#and now he can't even be practically dead in peace what the HELL is the point

[songmingisthighs]

Wanbelyn

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

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ch. lxxx - broken face

neurosurgeon!hongjoong × reader

genre : dad!au

rating : mature; crude jokes and filthy language

wc : 2.3 k

buy me coffee ?

where love and peace is held, i never expected for this to happen. i planned and i planned, i expected, and i hoped, but it was never you. you held what i wanted hostage to make room for you, the thing that i needed but has no means of acceptance. deny me, live your best life.

To say that you rushed into the gym was an understatement because you practically flew through the door, almost breaking it in the process. You even ignored San who was beaming when he saw you, trying to go in for a hug only for you to push past him whilst yelling 'SORRY, MY BABY NEEDS ME MORE'. Hell, you didn't even take notice of Yeosang who had to console San for being ignored by you.

When you got to the classroom, your eyes zeroed in on the very familiar tuft of hair and not because of the fact that he was the only one there.

In a flash, you dropped to your knees and cupped Kijoong's face who was surprised when he was suddenly spun around. "Kijoong, are you okay?" you asked worriedly, the first aid kit you had hauled with you left on the floor as you tried to look for signs that his face was, as San said, broken, "Did you fight with someone?" you asked, still looking for signs of injury.

Now fully realizing that you were there with him. Kijoong grinned widely and jumped into your arms, wrapping his own shorter ones around your neck and trying to climb you like a tree. It was then that you realized that Kijoong was perfectly fine and perhaps you had fallen so absolutely stupidly to San's words. You risked getting a speeding ticket only to see that Kijoong was perfectly fine and that confused you more than anything. "Kijoong, did you get hurt?" you asked again, still wanting to make sure as it would greatly affect how dead Choi San would be. Instead of telling you if he was okay, Kijoong proceeded to tell you about what he had been learning in school and in class with San.

In a state of confusion, the door opened and at first you thought that it was San which would have been nice since that would mean that you could spare his staff from seeing the strangling of a lifetime. So it took you by surprise when you saw Hongjoong standing there, looking as surprised as you.

"(y/n)?" God, it had been a while since you heard him call your name, "What are you doing here?" he asked, confused but slightly hopeful for some reason. "I- San told me Kijoong got hurt and I got here as fast as I could. What are you doing here?" "Picking Kijoong up?" that was stupid of you to ask and you really wanted to kick yourself for that. "But also, San told me Kijoong got in a fight with a kid and I needed to sign an incident report? I just saw him outside, he told me to get the story from Kijoong first so I came here." As if on cue, after Hongjoong was done explaining his being there, the door suddenly closed and locked, surprising you and Hongjoong yet again.

Just as you rushed to try to open the door, Yeosang's head popped up from the small window with San above him. "Kang Yeosang, what the hell do you think you're doing?" you hissed, trying to open the door which of course didn't happen as it was locked. "I did nothing, San was the one who locked you in," he smiled innocently only to receive a smack on the shoulder from San. You turned your attention to San and glared at him, "You have exactly 5 seconds to open this door, Choi San, I'm not kidding I will whoop you," you threatened, oblivious that Hongjoong was looking at you with amusement and affection, as if you were the most adorable being on earth and it didn't go unnoticed by your two friends outside. "You can't scare me (y/n)," San was lying straight out of his ass but he had to keep the facade to ensure that the plan would work, "You two need to talk things out and reverse the divorce because Yeosang and I have created a gaming group chat with Yunho and Mingi and I'm not about to give that up especially since we're going into a competition soon and we want you both to be there!" "Bye (y/n)! Have a good talk!" and with that, both Yeosang and San walked away, leaving you in a room with the guy whom you harboured feelings for but unfortunately had to repress for the sake of his son.

"So..." Hongjoong started, clearing his throat, "Seems like we were lied to, huh?" he stated the obvious. Sighing, you turned around to look at Hongjoong but kept your distance by leaning against the door, "Yeah, seems like it and I have a feeling those two were not the only ones in on this," you huffed. Hongjoong only chuckled as he managed to put two and two together rather quickly.

"How have you been though?" he asked. You didn't know how to answer that because from professional aspect, you were finally getting back on track and you were happy with that. But emotional-wise? You've been repressing everything to the point that you were functioning like a robot in real life, using work as a distraction. Little did you know, Hongjoong wasn't faring any better but he had to kept things going for him as best as he could because Kijoong was depending on him to be okay. You were about to answer when he interjected, "Because I haven't been fine since you left." It genuinely surprised you that Hongjoong was the one to reveal his feelings first. From your experience, something dramatic had to happen between the two of you first before he came clean about how he was actually feeling. The honesty felt refreshing.

"Neither have I," you answered, sending him a sad smile.

Though it was a sad realization for the two of you, Hongjoong couldn't help but feel butterflies in his stomach when he found out that you were as much as not okay as he had been.

"I missed you. Home is not home when you're not there," Hongjoong confessed, voice slightly shaky as he was trying his hard to not be too emotional. Your shoulders slumped hearing that, feeling bad that Hongjoong felt like that and thought it wasn't your fault exactly, you still feel somewhat at fault.

The two of you were so focused on each other that you completely missed the way Kijoong was staring at the two of you with furrowed eyebrows and a displeased expression. You only took notice of him again when he ran up to you and hit you on the hip with a balled fist. "No!" He exclaimed loudly, surprising both you and Hongjoong who immediately chastised him. "Kijoong!" he called out but Kijoong went for another hit and that was when Hongjoong swooped down to hold Kijoong back but Kijoong was straining against him, trying to get another hit on you. "Hey, no!" Hongjoong tried his best to keep Kijoong from trying to hurt you again but the boy was still going wild in his arms. "No!" Kijoong screamed again, louder this time as he tried his best to get his fists to reach you.

After coddling him due to your own self-blaming, you decided to step in and get to the bottom of the issue. You joined in and crouched in front of Kijoong, holding both of his hands in your own. "Use your words," you stated, looking straight into Kijoong's eyes. Kijoong noticed the serious tone in your voice and he felt something in him, something that didn't make him feel good. He managed to slip one hand out of your grasp and swung, successfully hitting you in the head much to Hongjoong's horror. As the parent, Hongjoong was about to haul Kijoong up and out one way or another so he wouldn't hurt you anymore but you didn't falter. Instead, you simply grabbed his loose hand and held it at the front. "Use your words Kim Kijoong, you know you can," you stressed, maintaining eye contact with him.

Kijoong's chest began heaving and you thought he was about to scream at you but the first thing he did was burst into tears. The sound of his son bawling made Hongjoong let go in worry, wanting to immediately calm him down but he was stopped from taking action when Kijoong spoke up, "Why you left? You left and you made daddy sad," he cried out while trying to get you to let go of his hands but you kept them firm, "Kijoong, what did you mean by that?" you asked, your voice sounding less harsh but it still had an element of seriousness to it. Through tears and sobs, Kijoong looked to you and then to his dad, and then to you again before attempting to speak even though it looked like he was struggling, "Y-you said you leave when I don't need you a-and you ma-de daddy sad," he told you.

Though his words were simple and rather vague, you immediately realize what he was trying to tell you. You did tell him that you would only leave when he no longer needed you and you did tell him that you cared for him and his dad. So obviously in his simple mind, when you did leave when he still needed you and when Hongjoong had to deal with the absence of you, he blamed you. It didn't help that you already blamed yourself for Kijoong's episodes and the decision to leave them, hearing what Kijoong had to say made your heart break.

You were about to apologize and acknowledge that you messed up when Hongjoong grabbed Kijoong and turned around to face him, "Hey, you can't blame (y/n) like that, Kijoong. (y/n) didn't leave us, she was giving us time because she was scared that you'd get sick again, remember? Remember when you had another episode and then again?" Kijoong nodded, remembering both times he had an episode around you, "You remember what you told Uncle Mingi? You remember telling him you didn't want (y/n) to be your mommy because then she'd leave me?" again, Kijoong nodded, his mind clearing up as his sobs died down slowly. "(y/n) is not like your mom, Kijoong. Your mom... She was sick so she decided to go, she couldn't be anyone's mommy and yes, that made me sad but I'm no longer sad about mommy being gone because I had (y/n)." Though Hongjoong was talking to his son, you couldn't help but think that he was probably also talking to you, telling you how he felt about you and how serious he was about his feelings. "I was happy when she was around but then you got sick so we agreed that you should get better first and yes, that made me sad, but that was not (y/n)'s fault, that was my fault too. I'd rather be sad for a long time than to see you sick again and (y/n) also thinks the same way. We didn't want to be apart but we thought we had to."

Hongjoong didn't realize that he was starting to cry too until Kijoon reached up to wipe the tears off of his face. "I'm sorry daddy, sorry for being sick," he sniffled, now thinking that his dad was sad partially because of him. But Hongjoong immediately shook his head and pulled Kijoong into a tight embrace, "You silly little monkey, you don't ever apologize for being sick, okay? You can't help being sick, you have no say in that," then he pulled away, "But you have a say in letting people into your, into our lives, you hear me?"

It was then that Hongjoong turned his attention to you, seeing you looking at him so sadly. A small smile appeared on Hongjoong's face as he reached a hand to softly take yours, immediately rubbing his thumb gently on the back of your hand. "And I want you in our lives (y/n). The distance between us confirmed my feelings that it was never the proximity that affected my feelings for you, it was never the fact that we were simply in each other's lives. I didn't choose to have feelings for you but I was gifted the ability to develop feelings for you because it was you, it had to be you. I don't want to force you nor do I want to pressure you, but I really want you back in my life. You heard what Kijoong sad, I was sad without you," You couldn't help but chuckle and tried to look away when you felt a tear fell from your eye from being reunited with the father and son duo once again, remembering how much you silently miss them but not being able to know if you should approach them again only to know that both of them were missing you too. Seeing the tear, Kijoong reached out again and this time, he wiped the tear off of your face. It may seem stupid, but that moment made you feel like it was proof that Kijoong didn't have anything against you, not anymore at least and you didn't know how to feel about that.

"So, can you find it in yourself to come back to us?" Hongjoong asked, hopeful but he was still allowing you to make a decision.

Your shoulders slumped and you let out an exhale. You took a moment to look at Hongjoong and then at Kijoong, remembering all the good times with them and then also the bad times. The bad times that brought so many emotions and even some trauma back. As much as you were reluctant to give an answer right then and there, you knew you had to because if not then, then you would just postpone and risk ruining things further.

This is going to seem mean, but...

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[angularbean]

Cupid's Chokehold [Adam x Fallen Angel! Reader]

"My bitch's hotter than yours."

Word spreads around heaven like wildfire, it doesn't help how big mouthed Adam is. Which he argues is one of his best qualities, among varies of other things; he would say with a wink.

The winners couldn't help but be baffled how Adam managed to snag a pretty thing like you. You were practically the epitome of an angel. He was just, well, Adam.

Ethereal and graceful. Almost always perfect. Almost.

To him, Adam loved you most when you weren't. He loved when strands of hair are out of place. He'd purposely rustle your hair to fuck with you. Not because it reminded him of certain activities; yeah that's exactly why and he knew it.

You always remained calm and collected, but the few times you let your emotions go haywire, Adam reveled in it. Ooh, especially when you got mad. He loved to rile you up. Always purposely trying to upset you, though never serious, he couldn't help it. The way your brows furrowed, eyes glaring, jaw clenched, wings fluffed up... it was always a looong night when you fought.

He especially loved how you looked when you woke up.

So disheveled, imperfect.

Hair frizzed and tussled. Your eyes clouded with sleep. The pretty, little night gown you would wear to sleep falling off your shoulders. He was no better than a sinner.

"Your tits look amazing, babe."

Adam wiggled his brows which earned a soft smack to his shoulder.

Oddly enough, the two of you were almost polar opposites. You were a free thinker; often challenging Heaven's morals. Adam, the commander of the well hidden Exorcists, liked the way Heaven ran.

When Adam's loose lips revealed the extermination plot and you were furious. Much to the dismay to Adam, but doing wonders for his hormones.

You challenged Sera. Heaven is supposed to be peaceful and pure. What they were doing to those poor sinners was wrong. The rest of Heaven should be made aware of this ploy. You threaten Sera; to blow her little operation wide open.

"Do you wish to be cast out just as Lucifer?"

Sera challenged, her voice calm, but the anger in her eyes apparent. Nothing more was said. You wouldn't accept this.

You made your way to the little home you and Adam shared. He had been carelessly lounging on the couch when you announced withdrawal from Heaven.

Adam quickly sat up, spitting out whatever he had been drinking.

"What the fuck? Do you have shit for brains, babe?”

He grabbed your hand leading you to his lap, motioning for you to sit. Which you hesitantly did.

"I know you don't like this, sugar tits, but you don't have to like it. You just have to let it happen. Just stay here with me."

He moved to press a kiss to your cheek. His lips met your hand instead.

"I can't stand by this, Adam. It's not right."

You stood, turning away from him. "I have to leave."

But that was eons ago.

You still loved Adam, and he you. Despite your differences, your love still managed to bloom. He'd visit you in Hell as much as possible, especially on the eve of the exterminations.

The angel missed you, more than he would ever admit. He wished you would just come back to Heaven with him, but he respected your wishes; much to his dismay. That's what he loved about you. How strong-willed you are, always standing for what you believe is right.

Adam always tried to make it up to you. Even though he was more than trilled to execute extermination day; he hated the way they made you feel. Muttering "I'm sorry"'s as he peppered kisses on your skin.

He usually never laid hands on a sinner if it was possible, he even lowered the death quotas.

"It wouldn't be fun with them all dead, now would it? Dumbass."

Up in Heaven, the winners were absolutely baffled at yours and Adam's relationship. Opposites attract, I guess. But it was still a little fucking weird. The chokehold you had on that angel was insane; and he didn't want to be let go.

While away, Adam always had an excuse to bring you up. You were his precious little "angel" after all. He even carried a provocative polaroid of you in his wallet. Adam had absolutely no need for one, he could get whatever he wanted for no price. The wallet carried nothing but a picture of you.

Mid conversation, he'd pull out his wallet and whip out the photo of you.

"Hot as fuck right? Can't wait to tap that later."

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

my first adam fic, hope y'all enjoyed! sorry if it's bit ooc(,:

[rainforestakiie]

Adamsapple Month Harvest

Sweaters~

@adamsappleweek

this will have a part 2 much later! i ran out of time and need to get going! i thought i could get it done in time, but nope! i might be able to write a little during my vacation but can't promise anything! i will be back sometime around the 8th of October!

thank you everyone and hope you like what i have written for harvest so far!

Part 01 - Part 02

Adam would never admit it to a living soul—hell, not even a dead one. Never. But he had a peculiar talent, a secret skill woven into the fibres of his very being. He could knit. Stitch. Weave. It wasn’t just something he did for his children and grandchildren back on Earth; no, even in Heaven, where time was endless, he found his hands restless, creating. Scarves, mittens, sweaters, coats—each one a masterpiece crafted in the shadows. He loved it, revelled in seeing what his fingers could create, but it was a skill he buried deep, wrapped in shame. It wasn’t manly, not for the first man, the father of humanity, to be doing something so... soft. So, he hid it, tucked it away like a forbidden treasure. No one could ever see. Adam’s hands might have shaped the destiny of mankind, but they would never be seen knitting by the fireside in public.

But then Hell happened.

After the battle, everything shifted. He woke, gasping for air, his body weak, his vision clouded like a newborn fumbling through its first moments of life. The taste of dirt and blood clung to his tongue as he clawed his way out of the grave he'd been tossed into, scrambling like a beast toward the faint outline of a dumpster. Hell's atmosphere—thick, stifling, and bitter—pressed down on him, and when his golden eyes finally adjusted, he realized just how far he had fallen.

The Hazbin Hotel loomed in the distance; its massive red eye glaring down at him like some twisted sentinel of judgment. His wings—once radiant gold and silver—hung limp at his sides, dull, useless. Panic wrapped its icy fingers around his chest, his heart thudding painfully against his ribs. He wasn’t just Adam, the first man anymore. He was a Sinner. One of them. A walking target, prey for the vile creatures who hunted for sport in this wretched pit. His skin tingled with the rawness of fear, a sensation he hadn’t felt since Eden. He was the first man, but now... now he was nothing more than a hunted thing.

Crawling, desperate, he dragged himself toward the gates of the hotel. It wasn’t like he had a choice. There was nowhere else to go, no one else to turn to. That bizarre rainbow-haired girl and the smug bastard who ran the place—they’d help him, wouldn’t they? They had to. After all, wasn’t their whole pathetic mission about redeeming Sinners? Forgiveness and second chances, all that righteous crap? His trembling hands gripped the iron bars of the gate as he hauled himself up, eyes wide and staring at the tower before him.

But then he hesitated, his heart skipping a beat. Something... felt wrong. A cold shiver danced up his spine, his instincts screaming at him to stop. Think, his mind whispered. He could seek refuge here, but that smug, pompous devil—Lucifer—would take great pleasure in seeing him suffer. Adam could practically see that sharp, wicked grin, those cruel eyes glinting with amusement as he tortured him, making him grovel, forcing him to bow at his feet like a broken dog. The mere thought made Adam’s stomach churn. His hands tightened around the bars, knuckles whitening as a bitter frown twisted his face.

Lucifer had already taken everything from him once—his paradise, his peace—and now, he would undoubtedly come for his soul, trapping him in some wretched contract like a puppet on strings. Adam could feel it, deep in his bones, and it made his skin crawl. He wasn’t about to let that smug bastard have the satisfaction. Not again. He was done being a pawn, done letting others dictate his fate.

Blinking, his golden eyes fixed once more on the hotel. No. He wouldn’t grovel. He wouldn’t beg for their scraps of mercy. He didn’t need them. He didn’t need anyone. He would carve his own path, as he had done before, back when he was cast out of Eden. He’d find his way here, too, in this infernal nightmare. Hell couldn’t be worse than the world above had been, could it? He was Adam, the first man—he could survive anything. He would survive this.

His stomach twisted with unease as he stepped away from the gate, his gaze turning toward the sprawling hellscape of Pentagram City. The air was thick, smoky, suffocating, but he breathed it in deeply. He could do this. He had to. He had already been damned once, and he'd survived. He’d make something of this new life, something that was his and his alone. No contracts, no deals, no bending to anyone’s will. He wouldn’t sink to the level of the others down here, the Overlords and Sinners who bartered for souls like they were currency.

A sharp nod to himself, Adam set his jaw, determination burning in his veins as he began to walk away from the looming shadow of Hazbin Hotel. He didn’t care anymore about Heaven, or redemption, or even humanity. He was done with it all. Now, it was about him. About finding some sliver of happiness in this forsaken pit. And maybe... just maybe... he’d finally be able to do the things he’d always been too ashamed to do.

Like knitting.

~#~

It was… maybe too easy. A bit unsettling, really, how quickly Adam had carved out a little space for himself. Almost as if Hell wasn’t paying attention. He’d learned fast—keep out of the sleazy, grimy parts of Pentagram City and no one gave a damn about him. No leering stares, no whispers behind his back. But the moment he stepped into a bar or a nightclub, the Sinners’ eyes would snap to him like sharks catching the scent of blood. If he kept to the cleaner side of the city, though? It was like he was invisible. It was weird. It was wrong. Adam could smell the bullshit from a mile away, like the sulfur in the air.

Still, he wandered the streets, lost in thought. Knitting, weaving, stitching—it had always come naturally to him, almost as if it was stitched into his soul. He enjoyed it, truly. The quiet, the focus, the satisfaction of seeing something beautiful emerge from nothing but thread. It was one of the few things he had ever really loved doing, but shame had buried that love deep inside him. Now, though, he wanted to take that passion, that secret talent, and make something of it. Here, in Hell, where shame was a joke and sins were currency, maybe he could finally embrace what he'd always been too afraid to show.

He didn’t want to deal with anyone anymore. Not Sera, not Lute, not Emily. Certainly not Lucifer. And Charlie? Hell, no. Lilith could rot. Eve… Eve was nothing but a distant memory, a ghost from another life. And God? Adam laughed bitterly to himself. No, he didn’t need any of them. Not their pity, their help, their judgment. He could be alone. He wanted to be alone, free from all the burdens they had piled onto him for centuries. He’d done it on Earth, hadn’t he? Found a way to survive, to make something out of nothing. He could do it again, here, in this damned city of the damned. He didn’t need anyone’s help. He could make a life on his own terms.

His feet carried him down the pink and red pavement as his golden eyes swept across the streets, taking in the sights of Hell’s vibrant monotony. The same damn colour everywhere. Red. So much red. It was as if Hell itself only had one brushstroke, painting everything in that bloody hue. He sighed, the weight of it all pressing down on him. Why the hell did everything have to look like it had been dunked in a bucket of crimson paint?

It didn’t matter. He’d adapt. He always had. Adam’s steps slowed as he mulled over his next move, the tension in his body easing as resolve crept back in. He’d find his start, his beginning. He could do this. He didn’t need them. Any of them. Not anymore.

As Adam wandered deeper into the heart of Pentagram City, he stumbled upon a curious scene unfolding in a clearing, just past a dilapidated building that once held the promise of pastries and warmth. Now, it stood in ruin, the faded sign hanging askew—a ghost of a bakery, a relic of a more innocent time. Around it, a handful of Sinners had gathered, their voices a chaotic symphony of bravado and greed.

An auction was taking place.

The atmosphere crackled with tension, thick enough to slice with a blade. Adam hovered at the edge of the gathering, watching with a mixture of intrigue and apprehension. The bidders, an eclectic mix of ragged figures, eyed one another with a blend of disdain and desperation. One particularly burly Sinner, his tattoos snaking up his neck, slammed his fist against a nearby crate, bellowing as he lost his temper at a rival. The ensuing scuffle sent a ripple of excitement through the crowd, laughter mingling with shouts as the tension escalated into chaos. Adam's heart raced—he felt the pulse of this world around him, dark and twisted.

After a few moments of escalating voices and clashing bodies, the auctioneer—a wiry figure with a crooked grin—called for silence. With a sharp snap of his fingers, he brought order back to the scene. The building had found a new owner amidst the din, and the crowd began to disperse like smoke in the wind. Adam seized his chance, stepping forward as the last few Sinners left, lingering in the space between them and the auctioneer.

“Hey!” he called, his voice cutting through the air, low and steady. “I need a house. A small one—like a box.”

The auctioneer regarded him coolly, his brow arching in amusement.

“Should’ve bidded then,” he replied, a teasing lilt in his voice. “You’re shit outta luck, buddy.”

Adam’s fists clenched at his sides, frustration boiling beneath his skin. He had no money, no resources, and yet the ache for a home—a space to call his own—gnawed at him. As the auctioneer turned to leave, Adam stepped into his path, determination lighting his golden eyes.

 “I’m a new Sinner,” he said, words tumbling out in a rush. “I don’t know how to get money, but there has to be something else I can offer.”

The auctioneer opened his mouth to respond, but Adam cut him off, a sneer curling his lips. “And I swear to whatever hell you believe in; it won’t involve my body.”

The Sinner threw back his head and laughed, revealing a mouth full of sharp teeth that gleamed in the muted light. He shrugged, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, then! What do you think you’ve got that’s valuable?”

Adam paused, the weight of the question pressing down on him. His mind raced, and then, like a spark igniting in the darkness, an idea bloomed.

“My feathers,” he said, voice steady but laced with uncertainty.

The auctioneer stared for a moment, eyebrows climbing higher with each passing second.  

“Why the hell would I want your feathers?” he asked, scepticism lacing his tone.

Without hesitation, Adam reached into his wing and plucked a feather free. He hissed softly, the pain sharp but fleeting, and twirled the feather between his fingers. It shimmered, a dazzling blend of gold and silver, glinting like precious metal caught in the light. Holding it close, he leaned in slightly. “Have you ever seen a Sinner with gold and silver wings?”

The auctioneer’s expression shifted, curiosity igniting in his eyes. He squinted, inspecting the feather as if it held the secrets of the universe. Adam leaned into the moment, his heart pounding in anticipation. “I know for a fact that golden feathers are rare. Not even the archangels of Heaven have them. And let’s be real—the King of Hell doesn’t have gold wings, either.”

The Sinner was quiet, mulling over”the ’mplications as Adam's words hung in the air. Finally, he nodded slowly. “Alright, I’ll look at it. Let me see how much it’s worth.”

With a gesture of his hand, he signalled that he’d return. Adam nodded, feeling a spark of hope igniting within him as he handed the feather over.

As the auctioneer scrambled off to his partners, Adam watched, his heart racing. The feather changed hands, passing through the fingers of curious Sinners, each one muttering and gasping with delight at the shimmering prize. One of them pulled out a small box, carefully placing the feather inside. The murmurs of excitement and intrigue crescendo, each Sinner leaning in closer as if it held the power to change their fates.

Moments later, the auctioneer returned, his grin wider than before.

“Good news, kid,” he said, eyes gleaming with a mix of greed and exhilaration. “We can get you a house by the end of the day! But here’s the catch—you’ll pay rent in feathers.”

Adam’s brows knitted together, scepticism flaring. “I’ll pay five feathers a month,” he countered, crossing his arms defiantly.

The auctioneer scoffed, laughter bubbling from his lips. “Fifteen.”

“Ten,” Adam shot back, unwavering.

The auctioneer paused, weighing the offer, then relented with a chuckle. “Fine. Ten it is.” They shook hands, the pact sealing Adam’s fate, his heart racing at the thought of finally having a place to call home.

And just like that, Adam had secured a small house, a box of his own amidst the chaos of Hell. As he walked away, a small smile crept across his face. His feathers would grow back quickly, after all, and now he had a fresh start, a chance to build a life. No longer just a fallen angel, he could finally pursue the craft he loved without fear or shame. It was a new beginning, and Adam felt the stirring of hope within him, mingling with the tension of uncertainty that came with each step into this strange, vibrant world.

~#~

The process of settling into his new life was achingly slow at first. The small building he’d secured was a peculiar gem, nestled in a perfect location within the chaotic sprawl of Pentagram City, yet also the worst spot imaginable. From his windows, he had a direct view of the damn Hazbin Hotel, looming like a twisted monolith against the horizon. Its presence gnawed at him, a constant reminder of the world he was trying to escape. He hated it—hated the way the hotel shimmered under the infernal light, casting eerie shadows that danced like specters across the pavement. To distract himself, Adam busied his hands with the colorful threads, trying to forget the sight.

But to truly establish his business, he needed to make connections—forge deals that didn’t involve his soul, but rather his precious feathers. What he didn’t realize was how incredibly valuable those feathers were in Hell’s economy. He felt a nagging sense of unease, grateful that no Sinner had yet attempted to cut them off or kidnap him. He had made friends, or at least acquaintances, with the Sinners who came through his door, and astonishingly, they genuinely liked him. Perhaps they sensed that he was, despite the darkness surrounding them, a decent guy just trying to find his way.

Adam had acquired everything he needed: electricity, gas, materials, the works. The day he opened his small shop was a whirlwind of excitement. His heart pounded like a drum as he turned the sign from “Closed” to “Open.”

To his surprise, no Sinner made a mocking comment about a man who knitted; instead, they rushed in like starving creatures drawn to a feast. Requests poured in like rain: scarves with intricate designs, mittens, boots, sweaters. Adam was stunned. By the end of his first month, the influx of Hell-bucks was overwhelming—more than he ever imagined he could earn in this twisted paradise.

Regulars appeared almost immediately, one standing out from the rest. Rosie, a vibrant Sinner from the cannibal town, caught his attention. She came in daily, placing orders or purchasing whatever items were on display. Her enthusiasm was infectious, her laughter a bright spot in the otherwise grim world. Conversations with her felt like sunlight breaking through the eternal gloom, and Adam found himself looking forward to her visits.

As the weeks rolled by, Adam observed something peculiar: none of the Sinners had access to the kind of clothing he provided. They dove in and out of his shop, marvelling at the sweaters and scarves as if they were precious artifacts. Adam initially guessed it was because Hell was often too hot for such things, but the freezing cold nights quickly dispelled that notion. It turned out Hell’s nightlife was a vibrant affair, with many Sinners active after sundown, desperately in need of warmth. It worked out well for him, and he relished the bustling atmosphere, but a creeping sense of foreboding lingered just beneath the surface.

One fateful day, about a month after his arrival, an order popped up on his computer screen that sent shivers down his spine. Adam blinked in disbelief, his eyebrows shooting up as he processed the words. His mouth went dry, and a shudder ran through him, his wings flapping in displeasure. At first, he tried to ignore it, burying himself in the avalanche of new customers who flooded in daily. But no matter how hard he worked, that order nagged at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

He grimaced deeply as he finally surrendered to the truth. The day came to a close, and after locking the door and flipping the sign to “Closed,” he straightened his black and gold sweater, a piece he had crafted himself.

He felt a pang of pride, tugging at the hem before wiggling his feet into his Ugg boots. With a deep groan, he turned back to the computer, running his hands down his face in frustration. Maybe it was within his rights to reject the order? After all, it was a little too much. So, he decided to do just that. He cancelled it and thought that would be the end of it.

But the next day, the order reappeared—this time with a higher sum of money offered. Adam practically screamed when it flashed back onto the screen. Why was this happening? He had fought so hard to create a small life for himself, one without anyone poking their fat noses into his business. This wasn’t supposed to be complicated! Sure, he could just fill the order, pocket the money, and wash his hands of the whole ordeal.

As he rubbed his chin thoughtfully and leaned closer to the screen, curiosity gnawed at him. He blinked in surprise when he saw who the order was for: seven sweaters, each adorned with specific patterns and colours that made his stomach twist in a way he didn’t want to acknowledge. He swallowed thickly, dread pooling in his gut. He knew who the fucking duck sweaters were meant for. Ugh! He didn’t want to do this—didn’t want to bend to their whims ever again!

With a deep breath, he braced himself against the inevitable frustration rising in his chest. Maybe I can just ignore it, brush it off like the rest of the bullshit that comes with this hellhole, he thought.

But even as he willed himself to dismiss the order, the familiar flutter of his wings reminded him of the delicate balance he had to maintain in this world. In a place as treacherous as Hell, ignoring a royal request might not just be a mistake—it could lead to consequences he wasn’t prepared to face.

Tension clung to him like a cloak as he weighed his options, the prospect of wrestling with fate hanging heavy in the air. He was determined to forge his own path, but the thought of crossing the Princess of Hell felt like tempting fate itself. His fingers twitched over the keyboard, caught between the urge to fill the order and the yearning to reclaim his autonomy. Whatever the outcome, he knew one thing for sure: this battle wasn’t over yet.

After eight long, agonizing days, Adam finally completed the order, boxing it up with meticulous care. Each sweater was a labor of love, infused with his creativity and skill, every stitch carefully crafted despite the tempest of his emotions. As tempting as it was to cut corners—maybe even slip something in, a little surprise or a bit of sabotage—he refrained. No, he had to prove himself, show that he was worthy of respect in this twisted underworld. He wrapped each piece in delicate, shimmering tissue paper and nestled a small card inside that thanked them for ordering from his store. It felt almost absurd, like he was playing house in a world that didn’t care about pleasantries.

The day dragged on like molasses, and he found himself fidgeting with anticipation, glancing at the door every few minutes for the delivery Sinner. Time slipped away, however, and as the sun began to sink into a blood-red horizon, he received the news that the Sinner was sick. A deep groan escaped him. Now he had to deliver it himself.

Adam lifted the box with a resigned sigh, stepping outside onto the pavement. Locking the door behind him, he shot a venomous glare at the Hazbin Hotel in the distance. Maybe he could just drop it off and vanish before anyone noticed him. He had no desire to engage with any of those insufferable Sinners, especially not today. But a nagging thought reminded him that he needed someone to sign for the parcel—proof that he had fulfilled the order. It wasn’t worth the risk to his hard-earned reputation, even if Charlie wouldn’t screw him over.

With that determination steeling his resolve, he made the tedious trek through Pentagram City toward the hotel. His golden eyes remained downcast, his thoughts a swirling mess, feet dragging against the pavement. As he approached the gates, a familiar wave of anxiety washed over him. Adam halted, memories flooding back to a year ago, standing before these very gates, teetering on the edge of seeking help. He snorted at his past self; relief coursed through him that he hadn’t walked through those doors back then. Look at him now—his own small business thriving, creating the very things he loved without a shred of shame. Sure, some orders were challenging, but he relished the test.

But as he pushed the iron black gates open, the pounding of his heart began to echo in his ears, anxious and insistent. The moment he stepped inside, dread coiled tightly in his chest. Adam forced himself to move past the grotesque golden statue of the goat monster and shuffled his feet to the doors, his entire body trembling as the air thickened around him. It felt as if the hotel itself were alive, watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake. Panic gripped him, his breath hitching in his throat. He took a step back, ready to bolt, when suddenly the doors swung open with a creak that echoed like thunder.

Charlie stood there, mid-conversation, her radiant grin momentarily frozen as her eyes landed on him.

“Adam?” she squealed, shock painting her features. It was like the world around them fell silent, and all the eyes in the hotel seemed to turn toward him.

His skin prickled under the weight of their stares, and he squirmed, feeling exposed. Vaggie appeared next to Charlie, her arms crossed, and her expression pinched, as if she’d just bitten into something sour.

“You’re back as a Sinner now?” she scoffed, disbelief dripping from her words.

Charlie’s expression shifted from surprise to concern, her eyes wide with worry.

“Why are you here?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly, as if she feared the answer.

Adam could sense her apprehension; she was worried he might have come to the hotel seeking refuge, like he once had. A small part of him wished he could lay that burden down, but that wasn’t why he stood there now. It was a good thing, too, considering he didn’t need their help anymore.

Before he could gather his thoughts and respond, Vaggie huffed, shaking her head in exasperation.

 “Unbelievable! You think just because you’re a Sinner now, you can waltz in here and demand our help?” The accusation stung, a jagged edge to her tone that made him want to shrink back into the shadows.

Charlie stepped forward, her face reddening as she tried to smooth the tension.

“Vaggie, please—” she began, but the weight of her words hung in the air, heavy and taut. Charlie clearly didn’t want to turn anyone away, even if it was Adam. “I can’t just close the door on anyone, even if it’s... Adam.”

Vaggie shot him a disbelieving glare, her expression twisted with suspicion. “You think we can just trust him now?”

Adam opened his mouth to speak, to set the record straight, but the weight of the moment crashed down on him. The tension crackled in the air, heavy with unspoken words and old wounds. The hotel felt like a cage, closing in around him, and he fought the urge to flee. All those eyes—those judgmental, curious eyes—made his skin crawl, and the box in his hands felt like a ticking time bomb.

Adam’s heart raced, his breath catching in his throat as he fought to find the words.

“No, I’m not here to stay,” he started, determination hardening his voice. “I just wanted to—”

But he was abruptly cut off by a voice that slithered into his thoughts like poison.

“Why, if it isn’t the first man!” The tone was dripping with mockery, and Adam felt his skin crawl in disbelief. Lucifer stepped into view, stepping around Charlie and Vaggie as they instinctively moved aside, like planets yielding to a sun. The King of Hell’s smug expression was a sight Adam had dreaded. The gleam in Lucifer’s eyes, the sharp-toothed smirk curling at his lips—it was all too familiar.

“Look how far you’ve fallen, Adam,” Lucifer continued, taking a step forward, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he were relishing the moment. “You’ve become a Sinner! Shocking!”

Adam felt his grip tighten around the box, the sharp edge digging into his chest like a brand. He pressed his lips into a thin line, fury bubbling beneath the surface.

“What do you want, Lucifer?” he shot back, trying to inject his voice with some semblance of strength, but it trembled slightly.

Lucifer straightened, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe, radiating a confidence that made Adam’s stomach churn. “Let me guess—you’ve come here for protection? For help? Because now you’re scared and alone in this hellhole?” He laughed, a cruel sound that echoed through the air. “That’s rich! You’re one of the things you despised the most!”

Adam opened his mouth to snap back, to assert that he didn’t need their help, but once again, Lucifer cut him off.

“Why should we help you?” he taunted, his voice dripping with disdain. “Why should we let you in?”

Behind Lucifer, a few Sinners peeked out, their curious faces illuminated by the dim light of the hotel. Adam’s eyes darted to them, feeling like a specimen under a microscope, as his fingers dug deeper into the box, desperately trying to maintain his composure.

Lucifer, seeing the discomfort etched on Adam’s face, grinned wider. “Alright, I’ll tell you what. We’ll help you. We’ll even let you stay with us. But first, you need to get on your knees and beg.”

“Fuck you!” Adam hissed, his anger flaring like a wildfire.

“Beg like the dog you are,” Lucifer continued, ignoring Adam’s outburst.

Charlie gasped, her eyes wide with shock as she interjected, “Adam doesn’t need to do that!”

Lucifer shook his head, a playful disapproval dancing in his features. Vaggie’s expression brightened, clearly enjoying this spectacle. “No, no! He needs to do that and more! Otherwise, we’ll just close the door in his face.”

Adam’s heart raced, relief washing over him for the choices he’d made months prior. The prospect of having to bow before Lucifer was beyond humiliating.

“Fuck this,” he muttered under his breath, meeting Charlie’s bewildered gaze. “Sorry, Charlie.”

“Wait—” Charlie began, confusion flickering in her eyes.

“That’s a start!” Lucifer interjected, his smirk widening.

But Adam was done. He raised his chin defiantly, cutting Lucifer off mid-sentence. “Sorry, Charlie. I think I’m going to need to cancel your order.”

“I’ll refund you when I get back to my shop.” He spun on his heels, striding toward the exit, fuelled by a mix of anger and resolve.

“Adam, please!” Charlie called after him, her voice tinged with desperation. “I don’t understand!”

“I thought I could take your order,” he shouted back, “but I clearly can’t! It was a bad idea to accept it after the first time I cancelled!” He paused to glance back at them, his heart hammering in his chest. “I can’t accept any of your orders in the future. I apologize for that.”

With that, he continued toward the gates, head held high, ignoring the stunned stares and heavy silence that followed him. But just as he reached the exit, a rough hand clamped around his elbow, pulling him back with a jolt.

“Stop fucking around and just get inside the hotel,” Lucifer growled, his grip fierce and unyielding. “Before I change my mind.”

Adam yelped, yanking his arm away, his heart pounding with indignation. “I would never come to this hotel looking for help, I especially would not come looking for protection and help from you—the guy who ruined my life! I woke up as a Sinner more than nine months ago, and I’ve been doing fine without Lucifer fucking Morningstar!”

Lucifer blinked, taken aback. “Are you serious? You’ve survived a whole year without me? Fine?”

“Of course! What, did you think I couldn’t last a single day without your special help?” Adam laughed bitterly; each syllable laced with defiance. “I’m not as stupid as everyone thinks I am! I’m doing just fine with my business!”

The King of Hell’s eyes widened, disbelief etched on his face. “What business? What sketchy, fucked-up shit are you doing?”

That question ignited a fire within Adam. He slammed the box into Lucifer’s chest, pushing the King of Hell back with surprising force. “Why don’t you look and find out?” he hissed, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

With that, Adam stormed away, a wave of liberation washing over him as he made his way out of the damned Hazbin Hotel. He could almost taste freedom, the sweet air of possibility waiting for him beyond those iron gates.

“Fuck Lucifer and all his assholeness!” he thought, heart racing with a mix of triumph and exhilaration.

As he stepped through the gates and back into the chaotic streets of Pentagram City, he felt a weight lift off his shoulders, the shadows of the hotel fading behind him. This was his life now, and he would not let anyone—especially not Lucifer—dictate how he lived it.

[tupznum]

Senses

Arthur Morgan X male reader

《○○○○○○○○♡○○○○○○○○》

Warning: violence, injury, not proofread

I cannot see, but I can hear.

I hear the sound of footsteps on an old creaky wooden floor and distant voices outside the room. I can hear a person sitting in front of me sharpening their knife, and another to my left cleaning the barrel of a gun. I hear the whistle of the wind billowing through the cracks of the walls.

I cannot see, but I can feel.

I feel the blindfold around my eyes and the ropes that bind my wrists and ankles. I feel the rope that is wrapped around my neck, keeping me on my knees. I feel the splintered wood digging into my bruised and tattered knees. I feel pain, blood running down my face, and the warmth of another on my back. I feel fingers interlock with mine, and I feel their bindings pushing against mine.

I cannot see, but I can smell.

I can smell the fire that blazed in the other room. I can smell the distinct iron smell of blood. I can smell the aroma of gunpowder and cigarettes emanating from the person whose back is flush against mine.

The sudden sound of a door being slammed open fills my ears.

"All right, who do we got here?" a brassy voice speaks rhythmically.

"This here is Arthur Morgan and (M/N) (L/N), boss," a voice that is surprisingly high-pitched but masculine in nature speaks up.

The sound of footsteps circles around us, and I hear the sound of paper crumpling.

"They got a mighty fine bounty, enough to get us to Canada," a deeper voice speaks up, judging by the accent, a Colombian man.

"Give me that," the brassy-sounding boss snaps, the sound of paper being snatched followed.

"Holy shit... Arthur Morgan's bounty $5000, (M/N) (L/N) $4000, both wanted dead or alive. Ain't that convenient?" The room fills with conniving laughter.

"Seems all I have to do is put a bullet through your sorry heads and drag your pathetic corpses to the nearest law and claim my money." I feel the air shift as he walks by, and I dare not say a word.

"If you kill us, I assure you that y'all will never feel another day of peace in your lives," I feel Arthur squeeze my clammy hand in comfort.

"And why is that?" the brassy-voiced man sneers.

"Our boys will come looking for us, and when they find y'all, they'll kill yah even if it's the last thing they do," Arthur replies calmly, and I can feel his thumb caressing my hand.

"They probably noticed our absence by now," I finally speak up.

"Really now? Where are they then, huh?" The high-pitched man says mockingly.

The room goes silent; no one speaks. Only then do the three men realize how eerily quiet it is outside.

I couldn't help but smirk. "Maybe one of your men outside knows."

"Shut up!" he hisses, sending a harsh kick to my stomach. I feel pain erupt throughout my abdomen, making me topple over, but that is only met with the tightening of the rope around my neck, forcing me to straighten up to avoid asphyxiation.

"You two, get your fucking asses out there and see what the hell's going on," the man practically barks orders at the two. Although I cannot see, I can hear them pick up their weapons and slowly exit the room. The room is quiet for a moment, but the subtle sound of something blunt and heavy hitting the floor radiates throughout the room. This seems to have scared the boss of our kidnappers, as I can feel and hear him scurry across the room only to return to my side. I feel the rope around my neck being tugged back and forth as if the rope is being cut. Suddenly, the rope is tugged sideways, dragging me across the room by my neck. I can't help but choke. A loose nail hooking onto my arm restraints only choking me further as he yanked harder

"Hey. Get your fucking hands off him!" Arthur's raspy voice can be heard, slight panic emanating from it. I can hear him struggling to get something.

I am suddenly brought to my feet, and not even seconds later, I feel the cold metal pressed against my neck. "You think you can outsmart me?" He speaks, the smell of whiskey and moonshine emanating from his breath it tickles the side of my face. Suddenly, a hand collides with my face, dragging the blindfold off in one swoop. The room was quite dark so my eyes adjusted immediately though the site in front of me was quite unsatisfactory.

Similar to the way I was restrained Arthur sat in the middle of the room blindfold half off his face, his hands tied behind his back with a rope rap around his neck keeping him on his knees connected to what seemed to be a pig's hook hanging from the ceiling. With further inspection I was quick to realize that we were being held inside of a butchering room whether or not the blood on the ground belong to a pig or a human I cannot tell.

suddenly a hand grabbed onto my chin roughly, my head was yanked to the side the man's face in my peripherals.

"Quit looking around you fucking cunt" the man spat at me quite literally I had to resist the urge to bring my hands up to wipe the saliva off my face.

"Don't be Hasty now" I laugh nervously.

"I'm sure we can come up with an agreement our life for yours, How does that sound?" I tried to reason. But the man's judgment seem to be clogged with fear so instead of bargaining he brought the barrel of his gun to my temple.

"I'm not a fucking idiot you'll kill me anyhow" he practically growled like an animal.

So he was listening I thought

I can't talk my way out of this and the boys outside aren't doing anything they probably know that I'll be shot if they try and Arthur is rendered useless at the moment.

The man currently holding me hostage started walking backward into a corner seemingly planning to use me as a human shield if gunfire were to erupt. With his hands away from my chin this gave me a moment to look around again, I looked at Arthur, and with the new angle I realize he'd undone his hand restraints. we made eye contact, he moved his eyes over to the gun and back to me. I could only hope that we were thinking the same thing as I got ready to execute the plan we seem to have telepathically decided on.

I tap my fingers around the ropes around my wrist to feel any weak spots and there was, the Rope was frayed barely a thread holding on. it must have been when it caught on a nail on the floor. One hard tug could do the trick in Breaking the Rope but it was a Gamble.

"Where are those fuckers" I heard the man grumble to himself

I closed my eyes and thought about the likelihood of this plan working the man was drunk which made him sloppy but he was on high alert and Afraid which would make him Trigger Happy. I can only hope that the effects of the alcohol on his brain worked faster than his trigger finger.

I look back at Arthur and slowly blinked at him hoping he'll get the message that I'm about to execute the plan that I hope we're both on board with. He seemed to have got the message as he slowly blinked black.

I tense my arms up slightly and brought them together as I took a deep breath I leaned my head forward it got ready. In one Swift motion I pulled my arms apart breaking the rope and brought my head back as hard as possible right into the man's nose. with the pain in his nose and the effect of the alcohol he couldn't register what happened fast enough before I brought my arm up and slap the revolver as hard as I possibly can towards Arthur. while that was going down Arthur was quick too take the Rope off from around his neck and reached out for the revolver. The gun slide across the floor right between his fingers and passed him he quickly flung himself backwards and gripped on to the barrel of the gun and turn back around onto his back and pointed the gun at the man's head. The man had put me into a headlock slowly choking me, I could feel my Airways being pinched and see my vision going black suddenly a very sharp pain erupted from my side, the bastard stabbed me, I know that pain too well. I suddenly heard the firing of the revolver and soon followed the feeling of steaming hot blood splattering across my face soaking my clothing. The man slumped down to the ground and as a result the handle of the knife was dragged down and the tip was dragged up only deepening and worsening the wound I soon collapse face first into the ground next to the body with a grown.

"M/N!" Arthur Yelled haphazardly

I couldn't see but I could hear the sound of Arthur's footsteps hurrying towards me and the sound of the door smashed open.

"Finally decided to make your entry" I joked to the Gang.

"Someone give me something to cover this damn wound" Arthur said to no one in particular

I roll over to my back holding back a grown

"Dumbass looks fine to me" John commented

Having no energy to talk anymore or to deal with this bullshit I flipped him off.

After rummaging in his bag Bill walked over and handed Arthur a tourniquet looking piece of cloth, he wrapped around my waist and around my wound I let out on a unnatural sounding noise as he tightened it full force.

"Sorry" I heard him whisper.

Seeing as I was being taken care of the rest of the gang walked out of the room probably looting the place.

"Think you can walk" Arthur asked.

"Fuck no, I feel like I'm about to pass out from pain just laying here" I replied with a grunt.

All right was all he said as he put one of my arms over his shoulder bringing one of his arms my knees and another on my back he hoisted me up.

"You got him there Arthur?" Dutch asked from the doorway.

"Yeah I got him" he said.

He walked out of the butchering room and into the main area making his way to the front door and stopped he turned towards Dutch

"I'm going to go ahead of you guys and bring him to Camp so the ladies can Pat him up before he bleeds to death" Arthur informed Dutch.

Dutch nodded towards Arthur and said "all right"

Arthur walked out the front door and into the snowy landscape he stopped a good distance for the door and whistled. A few moments later his horse emerged from the Bush. I sat quietly with my head against his chest as he walked over to his horse.

"I'm going to set you up here hold on all right" he said gently

He brought my legs upwards towards the back of the horse and I helped by swinging my legs over he then brought my back upwards this left me in a sideways sitting position on the arss of the horse with my legs together I slowly and painfully lifted my left leg up and over the horse to properly set all the while Arthur held onto my waist at least the part that wasn't damaged.

Once I was sat properly on the horse Arthur hoisted himself onto the horse reaching back and grabbing my arms and wrapping them around his waist.

"This is going to be a painful and bumpy ride so don't be afraid to Lean on me if you feel like passing out" he said calmly rubbing his finger on my knuckles.

"This ain't my first rodeo Arthur I'll be fine" I said with a careful laugh.

Him humd in response.

We start to move forward and I quickly found out that this wound was a lot more painful than the ones I'm used to so I quickly ended up doubling over onto Arthur's back in pain. The feeling of the disconnected flesh rubbing together was definitely no joy.

"I thought this wasn't your first rodeo l/n?" He laughed

I slapped him on the arm and response

"shut your ass up and don't start with the last name bullshit again we're past that already" I groaned.

The winter air mixed with the blood loss sent shivers down my spine so despite the pain I scooted myself further up against Arthur and held on tighter to him and hoped to Rob some of his body heat, he didn't seem to care thankfully.

The pain started to get more intense and I became light-headed Arthur must have noticed as he came to a stop and turned to look at me.

"Do you want to take a break?" he asked

"No keep going," I said tiredly

"I think you'll pass out if we do," he said with concern.

"Exactly, keep going I'll pass out eventually and I won't feel anything" I half-joked.

He didn't say anything but he turned his head back to the pathway and kept moving forward.

Just as I predicted I start to feel lightheaded and my vision start to go black from the pain. I soon Slipped Away into the darkness. The feeling of pain but also the feeling of Arthur's callused hands holding onto my wrists was the last thing I felt "I'll see you when you wake up" was the last thing I heard

[authorchariot]

where wild things used to roam

rating: explicit ❤️

fandom: star wars sequel trilogy (2015-2019)

pairing: poe dameron x ftm!reader x dj

word count: 10k+

tags: cum swallowing, dom/sub undertones, double penetration, double vaginal penetration, established relationship, eventual smut, face-fucking, facials, fingering, fluff, not beta read, oral sex, pov second person, praise kink, rough oral sex, spanking, threesome, trans character, trans male character, unsafe sex, vaginal sex

summary: ten years ago, you left the chaos of slicing and smuggling behind for a steadier life — and a steadier love — with poe dameron. but when an old flame hacks back into your life, stirring up memories of the person you used to be, you're forced to choose; cling to the peace you've built or chase a dangerous spark you thought you'd outgrown. or maybe, just maybe, there's a third option… if poe says yes.

read on ao3 or keep reading here ↓

The Resistance base hums with life around you; the low thrum of engines in the hangars, the occasional bark of orders through comms and the more comforting background of tools clanking against starship hulls. You're tucked away at your workstation, a mess of wires and data-pads spread out before you, half-listening to the chatter of fellow techs and half-lost in your own thoughts.

It's been nearly ten years now. Ten years of steady ground under your feet. Ten years with Poe.

You still can't quite believe it sometimes; how someone like him, with his lopsided grin and his heart like a twin sun, ever found you. You, a former slicer, running jobs for anyone with the credits, living in the shadows with thieves and traitors, never dreaming of a life that wasn't scraping by on the edge of legality. But Poe had seen you — really seen you — for more than the sharp fingers and the fast mouth and the broken past.

He'd pulled you into the light. Given you a home, a family, a future.

You smile as you work, thinking about dinner last night; Poe laughing around a mouthful of stew, reaching across the table to wipe sauce from your chin, pressing kisses into your neck until you were breathless and tugging him toward the bedroom. The warmth of his body wrapped around yours after, the way he murmured your name like a prayer even in his sleep.

You miss him today. He's off-world, leading a recon mission. You've gotten used to it — the nights apart, the worry gnawing at your ribs — but it never gets easier. You keep busy. You stay strong. He's counting on you to be here when he comes home.

You're halfway through calibrating a nav unit when your comm buzzes. Frowning, you wipe your hands on your pants and pick it up. No name. No encryption marker. Just a blinking incoming message warning.

Your heart stutters. Only a handful of people would know how to bypass Resistance protocols to reach you directly. And most of them are long gone; dead or dust in some forgotten corner of the galaxy. Still, curiosity wins out. You open the message.

[INSECURE] 🔓 — UNAUTHORISED CONTACT/MSG/ :: Hey, handsome. What you up to these days?

You hesitate for a moment. They will've known who they were getting through to if they managed to reach your comm directly so it has to be someone you know. Or someone you knew. You slowly type out a reply.

> YOU: Who is this?

The screen of your comm lights up with another message; a picture. It's definitely you (albeit younger) and you're laughing, probably in a bar somewhere. And there, with his arm wrapped around your shoulders...

/MSG/ :: Come on now, you don't forget a face (or a body) that fast. ;-)

You swallow hard, hesitantly typing and sending another message.

> YOU: DJ. /MSG/ :: There he is. /MSG/ :: You still hot as Hell?

Yeah, it's DJ. Still the same. You can practically hear the stutter in his voice as you read the messages. That stutter you used to find so endearing, especially when it was whispered in your ear or muffled against your neck... You shake off the feeling and type back.

> YOU: What do you want? And why're you just popping up out of the aether, after all this time? /MSG/ :: Could ask you the same thing, wildcat. /MSG/ :: I'm in the area. Thought I'd look you up. Catch up on old times.

Oh, no. 'Catch up on old times.' Is that what he's calling it now? It used to be 'a quick drink to celebrate' after a job or 'sharing a hotel room' because you didn't have the credits. Now it's 'catching up on old times'. Yeah, it's the same old DJ.

Slowly, you type out a reply, already dreading the response.

> YOU: And what would we do if we did 'catch up'? /MSG/ :: Well, that depends. /MSG/ :: Would you still wanna knock boots like old times? ;-) > YOU: Can't.

You send the message almost instantly. You can't. You're different now. You grew up. No more drinking yourself blackout drunk, no more hacking vending machines for free snacks and definitely no more sleeping around and taking back-shots in cantina bathrooms.

You're settled. You're happy. You have a stable job, a cozy apartment-pod and, above all else, a wonderful, gorgeous husband who'd tear the universe apart for you. You can't let all of that go.

/MSG/ :: Can't or won't? > YOU: Married.

He doesn't reply for a long while and it almost upsets you. You haven't seen DJ in so long but, knowing him, you give him an inch and he'll take a mile. You have to be firm with him.

/MSG/ :: Congrats. /MSG/ :: Does he treat you right?

It sends an odd warmth through you. DJ did have his moments, though they were few and far between, when he let himself seem even a little affectionate. Usually, it was the whole rebel without a cause schtick but, occasionally, he let the mask slip. Maybe he's gotten a little soft, after all these years.

> YOU: Yeah but I don't think you'd like him. /MSG/ :: Oh? /MSG/ :: Why's that, wildcat? /MSG/ :: Is he boring? Prude? > YOU: He's not boring or a prude. He's just very strong-willed. > YOU: And he doesn't take shit. I know you like an easy target. /MSG/ :: Strong-willed, huh? Sounds like a bit of a control-freak. /MSG/ :: Bet he doesn't even let you have fun anymore.

You pause again. He makes it sound like Poe's breathing down your neck every minute of every day. Nothing could be further from the truth. You have your own social lives outside of each other, your own hobbies. But, for some stupid reason, DJ's words put you on the defensive.

> YOU: Fun? Like what? /MSG/ :: The kinda fun we used to have. /MSG/ :: Drinking 'til dawn, dancing on tables, fucking strangers in bathroom stalls.

That's fun?

Truth be told, a few years ago that might've sounded like a great Friday night, post-gig. But now? Now it seems like a whole lot of hassle that wouldn't get you anything apart from a stomach pump and probably some horrible STI. Reading the message, you feel like you can still taste the cheap, silty alcohol on your tongue. The stuff that felt like barbed wire going down and felt even worse coming back up a few hours later.

You much prefer the life you live now; cooking up something nice for when Poe and BB-8 get home, eat and watch some tele-dramas and then snuggle up. It's peaceful, warm, healing. It makes you forget all those mornings you woke up on barroom floors with some random guy's comm-hook scribbled on your arm. It's better this way.

> YOU: I'm not really that person anymore, DJ. I grew up. /MSG/ :: Grew up or grew boring?

He shoots back. Ouch.

/MSG/ :: I remember a time when you weren't afraid of a good time. /MSG/ :: Now it sounds like you're just a little wifey, following orders and playing house.

You realise it was probably his intention from the get-go but he's pissed you off now.

He always knew just how to do that; which buttons to press and in what order to get the desired effect.

> YOU: What do you want? Did you just message me, after nearly a decade, wanting to sex? /MSG/ :: What? You turn into a saint or something? > YOU: I'm still fun! /MSG/ :: So what's your idea of fun these days? /MSG/ :: Baking cookies and watching tele-dramas with the hubby?

Your brow furrows before you hesitate. Damn, that really does sound like fun now. Maybe you really did get boring...

> YOU: He's a good guy. /MSG/ :: Sure.

He doesn't sound — or read — convinced.

/MSG/ :: Does he make you feel alive, wildcat? Or is he just comfortable?

That crawls under your skin. You married Poe Dameron, for God's sake. One of the best pilots in history? Heartthrob of the entire Resistance? The love of your life? He's comfortable, of course, but he's amazing, funny and gorgeous to boot.

> YOU: What do you want me to tell you? He's noble, he's sweet, he's absolutely dynamite in the sack and he loves me. What more could I ask for? /MSG/ :: Damn. Sounds like a dream. /MSG/ :: And you're happy with that? Being domesticated? > YOU: In what way? /MSG/ :: In every way. /MSG/ :: Settling down, giving up your freedom, fucking one guy for the rest of your life?

You have to be blunt with him. Because you know what he's angling for and, yeah, sure, DJ was good in bed. Granted; it was usually drunk fumbles in the dark but he was good. Rougher.

He used to bite, used to take great pleasure in getting you all marked up for him, used to pin you up against walls and kiss you until you were dizzy. It was disorienting and amazing. He was good with his hands. And his mouth. And he was big too. He was good, yes, but that's still not worth risking the entire life you've built with Poe. Especially when Poe's just as good but in a different way; caring, sweet, loving. It's a different kind of intense, one that makes your chest ache just thinking about it.

> YOU: I'm not cheating on him. /MSG/ :: Didn't ask if you would. Just asked if you're happy with the idea of never being with anyone else again. /MSG/ :: Because I remember a time when the thought of being tied down like that would've driven you crazy.

You can't carry on with this line of questioning.

> YOU: How long are you sticking around? /MSG/ :: A few days. Just passing through on my way to a job. Why? > YOU: We could catch up. > YOU: But it can't go further than drinks. /MSG/ :: Understood. /MSG/ :: Just friends, catching up. /MSG/ :: You know, for someone who used to be the life of every party, you're suddenly full of rules. > YOU: What did you expect after this long. /MSG/ :: I don't know. /MSG/ :: But you're acting like you're on a leash. /MSG/ :: Is he the one making all the rules? > YOU: He's not controlling. I love him. /MSG/ :: Yeah. You said that.

You pause again for a moment because, yes, he has you second guessing yourself. Did you really just settle down and lose your entire personality because a guy put a ring on your finger? Surely not. That's not how that works, right?

But you're still on the defensive. Whatever he's planning, you can't give in. Shut down DJ first, have an existential crisis later.

> YOU: We can't get back together. > YOU: I know what you're trying to do, DJ. /MSG/ :: Who said anything about getting back together? /MSG/ :: I'm just trying to figure out if the person you used to be is still in there somewhere or if your hubby tamed you completely. > YOU: I'm still here. Just mellowed out. /MSG/ :: Mellowed or neutered? /MSG/ :: Do you even swear anymore. > YOU: Like a sailor. /MSG/ :: So you're telling me that, under all this domesticity, you're still the same dirty-mouthed, little punk?

There's a long pause and you glance around to make sure none of the other techs notice you slacking off a little as you type on your communicator.

/MSG/ :: You gonna tell me to fuck off if I ask if you miss it? Us?

Another long pause. Part of you does miss it; wild nights of partying, travelling from system to system, robbing rich bastards blind and taking joyrides in sleek, sexy star-ships? It was fun but...

> YOU: I miss it but it's different. > YOU: There's structure, here. It's stable. > YOU: I'm not worried about where my next meals coming from or where I'm sleeping for the night. > YOU: Or who's gonna plant a knife in my back next. > YOU: It's different /MSG/ :: I get it. You traded chaos for stability. I can see the appeal in that. /MSG/ :: But are you happy? Like genuinely happy? > YOU: I am. > YOU: I miss you though.

You sigh softly, the weakness seeping in, as you send that last message. DJ did care for you, once upon a time. Still, you can't really tell if he's asking you this because he actually gives a shit or if he's just trying to worm his way back into your life. You wouldn't put it past him. But there's still a little part of you that misses him; the way he used to grab your hand as you ran with pockets full of credits, the way he used to kiss you on the forehead and stutter out some stupid nickname, the way he used to promise you every star in the sky just after the next big score that never came. He did care once.

Suddenly, an idea...

> YOU: Okay so I have a hypothetical for you... /MSG/ :: Hit me. > YOU: I'll ask him and if (and this is a big if) he says yes, maybe we could have some fun? Together, I mean. Three of us. /MSG/ :: Are you serious right now? > YOU: I said if. /MSG/ :: Yeah, yeah, I know. /MSG/ :: So you gotta ask the hubby first? /MSG/ :: And if he says yes? > YOU: Whatever he says, I'll get back to you. > YOU: But if he says no, then that's it, okay? /MSG/ :: Deal.

You turn off your comm and place it down on your workbench, letting out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding.

The thought of being sandwiched between Poe and DJ is already getting you a little hot under the collar but the thought of asking Poe and him getting upset is tamping it down.

You've always been honest with him and, if you ask him this, lay your cards on the table, it's in his court and he can't, for a minute, say you've been hiding anything from him.

You'd never. He deserves better than that.

Now all there is to do is sit and wait...

A few hours later, you're sat on the couch in your apartment-pod, thinking about how to broach the subject with Poe. It might not be an easy chat but you're willing to ask him and, if he shuts it down, then that's it, you walk away. There's no shame in asking, right?

The doors slide open and the sudden sound makes you jump, your head snapping in the direction of the door. And there he is, flight-suit a little dirty with smears of engine oil, smelling of cologne and ozone. BB-8 rolls in behind him, rolling toward you with happy beeps. You pat his dome and stand up, walking toward Poe, as he closes the doors behind him.

"Hey, honey." You sigh, relieved by his presence, and he sets down his helmet and gloves, popping the collar of his flight-suit.

"Hey, baby." He's tired but he's happy to see you. He always is. You wander up and wrap your arms around his neck, pressing a slow, loving kiss to his lips.

"How was recon?" You ask and his arms find their way around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

"It was fine. Nothing crazy." He notices your demeanour, a little more uptight than usual, a little more quiet. "Everything alright?" He runs his knuckles along your cheek and you lean into the touch before tucking your face against his neck, savouring the feeling of his warm skin against your own.

"Mhm. Just thinking. Can I talk to you about something? It's not an emergency or anything." He pulls away slightly, concern etched onto his features. He nods and leads you over to the couch, waving BB-8 back to his charging station to give you both some privacy.

"What's on your mind, baby?" He sits beside you on the couch, his full attention focused on you. You fiddle with your hands in your lap, staring down at them.

"So I got a message out of the blue today from an old friend..." You start and Poe nods.

"Oh, yeah? Who was it?" He's clearly not trying to sound too interested but you know the way his brain works, how he doubts himself sometimes.

"Just an ex. We haven't talked in ages and he just popped up." You tell him and he tenses slightly. He loves you. He trusts you. But he still gets these little pangs of jealousy from time to time.

"Let me guess, he wanted to 'catch up'?" He asks and you look up at him, hoping that he can tell you're being open and genuine with him.

"He did and I said no." His expression softens, brows relaxing, as he reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair out of your eyes. "But he's in the area and... I had an idea but it all depends on you. I don't want to put what we have at risk and, if you say no, I'll never ask again, okay?" You tell him and Poe nods slowly, pursing his lips slightly. You're not usually this serious so, whatever this is, he knows you aren't suggesting it lightly.

"What's the idea?"

"So hear me out. What if we met him, had a few drinks and, if we all got along, we could head back to a hotel and..." You trail off, hoping he can fill in the blanks. His eyes widen, considering. Still, the thought of putting your relation at risk tethers him to reality.

"And if things go south?" He asks.

"Then we call it quits, no questions asked, no hard feelings." He nods slowly, considering your words. The idea is definitely tempting but the stakes have the potential to be quite high. "Would you be okay with it? With someone touching me like that?" And Poe hesitates, possessiveness battling with curiosity. Finally, he speaks up.

"I think I could handle it."

"You could be as involved as little or as much as you want. If you just wanted to watch, that would be fine, but if you really wanted to join in, that would be fine too." His breath hitches slightly. He's never shared anyone like that before. The thought has crossed his mind a couple times, particularly when he's had just a little too much to drink, but now it's there and it's out in the open, hanging in the air between you, it feels closer, realer. You move closer and cup his face, turning him to face you fully. "Poe, you're my everything, okay? This is your decision. I told him, if you said no, I'd walk away. Because I married you." He leans into the touch, lifting his hand to rest over yours on his cheek.

"God, baby..." He whispers, kissing your palm. "You know how much that means to me, right? Giving this up just for me." You lean in to kiss him sweetly, needing him to know that his is all him, this is his call.

"Because one night of fun isn't worth giving up everything we have." You tell him and he gently pulls you into his lap, your weight grounding him, his hands resting on your hips.

"Alright. Let's say I agree. Let's say I'm okay with sharing you for the night. What're the rules?" He asks. He's right. There needs to be boundaries. Everything needs to be crystal clear so no-one comes out of this with regrets or hurt feelings.

"What rules would you want?" You ask in reply, absently playing with a rogue lock of his hair as you listen. He takes a moment to consider it.

"Rule one; no kissing on the mouth, unless it's me. Rule two; if any of us say stop, it stops right away, no questions asked." He says slowly and you nod. "Rule three; he doesn't get to finish inside you."

"Okay. But is finishing on me okay? Or in my mouth?" You ask and he considers for a moment. You swear you feel a twitch between your thighs as he blushes at the thought.

"Yeah... On your face, your chest; wherever you're comfortable with. And in your mouth is okay too, if you're okay with that." Running a hand through his dark locks, you nod.

"Okay, I'll message him back. How's tomorrow sound?"

"Tomorrow's fine." He says as you pull out your comm. "You gonna invite him over?" Instantly, you look up and shake your head.

"No, no. Hotel. I don't want him here. Feels too intimate." You tell him and Poe nods, relieved. He seems a little cautious but, if the bulge in his flight-suit and the light flush on his cheeks is anything to go by, he's a little excited too. You lace your fingers into his and squeeze reassuringly as you text with your free hand.

> YOU: Hey, DJ. Hubby's down with it. Got some rules though; no kissing on the mouth and no creampies. Got it? /MSG/ :: Got it. No making out, no baby batter. > YOU: :-) > YOU: We'll be at the Bantha Bones bar by 7 tomorrow. /MSG/ :: 7 @ Bantha Bones. See you there. ;-)

"All set?" Poe asks as you toss you comm onto the other side of the sofa. You give him your full attention, burying your nose in his hair as you kiss the crown of his head. He's still a little stiff but he's also absolutely turned on.

"All set. You sure you're okay with this?" You ask in response and he pulls back, giving you a warm smile, the type that makes your cheeks blush a pretty pink and sends a tingling sensation all throughout your body.

"I'm sure." He pecks you on the lips. "I trust you. Just promise me one thing?"

"Anything, hon."

"If, at any point, this stops feeling right or you get uncomfortable, you'll let me know." His eyes search yours, intense and earnest. "I don't care how many drinks you've had, how horny you are or how charming this guy might be." You squeeze his hand and nod.

"I promise. I'll tell you."

"Good."

The next day, you and Poe make your way to the Bantha Bones, the dim lighting and familiar din of conversation bringing you a strange kind of comfort. You're already feeling a little nervous; this is uncharted territory, even if it's with someone you know. Poe, ever the easy-going presence by your side, brushes your shoulder with his as he leads you through the crowd.

"Everything alright?" His voice is low, just for you. His thumb rubs the back of your hand. You nod.

"Yeah, just... Y'know."

"Hey, no pressure. If it gets weird, we walk. Simple as that." He reassures you, his tone so steady it calms the tightness in your chest.

You spot him almost immediately. DJ's slouched in a booth by the far wall, drink in hand, his eyes scanning the crowd as though he's still in the habit of looking over his shoulder. His greying, tousled hair and the stubble along his jaw make him look even more like the man you remember; though, a little older now, a little sharper in his posture.

Poe gives you a nudge. "Go on. I'll grab us some drinks."

You glance at him, hesitation lingering in your gaze, but he's already heading to the bar, leaving you to make your way toward DJ. With each step, the old feelings — the ones you thought were buried — stir in your chest. When you reach him, DJ looks up, a wide grin spreading across his face.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my f-f-favourite wildcat." He teases, his voice familiar and rough. There's the stutter. You'd forgotten how much you liked it. And there's a twinkle in his eye, the same one that used to set your heart racing.

"Don't start." You warn teasingly, a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"C'mon, sit down. I won't bite." He murmurs, setting his drink down before he peers up at you. "Not yet, anyway."

You settle in the booth opposite DJ, leaving space for Poe. "You look good." He says and just that little compliment brings heat to your cheeks. You hope he doesn't notice it in the low light. You've not flirted in years so this attention is unfamiliar though not unexpected not unwanted.

"Thanks. You look good too. You've aged a bit. But like...in a good way, y'know?" You stumble your way through the backhanded compliment and he grins.

"So've you. But you already looked a-amazing." He purrs, eyes straying down to take in your outfit. "Where's Hubby?" He asks and you nod in the way of the bar.

"Just grabbing us some drinks." DJ nods and glances over at the bar, where Poe grabs a couple drinks and slides a few credits on the counter.

"Mm. He let you come sit with me alone?" He asks, quirking a brow. "More trusting than I'd be in his situation." You turn your attention back to DJ and his stupid, smug face. The same one you'd gladly still have your lips all over.

"Okay but you didn't trust anyone and you were always incredibly jealous. It was kinda hot when I was younger but, dear God, you had some anger issues." You tell him and a deep chuckle rumbles through his chest, warming something low and deep in your body.

"Yeah, I was a real piece of w-w-work back then. But I've learned a thing or two since then and, I gotta say, it's kinda hot that he's okay with this." He says and you nod, turning your head back to look at Poe from across the room as he walks toward the booth, drinks in hand.

"Yeah... I'm lucky to have him."

Two drinks slide across the table before Poe settles in beside you. "Thanks, hon." You pull the drink toward you and take a long sip. It's not overly strong but there's a lot of it, enough to get the ball rolling, you're sure. "So, Poe, this is DJ. We used to run in a crew together. DJ, this is Poe, my husband."

"P-Pleasure to officially meet you." DJ extends his hand across the table, his grip confident as Poe grips it. When he settles back in his seat, Poe easily drapes his arm around the back of the booth in a protective, loving gesture that just seems so natural. It's nice.

After the introductions, the two seem to get along, finding common ground surprisingly quickly. They give old stories from their respective circles, most of them including you in one way or another. They try to keep you engaged but, as you slowly drain your drink, the rest of the bar seems to grow fuzzy and quiet and Poe's warmth at your side and DJ's low, stuttering purr light a fire in you that you struggle to tamp down. You rest your head on Poe's shoulder and get comfortable, propping your legs on the bench on DJ's side of the booth, just listening to them talk. DJ seems to have this magic ability to talk to people like he's known them years, even if it's only been an hour or so. It's disarming. One of the things you use to love about him.

Suddenly, you feel a rough hand on your calf, caressing you through your pants. Under the table, DJ has his hand around your leg, gently massaging the muscles there, easing the tension away, as he keeps chatting with Poe, who's too engrossed to notice the subtle contact. You stiffen slightly as the hand slides a little further up, biting your lip but not pulling away. He takes it as an invitation, his movements growing a little more noticeable. You sigh at the contact and wet your lips, tilting your head to look at Poe before reaching down to place a hand on his thigh. He pauses mid-sentence and places his hand over yours, looking down at you with a warm smile.

"Baby? You okay?" He asks, unaware that your legs are slowly being inched apart by DJ's curious fingers. The alcohol has a nice buzz running through your body. You've still got your wits about you but everything's bubbling up to the surface, particularly the thoughts of being sandwiched between these two men that have been plaguing you all day.

"Mhm. More than okay..." You tilt your head and press your lips to Poe's own, taking him by surprise, as you move your leg under the table, pressing the toe of your boot against DJ's zipper. Your hand on Poe's thigh slowly crawls upward until it rests on his crotch, earning yourself a groan against your lips. He's panting slightly when he finally pulls away. "You two seem to be getting along like a house on fire." You say and Poe's hand, rough with callouses, slides over your own, pressing your palm against the growing bulge there. You press your boot a little harder against DJ's zipper and a low growl rumbles through him.

"Yeah, he's alright." He murmurs in reply, voice a little huskier than before. "You seem distracted though."

"I won't lie; I'm getting a little antsy. Don't get me wrong, I love hearing you talk about cruisers and V38s but... It might be time to make a move?" You suggest and Poe's eyes dart up to DJ, who worries his lower lip between his teeth, clearly on-board with the idea.

"Lead the way." Poe says finally, picking up on the vibes.

"C'mon. Hotel's just around the corner."

With single-mindedness born of lust and a decent amount of booze, you lead the way to the hotel round the block. Both men follow suit, their movements almost predatory. The short walk to the hotel is tense with anticipation.

As you check in, Poe's hand rests possessively on the small of your back, while DJ's fingers brush against yours on the counter. Once you pick up the keycard, the path is simple; walk upstairs, get inside, lock the door. The room isn't anything to write home about; small and sparsely decorated, lit with tacky, red LEDs that cast stark shadows. The floor is worn and covered in scuff marks, a large bed situated in the centre of the room and a chair by a window with broken, lopsided blinds. It's clear nobody comes here for a pleasant, hospitable experience but that's not what you're here for either.

As soon as the door slides shut, Poe tucks himself against your back, his hands roaming along your sides. DJ's taller figure blocks the door, just watching hungrily.

"Now what?" Poe husks in your ear, his arousal clear, pressed against your backside. You step toward the bed and sit on the edge. That warm, fuzzy feeling still buzzes around in your body and you find yourself speaking before the words really process.

"I mean, I've just been thinking about being completely destroyed by you guys so like... I don't know... What do you guys wanna do?" You glance over at DJ, knowing he's more than willing to take the wheel and get this party started. His eyes darken as he steps forward, worn boots heavy on the floor. A large hand with nimble fingers grasps your chin firmly as he tilts your head back to look at him.

"You wanna be a g-good boy and do as we say?" His voice is a low growl, leaving no room for misinterpretation. You hum in approval and DJ releases you, taking a couple steps back to stand shoulder to shoulder with Poe. "Strip for us." You kick off your boots and stand, shrugging off your jacket and letting it fall to the floor. Poe's hands clench at his sides, struggling to stay still as he watches you. "Slowly." DJ adds, his voice hoarse. "Let us enjoy the view, hm?" Slowing your pace, you pull your shirt over your head along with your binder, leaving your upper half entirely bare. You reach down and unbuckle your belt, inching your pants down until they pool around your ankles and you can step out of them, leaving you in only your underwear. DJ reaches down and unashamedly squeezes the bulge in his pants. "Turn around. Bend over the b-bed." And you do as he tells you to, propping your hands on the mattress and leaning over, your backside only covered by the thin fabric of your underwear which is already damp at the gusset from your arousal.

You hear heavy steps as DJ moves behind you, placing a large hand on the small of your back, holding you in place. He leans over, his lips barely brushing the shell of your ear. "Such a good boy, doing exactly as you're told." Poe steps up too, not quite getting involved just yet, content in letting DJ take the lead for now. He drinks in the sight of you, unaware that you could be so obedient, that you would respond like this. A warm, familiar hand slides along your curves, fingertips ghosting along the waistband of your underwear.

"This wet already, baby?" Poe sighs airily. "Let's see." He hooks a finger into the waistband of your underwear and pulls it down. The sight earns a low groan from DJ and you whine as you feel slick dripping down your inner thighs, wet and warm.

"L-L-Look at this. You're absolutely soaked." One of DJ's hands moves to your backside, squeezing and kneading appreciatively. You lean into the touches, especially as Poe sinks two fingers inside you, friction nonexistent from how wet you are. DJ gives you a firm spank as Poe sets a slow, deep pace with his fingers, sliding them in and out, your toes curling against the floor. "You like that?" You let out another affirmative moan, pushing your hips back into those strong hands, which feel far more than two pairs. It feels like they're all over you, groping and squeezing and manhandling you in a way that feels all too good. DJ gives your rear another slap, watching it bounce slightly and letting out a husky chuckle. "Damn... You had him on his knees before, fly-boy? His mouth is to d-die for."

You whine as Poe's fingers slide from inside you, leaving you empty and wanting. "Don't worry, you'll get what you want, pussycat. But you gotta work for it first, mm?" DJ pulls you up from your position, bent over the mattress, as Poe grabs a pillow to cushion your knees as you're pushed to the floor. They stand over you, clearly hard in their pants. Poe seems to be at a bit of a loss. This side of you is unchartered territory and seeing DJ so easily guide you into such a submissive position has him reeling at what he's been missing out on. He's definitely learning a lot from the old slicer tonight.

DJ unbuckles his pants and inches down the zipper, pulling his cock free from his underwear and giving it a slow stroke. "Look at you. Forgot how c-c-cute you look on your knees, like that." He sighs and your mouth waters as precum beads at the slit. "You want this in your mouth, huh?" Your attention is drawn away from him as Poe unbuckles his pants and pushes them down his thighs, revealing his own erection. You wet your lips, eyes lidded as they flick between one cock to the other hungrily.

"Both of us?" Poe asks, his voice softer, more tentative.

"You'll have to take turns..." You manage and DJ chuckles lowly.

"Smart boy. Too big for you to take both at once." When you hesitate, Poe steps forward and runs his fingers through your hair. You peer up at him and he gives you a warm, encouraging smile, cutting through the haze of arousal that cloaks your vision.

"Start with me, baby. Nice and easy." You part your lips and take him in, his fingers resting lightly on the back of your hair. "That's it..." You sigh at the familiarity of your husband's cock sliding along your tongue. Your eyes drop shut as you focus on the weight of it, the pulsing heat in your mouth. He's leaking already as you draw him deep, licking and sucking all along the shaft, letting him guide your head, forward and back, in a familiar rhythm, your technique perfect from years of practice. "Holy shit..." Slow, long strokes, not too deep but just deep enough. Out of the corner of your eyes, you can see DJ slowly pumping at his cock, impatiently awaiting his turn. Poe's fingers tighten ever so slightly in your hair as droll drips down your chin, your mouth working him like a dream. "Fuck, baby..."

Suddenly, a large hand snarls into your hair as DJ decides he just can't take it anymore. Poe's dick slides from your mouth with a wet sound, your lips connected to the ruddy crown of his cock with a thin string of saliva.

"No wonder, f-fly-boy, here, can't get enough." He mutters, sliding himself past your lips. You have to stretch your mouth a little wider to take him in, your eyes rolling as he grips your hair. "Gotta be firm with you, wildcat. Might've forgotten all your skills..." He groans deeply, his hips moving to set a slow, deep pace which slowly picks up. "Goddamn, you still have the best mouth..." He grunts and Poe watches as your lips stretch wide around the slicer's dick, eager and desperate. DJ slides all the way in, pushing past your barrier, your nose buried in the thatch of thick, dark hair at the base. You gag slightly, a mix of saliva and pre bubbling around your mouth as you struggle to accommodate. He stays there for a moment before pulling out and letting you catch your breath. "Fuck, yeah..." You cough wetly, eyes pricking with tears, as Poe steps closer again.

"Come on, baby. Switch back to me." You do, sucking and tonguing at his cock messily, unashamed as drool oozes down your chin to pool on the floor. You moan as his fingers lightly tug at your hair, growing a little rougher, though only slightly, like he's anxious to try his hand at what DJ does. You bob your head eagerly, looking up at him as he bites his lip, murmuring soft praises under his breath. "You're so good, baby... Just like that... That's it..." You've never seen him like this before either; so hungry for you, so desperate. And then, for a moment, he stops. "Baby?"

"Mm...?" You manage, your lips still wrapped around his dick. He cards a hand through his thick, dark curls, cheeks flushed.

"Can I... Can I try a little harder?" He asks tentatively. "Like he does?" He jabs a thumb at DJ who grins wolfishly, his hand stroking at his cock, spreading the slick mix of pre and spit all over the shaft. You think for a moment before nodding slightly and Poe nods, gripping your hair firmly, mirroring DJ's earlier hold. "Open wider." He says and you obey without question, letting your jaw drop, and he pushes his hips forward, sliding his cock deep into your mouth, pressing against the barrier in your throat but not daring to go deeper. You gag slightly but stay obediently still. Poe takes up a steady rhythm, fucking your mouth just deep enough to make you take him into your throat just a little each time. As Poe uses your mouth, you reach up to wrap a hand around DJ's cock, pumping at the same pace as Poe's thrusts and earning yourself an appreciative, rumbling groan from the splicer.

"F-F-Fuck, yeah... Just like that..." He covers his hand with your own, guiding your strokes.

Eventually, you pull back, panting, your eyes watering.

"Don't...cum yet, okay?" You manage, your speech a little garbled after the rough treatment.

"Yeah, okay, baby." Poe manages between shaky breaths.

"You want a facial, huh?" DJ asks with a knowing grin and your cheeks flame. "N-Naughty boy. C'mon, over here." You lift your hand to wrap around Poe's dick, keeping your pace slow as not to overwhelm him just yet. Nimble fingers slip through your hair and curl tight as DJ establishes a quick, punishing rhythm, unafraid to push past your barrier and bury himself completely in your mouth. He gazes down at you, dark eyes glazed over with want. "F-F-Fuck... The amount of times I've jerked off to this thought... You're a little out of practice but... Damn, you're still p-perfect..." He rasps out as you gag and cough wetly around his cock, saliva dripping onto the floor in thin, glistening strings.

Finally, once tears are slipping down your cheeks and your lips are red and soaked with spit and pre, DJ pulls your head back. You let your eyes flutter shut, keeping your mouth open to receive whatever they give you. The slicer takes himself in hand as Poe does the same, groaning and the slick sound of skin on skin making you ache. Poe finishes first, painting the bridge of your nose and your forehead as he strokes your hair, mumbling about how sexy you look. DJ's load splashes heavily onto your cheeks and lips, the weight of it hot on your skin. Another stream of his arcs across your nose and coats your lashes as Poe leans in closer for a better angle, his last few spurts dropping onto your upper lip, making sure to get a little of it in your mouth. Some of it oozes down your neck and drips onto your chest, coating your skin in a slick, sloppy sheen.

When they finish, you wipe it out of your eyes and lick you lips, reaching any you can with your tongue and pulling it into your mouth. "F-Fuck, that's hot..." DJ manages between laboured breaths. "You really shoulda kept doing those porno holos. Would've made a fortune by now." He teases and you see Poe's eyes widen. He really is learning a lot today.

Eventually, you stagger to your feet and toss the pillow back on the bed, uncaring that it's splattered with saliva, cum and your own slick arousal. Poe's flagging now; his cock spent and in need of some recoup time, while DJ's still going strong. You wipe your face on the bedsheets, feeling energised yet still weighed down by the insatiable heat in your lower belly.

"How's...everyone feeling?" You manage, your voice weak and a little rough from having your throat pounded. DJ grins lazily.

"Feeling great." He purrs, squeezing the base of his dick, still hard, still leaking. Poe, on the other hand, looks dazed but satisfied, still trying to catch his breath.

"I'm good. Just...need a sec." He murmurs and you nod.

"Take a break, hon. Can we keep going?" You ask as Poe stumbles over to the chair by the window, dropping into it.

"Mhmm... You alright?" He asks, a hint of concern in his voice. You beam at him sweetly, already looking a dazed mess but glowing with excitement at how the night's gone so far.

"I'm having the time of my life." You reply and DJ chuckles.

"That's what we l-like to hear. Sure you can handle more, little wildcat?" He asks and you nod, watching Poe lean back, stretching his arms above his head and relaxing back into the chair to take a breather. DJ swaggers closer, ravenous eyes roaming your body, taking in the mess of cum and saliva on your neck and chest. "What's on your mind, handsome?"

"Getting a little needy..." You admit and his grin turns into a wolfish smile.

"Needy for what?"

"Y'know..." You part your knees a little, hoping he gets the hint. He does, lightly kicking your legs open and reaching down to press his fingers against your aching pussy. The ache feels tripled somehow as calloused fingers brush lightly over your swollen lower lips.

"You want me in here, huh?" He asks, as if there were any doubt. You whimper and nod quickly as he draws his thumb around your clit. "And what about fly-boy, over there? Does he get a turn or am I getting it all for myself?" You glance over at Poe, who's watching, still splayed out on the chair by the window.

"One solo round each and then one together? Sound okay?" You ask and Poe nods, giving you a thumbs-up, still trying to catch his breath, even as his cock starts to thicken again.

Laying back on the bed, you let your thighs fall open, setting your eyes back on the slicer looming over you. There's no shame here anymore. Everyone's on the same page and it feels so freeing. DJ grabs hold of your hips and hooks your legs over his shoulders before lining himself up, rubbing the head against your pussy.

"Alright, h-here I come." He pushes his hips forward slowly, groaning as he spreads you open. He's definitely bigger than you remember but not to an uncomfortable degree. There's this warm, pleasant stretch as he fills you, inching inside until he's fully seated, his pelvis flush against yours. The pace he sets is slow at first, his thick cock hitting all the right spots, making you whimper and moan.

"Ohhh, my God..." You whine out and he grins, wetting his lips, as he keeps a steady pace.

"So tight..." He mutters, fingers digging into the meat of your hips as he slowly increases the pace. "As good as you remember?"

"Better..." That pulls a soft laugh from him, one that you feel more than hear. He drops his gaze to where you're joined, watching his shaft disappear inside you with every long stroke. He's got the angle down just right, his hips slightly raised so he's grinding against that perfect spot inside you. "F-Fuck...! Oh, my God... DJ..."

"Mhmm..." He hums in approval as you squeeze down around him, picking up the pace a little more as you get used to the size of him again. "No wonder fly-boy put a ring on it. Forgot how good you felt..." You throw a weak but teasing smile up at him.

"As good as you remember?" You ask and his eyes roll slightly as he bottoms out again, filling you completely.

"B-Better..." He stutters out, his voice a low growl.

"Just remember... No cumming inside, yeah?" You remind him and he nods.

"Yeah; one round, no cream filling. Got it." He tosses you a sly wink before pulling back and pushing back in hard, making you whine at the stretch. God, he feels amazing, hitting all the right spots with this deep, searing pressure that makes your toes curl.

As his pace grows more and more punishing and your cries reach a fever pitch, he claps a hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds. "Shhh... You can take it." He tells you, laying into you with quick, deep thrusts. "Almost there..." And you can feel him pulsing deep inside you, his brows knitting in concentration. "Just a little more..." His strokes become shallower, more urgent, sweat beading on his brow as he fights to hold back his climax, needing to stay inside you as long as humanly possible, to keep this connection as long as he can.

Suddenly, he pauses. Bites his lip.

"DJ..." Your voice is a slight warning.

"Not yet, not yet..." He hisses through clenched teeth, eyes squeezed shut. The pressure's on as you notice Poe leaning forward in the chair, his cock at full mast again but his breath coming quick.

Don't break the rule. Don't break the rule, DJ...

With a strained grunt, he manages to pull out just in time, wrapping his fingers around the shaft and jerking in stiff movements until thick, hot ropes splatter across your stomach. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..." He gasps out, making sure to milk every last drop as Poe leans back, watching with a satisfied nod. It's warm on your belly, sticky and creamy as it clings to your skin.

DJ's careful to cradle your knees as he unhooks them from his shoulders, pressing little kisses to your inner thighs before stepping back. You sit up and press your lips to the head of his softening cock, licking away any stray drops and tasting yourself on his skin. He shudders at the sensation before he nods and tucks himself away in his pants, ruffling your hair affectionately. "Be right back. Don't go anywhere." DJ disappears into the ensuite and you turn your attention to Poe, who's taken the liberty of stripping down the rest of the way.

An adoring smile quirks at your lips as you get up on shaky legs and step over to him as he stands, back to full function now he's taken a breather.

"Your turn, big guy." You tell him as you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him deeply. "Having fun?" He kisses you again hungrily, hands moving to grope your backside possessively.

"So much fun." He huffs against your lips, breaking the kiss to trail his mouth down your neck. Holding onto his shoulders, you tug him back toward the bed. "You're gorgeous right now, baby." He mutters, gently pushing you down onto the rumpled sheets.

"I'm a mess." You correct him playfully.

"Exactly." He climbs up onto the bed, hovering over you and spreading your legs for him. His touch is warm and familiar, gentle and sweet, with an underlying hunger for you despite the amount of times he's made love to you before. "A messy, fucked-out, beautiful mess." The door to the ensuite opens and DJ hesitates for a moment before leaning against the door, watching the two of you.

"You gonna show him how we usually do it? He was wondering if you were as good as I said you are?" You tease and Poe smirks.

"Ohh, I'll show him." He replies confidently, fitting his hips between your thighs. You pull him down against you, his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes softened, thumbs brushing soothing circles on your hips. "You love showing off like this, don't you?" He lowers his voice and you get a glimpse of DJ out of the corner of your eye, leaning against the wall, arms folded across his broad chest. You lower you voice as well, your words for Poe's ears only.

"Yeah but he was wondering if you take care of me. He cares about me, hon, in his own weird way." You tell him and his expression turns tender.

"I can see that." His lips seal over yours in a slow kiss. "And I take god care of you, don't I?"

"You do. I wanna show him how good you are to me." You run your fingers through his curls, nuzzling against his jaw, feeling his stubble lightly rasp against your temple.

"Then let's give him a show."

With one, smooth motion, Poe slides himself home, letting out a soft groan at the feeling of being completely surrounded, embedded within you. After so long, it feels so natural with him but not dull — never that — because, whenever you look up at him and he's gazing down at you, gauging your reactions and making sure you're alright, you get this warmth blooming in the centre of your chest, this little voice in the back of your head that says 'this is the man you married'. This man. This lovely, dumb, sexy, gorgeous man. Poe Dameron. And it never fails to astound you just how perfect he is. It feels natural and familiar but it also feels new and perfect.

Slow, deep thrusts as he presses kisses to your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, your lips. Wherever he can't reach with his mouth he covers with his hands, ensuring every inch of you is soothed by his touch. You barely register the sounds you're making. They feel so distant and far away, especially when you get lost in his eyes or when he steals your breath away with a kiss. It's like he's all around you, smothering you in a soft, cotton candy cocoon of affection.

Your lips are moving but your head is completely blank, your warm breath on his neck as you whisper praises into his skin. "You like that?" He murmurs and you nod.

"But...can I be on top for a bit?"

Without hesitation, Poe rolls over onto his back, looking up at you like you hung the stars for him. Everything else seems to fade away when he looks at you like that, his hands cradling your hips as he guides your slow, rocking thrusts. You brace your hands on his chest, letting your eyes drift shut as you take him in. He's letting out these sweet groans and breathless words of encouragement. Straightening your back, you lift your hands to your chest, lightly pinching and rolling your nipples, letting Poe guide your hips.

While you're trapped in this fog of affection and pleasure, it dawns on you; this is what DJ never gave you. When you were together, when you were working and partying and hopping from system to system, it never felt like this. It was intense and fiery and the physical side of things was amazing but Poe gives you something deeper; emotional fulfilment, which seems to heighten every sense.

The slide of your bodies together is smooth and slow, no need to rush. His hands are on your hips, your thighs, your stomach, appreciating every bit of you that he can reach as he watches you ride him with a kind of starstruck adoration.

Honestly, it doesn't even matter what DJ thinks. He can think what he damn well pleases.

This is fun. Not getting drunk and passing out in some back-alley near a cantina, no. Making love to the man you married, the man who appreciates you every day, who holds you up when you're down, who laughs at your jokes holds you when you cry. This is your idea of fun. And it's a damn good idea, you think.

"Baby..." The softest whisper brings you out of your reverie and you look down at him.

"You gonna cum inside me, honey?" You ask, voice breathless and sweet. From the sweat on his brow and the flush in his cheeks, you can tell he's close.

"Yeah..." You lean down, thread your fingers into his hair and press your lips to his, parting them and inviting him into your mouth. He takes the opportunity, sliding his tongue inside, moaning against your lips, as he spills inside you. He fills you with pulse after pulse, blunt nails biting into your hips as he grows light-headed from the pleasure. His load slowly drips out and oozes down around his cock and you keep holding on, keep rolling your hips, until he breaks away, panting, eyes lidded and full of love, as fresh as the day you met.

Finally, the finisher. You sit up and turn back to DJ, who's still leant against the wall, an odd expression on his usually impish features. It looks like satisfaction and pride...and longing. You hold out a hand and give him a smile, warm, inviting.

"Come here. Your wildcat needs you." You tell him and he hesitates for a moment before he reaches up to shrug off his coat, tugging off his clothes.

When he finally crawls up onto the bed, Poe doesn't move, allowing him to join the intimate space without feeling intrusive. His breath hitches as he shuffles behind you, large hands finding your waist with an uncharacteristic gentleness. One of your hands finds Poe's as the other tangles into DJ's and you turn your head to meet the slicer's gaze. He looks bewildered, almost. Like he's stumbled across something sacred. "Cyar'ika." It falls from your lips like a prayer; the name you used to call him, a reminder of where you met. He freezes for a moment before he leans down to press a kiss to the nape of your neck; an apology, you think, for all the times he took you for granted. He wraps an arm around your waist, nuzzling against the bend of your neck, before sheathing himself inside you beside Poe. The stretch is intense but wonderful. They don't move, just linger there, as you lay your head back to rest on DJ's shoulder, giving him better access. "A-Ahh... I missed you, cyar'ika." You murmur softly and DJ swallows hard, gathering you up in his arms and burying his face against your skin.

"I missed you too, k-k-kitya..."

Slow, shallow movements. It's almost overwhelming. Both DJ and Poe seem to lose themselves in the moment; the feeling of you, the sounds you make, the way you hold onto them. You turn your head to nuzzle against the slicer's temple and he makes this grumbling, purring sound; not aroused as such but contented — like a big cat — a sound reserved only for you. He mouths at your neck, kissing and biting lightly, not enough to bruise but just enough to feel, enough to keep you grounded. One of his hands slide down, fingers lightly rubbing over the hood of your clit, as they both move within you. Pleasure rushes through you at the touch, the fullness, the sheer intimacy of the moment. It's a heady feeling, sweet and intoxicating. It seems DJ learned something too; simply how to be vulnerable. And it has him broken behind you, nuzzling your neck, licking along the line of your collarbone.

Your breath comes in shallow gasps, your chest swelling with warmth, full to bursting. You're overwhelmed.

When you tilt your head back, catching DJ's eye, he really stops to see what he previously refused to; the heartache, the anger, the love and the lost years in between. He can't find the words so just pressed his face into your hair, holding onto you tightly. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you squeeze their hands. You're so close. So close now...

White-hot pleasure flushes through you, bringing the world down on you in a cacophony of sound, touch and emotion. Your vision whites out and there's a ringing in your ears. You shudder violently as you reach your peak and you let out these weak, shaky gasps.

"We've got you, baby. We've got you." Poe's voice calls out from the void and you feel him sit up, trapping you between him and DJ. Your body goes completely taut and then completely limp, mewling and whimpering with every slight touch of your skin. Your head lolls forward, forehead pressed to Poe's shoulder. "Baby?"

"Mmmm...?" You manage and he presses a kiss just below your ear, earning himself a little shiver and a high, quiet whine. You're trembling and clammy in their arms.

"You okay?" Poe asks and you struggle to string a sentence together.

"Y-Yeah... But I... I can't...feel my legs..." You murmur. That pulls a soft chuckle from DJ as he runs a hand along your thigh.

"That's just your body overloading, kitya. Looks like you sh-short-circuited yourself." He murmurs softly before he pulls his hips back, forcing a soft, breathless sob from your lips.

"Do you... Don't you guys wanna...?"

"Shhh..." Poe gently lifts you off his cock and settles you in his lap, cradling you against his chest. "I think you've had enough for tonight."

"Don't worry about us. We're good. Y-Y-You just relax, yeah?" DJ climbs off the bed and you nod as Poe lays back, resting your head on his chest and tucking your body against his side. The slicer stands awkwardly by the bed for a moment, watching Poe wrap a protective arm around you, his free hand stroking your arm as you nestle into his chest. With a small, tired smile, he looks up at DJ and pats the spot behind you.

"Hey, c'mon. There's room for one more."

Carefully, DJ spoons you from behind, pressing a tentative kiss to your shoulder before wrapping an arm around your waist, resting his hand lightly on your stomach. Poe brushes his lips against your hair, his chest rising and falling with soft, contented breaths.

"Thanks, guys..." You manage. "I hope you enjoyed this...as much as I did..."

"Baby, there's no question that we did." Poe assures you and DJ nods in agreement, his breath warm on your ear as he nuzzles your neck, voice low and rough.

"You're still incredible, kitya. Never should've d-doubted you. My wildcat's still in there, still going strong." He murmurs and you lazily tilt your head up to look at Poe, one hand sliding down to hold DJ's own.

"I think..." You yawn, curling up between the two men. "I think I might...just close my eyes for a bit..."

"Mmm. You go ahead and get some rest, baby. You earned it."

"We've got you, kitya."

[llostwriter]

The Husky And The White Cat Shizun With Their Baobei | 2HA Fanfic

Chapter 2

It's so dark...

You groaned out in pain; everywhere in your body was hurting. You could hear the desperation in Chu Wanning's voice. He seemed worried for you. You wish that you could stay by his side, but now that you're dead, you can't. He could only face the remaining moment of suffering at the hands of Taxian-Jun, alone by himself. Would Taxian-Jun punish him for trying to escape the second time? You should have waited a few more days and made better plans; if only then, you could have successfully saved Chu Wanning. God, you felt like an idiot. But there's nothing you can do about it after you're dead. Your soul is probably wandering somewhere else in the abyss.

You could have abandoned Chu Wanning and run away yourself. But where could you have run? Taxian-Jun basically has control of the entire cultivation world; even the cultivation sects are afraid to rebel against him. Sooner or later, he'll find a way to ruin your life, even if you never truly did anything bad to him.

What the hell is the problem with him?

You calmed yourself by reminding him that it wasn't Mo Ran's fault. It was the mastermind. Shi Mei, or, should you say, Hua Binan, was behind all of this.

Curses to both Mo Ran and Hua Binan'! Fuck them both!! They are surely a chaotic duo when it comes to ruining people’s lives!

But at the same time, if only you had kept an eye on Mo Ran more often, his affection rate with Shi Mei wouldn't have risen to the point that Mo Ran would basically confuse gratitude with love. Your former self thought that it should be fine since, in the second timeline, Mo Ran later on didn't do all those horrible things to Chu Wanning like in the first timeline. But you should have checked for signs of the 1st timeline and the 2nd timeline instead of immediately assuming that it's the 2nd timeline.

While you were ranting and cursing at the unfortunate fate of you and the characters, you noticed that Chu Wanning's voices were fainting away. Did Taxian-Jun drag him away from your dead corpse? You know it was irrational to blame Taxian-Jun for your death; after all, there wasn't enough proof of him actually being your murderer. Still. He is the most suspected. Adding to the fact that he did threaten to kill you last time,.

Somehow, even though you can't hear Chu Wanning's voice again, you can still hear the sound of the rustling leaves and the bird chirping around. It would be quite peaceful if you weren't worried sick about Chu Wanning. You can't even remember how Chu Wanning died in his first life; you regret not immediately writing it down in the first place. Was it by Taxian-Jun? Probably. You opened your eyes, and after a few failed attempts, you were back in the forest that you first started in.

You got up and checked your body; there were no injuries. You were completely fine. The pain that was previously there also disappeared. Chu Wanning was also nowhere to be found. You were reborn! You weren't sure if it was reborn in the second timeline or the first timeline. But regardless, you're determined to save Chu Wanning this time.

You followed the familiar routes back to the village, and you saw the familiar faces of the villagers. It's been awhile since you visited the village. The playful, youthful kids are running and playing with each other without a single care in the world.

Ever since you left the village, you never decided to come back to visit since you had to practice for the upcoming disciple selection ceremony. And after you became a disciple of Sisheng Peak under Chu Wanning, you ended up focusing on strengthening your spiritual core. After all, only with a strong spiritual core could the other process of using stronger spiritual power be achieved. With the remaining time hanging around Chu Wanning or the other disciples. Your spiritual power wasn't improving much, even despite all the practices.

One thing you learned from those reincarnation novels is to at least make friends with the main characters, which you succeed with a few difficulties. Mo Ran was somewhat easier to approach due to his usual outgoing personality. For Chu Wanning, it was about patience and care; it was best to not rush things with Chu Wanning.

"孙女! I was looking for you. How many herbs have you collected? Did you get injured?"

That was Ying Qin, your current body's grandmother. She died a couple of months after you left the village. You remember the day that you got the news from the news sender? You did have guilt for not spending more time with her; even though she isn't your real grandmother, she still treated you with care. She didn't even hesitate to believe you when you lied to her about losing your memories.

"I'm alright, 奶奶." You took out a stack of herbs that the original Y/N had previously collected and handed them to Ying Qin. The familiar-looking, simple, loose-fitting, earthy-toned garments made of cheap natural fabrics that you have seen since you first met her. It has been quite a while, but there are some details you still remember. Ying Qin's wrinkled and weathered skin reflected a lifetime of experience with her hunched posture from all the hard work, but even despite that, she still held a genuine smile while greeting you.

The following days, you spend more time with Ying Qin, just like you used to in your second past life. One difference between this life and the past is that in this life, you choose not to mention anything about memory loss.

You remember that in your first past life, your grandmother died before you were even born. You never have the chance to meet your grandma; you only meet your grandmother on your mother's side. However, you also noticed that there aren't many facial similarities between you and Ying Qin. Even though she was slightly wrinkled, you still didn't spot any similar facial features. Perhaps it's that the genes from the mother side are more dominant; maybe that's why?

In this life, you depend on your memories of the method of cultivation to regain your spiritual core and essence. Meaning that you don't have to wait for the group of Sisheng Sect disciples to arrive. Even despite that, you still need to wait up to a year and a half.

It could have taken longer, but thanks to previous life experiences, you were able to find some herbs that're essential to boosting one's cultivation. If it weren't for those herbs, you were sure that it would take up to 3 years, even despite the earlier process.

You cursed at yourself for being reincarnated into such a weak body once again.

Something that you will never understand is that since you can sense that you have more than one spiritual essence, shouldn't you be as powerful as the other cultivators, or maybe even more powerful? Yet, your cultivation was not even better than that of Shi Mei. Shi Mei specializes in healing! He's better at healing than you are at your own cultivation. That was the reason why it was so difficult for you to successfully help Chu Wanning escape from your past life.

You suppose that fate simply likes to play a cruel joke on you.

One day, as you watched from afar as the crowd gathered around a merchant stand, you already had a feeling for what this could be about.

"Selling cultivation materials, including the books for boosting one's cultivation!" The materials were made from plastic, but the villagers didn't know that, other than the merchant and yourself. The so-called cultivation books were just writings about cultivation methods that rumors say work but actually don't. How did you know that? In your previous life, you watched the scene of a woman exposing the scammer after buying tons of the scammer's products for them to not even work at all. The scammer attempted to accuse the purchaser, saying that they probably purchased those products from elsewhere. Just when you thought that the scammer might win this case, another person said that they had seen the same exact woman purchasing those products from the stand.

In order to escape this situation, the scammer tells the crowd that he doesn't have enough money to make a refund right now, but he'll come back the next day. The villagers didn't believe him, and in the end, the scammer left his stand and ran away without giving the woman any refund.

Even with his stand on fake materials and fake books, the woman still ended up suffering a huge loss after all the prices were expensive since almost everyone got fooled into thinking it was real materials.

You looked at a similar situation in your second life.

It was once again that scummy marketing strategy, done by the same exact male merchant from last time. You remembered it in your past life; you ignored it after all; it's not your business. You heard a kid urging their mother to purchase them the materials and books. You took one step in their direction in hopes of convincing them not to make the purchases. Before backing off, upon realizing that the mother of the kid was the same exact woman that would later expose the scammer,.

Balancing the pros and cons, even if you attempt to stop them, there is no guarantee that they will listen to you. So you decided not to make a scene.

——-

One thing that you learned from your past life was to never overestimate your ability.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

[owmyeyeballs]

Get to Know my Tav!

Doing @sporeservant 's ask game for another Tav, because hey, why not!

Cyrill | Gnome | He/Him

What is your Tav’s…

favorite weapon: His quick wits! Little guy is used to quickly thinking his way out of uncomfortable situations, and it turns out that translates rather well to adventuring.

style of combat: Panicked improvisation. He stays back and supports the heavy hitters with inspiration and magic and healing, all while muttering "Oh Gods, Oh Gods, Oh Gods..." under his breath. He really doesn't like to fight!

most prized possession: His violin. He plays a lot of instruments, but his violin is special. It was left to him by his first music teacher after he died, and losing it would be like losing a friend.

deepest desire: A return to peace and quiet and order and cleanliness, and just leaving all this trekking about in the wilderness behind! Although, if he could see that all these rather intimidating new friends are safe and well... He'd like that very much too...

guilty pleasure: Romance novels. Cyrill tries to keep his reading to more serious topics, but every now and then, he likes to snuggle up somewhere cozy and read some sappy love story. He's pretty sure he's never going to find someone special himself (surely his increasingly massive crush on Gale won't be reciprocated...), but it's nice to imagine.

best-kept secret: He doesn't have many secrets, really, but the biggest one at the moment is the fact that he's rapidly falling head over heels in love with a certain wizard. He hangs on Gale's every word, and delights in chatting with him about magic, music, poetry... He's absolutely certain he can't possibly be loved back, and doesn't know why he keeps hurting himself by imagining... But it's a nice kind of hurt.

greatest strength: Loyalty. Few people get close enough to timid little Cyrill to know it, but once he cares for someone? He'd sooner die than let them down. He'll follow them to the Hells and back, even if he's on the verge of a panic attack the whole way.

fatal flaw: The man just cannot voice his boundaries or discomforts if he thinks it might offend or upset someone. He's the sort to die of thirst rather than trouble someone for a glass of water, and it always goes terribly. Too nervous to tell the vampire that, hey, that's probably enough blood he's had now? Welp, now he's stuck in camp while his anaemic ass recovers. Can't tell his sweet druid friend that he's allergic to her cat form? Oops, just burst out sneezing during a stealth mission and now we're rolling initiative. Can't turn that sweet old lady down when she insists he come to her teahouse even though his gut tells him something's off? Oops, we're fighting a hag now!

favorite smell: Old books. Little man could spend the rest of his days quite happily in a library.

favorite spell or cantrip: Goes against his generally sweet nature, but Vicious Mockery. Sometimes all that pent up stress comes out in battle, because how dare that goblin hurt his new friend, and... oh, goblin is dead now. Did he do that?

pet peeve: Mud. Blood. Germs. The general grossness of adventuring. Makes his skin crawl. When Gale tells him he likes his musk he practically runs to the nearest body of water to try to clean himself.

bad habit: Being a doormat. Little guy really, really needs to learn to say no! Pretty much everything in his life has happened because he has such trouble telling people, no, actually, he'd really rather not.

hidden talent: Improv. Party needs a distraction? He can come up with songs on the fly with remarkable skill. He's going to really upset Raphael by turning his big bad villain song back at him!

leisure activity: Reading, and playing his various instruments. Maybe even a leisurely stroll if he's feeling adventurous! He... likes the quiet life.

favorite drink: A nice soothing cup of tea. Maybe a glass of sweet wine now and then, although he has no head for alcohol

comfort food: Buttered crumpets.

favorite person: From prior to the game, his old friend Sylvie, a fellow student from the bardic college he attended. She's very respectful of his timid nature, and knows not to pressure him. And now Gale, who as far as Cyrill is concerned, is just... magical.

favored display of affection (platonic and/or romantic): He's not huge on physical displays of affection (especially with larger folks... He's just a little guy!). Instead shows of affection tend to come in the form of offering a cup of tea, or listening to people as they vent. He's a very good listener. Also, taking song requests.

fondest childhood memory: He had a terrible stutter when he was younger, and it's why he first took singing lessons, since he didn't stutter when he sang. Finally having a way to express himself without feeling ridiculous was life-changing for him, and he looks back fondly on those first lessons.

Is there anything else you'd like to share? (feel free to include art or a screenshot of your Tav if available!): Cyrill was initially a little bit of a joke character, because I wanted a soft little guy to balance out my badass traumatized ladies, but I very quickly became genuinely fond of him. He's a sweet, special little guy <3

[mindsafe]

zeke will emerge as the holy ambassador of marley. his languor will introduce him as the monkey to which ymir had inquired previously. she had asked politely, stripped of four limbs & passing time as a product of hard exchanges. bertolt had exchanged glances with reiner who ( in turn ) pledged uncertainty. so . . . they claimed that zeke was a stranger.

but zeke will emerge as the holy ambassador of marley. he will summon the warship & then pack away jaws ( ymir ) into confinement so that her stolen power might be controlled again.

bertolt feels no allegiance to her. he feels allegiance to marcel ( dead now ) but his allegiances feel arbitrary. they’re based on strength.

bertolt is not strongest. he is the most devastating.

zeke has not emerged yet. but he comes soon. in the mean time, they dangle their feet off the side of the wall. bertolt pretends that losing ymir doesn’t mean losing an asset, losing more than asset.

into the air between them bertolt confesses ‘ i don’t know how you decided to surrender like this - ‘

@pontevoix || ANSWERED

disproportionately small limbs attached to a broad torso. coarse, matted hair covering everything but the face && chest.

A BEAST.

when ymir asked the boys about the ❛ monkey ❜ on their asses, they feigned ignorance: bertolt doesn't know how to tell a lie that hadn't been rehearsed in a bathroom mirror; && reiner is a tapestry coming apart at the seams. sheesh, she's as good as dead already; there's no point in keeping secrets now, is there?

they wait at the edge of the world, for a ferryman in a warship who would take her soul across the sea. the ‘ hostage ’ warms the living walls with her body ( forever a martyr ). stone sings to her. ymir offers open palms to an inviting sky. the stars are beautiful tonight; flowers of white, yellow && blue, blooming in a garden of darkness. she has made peace with her fate. there are worse things than dying. .

bertolt doesn't understand why she stays. ymir can't blame him; if their roles were reversed, chances are she wouldn't understand either. hell, if she truly practiced what she preached, she definitely wouldn't understand.

❝ --that's easy; this isn't surrender. like you said, if i wanted to run, now would be the time to do it. i could save my skin, && throw you to the wolves. maybe you even deserve it. but i doubt the survey corps would take me back now. ❞ she laughs. it's easier that way.

❝ not many people are given the privilege of a second chance. you gave me the opportunity to live a life i could be proud of; but it was borrowed time ― i'm just paying back an expensive debt. . . for what it's worth, i'm sorry about your friend. ❞

[not-so-lost-after-all]

She thought she knew what she was doing, that they can make a deal with the devil and win again against all odds.

Those spawns deserved some peace. Were too dangerous. Dead for so long. Astarion could have had it all - his pain, weakness, humiliation and guilt wiped away in one moment.

Even after he carved the runes into Cazador's flesh, their minds remained connected. So she felt it when it happened a few moments later and it was like some dark cold twisted tenticles spreading through his mind. Then he pushed her out of his head so aggressively her nose started bleeding in the red dim light. It took her a few words with him to realize what a fool she was...

---

He offered to turn her almost right away, to her surprise. After all, what difference does it make after everything she's done for him? She frowned, she's not going to be anyone's puppet.

“But this would be different. I love you, isn't that what you wanted to hear?”

(“Everyone's favorite. I love you.”

“Having fun, aren't you?”)

She sighed and took a few steps to kiss him. Astarion started caressing the back of her neck, practiced touches as she's fully aware but she lets him. Then the grasp around her throat tightens a bit and he punctures her lower lip with one fang. She suddenly felt especially dirty and pushed him away. There's an icy numbness around her chest now because yes, this felt exactly as wrong as she expected.

“Isn't it a little late to be peevish, pet?” he chuckled.

---

There weren't many times they spoke to each other but many times it came down to her decission to remain “pathetic”, “human” or  “unpolished”. He insisted on her being his spawn, she admited to herself resignedly.

He told her once that he should have turned her in her sleep, that would teach her a lesson. He noticed her widened eyes and drank the pain. Then she returned fire with fire. That night she cried in her bed for the first time in a decade, she didn't even know if it's more out of self pity or a gnawing guilt over what she's done to him.

---

“There's no use in us fighting any longer.” He said that with more frustration than sadness. Her temples throbed, slowly processing what he's saying. “It is for the best.”

“I suppose you can say so when I've done terrible things for you with nothing to show for it,” she couldn't resist but her tone was still as calm as she could manage.

That awful chuckle of his again. “The man of your dreams, the hope of him, is your own worst enemy. The greatest crimes in this world are commited for love,” he almost vomited the last word.

No, that's not it but he never understood that's not what she wanted and she failed to really show him.

(“I can't be what you want to see in me.”

“You already are what I want to see in you.”)

He waved his hand like a magician which she would find amusing any other time. “I know how to play with it and I can't resist playing the hand I know.”

She was stunned for a moment - gods, she knew so well he has sharp tongue but even for him, this was a low blow. It was pointless to tell him she'd go back in time if she could but she sure as hell won't give him another satisfaction.

“Well then,” she cracked a smile, “I hope you'll be happy in your twisted way. Don't think of me when you sink your teeth into someone else's neck.”

“Thank you for everything, darling, and don't think of me when you scratch someone else's back.”

(“Stop it, you don't have to say such things,” she started a bit haughtily but quickly mellowed down. “I already said I'm going to help you. And I know I'm far from being your usual first choice. It's allright, I've never been anyone's first choice.”)

---

She was already drunk from four cups of wine when Karlach joined her at the table at the inn.

“One more cup with me and then we'll call it a night, what do you say?”

She grinned at the tiefling and sighed grumpily. “I suppose the last weeks took a toll on me, that's all. Your glorious leader,” she pointed out bitterly, “will be good to go in the morning.”

“Bullshit. Of course it's him. We can leave without him if you want.”

She shook her head. “No, I can deal with him and we need all the help we can gather. He's going to help, even if for his own gain.”

“Then you're stronger than I would be,” Karlach murmured.

“Not really but for now... lets pretend it doesn't hurt at all.”

She emptied the fifth cup to be sure she will blissfully forget what she lost and what she's done, even for the night.

[lostusagis]

Namida

@jiraipink

 It was a pretty calm day. Odd Jobs didn't have any clients, so no work. Kagura was sitting on the couch next to Gintoki leaning her head against his arm while they watched anime together. Every so often they would both make comments making fun of one of the characters, which is something Kagura immensely enjoyed.

 However, the peace was interrupted by the sound of the sliding door to the apartment being torn from the hinges and tossed across the hallway.

 Kagura didn't even have to look to know who it was. Gintoki however, did look with a mix of annoyance and surprise.

“Why the hell can't anyone in your family be normal?!” He'd say with exasperation, since he was the one that had to pay for a new door.

Kagura didn't say anything to that, and just sighed. “Kamui, I thought you were going to be with Namida today.” She paused the anime, and checked through her phone.

 Kamui had walked inside, then tossed Gintoki off the sofa like a ragdoll before replacing his spot. The samurai mumbled something angrily under his breath before leaving.

“Just shut up, alright? What are we watching? Jojo? Huh…. Haven't seen that in awhile.” He reached for the remote, but Kagura quickly snatched it before he could get it.

“No, no.” She side eyed him, “What happened? You're obviously really upset, and you said you'd talk to me more when you're upset like that.”

Kamui clicked his tongue and turned away, leaning his cheek into his hand while leaning on the sofa’s armrest. “I said I'd try, I don't feel like trying today and it doesn't matter. I'm fine.”

“No you're not.”

“Yes I am.”

“I can tell when you're lying dumbass, wait-” Kagura paused, realizing why Kamui came here.

“Ohhhh…. Namida’s with one of her clients right now.” Given that when Kagura said this, she noticed Kamui getting more pissed off she knew she was right on the mark.

“Awww, you're upset you can't be with her? Upset she's on a date with a-” Kamui tried punching her but she expected it and immediately dodged it.

Kagura rolled her eyes, “You're so easy to read.”

“I'm NOT upset.” Kamui was clearly trying his hardest to deny all the accusations.

“Look, it's fine if you are. It sucks when plans don't work out.” She shrugged, “Although, she seems the type that she wouldn't cancel out on any plans she has with you. Did something happen?”

 Kagura looked over at her brother who was still turned away, though noticed the stupid pouty expression he had on his face.

“I… didn't actually plan anything….” He practically forces out, 

“Then it's your own fault. She's not going to be available 24/7, she has work you know.”

He'd huff childishly, “Her job is stupid anyway. I hope she quits one day.”

Kagura quirks a brow and looked at him confused, “......Why?”

“Going on dates with a bunch of different guys that don't even deserve to look at her, or even breathe the same air as her. I bet a lot of them are just worthless nobodies who deserve to drop dead. I'd love to kill them personally.”

 YIKES. This again. Her brother was giving off very scary yandere energy. Concerning for Namida. Hopefully this doesn't lead to any issues later down the line because he seemed like he genuinely loved her. The first time she's ever seen him interested in anyone romantically actually. Even though he's too stupid to realize he loves her. It seems to be mutual from what she's seen at least.

“I'm sure Namida has her own reasons for working as a rental girlfriend. You don't really have any right to complain. It's not like you're her boyfriend.” It's not a job Kagura would do herself, but if Namida had no issues with it then what was there to complain about?

“I'm her best friend though….” Kamui looked like a kicked puppy when saying that, as if being her best friend was a rank above being her boyfriend.

“Wow, you're really stupid.” She'd look at him with absolute disbelief over his idiocy.

“How…?” Kamui asks when looking over at her, confused.

“Nevermind. I have been meaning to ask you though….. when the hell did you two start becoming friends? I remember you two really disliking each other. So much so, Namida joined that club with me.” Kamui didn't normally open up to others, so she wanted to know what happened that made them so close with each other.

 Kamui didn't answer, and instead looked down shamefully while his face steadily became red. This…. was not a side she expected to ever see of him.

“Kamui? What happened?” She'd ask again, staring at him intently.

 He sighs out, “One of her co-workers had pissed me off and I threatened to hurt her, which made Namida really upset…” Kamui didn't like thinking of her being upset with him, so it took him a bit to continue and Kagura waited and listened quietly.

 “She started avoiding me so whenever I went to bother her at work, she was never there. I didn't encounter her until I saw a group of samurai hurting her and possibly trying to kill her.” Anxiety filled his features when thinking back to that day.

Kagura was starting to see where this was going.

“I lost control of my Yato blood, and ended up killing all of them. Namida kept trying to stop me though…..” His cheeks felt so warm, feeling the embarrassment when speaking about something that meant a lot to him.

“Instead of getting scared and running off, she was persistent in stopping me. Even hugged me which eventually got me to come to my senses. And.. we talked about stuff. I might've disliked her at first but I think I started liking her over time, I just didn't want to admit it.”

Oh, a yandere AND a tsundere. Her brother was major cringe, and an unexpected character type. But this did sound sweet. She was about to speak but he kept talking.

“What made me REALLY like her though was… well… I went to bother her after we had visited mom…” Kamui awkwardly rubbed the back of his head, since this was something he was especially ashamed over. 

“She caught me crying in her office, and… she dropped everything so she could spend time comforting me. I tried really hard to push her away, but even when I hurt her she for some reason didn't want to give up. Shes seen me at my worse and didn't turn away from that despite how I get when I'm upset…” He felt himself getting emotional, even sniffling a bit. This wasn't something he'd tell just anyone.

“Her words and comforting touch made me feel… really warm. Like how it felt with mom…” fists clenched tightly over his pant legs, frowning.

“Over time we just kept getting closer and closer. I think about her all the time now.”

Kagura looks at him curiously, “Why do you look so sad over that though? She seems to really like you too.”

“I keep doing things that hurt her and make her cry…. The same way I hate seeing you cry is the same way I hate seeing her cry. It makes me feel worthless. It makes me wanna die.” A hand threads through his hair, his features filled with despair.

“But sometimes things slip out, sometimes I forget not everyone can handle how blunt I tend to be. How insensitive I am. But I wanna be nice for her…. I wanna be someone that makes her happy. I want her to smile everyday, she sometimes has this sad look in her eyes and I want to help her with that. But I can't do anything right.” He buried his face into his bandage covered hands, as the sniffles only ensued. Kagura couldn't help but feel for him. From what she's seen, he's always been closed off. The closest relationship he had before Namida was Abuto, but Kamui seemed to be close with him only to a certain extent. Since again, he keeps himself closed off. His heart is fragile and he keeps barbed wire over it to protect himself. She's pretty sure if Namida ever broke off their “friendship”, it was going to be horrendous. Kamui tended to criticize people that fall in love, saying such feelings were worthless. Yet, became this obsessive idiot the minute HE began to feel those kind of emotions. What a mess.

“You know…. All friends argue. Sometimes feelings get hurt, but as long as you apologize and try to be better then I don't see a reason to feel bad.” Kagura gently placed a hand on his back,

“I've had arguments with all my friends. Gin-chan, Shinpachi, Soyo-chan, yeah. Its normal. You're not really good with feelings and I'm sure Namida gets that. I'm sure she also gets that you're trying hard to be a good friend too. I'm also sure she wouldn't like you saying those harsh things about yourself.” Hell, Kagura didn't like hearing it. She never did, so she could only imagine how Namida would feel.

 Kamui would lift his face from his hands, his eyes were red. He'd sniffle when staring at the ground.

“You know… when I'm with her I don't get any of those negative thoughts. I only think about what's happening in the moment, about how happy being around her makes me. I feel like everything is okay. Which makes upsetting her even worse.”

 Hearing the way Kamui talked about Namida was so surprising. The love he had for her, in a way, seemed really pure despite the obsession. Maybe it was the fact that Kamui was awful at handling feelings, and from what she's seen he feels everything intensely. Maybe at a certain point, the obsession will become less intense once he processes his feelings correctly. He didn't even know he loved her after all.

It wasn't her place to try talking to him about that either, him and Namida had to figure that out. Because Kagura knew damn well Namida was in love with him too. The yearning looks, the flustered expressions, the fact that she almost always saw them holding hands…

They were so CRINGE because they claimed all of this was friendship. Friends didn't talk about each other the way Kamui spoke about Namida.

 Kagura pulled him into a hug, which Kamui immediately collapsed into it, hugging her back tightly. 

“Are you scared of her hating you?” She'd ask softly with a sympathetic frown. Kamui nodded. Kagura rubbed up and down his back soothingly.

“Have you really come to like her that much?”  Kamui nodded again to her question.

“I don't think I can handle ever losing her…” The way he said those words made him sound so broken. Even if he wasn't right to be so pissy over her having a client, it made sense WHY. He found solace in their time together. Although, being so reliant on Namida like that did cause concern. Kamui wasn't exactly the most sane of individuals. It made sense for a normal human to fear him, especially because of how he constantly let his Yato side influence his choices. He was violent. Dangerous. The likelihood of a human wanting to be around that was really little, Kagura's been on earth long enough to conclude that much.

 She wouldn't fault Namida for one day deciding she didn't want to deal with that. Even if it did seem like she really loved Kamui. She's mainly seen the good sides of him. 

“Hmmm, my brother actually getting this attached to an earth woman? Never thought I'd see the day. Would've expected it to at least be someone you could fight.” Kagura lightly teased Kamui while still comforting him. Moments of vulnerability like this, she usually holds back on the usual insults.

“Be quiet. You wouldn't get it.” He mumbles from where his face was buried into her shoulder.

“Nah, I get it pretty well. Didn't say there was anything wrong with that though.” This could be good for him if he learned how to properly process his emotions. Otherwise, Namida will have a hard time.. Kagura couldn't help the increasing worry after this conversation, for Namida. She was just a human. An innocent human. Kamui had so many issues.

“Maybe as long as you're completely honest and open with her, things will be alright.” When Kagura says that, Kamui pulled from the hug to look at her. Eyes red, puffy and all.

“....I'm always honest with her though.” Kamui would say but Kagura looked at him skeptically, which made him avert his gaze from hers.

“I just prefer to keep my negative feelings hidden, so I won't ruin the time we spend with each other.”

His words make her sigh tiredly, “Have you seen her upset before?”

“Yeah.”

“How did you respond to that?”

“I comforted her, and tried to help her feel better.”

“But YOU don't want to be upset around her, and only want to be cheerful when you two are together.”

“Yeah.”

“Fucksakes….” She mumbles under her breath. “Kamui you're basically lying to her, if you two are good friends I think she'd prefer you don't do that.”

“It'll just be me acting stupid and whiny, there's no point.” This is exactly what Kagura meant, he has so many issues.

“Is that what you think when she's upset?” 

Kamui looked like he got worked up over that, “No? Why would I be? I wanna support her whenever I can after all.”

“Do you not hear yourself? Kamui, Namida isn't going to think you're stupid and whiny for showing your true feelings. People who care about you won't attack you for having bad days. Please stop thinking that. You literally came here because you're comfortable enough showing me how upset you are. Am I making fun of you for it? No. Namida won't either. If she comforted you before, it means she'll probably do it again if you let her.” Why were men so intent on hiding their feelings? Idiots. All of them.

“I just want her to be happy, I don't want her to deal with how much of a disaster I am….” He sounded ashamed. Kagura knew well he hated how emotional he really was.

‘I emptied myself’ her ass. He's so frustrating. Not only is he emotionally dependent on her, but he feels the need to put up a front still, despite Namida clearly not minding seeing him during his more vulnerable moments.

Kagura didn't know what to say anymore, her head hurt. All she could hope for was that things worked out for both of them. Hopefully Kamui doesn't become problematic with his obsession. Hopefully Namida doesn't end up hurt. Hopefully all three of them can still be close. She really likes Namida….

Admittedly, Namida chose the absolute worst guy. People don't really choose who they fall for though, it just happens. Or something like that.

 She runs a hand down her face. She'll slightly root for them.

 There was a deep inhale and exhale, “How about we watch some anime until Namida is free? Getting your mind off it for a while might help.” Kamui would nod to her suggestion so Kagura went ahead and restarted the episode.

 While the opening played, Kamui mumbled “Thanks…. Kagura. Talking to you really helps, but I'm sorry I'm always so frustrating.” He forced a smile.

“If you're grateful don't use that fake ass smile with me. But yeah, no problem. Like I told you, I'll support you through anything.”

Even this mess he currently had going on with Namida. Which would hopefully end happily for them.

[diluclover300]

Just One Week (2)

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Also posted on my ao3 account: diluclover300

CHAPTER INDEX:

I H8 U

My Kinda Fun

Balance

{S] Awake

Eggs and Rice

Wait, but I'm broke

Couple's Discount

CHAPTER 2: My Kinda Fun

Damn it. When you said you wanted to fight him, you didn't think he'd actually say yes. You didn't think he'd take you seriously! 

Now you're shaking like a cat who's just been thrown into a very unnecessary, cold bathtub, shoving your reading glasses into your now discarded backpack on the floor. Except that bathtub was a random rooftop he's managed to transport you to. So you shiver as the breeze hits your bare legs, crossing your arms so tight that your blood circulation has gone out the window. 

"So? What now?" You say through clattering teeth, squeezing yourself together as your hair blows in the direction of your face. Every now and then you see Gojo in front of you, like a game of hide and seek but with your own hair. 

Your audacity has only gotten worse with time, Satoru thinks. You're the one who asked to fight in the first place, why were you trembling like a little mouse? It's laughable. 

He shrugs. "Dunno. Hurry up and land a punch before I do it first."

He moves, rotating his arm in a steady circle, as if he's winding up the air against his muscles. In reality, he's combining his fingers together into a fist, one that aims at you. 

"W-wait!" You clear you throat, sounding like a shrill little girl with a small, little voice. 

"What?"

He pulls off his sunglasses, white hair blowing along the wind as his eyes glint against the night sky. A threat is what that stern look is, the drop of those glasses following. 

It's not an romantic reaction when your heart skips a beat. That twinge in your heart is one of utter fear. 

God. You're dead if he uses those eyes of his. 

A losing battle is what it is. You sure as hell don't want to fight if there's nothing in it to win other than your already-bruised ego. Which you don't need to resurrect by any means, but what you do need is for Gojo Satoru to be gone, for peace to re-enter your miserable life. 

"If I win, then, will you–"

"Fine."

"I didn't even–"

"You're losing anyways."

"Why you–"

"If I win, you'll grant me three wishes. Sounds like a deal, doesn't it?"

"I never said yes." You brace for impact, bent at the knees as you ground your rather wobbly feet against the cold rooftop. Geez, you can see the entirety of Japan from this building. 

"It's called a mutual agreement." 

"Whatever." 

The breeze almost sways you, almost. You try to squeeze your focus into your arms. Knowing that you've been on your feet all day was your biggest disadvantage against Gojo Satoru, who had the strength of the Gods. Figuratively, of course. 

He doesn't do anything, he just folds his legs until he's sitting on the floor, feet crossed together. 

"What're you–"

"Come and get me." 

Fine. You will. You're no pussy. 

A long sigh draws out of you before you charge at him, coursing cursed energy through your left arm. 

"Predictable." Gojo clicks his tongue, unimpressed as you swing with all your might. "You need more practice."

Of course, it doesn't land. He has that stupid limitless thing, a barrier which you can't predict. He's gotten stronger, just as Gojo Satoru does. 

"I fucking hate you." You heave, so badly out of shape. Fuck, you need to hit the gym someday. "It's not fair, you have that stupid... that stupid limitless thing!"

Satoru looks up at you. It's admirable to see how weak someone so strong has gotten over the years. How the cold air puffs in and out through your lips. 

It's what a office job does to a person, huh? He thinks. 

"You whine too much for a jujutsu sorcerer." He groans as he gets up from the ground. "Is this how you intend to win? Against me?"

Ha. Even he knows he's not some ordinary Joe. It makes your blood curdle as you wipe off your sweaty palms against your knees. 

"Cocky bastard."

You begin to back up as he walks towards you, each stride slower than the last. 

"Am I? You know, I could beat you without that limitless thing." His eyebrows furrow, frustrated at your puny little attempts of putting up a fight. 

"As if." You stumble over your steps and you swear that he's trying to kill you. That looks in his eyes is nothing but sinister. 

"Don't believe me?" He laughs, sending a slight chill down your spine. "Try it."

Humiliating, you believe this to be. He's baby-proofing this fight for you, making things easy for you. Though you've sworn off your pride, it swells up in your heart.

You won't have any of this. 

"Fine then. I'm not using my technique either." You step back until you're finally cornered, back straightening up against the cold, gray walls. 

"Okay." He looms over you, hands stuffed in his pocket. "I'd win either way."

Your back compresses even further against the small entrance to the rooftop, breath caught up in your chest. 

Okay, you think. There's no technique involved whatsoever. You can either land punches or kicks with cursed energy. Nothing more than that. 

"I'm waiting." He looks down at you, with such intensity that you're turning into goo, a bag of nerves. 

"Okay. I get it. Give me a second to think."

You blink, looking up at him. 

You're going to lose, you're well aware he has a better sense for... well, everything. He's better than you, which was one reason why you quit, but you didn't want to do a deep dive into that right now. Not when you've got a once in a lifetime reward on the line. 

Whatever. You were going to give it your all. 

SMACK. 

You slap him. Once. The satisfaction, the hopeless toss of his head as you do this feels great. You feel alive as the cells of your palm lightly tingle against each other. Nice. 

SMACK. 

Twice. You don't even let him recover. He's silent, that pale skin of his cheek reddening. 

SMACK! 

Three times a charm. His eyes go wide like a fish as he winces, rubbing his cheek.

"Ow." You frown, looking at your brightening skin. It burns. "That hurt."

It's quiet for a good moment as you contemplate your next move, the metallic taste of adrenaline staining the roof of your mouth and tongue. You haven't felt this in five years. It's so familiar, yet so foreign that it becomes difficult to deal with, to process as millions of thoughts and strategies run in circles around your mind. Gojo's small pants and breaths are the last thing on your mind as your eyes dart around the rooftop. 

Now what? You ask yourself, watching as he slowly re-composes himself, stretching back up. There are so many possibilities, however, they're all quick to flee the confinement of your mind when your eyes meet with his trembling ones. 

"You're done having fun?" He breathes, looking back at you with a wide smile and a bruised cheek. "Already?"

Oh. If you weren't in trouble before, then you were really in trouble now. He's got you right where he wants you, cornered, trapped against a wall, saving up his energy for something more. That smile of his stretches throughout his face, teeth almost grinding together, akin to a predator eyeing it's prey. Eventually, that disturbing stretch reaches his eyes as your legs practically turn into jelly, slightly jittering as he laughs to himself, the sound echoing and dissipating into the cold, frigid air. 

Run. You must run. 

"Uh.. uh.." You sputter, eyes darting from him to the rest of the rooftop. "I..."

You slap him again, wincing as you run for your life. Your hand burns. It burns so bad that you're dreaming of the damn ice pack the school nurse would give you for your weekly tummy aches. You try to push further, the muscles of your legs straining and squeezing every bit of energy left in you.

Unfortunately, a forty hour work week exhausts you, wrings you dry of any sort of life. Your feet begin to drag against the concrete floors of the rooftop, as if the Gods already decided on your eventual demise days ago. Your steps and strides fight with the air instead of working with it, the ice-cold air entering and exiting the burn of your throat at an unusual pace.  

"Hey. Where are you going?" His voice is low, predatory, awfully close. Your lungs clench for any source of oxygen, and your physical incompetence – if it wasn't before – finally catches up to you now. 

Your hair sticks to the sweaty mess that is your forehead, strands slapping against your stinging face, chest crying as it rises and falls. Knees cracking as they bend, every inch of you pulsating along with your feverous heartbeat. 

You have no clue where Gojo is, and a string of spit escapes your lips as you pant like a dog, weakly wiping off the filth. 

"Come on now. We were just getting started on the fun."

"You sick freak, none of this is fucking fun, you–"

You hiss, teeth clenching together.

You feel a tug at your lower half, and then it only grows harsher from there on out. 

"Hey, you–" You huff, voice cracking when you lose your balance. 

He's underneath you, twisting and turning your ankles. It's impossible to stand still, each twist and turn more violent than the last.

You shriek. 

Maybe, maybe that was the most blood curdling scream of your life as his fingers clasp around your bones, twisting and turning them like some sort of bop-it toy. Relentless as he lets out a psychotic laugh. 

"What's wrong, huh? You were so confident earlier, weren't you?" Another yank, one that throws you off your feet and knocks the air out of you. If you ever had any to begin with. 

Then you fall back, keeling over on the rooftop, curling in on yourself as the pain continues. The adrenaline wears off as your shoulders thud against the floor.  

"P-please.." You gasp, feeling a force tighten around your skin. He crouches before you, lightly turning your jaw as he examines the sheer agony he's caused. 

You're weaker than he's remembered. 

"Don't worry, they'll work just fine– your feet and legs, I mean." 

"That's not what I–"

You let out another airy gasp, tears welling in your eye sockets. It hurts. You cry like a baby waiting on it's mother.

"Ah, ah!" You roll around on the ground, bringing your knees up to your chest. "S-satoru, I'm sorry. I lost, I– Fuck!"

He slides his glasses back on with a tut, frowning at the sight. He almost feels sorry for you. Then he remembers that you've brought this upon yourself. Poor you. Boo hoo. Cry him a river. 

"That's right." He hums along to your cries, poking a finger into the heart of your forehead with each word. "You lost, which means..."

You feel the inside of your brain crack, it's so terrifying that you cry out, you wail out the answer. 

"Fuck, fuck, the wishes!" You roll around, rock around the ground as if you're being sung a lullaby. "I'll do anything, so just– shit, just..."

He wastes no time, straightening his back as he gets up. You look more pathetic from a broader point of view, he decides. 

"Alright." He sighs, as if winning was some sort of chore for him. 

He'll try his best to be gentle with you from now on. 

You're so weak. 

"Number one, you'll show me around here. I gave up my vacation days to be here for one week, work free. Don't waste my precious time, got it?"

"Wait, but I don't have the money for that. No! I can't, I–"

He presses the toe of his shoe against your forehead and you sputter into another gasp, breath hitching as your eyes roll back.

"I'll wire you the reimbursement."

You brain, if you even had one to begin with because what idiot would willingly lose to Gojo Satoru, has completely shattered into a million pieces.

"O-okay.." Your voice breaks as you hold your knees tighter. "Satoru!"

Hm. You only want to say his name when you're crumbling beneath his feet. How funny.

"Two, you'll provide me with housing."

"No. I refuse–"

You gasp like a fish out of water. 

"O-okay! Fuck, shit, fine! Fine! I will! Live with me, please!" You can't believe the sheer amount of nonsense that just pours out of you. 

"Good."

He doesn't mention the third wish. However, you don't have the brain capacity for it to hold any significance as you rock and roll against the ground, choking on your own spit as you holler like the cat from Tom and Jerry. 

"Satoru," You whine, a pitiful one that rings and disperses into the air. "S-satoru."

"What?" 

"It hurts."

You turn over, and he's almost jilted. The sight of your tears is something he doesn't expect as they stain your cheeks, hot and thick as they land. 

For a moment, the word "sorry" ghosts over his lips. He refrains, the words "I hate you," tickling the rims of his eardrums. 

Instead, he goes down to you, raising up a finger as you scramble across the ground in fear. You scoot back with your legs, kicking against the ground like a helpless puppy. 

"N-no, Satoru, I said, I said... I.. sorry–"

He flicks his nails against the heart of your forehead. 

"Calm down. You'll be fine."

The last thing you see as your eyes slowly blink is the image of Gojo Satoru towering over you, removing his jacket. You think about tripping him, but your body fails you. As it always has.

"I hate you." You croak as possibly your last words escape your lips. 

Then you knock out, cold as you lie against the ground. 

...

[a-christmas-carol-from-hr]

The Anna Karenina Principle

AN: All happy couples are alike. All unhappy couples are unhappy in their own way.

Marley Lives AU.

The second Ellen stepped into the hospital room, she knew she was in for a fight.

"S-s-so you dec-c-cided to come crawling b-back."

Even as fried as he was, the glare Marley gave her was one of his best. He glowered at her from his hospital bed, the intensity of his anger not dampened by oxygen tubes and IVs. If anything, the things around him only made his fury more intimidating. Were Ellen anyone else, she'd have been turned to stone right then and there.

But she wasn't anyone else.

She moved in, closing the door behind her. Her coat was slung over her arm. "Hello, Jacob. I told you I'd be back."

His eyes narrowed at her, in no mood for dancing around the point. "Battle dress." He said flatly.

He was right. She'd put on the dress she wore to corporate bloodbaths. Her 'battle dress'. He'd called it that first. It was a sensible black frock with a dark red collar that draped over her shoulders. Why she'd felt drawn to it, she wasn't sure. Maybe she wanted some of the strength it gave.

"Come to sack me too?" He asked brightly.

Things had been boiling under the surface. She knew they had. Marley was a fiercely independent man, and he did not take slights easily. The slight of his own body trying to kill him was not something his pride could easily excuse. And the more she'd visited, the more she'd helped him, the more the doctors had studied him and had warned him and had forbidden him, the angrier he had become.

Things had boiled over. He'd screamed at her to get out. She'd screamed back. She'd been nearly banned from the hospital the night before. It'd be sensible of Scrooge to just leave him to his brooding. It'd be practical, even. It'd certainly save her petrol money.

But she couldn't.

She just couldn't.

And wasn't that pathetic.

"I've come to do nothing of the kind. I've come to visit."

"Go a-a-away. I d-don't want you here."

She couldn't let him know how badly that hurt. She couldn't. "I plan to do nothing of the kind." 

"I'll scream," He threatened. "I-I-I'll raise such Hell, woman."

"You do that then. It doesn't phase me."

"I'm n-not one of your underlings."

"Then behave like it!" She snapped back. "You're acting like a child. Although I suppose that's better than acting like a dead man."

"Y-y-you're the one always u-unhappy with liars!" His heartrate was visibly going up as they fought. "I-I was truthful and now I'm be-being punished for it."

"You were not truthful."

"I'm dead, Ellen." He roared, with a force that shocked her. He shouldn't be able to fight like this in his condition. But Jacob Marley was the Wolf for a reason. "Even if I don't k-k-know it yet. J-j-just because you w-won't face the f-facts doesn't mean I can't."

She was prepared to shriek something back when a very angry nurse came barreling into the room. Both of them grew silent under her glare, and an uneasy peace was earned for the five minutes she scolded him about over-exerting himself.

The smile he gave Ellen when the nurse was gone made her sick. "Y-y-you must have enjoyed that."

"I did not." She said. Her nerve was beginning to fail. Marley liked a good fight. But this was not a good fight. This was venom.

"Don't l-l-lie, it's n-n-not attractive." He flopped back against the pillow. "Go away, Scrooge."

"Fine." She said. She'd not even sat down. "I'll go. But there's something I want to say first."

She couldn't meet his eyes. They were too angry. Instead she looked down at her shoes. She'd been thinking of this for days. Perhaps she'd always been thinking of it. But here, at the potential end of all things, if she didn't say it, she knew she never would.

And she was selfish enough to want to do it, no matter what happened.

"I have known you for the past sixteen years. I have been your partner for sixteen years. In that time, we have done a great number of things that were terrible, and very few that were good. Perhaps it would have been for the best had we never met. It certainly would have saved the pair of us several instances of pain, with this latest data point being the worse. I know you think I should find another partner. A partnership with another might be more productive. Perhaps it might even work better than ours. But despite everything, the only man I have ever loved is you."

For a very long moment, they said nothing.

Marley stared at her, eyes wide, face fixed in the look of disdain he’d worn when she’d confessed her love. But he was utterly still. It was as if her love had been liquid nitrogen. It had frozen him solid. He sat there, a pillar of salt and ice just looking at her.

Ellen stood as still as he. Despite the way her voice had wavered, she kept herself as firm as moonrock. The two partners watched each other with perfectly still eyes. It was a miracle the floor didn’t freeze under them.

Ellen nodded to herself, as if satisfied. This was how it would always end. This was how things like this always ended. With awkward silence, and somebody leaving her.

At least this time she could leave under her own power.

“Good evening, Mr. Marley.” She said calmly. And she turned to go.

The moment one of her feet was over the doorway, Marley’s heart monitor let out a screech.

Ellen turned in shock as a number of medical alarms began wailing like banshees. But the noise was quickly forgotten as she saw Marley lying on the floor, evidently having bodily thrown himself from the bed. He was shambling over to her, still moving even as IVs had ripped out and sensors had been pulled free. Ellen let out a shriek of shocked worry as she rushed over, pride forgotten in an instant.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” She gasped, kneeling at his side.

He gripped her shoulder with all the passion of a martyr. When he spoke his voice was a low rasp. ”Say it again.”

"What?" Scrooge asked in blank confusion. Perhaps if she had her wits about her, she would have realized what he meant. But her wits were currently addled by the scream of the heart monitor.

"Say it again!" He demanded. "For fuck's sake, say it again, woman!"

"I love you." It tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop it.

Marley's laugh was half-insane.

"Again."

"I love you." Despite herself she smiled when she said it, and she hated herself for it.

"Again." He rasped. "Say it again."

"I love so much you stupid, stupid man that I hardly know what to do with myself." She laughed. God help her, she laughed. Maybe she was only laughing because she was also going mad. "I love you you stupid, horrible, pathetic, terrible man."

Marley let out a twisted cry of pain and joy. How awful they must be, Ellen thought, that the confession of love could cause such agony. How undeserving they must be that joy was an unexpected luxury.

"I love you," He breathed. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright."

"N-no." He said. "Nothing is alright." He didn't just mean his body. He meant their souls, and she knew it.

"No." She agreed. "Nothing is alright."

"I love you." He replied. It was all one could say to something like that. Nothing was alright. Nothing may ever be alright again. Nothing would ever be sensible and practical, at least, again. It couldn't be, not when there was love.

Love. That feasting parasite they'd tried so hard to keep out. It had wormed its way in, gnawing at their very bones. It wasn't economical. It wasn't thrifty. It was terrible and awful, just as they were.

And yet, here they still stood. Still alive to begin with.

His mouth pressed against hers with the passion of sixteen years of semi-repression.

Even when it was cut short by a furious nurse, it was the best kiss of her life.

[yamatossideboob]

One Piece 1108 Spoilers!!

This week's intellectual musings:

GOOD COVER SPREAD ALL DE GIRLIES!! Tashigi may not have a Devil Fruit but somethings getting awakened for deffo here hehehe

Good mag cover art too, I love seeing Oda's colours a bit more closely

Okay yeah as *everyone* speculated, Caribou is gonna fill BB in on the Ancient Weapons :s I do wonder if he'll get some details wrong and this is a gag being set up, but unfortunately this just feels like the reason BB & co will finally upgraded to Big Bads™️ rough times ahead

For now though it's neat to see Vice Admirals scrapping, but alas! our giant pals are making shite of them

I saw someone point out last week how Dorry and Brogy might not recognise Franky bc his face isn't on his bounty poster and they FUCKING CALLED IT what a small but very good thing lmao

god OP giants are so good, ilysm lads

ahem anyway as soon as i saw scholar mentioned so significantly I got wondering, and after several microseconds realised they surely meant SAUL!! ofc this is practically confirmed on the nest page but how intriguing! how hype!!

also I love Doll even if she is a marine. I am a simple woman. I wonder will she get to meet Saul again later...

Bluegrass is so good, I love her design and power in tandem, she's so fun

I just had a thought.... the idea of self-destruct functions has been sown previously in Kuma's flashback... what if, as a way to help guarantee his personal safety prior to this arc... Vegapunk has one in HIMSELF? I can imagine it: Saturn, defeated and having let the Strawhats escape with Bonney and the giants, succumbs to blind rage and wants to deal the finishing blow to VP, who "fsr" stayed behind. However, either he or VP himself activates the self-destruct, and with Saturn reaping his own demise, VP manages to square with the devil he made deals with, and make peace with his red hands... idk. This idea just came to me, I am not much of a speculator lmao

AHEM anywayyy Saturn is fucking scary, I wonder since he's clearly losing his rag with this shower of upstarts, is his Zoan(?) fruit going apeshit?

ough yes like the lake hydra in dark souls 1, i see i see

Vegapunk for an old and mortally wounded man you're sure chatty

Okay. hear me out. I know the 'Traitor Kizaru' theory is dead in the water at this point. But... why would he hyper beam Vegapunk right through what looks like the same wound Saturn gave VP earlier? In the panel right after it looks like smoke is rising from the new wound... what if Kizaru cauterised it? Can Vegapunk survive a little longer thanks to this? I'm going cracked over here!!!

OKAY LUFFY IS GETTING SERIOUS!! BY WHICH I MEAN SILLAY!! Ohhhhhhhhhh god lads next week is going to be good

AND IT'LL BE EVEN BETTER BE WHAT THE HOLY HELL IS VEGAPUNK UP TO NOW?! HE'S GONNA DO A WHITEBEARD AND COAX THE WG INTO A SNAFU. GOOD GOD Y'ALL!!!

Next week can't come soon enough!! We might even see that giant robo again! maybe it'll be brushing its teeth! til then! 💪✖️

[liamgallaghermpreg]

happy wincest wednesday!! what's the best and worst season for sam to knock up his sister?

happy wincest wednesday vicky!!!! omg thank you for this extremely tailored-to-me ask. i've only seen 1-6, so i can only answer for those.

i love all interpretations of when sam & dean(na) give into their feelings for each other, but i'm personally a post-in my time of dying truther, and think they had sex for the first time in wake of john's death.

oh, my god, this got long:

best season: i'll go with season 2 despite the eventual devastation. because lets face it, their lives are always a mess. but in s2, sam's grief over jess has lessened, and i think he'd finally be ready to reconcile his feelings for his sister. almost losing her in the truck accident and losing john is a lot for him to handle – and we know sam is an internalizer; despite deanna's unwillingness to discuss things, she certainly wears her heart on her sleeve – but sex is something that can happen without words.

i think the conception sex happens after 2x04 children shouldnt play with dead things. deanna finally admits she's having trouble dealing with john's death – that she feels it's her fault, even – and apologizes for her recent behavior. and then follows it up with:

[...]You're the most important people in my life. And now … I never should've come back, Sam. It wasn't natural. And now look what's come of it. I was dead. And I should have stayed dead. You wanted to know how I was feeling. Well, that's it. So tell me. What could you possibly say to make that all right?

oh boy that is a prime lead-in to some in the backseat of the impala lovemaking. no time to bother with a condom. they want to feel each other. a couple months later, it's obvious that deanna's pregnant. and tbh, i think her first instinct would be to get rid of it. (side note: it is my personal hc that john and/or others have knocked her up in the past, and she's gotten rid of it every time. it's the most practical thing to do for a hunter. otherwise you end up with situations like john's or the harvelles). but this is sam's baby. and sam's having visions. deanna's rattling around john's "save sam or kill him" instructions in her brain. playthings happens, and deanna is more sure of her brother being it for her than ever (side note – every ask if they're a couple this season gets even better with dee's pregnant belly in the way).

and sam...sam quietly doesn't argue when deanna wants to keep it, because he's scared of what's to come, and wants deanna to have a peace of him when he's gone.

(another side note: what is and what never should be fully includes a domestic fantasy for deanna in this 'verse).

ahbl is devastating of course, but oh god the wack morality of deanna deciding the deal is worth it because now sam will have a peace of deanna with him when she goes to hell. she convinces herself she's doing it for them both.

them having a child would have s3 play out totally differently, imo. sam wouldn't trust ruby so blindly (possibly going so far as to kill her, become king of hell to save deanna and their child). not that sam doesn't fiercely care for dean in canon, as that's his driving force for his actions in s3, but with a kid on the line? they can't do anything for themselves and they need their mom!! sam's mother is his biggest blank in his life, and he doesn't want [child] to have that too. especially because they both would have died to a deal to save their loved one (not that sam knows that yet).

worse: obvious answer is halfway through s3, because the child would not survive the season finale, and lilith would fully taunt sam over this, driving sam even deeper into his demon blood revenge mission. the wedge in the beginning of s5 drives even deeper because they have this unspoken thing between them, and deanna can't hide her emotions but neither will talk about them.

BUT! i think s6 provides another interesting answer. soulless sam knocking up his sister? he has no qualms about fucking raw, and she can just abort it if she gets pregnant! oh, she wants to keep it? fine, her prerogative. he has other things to take care of. this, i think, is devastating for deanna. and OH GOD, when sam comes back. sam's lack of autonomy is already a very sad and very fascinating theme throughout spn, and look what his body did without his knowledge. he's overjoyed for a child with deanna i think, but constantly grappling with the implications.

thanks for the ask!!!!

[ghstdoll]

love had never really been a concept for her so the fact it seemed so easy for the words to leave her when she was looking at him, this is what love was looking into a pair of perfect green eyes and knowing you would stop the world if he asked you too, her love for him seemed to be endless and it was a new and very terrifying feeling even more so as she realizes he can't exactly say the words in return to her without a voice. she knows it's risky but she's willing to take that risk, that step forward... after all, they did decide to get engaged after an hour of knowing each other so what was a few words to express the union they created?

a soft smile tugs at the corners of her lips, eyes fluttering closed as his forehead rests against her own as she nuzzles her nose against his. he may not be able to express it with words but his sweet eyes and the way he holds her close says enough. "I don't think I've ever loved anything in my life, you know? so I don't really know what the hell I'm doing or if any of this makes sense but I know that loving you is the most real feeling I ever felt." she smiles sweetly. "I used to think something was wrong with me, because I was so drawn to this boy I'd never meet...I thought you were this figment of my imagination but you really were visiting me in my dreams and with me whenever we spoke and that means that what we had wasn't just some delusion." salem smiles softly as she looks up at him but before she can say a word else his lips are capturing her own in a gentle kiss, her breath hitching in the back of her throat as eyes flutter, hands placing on his chest as she kisses him back eagerly, hoping she was doing it right as her lips move against his. she purrs against his lips, it doesn't last long enough for her liking though because before she can completely melt into him he's breaking the kiss and a soft chuckle falls from her lips as she nuzzles her nose against his.

salem looks at him for a long moment as she sorta through his thoughts. her chest feels heavy as blue eyes searches his gaze. the idea that he wasn't at peace in the after life made her heart ache, suffering for that long and being all alone seemed terrifying especially for such a beautiful soul. but then he nods, pointing towards her before doing the same gesture as his palm pressed to her chest. a soft smile tugs at the corners of her lips as her eyes stung with tears. "you were my peace too...i never wanted to move to a new town, especially with my mom and step father but I felt safe when I was with you." she smiles softly. "you're my home." she purrs, leaning up to peck his lips once more before she moves aside to let him change.

salem had never felt attraction to someone in such a strong way before, her body felt hot and she's biting down on her bottom lip as she looked at him with longing eyes so bright and blue. she bites down on her lower lip shyly before he's grabbing her hand and making her touch his body, eyes wondering down to his soft chest as her fingers brush against his skin. "it's so strange...you've been dead all this time yet your body is still so beautiful." she purrs. though there were still a few nuts and bolts missing he seems practically human, especially now after a bath. her eyes wonder over his figure and she brushes her finger against his nipple.

as he's moving to the bed and sitting between her legs she comes through his hair, the black curls popping back into place and circle around his head like a crown. it was long and pretty, making her smile softly at the sweetest sight barely nothing he had already gotten to work on writing his first words to her. after a moment he's holding it up, showing her the piece of paper and a handwritten love note that read the three words she used earlier. salem smile, her eyes sparkling with tears as she lets out a long breath she didn't know she'd been holding in. "I can't believe those are your first words to me " she chuckles, kissing his cheek softly as her arms wrap around his middle again. "I love you, thank you for you know...coming back just for me."

it makes him happier than he’s ever felt, to see the sweet smile on her perfect lips when he kisses her face. she still seems in awe that he’s real and standing before her, which makes sense considering she has no idea that witchcraft even exists to begin with. to her, he was a stranger that just arrived in some ways, even if they knew each other in their hearts, souls and dreams.

it’s one of the reasons why he’s surprised by what she says next, her voice soft and sweet, telling him she loves him in a way he’s not yet heard before. her beautiful eyes are warm, full of the love she speaks of as she looks up to meet his gaze. it makes him flush everywhere, immediately leaning forward to press his forehead against hers because he’s overwhelmed by the emotion he has for her. he wants more than anything to say it back; that he loves her too. it makes his chest ache, a lump in his throat because he can’t tell his fiance that he loves her back.

with their foreheads pressed together and their faces so close, he’s breathing her air. all he can think about is how he agrees with what she’s saying, that he was meant to be here all along just to meet her. she’s his destiny and even if she wasn’t before, she is now. she’s all that matters to him and he wants to show her that he loves her too. so he closes the distance between their mouths, kissing her soft lips slowly to savor how good they feel. his eyes are fluttered shut, one hand coming up to press against the back of her neck, deepening the kiss. when their tongues touch he shivers with desire, wishing he could have more and kiss her for longer. but it’s their first kiss and he knows it’s improper anyway, so he lets go, licking his lips to chase the taste of her.

their hug doesn’t last as long as he wants either. if he had his way, he would embrace her for hours– feel her warmth against his bare chest. but he allows her to let go, a little amused by the way she talks about dressing him up like she did with her ‘barbies’ as a child. he doesn’t know what that is, but if he had to guess based on context clues, he would assume some sort of doll.

she asks him if it’s peaceful when you die, which makes him pause, wondering how he can even begin to answer such a question. even if he had words it would still be difficult. he frowns thoughtfully, fiddling with the fabric of the pants he’d put on. for him, death had been stunted and interrupted, his soul almost trapped by his mother’s spell. but even more than that, he wasn’t ready to move on. it wasn’t very restful, being a spirit in the graveyard by himself. at least, not until salem had arrived and kept him company. the hours she spent talking to his grave were the most peaceful he had ever felt in his existence, even when he was still alive.

so he nods softly, meeting her eyes with raw longing in his own. it was like she imprinted on his soul the moment she began to visit him, some part of her intertwined with him. she was his peace, if that was even possible. he points to her and places his palm to her chest again, pressing down meaningfully. then he nods again, just to make sure she knows that he’s trying to tell her she was his peace.

the real answer is far more complex, but he could explain it to her soon enough. or at least he hopes he can– worst case scenario, his hands are working and he could write letters.

he can’t lie that he enjoys her eyes on his body and the way she talks about him almost possessively. a small smile tugs on his lips, wishing he could flirt back. instead he settles for catching her wrist, slowly tugging her hand upward until it meets his bare chest, pressing her palm eagerly over his exposed nipple to urge her to touch him.

he likes the way her arm is wrapped around his waist, her chin against his shoulder. her body is warm pressed against his back and her chest feels soft, making him picture how beautiful her body looked when he was admiring it in the bathroom. it makes him blush again, combined with the way she calls him hot. she pulls away to reach for a pen and paper, one that doesn’t come with an ink well. he’s not sure why he’s even surprised anymore, considering all of the other much more impressive advancements. taking them from salem, he gives her a little smile before starting to write. holding the paper up, he shows her that it now reads three words, written in perfectly neat handwriting: “i love you.”

[tiredassmage]

I think one of my grandest little amusements from your first chat with Valkorian on Zakuul is he leads by trying to pretend he’s not exactly who you were looking for, that he has no idea what a Vitiate even is and then...

Promptly just. Doesn’t follow through with the act. Whether it’s ego or overconfidence, whatever, I’m not here to write an analysis post, I’m just here to giggle about it, tbh. It could definitely be that deep, but that’s for another post. He toys like a tiny bit about it with Marr and then as soon as that’s done amusing him he’s like ‘lol so what’s up we powerful as FUCK join me.’

Anyway, then he spends the rest of the chapter and Dream of Empire on a power trip trying to butter you up as something more than his favorite insignificant little pest from Ziost and it’s all just a little bit amusing, tbh.