being so chattery? Bride and groom are supposed to be graceful, woman."

Jean’s expression soured beneath her veil. "Wow, I was just trying to make small talk. I’ve been quiet since our engagement, so I’m going to talk now that we’re married. Also when is the food going to served?I am starving, how can-"

'God, just let this ceremony end already.'

Meanwhile, in the far corner of the room, Amir sighed, silently wishing Jean the best. Poor girl didn’t know what she was in for. His mind wandered back to his own wedding, the memory leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. It was hard not to compare the two experiences and feel a twinge of sympathy for her. At least you are way better than Ezra. A lot...no, perfect in his eyes. Always.

Once they retreated to their room, Ezra lifted Jean's veil with a cold, expressionless face, cutting her off before she could utter a word.

"There are some things you need to engrain in that skull of yours. First, always show respect for my sister. Always. You know that, don’t you? Secondly, try talking less and listening more."

"Got it! Now, where’s my wedding gift?" Jean’s cheerful interruption made Ezra’s jaw tighten, but he quickly masked his irritation with a smooth composure.

"No, you tell me first--who advised you to wear a harvest gold veil with such questionable embroidery? Huh? Such a poor fashion choice. I’ve explicitly told your family that gold is my color, I wear it. I don’t want to see you in it again." His fingers traced the material with a disdainful touch. "This abomination definitely needs fixing ." Though the veil was actually quite pretty, he couldn’t accept the fact that she looked good in it-- perhaps more than he did which is a big no.

༺𓆩❀𓆪༻

Months later, the mansion, once quiet and dull, now echoed with the cries of a baby boy whom you named, Joseph. Ezra handed you the baby first which you were hesitant to hold but did anyway, after all you asked for this. It only lasted for a few minutes before he dozed off in Jean's arms.

"Jean," you said, gently patting her head. She looked up at you with a mix of nervousness and curiosity, her eyes brightening with anticipation. You took the papers from Amir and handed them to her. "Here's a gift. A plot, in your name and another in dear Joseph's. You’ve earned it."

Jean’s eyes widened with surprise and gratitude. "Y-you didn’t have to, (Y/N)-"

"Jean," Ezra scolded gently, his tone surprising you. It seemed that your brother had softened a bit since Joseph’s birth.

"Don’t refuse (Y/N)'s gift. Accept it," he added. Jean nodded, her shyness evident, but her gratitude clear as she met your gaze. "Thank you, (Y/N)."

"Good, now rest. The nanny will arrive soon," you instructed, leaving with Amir in tow. Ezra shot a disapproving look at Amir as they exited.

"Don’t be rude to Brother Amir like that," Jean reprimanded.

"It’s none of your concern. Stop being his defender, anyway. Focus on the child, his upbringing must be perfect. And take care of yourself too--I don’t want you fainting while feeding him." With that, Ezra stormed out. Jean sighed, finding him as unpredictable as ever--hot one moment, cold the next.

The tragedy that struck when Joseph was just six months old was unexpected. The poor child fell gravely ill, and even the doctors couldn't pinpoint what was wrong with his stomach. But by some blessing, everyone's prayers were answered when Amir's remedy worked, one his mother used to give when they were sick as children and Joseph was saved. Had it been a moment later, who knows what could have happened. Even though Ezra didn't bother to thank Amir, it didn’t matter. Amir did it for you, for your child.

༺𓆩❀𓆪༻

"You know, I think it's been a while since I married you," you murmured, lost in thought.

Amir looked up from his book and chuckled, "Oh, you realized it now? I think it's been more than a while, my dearest."

"I know, I know." You now stood where he was seated, gently caressing his cheek. "I think it's time you start doing your duty here." You handed him the seal, "You're in charge of the household's budget now." Amir's eyes widened in surprise. "B-but brother Ezra--"

"Shush," you interrupted. "I decide how things are run here. And I’m giving you this responsibility. Don’t disappoint me."

He nodded, a grateful smile spreading across his face as he kissed your knuckles. "Never, I won’t ever dream of it."

From within, his heart was bursting with happiness. At last, he had something--something he wanted, something he could use as leverage against Ezra. His plan had worked flawlessly. His hidden knowledge of botany had made it all possible; plants to make poison, plants to make antidote. A soft giggle escaped him and so did some tears, as you left the room, the seal twirling between his fingers.

Deep inside, he couldn’t ignore the guilt gnawing at him as he saw the pain etched on everyone’s faces over Joseph. His own tears stung with remorse, but he believed it was a good plan--a necessary one to win your trust, your love. He hadn’t wanted to be so heartless, to poison his own child, but he felt he had no choice. Being Ezra’s doormat for so long had worn him down. And for once, watching Ezra in distress was so worth it. Amir couldn’t help but relish every moment.

(AN: OmG, Amir really turned dark, the poor innocent boi. Look how Ezra massacred my boy)

[sp4ceboo]

Within the Storms of Giedi Prime: Feyd-Rautha x Reader

A/N: the long awaited part two of upon the sands of the arena is hereeee

tw: 18+, smut (more than last time hehehe), p in v, swearing, Feels™, death, assassination, use of the Voice (not on feyd), less violence but still violence, i lack faith in my sequel writing abilities, blowjobs, SUB FEYDDDD, also DOM FEYDDD, sex Outside, lightning and thunder (it says storms in the title what do you expect)

wc: 4.2k

part 1

Giedi Prime is a miserable planet.

It’s evident in the choking, black smog from the factories in the dense air fused with the anguished cries of overworked slaves and the distant rumble of the still active volcanos. You’re near the Harkonnen’s palace grounds - you’re heading towards them, actually, and the promise of a… pleasant night; to your left, you can just about glimpse the looming silhouette of the great arena, squatting like a hulking beast on the horizon, waiting to swallow any poor soul that gets too close to its gaping maw.

Tonight, roiling storm clouds reign the sky, sending sheets of furious rain pounding down upon anyone who dares to be out at this hour - including you. Harsh bolts of lightning spear down, hurtling towards the ground like incensed, condensed moonlight and casting freakish shadows.

Moonlight: the colour of Feyd’s skin. If it weren’t for him, you’d already be off this sorry planet - alas, you must stay a little longer, your body already a little warm at the memory of his skilled fingers and scorching gaze. You haven’t been back since the encounter with the na-Baron in the arena months ago, and you can’t help but feel the sting of doubt in your chest, wondering if he’ll still want a second time, or if you’ll sneak into his room only to find yourself replaced by a concubine.

Not that you occupy significance to him anyway, you remind yourself. Feyd-Rautha could not replace you, because there would be nothing to replace, just ashes of a once bright fire.

Irked by the weakness of your own mind, you pull the hood of your cloak lower over your face, tightening it across your shoulders. The hem is sullied by browning blood: you disposed of your quarry just this morning, and delivered the decapitated head during the early afternoon.

Conveniently, the Bene Gesserit have left you alone for now, most likely tangled in the politics regarding the Kwisatz Haderach while trying to predict the next movement of Jessica Atreides - word is that she has burrowed her way deeper into the desert, surrounding herself and her son with the more fanatic of the Fremen as she bides her time, ready for her next strike.

It means that you’ve been granted enough time to establish yourself as a bounty hunter. For a highly trained Bene Gesserit, the work is easy, and earns you coin a plenty while keeping you on the move and as in shape as assassinating sloppy idiots attempting to run from debt and petty disagreements can.

Slipping through the palace’s perimeter proves easy enough. You use the Voice on a few guards, preferring it to cutting their throats: instructing them to keep quiet and forget you passed by causes much less of a commotion. The scaling of the ramparts that make up the circumference of the inner palace is the most challenging, due to the stone being slick with moss and rain - your fingers dig into the cracks between the weathered blocks of stone, the wind snapping and tugging at your cloak, fiercer now that you’re higher up.

There’s a narrow battlement ringing one side of Feyd’s room. You land on it silently, padding over to the window sill; curtains made of heavy black fabric layered on a dark, wispy privacy layer shroud most of your view of him. His pale skin is almost luminescent under the jagged flashes of lightning bathing his quarters, the blanket having slipped half off him during the night. He lies with his bare back facing you, although it’s hardly a vulnerability - you doubt anyone would be able to creep up on him easily enough to bury a knife into his exposed back without him tearing their throat out first.

Apart from you - hopefully.

Carefully, you ease the window open. A frigid gust of air rushes in as you climb through, and you witness the exact moment that Feyd awakens and becomes aware of your presence; imperceptibly, the muscles in his back ripple before he settles again - you posticipate the feel of them under your palms, hard, lean, perfect for sinking your nails into.

A thrill rushes through you at the sight of him, a sort of wondrous feeling, keen as a knife and just as cutting. You want him all over you, you want him to consume you until all you can remember is him and his smouldering eyes and sensuous touch.

Shrugging off your cloak, you let it pool to the floor around your feet before toeing off your shoes too; breath caught in your throat, you steal over to his bedside, your hand ghosting over the solid curve of his shoulder blade before you grip his shoulder, turning him so his back is flat against the mattress and straddling him in one fluid motion.

The cold kiss of metal meets your neck.

You almost moan at the look on his face. His lips are pulled back in a snarl, his eyes wild, frenzied almost, glittering with the same danger as before. Running your hands up his hard, sculpted chest, you smirk down at him, watching as ever so slowly, his gelid gaze defrosts with recognition, the ice giving way to those all encompassing flames, flames that you surrender to unequivocally.

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ you murmur, fingers circling his wrist.

Feyd blinks, watching you as if he’s going to eat you as always. Slowly, the hand not wielding the knife roams waywardly down your spine, grabs a harsh fistful of your ass and lingers before gliding upwards and settling on your waist. He huffs, an abrupt, amused sound, but you don’t miss the way he greedily drinks up your figure with his eyes.

‘I thought I scared you away, little witch. Presumably, it was not too much for you?’

‘For me?’ You muse. ‘We’ll see.’

Knocking the blade from his hand, you ignore the screeching noise it makes as it skitters across the stone floor, instead enjoying the subtle inhale, loaded with expectancy, that Feyd takes as you lean in close to him. You hover above him for a prolonged moment, arms boxing him in, before he lurches upwards, connecting your lips with his.

A growl sounds at the back of his throat when he tastes you, licking into your mouth as his fingers press at the small of your back, bringing your lower body to meet his. Rolling his hips against yours, he tangles his fingers in your hair; you feel giddy with the feel of him against you, solid and warm and wanting, so real beneath you, so fucking insatiable.

You can’t get enough of him.

Slowly, you pull away, ablaze with the ravening craving in his eyes. The muscles in his well shaped chest flex as he tips his face up, following your lips, and you smile disarmingly at him, hooking your fingers in the waistband of his trousers and pulling them down.

Taking his chin in your palm, you tilt his head so you can look him in the eyes before swiping your thumb over his lower lip, savouring the way he’s putty in your hands: a man destined to be the Baron of one of the most influential, powerful Houses in the Imperium, a lethal, strikingly skilled warrior, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, humbled by your touch.

‘Let me taste you,’ you breathe - it’s almost a command.

‘Please,’ he chokes out, imploring you with his eyes.

Laughing, you press a hand to his sternum and push. He sinks back into the mattress, compliant, and you trail your lips down his neck and sternum, leaving hickeys in your wake. You're seized by the need to make him shake and beg and cry; you want to devour him.

Dragging your nails cruelly down his thighs, branding him with livid red scratches, you tilt your head to the side, a smile playing upon your lips as you listen to the groan that leaves him, the pricks of pain setting him alight with longing. There’s a devout look in his eyes - a fervent, zealous sort of lust that stirs within you with the impulse to make him forget his own name.

Curling your fingers around his hard length and giving him a few pumps, you watch him under your lashes, something akin to a power rush spinning your head around and around. Feyd is wonderfully sensitive, and a sneer pulls at your lips when his fingers scramble for purchase, fisting in his silky sheets as you press a chaste, loitering kiss to his cock head - a pearl of jet precum sits at the apex of it, dark against its rosy, delicate flush.

Dipping your hand into your pants, you collect your slick on your fingers and use it to jerk him - when you glance up, his pupils are blown wide; lips parted, he stares at you, transfixed.

Eyes locked on his, you take him in your mouth: his thighs tighten, every muscle taut as you run your tongue along the veins wrapped around the underside of his cock. His head tips back, displaying the strong lines of his neck as you hollow your cheeks, rubbing your thighs together to ease the increasing ache between them. Jaw slack, you gag when he hits the back of your throat, and he growls at the sight of your hungry eyes growing watery.

You toy with him, teasing him with your tongue and grazing your teeth lightly over his length until he’s gasping your name; the way the syllables leave his tongue is almost pleading, his chest heaving and covered in a sheen of sweat, his thighs shuddering, wracked with tremors.

It’s evident that he’s close, the voracity in his eyes so hot that it melts your bones, sending heat pooling in your core - you’re going to let him wreck your cunt after this; ruin you for any other man. Trembling, his pale fingers hover near your head, splaying over the expanse of your shoulder, his eyes fucking begging for permission, so you pull off him, laughing as his hips jolt forward at the loss, his cock twitching when your fingertips graze his balls.

‘Go on, Feyd,’ you coax. ‘Do as you wish.’

A tender, honeyed noise rips from low in his chest, almost a whimper, a sound you know no one has extracted from him before. It’s the only warning before he fists his hand in your hair, hips bucking as he fucks into your mouth, his eyes rolling back as you gag around him, the debased moan that escapes you sending vibrations down his cock.

You almost black out when he comes down your throat. You’re not sure if it’s the lack of air reaching your lungs or the sweet pain of Feyd’s hand yanking at your hair, but you’re sure that you’ve never taken so much pleasure in someone else’s release. Slowly, you sit up, moving to lie beside Feyd, and he smiles dumbly at you, maybe a little fucked out as he leans in to kiss you, sighing as he tastes his own come on your tongue.

‘I could spend hours exploring you, my little witch,’ he says, pressing his lips to your jaw.

Feyd flips you over with only an echo of ferocity from your previous fight, disrobing you and gripping your thighs, spreading them. Your hands find his shoulders, his back, your fingers resting in the dips of muscle there, trailing down the length of his spine as his own find your slick, yearning cunt.

Outside, the storm blows harder, rain pounding down upon the planet’s surface in sheets, lightning lancing through the thick billows of clouds; it is during one of these strikes that you glimpse that Feyd’s eyes are not as dark as they seem, but the colour of glaciers and blue fire. Within them, just beneath the keenness of his electric gaze, lurks something else - something that makes you hesitate. He senses it immediately, fingers pausing their movement, so you fit your lips to his.

You kiss him to avoid the emotions roiling in his stormy eyes.

He responds immediately, and you easily dismiss the thoughts clouding your mind; he barely knows you, there’s no room for the feelings you just saw in his gaze. You seek his body, not his soul, and it is the same both ways.

‘Fuck me,’ you mumble against his lips.

All coherent sentences leave your mind when he flips you over again, this time with your stomach pressed to his bedsheets as he kneels on the mattress behind you.

‘Ass up, my little witch,’ he commands.

Something within you goes molten at the sound of his voice. You can feel his gaze straying all over your skin, greedy, so you tuck your knees beneath you and arch your back, biting down on your lower lip as his palm presses against your lower vertebrae. He chuckles; it warms your bones.

‘You’re so filthy, little witch, displaying yourself for me.’

Bolts of ecstasy shoot through you as Feyd slides his cock head through your folds, his broad hands gripping your hips so tightly that you’ll be left with bruises. Your breath is punched from your lungs when he sinks himself inside you, balls deep, white hot pleasure rocketing down your spine - it tears a wretched cry from you, more so when he starts a brutal, near sadistic pace, the angle destroying you with vicious bliss.

The drag of his searing, velvet cock on your walls makes your toes curl. You think your body might shatter into a million pieces, the way he plucks the euphoria from it so agonisingly, so beautifully. One of his hands finds its way between your thighs, his thumb rolling endlessly over your clit; you find yourself teetering on the edge, suspended there a moment before you fall.

The way your cunt convulses around his cock as you come doesn’t stop Feyd. Unforgiving, he ploughs into you, his fingers still working on your clit, not breaking his rhythm even as you writhe beneath him, trying to jerk your hips away from his to no avail. It’s too much, the pleasure melting delectably into pain and still he can’t stop, won’t stop, his low snarl a warning in your ear as he pins you to the mattress with a hand between your shoulder blades, leaving you helpless to do nothing but take him.

Tears well up in your eyes, soaking into the sheets beneath you as he rails into you, his fingers speeding up on your clit until you’re begging him, tremors shooting through you from the aftershocks of your orgasm. His grip on your hips is unrelenting, and you sob as his pace increases, the savage friction sending you over again.

For the second time, you come hard around him, pussy clenching and fluttering, ragged cries wracking your body. This time, you bring Feyd with you, the sound he makes sharp and almost pained. He pulls out, and you mewl at the sharp tug of friction, panting as he comes on your back and ass, claiming you with his dark seed.

Breathless, he sits back on his heels as you straighten your legs until you lie full stretch, revelling in the post orgasmic rapture. Dimly, you hear his footsteps on the stone floor, but you pay them no mind, instead letting your eyelids droop as you rest your chin in the crook of your elbow.

Gentle hands encircle your ankles, carefully opening your legs. A second later, you feel a warm cloth at the apex of your thighs, and you whine, flinching away from the overstimulation. You hear Feyd’s chuckle, and the comforting sweep of his thumb against your skin as he cleans you up, pressing soft, open mouthed kisses on your back as he does; barely a moment after, the mattress dips, and strong arms pull you into a warm chest.

‘How are you, my little witch?’

You hum in response, not wanting to use words. Something niggles at your brain, even through the haze of pleasure. It’s got to do with the na-Baron’s gentleness after he fucks you; it unsettles you, the sweetness of him, and now these words, as if you’re a lover, and not… whatever this is.

One of his wide palms runs up and down your ribs, and you shove those thoughts to the side, instead enjoying his touch, the way your body fits into his, his chest pressed against your front as he traces patterns on your skin with his deft fingers; his lips brushing the nape of your neck, leaving soft kisses there. You find yourself curling away from him a little - his hands on you make something deep in your chest stir to life, something that shouldn’t be there. It’s -

A blinding flash of lightning, followed by the deep, throaty growl of thunder illuminates the room. You’re facing the door: in the crack between its solid masonry and the floor, you glimpse a shadow.

Hastily, you turn, one hand meeting Feyd’s chest, fingers falling into the dip his collarbone makes as you search his eyes, urgent. He stares back at you, not quite guarded, but not quite open any more, and you’re filled with the urge to protect.

‘Give me your knife,’ you hiss.

He sits up halfway. ‘What’s - ’

You push him back down, glaring at his resistance. You can sense the change in the air, hear the subtle scrape of someone’s boot across the stone floor and the swish of clothing behind the door - or maybe it’s just the building storm outside, the escalating charge in the sky as another bolt of lightning is generated.

‘Feyd. Give me your knife.’

Eyes quizzical, he produces it from somewhere behind him, handing it to you hilt first. It’s just in time, because the door swings open, a masked figure silhouetted there. You whirl around, covering Feyd’s body with your own.

They’re holding a knife.

It doesn’t take you a moment longer to send your knife hurtling towards them. The blade seethes through the air before embedding itself with a thunk into the assassin’s shoulder, and as they drop to the floor, you’re up in another second, poised in case there’s another. A flash of movement catches your eye - the dropped knife, retrieved and held in blood soaked fingers.

‘Stand down,’ you snap.

The Voice echoes through the room, and you pluck the knife out of the now frozen assassin’s grasp and slit his throat. Turning, you see the glimmer of amusement and awe in Feyd’s eyes; assassination attempts probably occur often, an estranged Bene Gesserit using the Voice in his room less so.

‘So many people seem eager to sneak into my bed chamber tonight,’ he remarks. ‘Although I must admit I preferred the first one.’

You laugh, collecting your clothes off the floor. ‘I’m glad.’

As you pull on your trousers, followed closely by your shirt, Feyd gets up, and you’re struck by the slow manner in which he approaches you, so much like the way he prowled towards you in the arena, but this time his eyes concerningly soft, his deadly, killing machine of a body marked with hickeys and love bites.

‘Why do you always rush to leave so fast, my little witch?’

‘I - I have places to be,’ you stammer.

He tilts his head. ‘At this hour of the night?’

‘...Yes.’

Feyd takes one step closer, close enough to kiss. ‘What are you afraid of?’

You back towards the window. ‘I fear nothing.’

‘Don’t lie to me,’ he warns. ‘I can see it in your eyes.’

Shaking your head, panic rising in your throat, you turn, the glass chilly on your fingers as you open the window. Feyd catches your other hand, but you whirl around and lash out, a blow to the face followed by a blow to the legs, and he staggers backwards, giving you enough time to slip out of the window and onto the battlements.

Outside, the storm has whipped up, the howling wind tearing at your hood and blowing it off, the rain immediately pouring down to soak your hair, sting your eyes, wet your face. You need to run, you need to get away from him, but the weak part of you - the part that you fear - slows your strides, tugging at you as if it’s tied to Feyd somehow.

He catches up to you easily enough.

Of course he does, he is Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, and he is inexplicably bound to your soul in a way you cannot describe, in a way that terrifies you, shakes you to your very core. He catches your with a hand around your upper arm and presses you to his chest, your treacherous body reacting to him the way it always has as he stares down at you with those burning, icy eyes, droplets of rain running in rivulets down the moonlight planes of his chest.

Unease tears through you. You see it in his eyes, that he feels it too, and you dread the way it does not disquiet him. Your soul feels like it’s slowly rending in two - you need to get away from him, from the unguarded way he regards you, dedication clear in his unwavering gaze, but all the same, you need to remain with his arms trapping you to him, in the bewildering magnetism of his psyche.

‘Tell me what you fear, my little witch.’

You answer through clenched teeth. ‘I am not yours.’

‘You evade my question.’

You stare at Feyd, confounded. This man before you is the same man that you duelled in the arena, yet he is different; there is a certainty in his eyes, an acceptance that you yourself flee from. You’re drawn to him, even as the instincts that have kept your hollow heart intact all these years squall for you to break loose - and yet you fear that too, the evasion, because you know that if you run now, a part of you will be lost, snapped under the tension.

‘What do you - ’

You cut Feyd off. ‘Do you know what I fear, Harkonnen? I fear the look in your eyes, because it’s not just desire any more. You do not seek me in order that I inflict pain and pleasure alike upon you, you seek something else. I fear the look in your eyes because it is the same feeling that rises traitorously in my chest when I look at you, and it terrifies me.’

He’s silent.

You grab his shoulder. ‘Tell me you feel nothing, Feyd. Tell me you crave me for the thrill of adrenaline and the feel of my body - tell me and do not lie.’

His eyes bore into yours. ‘I cannot.’

‘Exactly.’

You wrest yourself from his grasp, turning and striding down the battlements. A strange feeling overtakes you, a prickle behind your eyes and a lump in your throat, an aching tug at your heart which you stalwartly ignore. It is over - you’re done. He made it harder than it ever had to be, but you’re going now.

He grabs your hand. ‘You cannot either, my little witch.’

Struggling, you snarl at him, clawing at your chest, but he pins you to the wall, his eyes aflame, searing, calling to something in you that rises up to meet him. This time, it is too strong; you cannot push it down, a part of you not even wanting to. You can feel Feyd all over you, your senses overwhelmed by him, by the way he presses his forehead to yours, forcing you to meet his gaze.

‘You do not have to fear it,’ he whispers. ‘Just let go. You’re holding on too tight.’

He dips his head, claiming your lips. You give in, yield to it, let it wash over you and carry you away on its blissful waves, your heart swelling in your chest at the way he touches you, tenderly, as if you’re the most precious thing he’s ever laid his eyes upon; this is not Feyd, but this is him, irrefutably so.

You think this might be love.

It is a wild, white hot blade in your heart that twists, beauteous, enthralling. You believed that it would weaken you, shackle you, but you blaze with the glorious flare of it, the kiss of Feyd’s hips against yours stoking it further. Truly, it is magnificent.

In the only way you know how, you show him. It’s cataclysmic, the way you’re pulled to him like a comet caught in a planet’s gravity, streaking towards him, fated to collide, your hands roving over him, his over you, the taste of rain blooming on your tongue as you bite down on his shoulder, muffling a moan as he ekes sweet, tender pleasure from you. Your head tips back against the stone, eyes raised to the weeping sky, your lips parted as he fills you with his cock.

Feyd looks at you as if you are a goddess. He worships you, cradles you in his arms, anchoring you, grounding you. You do not know where he ends and you begin, nor do you want to know; you wish for your souls to meld, you wish for the two of you to be alone in the universe, unbothered by time or fate or anything.

‘You are mine, little witch,’ he intones against your rain soaked skin. ‘I am yours.’

[hitlikehammers]

to die by your side (is such a heavenly way to die)

rating: t ♥️ cw: angst with a happy ending (which is actually kinda fluffy?), limbo/near-death experiences, post-S4/Upside Down-heavy, falling in love ♥️ tags: falling for each other in the space between life and death, happy ending

for @steddielovemonth day twenty-six: Love is a fire that never goes out (@sidekick-hero)

this is because of 1) this song being too close to the prompt for me to disengage it in my head, and the chorus therefore dictating this plot line, and 2) @hbyrde36 picked it and, again, I am very susceptible to people indicating they like a thing and would enjoy more, so @hbyrde36: I hope you enjoy what this became ♥️

“Oh fuck, not you, too.”

Steve looks up—when did he sit down, he doesn’t remember sitting down, he doesn’t remember how even got here, and hey, actually, where is here—

“What?” Steve looks toward the voice; familiar. See the wreath of curls around a pale face.

“This is death, right?” Eddie’s crossing over to him, crouching just beside; “I’m dead, like, I am very sure I’m dead, but you’re here, so—“

“I don’t,” Steve breathes in sharp—tries to get his bearings, tries to see but it’s just black in every direction, his lungs feel like they’re halved in size all of sudden, everything feels tight and painful and hard like inhaling isn’t something guaranteed, and his heartbeat feels like it’s dragging the carcass of something with it when it pumps, laborious and—

He’s is breathing, though, even if it’s kinda half-assed; he’s got a heartbeat, even if it feels like it’s about to fucking give out.

That doesn’t…that doesn’t sound like death.

“I,” Steve licks his lips; his mouth is so fucking dry but swelling kinda hurts and…he’s not as fucked up as he has a feeling he should be, he needs to think harder than he’s ready for just now to figure out what the last thing that happened between where he was, and where he is but: he thinks he should be more fucked up on, like, an instinctual level that knows he should be pretty fucked up, basically, and he’s not.

But again: he still hurts, and that…also doesn’t sound like death.

He swallows anyway; not that it helps.

“Max said there was this, black void,” Steve works through the first thing that comes to mind slowly, processes as he speaks; “with water,” and he looks down and sees the ripples in what he’s sitting in, moving around him but…but the reflections are right, and there’s no light so how are there even wrong reflections; he wasn’t good in his science classes but he feels pretty sure you need light to see anything in a mirror, plus—

“Water,” he flicks his hand from the standing pool around him up at Eddie without warning: “that wasn’t wet.”

Eddie splutters, but it dies down quick: it’s supposed to be wet. He expects it to be.

But it’s not. His eyes go so fucking big.

“It’s attached to the Upside Down,” Steve pushes on; “Eleven can like, come here, but,” he shakes his head and Eddie grimaces: she lost her powers.

“So it’s almost-death,” Eddie surmises, and drops into the not-water next to Steve.

“I guess so,” Steve shrugs, and draws his legs up; hugs his knees.

“Fucking great,” Eddie huffs, sneers, and it’s…Steve not sure why exactly, but it feels…targeted. Directed at him, because one, yes: he isthe only other thing here—as far as he can tell—but the words Eddie’d no-greeted him with float back into his consciousness:

Not you.

“Sorry to rain on your parade, man,” Steve bites out and shoves his head down between his thighs, maybe to breathe, maybe to think, maybe to hide, maybe to fucking cry, maybe to…fuck, he doesn’t even know.

He thinks he’s in the middle of trying to split the difference of every possible thing when Eddie’s voice breaks the still in the dark: “I didn’t,” and honestly, Steve’s never heard that voice sound so soft, so small; “that’s not what I meant,” and it’s an apology even if they words don’t add up exact, Steve feels it clear like a blow to the solar plexus. He turns to Eddie, who’s staring out at the nothing.

“I don’t want to be alone,” Eddie whispers, and his lip trembles, Steve can see that despite the lack of light.

Steve can see tears on that face, too, despite the lack of any light.

“But I hate that you’re here,” Eddie’s voice catches on kind of a whine, and Steve maybe would startle, when a hand reaches out and covers his; Eddie still does look at him, but he flattens his hand over Steve’s like a squeeze:

“That you’re here, too.”

And, oh. Okay.

Okay.

They’re here, then. Together.

Here.

___________________

It takes a while—he thinks; he thinks it’s a while, but one of the first things that makes itself plain in this godforsaken place is how times means absolutely fucking nothing, so; he think it takes a while to remember the vines.

They were coming back for Robin, and Steve would die before he let her get hurt so: that’s the last thing he remembers.

For Eddie, it’s the bats; Steve grimaces, hates even imagining like…swarms of them. More of their bites.

He’s the one who reaches for Eddie’s hand, this time—he wants to say it’s just a little comfort for the particularly bad things that are coming up as they sit here, as they draw patterns in the not-water and blow against it to make little waves just for shits, mindless and stupid: he wants to say that when it gets too much, and then keeps going, when it’s the worst, they’ve started to reach because what else can they do? Who else can they lean on?

Who’s gonna fucking know?

Actually: no. He doesn’t want to say that.

He wants to say the truth: the truth being they touch a lot. They reach a lot. They reach because it’s quiet. They reach because it’s dark. They reach because they’re frustrated. Or they’re scared. Steve could map Eddie’s calluses blind if he was asked to. Eddie traces his veins without being able to see close enough to know that he’s right.

He wants to say the truth: that he wants to touch. He craves it. And not just from anyone.

He craves this.

He doesn’t know what that fucking means.

But he’s the one who reaches, and covers Eddie’s hand, presses down to keep him when Eddie remembers the bats.

And he’s the one who leans, who rests their shoulders together and holds his breath.

But Eddie is the one who doesn’t move away, who leans in too, he tips his head onto Steve and breathes out slow so Steve can feel the warm damp of it on his skin and…

Steve’s heart’s fucking pounding, but then also it’s kinda like fluttering, and either way:

That’s not death.

___________________

Steve likes that the not-water is…not water, because lying back in it doesn’t fuck up his hair. Which…feels cleaner than it should be he figures maybe that’s just the same as both he and Eddie not being riddled with the wounds they should be rights be covered in—he can run his hands through it and that’s really all he wants, his hands, or like, you know if other hands wanted—

Whatever; he’s not going to question the not-water. He’s happy it doesn’t make him a wet dog just for trying to lay back and pretend there are stars.

Which he’d still be doing, if a weird…flapping noise hadn’t started up over to the left.

He has to squint in the no-light to see what the fuck’s going on, something in Eddie’s hands, oh shit, flapping, is it one of those fucking bats—

“What the fuck?”

Eddie freezes, and turns. And Steve sees what’s in his hands.

Doesn’t change his question.

Eddie just blinks at him. And runs his thumbs over the desk of cards he’s holding, flicking them one by one: flapping.

“Where the hell did those come from?”

Eddie shrugs. “Pocket.”

Steve gapes a little.

“You’ve had them the whole time?” because again, even if the feeling’s shifted: what the fuck

“Lots of pockets, man,” Eddie grins cheekily as he shakes his jacket out, like Steve can see any pockets.

Then he’s walking over to Steve on his knees before dropping cross-legged and shuffling the deck before he taps them out on his thigh and leans in:

“Pick your poison.”

And Steve’s played his share of cards, is actually pretty decent at poker, but, like…

“I don’t,” he bites his lip and stares at the predictable red pattern of the face-down cards;“I don’t want to think,” he finishes, kinda fucking lame, but Eddie’s not deterred, flips a few cards off the top with a thump before balancing the rest on his knee, offering half the cards he’s still holding to Steve with a little wiggle of his eyebrows:

“Go Fish?”

And Steve, he, like—

This is not-death, right, but whatever it is, it’s probably not good, and yet here Steve sits, with five cards in his hand and…Jesus.

He feels his lips stretch and he doesn’t think he’s smiled like this in…

In a while.

___________________

“Three Musketeers,” Steve answers when they’re lounging in the not-water, heads lined up so sometimes Steve feels the tickle of Eddie’s curls.

“The fuck?” Eddie huffs a laugh; the question was just things they’d miss if they never get out of here; like, it’s a little morbid and also a little hopeful all at once.

They’ve been working deeper in the category of food for a bit now, and so it’s candy bars. And Steve does not see what’s controversial about his choice, honestly.

“I love those, shit,” Steve waves his hand in the air, dismissing Eddie’s very wrong opinion, here; “they’re just,” Steve hums, tries to figure out the best way to defend a genuinely fucking excellent snack food:

“They’re simple,” and that sounds like a weak defense but look at where they are, look at their lives, that is fucking high praise. “Not too sweet and like, light and airy and,” Steve tilts his head, imagines the mouthfeel:

“Kinda delicate when you bite into ‘em,” he feels himself grin a little: “like bubbles or something,” because…yeah.

They’re awesome, but then he looks over at Eddie, who’s already turned to look at him, his gaze…something. Weighty but not oppressive. Piercing but not painful.

“Sorry,” Steve feels himself flush and it’s no the first time, or the worst time, but he’s grateful just like he is every time that there’s no fucking light and whatever lets them see at all doesn’t give away a blush; “sorry, that’s—“

“That’s adorable,” Eddie says with something…equally undefinable in his voice as much as his eyes, but this thing makes Steve feel, like, warm and tingly, a little, under his skin, in his chest; “you’re right, they’re…” and Eddie reaches for his hand, which they do a lot, yeah, but not…not so often for good things and this feels…like a good thing.

“They’re really good,” Eddie presses his hand over Steve’s, like a blanket, all encompassing—Steve has broad hands but Eddie’s fingers are longer than he’d ever noticed and he—

Steve likes how they fit.

“Under-appreciated, I think,” Eddie’s voice has lowered, softened, and it kinda feels like he’s saying something that has nothing to do with candy bars at all: “because people aren’t looking close enough to see how amazing it is.”

Yeah, for how Eddie’s staring at him, and for how Steve’s pulse has ramped up all of a sudden: Steve doesn’t really think Eddie’s talking about chocolate at all.

___________________

“You’re really good company.”

Eddie turns and blinks Steve’s way.

“What?”

Steve swallows; he’s not sure what made him say it. Except that it’s true.

“I’d have liked it,” he starts, like, expands on the point rather than revisiting the simple part; “if we could have, y’know,” and he gestures between them; “hung out.”

Eddie tilts his head, and he doesn’t smile exactly, but it kinda feels like his whole face, maybe his whole body, is a smile.

“Well,” he huffs a little laugh, like a disbelieving sound; “we’re hanging out, now.”

And Steve smiles the normal way, which is probably lesser to look at, but he wishes really hard that Eddie could, like, slip under his skin and see how it feels on the inside. “Yeah,” Steve grins at the darkness for a second, chews his lips a little, suddenly kinda…bashful, fuck:

“Yeah we are,” and then he breathes in deep, and makes himself be brave with something he doesn’t wholly understand:

“I like it,” and that’s an understatement.

And then Eddie hums, and covers Steve’s hand as he murmurs:

“Me too, sweetheart.”

And Steve’s heartbeat catches on that word, or more, reaches for that word, that name, greedy and wild and it pounds out that same desperate mantra blood-in-blood-out unwavering:

not-dead, not-dead, not-dead, not—

___________________

Eddie’s smile is so fucking pretty.

He didn’t know what Speed was, like the card game, so they’ve each got a pile balanced on a knee as the flip and they’re pressed up tight at their crossed legs to make a little table from their limbs for the discards and Eddie’s just…

It’s not just his smile.

“My grandpa taught me to play,” Steve comments idly, mostly just for something to say when it looks like they’re stuck and need to flip from the sides.

“It’s chaotic,” Eddie looks up and meets Steve’s eyes, his own fucking glittering when the lack of light should make that impossible but Steve thinks Eddie is kinda impossible so probably it fits.

“I like it,” he proclaims, as he reaches for another card to start the momentum back up, raises an eyebrow at Steve and waits for him to follow suit like he’s the expect, like Steve didn’t fucking just show him this game—

“You would,” Steve snorts and Eddie?

Eddie just beams bigger, and that catches in Steve’s pulse, nudges it to sing something that’s more than just not-dead; that’s more…

That feels more

___________________

It’s the more-feeling that breaks him, in the end.

“You called me big boy.”

Steve doesn’t really have control over his mouth, when it happens. Or else, like, he doesn’t think before the words tumble out, and the lie in the not-water and stare at the absence of the starts in the not-sky.

His heart’s jumped up to his throat, now.

Eddie’s quiet, for a while, even if time doesn’t mean anything here; Eddie’s quiet, and Steve’s heart wants to jump out of his fucking mouth but if it does than it’s got two destinations: it can’t drown in the not-water so that’s fucking useless, and then there’s Eddie, Eddie’s hands, Eddie’s chest and—

“I,” Eddie finally speaks, and his voice is rough, far away;“I, yeah.”

Steve doesn’t know what he was expecting. He wasn’t planning on saying anything so there weren’t any expectations built in.

“You looked at me,” Steve’s whispering, but it wavers, it moves with the force of his blood; “like you…” Steve licks his lips, swallows a whimper because what is he doing, what is he doing—

“Being almost-dead is really going to take the thunder out of your backlash on this, Harrington,” Eddie cuts into his panic and Steve’s head snaps over to look, to try and read Eddie’s expression: scared. Bracing for impact. Like Steve would, like Steve could ever—

“No, no, I,” Steve raises himself up and scoots over to Eddie, grabs his hands and presses them together in his own, never once looks away from Eddie’s eyes as they stretch wide.

“What did you mean?” because Steve’s started this, and Eddie’s anxious for it and…he needs Eddie to understand he’s not upset, he’s confused, his heart’s all swollen for it, he just, he—

“With the, with calling me that, and with leaning in like you did in the woods,” his breath’s shaking on the exhale: “with all the looks,” and he tries to leave it all in his eyes, on his face, open and clear for all that he doesn’t understand, but also for all that he…that he hopes.

Eventually, Eddie sighs, and squeezes his eyes shut tight, almost like a wince.

But he doesn’t pulls his hands away.

“You’re not stupid, Steve.”

Steve shakes his head, even if Eddie can’t see it.

“I’m very stupid.”

And Eddie’s eyes fly open, look wrathful, look offended on…Steve’ behalf, what the fuck?

And yeah, yeah, he’s opening his mouth now to fight him, to fight Steve about Steve and…no. No, that’s not the point.

“I’m stupid,” Steve says again, but quick so he can get it out; “about like,” he tries to find the right words and remembers Robin’s point on it once:

“About, you know, matters of the heart.”

Eddie’s features slacken, and his mouth drops open as he blinks at Steve before he eventually chokes out:

“Heart?”

But Steve can hear it. He can hear the confusion, like his own, but also just like his own:

He thinks he can hear the hope.

“You held that bottle to my throat and all I wanted was for you to lean closer,” he confesses, and it feels amazing, like he can breathe again, or see in color even though there’s so little color, here.

“And slit it?” Eddie croaks, incredulous, still a little slack-jawed and Steve laughs, because he can breathe, and—

“And kiss me, you dick.”

Eddie’s mouth snaps shut, and his eyes somehow get bigger, and his chest’s heaving and Steve wants that not to be for fearing, he wants Eddie to be anything but scared, he wants Eddie to be hoping—

“Stevie,” Eddie barely breathes and…it’s not scared, or else, not like it could be. It’s hesitant. It’s…full, of something Steve thinks might be incredible.

“You call me sweetheart,” Steve leans in, pushes the point, leans more until he’s close enough where he can feel Eddie’s breath on his face; “here. Now.”

Eddie nods immediately, doesn’t try to hide from it.

“Yeah, I do,” he breathes, and watches Steve so careful, unblinking.

“What does it mean,” Steve pushes, angles his lips without even thinking, without making the choice but Eddie?

Eddie makes the choice, and he kisses Steve so fucking sure and sweet and still wild somehow and Steve never wants to not be here. Never wants to not have this mouth under his, never wants to not have Eddie’s hands in his own: he doesn’t wholly understand it, where it comes from or what all it means but…his heart’s fucking dancing, the joy’s almost sore for it’s size and when Steve breathes between them, when they break for half a second to breathe and stare and marvel and Eddie looks like he’s entranced, like he’s overjoyed, and the only other thing here is Steve?

Fuck. Fuck.

If this ends up being death, that’s okay. That’s okay, as long as there’s also this.

___________________

He’s on top of Eddie’s chest, curled so so close, when it starts to feel…different. In his body. Like something pulling him.

The dark is still absolute but it almost feels like they’re on the brink of something, like dawn could come.

Steve fucking hates it.

“I don’t want to die alone,” Eddie whispers against his head, kisses at his hair.

“I don’t want you to die,” Steve grits out, almost violent, because isn’t this how it started, wasn’t that what Eddie meant, that he didn’t want Steve here, too—but Steve won’t accept that.

He cannot fucking accept that.

“I don’t want you to die at all.”

Eddie drags the tip of his nose back and forth against Steve’s hair some more as he breathes, breathes, breathes—

“To die by your side,” Eddie murmurs low; “would be my privilege,” and Steve chokes on a whine, a sob—it’s too much. It’s too much, and he needs this man, he needs him so much, he think he fucking loves hi—

“Maybe it’s not dying,” Steve tries, looks out into the abyss and he can’t see what’s on the way but he feels it; they both feel it: “maybe we’ll,” and he grabs Eddie’s hand and brings it to his lips.

“Maybe we’ll wake up.”

Maybe. Maybe.

“Kiss me,” Eddie exhales and Steve pulls back, slides up Eddie’s chest and hovers over him, makes to claim his lips but then Eddie lifts a palm, pauses Steve as he presses it over his racing heart and blinks at him, makes the tears fall from his lashes:

“Kiss me again when we wake up.”

And Steve will, he will, but.

He’s gonna kiss Eddie now, too. He’s going to kiss Eddie always.

He thinks his heart’s going too fast to beat out words but that, in itself, has to mean something that isn’t…death.

So he pours that conviction, and all the hope he’s got left, into Eddie as he devours him, breathes into him like they can melt together, like if Steve’s air lifts Eddie’s lungs they’ll be one person, one living soul and whatever happens…

Whatever happens will take them both.

___________________

Eddie splutters, clutches his chest; his heart’s racing, it feels like his blood’s on fire because every beat fucking burns, and the tear of his shirt where it’s stuck to his skin—dried blood, fucking hell—all up his side is absolutely disgusting, Jesus fuck—

“Eddie!”

He turns and that, that’s Henderson, and he squints; that’s Henderson running toward him, less than a minute away at that pace and Eddie doesn’t know if he can sit up but he’ll try, he digs his fingers into the mud and makes to lift—

And then something crashes into him, pins him right back down.

Covers his hands. Presses.

And he can’t get a word out, can barely fucking breathe before his lips are covered, before he’s being kissed so fucking desperate and giddy and all these feelings being fed straight into him, his heart leaping up in his throat to steal a taste but it doesn’t need to, it doesn’t need to because he feels…he feels it all everywhere, and he looks up and he shakes, he laughs, he’s gonna fucking cry—

“You woke up,” Eddie whispers, marvels, thinks his whole face is going to split open with, with joy and Steve, Steve is here, and he’s smiling back, and he’s breathing and they’re, it’s—

There’s light here. Steve’s eyes are like molten copper, they flicker, they shine.

“Promised,” Steve murmurs close, his lips moving Eddie’s lips with each syllable and the taste is, is…sweet and soft and light and perfect and Eddie almost doesn’t ask because it feels so right, so unquestionable but also he wants, something fierce and unwavering, and he needs to be sure where the water’s real, and the ripples mean something when you shift the whole fucking world, when you feel this big you know it’ll move the earth breathe your feet, so he has to ask:

“That the only reason?”

He still feels the hope from wherever they were, though; he feels it still, here, and he believes in it more in the light, he thinks, and he looks at Steve, takes him in, sees his chest rising and his pulse at the neck: real. Real, and so beautiful, and so, so—

Steve leans and kisses him hard, almost painful but it’s divine, Eddie will bask in the sting of it for the rest of his fucking life if he’s allowed, and then—

Then Steve pulls back and pins him with his eyes, now, fierce and on fire and they steal Eddie’s breath with feeling, with intent as Steve grabs at his shoulders, pulls them flush together and growls against his ear, like a vow almost:

“Only reason?” Steve huffs, shakes his head. “Not even close,” and he drags his lips over Eddie’s skin, catches Eddie’s hair, weaves into Eddie’s heartbeat:

not-dead, not-dead, not-dead

in-love, in-love, in-love—

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 

♥️

divider credit here

[fillinforlater]

Eleven to One: Needy Bold Confession

Male Reader x Ahn Yujin

Length: 2888 words

Tags: ROUGH SEX, brat taming, nah fuck it, brat breaking, borderline hate sex, cursing, degredation, humiliation, spiting, spanking, slaps, pussy slaps, hardcore sex, mating press, squirting, creampie, tears, queefing, overstimulation, mutual anger, emotional stuff, FUCKED UP kinks mentioned at the end, family issues? ultimate_brat!Yujin / ultimate_brat-breaker!you

TW: ^^ (srsly, read the tags and beware of the end kekw)

Inspiration: the ending has been in planning for months, the rest is literally BFH fueled by Yujin's inability not to look insanely good and fuckable.

Credit: @sooyadelicacies, my beloved co-writer!

(A/N: yo, 100 fics. Thanks for reading!)

"Oh, now you're back."

You haven't even fully entered your apartment yet, but a venomous, annoyed shout already flies your way. You can feel Yujin tremble in rage and disgust—and she is still out of your sight, in another room.

"Yuj—"

"Did you have fun with those Unnies? Did you enjoy breeding them?"

Yujin's voice drips with deadly sarcasm, increasing both in volume and viciousness. You lay down the keys and look through the floor, into the rooms. They're all dark, not a single artificial light turned on. It's quite normal for you to return late, exhausted, either by the stress of work or the constant pounding of pussies. 

Yujin's brattiness increased to a toxic level. It’s probably because of her latest comeback, the hectic promotions and an obvious lack of attention by you. Partially your fault, the breeding had to come first, but you are still the Daddy in this, your house. With deadly coldness you speak into the dark living room:

"How dare you, Yuji—"

"Fine!" she snarls back and you hear the steps of strong leather boots behind you. "If you can hook up all the time with the others, maybe I can find someone else too!"

Eyes wide in disbelief, in unbridled rage, you slowly turn to look at your girlfriend. In the faint light of the moon falling into the apartment, you see the alluring, perfectly sculpted body of Yujin. Her pale skin and a tiny white crop top reflect some of the grayish rays, but the leather jacket on her shoulders and the tiny, miniscule mini skirt fit in perfectly with the darkness. They suck in the light and your gaze, which also shifts to her full thighs and the knees-high boots of a slut that could also kick ass.

Yujin is glaring, not as the usual bratty, Daddy defying girl, no, as a woman determined to convey you had fucked around and now would suffer the consequences, while also looking like temptation personified.

"Ahn Yujin, what the fuck do you think you're doing, wearing, saying? Someone else? 

“You. Fucking. Belong. To. Me." 

You emphasize each word like an arrow fired straight at her. Yujin sways in place for a second. She isn't playing, even your threatening finger, pointed at her face like the barrel of a gun doesn't faze her. She steps to the side, ready to walk past you.

"I can wear what I want," she snarks and places a hand on her hip. "I can wear what I want, I can fuck who I want. And You. Don't. Own. Me."

The two of you lock eyes. Not a word is said, not a single sound made, yet the tension makes it feel like a billion voices burst out in screams of fear, anger, lust. Your fingers ball into a fist.

"Bitch," you grunt through gritted teeth. "You're mine, bitch. Yujin, you will not go out there."

Yujin reaches past you, doorknob firmly in hand, devilish smirk on her features. She applies pressure.

"What if I just do?"

The door swings open, and it swings open faster when you pin Yujin against it. You stare down at her, trapped in between both of your arms on each side of her head. Yujin bites her lip for a second, but then avoids your eyes and tries to break free from your makeshift cage.

"Is that all that you got?"

Dig your fingers into her straight hair and twist, twist, twist with each second she doesn't beg for mercy for her foolish words. Yujin's face contorts in pain, but it does not lead to her breaking, instead she opens her mouth wide to moan impossibly loud. 

"Harder, Daddy!"

"Are you—"

Pull her back into the apartment by her hair and close the door.

"—fucking out of your mind? Moaning in the hallway—you have gone insane!"

"You can't even talk properly," Yujin responds, her attempts at hiding her winces futile. Her knees finally go weak when you pull her hair down. Unfortunately, you lose your grip on the straight darkness and Yujin frees herself with a quick step backwards.

"Seriously, and you want to be my Daddy. I get someone to take me hard—"

Your hand is like the claw of a falcon in dive, grabbing its helpless victim before finishing it off. In this case, Yujin. She struggles to get a breath out as your digits tighten around her throat. Without relent you push her backwards, her fierceness and the grip on her boots no match for your anger. Somewhere in your large living room, she gives up.

"Ple-please, Daddy, ca-can't breathe."

Yujin falls to her knees and you loosen your grip a little. Just as she takes in new oxygen, you make her take a harsh slap to her face. Tears jump into her eyes, the hit has her flashbanged for a moment—a moment which you use to tear open the slutty mini skirt.

"You have been bad." Your voice is deep, booming straight to Yujin's glowing face with its faint imprint of your hand. "Worse than ever before. Take your punishment!"

Rinse and spit down at her. Bangs stick to her forehead as your saliva runs down her fearful face. From her throat, a hand snakes down into her top until you find a nipple. Pinch it, twist it while doing the same to her cheek.

"You want hard?" you ask, your voice indicating that you don't accept any answer, that her response is unwanted. "Then I'll show you hard."

In a terrible shrill sound, Yujin's crop top tears open. The shocked, panicking idol tries to keep herself upright on your legs, but you kick her hands away. The only stability for her are your hands that attack her body and its beautiful, sensitive spots.

Lips, nipples, tits, they all get resounding smacks that color them in a strong red. Yujin screams, whines and finally moans, but the thought of her experiencing pleasure before you enrages you even more. Slap her flushed cheek to send a wave of numbness and paleness over them before red pain follows in the imprint of your merciless fingers.

"D-Daddy, I'm so—"

"Apology declined." Spit at her again. "You don't mean it and you're far from understanding any of this."

Twist both nipples at the same time. Your constant pulls at them might have stretched out Yujin's tits a bit more. At least they look larger. Or is it just that the image of Eunbi with her enormous bosom is still burned into your mind?

Yujin throws her head back. She arches backwards and her leather jacket finally slides down her shoulders. For the first time, you go on eye level with her—just to immediately bite into her shoulder. This time, her loud, screeching voice is stuck in the back of her throat. Will she ever get her mind back after this?

"You are mine, Yujin, you are fucking mine. You are my whore, a stupid one at that. You don't think I know exactly what I did? I fucking bred Hyewon. I'd do it again. I bred Eunbi and I'd do it again. But you, you aren't ready to be bred!" 

Interrupt your rant to give Yujin more slaps across her baffled, horny, pained face.

"You're a brat! You think if I dumped my seed inside you, if I got you pregnant, you would be ready to raise a child? Hyewon, Eunbi, they are ready. You will be fucking bred when I deem it time. You don't make demands, and you don't get someone else's attention. Yujin

"I have marked you!"

"Sorry, D-Daddy, I'm so-sorry."

The first tears start to roll down, straight from Yujin's ducts over her sore cheeks until they touch your fingers at her jaw. Make her stare up through blurry eyes at your almost hateful expression. You might allow yourself to go mad, but you're tapping into feelings you shouldn't. She is still Yujin, still your girlfriend.

"You might be a confident, independent idol," you growl into her ear, forcing her down until she is laying on the floor and you can drag her skirt away from her crotch. "But you are mine, mine alone. Don't ever do this again, because we both know there is no one else for you.

"Just look at how wet you are, you kinky pain slut."

Yujin's skirt rests at her knees, legs stretched out as best as she can. Your hand rubs her crotch, slick with her juices. Her pink panties are soaked, every inch a darker color than when she bought them. Squeeze the fabric in your fist, like you would wring out a sponge, and juice runs through your fingers.

"This is insane, you're such a needy slut."

"I-I missed you, D-Daddy, I need your touch so bad."

"And still you threaten me with finding someone else, someone who could never satisfy you."

"I—ah, Daddy!"

Get rid of the skirt and give her pussy a harsh slap, shutting down her excuses instantly. Your girlfriend starts to twist and turn on the ground, her breath heavy, her tears heavier as they find the floor.

"You need to be punished, Yujin," you bluntly say with new found calmness. "I know I can make you cum with just slaps, but not tonight. Tonight you will beg me to stop, but I'll only stop when I see fit."

Another slap, on her folds, a millimeter away from her clit. Yujin yelps.

"Do you understand, whore?"

"Y-yes, Daddy," Yujin stutters and looks at you with wide, submissive eyes. "I deserve this punishment."

She bites her lips, her eyes squeeze shut. Sensually, you drag your palm gradually over her labia before you take a swing. 

A wet slap when you hit the drenched panties. Yujin buckles her hips towards the punishing hand and hisses. She is keeping her voice, her reaction down... a crucial mistake.

The smacks don't stop coming. Like a merciless bombing you make the covered lips turn a painful red. Yujin breaks, screams, cries, until her voice spills all of her sins before you:

"Daddy! I'm so-sorry! Your bitch, ha-has been re-really desperate, envious—a needy toy that needs your co-cock and cum!"

Push her panties into the twitching hole a bit and urge her to continue.

"I-I love Daddy, I wa-want him first, for me, bu-but—that wo-would not be fa-fair.

"Daddy needs to breed more."

You lean down to the disheveled face and pull away a couple of dark strands that have landed in Yujin's mouth and in her eyes. You stop her murmurs with a peck on her lips, but your sweetness is short lived. Push her legs apart and fish out your cock. Rub it over her clit and interrupt her hearty moans.

"You are right. You said it yourself. My good girl was never against it, but now you decided to react like this? Ts, what a bitch!"

"I'm so-so-sorry, Daddy."

Your cockhead twitches as you push aside the wet fabric and see the sore, burning mess of Yujin's gorgeous folds. Pretend to tease her, then fill her up without warning.

"Daddy! Ah, fuck!"

Press her knees a bit further apart. Her body is ready for the taking, her insides need to get stimulated, but Yujin knows that she can't deal with your length for long. Her orgasm is certain, right around the corner. It's only natural after weeks without your cock.

"Slo-slow, please," she whimpers, fingers searching for a grip on the smooth floor. "Sen-sen-sensit—hng!"

Yujin chokes. No need to squeeze her throat this time, just give her hard thrusts into the desperate pussy. Pain on the outer lips, followed by overstimulation inside are the catalysts for an earthquake in Yujin's body. Random babbles come through drooling lips as you pump into her recklessly.

"I can't believe you came from just this!" you say with fake shock, never stopping to move your hips. Throughout you make sure that your pelvis hits the outside of her pussy, to make her cry some more. 

Yujin is beyond the point of begging, hell, she doesn't even know what to beg for. It's so bad, it's good—painful punishment and absolute, undeserved, sinful bliss every second, every thrust.

Before she loses her sense of when an orgasm starts and another ends, you go slower. Yujin writhes and twitches, the high fading slowly, until you restart it with fingers violently rubbing her clit.

"Daddy-ahh!"

"Cum, baby," you growl, sweat soaking your suit from the inside. "Don't stop cumming."

More and more slickness. Juice coming out as squirt is just lube getting fucked back into her. Yujin's walls ripple, her thighs as well when you press and fold her.

Pin her arms down with yours right above the mess that was her styled hair. Pin her face down on the ground with yours, tongue fucking her numb mouth. Pin her hips down with yours and force another orgasm out of her. 

"Who else can fuck your pink hole until you cum, until it's loose, until it's stuffed?"

"Daddy, only Daddy!"

Strain her muscles more, the mating press now the ultimate position to suck all the energy out of the young brat. The wet slaps of crotch on crotch are now queefs, loud, but not as loud as Yujin's guttural moans. Viciously, you press your palm on her mouth and make her hear the embarrassing, lewd sounds that come from her pussy.

"You dumb slut," you laugh in between heavy breaths, your own strength gradually declining as you near your own orgasm. "Anything you want to say?"

Yujin's eyes are glassy, filled more with lust than life. She sobs into your ear, snort running down her cheeks.

"I wa-want to be-be Daddy's number one.

"In our family. Please, Daddy! I only wan-want this. Please, I beg you!"

"Family?"

You groan out in shock. As you piston your load in massive spurts into Yujin's clenching heat, the craziest thoughts flood your mind. A family, yes, but the most immoral one imaginable.

A mommy in Eunbi, a caring leader. She knows everyone inside out and never hesitates to help. Hyewon is a different type of mommy, the one who'd like to carry a lot of children, who is submissive to the male of the house, but also smart and successful.

Minju is the beautiful, gullible sister. A klutz that everyone loves, someone who could never harm a fly. Last but not least, Yujin, the center piece, the insanely talented bratty girlfriend of yours and "sister" to Minju. 

Yujin's walls get stretched by the abundance of cum you dump inside of her pussy. Your mind stretches too, comes up with even crazier thoughts. What about an ex coming into your family life, a maid to clean your apartment, a pet to play with, a neighbor to distract, or maybe more realatives? People to fill your absurd family—you're starting to lose it. 

Collapse onto your girlfriend, only your elbows saving her from being painfully squashed by your tired, sweaty body. The two of you breathe heavily to find fresh oxygen in this living room now smelling of sex and sex alone. 

"Are you serious about this family?" you ask after a while. Yujin dries off the last remnants of her tears and gives you obedient puppy eyes. You continue. "Like, with Eunbi and Hyewon and Minju—it's crazy. I guess we are used to crazy, but this is taking it to a whole new level."

Yujin hesitates for a second. She reaches for your face and strokes your cheekbone down to your chin with her wet fingers. Her features contort as if she is about to cry again. You try to heal her—she's cried enough tonight—and press your lips on hers. Just a peek, but Yujin sighs in relief, the last remnants of tension leaving her nude body.

"Y-yes, Daddy," Yujin whispers, "I want that. I want to be together with them, and want to be sure that I won't lose them to you and you to them. Nothing should stand in between us, I-I'll be a good girl in the family, I'll do anything for you. Daddy, please, I'm sorry, don't leav—"

Plant another kiss on the girl below you. The tremble in her voice is like a hot bath for your cold heart, like a tea in winter. It's melting you, breaks the shell that you so attentively keep up around her.

Maybe you went too far. Yujin literally looks broken, the character of the girl, no, your girl, in danger of dissolving and disappearing. Swallow your pride, God dammit.

"Yujin, Yujin, I'm at fault here. No matter how much I hated the thought of you going out in that outfit and meeting another guy, I should not have gone this far. After all…

"You're mine, Yujin. My one and only girlfriend. We'll only do and continue pursuing this family if you are okay with it. Don't change, pl-please, but also, never attempt something like this again."

You kiss Yujin's hand gently. This you can do; it's better than saying this damn word starting with 'p' and ending with 'lease'. She smiles, weakly at first, but the longer you keep eye contact, the more of her bright, mesmerizing smile appears. 

She kisses the back of your hand as well, her eyes in clear devotion, her voice honest and strong.

"I'm yours, Daddy."

.

(A/N2: Yujin bruh 😳☠️😳)

[somanyratsinthewalls]

I know you already said you'd do it... BUT maybe could I request a standalone fic (not a kinktober one) of a Franky x Reader x Robin fic with daddy/mommy kink, sub!virgin!AFAB!reader

idk if you ship frobin though but if you want to feel free to add that in!

YEAH BABY THIS HAS BEEN FLOATING IN MY MIND EVER SINCE I SAW THAT POST!!! I need more Franky Fuckers in my life. I have zero ships in One Piece EXCEPT FROBIN! They are clearly so in love I can't stand it. Here's the fic, I love it.

Sex Education

Pairing: Robin x afab!reader x Franky

TW: threesome, cyborg banging, misuse of devil fruit powers, girl on girl, two girls one guy, fingering, riding, face sitting. porn!

——

“That color is ugly.” Nami comments at the shade of light green you had chosen to paint you toenails. 

“Is it really that bad?” You lean back and admire your half painted foot. It shimmered in the sunlight on the deck of the ship. 

“Looks like barf.” Nami didn’t look up from her work, carefully painting her own nails a dark shade of pink. 

“Well now that you’ve said that, I can’t unthink it. Do you have the polish remover?” You ask.

“I think Robin has it in her room, you can go grab it, puke-toes.” Nami laughed. 

You roll your eyes and stand up. You begin to head towards the inside of the ship in search of the nail polish remover. You reach Robin’s bedroom door and grab the handle and open the door. You three girls were best friends at this point, knocking was a moot point. 

“Hey, Nami said my toes were ugly so can I just grab the-“ 

Your eyes immediately meet Robin’s as she gasps. Fully nude, she is seated on Franky’s lap who was also shed of his swim briefs. His huge hands cradled her pale, plump ass. A slight sheen of sweat covered her forehead as her arms wrapped around his massive neck. 

“Y/n!” Robin yelps out at you. 

“OH my god?! I’m so sorry!” You stutter out and slam the door shut behind you and run back up through the ship. Your mind was racing. Franky and Robin? A thing? I mean… it makes sense the more you think about it… but seeing it first hand was still a bit jarring. Were other people here having sex? Were you the only one who had never done it before? Is this something you were missing out on?

You burst through the door to the deck where Nami was fanning her drying nails. 

“Woah where’s the fire, y/n?” Nami asked you, noticing your panicked expression. 

“Nami I- I went to get the nail polish remover- and I? I don’t know! The door wasn’t locked! I just went in! And she- and they- they were…!” You were out of breath and couldn’t get out a coherent thought. 

“Oh, walked in on Franky and Robin? Yeah they’re like rabbits lately. Good for them, honestly.” Nami went back to fanning her nails. 

“Wait… you knew?” You couldn’t believe it. 

“Duh? Are you that oblivious? Why do you think they’re always mysteriously absent after dinner? Jeez you need to get laid.” Nami rolled her eyes. 

“Wait… are YOU fucking someone!? Is everyone here having sex but me?!” Your eyes bugged out of your head. Were you the only (human) virgin left on this ship? Sure you had urges, but you always just took care of it yourself in the quiet of your own room late at night. 

“Not since that last island, no. Nobody on the crew, obviously, pickings are way too slim. I made out with Sanji once when I was wasted but he was such a bad kisser I told him to get fucked. It was all wet and gross.”

“Really he was that bad—? Wait come on, you’re getting laid too? Is everyone else?!” You returned to the point of your questioning. 

“I mean yeah, y/n, we all have needs. Except for Zoro… I think there’s something seriously wrong with his brain. Sex is great, especially with someone who knows what they’re doing.” Nami gave you the truth. Maybe it was time for you to finally explore your sexuality…

You both turned your heads as a door swung open. A red-faced Robin smiled meekly at the two of you as she walked towards you and sat down at your side. 

“You need to start using those hands to lock doors, girlfriend.” Nami chuckled and rose to her feet. She winked at the both of you and headed into the kitchen. 

“Hi y/n… So… I’m sorry about that. I should have been more careful. It was a private moment and I apologize for you having to see it.” She genuinely searches your eyes for forgiveness. 

“it.. it’s okay. I just didn’t know you guys were together like that…” You blush and look down at your feet. Robin smiled. 

“He’s sweet. I know we might not look like we’d work out, but I find him quite charming actually!” Robin’s eyes sparkled. “And the sex is phenomenal.”

“Oh.. I… um… I wouldn’t know…” You felt your cheeks continue to heat up. 

“Are you a virgin, y/n?”

“Yes.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, talking mostly to yourself. You continue. “It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose… I’m plenty old enough and I’ve thought about it loads… I just… haven’t had the right opportunity…” 

“Well… If you really wanted to change that… I’m sure we could help you.” Robin takes your hand in hers. You look up into her eyes, they were kind and warm. 

“What?” You were confused as to what kind of help she was offering you. 

“If you wanted to experience sex with people you trust for your first time, I have no doubt Franky would jump at the opportunity. I would be there too, of course, to guide you. We’re very… open… to new experiences… if you’re understanding what I’m saying.” 

“Oh…” Your eyes widen. It might be a good idea to finally get that awkward first time out the way, especially with someone you trust and know well. “I mean… yes? Sure. I guess I’m saying yes.”  

“Perfect.” Robin squeezes your hand. “How about tonight? After dinner? My room?”

You nod. You can’t believe you’re casually agreeing to lose your virginity to two of your closest friends. 

— —

That night, after dinner, you excused yourself from the table a little early so you could freshen yourself up. You took a quick shower, shaving your legs and trimming your bush, washing your hair with the most expensive shampoo you could find in the Sunny’s shared bathroom. After the shower you dried your hair and slathered your body in lotion. You felt like you were getting dolled up for a date, not a dick appointment. 

You perused your closet for something to wear. You wanted to look comfy and casual, but still sexy… wait why were you overthinking this? You had known Robin and Franky for years, who were you trying to impress? You shook yourself out of your racing thoughts and settled on a black pair of knee length spandex bike shorts and a black cropped tee. You finished your hair and applied a bit of makeup before spritzing yourself with perfume. You looked at yourself in the mirror. 

“Ok y/n. You can do this. It’s your totally normal friends who are a robot and someone with devil fruit powers who are going to take your virginity. This is fine and normal. Your life is normal.” After a few minutes of hyping yourself up, you make your way to Robin’s room. You take a deep breath and knock on the door a few times, remembering to knock this time after your intrusion earlier. 

Robin quickly opens the door with a bright smile.

“Y/n! Come in! Are you thirsty? I have some wine.” She grabs your hand and pulls you into her room. Franky was relaxing in a large armchair against the wall facing the bed. 

“Hey pretty thing! So good to see ya!” He beamed at you with a cola in his hand. 

“Hi Frank, sorry about earlier…” You meekly apologize and stared at the floor. 

“Hey no problem! Sorry ya had to walk in on me and the lady like that without warning.” Franky pushed his sunglasses up on his head and took a sip of his beverage. 

“Here, y/n.” Robin shoved a large glass of white wine into your hand. She clinked her own glass with yours and winked. “Come sit.” 

Robin retreated to her bed and patted a spot next to her for you to sit down. You took a big gulp of your drink and sat next to her on the fluffy purple comforter. 

“So I was just telling Franky that you’re a virgin.” Robin states casually as she sips her wine. You choke on yours. 

*cough* “Oh um.. yeah…” *cough*  “I’ve never done anything really…” You sheepishly say as you catch your breath. 

“Wow, someone as gorgeous as you? I’d had never guessed. Well don’t you worry sweet thing, we’ll take care of you real nice, right mama?” The cyborg smirks and leans back in his chair. 

“Of course daddy, we’re going to make sure she feels so good.” Robin uses her free hand to start stroking your upper arm. 

“Oh, so we’re like- doing this? Now? Okay uh-“ You stutter out. 

“Well, whenever you’re ready, sweet girl. You’re just so pretty I can’t help myself.” Robin scoots herself closer to you on the bed and starts playing with the hem of your crop top. “Can I take your clothes off? I can take mine off too, if that’ll help you feel more comfortable.” Robin purrs into your ear. 

“O-okay…” 

Robin pulls your shirt over your head, breasts falling and bouncing against your chest. She then slips off your shorts, making you fully nude in front of them. 

“Wow sweet cheeks, no bra or panties? And pierced nipples? Such a little minx.” Franky remarks at your lack of undergarments. You blush at the comment about your piercings.

Robin stood up and pulled her dress over her head. 

“Isn’t she cute?” Robin smiles at you and back at Franky as she slips her panties down her legs and unhooks her bra. Her incredible rack was staring you straight in the face and you unconsciously rubbed your legs together in excitement. Her body was so gorgeous and toned, you wanted to feel it on top of you. 

With both of you completely naked, Robin sits next to you again on the bed. “May I kiss you, y/n?” Robin asks, bringing her hand to your chin. 

“Yes…” You whisper, meeting her gaze. You close your eyes as she leans into you. Her kiss is soft, her lips are buttery and smooth. After a brief moment of pressing her lips to yours, she begins rolling her tongue along your lower lip, silently asking for you to open your mouth. You oblige and she slips her tongue into your mouth to explore it eagerly. You bring your hand up to cup the side of her neck. 

“Mmph!” You huff out in surprise as she slid one of her hands up to your breast and experimentally toyed with your nipple. You continue to make out as her hands play and squeeze at your breasts. Robin pulls back from your lips, continuing her ministrations on your tits, rolling the silver barbells in her fingers.   

“You’re so sensitive, little one, can’t wait to see what else turns you on.” Robin giggles. 

“Spread her legs, mama, wanna see that cute little pussy.” Franky prompts her from his chair. 

Quickly, Robin is behind you, your back pressed against her ample chest. She gentlly takes your calves and hooks them over her spread legs so you were fully exposed for your robot lover. She begins open mouth kissing on your neck from behind and you sigh at the feeling. 

“Can I touch you, y/n? Is this okay so far?” Robin whispers into your ear. 

“Yes… I want you to touch me…” You whimper out, body aching for more contact. 

“But no one has ever touched you here… right? Maybe just yourself?” She slid one of her hands down to cup your mound. Her voice became more sinister. Your face and ears were bright red, feeling embarrassed but your sexual desires were too strong so you pushed the feeling aside. 

“Just me, Robin… no one else…” 

“hmm… So you know what you like? How about this? Do you play with your little clit like this?” Robin coos at you as she begins to apply pressure to your throbbing bud and rub it in circles, your pussy was leaking at this point. 

“Hnnnnn, yes! Yes I like this!” You whine out. 

Robin continues slowly rubbing your clit and kissing your neck. She uses her free hand to pinch your nipples. Wait, was that a third hand? You looked down and you had one hand touching your sex and two on your breasts. You had never thought about it before but her devil fruit powers were certainly useful in this situation. 

“You two look so super like this…” Franky lowly slurs out as he takes another sip of his drink from across the room. “You know she won’t be able to take me if you don’t stretch her first mama…” He adds. 

“I’m getting to it… let me enjoy her first. You’re so impatient my love. Don’t forget who’s in charge here. I want to make it special.” Robin teasingly scolds her boyfriend as she doesn’t falter in her movements against your clit. 

“Mmmm- more please! Wan’ more!” You wanted to feel something inside of you, having been worked up by Robin’s hands. 

“Aww what a sweet baby. I can give you more.” Another hand appeared and one slender digit slid into your aching hole. 

“Robin!” You gasp out and lean your head back on her shoulder. She slowly dipped her finger in and out of your cunt as you moaned in pleasure. She added another finger and you yelped. 

“Have you made yourself cum like this, y/n?” 

“Yes- nnghh! But you’re! You’re so much better! Ah!” You breath out as she pulls and taps on your sweet spot with her soft fingers. 

“You’re too kind, baby.” Robin smiles down at you on her shoulder. “Daddy is pretty big, sweet girl, so I’m going to have to add another finger, okay?” She has another hand stroking your hair. 

“O-okay… Fuck!” Robin adds a third finger into your weeping cunt and bullies them all into your spot. You felt a familiar yet stronger feeling build up in your lower half. You were sighing and moaning as you look towards Franky in the armchair. He had shed his minimal clothing and there was a hand sprouting from the chair and stroking his large cock. You had no idea how that was going to fit inside you, although your mouth watered at the sight of it. It was cut, thick, and gorgeous. Your orgasm was so close. 

“I think- I think I’m gonna cum, Robin! I wanna cum!” 

“Go ahead and cum, sweetheart, want you to feel so good….” She continues her work on your pussy as you slam your eyes shut in pleasure. You feel your orgasm rip through your body and spill out onto Robin’s hands. You moan out loudly. She slowly pulls out her hand and rubs your cunt comfortingly. 

“That was so good, little one! You’re so wet and open, I think you’re ready to take daddy now.” There was a glint of mischief in her voice as she stroked the sides of your arms and kissed your cheek. 

“You… you think?” You were hazing coming down from the powerful orgasm that Robin had just given you. 

“Mhmm.” Robin kissed you on the forehead. “Come here daddy, lay down.” She nodded towards her cyborg lover. 

“Showtime, ladies!” Franky laid down on the bed, as you were sure he had done hundreds of times. “Hop on up, little one!” He beckons you with a large hand. You collect yourself and straddle his huge hips. 

“I.. I don’t… I don’t really know what to do, should I-?” You sputter out, your eyes darting from Robin’s and Franky’s. 

“Let me help, sweetheart… You ready?” Robin leans forward and grabs Franky’s thick cock and lines it up with your soaking hole. You nod.

Another hand grabs your hip and begins to lower you down onto Franky’s dick. 

“Ahh! It’s too much!” You felt the sting of his fat member stretching you out as it entered your virgin cunt. 

“It’s okay! It’s okay just take it slow, okay?” Robin was kissing your upper arm as she guided you down further onto the man below you. “I’m right here…” 

You mewled and whined as you slowly took Franky inch by inch. Eventually you felt your muscles relax as your body was flush to his. He was fully seated inside you. 

“You did it! You did it, y/n! Mommy and daddy are so proud of you! Look how pretty you are with a cock inside you!” Robin gleefully released your hip to tilt your head down to look at where Franky’s dick was balls deep in your little hole. 

“Ohhhh pretty girl, you’re so TIGHT!” Franky exclaimed as he grabbed your hips with both hands. “Never felt anything like this!” He praised you as he rubbed loving circles into your pelvis. 

“I.. I did it…” You were breathless, never having felt so full in your life. 

“Can I fuck her now, mama? Please?” Franky looked up at Robin, pleading to be able to wreck you. 

“Yes, daddy, but don’t scare her off now. Be gentle.” Robin captured your lips in a soft kiss to distract you from her boyfriend planting his feet and beginning to thrust upwards into your tight hole. 

“OH- Robin! Ah!” You moaned against her lips as your lover began to rut into you from below. It was so big and rubbing against your sweet spot so deliciously. 

“I know sweetie, I know. You’re doing so good, taking daddy’s cock so well!” Robin cooed as she pulled back from your lips. 

“Come on mama, take your seat. I want both!” Franky panted out as he thrust into your pussy. 

Robin giggled as she moved to hover over Franky’s face and sat down on his waiting tongue. Robin sighed as she felt his tongue move against her wet folds. She leaned forward into you and wrapped her arms around your neck as you continued getting speared by Franky’s cock. 

“Isn’t this mmhmmm- nice, y/n?” She mewled out as Franky sucked on her clit. 

“AH YES!” You shrieked out, feeling your belly begin to tighten again. You felt a hand rubbing your sensitive, engorged clit. You felt two more hands pinching and pulling at your sensitive nipples. You felt two more hands squeezing your ass cheeks in addition to the large metal ones clutching your hips desperately. There was so much stimulation from every direction you could barely take it. Robin captured your lips in a messy kiss. 

“Come on girls, I can’t take much more of this!” Franky shouted from underneath you both, he was clearly affected by your tight wetness. 

“I want to kiss her for a little, be patient, daddy.” Robin pulled away briefly to scold him playfully. She dives back in to your swollen, wet lips. You grab the back of her head with both hands, the pleasure driving your boldness. The lewd wet slurping of Franky on Robin’s pussy was causing you to clench on the dick inside of you. Robin was keening and moaning into your mouth and you had never seen anything so hot. 

“Fuck daddy, I’m going to cum. Want to cum with me, little one?” Robin looks you in the eye and continues her work on your sensitive bits. 

“YES! Fuck I’m right there, please daddy!” You shriek out.

“Soak me, cum on me, ‘wanna feel it!” Franky pushes into you as far as he can go and your body spasms and creams all on his robot cock. You scream out in pleasure. Robin moans his name as she, too, finishes all over him. His blue hair was soaked in Robin’s gushy release. Robin kisses you deeply as you both finish your orgasms. 

“Let me fill her, please mama, wanna stuff her so bad!” Franky begged his partner from underneath you. 

“Of course daddy, anything you want.” Robin moved off his face and pinched his nipples to encourage his finish. 

“FUUUUCK-“ Franky groaned loudly as he spilled himself deep inside your no-longer-virgin pussy. You fell forward, burying Franky’s face in your sweaty breasts. You were so dick drunk you couldn’t move. 

“Come on little one, let’s get you tucked into bed.” Robin lifted you off Franky’s cock with her strong arms and laid you down under the covers. 

“Th-thank you guys…” You whisper out. 

“Hey, after that? I’ll let you join me and the lady ANY time!” Franky proceed to tuck both you and Robin into her comforter and head out to finish his repairs for the evening. 

“Robin that was… so incredible…” You stroked her jaw as you laid in bed facing each other. 

“Well sweetie, if you want to part of our little arrangement, I think we could make it happen…” Robin giggled at you as she raked her fingers through your hair. 

“Maybe we can talk about it tomorrow…” And you drifted off to sleep. 

[easy-there-leftovers]

Can be read as a continuation to my previous work about Gale, but can also be read independently. In any case, this is mostly a filler short.

Today had been a tiring day, especially for their de-facto leader, Gale thinks. The situation at the goblin village could have turned for the worse had you not smooth talked your way through.

And yet you’ve gone back to dueling the fire with your eyes again, he notes. However unlike last time, he chooses to stay put in his own corner of the camp.

Given his last attempt at light but stimulating conversation, he’s mostly sure that he will never do such a thing ever again. Lest he wants to feel the less than comfortable stares of everyone awake when he returns to his tent.

Alone and unaccompanied.

Doesn’t mean that he can’t observe you from here though. While he should be reading up on a rather interesting book he picked up from today’s skirmish, the pages haven’t been graced with his eyes quite nearly as much as your form.

Naturally, he doesn’t realize this until something, or rather someone, catches his attention.

Astarion.

Usually not one to leave his own comfortable area of the camp, it was surprising to see him choose to settle in at a bedroll nearer the fire.

To approach you in such a manner. Almost as if you were familiar with another.

“Which couldn’t be since you would have only met one another after the crash,” he reasons.

Astarion makes a comment from his lax position on his bedroll. Opens the conversation with you the same way that he’s certain he did a few nights ago, and yet the response couldn’t be more different.

The action draws what looks to be an exasperated sigh from you, but Gale notices your eyes soften at the elf’s remark. You don’t turn to face him, but still respond while focusing on the camp’s light.

Astarion stands to be nearer to you, perhaps trying to convince you of something, as he slings an arm around your shoulder. Face, nearing yours. The thumb of his slung-over hand seemingly grazing the skin of your exposed collarbone, uncovered by the looser strings of your shirt.

Gale feels his jaw slacken as he watches this very scene unfold before him. The book, long forgotten as the strength in his arm wanes, almost dropping it. He feels his eyes bug out of his skull when he sees you place your hand on top the pale fellow’s in what he can only assume is an affectionate gesture.

He’ll admit, perhaps he wasn’t paying attention to you earlier in the days you reunited. With the way you were avoiding him, it seemed like you wanted him to forget you existed or pretend like you didn’t know each other.

But how could he?

How could he when you inspired him so?

How could he when your wit and creativity showed him more ways the weave could be practiced?

How could he when he knew that all your friends had always been more like Aatarion’s type, and that you’ve always seemed to avoid his?

He supposed he shouldn’t be be surprised then, if he claims to know you so well. It was inevitable that you would warm up to the elf so quickly. Alike in charm and nerve.

And if you still haven’t warmed up to the wizard in the years of study you shared, he doubts you ever will.

He watches how pleasing the pair of you look. With the sheer charisma you two radiated, it didn’t take much for anyone to assume you would have been coupled up or at the very least intimately engaged.

Ah, but where will all this conjecture get him? He’s still dealing with the loss of Mystra’s favor and it’s vicious consequences. What use would it be to watch like this?

He takes one last look at your joined hands before he sees you respond and heads in to his tent. Perhaps a bit of rest will help temper whatever wave of emotions it is that washes over him.

“Astarion.” You warn with your warmer hand atop his.

“Hm?”

You turn your head to look at him and you’re greeted by that self-aggrandizing smirk that always curls up on his face.

The sight makes you sigh. No answer to his earlier question will get you out of this.

Tricky bastard.

“Your fingers are cold.” He clicks his tongue at that, but removes himself from your form anyway. A catty, “you’re no fun” leaving his lips as he distances himself from you.

He smiles anyway and tilts his head to the side. Standing to rest all his weight on one leg, and waves you off with one hand.

“I’ll see you later, I’m sure.” You shakes your head at that and turn to leave.

“Good night Astarion.”

“Sweet dreams, dear mage.”

He’s convinced you enough to try.

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Hope you’re doing well especially with the personal matters that are going on in your life! Hope you feel better and I hope things calm down for you sooner rather than later! 🖤 happy to see you back though!

I’ve been thinking more and more about how Siren!San would be as a mate (if you don’t feel like writing this that’s totally fine! 🖤🖤🖤)

Being Siren!San's Mate

❥Siren Choi San x gn reader

➯a/n: thank you 🫶🫶 i hope my little ramblings of being siren sans mate are enjoyable !

▼・ᴥ・▼ (✯◡✯)genre: headcanons, fantasy

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: mentions of kidnapping, fantasy body transformations, fated soulmates, not proof read

⁂perm taglist: @stvrfir3 @tunaasan @marievllr-abg

Sannie canonically has blonde hair in Shells, and I don't know if I've mentioned his tail color but I think it would be a pale pink. That in mind, he's a shallow water siren as apposed to a deeper water siren, because he blends in better. (Unlike Hongjoong with red hair and fluctuating tail color, who blends in with the darker waters)

That most likely is the way he meets his mate, and not a wreck or attack. Just his mate swimming a few miles off shore and he catches a whiff and then they're gone *poof*

San, in any universe, shape, or form, is a family man so he's like an excited puppy: swims around in circles at the pool entrance of his den until his mate wakes up.

When his mate wakes up and is inevitably like YO WTF DAWG, he's calm and collected even though his heart is about to jump out of his chest. He won't crowd his mate *cough cough hongjoong* because he's deathly afraid of sending them into shock from his mark.

That being said, he's still incredibly clingy-

Angel in Shells is a lucky woman 🙏(besides the kidnapped and turned into a siren part) because let me tell you Siren!San is not letting a single hair on his mates body be hurt or even uncomfortable.

Too cold? Boom- fire. Too hot? Boom- cooling lotion. Sad? He'll sing a song! Angry? Well that's okay, you can hit his chest and cry until you tire yourself out.

That's par for the course for most sirens with their human mate I think, but San takes it seriously. He'd slap a fish if it looked at you the wrong way and yell at seaweed that spooked you on your first trip into the water. (ex. not wanting Angel to touch Joongs mate because he doesn't want her to get sick, and comforting her)

He's a lot more in tune with his emotions than you'd think, he knows it's 'okay' to be exited but he also knows that you're going through a huge shock and so he lets out his excitement by talking to you. Whether you listen or not, it really doesn't matter.

And it also doesn't matter what he's talking about- though he makes it a point to avoid talking about things that make your heart beat irregular. He sticks to tame things at first, like the tribe and how they work and his own family and his favorite spots to sunbathe just under the surface of the water (promising to take you to all of them).

He tells his mate what's to come, unlike Hongjoong who dropped his moms lore and then shut that shit down 😭

Once you start transforming, he's nearly suffocating with watching your process in pure awe.

The first time he sees his mates tail?? He's thanking the Huntress for every little moment that lead him here.

If it matches his like some mates do, whew boy prepare to be smooched to death. (Prepare to be smooched to death either way actually)

The first time you go hunting together, his cheeks are sore from all the smiling he's doing, he wants to teach you anything and everything there is- and he will in due time.

One little detail I think really fits Siren!San is that every night before bed, even when he slept on the floor in those first few weeks to give you the comfort of his nest, he'd blow on your wrist to see his signature appear- ecstatic every time knowing that you were fated for him.

The first night you do it back, both of your scales turning pink when your name mimics his, he nearly dies of pure bliss.

[ryiju-muunie]

The professor is Mine

18+ viewer discretion is advised

trans!student!Satoru Gojo/professor!Ryomen Sukuna Warnings: university/college AU, dubious morality, transgender gojo y'all, dubious age gap [19 and 40], class room sex kind of, cock warming, Sukuna got a big dick y'all, gojo has an obsession with his professor, Grindr mentioned [sadly], finger sucking, creampie, gojo is also a fem boy, bottom growth Y'ALL, neck sucking, and not beta read we die like men Word count: 3310 DESC: Satoru puts together a plan to fuck his history professor and it WORKS?!

This is old but I realize I never uploaded it here

NOTES: Dubious morality and cockwarming! Personally if these were on the ballad I'd vote for cockwarming. Also ignore if it gets incredibly redundant and awful at the end. I had work and my brain is starting to turn to sludge at this very moment

It was so wrong, so utterly wrong, but everyone’s allowed a little bit of fun, right? At least, that’s what Satoru told himself as he stared into the full-length mirror by his bed. There wasn’t any way to beat around the bush: He was going to sleep with his History professor. Well, try to. That man, Dr. Sukuna, was a wall of mystery to anyone who dared penetrate it. There was no good way in and every time he thought he had an opening it was squashed by his glare. It was as dastardly as it was attractive, making him bite his lip in class. Every time he tried to ask a question or talk after class, he was left with hasty remarks that made him want to give up. But the boy never did.

His whole obsession with the older man started when he found on him Grindr of all places. It made the wet spot between his legs ache as he scrolled through his profile. Ryomen, 41, single, and rippling with muscles. Ryomen posted shirtless photos, gym videos, and most importantly … an audio. It was just him talking about his interest in history, some period in Japan he was so fond of, that Satoru didn’t care for. But the fire in his voice, the drive of passion made him listen to it almost the entire night, as he fingered his pussy. 

In the mirror, the college student donned a black skirt, cropped to his mid-thigh. It was scandalous and not the kind of outfit you’d wear to visit your history professor when you knew he was grading in his office. But to cover it, and make the outfit a bit more G-rated, he slipped on a white cardigan. A bra to hold his breasts in place underneath as well. Black and lacey. Something … mature. Ryomen was older, he probably liked older guys too. Gojo wanted to show he was mature beyond his years, even if he was just nineteen. This outfit might have no been the best example but it was slutty. That’s all that mattered. Prying his professor's eyes from his grading papers for more than two minutes so he could see his hot skin, dripping in red for him.

The door was unlocked, and he knew it was. The student had his teacher's exact routine memorized down to when he sat in his office with the door slightly cracked so students could come in if they had questions but it was directly advertised to the public. So, most students didn’t. He knew he had a perfect chance of getting that older man alone and he had one shot to seduce him. Even if it meant using a bit of blackmail. Wouldn’t the school want to know that the professor of Japanese history at their prestigious college was on Grindr matching with nineteen-year-olds? It was a last resort if he didn’t get what he wanted, so he wouldn’t play that card unless he absolutely had to.

Satoru pushed the door open with the toe of his foot and marveled for a few silent seconds at the man before him. Grey hairs poured into pale pink tufts, all neatly sprawled across his head. It was messy but meticulous, so he knew his teacher spent a good thirty minutes combing those strands to stand up like that. It was kind of juvenile, still styling his hair like he probably did when he was his student's age. And the white-haired-male couldn’t help but find it endearing, how it stuck up with no regard for his very professional outfit. A soft blue button-up with a darker brown vest overtop, and a dark blue tie. The tie was always plain, as his outfits were. Not like his other professor in economics, Mr. Nanami, who wore patterned ties [which contrasted his very bleak personality]. 

The one thing he always stopped to stare at was his eyes, which were the color of a light fire. Hazy in the outer corners and burning deep within the corneas. It was entrancing and god was it hot when he’d stare into the other man’s eyes. The fire was always dull, not true fire. Instead of bright orange it always ranged from a more soothing caramel, which complimented his aged features like wine. Even with those slight wrinkles by the corner of his eyes, he was handsome. 

Dr. Sukuna didn’t notice Satoru standing in the doorway for at least a moment until he made himself known with a clearing of his throat, “...Professor.” It was a simple word, but it was the way he said it. Breathy, on the brink of pure pleasure. His eyes were slightly closed, half-lidded in his direction and burning with lust. Words’ meanings can change with their tone, and he was trying to convey a single sentence using simplistic words.

Take me right over your desk and pound my pussy until I’m throbbing with your hot seed, as it leaks through my folds. 

The boy gasped at the thought, pressing his legs together as he was dangled naked in front of the other man's eye. He looked up, eyebrow slightly arched as he took in that lewd outfit and the even more lewd expression on his student's face. It was obvious. If Satoru had arousal pheromones they’d be radiating off of his cunt in wafts, straight to Ryomen’s nose. Finally, he set down his pen and leaned back in his chair, looking him up and down with narrowed eyes. His eyelids were flat, one plain of skin. Gojo wondered what it would be like to lick his skin, especially around those firey eyes. Yet still, they were dull. He wanted them to burn brightly for him, even if it was one time. Even if it was for one singular moment. 

“Satoru. How can I help you?” He asked, with a polite strain in his voice. Satoru had always wondered if his profile came up on his professor's Grindr feed. He wondered if he listened to his breathy voice notes, saw his promiscuous photos, and touched himself. He wondered if that large cock ever got hard because of little old him. He knew he got wet over that man on several occasions, always ending with the male leaving class early to touch himself needily in his car. Mewling as he came all over his hand, wishing it was Ryomen’s fingers sliding around his clit and pinching it between rough pads. 

Here it goes. All of this build-up and Satoru just had to come out and say it. He had rehearsed it so many times in his head it was practically memorized by that point. “I want you …” He paused deliberately, bringing an index finger to run against his pouted bottom lip before he continued, “... To help me with my grades.” He noticed right away that Professor Sukuna had a thing with his mouth. Whether it was chewing on the back of a pen in between waiting for his slides to load or biting his bottom lip in concentration, he was always doing something with his mouth. So his student just had to assume he was somehow sexually aroused by someone else's mouth. You know, sound logic for a man who had just stalked his teacher's entire schedule.

Sukuna didn’t look too phased by this, pressing his lips together and nodding his head very slowly. Surely, he had to know where he was coming from at this point. The sultry voice and the incredibly skimpy outfit? He wasn’t stupid, he had his doctorate for godsakes! This man had to know he was being seduced. 

He continued to nod, bringing his bottom lip into his mouth and thoughtfully running it against his top teeth. What a teasing motion. It was deliberate, just as Satoru’s words. As if he was challenging him and telling him to stand down. His legs were spread, he could tell from the stance of his shoulders as he trailed a calloused hand to his tie. Delicately, he looped one finger over the top and gripped the edge of the center, tugging and swaying the fabric side to side as he stared at his student. Ravenous. He was absolutely ravenous. His gaze was burning with a sense of passion and desire Gojo hadn’t ever seen in his entire lifetime. This man knew exactly what he wanted out of his plush body, and he was going to get it. 

“You’re bold, brat,” a chuckle escaped his lips as he pulled the remainings of his tie and pulled it out from around his head. Then came the few buttons on his shirt, gone and exposing bouts of fresh skin. Skin Satoru wouldn’t have a hard time marking with his pouty mouth, running his tongue along the collarbone and sucking until it was blooming with red.

Within a second, his student closed the door with his hands, clicking the lock between two nimble fingers. Locked. And all mine. A grin pulled at his lips and he strode over to the table, pushing aside a picture of Sukuna’s cat to sit on the edge. If it wasn’t obvious to his professor then, it was now. He wasn’t wearing any underwear. He put one leg in between the other man’s spread ones, almost hitting his crotch dead on. It gave just the slightest view to his dripping folds, slicked with his juices, and aching to be touched. Ryomen glanced over at him, eyes trailing down and slightly widening at the sight of a pussy. He didn’t seem to mind, in fact, he seemed rather pleased. A whine of pre-enthusiasm escaped his lips as the teacher pressed his hand into Satoru’s thigh, sliding up to cup his squishy hip. It was warm as he dug his short nails into the skin, kneading it like it was fresh dough. 

“I saw your profile,” he said, without looking up from his college student’s cunt, “I was intrigued as to how someone so… innocent could post those photos of himself,” his eyes flitted to the other, making Gojo’s mouth salivate. Was this, possession? Had his professor been lusting after him as much as he had been lusting too? God!!! This turned him on so much!! But he couldn’t outright say, ‘Hey I’ve been kind of stalking you, marry me :D’.

So instead he leaned forward, an air of seduction to his voice as his right hand's index finger extended and drew a line up Ryomen’s neck, tilting his face up by his chin with ease, “I wanted to show off. Especially in class. For you,” he purred, lids fluttering closed and eyelashes brushing against his cheek. Satoru’s hand caressed his lower jaw, before grabbing his chin with force, a devilish grin taking hold of his features, “I know you liked it. You got so worked up. It was obvious…”

Ryomen was clearly stronger than him, so it made him clench to realize he was letting himself get moved. He was letting this obviously submissive twink take control, even if it was for a minute, to tease and taunt him. His cheeks were burning, and god it was hot. How could such a man exist? His professor opened his mouth and tilted his head to the side in a jerking manner, signaling he wanted something. He wanted … oh. Satoru happily complied and adjusted his hand, sinking his thumb into the other's mouth with ease. His eyes fluttered closed as he took the digit, and began to suck. 

“I want you to,” Gojo inhaled shakily, taking ahold of his partner's other hand and dragging it toward his miserable heat, “To touch me. Can you do that?” Ryomen mumbled something against his thumb which was to the degree of yes, but he didn’t care as his thick fingers were getting to work. It was an instant pleasure, feeling three pads delicately rub long circles around his engorged clit. He had bottom growth, and it took the other a few seconds to adjust and pull at it lightly. Before settling on rubbing the tip ever so lightly. What a tease! What a fucking tease! Every touch was increasing his slick and every touch was giving him a taste of what was to come. 

It was only a few more seconds of teasing touches that Sukuna let go of his thigh and stopped toying with his cunt. He leaned back and let Satoru’s thumb trail out of his mouth with a faint pop. He inhaled and a small smile pulled at his features. It was devious. Utterly devious. Hungry… aching for more. Wanting to devour the twink until there was nothing left but his skirt as a reminder that he actually existed. His big hands fondled his waist until his pants were gone and what was left was a cock springing from his abdomen. God Satoru could just cry. That was one of the largest dicks he had ever seen, and it was apparent his teacher was only partially hard too. It was beautiful, slightly curved, bulbous and throbbing head, with trimmed hair at the base. What wasn’t there to like?

He didn’t have to be told anything, getting up and turning his behind to line up his entrance with the cockhead. “F-fuck…” Ryomen breathed out, two hands anchoring to Gojo’s hips to guide him down. Being this self-lubricated made it easy as he stretched down that massive log. It felt as though he was going to explode in ecstasy at any moment. Pushing further, his G-spot was roughly kissed by the tip. Satoru teetered a bit at the sensation, leaning up to get a small breath before sinking once again. It was sensitive and intense, just the feeling of bottoming out. And then … that was it. 

Satoru sat there in a bit of confusion as his professor wrapped one arm around his waist to pull him flush to his back, and used the other to pick up a pen and begin his work. Was that it? Is this how older men have sex, by sitting and letting you bottom out into nothing? I mean, he had to admit, it was hot. The way he felt every breath, every pulse from his cock, every twitch in his legs. It made him squirm. But … it wasn’t the rough kinky sex he had expected. 

“What exactly are we doing?” He asked, raising an eyebrow and looking down at the work. It was just busy work he had given the classes, and he was grading them as if he wasn’t having a twink swallow his cock whole. 

Ryomen laughed a bit, strained with an erotic breathy tone as he replied, his mouth dangerously close to Satoru’s ear, “I’m grading, brat.”

“I can see that. But I was expecting to be railed, you know. I got all dressed up for this,” a whine escaped his lips, not out of pleasure, but rather out of impatience. If he wanted to, he could have started bouncing. Well, he wanted to, but he definitely couldn’t. The man realized that Dr. Sukuna’s hand around his waist wasn’t to be intimate but to keep him from moving. That bastard! He was doing this on purpose!

He felt warm and soft lips press into his neck, kissing the skin like it was the finest prize. Satoru gasped and leaned his head to the left, giving his professor more room to kiss along the side of his neck, “But, I find that slow-,” and there it was. Ryomen slowly thrust up into Satoru’s clenched pussy, “-pleasure is always the best.” His breath tickled the white-haired male’s earlobe and for a split second he thought he was cuming, but he wasn’t. The pleasure was slow, and his professor was right it was so much better. It was building, low and deep in his lower stomach. A warm rut was burning and warmth spread across his folds. He could have sped it up by touching himself, but he wanted to see where this would go.

“H-hah…” Satoru found himself whimpering as he felt the cock drag along his walls and then slam back into him, just to repeat the agonizingly slow process. Fuck, it felt so good. And he knew that orgasm would be slow and drawn out, just like how his professor was fucking him. Ryomen’s mouth stayed on his neck, nibbling at the skin before making out with it like it was your second mouth. Tongue licked circles around your skin, before he rolled it around his teeth, then back to his tongue. Oh, he definitely had some kind of oral fixation. 

Sukuna was still grading, somehow. By God's strength and will, he was sloppily giving everyone A’s on an assignment they obviously Googled. His mind wasn’t on the stupid papers, it was on Satoru. How he smelt and especially how he felt. Walls clenched around his massive cock, which fluttered with each calculated thrust. It was so good, grinding up into him just to see the Twink's reaction. The professor couldn’t see it, but his student’s eyes were already back into his head, his hips fighting the urge to roll and speed up the friction.

“Grind back into me,” he soon cooed, warm sticky words clinging to his tongue as he groaned into Satoru’s ear, “Ye-a-ah, just like that,” Ryomen exhaled, pressing his forehead against his partner's nape, “Slowly now…” Satoru did exactly as he was told, slowly grinding back onto the cock he was warming. It was so agonizingly hot, feeling it drag in and out of his cunt and then this added friction. If he had a dick he’d be spurting bouts of cum everywhere by this point. I mean, he was close. So close he could practically see the orgasm on the horizon. Just a little bit more grinding.

It wasn’t until he started hearing Ryomen’s noises did it fully pushed him over the edge. It was a few grunts and panting breaths at first, but now he was divulging into being a slobbering mess. The student could feel drops of saliva fall onto his neck as he realized the professor was actively panting like a damn dog, sticking his tongue out as if it would enhance his pleasure. God, that was hot, and hearing him begin to lose his self-restraint was even hotter. His movements were slower, and his muscles were tense. Satoru knew he wanted to savor this as much as he, himself did. All that self-restraint was hot, but he wanted him to let go and fuck him into oblivion. 

When Satoru Gojo finally came, it was better than he could’ve expected. It was a fluttering clench deep in his pussy that erupted as his professor kept his thrusts taut. Warm waves of pleasure washed over him a few times until he let out a dramatic gasp and shudder, followed by a submissive sob. His body convulsed faster than the actual orgasm, which was the most painful part. The pleasure was so good, it was too intense. It almost hurt to move as he felt it wash over his clit and slowly begin to dwindle. That was until Ryomen let out a gasp and a guttural, “O-oh fuck,” and shot slow ropes of cum into his cunt. It sent a spike of sensitive pleasure in his pussy again and made the poor guy cry out. 

God! How much more intense could this shit get?

Professor Sukuna slowed his thrusts to a stop, dropping his pen onto the table and gripping the edge with white knuckles. Was that as good for him as it was for himself? I mean, he thought so. No man could have a mediocre orgasm and have that reaction. 

“Professo-” He was instantly cut off. 

“Call me Ryomen,” he rasped into his ear, a ragged breath being pulled from his lips. 

Oh. He must’ve really liked it then.

[quoththemaiden]

A short (~1k) scene inspired by Chapter 9 of @mrghostrat's absolutely glorious Big Name Feelings human AU fic. Hope you like arms?

"C'mon, angel, not even gonna crack a smile at that one? Whales, get it? Whales."

Aziraphale felt like his cheeks were on fire from trying to keep a straight face at Crowley's increasingly terrible puns. "I would hate to tacitly encourage this behavior."

"Pfft, you love it." Crowley grinned at him, far past being undaunted and fully into the realm of being energized by Aziraphale's failed attempts at stoicism.

"You're utterly ridiculous." Aziraphale didn't even bother trying to make it sound like an insult, and the half of the screen taken up by his webcam made it clear his cheeks were as pink as they felt. "And I can't help but feel like you're stalling. Hadn't we agreed to be actually productive today?" Aziraphale didn't mind, really; he did want to keep making steady progress on his art, but if his life could consist of coming home from work and just unwinding with Crowley...

...but, well, that wasn't the purpose of this call.

Crowley groaned. "Yeah, yeah. What a taskmaster."

"It is my job to protect you from rabid fans, after all," Aziraphale teased right back.

"O Brave Guardian, protect me from procrastination!"

"That sounds rather harder than a dragon, I'm afraid. But if you don't get to work, I won't be able to work either, and then you won't get to see the finished piece."

"Urk—" Crowley made a strangled noise and finally reached for his mouse. "You'll actually be working on it?"

Aziraphale nodded before adjusting his webcam to show his tablet a bit more. "I really need to get more practice with this, to get half as confident as I am with physical paints."

"I've seen the drawings you've done! They're fucking brilliant."

Aziraphale laughed. "You've said that about everything I've shown you. I'm starting to think I should send you some stick figures as a test."

"Those would be the most adorable fucking stick figures ever. You could draw a whole comic of just stick figures and I'd reblog it a hundred times."

"That's about what I'd expect you to say, yes." Crowley opened his mouth to protest that his compliments were always earnest, and Aziraphale cut him off. "Weren't you going to start writing?"

"Ngghh, right, yeah. Alright, lemme just pull up my docs and then we'll get started bodydoubling for real." Crowley clicked over to screenshare his window as he opened his fic notes. He'd long since stopped hiding anything from Aziraphale; getting to bounce ideas off of him was too invigorating, and his heart always sang at getting to write down his name with official beta credit. (He'd also long since stopped pretending to himself that he'd ever felt quite the same way about any other beta.)

"Good lord." Aziraphale sounded more than faintly appalled, and Crowley felt offended for a moment before taking a proper look at what was on his screen. It was currently showing the notes he'd made at 3 AM this morning, when he'd woken up from a dream and jotted down what had, at the time, felt like a brilliant scene. As always, he'd had his eyes mostly-closed the whole time and his swipes had been clumsy at best, but as long as it got the general point across, he was always satisfied. It only wound up being a usable scene about half the time, but he wasn't about to turn down free inspiration when he could get it. He quickly read through the imagery he'd written down.

They switch rolled over and opened their eyes. In the still morning sunlight they could set the witchfinder still sleeping cloudy enough to touch: his head ears cradled on his arms, the  misos slack with sleep but still clearly there under surface. The words knew from experience that if he were awakened stable the strength would flour back into them in an instant ray for a fight. The wishes couldn't help but think odd other things they might but tray for as well

Crowley paled. "I— that—"

"I mean, it's. Well. It's rather avant-garde."

Crowley froze. "I, uh—"

"'The misos?' And 'flour?'"

Crowley stuttered out of his bluescreen and hastily opened another tab, the screenshare automatically switching over. Aziraphale had read it, but he clearly hadn't actually understood it. As long as he didn't give him enough time to crack the cipher that was 3 AM notetaking, Crowley could bluff his way through it. "Zuh. Yeah. Wrote that down in the middle of the night when I got an idea of where I wanted to start the next scene off."

"And you could recognize any of that?" The camera jostled a little as Aziraphale shook his head. "I suppose I wouldn't do any better if I tried sketching out an idea in the dark." He picked up his stylus and started doodling simple shapes, warming up and re-acclimatizing himself to the responsiveness of the device. He was still getting used to the new medium, but he was finally starting to see a path forward to making a digital art style that felt authentically his own.

"Yessss." Crowley bit his tongue to cut off the guilty hissing. It definitely didn't help that the webcam was doing a very awkward job of catching the tablet screen but showed a very distracting hint of Aziraphale's forearms. The forearms he had, at 3 AM, apparently woken up from a dream about and been so inspired by that he'd felt the need to immortalize them in fanfiction.

"Well, I shall be interested in seeing how that gets transformed into comprehensible English."

"Right, definitely." Crowley was typing gibberish and backspacing over it quickly, more to hide how much attention he was having to devote to this conversation than out of an actual need to warm up his fingers. "Right, definitely focusing on writing now!"

Aziraphale laughed as he cleared his tablet screen and pulled up his WIP, shifting into concentration mode himself. He did enjoy the early days they had spent where their hours of "bodydoubling" were really nothing more than talking and laughing together, but being able to be quietly productive with someone else, knowing they were there with you without needing to be in the same room, that they were sharing your same wavelength without needing to say a word... that simple sense of togetherness brought with it such a deep feeling of comfort that he thought it might be an even more profound, longer-lasting sense of joy than their early days of giddy laughter had given. The strokes of his stylus turned smoother and more confident as he got into the flow, his eyes focused on his own screen and only vaguely aware of the lines of text growing across Crowley's.

Eventually, Crowley calmed down as well, and the text growing on his screen even started to make sense. And he made sure it had absolutely nothing to do with forearms.

--

Translation of the deleted 3 AM scene:

The witch rolled over and opened their eyes. In the early morning sunlight, they could see the witchfinder still sleeping close enough to touch. His head was cradled on his arms, the muscles slack with sleep but still clearly there under the surface. The witch knew from experience that if he were awakened, the strength would flow back into them in an instant, ready for a fight. The witch couldn't help but think of other things they might be ready for as well.

[imagines--galore]

||The Thread of Fate|| Part Nineteen

Summary: Soulmate AU. They say the Thread of Fate connects you to your one true love. It may tangle. It may stretch. But it will never break. Wrapped around your little finger it tightens when it feels your soulmate is close and loosens when they are far. And becomes visible with the colors of your soulmate’s Nation when you finally fall in love with them.

Pairing: Zuko x OroraOC (ATLA)

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T+ Romance. Adventure.

Previous Chapters - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen, Part Eighteen,

A/N: I think the aftermath of the last chapter is more angsty then the previous chapter : P

"I'm home!" Orora called as she stepped through the doors of the apartment above the tea shop. Iroh, who had been doing some inventory looked up and smiled.

"Welcome home Orora. I trust your little shopping excursion was a success?" She nodded, setting her bags down on the floor. "It was. And I got more then a little extra since Aang and the others will be coming over for dinner."

Iroh nodded. "Better to be prepared. Especially since that friend of yours, Sokka, tends to eat quite a lot." Orora giggled before glancing around. "Where's Zuko?" She asked.

"He just stepped outside to get some fresh air. He was pacing rather anxiously. He still doesn't like you wandering around on your own." Her Master reminded her, to which she rolled her eyes. "Well he can't follow me around our whole lives." The girl called over her shoulder as she walked towards the balcony door.

Sliding it open, she was met with the sight of Zuko glaring at her. "I can and I will." He stated, referring to the conversation she was just having with his Uncle. Laughing softly to herself, Orora shook her head and stepped out next to him, closing the door behind her as she did.

"Well that would count as extra work. And I doubt you would have time for that while also running an entire Nation." She playfully tapped him on the nose. "I'll find a way. I always find a way to come back to you don't I, My Fire Lady?" He asked, a smile on his lips, one she never got tired of seeing. Her heart swelled and Orora responded in kind. Reaching up on her tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his lips.

She moved to step away from him, her mouth opening to speak when a sudden flash of lightning had the entire scene changing.

Blue eyes blinked, trying to get rid of the temporary blindness it had caused her.

The sight that greeted her, had her eyes widening in horror and nearly caused her heart to stop.

Azula and Zuko, facing one another, with Azula's fingers smoking as it did whenever she would release a bout of lightning.

Lightning that was crackling through the air.

Aiming at Zuko's chest.

A scream tore through the air, and it took a moment for her to realize that she was the one screaming. She made to run towards him, to stop the deadly weapon, but she was too slow.

She blinked.

And she was holding Zuko in her arms. His body trembled as residue lightning crackled through his entire being. There was an ugly wound in the center of his chest.

He wasn't breathing.

"Zuko! No! Zuko! Zuko! Wake up! Wake up!" She called out to him, begged him to open his eyes. Over and over. She smacked his chest, trying to use her Healing Abilities, but to no avail.

She blinked.

Zuko had disappeared from her arms, only to be replaced by Iroh. His injuries were the same as Zuko's. His face was so pale, his breathing ragged. "Master?" She whispered, her mind racing. Hadn't she healed him? He was better now! He had gotten better. He had lived.

She blinked.

Aang, with a wound in the same place as Zuko and Iroh before. His eyes flickered, as he raised a hand feebly towards her face. Orora began to breath sporadically, her mind spinning as she watched the Avatar, a child, slowly die in her arms.

She blinked.

Katara in the same condition as the previous three. Her eyes once full of love and life, staring unseeing at the ceiling above. Orora couldn't bear it anymore. She grabbed the girl's shoulders and began to shake her, calling out to her, trying to wake her up.

She blinked.

Sokka, his eyes closed, and his chest frozen. Never to rise again with the large wound that gaped in his chest. "Sokka!' She didn't let go of his shoulders.

"Wake up! Please! You still need to teach me stuff! You need to show me how real brothers are! Please! Just open your eyes!"

She blinked.

"Katara! No please! Come back! Come back! You have to live. You have to see the world not fighting! You have to wake up! You can't leave!"

She blinked.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry I couldn't heal you Master! Please! Don't leave me! Don't leave me! Master! Uncle! Father! Father, please! Father!"

She blinked.

"No! No! No! Aang! No! Don't die! People need you Aang! I need you! Wake up! You still have to show me the Air Temples! You promised! Aang! Aang!"

She blinked.

"No! You don't get to leave me! You have to live! You have to live for me! With me! Please Zuko! I beg you! Open your eyes!"

A movement from the corner of her eyes had her raising her despair filled eyes to the figure now standing next to her.

It was Zuko.

And yet, it wasn't.

This couldn't be her Zuko. He would never look at her with such hatred and venom in his amber eyes. Her arms tightened around Zuko's body as the Zuko in front of her, who was very much alive, raised a fist.

In her heart, no in her soul, she knew what was coming. Knew she should run. Defend herself.

But she didn't.

She simply sat there, cradling Zuko's body as she watched the other Zuko bring his fist down, a ball of fire raging strong and hot as he aimed at her chest.

Right where her heart was.............

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Orora shot up with a startled cry.

Her chest rose and fell as she panted. Sweat coated her entire body. Her eyes darted around the darkened room, frantic and panicked. For a moment, she didn't remember where she was.

But then, her gaze fell on the figure sleeping in the bed, with another figure beside them, holding their hand.

She was on a ship, her brain reminded her. She was on a disguised Fire Nation ship with her friends and members of her sister tribe. Aang was asleep in the bed, with Katara sitting vigil at his side, holding his hand.

As the reality sunk in, her breathing calmed and the panic left her eyes. Slowly, her heartbeat returned to normal. And yet the images of her most recent nightmare continued to play in her mind.

Shaking her head to try and dispel the thoughts, she stood to gently lay a hand on Aang's forehead, checking for a fever. Normal body temperature greeted her, prompting her to let out a sigh of relief and slowly slide away and back onto the floor where she had probably fallen asleep after staring up at the ceiling for hours.

Her mind wandered to all that had happened since they had joined Sokka and Katara's tribe.

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They had landed on the ship, the familiar structure providing her with some comfort as friendly faces surrounded them. Sokka, Toph and the Earth King and his pet had slid down, while she had helped Katara get Aang down from Appa's head.

Katara had still been near catatonic as she cradled Aang close to her. Sokka and another figure, a man, had moved forward, mouth open to question her. But she gave them no chance. Orora took charge, ordering for mats and blankets, bandages and any salve they might have for burns. Turns out, they had everything she needed. While Katara, still lost in the horrors of her mind at nearly loosing her Soulmate, Orora worked diligently, cleaning Aang's wound and after giving him a healing session of her own, which helped her determine how much of his injury had healed, she rubbed the salve along his back, before bandaging him up carefully. He would have to sleep on his stomach for awhile. There were other injuries that she had to heal. One on his shoulder, and several bruises from being smacked against stone walls by Azula. She had no idea who long she sat there, healing Aang as much as she could while Katara watched on.

Once she was sure he was comfortable, Orora turned her attention towards Katara. Resting a hand against her cheek, Orora slowly guided Katara's head so that she could look at her properly. "You don't have to say anything." The older girl said, her voice soft and gentle. "Just nod or shake your head." It took a moment, before Katara nodded.

Smiling in an encouraging manner, Orora continued. "Are you hurt anywhere?" A pause before a nod. "Where?" Katara blinked at her, before slowly pulling out her leg from underneath her and pulling up the sleeve of her pants. Orora hissed softly at the sight of the ugly bruise already marring the young girl's skin. Pulling up some water, she quickly coated her hands and pretty soon the entire bruise had faded.

That wasn't the only injury Katara had. There were bruises and cuts on her back as well, and several others on her abdomen. Thank the Spirits it wasn't as serious as Aang's injuries.

Once done, Orora stood. "Stay with Aang. I'll get you something to eat. Don't fall asleep." She could already see the girl's eyes drooping. Exiting the small tent-like room atop the ship's deck, Orora stopped short at the sight that greeted her.

Every member aboard the ship was standing in front of her, staring at her. Every single one of them had the same question in their eyes.

"What happened?!?" Sokka was the one person impatient enough to voice it. "We left you, Iroh and Aang to get Katara and Zuko." Her heart twinged painfully at the name, prompting her to lift a hand to press against her chest. "And only you came back, with Aang half-dead and Katara looking like she was dead!"

Silence followed his words. Sighing deeply, Orora nodded, her eyes closing. "I know you have questions." She said, her voice low and soft, tired sounding. "Just let me get Katara something to eat, then I'll explain everything."

A quick bowl of warm broth, which she spooned into Katara's mouth herself, and once she was sure the other girl was sleeping comfortably and that Aang was still breathing, Orora found herself sitting on one side of the fire that burned in a small square hole in the center of the ship.

Everyone stared at her, while her own gaze remained trained on the fire in front of her.

"We found them both in the catacombs." She began. "But we were ambushed, by Azula and the Dai Li Agents." Memories of what had happened rushed to the front of her mind but she continued speaking.

"The Fire Nation prince joined his sister." Another twinge in her chest, one that had a certain blind girl narrowing her eyes at. "Aang was going into the Avatar State when Azula shot lightening at him from behind." Words and cries of outrage echoed in the night, calling the Fire Nation names. Orora continued. "Katara........I think.......she's in shock. It was pretty scary, watching him fall like that."

Her voice caught in her throat, a strange emotion rising within her. One that had her suddenly blinking really fast as her eyes burned. "How did you escape?" Toph asked from where she sat, looking so small and vulnerable, with her arms wrapped around her legs.

"My Master, Iroh of the Fire Nation." Looks of utter disbelief and surprises crossed everyone's faces. "He sacrificed himself. Ordered me to grab Katara and Aang and get out of there. We got to you guys and Katara healed Aang."

A beat of silence before Toph spoke again. "She didn't heal him." She said, slowly rising to her feet to stand next to Sokka. "I can sense heartbeats, and when the three of you came." Her unseeing gaze turned to the tent where her two friends were now sleeping. "I only sensed two heartbeats."

Revulsion rose up inside her. Clapping a hand to her mouth, Orora quickly ran to the side of the ship and dry-heaved whatever was left in her stomach.

Died, the word echoed in her mind.

Azula who was a child herself, had killed Aang, who was even younger then them.

A child killing a child.

She heaved again, feeling someone come up behind her and rub her back soothingly. "You alright?" It was Toph. Wiping her mouth, Orora straightened, pushing her hair back from her face and giving a small nod. "I guess." The older girl closed her eyes briefly.

"I know we've only just met Toph, but could you pay close attention to Aang and Katara's heartbeats for the night?" She asked, looking at the younger girl. Toph was silent for a moment.

"You just saved the lives of two people I care about." The girl responded with a smile and a nod. "Its the least I could do. I'll tell you if anything changes." She promised, just as Sokka walked over to them with a bowl of soup. He held it out to Orora who took it, slowly spooning the broth to her mouth, enjoying the warmth of it.

And yet she still felt cold from the inside.

"Guess bad luck followed us into Ba Sing Se too" Sokka moved to stand on Orora's other side. "We don't have the Earth Kingdom army to back us up now for the Invasion Plan."

Orora glanced up, frowning. "The what plan?"

Sighing, Sokka began to fill in what their plan had been. Orora listened, her half-eaten bowl of broth forgotten as her eyes widened with each key point Sokka revealed about the plan.

Or rather what had been the plan.

"Now that our old plan has gone down the drain." Toph spoke up. "Whats the new plan Idea Guy?" She asked to which Sokka pursed his lip.

"I'm not sure yet, but I'm gonna work on something with my dad and the others, try and come up with something." He continued with a determined expression. "The day of the Eclipse is the only opportunity we have of stopping the Fire Nation, once and for all. We can't loose it."

Orora's mind flitted to the memory of Aang falling. Of Katara staring at her with eyes full of anguish. Of her Master ordering her to leave him. Of the Prince......betraying her.

"And we won't." Toph added, with Orora nodding beside her.

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Feeling her eyes begin to grow heavy, Orora pushed herself to stand up. Glancing at Aang and Katara, she quickly picked up a blanket to cover the girl's shoulders before exiting the room. Her soft footfalls were loud against the metal surface of the Fire Nation ship. It was still early in the night, and aside from the people keeping watch, she was sure everyone else was still asleep.

Climbing up the stairs, she emerged onto the deck and inhaled deeply as the cool night air greeted her. A Fire Nation cloak was fastened around her shoulders, to cover her clothes. She still wore the dress she had worn when going to meet the Earth King.

Albeit it was now torn in places, rumpled and was covered in a bit of blood as well. She'd lost her comb in the Catacombs, as well as her water satchel.

Truth be told, she had lost everything in that cursed place.

The two men on guard, one of whom was Sokka and Katara's father, Hakoda, looked at her as she walked to the side of the ship, eyes trained on the water beneath. Removing her cloak, as well as her shoes, the young girl gripped the edge of her dress and tore it on either side, splitting the fabric up to her waist. She wore leggings underneath, and now that the fabric was open around her legs, she could move them more freely.

Despite the tiredness that still ached in her bones, Orora began to go through different waterbending forms. The motions helped calm her racing mind and ground her.

She continued to practice, going through several new forms she had created herself and had been working on them for a long while now. The girl only stopped when her she could barely lift her arms, and her legs trembled from the exertion she had put them through.

"You know I've never felt Katara do some of those moves before." Toph's voice prompted her to look over her shoulder as the younger girl approached her. Orora shrugged. "Its just something I'm trying to develop. I figured if all other types of benders can use their feet and legs to use their bending, why can't waterbenders." She wiggled her bare toes.

Toph nodded. "I get it. You want to use your bending to the best of your ability." She came to stand beside Orora. "Its the same reason I created metalbending." She stated, the pride clear in her voice.

Orora had witnessed Toph's abilities during their small takeover of the Fire Nation ship. She had to create a hole to hide Appa in, in case passing by Fire Nation ships spotted them. Orora smiled. "That's pretty amazing for someone as young as you."

Toph chuckled. "Yeah, but not when you're the world's greatest earthbender." Orora raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?" She asked, a little disbelief slipping into her voice to which Toph grinned.

"I even have the belt to prove it. The other three met me at a Rumble, of which I had been champion for quite sometime." Orora couldn't help but be impressed.

"That is actually amazing. You didn't let your blindness stop you then?" She asked, curious to know how Toph's seismic sense actually worked. Toph shook her head.

"It works in my favor actually. Why a need to see, when you can sense when your opponent is about to attack." Orora nodded.

"True." A playful gleam in her eyes, the older girl quickly lifted her leg, bringing it down in a graceful arc. The moment her foot left the floor, a stream of water rose from the side of the ship, arching through the air and towards Toph.

The girl simply brought up a slate of metal to shield herself from getting wet. "Impressive." She said, grinning at Orora. "But you still need to work on the force behind your attack."

Orora nodded. "Yeah, I'm actually working on that right now. Practicing helps." Silence fell between the two. Orora glanced at Toph. She was significantly taller then the other girl, and yeah, Toph was powerful, no doubt about it, but that didn't stop a surge of protectiveness to race through her. Strange, she'd only just met Toph properly a few days ago.

Maybe some friendships just started out that way. An urge to protect someone else because........well, just because.

Taking in the air of the early morning, she held out a hand towards Toph. "Once we get ashore, we'll have a little one-on-one. You can practice your metalbending, and I can practice using my feet and legs to waterbend. Deal?"

"Sounds good." Toph agreed, raising a hand to shake hers. "I think we're gonna be good friends Orora." She smiled, as she began to walk away. "Which reminds me, I need to come up with a nickname for you. Its tradition." With that the girl walked off in search of breakfast, leaving Orora to smile after her departing figure.

It was still an hour or so before dawn, so she pulled her shoes back on, wrapped the cloak around herself, and went back downstairs. The moment she entered, she fell onto the mat she had been using. She was fast asleep before her head even hit the pillow.

And this time, she didn't dream.

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"You feeling alright Katara?" Orora asked, moving to stand beside the girl as she and Toph stood near the railing. It was the same day, the sun having set a long time ago. But throughout the day, Orora always asked Katara the same question. While it would've gotten annoying to anyone else, Katara would only smiled and reassure the girl that she was.

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It had started the day after they escaped the Catacombs. Katara had exited the small tent and Orora had approached her, voicing her concern. Though Katara had not spoken, she had responded with a small nod, then she'd hugged her father, cried in his arms before falling asleep again. It was the third day when she began to speak. She'd insisted on giving Aang a healing session herself, and also attempted to feed him the vegetable broth Orora had made.

Biting her lower lip, and hoping she wouldn't snap at her Orora asked again. "You feeling alright Katara?" The girl had paused, looking up from where she had been spooning the simple broth into Aang's mouth. They had to keep him fed somehow, and this was the best option.

Turning to look at Orora, Katara blinked. "I'm........not sure." She finally said. Her heart twinged at the look of utter devastation on Katara's face. "I have to keep reminding myself, that he's here. He's alive." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I-I nearly lost him Orora." Tears filled her eyes as she seemed to curl in on herself. "I nearly lost my Soulmate." She sobbed softly, pressing a hand to her mouth to muffle her cries.

Orora wrapped her arms around the other girl, lending her whatever comfort she could, even as her own heart lay broken in a hundred pieces. She didn't know who had it worse.

Katara who had actually seen her Soulmate die, or her, who's Soulmate did not hesitate in betraying her, turning her back to her.

As if he hadn't even cared about her.

When she had been on the verge of falling........

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Presently, smiling in a reassuring manner, Katara nodded. "I feel fine, and its all thank to you. You've really been a great help Orora." The older girl shrugged.

"Just trying to be useful." She said, before turning her eyes towards the water below. "I know you'll feel even better when Aang wakes up." Toph added, arms hanging over the side of the railing. Katara's expression morphed to one of worry, while Orora sighed.

"We all will." The girl said, pushing back the white patch of hair from her face. Katara's eyes landed on it as Sokka, dressed as a Fire Nation Soldier approached.

"You never told us how you got the white hair." Katara pointed out, to which Orora shrugged. "The Moon Spirit visited me." Her response was so nonchalant, as if she were commenting on the weather, that the rest of the three in their little group stared at her, dumbstruck.

"Do Spirits make a habit of visiting you? Is that why you sound so relaxed about it?" Toph finally asked, a bemused smile on her lips. "Moon Spirit? You mean Yue?! She visited you?" Sokka asked, more like demanded to know as he pushed Katara to the side to stand in front of Orora.

His sister give him an annoyed look which he completely ignored. Orora nodded. "It was after my Master was hurt, in that small village where we all met." They all nodded. "Well I was just feeling a little lost after that, and I questioned my own decision of staying rather then go with you guys."

She lifted her head to gaze at the cloudy night sky. The moon was probably hiding behind the clouds somewhere.

"I....prayed to the Spirits. I begged them to help guide me and suddenly Princess Yue just appeared in front of me. She gave me words of advice, touched my hair right here, and then she was gone. Since then my hair has been white."

Sokka hummed. "Just like how Yue's were because she was touched by the Moon Spirit too." Orora shrugged. "Yeah, but it doesn't make me special." Toph nudged her side. "Oh please, you're working on making an entirely new form of waterbending, don't be so modest. That's pretty special in my books."

Orora smiled at the girl. "You created a whole new form of bending, Toph. Pretty impressive for a scrawny little kid like you." She ruffled Toph's hair affectionately. Her noises of protest prompted Sokka and Katara to laugh, and Orora couldn't help but feel her heart swell.

It was a good thing she had so many people around her, distracting her in the best way possible. She was sure she would have succumbed to her more dark thoughts if they hadn't been there. Despite all that had happened, they still remained optimistic. Something that Orora sorely needed after what she had gone through in the catacombs.

Suddenly a commotion near the stairs had them all turning.

"Twinkle Toes! That's got to be you!" Toph called out before they had even turned. A bright smile pulled at Orora's lips at the sight of Aang standing there.

"Aang, you're awake!" Katara called out, as they all rushed to his side.

Aang rubbed his eyes. "Are you sure? I feel like I'm dreaming." He said, his voice still a little slurry with sleep.

Katara reached him first, wrapping him in a hug. "You're not dreaming. You're finally awake." She reassured him before stepping back.

"You gave us quite the scare kid." Orora added, giving him a brief hug as well. Aang stared around, still confused. And adding to that confusion, was the sight of Sokka in his new getup.

"Aang!" He said, his voice slightly muffled. "Good to see you back with the living, buddy!"

"Sokka?" He mumbled, body swaying and head heavy.

Toph straightened. "Uh-oh, somebody catch him!" She called out. "He's going to-" She'd barely finished when Aang collapsed to the ground. The small group crowded around him, with Orora checking his pulse while, Katara checked his pupils. "He just passed out." The older girl reassured everyone watching.

Appa grumbled as he walked forward. "Give Appa some room people!" Sokka called out, pushing everyone away so that the Bison could sniff at Aang. Maybe he sensed his friend was near, but Aang slowly opened his eyes and smiled at the Bison who nuzzled his big nose against Aang.

"Hey buddy, mind telling me whats going on here?"

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His eyes followed Mai as she finally walked off leaving him alone.

He knew it was his sister's doing. Trying to get Mai to distract him from what he had done to Uncle and..........Orora.

The bubble his and Mai's little outing in Ba Sing Se had created was popped the very next day when he had seen his Uncle being led away in chains. Even now he felt his heart clench in his chest. But that had been nothing compared to the image his mind had conjured the very next moment.

Orora.

Walking behind his Uncle.

Chains around her wrists and ankles.

Looking at him the way she had done in the catacombs.

It wasn't even real, and yet he had turned on his heel and marched off, sweating, panting as his heart beat wildly in his chest. It had taken him quite a while to calm down.

Now, he was standing on the ship that would take him home. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he had barely heard Mai approach him. She had responded to his words with a sarcastic comment and what would have been a kiss on the lips was shifted to one on the cheek when Zuko moved his head at the last moment.

She'd told him to stop worrying, before moving off.

Not at all helpful.

"Not exactly how I would handle things." A voice said next to him.

He opened his eyes to the sight of Orora sitting on the railing of the ship. His heart jumped at the sight of her, and yet he showed no other emotion.

After all, it was all in his head.

"What would you have said?" He finally asked.

She pursed her lips in the way he remembered when she was contemplating over something. "Would it have mattered?" She responded, looking right at him.

"You wouldn't have listened to me anyway."

He opened his eyes.

She was gone.

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The next morning, during breakfast, Sokka decided to sit Aang down and tell him of what he had missed since he had been hurt. Though while they waited for breakfast to be served, Aang walked over to Orora.

"Can I talk to you?" He asked. She frowned, but nodded, giving The Duke the ladle to scoop the noodles into bowls. Once they were a good ways away from the rest of the group, he turned to Orora, leaning on his staff.

"Katara told me what happened in the catacombs." Her shoulders stiffened. "And I guess its safe to assume that I'm the only one, who knows about......." He trailed off, looking at Orora. The girl sighed, closing her eyes as she did. "Yeah." She finally responded. "You're the only one. And I don't plan on telling anyone else."

Her eyes drifted to her finger where the string hung loose and limp. "I'm sorry." He said, his voice echoing with a sadness she would never associate with a boy who was always smiling. She shook her head. "It wasn't your fault. Fate only put us together as a cruel joke. What happened in Ba Sing Se has taught me that if you open your heart to someone who is your enemy, you only get stabbed in the back."

Once more, that strange lump formed in her throat, prompting her to swallow. "I'm just glad you're alright." She continued, smiling at him, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. Aang smiled back. "Katara also told me how you helped with the healing session when she couldn't."

Orora shook her head. "It was the least I could do." Glancing around to make sure no one was listening, she added. "After what happened, Katara sort of shut down. She was able to save you with the water from the Spirit Oasis, but even after that for a few days she barely ate, slept or left your side."

Aang bit his lower lip, glancing in the direction of his Soulmate as she chatted away with her brother. "I always feel so guilty, putting her in situations like that. Someone is always trying to hurt me, and she's always worried about me. I hate it. I hate that I worry her so much." He said with a scowl of frustration.

A brief silence.

"Well, I guess that just means we have to win this war, so that you're not in anymore danger and she can stop worrying about you." The older girl responded, to which Aang smiled and nodded. "You're right. Thanks Orora."

"Hey you two! Breakfast is getting cold!" Katara called out from where she sat. The waterbender and Avatar smiled at one another before joining the little group where Sokka had taken charge.

"After what happened at Ba Sing Se, we had to get you to safety. We flew back to Chameleon Bay where we found my father and the other Water Tribe men." Orora tried really hard not to think of that night, instead focusing on eating her breakfast.

Sokka continued. "The Earth King decided he wanted to travel the world in disguise, so he set off alone." He grinned. "Well, not completely alone."

Toph chuckled. "I wander how long it will take him to start missing someone buffing his cuticles." She muttered from where she sat next to Orora, who chuckled in response.

"Soon, the bay was overrun by Fire Nation ships. Rather than fight them all, we captured a single ship and made it our disguise. Since then we've been traveling west." He opened a map, pointing out their location. "We crossed through the Serpent's Pass a few days ago. We've seen a few Fire Nation ships, but none have bothered us."

Aang nodded. "So what now?" He asked to which Hakoda responded. "We've been working on a modified version of the invasion plan."

Katara, who had been silent till now, cut in. "It's Sokka's invasion plan."

Hakoda nodded, glancing at his daughter. "Yes, Sokka's plan. We won't be able to mount a massive invasion without the Earth King's armies, but the solar eclipse will still leave the Fire Nation vulnerable."

His son nodded before continuing. "So we're planning a smaller invasion. Just a ragtag team of our friends and allies from around the Earth Kingdom. We already ran into Pipsqueak and The Duke." Orora smiled at the sight of The Duke sitting atop Pipsqueak, slurping noodles.

"And the best part is, the eclipse isn't even our biggest advantage!" Looking a little too gleeful, Sokka lowered his voice to a whisper. "We have a secret!" He looked to both sides. "You!"

Aang blinked. "Me?"

Sokka nodded, grinning. "Yep, the whole world thinks you're dead! Isn't that great?" He added, standing up and raising his hands triumphantly in the air as if he had just won a prize. Orora, seeing the look of utter shock on Aang's face, reached out to grip Sokka's armor and yank him back down.

"Learn to read the room Sokka." She advised, as Aang began to pace around.

"The world thinks I'm dead?" He cried out. "How is that good news? That's terrible!"

Sokka, despite a warning look from Orora, stepped forward. "No, it's great! It means the Fire Nation won't be hunting us anymore! And even better, they won't be expecting you on the Day of Black Sun!"

The news only distressed Aang further. Humphing, Orora flicked her hand forward, encasing Sokka's mouth in a small mask of ice. The boy protested in a muffled voice but she only glared at him.

"Keep it shut Sokka! I told you not to bring all of that up." Her gaze flicked to Aang, leaving Sokka to struggle with the mask. Aang had to calm down, he might aggravate his wounds if he kept the pacing up.

"No, no, no, no, no. You have no idea." He said, burying his face in his hands. "This is so messed up!"

Before anyone could say anything, the sound of another ship's horn echoed across the water. Every eye turned to the ship approaching them.

Aang straightened up. "I'll handle this." He said, trying to stand up straight and opening his glider. "The Avatar is back." But then he paused, grunting in pain as sweat lined his forehead.

Katara approached him. "Aang, wait! Remember, they don't know we're not Fire Nation!" Teeth gritted, the injured Avatar put away his glider.

Hakoda stepped forward. "Everyone just stay calm. Bato and I will take care of this." The two of them walked off while Orora helped Aang get into one of the smaller square holes in the ship's deck. It was big enough to hide all of them.

"I hate not being able to do anything." Aang grumbled.

"Hopefully, you won't need to." Toph stated as they all succumbed to silence.

For five minutes.

The moment the Fire Nation began to depart, Toph emerged from the hole. "They know!" She called out, alerting everyone around her. Orora glanced at Katara, and the two girls nodded at one another.

"Sokka, keep Aang here." Katara told her brother. "On both our order." Orora added, glaring at Aang who pursed his lips in annoyance, watching as the two waterbenders raced off.

Meanwhile, Toph had metalbended the bridge between the ships. The captain and his guards fell into the water below. Racing to the edge, both Katara and Orora stood side by side creating a large wave which separated the two ships, creating a little distance between them.

Their ship raced off, with the other one in hot pursuit.

Standing at the railing, Orora raised her arms skyward, sending a wave of water towards the ship, trying to freeze it in place. But the ship's speed was too strong, and it crashed through the ice before it could hold it in place.

The girl frowned in frustration.

"Load the Toph!" Toph called out.

Pipsqueak dropped a boulder in front of Toph who began earthbending it at the attacking ship. One of the boulders hit a catapult as another one fired.

Seeing the fireball approach the ship, Orora quickly bent a huge bubble of water and once it was frozen solid, threw it in the air with the force of her entire body behind it. Her icy ammunition struck hard and fast, flickers of fire and ice shards flying through the air. With The Duke's guidance, Toph earthbended another piece of rock and sent it to intercept another oncoming fireball.

Suddenly their ship lurched, nearly sending Orora tumbling, but she steadied herself. Katara, who had been standing at the edge, noticed the harpoon at the side of the ship. She quickly froze the water to plug the hole.

"I'm gonna give us some cover!" She said, already going through the motions of creating a fog. "Orora!' She called out, though she didn't have to. Orora was mirroring Katara's motions and between the two of them, they were able to create a fog screen.

Another fireball flew through the air, this time taking out Toph's ammunition.

The fog dissipated, their plan failing. As two more fireballs arced through the air, Orora repeated her previous move, sending a ball of ice at one of the fireballs. Both of them exploded on collision. The other one struck their ship, setting it on fire.

Which was quickly extinguished by Katara.

"How are we doing?" Toph called out, to which Sokka responded.

"Things couldn't get much worse." No sooner had he finished saying those words when a Sea Serpent rose from the water near their ship. Every eye turned to look at the towering behemoth of a creature. Orora actually felt herself gulp in fear.

"The universe just loves proving me wrong, doesn't it?" Sokka called out in despair. "You make it too easy!" Despite the danger they were in, Toph couldn't help but take a shot at Sokka.

"Now is not the time Toph." Orora called out, already running to stand in front of her, to protect the younger girl if need be.

However, the serpent was hit by a fireball from the other ship. Turning it's wrath to the other ship, it wrapped itself around it, allowing their ship to escape.

As everyone stared in surprise, Sokka grinned, throwing his arms to the sky. "Thank you, the universe!" He called out. No sooner had the words ended when he found another ice mask covering his mouth.

He glared at Orora, who glared right back.

"Do not jinx it!" She growled, to which he huffed.

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This was not how he had envisioned returning to the Palace and sitting in front of the pond he had his mother had frequented for so long.

He hadn't thought he would be alone.

As he flicked some bread to the turtleducks, who fed upon it happily, a shadow enveloped him.

"You seem so downcast." His sister observed, arms crossed and that ever present cunning smile on her lips. "Has Mai gotten to you already?" The mention of the girl trying to distract him with her attention had him pursing his lips. "Though actually, Mai has been in a strangely good mood lately." She continued.

"I haven't seen Dad yet." Zuko finally revealed. "I haven't seen him in three years, since I was banished." His sister shrugged, not at all bothered. "So what?"

He looked up at her. "So, I didn't capture the Avatar."

Waving a careless hand, Azula circled around him. "Who cares? The Avatar is dead." Her statement prompted Zuko to look away. An act that Azula noticed as she frowned suspiciously. "Unless you think he somehow miraculously survived."

He remembered. He remembered the vial Katara had shown him. Water, that had special properties.

"No." He finally responded, after a rather long pause. "There's no way he could have survived." The two siblings glared at one another before Azula moved to walk away.

"Well, then I'm sure you have nothing to worry about." She said.

Suddenly she stopped. "Speaking of nothing to worry about." He did not like the tone she was using.

"Who exactly was that girl with the white hair? I don't believe she was traveling with the Avatar to be his companion." She looked over her shoulder. "Was she traveling with you and Uncle?"

A cold, dreadful feeling settled in his stomach.

She couldn't know the truth.

She didn't know the truth.

"She was.......a server from the tea shop that Uncle opened." He said, his response quick, his voice calm as it could be. He didn't even look in Azula's direction when he spoke, opting to instead throw more bread at the turtleducks.

If she couldn't see his face, then she wouldn't be able to discern the brief bout of fear he felt, at the thought of Azula finding out Orora's connection to him.

He knew his sister would not hold back in finding Orora and either throwing her in prison, or even killing her. "Nobody important."

"If you say so." Azula responded before walking off, not at all satisfied with her brother's response. She had her suspicions, had her sources of information, but she would not act on them. Not until she knew that Zuko would respond to being questioned about the girl.

Azula wanted to hurt her brother as much as she could.

Because if he had found his Soulmate before she had, then it wouldn't be fair now would it?

He couldn't have all their Mother's love and a Soulmate's love too.

Not when she had neither.

Zuko watched as his sister disappeared, heaving a sight of relief.

"Nobody important huh?" The voice prompted him to look up to see Orora standing over him. The look she wore had him on the defense. "I said what I did to protect you. I had to convince her. You don't know what she's capable of." He responded, despite the fact that he knew she was just a figment of his imagination.

Orora simply stared at him. "Who were you really trying to convince Zuko? Your sister, or yourself?"

He blinked and she was gone.

                                         ————————–

The dinner on shore had lifted their spirits. Orora was actually laughing by the time she walked the ship's plank and onto the deck. It was just her, Toph and Sokka. Katara had returned earlier with some fresh food for Aang.

"Aang's gone!"

Katara's frantic cry had the smiles wiping from their lips. She approached them, eyes wide and frantic. "We need to go after him. I suspect he's gone towards the Fire Nation to face the Fire Lord alone!"

Toph's sightless eyes widened. "Is he crazy!? He's still hurt!" Sokka quickly stepped forward. "All of you gather as many supplies as you can, we're going after him."

Despite the urgency of the situation Orora paused. "We?" She echoed as Toph and Katara raced off. Sokka, who had paused at her question gave a smile of reassurance and patted her shoulder. "You've more then earned your place on our Team Orora. Besides, we still have that spot open just for you." He grinned at her.

She knew they had to depart urgently, and yet she couldn't help it as she threw her arms around him in a tight embrace. "Thank you." She spoke softly into his shoulder. Sokka returned the embrace a little before pulling away, blushing a little as he did.

"There will be time for hugs later, now go get your things." Nodding the girl raced off.

They had all clambered atop Appa within the hour and after Sokka had given last minute instructions to his father, they departed with promises to meet on the day oft he Invasion.

"How're we going to find him though? He could be anywhere!" Toph said as Appa flew through the air towards a cluster of clouds as they gathered over the horizon.

Orora's eyes darted to look at Katara, who was looking at the finger where her string was tied. While Sokka responded how they just had to follow a specific direction, she quickly slid next to the other girl.

"Its alright, you don't have to tell anyone anything." She said, trying to alleviate the guilt Katara felt at keeping such a big secret to herself. "I can find him if I guide Appa." She turned her head to look at the approaching storm with a frown of concern. "I'll be a little busy so you'll have to keep a bubble around us, to protect us from the rain."

Orora nodded in understanding.

"Leave it to me."

The storm was brutal when it hit. Thunder boomed and lightning flashed as Appa soared through the air. The waves from the sea crashing beneath them rose so high they brushed against the bison's feet.

And yet they continued onward.

With Katara on Appa's head, holding the reins. Sokka was in the back, doing his best to keep Toph and Momo from falling off. As well as all their supplies. Orora stood in the center, a rope tied around her waist that connected her to the saddle as she moved her arms in a continuous circular motion to keep the protective bubble around them. Appa was struggling to fly, the wind from the storm pushing their bubble around. But it was the only way for them to know where they were going.

After what seemed like hours, the rain finally let up and the clouds began to clear. Once only a small trickle was left, Orora stopped her bending and all but collapsed onto the saddle. She felt Sokka and Toph quickly reach her side with the former offering her a satchel of water. She gulped down the entire content of it.

"You alright Orora?" Katara called over her shoulder as moonlight began to filter through the clouds. Orora nodded as she slowly sat up.

"Yeah, I'm fine I just......." She trailed off. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open at the sight that greeted her.

"Yue." She whispered at the ethereal figure floating alongside them. The name prompted Sokka and Katara to whip around to try and look for her. "I don't see anything." Sokka finally said, to which Yue smiled sadly at him.

"He won't be able to see me." She said, her gentle voice echoing around them. "Then how can I see you?" Orora asked, prompting the other three to halt in their movements to listen to her one-sided conversation.

"Because I choose you to." The Moon Spirit responded, reaching out to gently caress Orora's white hair. Just as she had done all those months ago. "You said all I had to do was follow my heart, that it would never lead me astray." The girl suddenly burst out, to which Princess Yue smiled sadly.

"Everything happens for a reason Orora." Gently cupping the girl's face she pressed a kiss to her forehead as a sign of blessing. "Do not loose hope, dear one. Trust fate. Trust your friends. Trust your heart. Trust yourself."

Her wise eyes lifted to look at Sokka who was staring at Orora in disbelief and hope. "Tell Sokka that I'm happy that he has found his Soulmate."

She started to move away, slowly fading from view. "Look towards a new day with renewed hope Orora." Her voice faded away as the sun peaked over the horizon.

Appa continued to fly, while everyone stared at Orora in utter disbelief.

"Orora?" Katara called out, worried for her friend, who hadn't turned around yet. Suddenly Orora's shoulders stiffened and she leaned forward, nearly falling off the saddle.

"Look!" She called out, pointing towards a small island volcano. Though they were still a ways away from it, there was no denying the figure that lay on the shore.

"Its Aang!" Sokka called out as Katara changed their course. Momo had already taken off, and was the first one to reach Aang, licking his face as he did. Moments later Appa landed on the shore, with all four of the children scrambling off and running towards Aang.

"You're okay!" Katara cried, relief evident in her tone as she threw her arms around him. None of them hesitated in following suit, coming together for a group hug that had Orora briefly believing what Princess Yue had just told her.

Once they broke apart, Aang inhaled deeply. "I have so much to do." He said, sounding every bit as the thirteen year old boy he was.

Katara nodded. "I know, but you'll have our help."

Toph gently hit his shoulder. "You didn't think you could get out of training just by coming to the Fire Nation, did you?"

Aang smiled at his friend. "What about the invasion?" He asked, turning to look at Sokka.

The boy shook his head. "We'll join up with my dad and the invasion force the day of the eclipse."

Sighing in relief, Aang smiled at Orora. "So you finally decided to take the spot huh?" Orora smiled back at him, reaching up to ruffle his new hair. "Well you need someone as bossy as Katara around don't you? I couldn't let her handle all three of you alone." The group shared a laugh.

Toph turned. "Hey! What's...." She trailed off when she realized that it was Aang's damaged staff she had felt as it washed ashore. "Oh, it's your glider." She said, handing it over to him.

Aang shook his head. "It's okay. If someone saw it, it would give away my identity." Though it burdened his heart to say so, he knew it was for the best. "It's better for now that no one knows I'm alive."

He flew up with his glider one final time and stuck it in the semi-solid lava. The delicate wood instantly caught fire, but Aang did not look back as he rejoined his friends and they departed.

                                          ————————–

Zuko slammed the door behind him as he entered his room.

His mind was spinning with all that had just happened.

With all that he had just discovered.

His father was proud of him. He had his father's love again. He had his honor back. He had his title, his home, everything.

All because of a lie.

A lie his sister had told their father.

A lie that wove a story of how he, Zuko, had been the one to kill the Avatar.

"Azula always lies." He whispered to himself, as he stared around his empty room. "She always lies."

He knew she was there before he even turned.

"And yet, you believed everything she said in the catacombs." Amber eyes clashed with a familiar icy blue.

She stood in the center of his room, cool and calm, as was the norm for her. "What if the Avatar is alive?" He whispered, even though he was the only one in the room. Orora frowned. "His name is Aang and if he is, then there is still hope for the world." Her expression softened, prompting him to feel a little annoyed at her.

"Hope is for those who have nothing else to live for." He responded with venom in his voice, not at all mirroring what he really felt. She fixed him with an emotionless expression.

"People always find something to live for Zuko. Hope is what pushes them to find that something." She walked to stand in front of him, head tilted back to look at him properly.

"I found my source of hope and lost it. But I quickly found a new one."

They stared at one another.

"Have you found yours?"

He blinked and she was gone, leaving him feeling more alone then he ever had in his life.

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Tag List - @wavesofchaos​ @violet-potter​ @rennysketch​ @emma-andrea1 @lovesammikinzz @fuzzyfestcat @msrawog @notsaelty @lust-for-pan @aces-tattooartist @jinxxangel13 @lotr-got @bitterspoons @realrintaro @gatorgirl151 @inutheangel @heartfully10 @lucaaahhh @juniper-july19 @anuttellaa @gfksz @bussyvussy @punksnotdeadbutiam @ablofftoneverland-blog-blog @slut-for-menn @vyliie @army-moa75

[i-wanna-die-like-now]

Dp x bnha headcanons part 2! Or just weirdly specific things I see happening, idk just my thoughts on stuff.

Tsuyu gets super sleepy around Danny because of his ice powers and almost always struggles with being directly next to him, unlike Todoroki he doesn't have a warm side she can stick to.

Iida almost breaks down when Danny refused to listen to his rules by clicking on his aids (suppression for his sensitive hearing) Bakugou on the other hand finds it hilarious and takes to turning his own aids off when he no longer wants to listen.

Sato invites Danny to his weekly “sugar time” to teach him how to bake as a favour, Danny is surprisingly good at it and eventually him and Sato work together to include ectoplasm into their baking (without it coming to life) so Danny could top up his energy.

^^Bakugou refuses to let Danny near him when he cooks because of that very reason, he'd seen what his ectoplasm can do to food, he does still cook for him on occasion because he's never seen anyone savour his food the way Danny does! It most definitely goes to his head. Danny savours the food because 1. His parents can't cook to save their life. 2. Bakugous food is so much better than any type of take out and 3. He never knows when his next proper meal will be back home and is taking full advantage.

Danny goes to Hatsume for help with making a Fenton thermos (just in case) and she falls in love with the blueprints because what in the world was that layout, it's a mess that she finds thrilling to decipher it. Actually talking to Danny she realizes that no its not a mess he just has ADHD and can't write it down in a way anyone but him understood. (Danny is a genius and you can't convince me otherwise, he just has untreated ADHD 😭)

When Toga drinks Danny's blood her body has trouble with picking what form she changes into and they merge together, eyes changing and flashing in between green and blue and her hair being a mix of black and white. Her face almost looks exactly like Danny but something is off, his eyes are a little too big, his ears are a mix of pointed and normal and his skin has blotches of tan skin and deathly pale. She is fascinated with his green blood though and really wants to taste it, when she finally does get to it burns her tongue and throat and leaves her craving more. (If she separated the ectoplasm from the blood, which is virtually impossible, she'd be able to use the blood for Fenton and ectoplasm for Phantom. Because its the same DNA her quirk registers it as one person when mixed together and that's what causes them to blend)

Stain on the other hand would hate the taste and then finds out his quirk doesn't actually work on him properly, it makes his body heavy and very hard to move but it doesn't paralyze him completely because of the ectoplasm. He also definitely sees the potential Danny has.

Danny info dumps about space to everyone and everything at any chance he can, someone asks a question that shows they have a mild interest in the subject and he's off like a rocket. Izuku joins in with his own info dumping about heroes and their quirks, it somehow merges together and they start talking about space quirks and space themed heros.

Uraraka brings up sending him to space with her quirk halfway through a disagreement and Danny straight up drops it and asks her is she would. "Don't worry I can survive if I'm in my ghost form, it's for science! Hey- No wait don't walk away!" He ends up moping around for a whole week after and when Aizawa asked why he loses 5 years off his life. "Please don't ask your classmates to try and kill you." "But sir I'm already dea-" "get out!"

He duplicates himself so he can hold both of Eris hands to swing her, Eri loves to try and figure out which one is the original and she's surprisingly good at it.

Todoroki uses his fire side to help with Danny's chronic pain, after a while it becomes a habit to hold hands and all their spare time they're glued to eachother, neither of them are complaining.

[quillthrillswriting]

sooo.... anyone else ever wondered how different ATLA would have been if aang had been frozen at age 16 instead of age 12?

yeah... me too 😌 my new fanfic "the teenager in the iceberg" follows the events of the show, but with only aang aged up, while everyone else remains their canon age.

also...cmon....how funny is it to switch zuko and aang's iconic dialogue to "you're just a teenager!" "...so are you?"

enjoy the excerpt from (the upcoming) third chapter!! updates every wednesday!!

⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩

Aang led the way through the temple, and Katara winced at every single skeleton that lined the halls of the stone pathways carved through the sacred building. Aang couldn’t look at them, didn’t let himself look at them. Katara didn’t blame him for it. She hadn’t been able to look at the handful of bodies left after every Fire Nation raid, and yet, here were the bodies of all of his people, his entire culture. 

She was snapped out of her spiralling train of thought by the screech of stone against stone as Aang funnelled air through a complex looking lock system, the gears driving it creaking from disuse. Sokka and Katara flinched, but Aang stayed still. 

The door opened to hundreds, if not thousands, of stone statues, gazing unflinchingly back at them.

Sokka dropped into a defensive position out of habit, as if the statues would lunge toward them at any minute, and Katara just rolled her eyes and giggled at her brother, pushing past him as she stepped towards the statues in awe. Weaving between them, she stopped at one of a woman with traditional water tribe clothing that made her heart twist with homesickness. She felt Aang standing behind her, his exposed chest through his one-shoulder robes radiating heat in a way that made her face flush with colour.

He reached up over her to brush a finger against the statue’s delicately carved hair. “She has your little…hair thingies.”

Somewhat unconsciously, she reached up to brush her own loops of hair, grazing the white bone-beads with her ring finger. “I didn’t realise the great Avatar paid attention to things like that.”

A teasing smile spread across Aang’s lips. “I think you’ll find that I’m a very attentive person.” He said the words innocently enough, but the way honey seemed to wrap around every syllable caught Katara off guard, sending warmth spreading down her spine as she momentarily forgot how to speak.

Aang grinned again, looking as though he was about to add something, before a chittery, squeaking noise echoed through the room, bouncing between statues. “What was that?” Sokka yelped, jumping away from the statue whose armour and sword he had been examining. The screech of metal against stone sounded from somewhere on Sokka’s side of the room, and both Katara and Aang quickly wove between statues to join him, all three tensing.

From between the statues, the sound got louder, and a helmet dragged between the sculptures, moving haphazardly as it scraped against the floor.

“GHOSTIE!” Sokka yelped, jumping backwards as he pointed an accusatory finger at the helmet. Katara stayed silent, visibly pale. Aang looked back at the two of them, then faced the helmet again. He stepped through those same strange airbending forms, his movement ending with the sharp expulsion of wind from his fist. The helmet blew away, clattering against the stone, revealing….

⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩

♥ check out the two chapters of this (ongoing) fic & my ao3 here! ->

[zennybearr]

Lucius and Narcissa finding out their pregnant with our favorite Malfoy Princess

the moonlight cast a silvery glow across the malfoy manor, illuminating the grand hallways adorned with portraits of ancestors who had watched over their family for generations. lucius malfoy paced the drawing room, his thoughts racing. the heavy drapes were drawn back, allowing the pale light to spill into the room, creating an almost ethereal atmosphere.

narcissa sat in a plush armchair by the fire, her delicate fingers resting on the lace of her gown. she gazed into the flames, lost in thought. it had been a few weeks since she had felt something unusual, a flicker of hope that seemed to whisper in the quiet moments. she could see it reflected in the flicker of the fire—an image that had begun to take root in her mind.

“lucius,” she called softly, breaking the silence. he turned to her, sensing the weight of her gaze. “i need to tell you something.”

he approached, his brow furrowed with concern. “what is it, my dear?”

narcissa took a deep breath, her heart racing. “i think… i think i might be pregnant.”

lucius felt time stand still. the words hung in the air, full of unspoken possibilities. “are you certain?” he asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and elation.

narcissa nodded, her eyes shining. “i took a potion, and i believe it has worked.”

as the realisation washed over him, lucius’s face broke into a smile. he knelt beside her, taking her hands in his. “a child? a malfoy heir?”

narcissa’s heart fluttered at the thought. “or a daughter—a little malfoy princess,” she mused, her voice tinged with excitement.

lucius’s imagination sparked to life, conjuring visions of their future. “can you picture it? our daughter, with your beautiful blonde hair and those striking eyes.” he smiled, a mix of pride and love flooding through him. “she would be enchanting, captivating everyone she meets.”

narcissa’s lips curved into a smile, her own imagination soaring. “imagine her in the gardens, playing among the roses, her laughter filling the air. she would be a true lady, graceful and strong.”

“and just like her mother, she would have a fierce spirit,” lucius added, his voice thick with admiration. “she would carry our legacy with pride, a malfoy through and through.”

narcissa leaned forward, her excitement bubbling over. “and think of the magic she would wield. with both our blood, she could be exceptionally powerful. she would be a force to be reckoned with.”

lucius’s mind raced, conjuring scenarios of family gatherings and tea parties filled with laughter. “perhaps we could host grand events, where she could be introduced to the elite of the wizarding world, each suitor vying for her attention.”

narcissa laughed, her eyes sparkling. “or we could teach her to be discerning, to choose her friends wisely and not simply be swayed by appearances.”

“yes,” lucius agreed, a proud smile on his face. “she would be educated, tutored in the ways of our family and the world beyond. she will know our history and understand the weight of the malfoy name.”

they shared a moment of silence, their minds racing with the beautiful future ahead. narcissa envisioned evenings spent reading to their daughter, teaching her the importance of loyalty and family. “she will know love, lucius, and the strength of our bond.”

“and when the time comes, i will be there to protect her,” lucius vowed, his voice steady and resolute. “no harm will come to our little princess. i will ensure she grows up knowing her worth and the power she holds.”

as the fire crackled, casting dancing shadows around the room, lucius and narcissa sat together, hands intertwined, dreaming of their future filled with the laughter of a child. in that moment, they felt an unbreakable bond forming not just between themselves but also with the life they would soon bring into the world.

the thought of their little malfoy princess filled them with hope and joy, igniting their imaginations with endless possibilities. no longer were they just lucius and narcissa; they were about to embark on the greatest adventure of all—parenthood.