#but there is a time and place for harsh rebukes

[periprose]

Arachnid Anxiety

You're Spider-Woman, and you've been tasked with babysitting Mayday. Maybe you have a bit of stress that you need to vent about, and Hobie comes along quite conveniently for that purpose.

Genre: Fluff, reader having anxiety, Hobie giving her advice, very cute, reader is a Jessica Drew variant, perhaps mutual pining if you squint, takes place during the movie but before Miles arrives to the Society, terrible british slang attempts (sorry Hobie :'))

Word Count: 2.4k

Babies are hard to wrangle when they’re crawling up walls.

Of course, Peter B. Parker said that he needs a nap, just this once, and he needs someone to watch over Mayday while he sneaks away into the sleeping pods in the Spider-Society-System. Sometimes he and MJ don’t get sleep for days at a time, so you get it.

But Mayday is so curious, and you find yourself having to pull her prying hands away before she inadvertently tampers with things around Miguel’s labs and causes either a mass outage or a explosion or Miguel’s wrath. You understand why Peter is a little exhausted.

She’s a very cute baby, though, and you can’t help but coo at her as she clambers off the wall into your arms. 

“Who’s a good Spidey? Who’s gonna be the best of us?” You shake her up and down and she giggles, wrapping her arms around you. 

You instinctively flinch, feeling your Spider-Sense go off.

“Large statement to make. But I see where you’re coming from.” Spider-Punk comes up from behind you, and you turn to him. “She’s definitely punk.”

“Hey, don’t go claiming someone else’s kid as one of your own.” You joke, and Hobie scowls as he pulls off his mask.

“Don’t believe in claims. Or labels, for that matter.” He scratches his hair, looking effortless as he ever does, and you roll your eyes. “She is… who she is. Forgive me for using a descriptive word, Spider-Woman.”

“I get it.” You hold Mayday as she squeals at the sight of Hobie, and she motions in an uppy-uppy motion. She wants to be held by him, but he ignores her.

You never quite know how to feel about Hobie Brown. The Amazing Spider-Punk is revolutionary, known for being better than just his words– he holds himself to the very essence of anarchy. He practices what he preaches.

But you can’t quite get a read on the guy. You don’t know if he’s pulling your leg– or taking the piss as he would say– when he gives his bouts of advice while somehow simply being amazing through it all. He somehow knows what to say but he also isn’t the most comforting, and that in itself makes you drawn to him. He just happens to be kind of rough around the edges, and it’s because of that you know he truly means what he says. 

No sugar-coating, ever.

But you hate yourself, because you’ve somehow managed to fall for him. 

It’s not uncommon for Spideys to fall for each other. Peter Parker and Cindy Moon, Miles Morales and Gwen Stacy. But you know this is the one time it just wouldn’t end well for you.

You can already hear Hobie’s comments if he ever found out. He’d probably rebuke you even though you’d never try anything. Tell you he doesn’t feel that way and you’re delusional for potentially thinking that he would ever tie himself down. Spiders are meant to be swinging free and all that.

Even worse, he just happens to be beautiful. You’re positive that if Hobie wasn’t so anti-everything he would have stuck with being a runway model. His face is molded in a distinctive way that has you trying to catch his glance, even if he only looks at you with nonchalance, completely unbothered, not a hint of chemistry in his eyes.

It is with great displeasure that you find yourself wanting his bored attention anyways.

And so you’ve been swallowing your crush for the greater part of a year now. You’re sure it will pass like all things do.

Pavitr, as much as you love him, has told you many times about the “chemistry” between you and Hobie– and you have told him every time to fuck off. Not in an actual harsh way, because again you can’t help but love the guy, but because you don’t need false hope.

You’re just Spider-Woman. Another red-and-yellow suited variant of Jessica Drew, you might as well just be another Peter Parker. You know that’s not how you’re supposed to think of yourself, but it’s just how it is. Canon events brought you here, and according to Miguel, it’s not something you chose– you just happened to be there at the right time and place. You’re no Jess, who comes in on her motorcycle, raging heat and excitement on her toes– you are one of the many, instead of being exceptional like the few.

You’re not like Hobie, who is as far as you know, one of a kind.

“What’s on your mind, Spider-Woman?” Hobie asks as he picks through random tech on the desk in Miguel’s lab, taking what he feels is useful for whatever it is he does with the stuff. He’s never used your name, because he doesn’t know it.

You and a few other Spider-People have chosen to stay anonymous, for different reasons, and only Miguel and Margo know who you really are. Hobie has told you before that that’s pretty cool– he only chose to give up his name because it was easier to get along with people that way. Hobie knows there’s power in people.

“Just babysitting. Obviously.” You motion to Mayday, who takes this moment to thwip out a web and swing away from you– but you’re faster and you grab her back into your arms, and she pouts.

“Nah, nah. I mean that sour expression upon your lovely little visage, imbecile.” He pokes your masked cheek, and you find yourself blushing but pulling away from him. Hobie is like that– overly familiar and no real sense of space because he doesn’t care.

“It’s not lovely.” You retort, fully convinced of it because he has never seen your face, only your incredulous expression through the eyes of your mask. 

You think that Hobie is again being sarcastic about your unknown appearance, and because his back is facing yours as he searches through random shelves now, you don’t catch how his face frowns at your response.

“Disagreements about your anonymous-but-surely beautiful face aside– not that looks matter, mind you– you’re clearly miffed about something.” Hobie turns and crosses his arms, and it’s with a little embarrassment and comfort that you want his advice. Even if it’s kind of to do with him.

“Well, I guess, uh… lately I’ve just been feeling kind of down. Like what’s the point of all this?” You bite your lip, knowing Hobie’s feelings on nihilism. “I don’t mean like nothing in life matters, Hobie. I mean more that I don’t matt– I don’t… anyways, I feel useless. I don’t have anything special about me, I don’t really bring anything to the Spider-Society that wasn’t already brought.”

"Whoa whoa whoa. Nah, lady, you've got your priorities all twisted." Hobie pulls your arms, bringing you kind of closer to him, and rests his hands on your shoulders, making you listen. "This inner hatred stuff– that sick urge to feel shame and then blast it inside of yourself, all that repression, yeah? It's a crock of shit."

"Huh?" You and Mayday both peer up at him. You behind your mask, and she with her crocheted one. 

Hobie picks up Mayday, finally giving into her wishes to be held by him, and she immediately giggles. There’s a subtle smile on his face that warms him to you a little.

"It might feel good in the moment. It might even feel revolutionary." Hobie scowls, and scratches his jaw. "It's worthless. Notice, Spider, I didn't call you worthless. The very action is garbage, a visceral thing that brings no productive value– that's what they want you to feel."

"Ah, because then I'll never fight against the establishment, right, Hobie? I'll be too busy fighting myself." You say mockingly, taking on a fake-pretentious-Cockney accent, mimicking him, but Hobie gives you a chill look and nods.

"Now you're getting it."

"Aw." You slump and slouch and sit on the counter full of gadgets and gizmos next to him. "I know you're right, but… don't you ever get people getting mad at you?"

"You've lost me."

"Like… being so responsible." You roll your eyes as Hobie snickers and whispers the spider-mantra you all know so well. "Or just living by your own ideology so… efficiently. It's almost like a slap in the face to the rest of us Spiders. We don’t know how to cope, and here comes along Spider-Punk with all his personal assurance that even if things aren't alright, he'll make it alright for himself."

"Oi, trust me, it wasn't all that easy." Hobie sniffs and sits down next to you, holding Mayday close and then letting her go as she crawls onto the wall in front of you. "You really think I haven't had a bad day? I haven’t had my moments of self doubt, huh?”

“Uh… well. When you put it like that, it does sound kind of crazy.” You admit, and nudge him with your shoulder. “I didn’t mean any harm, Hobie. I just feel so… inadequate.”

“Just stop.” He crosses his arms and closes his eyes, and you feel that yet again, he’s somewhat unreadable. “Don’t think those things. You’re not inadequate.”

“But I–”

“Stop.” He grasps your hands, and squeezes them tightly in his own, and you wonder if Hobie has ever looked this seriously at you, his eyes soft yet firm with affection.

You’re in trouble, you think. Your heart is pounding and you’re really glad he can’t see your face.

“I don’t think you know how important you are.” He utters so quietly, in that very deep voice that has you leaning in to hear him better. “You’re not nothing, Spider-Woman. You’ve done a lot of good for your Earth-257, I’m sure, and that makes you something special. Like the rest of us– you’re kind of irreplaceable, right?”

“I guess.”

“Not ‘I guess.’” Hobie punches the side of your arm and you pretend to say ow, laughing a little. “If you didn’t exist, we’d all be poorer for it. Peter couldn’t ask you to chill with his baby, and I couldn’t be here talking your ear off.”

“But I’m not– I don’t really compare to her, you know?” You say without thinking, and then immediately squint at your own stupidity. 

“Who’s her?” Hobie is wary of how your expression is shifting. “Stacy?”

“Uh, no.” You inhale, exhale, and then decide it’s time to get it over with. “Jess.”

“Jess? Jessica Drew, huh?” Hobie smirks a little. “You don’t want to be adopted by her, do you?”

“More complicated than Gwen’s weird fantasy.” You shift on your spot on the counter, and pull off your mask after a minute of tribulations. “I’m… also Jessica Drew.”

You feel incredibly shy as Hobie takes in your face, wary of his every move as you feel yourself sweating, and he grasps your face gently, peering into your eyes and taking a look at your features, as if he’s really trying to remember them.  

“Huh.”

“What is it?” You say a little too defensively, and he shrugs. 

“You do have a lovely visage, you silly little sod. Even if it’s completely different from Jess’ face.” He laughs as you shove him away, covering your face in your hands. “No, don’t do that.”

He’s tracing your jaw, and he murmurs. “Maybe you could use a few piercings… a tat or two… ever thought about it?”

“No.” You shut your eyes. “I’m not cool like you.”

“Oh, shut it.” He leans in imperceptibly closer, and you blink, eyes open. Maybe Pavitr had a point that Hobie and you have something, because there’s not really another explanation for that look in his eyes. “You’re plenty cool, Jessica Drew. It was just a shit suggestion of mine.”

You think Hobart “Hobie” Brown is sweeter than you previously thought. You have half a mind to tell him about your feelings.

You and Hobie both look up, Spider-Senses tingling, and sure enough, Mayday is cooing from the ceiling– she leaps into your already waiting arms. She giggles at your expression.

Oh well, you think. There’ll be some other time to work up the courage to tell him.

Hobie half-smirks at her. “Way to interrupt us, Mayday.”

She looks at him all confused, tilting her head in a “huh?” motion, and you feel the same way, not entirely sure what Hobie meant by that and not willing to assume either.

He answers you by pulling your face in a sudden, swift motion, connecting his lips to yours, and in between the two of you, Mayday shrieks and laughs. She crawls off to the side of you, no longer smothered between your torsos.

Hobie is weirdly insistent– you feel like he’s been wanting to do this for a while, maybe longer than the length of your conversation (you don’t know if this is just a funny little fling for him, but you’re fairly sure it isn’t) and he’s a lot taller and lankier than you, so he really has to tower over you to reach your mouth better. He’s grasping your jaw and neck and the back of your head with a lot of intensity– you feel wildly dizzy when he pulls away.

“Uh.” Peter B. Parker is standing in front of you both, mouth wide open, and you look back at Hobie and he grins rather coolly, not really giving a damn. It’s enough to make you snort. “Wait, who are you?”

“Oh. Spider-Woman from Earth 257.” You remember Peter has never seen your face, either. “Jessica Drew?”

“Right, right.” Peter raises his hands in a whoop-de-doo motion, like he should’ve known that. “Nice to know what you look like behind the mask. Not nice to know that you’ve been avoiding your babysitting duties. Why are you two fooling around like prepubescent children? What happened to responsibility?”

“Ahhhhh, please, Peter. Live a little.” Hobie stands up, his full length of height drawing him to about the same height as Peter if not an inch taller. He picks up Mayday and hands her off to him. “Let’s not act as if you and MJ weren’t shacking up in the sleeping pods last week, yeah? Does Miguel need to know about how irresponsible you were?”

You think he’s kidding, but Peter pales and you clap your hands over your mouth, trying not to laugh. Miguel would absolutely throw a fit if he found that out.

“Uh…” Peter swallows. “At least that’s not an interdimensional tragedy-in-the-making like you two.”

“There’s no rules against that, I don’t think.” Hobie shrugs. “And if there are, fuck them. Miguel doesn’t know it all.”

“He really is punk to the very end.” Peter groans and leaves out to the hallway with Mayday. 

Hobie flashes a smile at you as he sits back down, ruffling your hair.

[pin-k-ink]

maelstrom // miya osamu & miya atsumu (pt. 2)

tw ⇢ polyamory/threesome, nipple play, breeding kink, double penetration, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation/name calling, anal sex, unprotected sex, squirting, grinding, dry humping, shower sex, implied marathon sex, kinda rushed ending

wc ⇢ 8.7k

Osamu's ultimatum seemed to suck all residual heat from the stuffy hallway as his words settled over them with leaden finality. For several heartbeats, an oppressive silence stretched burning hot and taut between the twins.

Atsumu's eyes had blown wide at his brother's uncompromising decree, features slackening briefly before that ever-present veneer of bravado snapped back into place. His lips peeled back in a ferocious sneer as he straightened to his full towering height.

"That's your big idea?" he scoffed, voice dripping derision. "Put it all out there and what...just hope for the best? Let the 'pieces fall' and all that overly poetic bullshit?"

Osamu simply watched Atsumu's scathing tirade with an impassive mask, seeming utterly unbothered by his twin's attempt at biting disdain. The muscle in his clenched jaw ticked ever-so-slightly, the only indication he'd even registered Atsumu's barbs.

When he spoke again, Osamu's timbre emerged hoarse but resolute. "You got a better plan besides sneakin' around and steppin' all over each other? Talk is cheap, 'Tsumu. But we both know keepin' up the mind games ain't sustainable."

That seemed to deflate Atsumu's bravado slightly, the fire dimming behind his piercing gaze as resignation gradually crept in. He worked his jaw wordlessly for a moment in clear agitation before letting out a harsh, blustering sigh.

"Look," the blond began again, swiping his tongue across his lower lip. "We both want her, there's no denyin' it anymore..."

He locked eyes with Osamu in a sudden bout of inexplicable courage, daring his twin to rebuke the undeniable truth laid bare between them at last. But the grey-haired twin simply held his stare, seemingly unbothered by such an inflammatory revelation after all this time.

Atsumu pressed on before gathering doubts could fully leech his momentum. "So why don't we both fuck her? See how she really feels when she’s pushed to her limits."

The brazen suggestion very nearly made Osamu's impressively steely facade crumble, if the way his pupils blew wide was any indication. For a handful of charged seconds, Atsumu could have sworn he glimpsed naked vulnerability warring with want and resignation bleeding through the hairline fractures of Osamu's composure.

But as swiftly as the flicker of unguarded rawness appeared, it was viciously shuttered away once more by the grey-haired twin's impenetrable mask.

"You just hear yerself, 'Tsumu?" Osamu rasped at last, the barest tremor of disbelief underpinning his words. "Puttin' it all out there like that...with her? You can't be serious..."

The blond simply cocked one brow in a cocksure display of nonchalance. "Why not? She deserves to hear the truth straight up for once. Instead of us dancin' around it like cowards."

Atsumu paused to let the weight of his boldness fully sink in, watching as Osamu's throat worked subtly around an audible swallow. "We both go all in, show her the whole damned hand instead of keepin' our cards tucked away...Then we let the chips fall how they may."

Silence fell back around them in the wake of his challenge, the brothers simply staring each other down through the dimness. Osamu's expression was utterly inscrutable beyond the tense ripple of the tendon in his corded neck, an unconscious betrayal of the turbulent emotions roiling beneath his careful facade.

When he finally found his voice, it emerged barely above a gruff rasp. "You can't be serious...sharin' her like that, puttin' her in the crosshairs..."

But despite his dubious protests, there was the faintest undercurrent of interest bleeding through the reticence. As if, deep down, the prospect of calling their longtime bluff for real and letting the chips fall where they may ignited a long-dormant spark of possibility.

Atsumu didn't miss the warring desperation and curiosity swirling behind his twin's usually impassive gaze. He knew Osamu had glimpsed the unwavering certainty blazing behind his own eyes and felt the first fluttering tendrils of doubt creeping in through the cracks.

For once, Atsumu understood the magnitude of the moment, the way their entire dynamic seemed to be pivoting on a precarious axis towards...something. Something cataclysmic and inevitable, if the tangible electricity swirling around them was any indication. There would be no ignoring or tucking away this hairline fracture threatening to shatter them from the inside out.

It was time for them both to nut up and confront the undercurrents raging between them, no matter how tumultuous and life-altering the aftermath might prove to be.

"I've never been more serious in my goddamn life," Atsumu rasped in a tone loaded with finality. "No more games, no more pussyfootin' around it. We put everything on the table and give her the chance to finally deal us in...or fold us out for good."

He let the weight of his ultimatum settle between them with leaden finality, watching in eery silence as Osamu's throat worked convulsively around his next inhale. The brothers stared at one another through the dimly lit hallway, the churning riptide of recent escalations and long-repressed wants swirling dangerously in the ether between them.

Only one of them could take the plunge and decide whether they would keep riding the tide towards oblivion, or finally swim for the surface - no matter how agonizingly distant salvation might appear.

The weighted silence that followed Atsumu's bold ultimatum was utterly suffocating. The brothers simply stared each other down through the dimness, chests subtly rising and falling with measured breaths as the magnitude of what Atsumu proposed hung viscous between them.

Finally, Osamu inhaled a deep, steadying breath through his flared nostrils. His pale eyes had taken on a curiously resolute glint, as if he'd already come to some internal reckoning despite the ceaseless war still raging behind that impassive mask.

"You're serious about this," he stated lowly after another protracted pause. It wasn't a question, but rather an acknowledgment laced with something that bordered on...resignation? Acceptance? In that electrified moment, it was impossible for Atsumu to parse the nuances swirling in his twin's carefully measured tone.

The blond simply cocked one piercing brow, neither confirming nor denying. He didn't need to give voice to what was already an intrinsic truth reverberating between their souls like a struck tuning fork.

Of course he was serious - deliriously, uncompromisingly so when it came to the chances of finally shedding these shackles of want, of confronting this all-consuming fire that had steadily burned away any remaining hesitations over the years.

Osamu held his stare for several more weighted heartbeats, the muscle feathering along his jaw ticking rapidly beneath the surface. Then, finally, the grey-haired twin seemed to wilt infinitesimally, shoulders sagging as the burning intensity of his focus dimmed to a resigned smolder.

"Alright then," he rumbled, more to himself than Atsumu. "Why don't you lay out this genius plan of yours..."

"Simple - you and I take turns putting the full court press on (Y/N). Go all out with our...attention and affection for her, while the other watches how she responds," Atsumu explained, voice dropping to a resonant murmur. "Let her feel the weight of our desires separately so there's no deluding ourselves about where her true preferences ultimately lie."

Osamu's throat bobbed with a tense swallow as he absorbed the bold proposal. Atsumu could practically see the vivid implications playing out behind his twin's widened gaze - the three of them entangled in an intricate push-and-pull of heightened tensions and want.

"You can't be serious..." Osamu rasped after a loaded pause, though there was a undercurrent of intrigued curiosity bleeding through. "Puttin' her through that kinda ringer just to scratch our own itches? It's twisted, even for you."

"Is it really any more twisted than this holding pattern we've been stuck in?" Atsumu countered, taking a calculated step closer until their shared breaths intermingled. "At least this way there are no more mind games or delusions. We finally get definitive answers about where she wants this to go...one way or another."

The weighted silence that fell between them was utterly charged, loaded with the unspoken implications of Atsumu's daring proposition. Osamu's jaw worked subtly as he studied his twin through narrowed lids, clearly waging an internal war with himself.

"And if she don't want either of us that way when the dust settles?" he murmured at last. "What then?"

Atsumu held Osamu's penetrating stare unflinchingly. "Then we walk away, lick our wounds like big boys, and move on with the scraps of our friendship intact."

Another laden pause stretched between the brothers as Osamu absorbed the litany of potential consequences awaiting them. Atsumu could see the turmoil and temptation warring behind those stormy gunmetal irises as raw, undisguised want steadily won out over reservation.

Finally, Osamu inhaled a fortifying breath and gave a slow, weighty nod of resignation.

"Alright...lay out the game plan then," he growled, the gravel edge of his tone making it clear this would be a reckoning of cataclysmic proportions, no matter the outcome. "If we're gonna air all this out properly, no more half-measures."

In the days following their heated confrontation over how to finally address the swirling tensions, you noticed a distinct shift in Atsumu and Osamu's demeanors whenever you were around. It was subtle at first - the lingering graze of calloused fingertips trailing over exposed skin as one passed you a glass, or the heated weight of a stare seeming to undress you from across the room.

Little by little, the charged atmosphere steadily amped up each time the three of you occupied the same space. Casual touches that should have been innocent instead carried an unmistakable frisson of suggestion and simmering promise. Weighted looks exchanged over the subtlest of movements that raised the fine hairs along your nape with visceral awareness.

It was as if some unspoken gauntlet had been thrown down between the twins - a sensual game of escalating provocations to see who could stoke your arousal into outright delirium first while the other watched on with rapt intensity.

The first overt move came from Atsumu during a lazy afternoon you'd spent stretched out on the sofa, utterly engrossed in one of your favorite novels. You had been so absorbed in the story, muscles pleasantly lax and unguarded, that you failed to notice the blond's approach until he was looming over you.

"Well now, don't you look pretty as a picture sprawled out like that," he purred in that honeyed drawl that never failed to raise goosebumps.

You startled slightly at the sound of his voice, blinking up at where Atsumu stood haloed by the window light in a way that seemed to set his tawny irises blazing like burnished amber. His gaze slowly trailed from your messy upswept hair down to where your thin cotton top had ridden up enough to expose a tempting strip of flushed midriff.

Feeling heat prickle across your cheeks from his unabashed perusal, you shifted self-consciously and made to sit upright. But Atsumu's palm landed on your shoulder in a stilling gesture as he lowered himself to occupy the sliver of unoccupied couch space beside your hip.

"Don't get up on my account, sweetheart," he murmured, voice dropping into that sinfully deep register you'd never consciously paid much mind to before. "I'm rather enjoyin' the view from here."

He punctuated the suggestive words by letting his free hand ghost down the length of your straightened legs, mapping the supple curves with a heated sort of reverence. You felt your pulse kick up several gears as Atsumu's calloused fingertips traced idle, tingling patterns over your calf working gradually higher and higher up the seam of your inner thighs.

A breathless whimper very nearly escaped as the blond's ministrations inched nearer to unexplored territory. But just before his questing touch could stray too far, a subtle cough from the hallway shattered the heated trance.

Both you and Atsumu whipped your heads towards the sound to find Osamu leaning against the door frame, expression utterly inscrutable as he watched your intimate tangle unfold. You felt a full-body shiver ricochet through you as those simmering gunmetal irises raked over every inch of your and Atsumu's twisted forms from across the room.

For several suspended heartbeats, nobody spoke or even dared move a muscle as the weighted tension rapidly crowded out any remaining oxygen. Atsumu held your gaze boldly, lips ticking up in that same provocative half-smirk while his fingertips continued their scorching caresses mere inches from your core.

Then, wordlessly, Osamu pivoted on his heel and retreated back down the hallway without acknowledgment, leaving that same electrically charged atmosphere swirling in the vacuum of his absence.

Atsumu's eyes burned with banked embers as he refocused his attention back on you, feathering one final searing path down your instep before withdrawing his touch altogether. Still, you found yourself frozen in place on the sofa, utterly transfixed by the oblique game of smoldering provocation that had been unleashed around you.

"You just hold that thought for me, (Y/N)..." the blond rasped in a tone thick enough to lap over your sensitized skin. "That was just the opening salvo, darlin'. Best get ready for whatever encore I have planned next."

With that heated promise seeming to scorch your very marrow, Atsumu rose fluidly and stalked off without another glance - leaving you alone to try and process whatever delirious spiral was unraveling.

The next few days seemed to pass by in a heated daze after Atsumu's bold seduction on the sofa. You found yourself hyperaware of every little gesture and look exchanged between the three of you - searching for any hint of further escalation in their provocative game.

The twins, for their part, appeared to relish drawing out the simmering tension to an exquisite degree. Casual touches would linger just a beat too long, searing your skin with the undisguised promise of something more illicit lurking beneath the surface. Weighted looks were exchanged over the subtlest of movements, drinking in your reactions with rapt intensity.

It was as if they were meticulously priming you, turning up the lowburn of arousal steadily until you were practically vibrating with maddening anticipation of what salacious delights awaited. Simply occupying the same space as Atsumu or Osamu had your nerve endings thrumming with visceral awareness of their virile presence surrounding you.

The breaking point came several nights later as you relaxed in the dimly lit living room with a glass of wine, trying in vain to lose yourself in a book. Your mind kept wandering, utterly unable to focus beyond replaying the memory of Atsumu's heated stare in detail. You could practically still feel the ghosting path of his calluses against your sensitive inner thighs.

You shifted restlessly on the plush sofa, thighs subtly pressing together as a spiral of molten arousal unfurled low in your belly. Attempting to shake off the insistent throb, you reached for your wineglass only to nearly drop it in surprise.

Osamu stood haloed in the entryway with his broad shoulders blocking out most of the hall light. You blinked owlishly, struggling to rein in your rapidly scattering thoughts as the grey-haired twin silently appraised you with That Look - the same hooded, weighted stare that made you feel utterly bare despite being fully clothed.

"O-Osamu," you stammered out on a breathless exhale. "I didn't hear you come in."

Rather than respond right away, the twin simply crossed the room in a few prowling strides to claim the unoccupied armchair positioned perpendicular to the sofa. You watched with rapt fascination as the corded muscles in his shoulders and biceps flexed and rolled beneath the snug cotton tee he wore. Osamu offered no explanation, no greeting beyond admiring the long, lean lines of your body from beneath hooded lids.

Finally, once settled into the chair directly across from you, he spoke in that same deliberate drawl that always sounded like liquid gravel over steel.

"No need to get up on my account, (Y/N)," he rumbled, pupils blown wide enough to nearly eclipse the gunmetal irises entirely. "Just...make yerself comfy there."

You swallowed hard as Osamu's penetrating stare dragged over every dip and swell of your figure boldly. There was no mistaking the undercurrent of heated promise laced through his words, nor the visceral way your body instantly jolted to life beneath that smoldering perusal.

A loaded silence fell over the dimly lit room like a thick veil, seeming to trap the feverish atmosphere swirling between your forms. You found yourself incapable of looking away from Osamu's piercing gaze even as your pulse kicked up into a thunderous cadence against your ribs.

With exaggerated, almost predatory grace, the twin shifted one booted ankle over his opposite knee - a subtle adjustment that somehow made the virile bulk of his densely corded thighs flex and roll mesmerically. Osamu didn't break eye contact as he reached for a small bowl on the side table beside him. Retrieving one of the grapes nestled within, he brought the plump fruit to his lush lips and slowly, deliberately, slid the rounded tip between parting teeth.

A punched-out whimper very nearly escaped as you watched the muscles in his chiseled jaw work to envelop and suck the grape into the cavern of his mouth in one sinfully sensual motion. Osamu's eyes hooded to mere slits as low groan of muffled appreciation rumbled in his broad chest.

"Mmm...so ripe. So fuckin' sweet," he husked before slowly drawing the stem and remnants from between kiss-swollen lips.

You were utterly paralyzed, every centimeter of your sensitized skin seeming to prickle with liquid heat. The tip of your tongue instinctively flicked over your lips as you stared through the dimness, utterly transfixed by the low purr of Osamu's pleasured rumbles and the hypnotic dance of his throat working around each indulgent swallow.

"Y'know, (Y/N)..." Osamu began again in that smoke-roughened rasp you'd never paid too much mind to until this exact rapturous moment. "I ain't had a real, soul-satisfyin' taste in weeks."

He paused to tilt his head slightly, hooded eyes roaming over your body like a physical caress that left molten heat pooling low in your abdomen.

"Care to...indulge me?"

The blatant invitation hung ripe and heavy between you, coiling that slow smolder into an outright inferno in your core. You found yourself utterly at his mercy, unable to look away as Osamu plucked another plump grape and brought it towards those lush, glistening lips in a tantalizing caress.

The weighted silence that fell felt utterly charged, thick enough to trap the feverish atmosphere swirling between your forms in a heated vortex. You watched, utterly transfixed and paralyzed, as Osamu brought the plump grape towards his parted lips in a torturously languorous glide.

His gunmetal eyes remained locked unflinchingly on yours as the very tip of his tongue peeked out to lave a teasing stripe over the taut, glistening skin. A harsh exhale punched from your lungs at the erotically charged display, breath already coming in shallow pants as arousal thrummed white-hot beneath your skin.

"So ripe..." Osamu husked in approval, the deep rasp seeming to reverberate straight through your center. "But I think it's gonna need a lil'...extra flavour to really satisfy this cravin'."

Without breaking your heated stare, he guided the succulent fruit over his bottom lip, leaving a dewy trail of moisture in its wake that made your mouth water uncontrollably. Then, with clear deliberation, Osamu slid the very tip between his parted teeth and hollowed his cheeks around the smallest suckle.

Your fingers clenched spasmodically into the soft upholstery as a rapturous shudder lanced through your core. Every nerve ending felt electrified, as if routing all overstimulated signals directly between your thighs where that telltale insistent throb was mounting toward a fever pitch.

Osamu made an absolutely obscene sound of dark approval around his teasing mouthful - a resonant, filthy purr that punched out your next breath in a broken whimper. Mercilessly, he continued worrying the delicate skin with lips and tongue, savoring every indulgent lap and pull with exaggerated bliss until rivulets of juice trailed over his chiseled jaw.

"Mmm...that's more like it," he growled once the shriveled remains fell from his swollen lips. "But somethin' still ain't quite hittin' the spot yet."

The heavy-lidded look he slanted your way then very nearly made you combust on the spot. Equal parts banked challenge and dark invitation seemed to smolder behind those dilated iron-rings boring into your trembling form. As if silently demanding to see how far you'd allow yourself to be tempted...how thoroughly you'd bend to Osamu's will if he proceeded with this sublimely filthy temptation.

"Though maybe you could help a fella out with that, darlin'..."

His voice seemed to caress every single word - an unmistakable undercurrent of suggestion laced through each thrumming syllable. As if already envisioning you on your knees before him, plush lips stretched wide to accommodate something far more satisfying than mere fruit.

You didn't realize you'd whimpered aloud until Osamu's smirk deepened fractionally, teeth catching his lower lip in a display of pure sin. The way his throat bobbed around a heated swallow somehow only made the demonstration even more erotically charged.

"That's what I thought," he rumbled, sounding utterly wrecked with want despite the veneer of outward control. "Now why don't you come on over here and give this mouth of mine somethin' real to savor..."

The unmistakable invitation hung between you, suspended in that electric ether of roiling tension and smoldering desire that had grown too potent to ignore any longer. Osamu looked for all the world like a panther that had finally roused itself to wakefulness in order to enjoy an overdue, hard-won hunt.

And in that breathless moment, you were achingly aware that you represented the only prey desired - one that was no longer keen to evade the inevitable collision much longer. Not when every sinuous line of the predator's powerful form practically vibrated with the promise of rapturous surrender unlike anything you'd ever crave more.

With that intoxicating revelation, you pushed upright from the sofa, legs feeling oddly unsteady beneath your weight. Osamu watched your every move through heavily-hooded eyes, gaze never wavering as you drew nearer to the edge of the coffee table between you.

When you finally sank to your knees atop the smooth wood surface, his breath audibly stuttered at the sight of you spread out before him. You felt a surge of dizzying power at the reaction, at the knowledge that you had the ability to unravel him even when he seemed poised to do the same.

"That's it," Osamu breathed, tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip with an enticing glint. "Closer now. Right here..."

You let yourself be guided by the warm, firm grip of his hands, allowing Osamu to position you until your legs were splayed to straddle his powerful thighs. The position left the apex of your thighs hovering mere inches above his own, a tantalizing distance that sent sparks of heat crackling up your spine.

"Now...open yer pretty little mouth for me, (Y/N)..."

He punctuated the command by bringing another glistening grape to his lips, eyes darkening further with unbridled lust. The sight of his lush mouth parting around the succulent flesh was almost enough to make you keen with the sheer visceral impact.

Instead, you followed his command, mouth falling open in a silent plea. Osamu hummed his approval, leaning forward until your parted lips were mere centimeters apart. His free hand reached up to gently cradle the side of your face, thumb tracing along the delicate curve of your cheekbone while he watched your reaction raptly.

Then, finally, Osamu tilted his head to guide the grape into the cavern of his waiting mouth, letting the taut skin glide over his lips and the slick, inviting surface of his tongue. He held the bitten morsel between his teeth, the low groan rumbling from his chest vibrating all the way down to your core.

Your own moan caught in your throat as his thumb came to trace a burning path along the seam of your lips, lingering at the center. Then, in an agonizingly slow caress, Osamu leaned in and slid the bitten half of the grape past your waiting mouth.

You were helpless to resist as his tongue chased the delectable offering, curling around your own with a filthy swirl. The sweet, tangy flavor exploded across your senses, making your eyes roll back into your skull. Osamu's tongue continued its sinful dance, sweeping through every crevice in a decadent tease.

Your lips clung together as he slowly withdrew, both of you gasping raggedly. The hand cupping your face slid back to thread into the hair at your nape, holding you steady as Osamu dove back in for another greedy taste. This time, the hand not cradling your face reached up to grip the plump flesh of a breast, kneading the mound with deliberate, torturous rolls.

"Fuck..." Osamu growled against your mouth, tongue dipping out to lick a scorching path along the seam of your lips. "You taste so fuckin' good, baby. And I can't stop cravin' more..."

Your back arched instinctively as his touch slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, calluses catching on the taut peak of your nipple. Osamu groaned as he tweaked and rolled the pebbled flesh, seeming to relish every gasp and whine that tore from your lips.

"I could spend all fuckin' night just drinkin' you in," he growled against the side of your neck, teeth grazing over the tender pulse point. "Tasting every goddamn inch of you, feelin' those pretty moans and whimpers on my tongue..."

You cried out as his lips fastened over a sensitive patch of skin, sucking and licking with devastating purpose. He continued to play with the pebbled flesh of your nipples through the fabric, alternating between pinching and rolling with just the right amount of delicious pressure.

"God, 'Samu...please!" you keened, head thrown back in shameless abandon as your hips instinctively canted towards his. "Need more..."

You felt more than heard the low, filthy chuckle reverberate against your sternum. Osamu's free hand skated down the line of your stomach, teasing the band of your shorts.

"Yer killin' me, baby..." he rasped against the side of your throat, hips bucking up in a filthy grind. "I wanna give you everythin' yer beggin' for. Make you come so many times you'll forget what fuckin' day it is..."

He punctuated the words with a sharp nip, making you jolt and keen at the exquisite sensations coursing through your body.

"But we can’t. Not yet," Osamu breathed, the gravel of his voice edged with a pained undertone. "We need to keep waitin'."

The words sent an icy splash over your skin, cooling the firestorm of arousal into a confused simmer. You blinked your eyes open, staring down at the grey-haired twin in utter befuddlement.

"Wh-what? Why?" you blurted, the question sounding embarrassingly like a whine even to your own ears.

"Because...not yet," Osamu repeated, leaning up to brush his lips over yours in a chaste caress. "Trust me, baby. Just...trust us."

And before you could protest, the twin was gently extricating himself from your entangled forms, leaving you cold and bereft. Your body still pulsed and thrummed with unsatisfied need, and it was all you could do not to drag Osamu right back to the couch.

He simply pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead and brushed a gentle caress down the line of your arm.

"Go on now, get some sleep. I'll see you in the mornin'," Osamu murmured. "Trust me, it'll be worth the wait."

In the aftermath of Osamu's provocative display, you found it increasingly difficult to meet either twin's gaze without a full-body shiver ricocheting through you. The heated memories and visuals they had brazenly etched into your psyche seemed permanently seared on an endless loop.

You tried in vain to go about your normal routines and regain some sense of equilibrium amidst the unwinding spiral you'd found yourself caught up in. But simple, innocuous moments were now weighed down by lingering stares filled with thinly veiled promise. Every casual touch or shared proximity seemed to thrum with a heightened undercurrent of tension building towards...something.

It was only a matter of time until that precarious simmer finally reached its cataclysmic boiling point.

That moment came several nights later as you relaxed in the bathroom's steaming heat, luxuriating in the deliciously hot spray pounding against your tired muscles. Rivulets of water streamed over your skin, washing away the day's lingering stress in soothing rivulets down your body. You tilted your head back with a blissful sigh, allowing the humid caress to lull you into a light, waking trance.

Which was likely why you didn't immediately process the plush bathroom door creaking open behind you. Or the dual masculine presences that materialized within that swirling, vapor-hazed sanctuary a heartbeat later.

"Well now...isn't this just a delightful little surprise," Atsumu's honeyed drawl seemed to reverberate straight into your very marrow. "Here I was thinkin' we'd have to chase ya down to join in the fun."

Your eyes flew open with a full-body jolt, heart rate instantly tripling as the heated realization crashed over you in waves. Both Atsumu and Osamu stood mere feet away, drinking in the sight of your naked, glistening form with raptor-like intensity. Instinctively, you hunched in on yourself in a feeble attempt at covering your modesty - an action that only earned you twin rumbles of dark approval.

"Don'tcha dare go hidin' that gorgeous body from us now, sweetheart" the blond purred, eyes blazing with undisguised hunger. "We've been awfully patient waitin' on you to come around to playin' properly."

You felt a shiver trace your spine at the raw heat dripping from his words, the promise of sinful delights hanging thick in the humid air. As if sensing your body's visceral reaction, Osamu took a calculated step closer until his silhouette was framed in the shower's steamy glass before he slowly pushed it aside.

"That's it, let go and just feel it darlin'," he rasped in that smoke-roughened baritone that seemed to vibrate straight through your nerve endings. "You know you been wantin' this just as bad as we have."

Blood roared in your ears, breath coming in shallow pants as your senses were consumed by the virile, overwhelming presence of them both closing in like twin apex predators. Despite the embarrassed flush heating your cheeks, you found yourself utterly frozen - utterly powerless to resist the pull of their gravity wells as they steadily drew nearer.

"Don't we look pretty surrounded by all this thick, hot steam..." Atsumu's voice was practically a physical caress ghosting over your overheated skin as he crowded against your other side.

Without warning, two large palms whipped up to splay against the edge of the tub - one olive-toned and the other paler. Atsumu and Osamu leaned in until you could make out the blown depth of their hunger-dark gazes piercing through the condensation. The weight of their menacing proximity sent shockwaves of electric awareness thrumming straight to your core.

"It's got nothin' on how goddamn radiant you look flush and dripping wet like this though," Osamu half-growled in a register so deep it raised goosebumps along your arms. "Makes a fella wonder what those pretty lips would feel like stretched wide 'round--"

"Easy there, 'Samu..." Atsumu cut him off with a rumbling chuckle that somehow sounded even filthier than his twin's lewd musing. "No need to go scarin' her off before we even get started, now is there?"

Dazed and utterly drunk on their sinful words and the blistering heat of their stares raking over every bared inch, you could only whimper. The steam and humidity rapidly became a sweltering cocoon around your over-sensitized form until you felt light-headed with want. Desperate, shuddering inhales flooded your senses with nothing but the scorching, intoxicating amalgam of their virile musks surrounding you from all sides.

"That's our girl..." Atsumu crooned in a molten rasp. "Gonna make this so good for ya, darlin'...better'n you could ever dream of..."

Your harsh pants were the only sounds in the swirling steam for several charged moments. Then...

"Last chance to tap out before there's no turnin' back from this, sweet thing," Osamu rasped against the fevered hollow below your ear, one large palm drifting south to splay possessively low on your abdomen.

Their piercing stares seemed to bore straight through your wavering restraint in that eternal heartbeat's suspension before the storm finally hit. You could practically taste the roiling tension, the unspoken challenge thrumming between their equally corded frames.

Both of them were coiled and ready to strike - teetering on that razor-thin edge of control whose final threads threatened to burn away entirely at the slightest provocation. Every molten nerve-ending screamed in sheer desperation for you to simply give yourself over to their merciless onslaught and surrender to rapture.

The decision seemed to stretch on in protracted torment, the universe itself holding his breath in anticipation of your answer. Finally, with a ragged sob of undoing, you allowed yourself to cant back into Osamu's unforgiving heat while reaching out to fist your other hand in Atsumu's shirt, pulling them both impossibly closer.

The harsh groan punched from the blond's lips as your bodies crushed together in a tangle of feverish limbs was pure, wrecked sin. Osamu's teeth sank into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, growling his own unrestrained approval at your blatant capitulation as you arched against them.

"That's our good girl..." Atsumu panted against your swollen mouth, hands roaming in a heated frenzy over every slick, trembling inch of newly bared skin. "Gonna take such sweet care of you, darlin'. Make sure every sinful dream comes true..."

Osamu's chest rumbled against your back in a resonant purr of agreement, the delicious friction of his hardening ridge grinding against you sending white-hot lances of liquid fire licking straight to your core.

"No more holdin' back, no more fightin' what we all been chasin' too damn long," he rasped, dexterous fingers already seeking out the most intimate planes of your shuddering form.

The urgency only seemed to ratchet higher as they began divesting themselves of clothing with frantic yanks and rustling fabric. You whimpered at the unveiled reveal of Atsumu's sunkissed skin and taut musculature as his shirt hit the tiles. Osamu was equally mouth-watering behind you - all granite ridges of powerful muscle sheathed in olive-toned radiance.

Within moments, all three of you were bare and thrumming in the steamy bathroom. Atsumu stepped into the tub first, calloused palms skating up your sides until he could tug you against his body in one sinuous motion. The searing kiss of his cock branding your lower abdomen punched out a desperate mewl.

"C'mere, sweetheart," he growled against the slope of your neck, lapping patterns of liquid fire with his talented tongue. "Let me show you how to fully let go..."

You barely had a moment to gather your wits before Osamu plastered himself along your backside, the twin layers of scorching heat utterly suffocating in the most delirious way. His massive palms mapped the generous curves of your hips and thighs in a clear claim of possession before hooking under your knees.

"That's our good girl," he rumbled in your ear as he and Atsumu lifted you in tandem, utterly surrounded and cradled by their virile bulk. "Gonna treat you so sweet, darlin'...make you come apart on our cocks over and over until there's nothin' left but blissed-out boneless."

The thought of being so thoroughly, rapturously undone by these two beautiful demigods had your pussy fluttering with desperate, aching need. You would gladly splinter into a thousand pieces if it meant basking in the furious, unholy blaze of their passions fully unleashed without restraint.

For once, you surrendered to that primal side of your psyche without any shred of hesitation. Allowed the liquid lava flow of yearning to consume every last rational circuit until only raw, blazing instinct remained.

"Please..." you heard yourself keen as your body was slowly lowered onto Atsumu's rigid cock. The exquisite, shuddering breach arrowed white-hot ecstasy straight into your core as you wailed into the steamy air, "Oh god...pleasepleaseplease..."

The answering growls of approval were utterly feral, spilling from between gritted teeth as Atsumu sheathed himself to the hilt inside your molten clutch. Your head fell back against Osamu's broad shoulder, eyes rolling back in a delirious moan at the sensation of being completely, gloriously stuffed.

"Fuck..." Atsumu panted, fingers clenching and flexing against the globes of your ass as he attempted to rein himself back from the edge. "Goddamn, you feel even better than I imagined... ‘Samu, spread her wider."

The grey-haired twin growled his wordless assent, gripping the underside of your knees until you were completely splayed out. You keened helplessly as the position allowed you to feel every exquisite inch of Atsumu's massive, velvet steel buried to the hilt inside your pussy.

"You wanton little goddess, just look at how greedy yer perfect little cunt is swallowin' my dick," he panted, hips flexing up in shallow grinds that had his girth dragging torturously over that swollen bud of nerves. "Can't wait to fill ya up and watch the proof spill outta you later..."

He punctuated the filthy words with a punishing snap of his hips that made you scream and jolt forward. The resulting impact ground your clit against his pelvis in an instant, triggering an electric current of bliss to ricochet through your entire system.

"Fuck yes, right there...you love takin' us both, don'tcha sweetheart?" Osamu growled, lips skimming the shell of your ear as his blunt crown nudged your rear entrance. "Let me feel how fuckin' sweet this pretty little ass is while I fill you up."

He punctuated the command by circling his engorged tip around the sensitive, puckered rim. Strong hands hiked your knees up higher and wider, practically folding you in half until your thighs were pressed flush against your breasts.

The position left you utterly exposed and splayed open - a fact that made both twins growl and buck in tandem as the erotic visual registered. You couldn't bite back the shameless whimper of want that tore from your throat at the sensation of Osamu's velvety hardness slipping inexorably inside.

The twin sensations of being so completely filled by them was almost enough to send you flying apart then and there. But they held you pinned and suspended between their muscular bulk, utterly trapped in the most glorious way.

"Yer so fuckin' perfect, (Y/N)," Osamu groaned, hips grinding against the round globes of your ass as he bottomed out. "So fuckin' gorgeous when yer stuffed fulla our cocks and beggin' for more."

You writhed and whimpered, utterly lost to the ecstasy of their combined presence and the sinfully carnal drag of their pulsing girths. A litany of pleas and babbling whimpers spilled from your swollen lips, utterly incoherent beyond begging for more.

Atsumu and Osamu seemed to read your body like a language they spoke fluently, instinctively knowing exactly how to work you apart in the most devastating way. With a snarl, the blond surged forward, capturing your lips in a sloppy, claiming kiss. His tongue swept in to tangle with yours, coaxing and tasting with filthy swirls and languid flicks.

"Mmm...she's so fucking sweet, 'Samu," Atsumu purred, eyes half-lidded with unadulterated lust as he devoured the sight of your debauched form. "Gotta taste that pretty mouth for myself..."

A sharp nip to your bottom lip accompanied the last word. Without warning, Osamu snapped his hips forward, sheathing himself fully inside your tight ass with one punishing thrust. You threw your head back on a wanton scream, unable to stifle the sounds bubbling up your throat even if you'd wanted to.

The two men set a blistering pace then, fucking into your splayed form with unbridled abandon. Osamu's powerful hands gripped the ample flesh of your thighs, ensuring your pussy and ass were spread wide and stuffed full for every single punishing thrust. Atsumu's fingers dug bruising crescents into the supple curves of your ass as his cock pistoned into you.

Both sets of calloused fingers seemed intent on leaving their mark on your skin - a claim etched into the deepest marrow of your bones until nothing but pure ecstasy remained. The molten-steel heat of their engorged lengths sliding against each other through the thin barrier only made the friction that much more blistering.

"Oh fuck...don't stop," you panted, nails digging into the taut muscle of their biceps as you hung suspended and writhing between their muscular bulk. "Please don't stop...feels so goddamn good!"

Atsumu's groan sounded torn from his very core as his hips snapped up in a bruising thrust. The impact of his balls slapping against your skin sent another wave of liquid fire roaring through your core.

"Yeah, sweetheart...take us both like the good little whore you are," Osamu snarled, tongue licking a scorching path along the delicate curve of your shoulder. "This what you needed so bad? To be stuffed fulla cock and pumped 'til yer stuffed with our cum?"

Your answer was a high-pitched wail, head thrown back against his broad chest as his thick length plunged deep into your ass. The sensation was almost overwhelming - the molten glide of their girths rubbing and stroking against each other in tandem.

"Look at ya," Atsumu groaned, staring down the line of your torso where your body was speared open between them. "So goddamn perfect with yer pretty little pussy and ass stuffed so full...just like they were always meant to be."

His fingers trailed down your belly, ghosting feather-light circles over the skin stretched tight from their relentless invasion. Osamu's free hand mirrored the movement, the contrast of their calloused caresses setting off a chain reaction of pleasure-fueled shivers.

"Fuck yeah, we can feel the head of my dick through her tight little stomach," Atsumu growled, fingers pressing deeper to trace the outline of his shaft buried inside. "You see that, 'Samu? We're fillin' her up so goddamn good."

"Hell yeah," his twin rasped, tongue and teeth worrying at the juncture of your shoulder. "And I can't fuckin' wait to see her pretty belly bulgin' with our cum. Markin' her as ours and ours alone."

The thought triggered another cascade of electric heat to sizzle straight through your center, and you were distantly aware of the wet gush soaking your thighs. They groaned and panted, both sets of hips jackhammering with increased vigor.

"Shit, feels like she's gettin' tighter," Atsumu gritted, eyes locked on the point where he and Osamu were pumping in tandem. "She likes it when we talk about how we're gonna breed her."

Osamu hummed his agreement, large hands spanning the breadth of your lower abdomen to press down on the slight bulge from Atsumu's cock. You wailed at the added pressure, vision tunneling with the onslaught of sensory overload.

"Y'like that, darlin'?" the grey-haired twin crooned, teeth grazing your pulse point. "Gonna keep you nice and full with our cum all night...over and over again 'til ya can't remember what it's like not havin' our cocks buried inside ya."

"And once we've gotcha knocked up with our babies, we'll still keep comin' back for more," Atsumu rasped, watching as Osamu's fingers hovered over the slight swell. "Keep fillin' this pussy and ass 'til yer absolutely stuffed and leakin' with our cum."

It was too much - the filthy, decadent promises pouring from their sinful mouths, the way their powerful forms bracketed and dominated your own, the maddening drag and grind of their twin cocks buried so deep within. The pressure building in your core became a tsunami threatening to drown you under the deluge.

"Oh god..." you sobbed, back arching and limbs quaking as the wave threatened to crest. "I-I'm so close...I can't...please don't stop, oh god...I'm--"

"Fuck, she's squeezin' us so tight," Atsumu groaned, forehead dropping to yours as his hips slammed up in a frenzied tempo. "C'mon, baby. Come for us, let go and come all over our cocks like a good girl..."

His fingers slipped down to circle the throbbing bud nestled in your soaked folds, pinching and rolling. It was too much - the sheer overwhelming perfection of it all. You shattered, falling apart into a million glittering shards as the world erupted into brilliant white.

"Holy fuck!" Atsumu bellowed, the sound echoing in the steam-hazed air as his own release triggered a violent, shuddering cascade. His hips stuttered and punched up in a brutal series of thrusts as he came, the warmth of his spend flooding your core and filling every crevice.

Osamu roared as the twin sensations triggered his own climax, burying himself to the hilt and grinding his hips against your ass. The molten flood of his seed seemed to set off a secondary ripple of orgasmic bliss, and you keened and jolted between them as you felt a heavy rush of liquid gushing out.

"Fuck, she's squirtin' all over me," Atsumu hissed, eyes clenched shut as his head tipped back on a wrecked groan."'Samu, you seeing this? Goddamn, that's the hottest fuckin' thing..."

"Holy shit," the grey-haired twin breathed, panting heavily as his own hips continued to buck up in a reflexive grind. "Never seen anyone fuckin' do that before. So goddamn sexy, baby."

Their praise was punctuated by the steady drip of liquid trickling from between your splayed legs, mingling with the water and their mixed release already swirling down the drain. You were too delirious with the aftershocks of ecstasy to speak, head lolling back against Osamu's slick chest and panting for breath.

"Think you've got one more in ya, sweetheart?" Atsumu coaxed, leaning forward to capture your lips in a languid kiss. His fingers were already stroking teasingly over the swollen bud of your clit, coaxing your limp body back into a fevered simmer. "I want her ass this time, 'Samu. Gotta have a taste of that tight little hole."

"Yeah, think she's good to go, Tsumu," Osamu rumbled, hips still flexing minutely to keep the delicious friction going. "How's it feel, darlin'? Did we wear you out enough yet?"

The question was punctuated by a filthy grind that made your pussy flutter with renewed interest. Your answering moan was garbled and incoherent, but the way you pressed back against Osamu's still-engorged length seemed to signal all they needed to hear.

"That's our good girl," Atsumu praised, voice pitched low and rough with hunger. "So beautiful, lettin' us fill ya up and fuck you until yer a boneless mess..."

You gasped as Osamu's cock pulled free of your ass, leaving a trail of warm, viscous fluid dripping down your thighs. Before you could protest the loss, you felt the blunt tip of Atsumu’s cock nudging against the tight ring of your rear entrance.

"Goddamn, you really did make a mess back here," the blond breathed, sounding almost awed. "Just look at all that cum drippin' outta her. 'Samu, spread her wider. Wanna see everythin' as I take her tight little ass."

With a groan, the grey-haired twin complied, using his grip on the underside of your thighs to pull your cheeks even wider apart. A fresh wave of liquid gushed down your skin, prompting an answering moan from Atsumu as his cock slipped inexorably inside.

"Oh fuck yes," the blond hissed, fingers digging into the supple flesh of your ass as he began pumping shallowly. "You feel so goddamn good, sweetheart. Yer such a good little slut, taking both our cocks like this."

The filthy words made your spent pussy clench, spurring Osamu's fingers into a blur of motion over the swollen bud. His own cock was pressed up along your spine, shamelessly rutting against the slick valley of your back while his brother slowly fucked into your ass.

The rest of the evening devolved into a fevered, filthy haze of sin and sensation. At some point, Atsumu and Osamu shifted you off the shower and back into the bedroom. But you were too blissed-out and overwhelmed to register much more beyond the constant, delicious stretch and drag of their cocks pumping in and out.

Your throat was raw and hoarse by the time Atsumu and Osamu finally declared the marathon over, only once you were utterly spent and covered in a sheen of sweat and drying release. You barely registered being tucked into the middle of the massive bed, cocooned in a nest of soft blankets and wrapped between two solid walls of male bulk.

Sleep claimed you instantly, pulling you into the deepest, most restful slumber you'd had in ages. And you never noticed the silent exchange between the twins, or the shared glance of satisfaction and smug contentment as they settled in on either side.

You were awoken the next morning to the sensation of a pair of soft lips suckling at your nipple. Your eyes flew open with a gasp, only to find Atsumu's dark gaze peering up at you from the valley of your breasts. He flicked his tongue out to swirl teasingly around the pert bud, humming with pleasure as his eyes slipped shut in an expression of rapture.

"Good morning, sweetheart," he purred, the silky timbre sending delicious shivers through your form.

"Morning, Tsumu," you whispered, the words catching in a gasp as he took the nipple fully into his mouth, suckling and swirling.

The action triggered a fresh rush of moisture between your thighs, and the blond growled as he felt your hips instinctively cant up against his hardness. His palm skated up your bare side, cupping the other breast and rolling the stiff peak between his thumb and forefinger.

Atsumu was suddenly yanked back, and you found yourself blinking in dazed confusion at Osamu's looming presence as the grey-haired twin's arm pinned his brother to the mattress.

"I told you to let her sleep in," Osamu snarled, his baritone even rougher with sleep. "You've been rutting against her all damn night and need to learn some goddamn self control."

His eyes shifted to your startled form, and his gaze instantly softened. You could practically see the gears turning behind those stormy depths, the way he was mentally cataloging your disheveled state and assessing the situation. "Besides, we’re supposed to let her decide who she wants, once and for all."

You sat up slowly, your mind still hazy from sleep and the events of the previous night. Confusion etched across your features as you looked between the two brothers, trying to make sense of Osamu's words.

"What do you mean, 'decide who I want'?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Atsumu managed to wriggle out from under Osamu's arm, sitting up and running a hand through his tousled hair. "We had a deal," he said, a hint of mischief in his eyes despite the tension in the room. "We both wanted you, so we agreed to let you choose between us after last night."

Osamu shot his brother a glare. "You make it sound like some kind of game," he growled. "This is about her feelings, not just our own."

As the twins bickered back and forth, you felt a sudden surge of clarity amidst the confusion. "Wait," you interrupted, your voice cutting through their argument. "Do I... Do I really have to choose?"

The room fell silent, both brothers turning to look at you with surprise. Atsumu's eyes widened for a moment before a slow, suggestive grin spread across his face. "Well, well, well," he purred, his voice dropping to a low, seductive tone. "Looks like our girl might be kinkier than we thought, 'Samu."

Osamu's gaze met yours, a flicker of understanding passing between you. "Is that what you want, sweetheart?" he asked softly, his voice laced with a tender warmth that made your heart flutter. "You want both of us?"

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks, but you held Osamu's gaze steadily. "I... I don't know if I can choose," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I love the both of you so much, and last night was..."

Atsumu's grin widened, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Hear that, 'Samu? We rocked her world so hard, she can't even pick a favorite."

Osamu rolled his eyes at his brother's antics, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He leaned in closer to you, his hand gently cupping your cheek. "If that's what you want, baby girl, then that's what you'll get," he murmured, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. "We'll just have to make sure you're thoroughly satisfied... by both of us."

Atsumu chuckled, his fingers trailing teasingly along your arm. "Hope you're ready for round two, princess. And three, and four..."

[theplumsoldier]

feels like home

summary: you🥺love🥺each other🥺🥺😩

warnings: vulgar language, smut, breeding kink, angst, fluff (please let me know if im missing anything!!)

a/n: i love him omg hes so dad shaped

Starting out, it was a brewing crush, a sparkle between you and Joel on the job. Getting to know one another, it quickly became playful. Quirky remarks, cocky comments; that kind of thing. You began noticing your heart rate increase rapidly whenever he would speak, his voice suddenly sounding sweet and soothing, the playful shoves became lingering touches.

It was innocent, a subconscious pleasure that made the days do by. It was nice. Until it wasn't. When you realized the feelings they were way too strong for you to comprehend.

The fluttering butterflies no longer tickled, they scraped against your stomach, trying to claw their way out. Your heart rate felt alarmingly fast when in his company, which you quickly found was not good when working. It made you flinch, mistaking the faint clicks of an infected with that of your own pulse.

It resulted in a close call and a fitting rebuke from Joel, calling you out on your actions, or lack thereof.

Joel's harsh words got to you, never having heard him raise his tone at you unless it was call your name. His anger was evident but it was the disappointment seeping through his venom-laced tone that hit you like a brick wall.

Little did you know he did not react like that because of your rookie moves, nor was it because of the fact that you were putting everybody else's lives on the line while being so careless on the job.

No, it was a whole other thing, a feeling that wasn't too far from the one you were haunted by.

Nonetheless, Joel reprimanding you made you be more careful around him, the pining turning into something of a self-conscious degree.

Joel noticed your shy demeanor after that incident. He figured you would understand overtime, understand his harsh words came from a place of worry, of love. But as time passed, and you only talked to him when on the job, when necessary, there came a point where he found himself eager to confront you. He was having none of it.

It wasn't that he was going to tell you that he reacted the way he did because he was in love with you. He was simply going to check in on you, imply that there was something off with you. He substantiated his own idea by concluding it was best for the group to know whether this mien was going to keep up. That way he wouldn't have to reveal his feelings. Joel knew it was not going to be a pleasant conversation, but he just wanted your giddy self back.

He missed the funny comments, the playful touches. He missed making you smile, seeing you laugh. It was what got him through the day and lately he had found himself constantly thinking about you, dragging the days out to a point where he felt one exceeded the usual count of 24 hours.

It was an excruciating pain, feeling you were reluctant whenever he would enter the room, falling silently and making yourself small.

He looked for the right time, postponing the inevitable, to the point where another incident occurred, sending Joel over the edge.

"What the fuck, Y/N!?" barked he, following you into your room, slamming the door behind him.

"What, Joel!? What is it now?" yelled you in frustration, too beat to take anymore of his bullshit, his glares, any of it.

You justed wanted to clean up and go to sleep. It was all too much.

This time had not been much different from the last. Your train of thought had distracted you, leading to Joel saving you. Again.

It was honestly getting embarrassing at this point.

Joel's tongue wet his lips while he opgivende slumped down, taking a seat. He breathed out, calming himself and stretched his arm over the back of the couch.

"You need to get your head out of your ass before you--" said he as his eyes pierced through the back of your head, watching as you had turned your back to him, doing whatever.

"And you need to get off my back," retaliated you, swinging around and pointedly staring at him.

The way he kept his cool just sitting there on the couch while you were getting fed up struck a nerve.

His tone differed from his exterior, however, a judgemental feel to it.

"What's going on with you, huh? These past few weeks you've been reckless out there! Shit, I've already saved your ass twice this week--"

"Fuck you, Joel!" you interrupted, trying your best not to make it sound like a preschool shouting match. Well, you were the only one yelling, so perhaps that was the wrong parallel to draw. Regardless, you gave him a piece of your mind. "You know, I signed the same fucking waiver as you did! If anything happens to me, you take me out. That's the job. I never asked for you to save me so why you take that upon yourself--that's beyond me!"

Joel shook his head, biting back the grin he knew would bite him in the ass if you heard it. It was ridiculous to him, that you thought he would ever let anything happen to you.

Take you out.

He stood up, taking a step closer to you, his brows furrowed in disbelief. "Of course I'm gonna fuckin' jump in when I see ya danger! Jesus Christ, you don't even realize it's 'cause I love you, do ya?"

Oh.

That took you by surprise.

"Tell me you don't feel the same way," said he, watching as your eyes dropped, certainly thinking about what he had just said. Carefully inspecting every clue your features gave away, he stepped forward, closing the gap between you. He tipped your head, forcing your eyes to meet his. "Y/N?"

He felt himself getting nervous like a school boy revealing his crush, fearing he had fooled himself. He couldn't help but worry you hadn't put much thought into the flirting, that perhaps you were simply playing around.

He tried stepping away, to let himself think, but you quickly latched onto his arm, pulling him even closer than he was before.

"No, I..." hesitated you, trying to figure out the best way to put it. "I realized I do really like you. It's why I've been so... off, I guess. You've constantly been on my mind, and--I've been trying to figure out... what to do about it, I guess."

Your eyes were fixated on his chest, right where his shirt was unbuttoned. Your cheeks red, you felt too self-conscious to look him in the eye, fearing what you might find. It seemed no matter how many times you had fallen in love, it never got easier.

But to your surprise, you felt safe when Joel tilted your head and your eyes met. Reassured.

Shit.

The eyes really were the window to the soul, huh?

"And did you figure it out? What you wanna do about it?"

There was a certain glimpse in his eye as he asked. He had decided what he wanted to do.

Instead of replying, you pulled him into you, pressing your thirsty lips against his. It seemed the prior anger had fueled your hunger, suddenly very desperate to have him even closer.

Luckily, Joel did not mind one bit and immediately wrapped his arms around and cradled the back of your head, holding you like you might slip.

And shit the sweet, sweet taste of him made you think you just might.

His scent wrapped around you like a blanket, making you feel safe again, the feeling somehow always emitting from him, only this time tenfold. It reminded you of the sense one got when stepping into the comfort of their home after a long time away. He felt like home.

God, it felt good to be home.

While one hand rested on the back of your neck, the other began sliding down your side, feeling your curves beneath his rough fingertips.

When he steadied and squeezed your waist softly, you tugged lightly on the strands of his hair.

"Joel," whispered you breathlessly, pulling back but not enough to not still feel his breath on yours. You didn't dare let him move further away, fearing you might lose his warm touch and wake from this fever dream.

Joel hungrily bit for your lip, but you had to catch your breath. His lips were parted, tongue dancing just behind his teeth in anticipation as he muttered your name.

"Want you inside of me."

His eyes locked on yours for a second, like a predator picking out his prey, and a second later, he was all over you.

Crashing his lips against yours, he was suddenly both pulling and shoving you, a clumsy waltz in the ecstasy ballroom, determined to take you to bed and claim you as his.

Stumbling onto your bed, you were pinned to the mattress and the sheets delved around you, hugging your sides with Joel's body the perfect cover.

You wrapped your legs around him, urging him to rub his restrained cock against your clothed crotch, moaning at the feeling. Like a goddamn rock.

While making out, he continued the motion and when he finally let go of your wrists, you did not hesitate to slide your hands under his shirt, feeling his warm skin.

"Been thinking 'bout this. Can't ever stop myself from imagining how pretty you'd look, squirmin' on my fingers. Those sweet, sweet eyes begging me to tear into you, make you come around my cock."

You whined at his words.

You hadn't realized you hadn't given his pillow talk much thought. Prior expectations had only let you down, becoming disappointed in men when they didn't live of to the version of the person you had made them out to be in your head. You knew your kinks, and wanted them played out in reality and only then you realized what a match Joel evidently was.

Clawing at his shirt, he helped you pull it over his head as you began undoing his belt.

He stopped you, chuckling at your eagerness although he could barely hold himself together.

Instead he pulled up your shirt, kissing down your stomach and unbuttoned your pants.

"Easy, baby," muttered he. "Gonna make you feel real good."

Upon having removed your clothes, Joel continued his path down your stomach, kissing right under your bellybutton, building up a whole lot of tension inside your core as he continued down.

You felt his hot breath against your pussy, finally looking down and only then did he dive in and you gasped at his greedy tongue. He was hungry and he was not holding back.

His tongue licked a long wet stripe through your glistening folds, his nose and stubble tickling your clit. His hands held you down when you arched into his mouth and you cried his name, needy for his touch.

A chuckle vibrated from his mouth and he teased your entrance with a finger, taking you off guard when he suddenly shoved two in.

"Fff-uck!" You moaned and squirmed, completely spellbound as you felt your self tense up at the slow but consistent pace he had sat.

Considering you had indeed imagined having sex with Joel, you were surprised to find him so eager to take care of you. His now all around careful touch so contradicting to what characterized him on the job. Of course, he had never been rough with you and although you were getting more and more excited to have him fill you, you felt ecstatic experiencing him like this, treating you like delicate Chinese porcelain. You felt loved. An unusual feeling, but a welcome one.

While his fingers worked you up, he spared a look your way, finding you crushing your head into the mattress, eyes squeezed shut. The content look on his face was replaced with a focused one as he sucked your pulsating clit.

The pleads you emitted were far from coherent, only the choked cry giving you away.

"Shit, doll, don't think I'm gonna fit in this lil' pussy. Just two fingers making you all dumb for me," he chuckled, basking in the pleasure he gave you, each moan a stroke to his ego. He was set on ruining every single man for you.

Despite his taunt, he shoved a third finger inside your cunt, the only resistance being your tight walls.

Curling his fingers he stretched you to a point where he was comfortable enough with replacing them with his cock. His balls were beginning to get sore at the lack of breathing room.

The grip you had managed on his locks loosened when you felt him pull away, making you stutter as you opened your eyes again. It took some adjustment before the dots vanished and the figurative stars blinding you were replaced with the sight of his glory.

A broadshouldered, tanned naked hunk of glory. Sweat glistened on his chest, small beads decorated his hairline and his freed cock stood to attention. You hadn't noticed you were gaping at him until your mouth ran dry.

Gulping at his size, you gave him a dazed look that made his cock twitch against his stomach.

Before you had the chance to say anything - whether it be a horny comment or a total subjection to the God towering you - Joel grabbed you by your legs, pulling you down so that he was positioned directly above your entrance.

Although your juices provided more than enough lubrication, you noticed his cock had done the same, a small bead having escaped his slit. A sudden urge to taste him, you quickly reached down to swipe your thumb across his mushroom head, indulging in the salty taste.

The move made Joel groan although you could've sworn it was a whimper in disguise, a certain lovesick gleam in his brown eyes.

Crushing a kiss to your lips, he aligned himself at your entrance. As he inched in, Joel's forehead pressed against yours, his eyes focused on every change in your expression.

Your brows were knitted together in concentration, lips parted in a gasp and doe eyes glistened up at him through a watery lense.

Sliding in with easy, Joel stilled, quieting your moan with an open-mouthed kiss. He felt his cock stretch you, your walls hugging him tightly making him think you were made for him.

Your nails scratched against his back as he moved and you let out a cry, throwing your head back. It was both too much and not enough. Insatiable.

"Taking me so good, darlin'. Not gonna last long in your lil' cunt."

Joel slid a hand between your bodies, thumb suddenly drawing sloppy but aggressive circles on your clit. When he had first found a rhythm his hips did not stutter.

The mix of wet slapping sounds and chopped moans composing your lovestory. With his snapping hips and relentless work on your bundle of nerves, you felt yourself flutter against him, nails digging into his ass as he fucked you through orgasm.

Disjointed grunts echoed in his chest, revelling as your cunt squeezed his cock, pushing him out each time only to let him ram right back in.

Head nuzzled in your neck, kissing, nibbling and biting, he moved only to haul your legs over his shoulder. To enforce the deep feeling, he grasped your hand and put it just below your belly, pressing down.

"Ya feel that, doll? Rippin' you right open--fuck! Wan' me t'fill you up, uh?"

He tore you right apart, his cock ramming into you so hard you just knew you would be sore. But it didn't matter. He was worth it. This was worth it.

A slap to your cheek suddenly pulled you from cloud nine, his coarse hand roughly grasping you by the jaw.

"Tell me," murmured he, his jaw clenched, eyes locked on yours.

"Y-yes, Joel! Please, please!" Melting in his grip, you eagerly nodded, your words disjointed by your cries from feeling him so deep. "Need your cum, ba--"

Your plea was cut off by a muffled scream as all and any kindness left him, and he sped up for a brutal pace. Biting his shoulder, his hips snapped a few more times until he stilled deep inside you.

You tugged him close to you as pumps coated your walls, hot streams already oozing out. Panting, Joel sloppily fucked his come into you, wet kisses smudging across your collarbone. As you felt yourself come down, you reached for his face and kissed him breathless.

Finally he slumped off of you, falling into the place beside you, making you realize the brutal cramp in your legs from the position. Stretching your leg in the air, pulling your toes with your fingers you couldn't help but laugh when Joel noticed your situation.

"M'sorry," Joel chuckled awkwardly, the back of his hand running across his sweaty forehead.

You just shook your head, schooching closer to him to wrap your leg over his and you smiled lovingly up at him, adoring him.

"Don't worry, didn't even realize 'till you pulled out."

He wrapped his hand around your waist, pulling you closer to him, two sweaty bodies melting into one.

"Well shit, next time I ain't gon' be pullin' out then. Gonna fall asleep inside ya."

Nibbling his earlobe, you hummed and closed your eyes with giddy smile. "As long as you fuck me into the morning you can do whatever ya want."

[flowersandbigteeth]

Meeting your shadowbeast boyfriend

Shadowbeast X Reader

Word count: 1.5K

Summary: You break up with your boyfriend only to find a new lover

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

Headcannon

W: name calling, general breakup, mention of drugs, character death

You’ll never know exactly when it happened. It could have been when he took over the company or when the first billion hit his bank account, but you were watching your once sweet and nerdy boyfriend packing his bags in front of you. Only he was no longer your sweet, nerdy boyfriend. When did that happen?

His face was red with anger as he enumerated your many faults to you. 

Lazy, he said. Undignified, he said. Dumb as a rock, he said. A bitch, he finally noted.

Every word was punctuated by another one of his new suits being stuffed into his brand new designer suitcase. 

You tried to hold your tears back, be a real bitch. He deserved it after all, but you weren’t any of the things he said you were and you certainly didn’t have his cold heart. 

How could he say these things to you? You thought as you sniffled in front of him. 

You’d been a happy couple for five years!

 You were a photographer for the local paper. You didn’t make a lot of money, but it was a noble profession. The city was a small one with little going on, so you mostly showed up at citywide events and sports games to take shots of the mayor. You came home on time every night and made your boyfriend dinner. 

He’d been the workaholic, code obsessed nerd who worked late into the night at the office. It bothered you, yes, but you never said anything. Rick had ambition, who could fault him for that? You’d always packaged up his dinner and had it waiting for him when he came home. Sometimes you’d even walk to his work late at night to bring him a sweater and thermos of coffee. 

There was a time when he would welcome you with a kiss and chided you for being out in the dangerous streets after dark. That time had passed, eventually those kisses turned to harsh rebukes about how you were bothering him while he worked. Finally, one day the security guard stopped letting you past the front door all together. 

So you just shivered and sobbed while he told you that you could keep everything in your shitty apartment because he never wanted to have to think of your sorry face again. 

When he’d finally slammed the door, you just collapsed into a ball on the couch and cried. When had things gotten so twisted? You really couldn’t put a pin on a particular day or event, but slowly your boyfriend had become a different person. 

The man you knew before would have never blackmailed the CEO of the company so he could take his place in a hostile takeover, but this man did. He hadn’t bragged about what he’d done or anything, but despite what he said you weren’t stupid. You’d overheard the threatening calls he’d placed from the bathroom and even cleaned up some of the magazines he’d cut up to write his evil notes, even though they were your expensive photography issues. 

You’d try to stick by him. He was your boyfriend after all and you wanted to be a supportive lover. Surely he had a plan. He wouldn’t be doing all of this for no reason, right? 

It doesn’t matter now, you thought, sinking into your familiar couch cushions. 

You were so exhausted from crying, you slipped into a deep slumber, your jaw clenched and your fists tight. 

You were so tense, you didn’t wake to the gentle scrape of claws over your cheek as they brushed your hair out of the way or the soft kiss that was placed on your forehead before the creature that had been watching your tragedy slipped out of the room. 

You woke to your phone blaring on your kitchen counter. You untangled the blanket you must have wrapped yourself in in your sleep from your limbs and scrambled over to pick it.

“I’m so sorry (Y/N). You don’t have to cover this story if you don’t want to. We’ll send someone else over,” your boss said into the receiver.

“What…? What are you talking about?” you murmured back, rubbing sleep from your eyes. 

“The police haven’t contacted you?” she asked. 

“No…what’s going on?” you muttered. You didn't want to play twenty questions right then. 

There was a pause on the other end. 

“I hate to be the one to break it to you, but Rick was found dead in a hotel room with four or five sex workers. They're still investigating, but the rumor is it was a drug overdose. Tainted cocaine. They all died of heart attacks. Spooky stuff really….but erm…I’m deeply sorry for your loss. Please take as much time as you need.”

You numbly hung up the phone and ran to the television, flicking it on. 

Sure enough, your ex boyfriend’s name was all over the local news with a photo you took of him, smiling in front of his company plastered on the screen. 

Local CEO found dead in hotel full of sex workers. 

You glanced at your phone, noticing you’ve missed many calls. The numbers you don't recognize must have been reporters.  You’re thankful you somehow slept through them.

You flopped back down on the couch feeling strangely numb. You’d never wish death on Rick, but that’s where he went straight from breaking up with you? To party with girls and do drugs in celebration? Did your relationship really mean nothing to him? Were you really just a burden to him all along? 

A fresh batch of tears threatened to flow over your face as the poisonous thoughts rolled around in your head. You looked at the apartment you’d styled to Rick’s picky preferences. Gray everything, because he couldn’t stand color. There were mounted computer processors hanging on the walls instead of pictures, because he didn’t like them. 

You snarled at the bland decor and hopped to your feet jerking the processors down one by one and tossing them in a pile on the floor. Then you yanked up the ugly gray rug you’d compromised on and tore the boring gray sheets he insisted on off the bed. 

To your surprise an envelope flopped to the floor from Rick’s side of the bed as you removed the sheets. 

You gasped, thumbing the hundred thousand dollars that was stuffed inside in mixed bills. This must have been Rick’s emergency fund. He’d gotten so rich he’d forgotten all about it. You shrugged and peeled off a few hundreds, stuffing the rest back under the mattress. It’s not like he was coming back for it. 

With some money in your pocket and a pile to take to the thrift store, you spent your afternoon avoiding phone calls and shopping for new home decor, returning with a brightly colored rug rolled up over your shoulder and a handful of colorful posters in bags. 

As the sun set you turned your attention to redecorating your apartment. You laid down the rainbow braided rug and hung up the framed posters you bought from the comic book store. 

Finally, when you were happy with their placement you sat back to look at the new pictures. 

Rick had always thought your love for fantasy fiction was uncultured, but since he was gone you indulged yourself with illustrations from your favorite series. There was a fantasy landscape with some pretty waterfalls, a picture of an elf riding a buck, and your favorite a spookier one…a picture of a dark monster with large teeth hovering over a little forest nymph. 

“I like that one,” a deep voice behind you rumbled and you jumped three feet in the air, whirling around to find…nothing…just an odd cloud of smoke. Shivering, you slowly raised your fingertips to the black whorls and they coalesced into a massive form. 

Before your eyes a creature 7 feet tall with midnight blue skin appeared before you. His arcing horns scraped the ceiling and his large teeth grinned down at you with an evil smile. He extended a long claw and gently pushed your hair out of your eyes. 

“Don’t be afraid, darling,” he said, his voice deep and husky. 

Your brain tingled as the sultry tones hit your eardrums. 

“W-Who…W-what…What are you?” you stammered. 

His smile got even wider revealing how many sharp teeth he had. 

“I’m a shadow beast,” he said cheerfully, “and as for who I am, my name is Rafe Boldjaw, your mate. It’s a pleasure to speak to you finally, my darling.” 

The words rattled in your head like loose teeth.��

“A shadow…what?” you mumbled, then you glanced up at him, “mate? W-why are you here?” 

His long tongue rubbed his large canine thoughtfully. 

“I was here to eat a dark soul,” he said, “we shadow beasts are attracted to them.” 

Your heart pounded. A dark soul? You didn’t feel dark, but you had stolen a dead man’s money. You held up your hands. 

“I’m sorry! It was just a few hundred dollars! I’ll put it back I swear! I get paid on Friday! Please don’t eat my soul!” 

He chuckled and circled you, his eyes eating you up, while his long claws lifted your hair off of your neck. You were so incredibly cute, he thought, the way you stuttered and trembled in front of him. 

“Your soul is too pristine to eat,” he said, smiling, “though it is quite beautiful. No, I’ve already consumed the one I was hunting…I’m here for purely…personal reasons.” 

You gulped, unsure what that could possibly mean. 

Behind you, you felt a hot rush of air hit your neck as he sniffed you. 

“B-but…i-if you don’t want my soul…whose soul did you eat?” you asked, unsure if you even wanted to know. 

“No one of note,” he said casually, his long claws scraping your lower back, making you a tingle go up your spine, “a twisted CEO like many others I’ve eaten in my time.” 

You gulped. 

“You ate Rick’s soul?!” you whispered, hoarsely.

“Was that his name?” he chuckled, “he tasted the same as the others. Deliciously dark from all of his misdeeds. Though I have to correct you. I don’t want to eat your soul, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it.”

He returned to your front sliding a thick finger under your chin and tipping your face up to him. Smirking, he lovingly considered the light freckles on your nose and the little lines around your eyes hinting at your age; the things that made you so perfectly you. 

“You are so soft and lovely, like a blooming flower,” he said, “I’m taking you as mine.” 

“Y-yours?” you asked.

He gave you his eerie smile and glanced around your living space. 

“It seems you have room now that a certain pest is out of the way,” he said, “so I’ll be moving in.” 

You gulped. Moving in? 

[m1ckeyb3rry]

hi mira i’m going to rq for jjk (gojo specifically) :) kinda inspired by a fic idea of mine so if i see you post it maybe it’ll give me inspo to actually write too LOL — this is also a little long sorry, you can shorten as you wish 😓 maybe it’ll get the brain juices going idk

Y/N was really close to geto (i was thinking siblings but do whatever) and when he turned curse user and left, it made Y/N rethink why she was a sorcerer herself. she believed in geto’s ideals, but seeing his mindset 180 made her question if the same thing would happen to her since she was always weaker-minded than him. so she quit dropped out of the school and gojo never saw her since

skipping to the present, Y/N became a sorcerer again after having a conversation with geto some time before he died. with yuji being sukuna’s vessel, she goes to the school herself and sees gojo (their last convo was actually an argument leaving everything [him] behind). gojo’s just really stubborn, but he’s there when Y/N really needs him. from there they only keep encountering each other until they make up, their feelings are all out on the table, etc. etc.

── CHIAROSCURO

Synopsis: You don’t really know who you are without Suguru Geto. Satoru Gojo doesn’t know who he is without either of you.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Gojo x Reader, Geto & Reader have something less than romantic but more than platonic going on

Chapter Word Count: 6.7k

Content Warnings: angst, mentions of death, flawed y/n character, major time skips, most plot events happen off screen, characters are probably ooc tbh i haven’t written for jjk in months

A/N: finally finished the first of the requests I’ve received so far!! it ended up being way more geto-centric than i had planned for it to be though i’m so sorry angel 😭 and it was also getting way too long so i decided to end it by just hinting the development of the rest of the story you mentioned LMAO i hope that’s okay 😫

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

Most people grew up with one shadow, but according to your mother, you had lived your entire life with two. The first was the same as the one everyone had, that darkening of the ground in the shape of your figure. The second was the boy who lived next door — or, at least, that was what she told you.

His name was Suguru Geto, and despite his dark features and darker clothing, he had a perpetually sunny demeanor, always quick to offer you a gentle smile whenever you glanced his way. He was polite even when it wasn’t required of him, and though your mother teased you for it, you knew she was secretly grateful for his presence in your life.

The greatest thing Suguru had ever done for you, though, was not teach you manners. It was that he gave you someone to follow. Perhaps it was true that he was your shadow, but it was his in which you cowered when you were frightened, when the brightness of the world was too harsh for your eyes, which, when it came to cruelties and horrors, were as sensitive and new as a child’s.

Suguru was always happy to take on that role. He would stand in front of you, his shoulder blades pinching together as he puffed out his chest and rebuked whichever neighborhood child had dared to tease you. They all ran from him when he was like that, when his brow grew heavy over his eyes and the corners of his mouth twisted into a scowl.

Not you, though. You stayed behind his back, blinking owlishly at the way the others scurried, laughing along when Suguru likened them to mice with a click of his tongue.

Suguru didn’t like those who hurt the ones weaker than them, so you didn’t, either. Suguru thought that the role of the strong was to protect the frail, so you did, too. Whatever Suguru believed, you did as well, because what else was there for you? It was easier for you to hold onto his hand and press against his back, to allow him to tell you where to place your feet, so that there was never even a chance of you falling.

That was why it wasn’t a surprise that, upon Suguru being scouted as a sorcerer, you were extended the same invitation. It was a natural consequence — where he went, you followed, and so when he packed his things and went to Tokyo, it was both of your bags that he was carrying, while you peered around the train station and wondered what kind of place you were going to end up in.

Your new classmate was the one that picked the two of you up. He was tall — taller than even Suguru, though the majority of his body consisted of his legs — and had an unearthly appearance, with pale hair carefully mussed into a seemingly thoughtless style and black glasses which slid down the bridge of his nose to reveal eyes like diamonds.

He was the most brilliant thing you had ever seen. Lowering your eyes, you stepped back into Suguru’s shadow, earning you a scoff from your classmate and a worried exhale from your friend.

“Blech,” he said. “You’re supposed to be my classmate, really? How’re you going to keep up, huh? I’m the strongest sorcerer in the world, you know.”

“I think we’ll manage just fine,” Suguru said pleasantly, though there was an edge to his voice, his teeth like knives when he smiled and offered his hand. “I’m Suguru Geto.”

“Satoru Gojo,” your classmate said, shaking Suguru’s hand firmly. “Looking forward to working with you.”

“Likewise,” Suguru said. “And this is Y/N L/N.”

“Hi,” you said, swallowing even as you said it, pursing your lips and glancing around, wishing for some kind of escape. Gojo hummed and then poked you on the forehead.

“Aw,” he said when you did not visibly react beyond furrowing your brow. “I thought you might fall over or something.”

“I see,” you said. “Um. Well, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Come on. Let’s go before our teacher gives us all detention for playing hooky.”

Unlike Suguru, Gojo didn’t allow you to follow him around. He made fun of you when you were scared and poked you on the forehead if you cringed away from his taunts. The latter occurred so frequently that you were surprised there was not a permanent indent in your skin.

“One day I’ll get you, pretty Y/N,” he’d always promise you. “Seriously! I mean, you barely have a backbone in the first place, so it’s really a wonder you’re standing at all.”

At first, Suguru used to demand he stop, but as the months went by, his protests grew weaker and weaker. You supposed that it must’ve been nice for him, to stand beside someone for once instead of constantly throwing himself in front of them. You could not blame him, but you found that you missed him more with every passing day.

But what was there to be done about it? After all, you were nothing compared to the two special grade sorcerers. You did what you could and found it was, for the most part, sufficient, but sufficient would never let you exist beside either of them in any way that mattered. So you fell behind, and this time, it was not a conscious choice but an unavoidable circumstance. This time, when you hung back, Suguru continued forward without you.

Empty-minded and weak-hearted. That was what your teacher called you. He sent you on the simplest missions he could, and still you struggled. Sometimes, this meant you would sit alone in the classroom until it was long past dusk, listening to your teacher ramble and shout.

“You are not weak!” he would say, his hands clenched into fists by his side. “By all rights, your technique is perfectly serviceable. You are not weak, Y/N L/N!”

“Yes, sir,” you would respond meekly.

“At least, you should not be,” he’d say. “Yet somehow, inexplicably, you are. Even a Grade 2 curse nearly got the better of you. Your classmates are exorcising special grades on their own! Aren’t you disgusted with yourself?”

Suguru, and sometimes Gojo, would wait outside of the door for you, lingering until they heard the shuffle of your feet, the soft sniffles which announced your arrival. Then Suguru would wrap a casual arm around your shoulders and tell you that it was fine if you were weak, just as long as he was around to protect you, and Gojo would do that infuriating thing where he’d poke you in the forehead and pretend like it was a miracle you hadn’t toppled over yet.

Otherwise, you did not see your classmates. Shoko Ieri was far too busy learning to do things you could never hope to accomplish in your lifetime, and Suguru and Gojo were called on to complete assignments with such unhealthy regularity that their education actually suffered for it. 

You never knew what they did on their missions. You never cared to ask, either. The details would only make you queasy, and in this new world where you were not permitted to shudder and seek out the safety that Suguru so willingly provided you with, you tried to avoid things like that. Harsh things, brilliant things, cruel things — all of them you ran from at an equal pace. Without Suguru there to defend you, you turned into one of those children he had so-despised in your youth. Always running. Always hiding. Always shying away from anything resembling a challenge.

It was after one such mission that Suguru returned differently. You knew he had changed because he crawled into your bed that night instead of his own, drew the blanket up around his shoulders and pressed his weeping eyes against your collarbones.

“It’s no good,” he said after the third time you had asked him what was the matter, your hands nervously skimming over his shoulders, smoothing over his rough hair. “Everything’s been ruined, Y/N. Or maybe it was always like this. Maybe you’re the only one who’s ever understood the world to begin with.”

The next morning, when his feet touched the ground and he slid out of your bed, you were hit with the strangest feeling that you would never see him again. Not in the way you were used to seeing him, anyways. Sitting up in your bed, leaning against your pillows, you watched as he left, though when he went to close the door behind him, you reached out your hand.

“Wait,” you said. He paused, raising his eyebrows.

“Is everything okay?” he said, his knuckles growing white from gripping the handle.

“I want to look at you,” you said. You knew without knowing that the instant the door shut between the two of you, you would lose him forever. Your best friend. Your shadow. You wished that there was a way you could reach out and save him, but the thought of you saving someone was outlandish. Impossible. Laughable. 

“Yeah?” he said. There were heavy bags under his eyes, and it did not reach his irises, but nevertheless, he somehow managed to muster up a smile. It was not gentle as much as it was exhausted, but still, he smiled as best he could at you. “Okay.”

You hugged one of the pillows to your chest. “I miss you a lot.”

“I haven’t gone anywhere,” he said.

“Not yet,” you said. “I think you will someday, though. You’ll go somewhere far away, and I won’t be able to follow you there. You won’t even want me to.”

“What kind of place is that?” he said. “I’ll always want you to follow me around, Y/N. As long as I’m there, not a corner on this planet could be a place I don’t want you to follow me to.”

The door creaked shut. You stared at the blank expanse and thought to yourself that he had always been very good at lying.

From that day forward, there were two opposite phenomena which occurred simultaneously. On the one hand, that blinding radiance of Gojo’s was magnified by the minute, and on the other, Suguru withdrew further and further into a grey sort of monotony that, try as you might, you could not pull him from.

“Gojo,” you said one day, tugging on his sleeve and flinching when he turned to look at you. As per usual, he pressed his finger into your forehead.

“Yikes,” he said. “Seems like you’re still lacking in the spinal department, dear Y/N. But just so you know, I’ve cheated off of your math homework enough times that you really shouldn’t be scared of me.”

“Please help Suguru,” you said.

“Eh?” Gojo said. “What do you mean? Help him with what, his math homework? I’ll just give him yours to copy as well, so why don’t you cut the middle man and show it to him yourself?”

“No, not with — just, he’s going away, and I don’t want him to, but he doesn’t — you’re the only one,” you stammered. 

It was even more difficult to speak with Gojo now than it had been when you had first come to school. That was because it was only recently that you were realizing that that way he made you feel, that shyness, that apprehension, was not because of his gleaming, sharp countenance, but rather something else, something soft in your heart that thudded to life whenever he smirked at you.

“You want me to take his mission for him?” Gojo said, his nose wrinkling. “What, so the two of you can go on a date or something? Forget about it.”

“What?” you said. “No, what — a date — that’s not what I meant!”

It was too late. Gojo was gone, and with him, your last chance at helping Suguru vanished, too. In fact, Gojo avoided you until you went home from the summer break, making a face whenever you glanced his way, and by the time you came back to start the next year, it was too late for anyone to do much of anything.

“Y/N L/N,” Masamichi Yaga said, entering the library where you were writing a paper for your literature class. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, his cheeks a dark, flushed color, his teeth gritted together so hard that a muscle in his jaw twitched periodically. “Do you have a moment? It’s urgent.”

“I was just working on the essay that we were assigned, but it can wait,” you said agreeably, all too eager to give yourself a break from the work. Pushing aside your paper and pen, you stood up, massaging your wrist. “What is it, sir?”

“It’s, er…” His shoulders slumped. “I’m really sorry, Miss L/N.”

You tried to run through the list of things that he could be sorry for, but only one thing came to mind. You froze, your eyes widening. He had been on a mission, hadn’t he? 

“Suguru,” you breathed. “Is it — it’s not about Suguru, is it?”

“In a sense, it is,” Yaga said.

“Is he alright?” you said. “He has to be alright.”

“We believe his condition is fine, considering what he’s done,” Yaga said.

“‘What he’s done?’ Why are you being so vague? What’s going on, sir? Please say it plainly,” you said.

“It’s your parents, Miss L/N,” he said, spitting it out all at once like the phrase itself was poisoned. “They’re dead.”

Your stomach dropped. You had imagined so many things. In your nightmares, you saw your classmates dying, your teachers, even yourself. But never your parents. Your parents, who were so far removed from this awful world. Your parents, who only a month ago had sent you back to school with a pair of new shoes they had saved up to buy. You parents, who had never harmed anyone in their lives. What had they done that was so terrible it warranted such a sudden death? What were they being punished for?

“How — how did it happen?” you said. “Was it a curse?”

“Miss L/N…” Yaga said, his entire self deflating. “I’m really sorry.”

“What? Stop apologizing,” you said, tears gathering in your eyes. “Just tell me. Stop saying sorry and tell me!”

“It was most likely Suguru Geto,” he said, handing you a piece of paper. Your vision swam, and you could barely make out the words. All residents of the village were killed. Jujutsu High investigated. Based on residuals…all 112…the work of Geto’s curse manipulation. Sentenced to death. Sentenced to death. Sentenced to death.

“No,” you said, your voice cracking. “No, why would he do that? My parents loved him, and he loved them, too! We grew up together, so why would he do that?”

“Based on the evidence, he most likely killed his own parents, too,” Yaga said. Your hands wound themselves in your hair as you tugged.

“That’s a lie,” you said. “Suguru isn’t like that. Suguru is good! Suguru looks out for those weaker than himself! He protects people, Yaga. It must be a mistake. It has to be a mistake!”

“Miss L/N—” he began, but you were already running, sprinting as fast as you could. There was no way. There was no way. There was no way. 

Your house and the one beside it — Suguru’s house, a voice in the back of your mind nagged you, that’s Suguru’s house — were blocked off with yellow caution tape. Dozens of police officers were milling about the scene, barking into handheld radios, conversing tensely. One of them noticed you and extended an arm to stop your approach.

“Stay back, ma’am. This is an active crime scene. No outsiders allowed until the investigation has been concluded,” the officer said.

“That’s my house,” you whispered. “Officer, that’s my house. Why are there so many people here? It’s not true, is it?”

The officer didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. The pitying frown on his face told you everything you needed to hear. It was true. It was true. Your parents, your parents were dead, and that meant —

What had it been like for them? Had your mother welcomed him? When she opened the door for him, had her eyes crinkled at the corners in greeting? Had she offered him tea, as she usually did, because she was so fond of him and he was so fond of the drink when made by her hand? And what of your father? Had he reached over to clap Suguru on the back, or had he tried to grab him in an affectionate headlock so that he could mess up his hair with all the zeal of a man half his age?

You threw up. Some of the vomit splattered onto the officer’s shoes, causing him to fold his lips into a thin, disapproving line. Taking a step back, he reached over to pat you on the back as you heaved and hacked, trying to expel the knowledge from your mind and finding that you were entirely unable to.

You walked back to the train station in a trance, your eyes reddened and glazed over, your mouth sour from the taste of the stale crackers the officer had handed you, your hands shoved in your pockets as you tried to remember to breathe through your nose. The officer had offered to escort you to the station, but you had refused. You needed the time to think, and anyways, what did it matter? No ordinary person could hurt you, and no sorcerer would.

“I didn’t think you’d come back alone,” a soft voice said from behind you. You turned around, your insides roiling at the very sound, your ears ringing as you took in Suguru’s casual posture. His hands, too, were in his pockets, and the streetlights cast misshapen, dancing shadows over his face, the effect worsened by the odd tilt of his head.

He was refusing to look at you. That was why he was standing like that. He couldn’t bear to look you in the eyes, and that was the only confirmation you needed. 

“So what?” you said. “I did. Are you going to kill me next?”

“What?” he said. Briefly, he glanced up at you in alarm, and then, like he had remembered he didn’t deserve to feel betrayed by that kind of question, he slouched back down into the same apathy of earlier. “No.”

“Just do it,” you said. “Just do it, you fucking asshole! Why would — you — you killed my parents! You killed my parents, and now you’re just talking to me as if nothing happened? Why? Why would you…?”

His expression did not budge again. “They were filthy monkeys who deserved it.”

“Huh?” you said. The statement was so bizarre that, for a moment, your anger was forgotten. “What the fuck?”

“This world doesn’t need more non-sorcerers running around,” he said. “Every single curse you’ve ever fought, it’s their fault. Those idiots who don’t know how to control the meager amounts of cursed energy they have, they’re the ones who cause curses to manifest. You should be thanking me, Y/N. This’ll make your life that much easier.”

“Do you really think that's the case?” you said.

“Yes,” he said. “With my entire heart, I think that it is.”

You had always, always followed Suguru. When he said to protect the weak, you did so. When he said to take care of others, you did that, too. Whatever he told you to believe, you believed. But how could you do that this time? How could you believe in the person who had murdered your parents?

“You killed my parents because of your stupid theory,” you said numbly. “You killed my parents. Suguru, you killed my parents.”

You didn’t care about the one hundred and twelve villagers. That was the most shameful thing: if it had just been that, then you might still have followed him. He could’ve convinced you — no. You could’ve convinced yourself that it was fine, that he really was looking out for you in that peculiar manner of his. It wouldn’t have been impossible. Even now, your resolve was so weak, and it was only the thought of your parents that allowed you to cling to it at all.

“They asked about you,” he said dully. “I let them. My own parents, I didn’t give them a chance to say anything, but yours…I let them ask. I guess you could consider it my last favor to you.”

The ringing grew louder. You pushed your palms against your ears in an effort to drown it out, but you couldn’t. If anything, it just grew louder and louder, more and more insistent. You couldn’t shake it off. You couldn’t make it go away, just like you couldn’t make Suguru’s words go away.

“It was the only thing they worried about. In their last moments, it wasn’t their own lives they begged for…it was yours,” he said, his gaze far away, his irises unreadable as he recalled that moment. “How strange is that?”

“Shut up,” you said.

“I told them you were okay,” he said.

“Shut up,” you repeated, though it was unsteady and unconvincing. “Shut up, shut up.”

“They were pretty happy about that,” he said, in a tone filled with dreamy recollection. “They didn’t fight much after I promised you’d be okay. What simple creatures they must have been, that even while dying they could only think to rejoice!”

You screamed. It was wordless and brittle, a symptom of your lungs’ collapse as you broke into sobs, fumbling in your purse for your phone. Suguru watched as you unsteadily punched in a number you had never bothered to save, not trying to stop you, maybe not seeing the point.

“Gojo,” you said when he picked up, before he could even say anything. “Gojo, please just — can you come get me? Please come get me.”

“Okay,” he said, to your surprise. He didn’t argue or call it a waste of time or point out that you were still bawling as you spoke. “Where are you? I can be there pretty soon if I steal one of the managers’ cars, I think.”

“By my house,” you said. Suguru did not move, showing you his hands, as if he was giving you permission to do what you wanted. It was your choice. If you just told Gojo that he was with you, then you had no doubt he’d be apprehended within minutes.

“I see,” he said. “I’ll be there as quickly as possible.”

You were the one who hung up, not him. You were the one who made the decision. You were the one who looked at Suguru and then turned your back to him so that, for once, he was the one behind you.

“I can’t reconcile it,” you said, using the ends of your sleeves to blot at your tears as you hiccuped. “I can’t understand it. Even after everything, I still want to follow you. I still want you to be my shadow. I still want to be yours.”

Don’t turn. Don’t turn. Don’t turn. You couldn’t turn around. If you turned around, then that meant your old teacher was right. Empty-minded. Weak-hearted. You could not turn around.

A dry breeze rustled through the leaves on the ground, sounding like footsteps against pavement. Don’t turn.

You turned. You should’ve known better than to expect anything different from yourself. You had never been someone who could stand in the front for very long. You would always turn. You would always run and cower and hide.

Anything you might’ve said died on your tongue as you saw he was already gone. You were alone. You had let him go. You had allowed that mass murderer, that criminal, to walk away from you. What kind of a sorcerer were you? Empty-minded. Weak-hearted. That sort, then. The horrible sort.

When the headlights of the car Gojo had borrowed swung around the corner, you had long since curled up on the grass, your cheek to the mud as you tried to grasp what you had done. 

“Hey,” Gojo said. “Y/N?”

He must’ve gotten out of the car at some point, because suddenly, he was crouching before you, pulling you to your feet, his limbs awkward and gangly as he cocked his head, still wearing those ridiculous sunglasses despite the darkness.

“I’m a piece of shit,” you said, and then you were clutching the collar of his uniform jacket. “Why am I like this?”

“What do you mean?” he said.

“He killed my parents,” you said. “He killed my parents, and I let him walk away.”

“Who?” Gojo said, but it was a rhetorical question. He knew who. You looked up at him miserably, and he shook his head slightly, like he couldn’t quite comprehend what you were saying. “You let who walk away?”

“I don’t think he was planning on seeing me,” you said, letting go of his shirt and pleading with him to understand. “We weren’t supposed to meet.”

“You saw Suguru,” Gojo accused, and now it was his turn to take you by the shoulders, his fingers digging into the muscle of your biceps, his eyes wild. “You saw him, and you didn’t tell me.”

Your lower lip trembled. “He killed my parents, Gojo.”

“That’s not true,” he said.

“It is,” you said. “It is, he told me it is, and I couldn’t even do anything when he said so.”

“Why?” Gojo hissed. “You only had to tell me! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just didn’t!” you said, and then you were crying again. “I couldn’t. Oh, they’re dead, and he killed them, he killed them, and they only asked about me when he did. Why am I the one who gets to live?”

His hands traveled from your arms to the nape of your neck, the heels of his palms pressing into your jaw as he tried to force you to look at him. But you couldn’t, of course you couldn’t, you hadn’t been able to before and you definitely couldn’t now.

“You know Suguru better than anyone. Don’t you think there’s something else at play?” Gojo said. He wasn’t asking for you. He was asking for himself. He wanted you to reassure him, tell him that it was alright, that his best friend wasn’t the monster you both knew he was. How was it fair? How could you be expected to reassure him?

You shoved him off of you. “No.”

“Then why’d you let him go?” Gojo said. “You must’ve thought that there was a reason, or else you would’ve told me. It’s the only explanation!”

“No, it’s not! The only explanation is that I’m shitty and weak and stupid, and I can’t help but rely on him. No matter what I do, I’ll rely on him! People like you don’t understand what it feels like. You can stand on your own, but I’m not like that!” you said, and then you were grabbing his hand — he always did that, you noticed, always turned his Infinity off for you even now that it was an automatic, constant process — unfurling his fingers and jabbing his index finger at your forehead. “Do you get it? You were right. I don’t have a spine. I don’t have one at all!”

“Pull yourself together, Y/N,” Gojo said. “He’s still out there. We just have to reach him before the others do, and then we can talk to him. If it’s the both of us, then he’ll listen. He’ll explain everything!”

“He already did,” you said. “You just don’t accept it, but that’s different than him not explaining at all.”

“So what, then? You’re just going to go back to the school and live your life as normal?” he said, scowling at you. “How could you even think of doing that? In what world does that make sense? You can’t go back and pretend like nothing happened!”

“It’s true. I can’t,” you said, because it was the fact you had been avoiding since the day you first set foot in the school, which you had always known in the back of your mind despite how you denied it. “I can’t go back at all. I can’t be a sorcerer.”

It was a rare thing to see Satoru Gojo speechless. If it were a lesser occasion, you might have laughed at the way his lips parted and his eyebrows knitted together in such a foreign way.

“Why not?” he said. 

“I’m afraid I’ll follow him,” you said. “No, I know I will. If I stay, then I will definitely follow him.”

“You won’t,” Gojo said. “Follow me instead. Follow me if you have to, but you can’t leave. Not you, too.”

Another rarity: Satoru Gojo was afraid. Not of your absence, but of the changes it would bring. With Haibara gone, Suguru vanished, and then you…what would even become of the school? When so many pieces were taken away from it, could it even be considered the same place?

“I can’t end up like that,” you said. “I can’t even risk it. I became a sorcerer because of him; I’ll leave because of him, too. Anyways, you hate when I follow you. You prefer people who can stand on their own two feet. I know that about you now.”

“If you run away, I won’t forgive you for a long time,” he warned me. 

“Then don’t,” you said, stepping away, though still facing him. “What good is your forgiveness, anyways? It won’t bring my parents back. It won’t bring Suguru back. I don’t even want you to forgive me, Gojo. I want you to hate me until you die.”

It was the last time you saw him for so long that his memory blurred away at the edges. The way he said your name, the way his hair shone in the sun, the slope of his nose and curve of his neck…once, these were things you might’ve been able to list with a great degree of accuracy. Not anymore, though. Now, if you thought of him at all, it was only that final image of him, framed by the headlights of that still-running car. It was not your name he had called out as you walked away from him, but something bitterer, a promise said with such sincerity it was all but a Binding Vow.

“Ten years,” he had said. “That’s how long I’ll hate you for. Not my entire life. Not until I die. Just for the next ten years.”

Life as an ordinary person was easy. Life without Suguru was harder. But you learned. You learned, through the years, how to stand on your own two feet. You learned how to live with only one shadow instead of two. You learned how to let your eyes adjust to light, gradually instead of all at once, so that it was an easy progression and free of pain. 

There were times when you thought you had seen one or the other of the two who you had run from. There, across the street, was it Suguru reading the newspaper? Or in the bakery you walked past on your way to work, was it Gojo who was admiring the displays? They always vanished before you could grow close enough to ascertain their identities, though, remaining ever out of your grasp, existing as nothing more than phantoms in your periphery, refusing to let you forget the past entirely.

The first time you called Gojo was a year after you left the school. You weren’t expecting him to pick up, and when the automated message prompted you to leave a voicemail, you almost hung up in resignation. Something stopped you, though, and despite feeling entirely ridiculous, you cleared your throat.

“Ah, it’s Y/N. But I guess you probably knew that, considering you didn’t pick up. Well, I don’t have anything much to say, but I just wanted to call and make sure you were doing alright. I’m okay. The anniversary of my parents’ deaths is coming up, so I was planning on visiting their graves. I got a new job. Somewhere that I never would’ve expected to work when I was younger. It’s nice. I like my coworkers. They’re nothing compared to you, of course, but they’re fine enough. Anyways. Um. I guess that’s it. I don’t think you’ll call me back, but I just wanted to let you know I’m doing okay.”

It was a routine. Every year, on that day, you’d call him and leave him a voice message. He never once answered — you doubted he listened to the voicemails at all, either — but it soothed you to leave them, to leave one last connection to the world that had taken up so much of your life, and for so long.

More often than not, that time felt like a dream. If it weren’t for the thorned mourner’s bouquets which left pricks in your fingers or the ten calls you had made to Satoru Gojo, you wouldn’t have believed any of it had happened at all. Sorcery, curses, shadows and killers, best friends who betrayed you and boys you ran from, these were all things better suited to storybooks than real life. 

Your mother’s favorite flowers had been roses, and you always made sure to bring some with you when you visited your parents’ graves. Roses for her and white chrysanthemums for your father, who had never had a preference for any particular flowers but was so sentimental that he would weep at any blooms being set by his headstone.

The roses were the ones that made the pads of your fingertips bleed, leaving bright red drops the same shade as their petals on the tissues you brought with you. You’d set the bouquet down and wrap your fingers with the tissues, watching as blood seeped through the thin paper, and then, without fail, you’d cry.

“It’s been so long without you,” you said, when enough time had passed that you could not be considered anything but an adult despite feeling like little more than a child. “It’s been so long, and I still don’t know what to do. Mother, father, I am grown now, yet constantly I wish I could ask you for advice. What was that song you’d always hum when I was tired, father? How did you make that tea of yours, mother? When did you know you loved one another? And a million other, sillier things. If I could think of nothing more pressing, I’d ask you about the weather, the time, and your plans for the weekend. I’d bid you a good morning and a good night. I’d complain about the rain and my job. Just as long as it meant I could talk to you again.”

You could not help it. You wept, bloody tissues fluttering to the ground as you ground your fists into your eyes, trying to stem the flow of your tears. Your breath came in quick, short gasps, and you rocked back and forth from your heels to your toes in an attempt to lull yourself into a state of calm. Back and forth. Back and forth. It was the only thing you could do, but it was not enough.

Someone’s hand settled upon your shoulder, and it had been so long since you had felt even a semblance of physical affection that you did not immediately bat them away. Instead, your own hands fell to your sides, your head hanging as you watched the newcomer set a bouquet beside the one you had brought. Orchids and lilies. Lovely, pale things that contrasted sharply with the red of the roses next to them.

“You said in your voicemail that you’d be here at this time. I hope it’s okay that I came.”

It was Satoru Gojo. He no longer wore the sunglasses you remembered him to; instead, a black blindfold was wrapped around his eyes and forehead, causing his pale hair to stick up like he had been shocked. He did not quite smile when he noticed that you were looking at him, but something resembling that expression crossed his face.

“Gojo,” you said. “Why are you—?”

“It’s been long enough,” he said. “You’re a really hard person to hate, Y/N L/N. I did my best, but it was difficult. I hope that you know that.”

“So you’ve come to, what, tell me you forgive me?” you said. “Thanks, but I don’t need it. It’s as I said: your forgiveness means nothing.”

“Nah,” he said, and then he was grabbing your hand and squeezing it tightly. “I’ve come to bring you back to sorcery with me.”

“What?” you said. “No. I quit.”

“You didn’t quit, you ran,” he reminded you.

“That’s the same thing,” you said. He grinned. It was the kind of grin that would’ve blinded you when you were younger, but you found that it was not so brilliant anymore. You found you liked it even more than you once had.

“Not in my books,” he said.

“Gojo, I’m not strong enough. I can lead a normal life without you and Suguru and the others, but if you throw me back into sorcery, I know I’ll cave,” you said. “I’ll turn back into that cowardly little girl I once was. I’ll seek out that shadow which I’ve spent so long learning to exist without.”

He sighed, and then he poked you in the forehead. “Not the case. See, you didn’t even waver this time! I think you finally did it, Y/N. You grew a spine.”

“Why do you want me to come back?” you said. “I’m not strong like you. I won’t give you anything you don’t already have.”

“It’s selfish,” he said. “I don’t want to tell you because it’s selfish, and you’ll laugh at me.”

“If you don’t tell me, then I won’t even consider it,” you said. Though his eyes were covered by the blindfold, you could sense him rolling them based solely on the way he pouted.

“I’ve spent the last ten years hating you for leaving us — for leaving me behind,” he said. “Everyone else was gone. I needed someone, but you left too, and then I really was alone. I want to drag you back into hell because I can’t face it by myself anymore.”

There were things left unsaid in that. Why you, for one? He could have anyone in the world, so why, after ten years, had he come to find you specifically? Why was it now that he could no longer bear the hell that was sorcery alone? But Gojo was not the sort who ever revealed his true self if he could help it, so you supposed those things would have to go unsaid for a little longer.

“Okay,” you said.

“Okay?” he said.

“Okay,” you said. “I’ll come back, but I have a condition.”

“What is it?” he said.

“The next time I leave, or run away, or quit, don’t hate me for quite as long,” you said. “Don’t hate me at all. I know I told you that I want you to hate me until you die, but I don’t anymore.”

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay?” you said, in a direct mirror of your previous exchange.

“Okay,” he said. “Come on, then. Follow me.”

“Oh, that, too,” you said. “I won’t follow you. If that’s what you’re expecting, then you can forget about it. I cannot allow myself to follow anyone ever again. I cannot be that weak, or I’ll become someone I despise. Someone I don’t want to be, ever again.”

His expression morphed into one of shock, and then he did something so odd as to be beyond all rationality and logic. He beamed at you before patting you on the head. It wasn’t condescending; it was the kind of gesture that was like a promise, or a warning, depending on who you asked. Maybe in this case, it was both.

“It’s alright. Actually, it’s better if you don’t,” he said. “I like you more when you don’t follow anyone at all.”

[sleepingdeath-light]

shadowheart smut hcs ; 18+

requested by ; nobody / self indulgent

fandom(s) ; baldur’s gate 3

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; shadowheart (including: her dark justiciar ending, her selunite ending, and how she is during the main game)

outline ; “smut hcs for shadowheart”

warning(s) ; sexually explicit content, switch!shadowheart, sadomasochist!shadowheart, lingerie kink, corruption kink, role play, praise kink, body worship

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

main game shadowheart / general headcanons

she’s a switch by nature and can be either a harsh dominant who delights in putting you in your place and flaunting her authority and power over you, or a bratty submissive who is intent on making you earn your place in her bed and won’t make her submission come easy — her demeanour remains the same for the most part regardless of her role, as in she’s not going to suddenly become an obedient little princess once she’s in your bed and allowed you to sexually dominate her, but when she’s subbing she’s more likely to try and push your buttons and try and get you to break and punish her (or, at the very least, to prove to her that you’re able to keep her under control without taking things too far and breaking an agreed upon boundary)

she does have some sadomasochistic tendencies and certainly won’t shy away from rougher forms of play if that’s what you enjoy (e.g. spanking and other forms of impact play, choking and other forms of breath play, hair pulling, marking, etc.), but it’s not exactly something that she brings up during a casual encounter unless you’ve already displayed an explicit interest in those things — otherwise she’ll only really bring up that side of herself after you’ve already been intimate once or twice and are familiar enough with each other to engage in that sort of thing without taking any serious risks (of course being a cleric herself she’s more than capable of healing you both if things get dicey, but she’d prefer to save her energy and spell slots for a time when they might actually be needed, i.e. one of those battles your ragtag group somehow keeps running headfirst into every couple of hours on your way back to baldur’s gate)

shadowheart generally prefers to be on the bottom of whatever position you’re in (and will rebuke any accusations of her being a ‘pillow princess’ because of this preference with about as much sass and snark as you might have come to expect from her), but she’s not completely opposed to topping if you’re less experienced than her or just really uncomfortable doing that (sex isn’t as enjoyable if only one of you is getting off, so if you mention your preferences or limitations to her then she’ll just help you work around them without getting offended or turned off or anything like that) — when it comes to the actual positions themselves, though she’s pretty much up for anything that she can comfortably contort her body to accommodate there are a set few positions that are unbeaten favourites of hers: missionary, cowgirl & reverse cowgirl, and wall/standing sex

while she’s not one to dress up herself (not least of all because your current lifestyle doesn’t really make purchasing and carrying around impractical outfits like lingerie very feesable) she definitely makes her appreciation known whenever you make an effort to pretty yourself up for her and won’t make any attempts to disguise her flirtations or the way her eyes are trailing up and down your body — bonus points if you surprise her with this after bringing her to a secluded area away from camp with plenty of good (or at the very least not-as-shit as the stuff you usually end up getting stuck with on the road) wine and enough food to keep you going until you’re forced to walk back to camp and actually get some rest before another day of travelling, fighting, and problem solving

she’s very talkative during foreplay, both as a domme and a sub, and she’s more than capable of using a mixture of praise and teasing and demands in order to get you into bed with her — the better she knows you the better she gets at pushing your buttons, quickly picking up on exactly what language, what phrases and in what order, are the most effective at getting whatever response she wants out of you (be that to make you flustered and aroused, to help guide you into sub-space, or to goade you into fucking her into her ‘bed’ until she’s too far gone to think about the tadpoles in your heads or her future under lady shar’s guidance)

you’re far from her first partner, which is something she’s never tried to hide from you, and even if she can’t remember specifics in her current state it’s still abundantly clear that shadowheart knows exactly what she’s doing (even if it does take her some time to adapt to your specific needs and preferences as a lover) — this also means that if you’re inexperienced with others that she’s familiar enough with her own body and what she enjoys to help you out and guide you (she will absolutely tease you for it, as she does with most things, but it’s not intended maliciously and she does let you know that she appreciates your efforts and that your lack of experience nothing to be ashamed of)

shadowheart equally enjoys giving and receiving oral, but she does have some preference when it comes to how you both go about either of the two — when she goes down on you she tends to take her time with you, giving you just enough stimulation to make sure that you feel something and react to it without giving you enough to actually push you over the edge, refusing to go further until you stroke her ego enough and beg for it in the way you know she likes (and then she’ll go rough and fast, skilfully pushing you through orgasm after orgasm until there are tears streaming down your cheeks and your voice is too hoarse for her to even hear what you’re saying anymore)… and when she’s receiving oral she much prefers to mount your face and just be able to use you to get off, riding your tongue and lips as you grope at her thighs and moan and groan into her cunt, trying to keep her voice steady as she praises and teases you, not stopping until you lose your patience and grab onto her hips and take control from her (or, if she’s the dominant one that evening, until you perform the agreed upon safe-action and snap her out of her fervour)

dark justiciar shadowheart specific headcanons

she’s equally as comfortable topping or bottoming for you, but once she’s accepted her new role in the nightsinger’s church shadowheart becomes much more confident as a domme and much less willing to hand over control to anyone else in any context — and as a domme she becomes much more sadistic and willing to degrade and hurt you (that being said, she still never crosses your agreed upon boundaries and never does or says anything that will push you away from her or leave any serious lasting damage in its wake — she may be crueler these days, and her lady may not permit any outside attachments, but she still does care for you and doesn’t want to lose what little of your connection still remains before her goddess forces her to cut you off)

she’s comfortable enough with flirting and playing with you in public and semi-public settings as long as you don’t act overly familiar or intimate with her (she’s a dark justiciar now, love isn’t something that’s welcome in her world) — so while groping, grinding, spanking, fucking, and making out are all on the cards as long as she’s not in a sacred place or around company where such acts wouldn’t be permitted, things like kissing, hugging, cuddling, and the sharing of ‘sweet nothings’ are all off limits for you both

in previous years she was never too fond of being called any specific thing in the bedroom, nor did she ever feel the need to call her bedmates anything in turn, but recently she’s found herself to be extremely receptive to you referring to her by her title (‘dark justiciar’, ‘justiciar’, or even ‘mistress’ in the right circumstance), and calling her that is pretty much guaranteed to have her giving you a look that promises nothing short of an eventful evening and a struggle to walk the next day — honestly doing anything that praises her for (or generally just emphasises) her devotion to lady shar and her role in her church is enough to appeal to her ego and get her hot under the collar (does this count as a religious kink? maybe)

she has a very distinct and obvious corruption kink and constantly teases you about leading you down a darker path and converting you to her lady’s church, sprinkling these comments in amongst her usual teasing when she’s got a finger or two inside of you (or when you’re inside of her) — granted for as much as she wishes you’d join her, shadowheart does still value you as a person and won’t force you to convert as she has others in the past… but if you engage in a bit of roleplay in the bedroom and decide to indulge her thoughts and lean into the whole corruption and conversion thing then she’s definitely not going to be complaining about that (in fact it’s only going to make her more aroused and more desperate to hear you scream her name)

because she’s no longer able to publicly claim you as a partner, nor behave in any sort of way that might indicate a sense of monogamy or devotion between the two of you, shadowheart has developed something of a marking kink when it comes to you and you’ll rarely make it out of an encounter with her without an obvious mark or two — most of her marks are hickies and bites as those are the easiest for her to give you, but she’s also partial to the idea of permanently branding or scarring you in some way (with your express approval, obviously)

as a justiciar shadowheart’s pretty much always busy with some task or another (overtaking a town, demolishing ‘lesser’ gods’ temples and artifacts, educating and finding new recruits, helping other believers settle into their new roles in the church, etc.), which means that it’s exceptionally rare that the two of you are able to afford to be with each other for more than a few minutes at a time — thus quickies have become a necessary staple of whatever it is you share: pushing each other against the wall and making out with your hands under each other’s clothing to hurriedly get off before she’s called off to the thousandth meeting of the week, bending her over her desk and fucking her to completion (or vice versa) before she’s set to retire for the evening, sneaking away during a rare get together with old friends to get off amongst the shrubbery and returning back to camp before anyone noticed your absence, etc… (needless to say you both become very familiar with each other and consequently very effective at making the most of what little time you have)

she prefers positions that allow her to be more detached from you as she struggles to fully repress her old feelings when she’s with you: doggy, concubine, reverse cowgirl, one of you facing the wall and the other stood behind you, and so on — if she can’t see your face then she can’t get distracted by things that should no longer influence her, which means that you can both keep seeing each other without shar’s explicit disapproval

selunite shadowheart specific headcanons

after a lifetime’s worth of pain and strife, she finds herself settling into her new quieter life with you and greatly enjoying the chance to slow down and appreciate the little things about being in a relationship that she would have never given much thought before you — this naturally means that she leans more towards long and thorough foreplay (with lots of body worship, praise, and playful banter) as opposed to quickies focused on just getting you both off as soon as possible (it also means that she’s much more cuddly and affectionate after sex, but that’s neither here nor there)

she prefers positions that allow for the most intimacy and connection, such as missionary or spooning, but there are occasions where she wants nothing more than to just be fucked stupid until the pains of her past can’t reach her at which point she generally doesn’t care what position she’s in as long as it ensures you hit all the right spots inside of her when she needs you to — either way, she’ll still appreciate you making the effort to make her more comfortable (grabbing her hands and squeezing them reassuringly, kissing her lips/cheeks/spine/shoulderblades/neck, whispering comforting words and sweet nothings just low enough for her to hear them, etc.), and know that she’s always going to do the same for you when she’s able to do so

as much as she adores the relaxing mundanity and routine of your new life together, she can still appreciate shaking things up with some roleplay here and there — usually this means roughly recreating certain scenarios from your adventuring days or handpicked scenes from the books you’ve picked up from stores much like sharess’ caress, they’re always a little bit silly and a smidge awkward at first as you each take some time to settle into your roles, but it’s always a good deal of fun and absolutely worth the time it takes to set up beforehand and clean up after you’ve had your fun (she always insists on being very thorough about this after going to sleep after one half-assed cleaning and waking up to some assorted flower petals stuck to her backside… including one that she later realised to be an irritant if left in contact with the skin for a long period of time, like sleeping on it for several hours… needless to say she was not pleased about that)

settling down doesn’t make her tongue any less sharp and even years after making a home with you she’s still just as able to tease and banter with you as she was back on the road to baldur’s gate — of course nowadays her remarks aren’t as biting and usually come when she’s either being a brat and goading you into taking charge, or when she’s teasing you for being so reactive to her touch as a domme, and there’s a lingering softness in her voice that was never there before, but rest assured that domestic bliss hasn’t tamed that part of her and, gods willing, it never will

now that she’s settled down and actually has a stream of income, she’s much more able to doll herself up to surprise you after you’ve been out tending to the garden and the animals all day — she has an extensive collection of lingerie sets in different styles that all somehow manage to suit her perfect despite the stark differences in design and materials from one set to the next

she’s very vocal about how much she enjoys watching you work the land and how distracting of a sight it is for her, especially if you happen to roll up your sleeves to do it, which naturally means that the best way to rile her up is to do exactly that and then ask her if she wants to go inside and take a quick break from your daily chores — you will not make it to your bedroom, you barely make it far enough into the house to land on the settee before she’s on you because she knows exactly what game you’re playing at and she’s not about to waste any more time than she needs to in order to get exactly what she wants

shadowheart is a big fan of outdoor sex so long as nobody else is around to catch you — for example, she’s perfectly fine making love to you on the beach beside a secluded lake or in the middle of the forest on a moonlit night, but she’ll politely shut down any propositions from you if she knows that there are other people close enough by that they could hear you and catch you both in the act

[natasha-in-space]

All Good Things Must End

Ray/gn!reader;

From the beginning, you trusted Ray with all your heart. He was the embodiment of your fairytale dream come to life. Your respite from all the unappealing troubles of the outside world. But all fairytales have an ending to them. And yours is not as happy as you expected.

CW: brief mention of violence, erratic behavior, depiction of a codependent relationship. This is a Danger Ray fic! Set during V's route. Loosely based on the 7th day outgoing call to V (11:51 AM, after the 'Provoke' chatroom).

Lovely dividers by @/saradika-graphics!

Ray was a good man. A kind man. A fragile man, even. His entire appearance would remind you of a beautiful but delicate flower. So starved for love and warmth, yet so sensitive to every harsh touch of the wind, even the slightest of pushes against its soft petals would make it start to wilt. A flower that needed nothing but some gentle care and love for it to come into bloom. And, of course, you were willing to give him just that. After all, why wouldn't you be? Ray has been nothing but kind and caring towards you, ever since you stepped foot into this strange place, guiding you along the way while holding your hand and not minding any of your clumsy mistakes. He was understanding. Attentive. Curious. Always checking in with you and eager to hear about your day. Never ignoring you or making you feel stupid if you didn't understand a thing or two.

No wonder you found it so easy to open up to him in your short time here. You trusted that he would do no wrong by you. Just as he promised.

At least... that's what you thought. And appearances can be deceiving. Oh, so very deceiving. Now, it felt downright humiliating just how much of a blind fool you really were. How stupidly determined you were to deny and rebuke anyone daring to challenge your views on Ray.

You loyally refused to trust Rika's musings about Ray's 'darkness' during your brief stay with her, dismissing them as nothing but her twisted philosophy that you couldn't even begin to comprehend. You impulsively denied V's numerous warnings not to trust in Ray's sugary words, reassuring yourself over and over again that surely his affections for you must be true and earnest. You turned your back on every nagging suspicion buzzing at the back of your mind during short moments of unrest. You knew in your heart that Ray was a kind, tender boy. He was simply confined to an environment that would exacerbate his worst traits.

And he was only human, right? No one is immune to harmful outside influences being forced down upon them. Anyone could end up in his place one day, even you. It was no reason for you to be hostile and distrustful of him.

Then again, maybe that was just your mind trying desperately to keep you calm in the midst of a horrible storm you found yourself being forcibly thrust into. After all, accepting just how truly bad and out of your control things truly were here... How utterly helpless and vulnerable you were, with no one there to come save you if you needed it... How trapped and isolated you were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but miles and miles of lush mountain forests, with no civilization in sight...

Just the thought of it would make a heavy lump of acidic bile rise up to your throat. The sad truth is... Ray simply provided you with feelings of solace and comfort that some deeper, weaker part of you was so desperate for. Losing that was something you were not ready to face yet. He was there by your side from day one. He had a better understanding of you than anyone else did. Of course you would cling to his familiar presence for this brief feeling of stability you yearned for so gravely.

In retrospect, it was always a losing battle for you to try and win. You could have done better. You really, really could have done so much better. Yet it still hit you harder than a sledgehammer to the back of your skull, when the bitter reality has finally reared its ugly head to you, without any regard for your fragile heart.

You resent yourself for hitting that call button despite your gut screaming at you not to. You were already well aware that you would regret doing that, somewhere on the back of your mind. But, in the moment, your worry for your friend overpowered your lingering anxiety. Maybe out of some sense of duty. V made it all the way here, just to save you. You played a big role in his capture, in a way. If it wasn't for you, he wouldn't be in danger. And not knowing a single thing about his whereabouts or even his state was... daunting.

So, you dialed his phone number.

You anticipated that he wouldn't pick up. Maybe you would receive a very brief phone call with him begging you to keep yourself safe, like he always would. Or even just a quick exchange of words between you two that would maybe give you even the tiniest of clues on his whereabouts. Something you could then relay to Seven. Make yourself useful. Actually do something, instead of just sitting there and driving yourself mad with dozens upon dozens of anxious thoughts clouding your mind.

What you received was worse than you could have ever imagined.

It was one thing to hear pained groans, gasps, and raspy coughing on the other end of the line. You already had an expectation that V would not be okay when you hear his voice. It still left your knees feeling weak and your heart lurching in your chest with a dizzying intensity, but you could handle that, to an extent. What you couldn't handle was also hearing a familiar soft-spoken voice that has become an unstated but undeniable source of comfort for you. A voice that was now sounding so cold and angry, that your brain had a hard time comprehending what was happening, seemingly shutting down completely, as you remained deathly quiet for the whole duration of that cursed call.

Ray just was not supposed to be there.

You have heard him get angry before. You have heard him lose his grip on reality before. You have heard him say things you couldn't truly agree with, despite you still going along with them regardless, to avoid causing him any disturbance. Those were all aspects of him you were not blind to. You just actively chose to overlook them whenever they would come up. Something that you probably shouldn't have done.

-But you never heard him be so downright cruel and vicious before. Seemingly not at all disturbed by the very real sounds of suffering from the other living person there with him. Even getting angrier at them.

Like it was something completely normal. Not at all worth getting upset or worried over.

You couldn't wrap your head around the fact that this was the same man that worried himself sick over you simply scraping a knee. He was so caring, so empathetic to you back then... over a small cut, of all things. And now, that very same man was not at all disturbed by such grave suffering happening right in front of him.

No, by the sounds of it... he was actively causing it.

And that's not something you could live in peace with.

The call lasted for a maximum of two minutes. That's the time that your phone would display to you whenever you mindlessly return to it, anyway. But it felt way longer than that. For those two horrible minutes, your ears were ruthlessly subjected to the merciless reality you were so desperate to avoid facing up until that very moment.

The bitter truth was that Ray is not a fragile flower. Nor is he a prince from a fairytale. For, fairytales are not reality. No matter how much you want them to be. He was a man, a human being, just like you. Just like every other person in this building. And much like any human being, he was more than capable of causing harm by his own two hands if he so chooses. In fact, he would do so purposefully. And a victim of his spiraling wrath was no longer some faceless unlucky believer that you could forget about in a matter of hours, despite you genuinely feeling bad for them. No, it was your friend. A friend who fought so desperately to save you, even at the cost of his own safety. A friend you have come to care for in the short time you have known each other.

A friend, you knew for sure didn't deserve to be suffering in the way that he was. By the hands of your other friend you cared for just as deeply.

Such reality was just too cruel for you to bear.

So, you do the most foolish thing of all.

You confront Ray head-on.

"-Y/N, you must be confused... I've done no wrong. I do admit that I... did loose myself for a moment there, but- but it was his own fault! If he just kept quiet and drank the elixir like my Savior has instructed, I wouldn't get so upset with him. And he kept saying his stupid lies... He wouldn't shut up. My head hurt so bad... You have no idea."

You are left feeling sick to your very core by the soft apologetic smile reflected on Ray's face, once you do have a chance to finally face him again. No matter what you say, how hard you try to show him how wrong and cruel his actions really were, it was all completely pointless. For someone so seemingly skittish and subservient, Ray was frustratingly stubborn in his beliefs. It was like throwing a tennis ball at a wall. The more force you put into your throw to get your point across, the harder it just bounces right back into your face, leaving you with the painful sting of your failure.

You shake your head, an ugly mess of emotions steadily clouding your sense of judgment. At some point, you lose track of your location and position. All caution goes out the window. All that remains is a debilitating feeling of betrayal, clutching at your insides like metal rods slowly puncturing your very heart. "It is still wrong, Ray! How can you not see that!? He was suffering, and you just- just-"

The words don't come out of your mouth, obstructed by the suffocating lump stuck in the middle of your throat. You were going in circles now. You have been trying to get through to him for almost ten minutes straight, and still no results. You have to take a moment to try and regain your breathing. A soft glowed hand rests gently upon your chin, causing you to tilt your head to meet Ray's gaze instead.

You are disgusted by the genuine concern etched onto his delicate features. By the unfeigned emotions of nothing but genuine care and affection swimming in his eyes as he looks at you. By the tender touch warming up your clammy skin. All of it is sincere. You know he is not lying to you. Not right now, at least. And that is a sickening realization to come to.

More than anything, you are disgusted by the simple fact that you cannot perceive him as a monster or an angel. Ray is no perfect prince from a fairytale, no matter how hard he may try and appear to you as such.

He's a human.

Just like you.

And this implies that he is capable of all the atrocities that any human being is capable of. As much as he is kind to you, he can also be cruel to others. As much as his hands soothe and tremble when they brush up against yours, they can also hurt and sully those he harbors hatred for. It's not all black and white, as you would like to delude yourself into thinking.

And his actions were truly appalling to you. You couldn't live in your fantasy world anymore. It was sullied. Destroyed beyond repair. Your Wonderland has been corrupted from the start, and you just denied each and every sign of it, until it was too late.

"My prince/ss... It pains me to see you in such distress. Though, your tender heart is another trait of you that I adore," Ray whispers to you softly, his thumb lightly brushing over your cheekbone. He was touching you so gently, it's almost like you were made out of glass. And yet, just a few hours earlier, these exact hands were causing so much suffering to someone you care so deeply about. The thought prompts you to swallow hard and clutch your hands together as they start to shake. He continues, seemingly undisturbed by your lack of a positive response. "-But believe me when I say that that villain is not deserving of your compassion. He tried to take you away from me... To ruin what you and I have built together. I cannot stand by and watch him do that to us. What if you got hurt because of him? I would never forgive myself, if that were to happen."

You shut your eyes, refusing to accept the reality unfolding before you. Everything was wrong. So very wrong. One part of you wanted to scream and shout at him, to make him see the twisted nature of his words by pure unrelenting force if you have to. But there was another part of you that contemplated just giving up and concluding this interaction altogether. The debilitating feeling of helplessness was just too much for you to handle.

You are not allowed to do either of those things, however. Instead, another hand lightly rests on the small of your back, pulling you in towards the source of your distress. And you don't fight it. You feel your forehead come in contact with Ray's chest, his flowery scent filling your senses, as both of his arms are now circling around you. You hear a happy sigh fall from his lips. It all seemed like a very cruel joke on you. A moment that seemed so sweet and touching, bringing you nothing but more hurt and anguish.

Did he really not see anything amiss with any of this?

"I missed you so much, my flower... You know, when I heard that liar try and talk to me like he knew you better than I do, I felt like I might just strangle him right then and there. Make sure he never utters your lovely name ever again." Ray's voice is slightly gruff from how quiet it is against the side of your head. A low hum vibrates in his throat as he nuzzles into your hair like an affectionate cat would, breathing in your scent with all the longing you could possibly ask for. Though, the only thing that comes from his affections is a sickening feeling of dread for you.

"-But I thought of you. I thought of your lovely smile... Your eyes, your voice. I know I shouldn't think like this, but... You gave me more strength than my Savior's words ever did. What I did... I did for you. For us, Y/N." He continues, taking a step back from the hug to look at you. Your gaze is cast low, as you don't reciprocate the gesture. You can't bring yourself to look at him right now. It's hard to even keep yourself from putting your hands over your ears to avoid hearing it all. He gently tilts your head up, however, making it clear that he wants you to look at him. "Please don't be upset... It breaks my heart to see you sad because of that villain."

That's when the dam inside of you finally shatters, all repressed emotions spilling out in a violent wave of hopelessness you cannot bring yourself to stop. You wrench yourself away from Ray's arms, your own hands now clenched into tight fists as you look him directly in the eyes. There's a fire burning ever hotter inside of your chest, and you make no attempt to put it out. You let it take over you completely, consequences be damned.

"Villain?Villain!? Ray, he did all he could to save me! And you locked him up and tortured him for that!"

Your mind is screaming at you to stop. To stop and fix things before they spiral too out of your control.

You're being too aggressive. Too blunt. Too disobedient. Staying safe requires you to be both calm and smart about this. And you are neither of those things right now.

But you don't care.

Even as you see the emotions in Ray's eyes shift from that suffocating affection to a mix of desperation and frustration you know well. He makes a step towards you. You make two steps back. This makes his brows furrow in what you could only assume was dissatisfaction.

You never backed away from him before.

"Save you...? No. No. Y/N, he tried to steal you from me. Poison you with his lies, like he has done to my Savior. He did it to me, too! I'm the one who saved you. I did what had to be done to protect you!" You can actively hear his voice changing from the shaky disbelief at your denial of him to rough desperation to prove you wrong. It's borderline scary how quick those changes are occurring right in front of your eyes. Almost in a blink of an eye. It's yet another blaring warning for you to stop.

One that you ignore.

Instead, your frustration boils up inside of you, making you sneer at his stubborn refusal to see reason: "By hurting him!? By making him choke and gag in pain? What was the point of-"

Your angry line of thought is instantaneously interrupted by a small yeep that slips past your lips, as Ray closes in on you in just a couple of quick steps, grabbing at your wrists with a tight grip. Tight enough to cause you some discomfort. His eyes are wide, and his breathing is noticeably shaky. Like he's fighting to get enough air into his lungs and failing miserably. He yanks you close, making you stumble into him without much time for you to struggle or push back against him. Mostly due to your state of pure disbelief. You never expected Ray to actually do anything to you. And while he wasn't actively hurting you, this was still shattering your perception of him to bits and pieces. Or, what remained of it.

"That was nothing, Y/N. He deserved all of that. He deserved that and more. You feel sad for him? You wish mercy on him?" You are suddenly pushed back against the wall, and Ray's slim form keeps you trapped in this makeshift cage you created for yourself with your reckless actions. Ray's voice grows shakier, yet also significantly lower. It sounded dangerous. Angry. His nose brushes up against yours, as he's leaning so close to you, you can't focus on anything but him. Your breath hitches as you instinctively press yourself up against the wall, the panicked pounding of your heart echoing in your temples. "You have no idea how badly he hurt me. What pain I went through because of that- that-"

You can't help but wince in pain as his grip on you tightens. An action that seems to immediately shake Ray out of his temporary fit of anger, as he gasps and quickly lets go of you, stumbling backwards with a frightened expression painted over his features. You don't even have to look at him to know that he is probably in a less than stable state of mind. You are left staggered, betrayed and confused, as you stand there, eyes cast low, rubbing at your wrists. They didn't hurt. Not much, at least. It's the psychological aspect of it that left an impact of you.

Ray's voice feels muffled as it reaches your ears through the constant flow of thought in your head.

"I- N-No, Y/N, I'm sorry, I didn't want to- Are you hurt?" You can see him taking a step back towards you, hand reaching out for yours, probably to check on your wrists. You can tell he's scared. And upset. Probably guilty. Which makes this even harder for you to grapple with.

Either way, you cut him off, not wanting to hear any more of this. Partially because you understand that staying to listen will only cause you to break further, if it was even possible at this point. Because he sounds so genuine, nervous, and miserable, it makes your heart ache for him despite yourself. Makes you want to look up, smile, and say that you're okay. That you two can figure it out together.

And you don't want to repeat the same mistake twice.

"Just... Leave, Ray." You mutter out quietly, not raising your eyes at him. You sound a bit too soft for your liking, but it'll do. Swallowing, you repeat yourself for good measure. "Please. Leave."

There is a prolonged pause between the two of you. It's almost too lengthy for comfort. Neither of you say anything for a while. But the tension in the air is thick, and it does not fade with time. It only grows. Crawling over you like snakes. There is a fear within you that prevents you from looking at him. A fear of seeing the pain in his eyes. Or, instead, to come face to face with that same anger that felt so alien to you.

Ray finally speaks up. His voice is barely audible.

"...N-No..."

He moves closer to you still. For the second time today, you are finding yourself backing away. But now, you turn your back on him and keep your hands locked where you can see them. You can feel them shaking. With a sigh, you repeat: "Leave."

And, as you soon learn, that was not a very wise choice for you to make.

You're quickly spun around before you can think to act, and Ray's fingers are digging into your shoulders with a disturbing intensity, leaving you little time to react. He's observing you as if you were a wounded animal that was left behind after being hit by a car. Like you're the saddest creature he had ever seen. And, for some reason, that look scares you more than the previous anger he showed you.

"I can't believe this..." He murmurs under his breath, his eyes darting over your figure, almost like he was searching for something physical on you that could be visible to the human eye. But he doesn't find it, and that seems to upset him further. You try to pull away from him, only to get jerked back in again, his hold on you tightening.

Only this time, he does not pay any attention to your visible discomfort. He was too occupied with his own thoughts that you were not aware of. It's like he doesn't even see you. Not fully, anyways.

He holds your chin and tilts your face to examine you more closely. As he does, his shaky breath sneaks over your cheek and causes you to shiver in place.

"He... He poisoned you, didn't he...?"

The hushed murmur sounds so utterly ridiculous that it almost makes you forget about the disturbing nature of this situation for a good moment. Yet, he was completely serious. And he wasn't even talking to you, by the looks of it.

"What? Ray, I-"

"-That's why you are saying all these things to me... That's why you don't trust me anymore." Ray cuts you off as if you were not there, his brows furrowing into a deep scowl, but not one aimed directly at you. One of his hands grips onto your chin, while the other finds your hand and takes it into his own, his fingers sliding between yours. He grasps it tight, in a hold that would feel reassuring, if it wasn't for the circumstances. "My Y/N wouldn't tell me to leave. I should've guessed..."

A shiver of fear runs down your spine. As your outburst of frustration subsides, you slowly start to realize the seriousness of this situation for you, as the fire of anger and betrayal subsides. Now you wish Ray was angry again. At least then he still listened to you. But how can you fix things when he doesn't even acknowledge you?

"-Don't worry," You are brought back to reality by a warm and assuring smile on Ray's face. One that only makes you feel nauseous. He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, making your breath hitch. Staying there, he whispers onto your skin, like a secret promise only for your ears to hear. "I will fix it, my prince/ss. I shouldn't have been away from you for this long in the first place... My Savior is far too busy to give you the care and attention you need. But now, I'm here. And I'm not leaving your side again. I promise. I'll make sure you are smiling again."

He does not let go of you again. While your fairytale might have been broken, his has only begun its story. And his happily ever after is not something he will give up on. Even if you did.

[dancingchopines]

I don't like Jane Seymour being characterized as a doormat. When I look at the facts we have in front of us, she seems more like she was being practical and trying to survive. Besides bearing future King Edward VI, Jane did three things I'd like to examine as queen:

made strict requirements for her lady in waiting's dress and had a more sober court

championed the Lady Mary

begged Henry for mercy and for the monasteries during the Pilgrimage of Grace

The first seems like a sensible tightening up of standards to try and shield herself and her ladies from accusations of impropriety, of which Anne Boleyn had been accused of.

For the second, besides being a kindness, it was politically sensible to speak kindly of Mary because if the King suddenly died, Mary (legally disinherited or not) likely still had a good chance of being crowned.

The attempted intervention for the old ways was possibly Jane's biggest political move and Henry rebuked its strongly, ominously urging her not to meddle. However, the fact that she would even risk that indicates to me she had some strong opinions of her own. But the fact that she didn't bring it up again seems less like passivity but the good sense not to rouse the king's anger.

When Jane (whose time as queen was rather short) is said to have been passive and meek, I personally think, how should she have acted instead? Catherine of Aragon was strong-willed but Jane witnessed her be painfully put aside. Anne Boleyn too of course was famously opinionated and vocal, and Jane became engaged to Henry the day after her execution. Catherine of Aragon was of powerful royal family to offer some protection, and Anne had been the king's infatuation. Jane was neither of these things, and she had seen her two predecessors with them not fare well. I think it was entirely sensible of Jane to keep her head down low.

On a more 'out there' level of personal speculation, I wonder if Jane would have tried to be more vocal on her beliefs if she had survived Edward's birth and especially if she had had more sons. If she had one or more sons, she would have powerfully cemented her place as queen and had more leverage to speak. As unhinged and vengeful as Henry was, I doubt that if he had had a surviving queen who had borne him sons, he never would have disposed of her.

Source: sorry, not as official this time, but pages 131-134 in Divorced, Beheaded, Survived: A Feminist Reinterpretation of the Wives of Henry VIII by Karen Lindsay. I actually disagree with Lindsay's takes, I think she is oddly harsh on Jane.

[it-happened-one-fic]

Ink and Magic - Tactician of the Scalding Sands

Author Notes: Part 4 of this sort of halfway non canon compliant what if with the overblots and their aftermath! A lot of what I said for part 1 counts for this section too. This isn't exactly romantic. in fact, I would say it counts as more platonic, but it certainly can be taken as shippy. This will also be a series, though the Diasomnia section won't come out until that entire matter is resolved in game. As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Spoilers for Book 4: Schemer (Tactician) of the Scalding Sands!

[Heartslabyul] [Savanaclaw] [Octavinelle] [Scarabia: Youre Here!] [Pomefiore] [Ignihyde] [Diasomnia: To be released]

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ fic series/ Can be platonic or romantic/ fluff/ angst/ comfort/ Spoilers for Scarabia overblot.

Word Count: 1809 Words

The blot monster strained upwards, its giant arms reaching up towards the sky, before it burst apart, splattering ink everywhere as Jamil stood, fighting to stay upright even as everything fell around him.

 Scarabia students were collapsing everywhere as his spell gave way under the immense pressure of the blot monster being defeated, but even then Jamil strained against this defeat.

A frustrated cry ripped itself out of him before he spoke; his breathing labored as he slowly began to succumb to exhaustion, “I was finally going to be number one…”

He stumbled forward, his arms trembling as he looked up first at Kalim before he continued, his voice shaking with emotion that he usually restrained, “I was finally going….”

His gaze shifted and his dark eyes met mine, causing me to go still as he held my gaze with an expression that contorted his handsome, but usually neutral, face into an expression that spoke purely of frustrated anguish.

 And that was when I felt it. The familiar pang of sorrow that would spur me forward even as Jamil finished speaking, “To be free….” 

I was in motion before he’d even finished his lament and began to pitch forward toward the floor. Distantly, I heard Kalim cry out something akin to my name, but he went ignored as I rushed towards Jamil’s already limp form.

I caught him in my arms with a grunt, the weight of his plummeting body forcing me to my knees even as Floyd and Jade appeared on either side of us, one’s mismatched gaze meeting mine before a loopy smile curved across his face. Floyd.

I felt arms supporting me from behind as I was eased the rest of the way to the hard ground. And this time, I did briefly fight it.

I didn’t know why this kept happening, but I shared Ace’s concerns about my connecting to each other overblot victims. But it was too late. I was already slipping away into the dark place where all would be explained.

It wouldn’t be long before I learned exactly what had driven Jamil to the breaking point.

But what greeted me wasn’t darkness this time. Instead, I found myself frowning at an unfamiliar room where two easily recognizable boys were playing a game.

A younger version of Kalim looked up, his wide red eyes sparkling as he gazed at Jamil. Even as a child, his face was full of affection and joy as he leaned towards his playmate, “Hey! Let’s play, Jamil! I’m gonna beat you this time for sure!”

The small Jamil let out a sigh, already worn out from playing whatever game it was that Kalim wanted to continue, and let out a tired protest, “This again, Kalim? You know I’m just going to keep winning. Can we play something else instead?”

Kalim hardly had time to react to Jamil’s tired words before the darker-haired boy had received a harsh rebuke from the two adults present, whom I quickly realized were Jamil’s parents. After all, they looked so similar….

“Jamil! Don’t you take that tone with Master Kalim!”

I cringed in sympathy as the woman swatted at Jamil while the man apologized profusely to the young Kalim, who was looking in startled confusion between Jamil and the two adults, “Master Kalim, thank you for playing with our son.”

Kalim looked perfectly confused and startled as Jamil’s mother also turned to him, a nervous smile on her face, “You’re kind enough to share your company. Truly you’ve been brought up well.”

The woman had barely finished speaking before I heard Jamil’s voice from right next to me, just like the other overblot victims had been when I’d seen their memories. 

“My very first memory as a child was seeing my family bow before Kalim and his parents. I couldn't stand the sight of it.”

His tone was calm, just as I was so used to hearing it be. But what progressed through his memories and narration was deeply entrenched resentment. All towards the cheerful boy who called Jamil his best friend.

It made me wonder exactly how much of who I’d been interacting with was the real Jamil and how much was carefully faked. But in the end, no one could be as calm and unperturbed as Jamil had pretended to be.

I listened and watched patiently, though, learning about Jamil and Kalim’s shared past scene by scene of this odd black-and white-film made up of Jamil’s memories.

Apparently Jamil had been forced to always be second best…

And in many ways, his frustrations reminded me of Leona’s, save for the fact that Leona’s dissatisfaction seemed… Well, more aged. 

Plus, unlike Jamil, Leona’s trouble seemed to be more fueled by the fact he couldn’t succeed. Jamil, on the other hand, seemed more upset that he couldn’t show his numerous skills and talents. Instead, he always had to let Kalim shine while he remained in the background. A vigilant shadow to Kalim’s brightly shining presence.

And perhaps all of it was made worse by the fact that Jamil’s bitterness was tainted by what I could see was clearly genuine affection.

It was obvious from his voice and their interactions that, despite everything, Jamil really did care for Kalim. And how could he not when I could quite literally see the amount of love Kalim held for his retainer?

He was frustrated because Kalim was what was holding him back, and it was obvious that he desperately wanted to hate Kalim. It was also obvious, though, that Jamil deeply cared for the young man who was always cheerful and supportive of him, even if Kalim didn’t realize that he was the one holding Jamil back.

As scenes of Kalim repeatedly talking about how Jamil was the one he trusted most, Jamil’s facade started to crack.

“We’ll keep helping each other out, Jamil!”

The break was restrained at first, with only a slight bit of tenseness to Jamil’s voice as he spoke, “Stop.”

But Kalim didn’t stop. He couldn’t hear Jamil, and he couldn’t see what he was putting his retainer through as he smiled sunshine through each memory. 

And then the last one came. Different from the others in that Kalim was actually showing some seriousness towards his friend, as he smiled in an almost sad way that clearly spoke of how much he meant the words that came from his mouth.

“I know you’d never betray me, Jamil.”

There was no restraint this time as Jamil almost screamed his response, his voice cracking with weighty emotion as he all but pleaded with Kalim, “Just stop!”

I almost grimaced at the raw pain in his voice. Because, as much as he might like to pretend otherwise, I could clearly hear it in his voice and see it in his memories. Jamil didn’t hate Kalim. He may want to, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

And the fact that he couldn’t truly hate Kalim made his situation that much worse.

After all, just like so many adults had said in Jamil’s memories, Jamil was clever. He knew Kalim wasn’t really at fault. Rather, it was the situation.

“Kalim, your mere existence means that I…. I… I have to live my whole life deferring to you!”

I almost flinched at his yell, directed at nothing as the black and white image of Kalim faded out so that now only darkness was visible as Jamil finally broke down.

But I understood it now. Jamil was wracked with guilt, frustration, and pent-up hatred that he couldn’t direct at anyone.

By the end of the narration, Jamil had almost completely broken. 

The last thing I heard was his quiet, broken voice from out of the darkness yet from right beside me, where I couldn’t see him, “I… Even I… I wanted to be number one, too.”

My eyes flew open as I inhaled in slight surprise at the bright lights overhead, and the first thing I heard was Kalim sobbing Jamil’s name and Grim grumbling about something. 

Jamil didn’t wake up immediately, though, and I slowly realized that I was lying on the floor with his arms wrapped loosely around me. 

I pushed myself up, my arms still trembling ever so slightly as I shifted into a sitting position, unable to fully extract myself from Jamil’s hold.

“Ah, Angelish, you’re awake,” Azul's voice came from behind me, but he soon stepped around me. Causing me to look up at him as Floyd and Jade slowly slipped away from Kalim’s side, where he knelt next to Jamil.

Azul’s gaze flickered between me and Jamil before at last coming to rest on me, “So, did it happen with him too?”

I nodded silently, looking down at Jamil’s peacefully slumbering face before speaking quietly, “Yeah… I saw everything.”

Azul pursed his lips at my soft words but straightened, beckoning Jade and Floyd over, “We monitored you while you were out. While we couldn’t wake you, you also didn’t seem to be in any danger. However, it did seem like you were enchanted or something.”

I opened my mouth to respond, half-touched that the three of them had kept a check on me, but I stopped as Jamil groaned slightly and rolled over, one arm sliding off my lap while the other remained curled around where I sat.

“Where am I?” He even sounded groggy as his eyes flickered open and, surprisingly, quickly, landed on me.

I smiled slightly at him as he slowly sat up, his eyes widening as soon as he spotted me before he frowned and a guarded expression appeared on his face.

And he wore that same frown and kept glancing my way during the entire, lengthy explanation. In fact, it wasn’t until Kalim offered to be equals with him and suggested that the two of them should start off as friends once more that Jamil’s focus finally left me so that he could tear into Kalim.

I cringed in sympathy for the pale-haired boy, but I also couldn’t say that I was upset to see Jamil finally letting loose.

After seeing his memories, I’d been concerned about the two young men’s relationship and had wondered how they would move forward. Being totally clear with Kalim would be necessary, and, unfortunately, that would mean Jamil snapping at him sooner or later. 

And, as soon as Jamil’s gaze met mine after telling Kalim that he wasn’t going to hold back anymore and would never throw another competition again, a small part of me wondered if he somehow knew about my concerns.

But my worries about him and Kalim weren’t the only thing on my mind. The more it happened, the more I was beginning to wonder what it was that drew me to these young men who overblotted and why I got to see their memories and hear their thoughts.

[cariantha]

Hunger Pains

Book: Open Heart, Post-Series

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Sawyer Brooks)

Rating: Explicit

Warning: 🔥NSFW, ⛔18+ Only, contains explicit sexual content

Category: Fluff, Smut, Halloween

Word count: 2.6K

Summary: Sawyer is in a bad mood. Ethan helps her calm down.

Prompts:

🫦From Anon: Can I get a fic with Ethan giving MC a love bite or hickey?

☀️From @peonierose: Ethan & Sawyer + “sunshine”

🍬From @jerzwriter: "Actually, I like candy corn!"

Events:

🎃For @choicesoctober event: Costume / Halloween / Vampire / Meme

🥰For @choicesprompts Flufftober 2023 event: I want to take care of you.

“Mr. Cox. An appropriate name for such a dick,” Sawyer thought to herself, blood boiling as she exited Room 513. 

The patient being cared for inside could easily steal the title of “Biggest PITA” away from the infamous Nigel Platt. And only making matters worse, her consultation had been interrupted multiple times by a cocky intern eager to show off. 

Once the door closed behind her, she spun on Dr. Perkins. 

“How many times have we told you not to interrupt when your resident or attending is speaking with a patient? If you do that again, I’ll make sure you are written up.”

Sawyer strode to the nearby nurses’ station to update Mr. Cox’s chart. The obstinate intern followed. 

“How am I supposed to learn anything around here if I’m not allowed to ask questions?” he argued.

“You start by shutting the hell up and listening. Had you done that in the first place, we wouldn’t be standing here having this conversation. If you were really trying to understand something back there, you would have directed your questions to me. Instead you attempted to conduct a medical history interview, on an extremely agitated patient, minutes before he goes to surgery,” she scolded. 

“This is–”

Her patience wearing thin, Sawyer spoke over him. “Jaaackie, get Dr. Know-It-All away from me before I go all Ramsey on his ass,” she demanded through gritted teeth. 

Jackie, having caught the tail end of the exchange, looked up from her tablet. 

“I think you just did,” she answered, “...and Perkins, the patient in 506 needs a new catheter. Now.”

“But that’s not even my pati-” he started to complain.

With one harsh look from the Chief Resident, Dr. Perkins finally tucked his tail between his legs and sulked down the hall.

"You're breathing fire today," Jackie quipped as she rounded the desk to leave.

Sawyer ignored her and continued typing furiously on her tablet.

Down the hall, Jackie and Bryce traded places getting on and off the elevator.

“Hey, have you seen Brooks? I mean Ramsey. Brooks-Ramsey?” Bryce guessed, not sure what to call his friend since she and Ethan surprised everyone by eloping a couple weeks ago. 

Jackie pointed in the direction of the nurses’ desk. “I hope you brought snacks. She’s in a mood again,” she warned as the steel doors closed between them.

A minute later, Bryce slunk next to Sawyer, bumping shoulders to get her attention.

“Finally. What took you so long?” Sawyer rebuked, shoving the tablet towards him. “Here, take this guy away. And while you have his head open, feel free to poke the part of his brain that disables his speech.”

“Well, aren’t you a pocketful of sunshine this morning,” he teased.

“After a few minutes with this asshole and you’ll understand why,” she said, storming off.

“Annnd, Dr. Ramsey it is,” he decided. 

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Shortly thereafter, Sawyer sat in the diagnostics office and stewed in silence as the team meeting ran over schedule. Her annoyance grew more intense with each passing minute as Ethan and Harper debated, and Tobias egged them on for his own amusement. No longer able to take it, she interrupted. 

“Do you need me? Because, if not, I have patients who do.” 

Her three colleagues snapped their heads in her direction, surprised by the bite in her tone. With raised eyebrows, she looked at the team leader and challenged him to respond. 

Ethan cleared his throat. “Uh, let’s see how the labs come back and continue this discussion when we have more information.” 

Harper and Tobias quickly got out of Dodge as Sawyer stacked her notes and gathered her things. When she stood to follow, Ethan reached for her hand and held her back.

“Hey, what’s wrong? What’s got you so wound up?”

She exhaled deeply, his touch instantly calming her.

“I’m sorry.” Frustrated tears welled in her witch-green eyes. “I'm super cranky. These third-trimester hormones are no joke. My mood the last few days has been…” 

A single teardrop fell down her cheek.

“Come here,” he urged, pulling her into his lap. “It’s been, what?” 

“It’s either been hangry or hornery or both,” she pouted and sagged her shoulders.

Cracking a smile at her dramatics, “I know what ‘hangry’ is, but 'hornery?'”

“Horny and ornery.”

With a shake of his head, Ethan caressed her swollen belly. “So, what I hear you saying is you’re irritable because you're either hungry or horny…”

“Right now, it’s both,” she interjected, her fingers seductively dancing up his chest.

“And the cure for this condition is to either feed you … or fuck you?”

“Look, I’m not saying food and sex would solve all my problems, but it would sure help me calm the hell down,” she admitted with a coquettish grin.

“Well, as much as I’d like to help you satisfy your hunger pains, all I can offer right now is this.” 

Ethan reached for the bowl of Halloween candy on the conference table.

“Boo,” she scowled playfully. Sawyer stood and sifted through the options, “I’ll take the candy corn off your hands and leave the chocolates for you. I know they’re your favorite.”

“Actually, I like candy corn,” he said, ripping a small package open with his teeth and pouring them all into his mouth.

“Seriously?” she asked, surprised.

“My dad loves them. We always had a bowl out during the season. I used to push them up on my canines when I was a kid and pretend I was Dracula.”

“Aw, cute. Well, if that’s true, then I’ll take some of these too,” she reached back into the bowl and stuffed her pockets. “Supposedly, chocolate is a good substitute for sex. Feed two birds with one scone.” 

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

A couple hours later, Sawyer was down at the lab demanding the results for one of her patients.

“What do you mean it’s going to be another four to six hours? I ordered these tests yesterday!” 

Her raised voice began to draw the attention of others, including her indirect supervisor. Ethan was just finishing a consultation with the hospital’s lead hematologist, when he heard the uproar. 

The lab assistant snapped back. “Look, lady, we’re doing the best we can. The tech will run the test as soon as he’s back from lunch.”

“Lady?! Do you see this badge? That’s Dr. Brooks to you.” 

Sawyer spewed red hot anger as she spun on her heels. From several feet away, Ethan could practically feel the heat radiating from her. Her neck and cheeks were crimsoned and her fists clenched at her sides. 

“That’s enough,” he admonished, taking Sawyer by the wrist and swiftly pulling her into a familiar and dark supply closet.

Ethan loomed over her as he backed her into a corner.  

“I know… I’m sorry,” she apologized. Sad cat-like eyes pleading for forgiveness. 

“This kind of stress isn’t good for you or the baby,” he advised. “This is serious, Sawyer. You leave me no choice but to help you calm down.” The corner of his mouth began to turn up in a sly grin, as he ran his hand over her hair. 

“Oh, thank god,” she sighed, crashing into his lips.

“We’ll…have to be…quick…and quiet,” he murmured between desperate kisses.

As Sawyer slipped out of her shoes, Ethan lent a hand, sliding her pants and underwear to the ground. As she stepped out of them, Ethan unzipped his pants and pushed them down to expose his rising need. Their white lab coats provided a curtain of privacy in the event that anyone walked in on them. 

Lifting her up around his waist, Sawyer tried to wrap her legs around him. With several extra inches around her midsection, she had a hard time locking her swollen ankles behind him and finding a comfortable position.

“Ethan, my belly. This isn’t working,” she squirmed under his hold.

Determined to make this work despite the cramped space, Sawyer slid down. She shrugged off her lab coat, turned her back to him, and placed her hands on the wall.  

Ethan took the hint immediately. His hands began to roam under her shirt, starting at her sore back. His thumbs applied light pressure as he worked his way down the length of her spine, earning a few grateful groans. He also spent a few seconds massaging her ass, finishing with a gentle squeeze. 

Closing the small gap between them, Ethan reached around and tenderly appreciated her baby bump. Then slithering his fingers into the cups of her bra, he ghosted around her sensitive nipples. 

Sawyer felt his breath next to her ear and turned her head to meet him in a passionate kiss, his erection poking and teasing her backside.

Navigating in the dark, Ethan leaned back to align himself with her entrance. “God, Sawyer,” he gasped, easily gliding between her slick folds. “You are so ready for me.”

She looked over her shoulder with a smile and jokingly reminded him of her libidinous mood swings. “What’d I tell you? Me so horny.” 

With an amused shake of his head, he pulled back gently, then began to pump his hips. Slow and soft at first.

“Mmmmm, that feels so good, babe,” Sawyer mewled.

Ethan picked up the pace. He pushed harder and deeper, but careful not to get too rough with his pregnant wife or her precious cargo.

“Ohhhh,” she let slip a little too loud.

“Shhhh, baby,” he breathed heavily, working up a sweat.

As her legs began to tremble, Sawyer kept her hands firmly braced against the wall for support. 

“I’m close…cover…my mouth,” she panted.

With a hand on her hip to hold her close and steady, Ethan reached around with his other and gently covered her mouth. He leaned in and pressed his chest against her back, resting his chin in the crook of her neck. “Let go, beautiful,” he mumbled against the feel of her rapid pulse.

After a couple deep pumps, Sawyer’s whole body shuddered. She moaned her satisfaction into Ethan’s hand. The vibrations pulsing through her body, and the warm breath against his palm, provoked his own release. Clamping his mouth onto her neck, he muted himself.

The euphoria made her forget all her aches and pain. So, when Sawyer tightened her muscles around Ethan’s still bursting length, it hardly registered when he bit down hard on her throat.

To avoid getting caught, they didn't spend much time basking in the afterglow. Ethan gave his wife a loving kiss, and when he was certain she could stand unsupported, he pulled up his pants and helped Sawyer step into hers. 

With a quick peek into the hallway, Sawyer checked to see if the coast was clear. “Hold on…it’s Wen,” she whispered, holding up a hand to halt him. 

When Dr. Wen disappeared around a corner, they exited the supply closet.

“Do you think she heard us?” 

“If she did, I’m sure she assumed it was only one of the ghosts that she believes haunts these halls,” Ethan chuckled. “The more important question is, are you feeling better?”

“Much better, thank you.”

“Well, let’s make doubly sure and head up to the cafeteria for some lunch.”

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Later that night, at home and in the shower, Ethan pushed wet hair away from Sawyer's neck and discovered the frightful bruising.

“Oh, Soe, I’m sorry,” he expressed, carefully skimming his fingers over the bite mark. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Sawyer touched the tender spot and moved around him to see her reflection in his shaving mirror. 

“Oh my gosh!” she laughed as she traced her fingers over the imprints of his teeth. “I married a freakin’ vampire!” 

“I’m sorry. But, hey,” he innocently smiled back in the mirror, “...only a vampire can love you forever.”

He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face into her neck. “Mwahahaha,” he snarled at her ear, before placing a delicate, healing kiss to the love bite.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

The next day, the newlyweds arrived at work hand in hand and walked toward the attendings’ locker room. Pausing just outside the door, Sawyer turned to face her husband. 

“Hey, just a reminder I volunteered to help in the clinic this morning. Carrick said he would do rounds for me.”

“I remembered,” Ethan said, bending down to give Sawyer a quick but loving kiss on the lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. I’ll see you later,” she returned, reluctantly letting go of his hand.

Stepping into the locker room, she spotted a familiar face. Well, sort of. 

“Whoa, that looks soooo good, Elijah. Gross, but so realistic,” Sawyer awed. 

“Thanks! Those of us in the research department agreed to dress up like lab experiments gone wrong.”

“Well, mission accomplished. And, Happy Halloween, by the way. I know it’s your favorite day of the year.” 

As Elijah excitedly talked about his zombie character - which of course was inspired by a new John Carpenter video game - Sawyer tugged on her white coat and checked her reflection in the mirror. 

The bruising on her neck was much more prominent the day after and under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the hospital. She tried to adjust her hair and fix the collar of her jacket, but it was no use. She dug through her bag searching for her makeup case, quickly realizing she left it at home.

“Shit,” she thought to herself. 

“Aren’t you dressing up this year?” 

Elijah’s question brought her back to the conversation, and an idea popped into her head. 

“About that…do you have any more fake blood?”

“Yeah, there’s a tube in my locker. Help yourself,” he offered on his way out.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Down in the free clinic, Sawyer examined a very inquisitive eight-year old who noticed the bite mark and the two drips of dried blood on her neck. 

“Say ‘ahhhh!’” she instructed, using a tongue depressor to check the back of his throat. “Good, no swelling back there.” 

“Doctor! Did you get bit by a vampire?” 

“I’m afraid I did,” she admitted, putting on a bit of an act.

“Was it Dracula?”

“That’s still up for debate,” she laughed to herself, picturing little boy Ethan with candy corn fangs.

“Did it hurt?”

“Uh-uh.” 

“Did he suck your blood?”

“Justin, for goodness sake,” his mother chided and rolled her eyes.

“It’s fine,” Sawyer waved her off.

“Did he make you into a vampire too?”

“No,” turning her back to the young patient and facing his mother, she muttered, “...he just got me pregnant.” The patient’s mother cackled out loud.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

That afternoon, Sawyer was on the fifth floor to check on a patient, when she spotted Ethan stepping into the hallway with Esme and her intern. When they were safely out of the patient’s earshot, he wheeled around on the intern and launched into a stern, and familiar, lecture. 

“...It doesn’t matter that you’re still learning…Whether this man lives or dies is on you…There is no room for mistakes…”

When he was done with his tirade, Ethan marched over to the nurses’ station and began tapping away on an iPad. 

“Don’t sweat him. He’s all bark and no bite. Isn’t that right, Dr. Brooks?” Esme asked as Sawyer approached the scene. 

Mrs. Ramsey shook her head vehemently. “Oh, no,” she spoke loud enough for Ethan to hear, “he bites alright.” When he looked up with a raised eyebrow, she winked and kept walking. 

A couple minutes later, Ethan’s phone pinged with a text notification.

Tag List: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @potionsprefect @jamespotterthefirst @annfg8 @peonierose @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @jerzwriter @quixoticdreamer16 @mysticalgalaxysstuff @inlocusmads @txemrn @trappedinfanfiction @mvalentine @takemyopenheart @openheartforeverinmyheart @coffeeheartaddict2 @genevievemd @starrystarrytrouble @hopelessromantic1352 @kyra75 @lsvdw-blog @rookiemartin @headoverheelsforramsey @zealouscanonindeer @lilyoffandoms

[irreplaceable-ecstasyy]

Old Flames

REQUEST: I swear I'm such a bitch for Lucifer and there's so little content for them-

Could I please request a Lucifer x angel/celestial being reader with a massive corruption kink and virginity loss?

Where maybe before the fall the reader was the one tempting/playing with lucifer and that lust for the reader is part of the fall? Now hundreds of years later it's Lucifer's turn to corrupt one of god's most prized creations as they try to bring about the reader's fall from grace in an act of revenge but slowly with the more time they spend together Lucifer remembers why they fall for the reader in the first place.

Reader gives into Lucifer's temptation eventually and even feels remorse for having them fall so through their loss of virginity chooses to join Lucifer on the throne of hell?

TW: Violent imagery, slight nsfw descriptions (very mild)

Word Count: 2751

[I absolutely do not know how to write smut but have some brief imagery and let your imaginations run wild. Also, no beta reader. We die like brave warriors]

You could remember the day of the Fall. Every last second of it. You had been there to see it for yourself. God had even thanked you for confiding in him. The tug of a sleeve, the malevolent thrill of your fellow celestials radiating as they praised their God for His work and the crowded throne room and the patter of footsteps echoing through the hallways. Servants, angels and creatures alike hurried to see the spectacle, hot on their heels for the best view. You knew what was happening and yet, you followed. 

The excited chirping faded into whispers as the celestials led you through the door and onto a platform behind God’s extravagant throne. You found your seat among an array while the others continued to shuffle along to settle down, some quietly hissing at each other to swap seats for the better view. How the people chattered. Listening close enough, you could hear a familiar name being thrown around. Samael. They spat and scoffed as the name rolled off their tongues, as though cursed to even mention them. You knew what was to become of them. After all, it had been your doing.

A shared kiss, then another. Hands clawing at drapery, yearning to feel the warmth of one’s skin. Parted legs, and a sinful whisper of your name, demanding for more. 

Recalling the memory in the presence of God was daring, but you stared ahead at the grand doors that would soon bring the crowd their show. You could feel your skin heat up, where their hands had caressed you, in places no person would ever think of touching. You allowed them to, but you never did succumb to the lust that they had. You could see the flame in their eyes. A gaze that could send you into trouble for giving in to temptation. You had not expected them to surrender themselves so willingly to the act of loving. Oh, but how intoxicating it had all been. Their moans filled you with delight, and every kiss you shared brought them inches closer to fate’s judgment.

You had them wrapped around your finger so easily. 

A rattle of chains shook you out of your daze and it was then you realized how quiet it had become. The silence that had befallen upon the crowd was deafening but what was more unpleasant was the shriek of the chains as they dragged along the marbled floor, in the wake of its prisoner. Samael approached the throne with their head up high, their eyes shining with spite. They did not speak nor did they seem to have the intention of defending themselves, a foolish act, you thought, but God was not one to wait for formalities.

You could recite what he had said, word for word.

“How you are fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! How you are cut down to the ground, You who weakened the nations!”

His voice rang through the room. He berated and rebuked, harsh accusations spilling for all to hear that you had not been aware of. Lust, greed, wrath- A usurper of the throne. It was more than enough to rile up the people but no one dared to speak while their God was furious. They only cheered when the banishment was announced, and they grew louder at the first sign of corruption. The black feathers were sprouting, feathers that would soon fall. But not until Lucifer had fallen first.

They did not scream when the fall began but what had unsettled you greatly was the way they smiled as she shut their eyes, bracing themself for the rush. The liberation from this place.

You were greeted with the same smile after hundreds of years. How it haunted you all those years and here you were. Had it been a taunt? Had they known you were in the audience to see your work on them? Samael had never been a fool, and Lucifer certainly was not. Their reputation was unlike anything Samael had built for themself in Heaven. Hell was their domain and they were the ruler of this wretched place. God had made a mistake of banishing an angel who could climb no higher in Heaven to a place where they could reach the highest peak. And now you were their prisoner.

The chains dragged along the floor, shrieking on marble. A reflection of the Fall. You were not afraid to meet Lucifer for they were a face you had known all too well, but it was your fate you feared for. The Devil’s revenge was one to be wary of; it was how stories were made for children to fear the Devil’s deeds to those who were unkind. Tales of karma. It was time you received what you traded for.

There was no grand audience for you in the throne room but that smile. Draped in white, a mockery of divinity, Lucifer approached you in a few strides, soon looming over you. Their fingers brushed over the chains that bound your wrists and for a brief second, their hand touched yours with a burning numbness. You refused to bow your head, even as the touch ached at your flesh, but they seemed amused by your resistance.

“When my subjects told me that they had captured themselves a prize, I didn’t believe them. . .” they began slowly as their hand nudged your chin to look upwards. “And now I owe them an apology.”

“Did you ask for my capture?”

They hummed softly. “No. The demons do as they please, and angel hunting has been a favorite these days. But here they are with a celestial… My lucky day.”

”What did they do with the other angels?”

“I’m certain you can imagine it, my dear. Is cruelty not your specialty?” Lucifer chimed.

A stupid question. The Devil would never forget those who wronged them, Not even after centuries, but you were not afraid. The pet name made our skin crawl, but it was not out of disgust. The way they’d purred it. The same name they had always called you. “What do you want from me?”

“What do I want from you?” they repeated. Leaning in, they pulled at the chains to bring you closer. “I want you to listen is all. . .”

“I am listening,” you muttered. “It can’t be all.”

“No. I want you to listen… You saw me when I fell, but you don’t know the rest of it. I want you to know what you did to me.”

“I don’t need you to tell me. I know it”-

“Always so vain…” They pulled at the chains again to shepherd you to their iron throne. Settling down, they tugged at you until you were on your knees. “God’s little favorite. Did he ever tell you how an angel loses their wings as they fall…? How hard the crash is when you land. How every demon here awaits for their kill.”

“No, He never told me. No one else knows it either,” you grumbled through gritted teeth.

“Well, I can tell you.” With a wave of their hand, the flames in the grand hearth rose to illustrate the tale. They flourished dangerously close but never flickered at your bare skin. Within it, you could see Lucifer’s figure as they fell, their blacking wings broken in the wind.  “I thought it would be painless as I fell through the gates. I saw the blue sky embrace me and I felt free, for once in my life. But I’d forgotten something an archangel once told me. The higher you stand, the harder you fall.”

The flames flared brighter and a great flame engulfed Lucifer in the vision. You watched as their wings tore apart, feather by feather, flesh and bone, ripped raw from the gripping claws of the wind. They hurtled towards the ground faster and faster until the flames splashed in a great crash. You cowered away from the impact but you did not feel a sting at all. Blanketing you, Lucifer had stretched a wing to keep you from burning and when the fire simmered down, they folded it against their back. Featherless. 

At the bottom of the hearth, you saw their figure lying there helplessly in a pool of their own blood. Gold rusting away into a deep brown. They had not screamed, just like you remembered, but the hurt you saw in their face did not need any more explanation. They laid there until the demons surrounded them but they did not tear them apart like they did to other angels. Before you could see any more, Lucifer waved their hand again and the fire returned to its original state.

“All because of a few stolen kisses and the way you made me beg for more,” they murmured. “You knew how to drive me wild, and I admit, I wasn’t careful. . .”

“If you want an apology”-

“You needn’t give such,” they interjected. “I should be thanking you. You’ve given me more power than I could ever imagine. . . You have made me God’s equal.”

Another flick of a hand, and the flames breathed back to life with another vision. The demons who found them picked them up and brought them to the courtyard of Hell, dressing them in a plain black cloak. The demons brought them no harm but the agony came from their mutilated flesh and wings. But the agony soon morphed into spite, and then into glory as Lucifer rose anew. Their wings were those of a dragon, one of the most powerful beings in the Endless, and gone were their wounds. No celestial held such power.

“Tell me. Did you know any of this?” they asked.

You shook your head. Chuckling softly, they motioned for you to stand with just a tip of their head and yanked you by the chains so that you were sat on their lap. A throne fit for pleasure. The Devil was tempting you like you had to them, but Desire had no charm on either of you in Hell. You were drawn to them, almost enchanted, and what did not help was the hand on your thigh inching dangerously close to immodesty. 

“You’ve undone me, my dear, and I’ve never had the same ever again,” they purred as their grip tightened on you. “Do you still think of the way my hands brushed against your skin? Do you crave it?”

“You’re bold to assume such!” A bold lie.

“Oh, be careful, my dear. You cannot lie to the devil. Is it not a sin to lie?” they challenged as their hand hikes up your robes. The other grasped your chin, forcing you to look at them. “God will have me punish you for it. He has had me sever the tongues of liars but I have always so loved that sharp tongue of yours. How it snaps.”

Had the circumstances been different, you would have already brought your lips to theirs. Centuries of being apart, it took a toll on you for there was no one else in Heaven who would give in to your antics. Despite it all, you held yourself back. You caught their wrist before their hand went any further but turning away from their grip did nothing. The feeling stirring inside of you; could it be panic or fear? A fear of losing to temptation or being judged by God? Which was it?

“You have given your thanks,” you spoke. “Now, why hold me in chains if you there is nothing more?”

Another chuckle. They fiddled with your chains as they brought their lips to your ear. “I want you to join me here,” they whispered, their breath tickling your ear. “Heaven has nothing for you but here? I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted.”

“You’re out of your mind- You could not possibly”-

For the nth time, Lucifer rendered you speechless. There was no one who could ever bring you to silence with just a look but Lucifer had you in a chokehold. Looking into their eyes, it was not lust you saw but. . . care. The look they had always given you when you would take them had never been desire but a deeper affection that you never allowed yourself to believe. You had seen the same look whenever you would pass each other in corridors or walk together in the Gardens. The pain you had caused them could not waver such feelings, you wondered how it was possible. It could be the power you had given them, but it could never forgive deception. It was a hard truth to face; one you did not deserve.

It surprised Lucifer themself that they would offer you something so valuable. A seat at the right hand of the ruler of Hell, another step of power. Through the years, they had been plotting your corruption, basking in the anticipation of seeing you fall one day. They were not nearly as good at deception as you were but they knew your feelings were true for them from the first time you shared a kiss. They had stalked you in the shadows, waiting for the right time to strike but whenever they had their chance, they found themselves fawning. They would retreat, plot then return to try again but each time, they would stop to watch over you instead. You had never changed. You were always kind, even to them in times of rebellion against the way Heaven functioned. It was never in your character to put someone through pain, even when you knew it was wrong. It was all God’s work.

You never had a choice in the way you lived. Residing in Hell under their own ruling, they finally knew what freedom tasted like and there was nothing for them to avenge for you had been the one to set them free from Heaven. They did not question if you had known it would redeem her freedom. What happened was past, and they were grateful. 

Presently, Lucifer knew what they were doing for you. To be corrupted here meant saving you from the Fall. You would still land in their arms upon arriving here, safe from the harm of their subjects, but after the story they had told you, you realized that it had all been out of love to save you from going through what they did. It had not been a threat but a warning. 

On top of it all, you could be here to love them without the fear of God’s unforgiving rule. Had all this been in Fate’s design?

“Even… Even after everything I’ve done to you?” you asked in shame.

“What you’ve done to me has been for the better. If you stay with me, you can do anything you want.” Their grip on your chin loosened, and it became a delicate touch. Their thumb brushed over your bottom lip. “No one will be here to judge us for being who we want to be. Loving who we want to love.”

A deal with the Devil had never sounded sweeter. You were willing to give everything to them. Your love, your affection and your purity. It was all it took to be corrupted. It was so easy losing it all than keeping it, but in Hell, you were free of such a system. There were no virtues to uphold and no laws that forced you to be as you were expected. You could be anything you wanted, do anything you wanted.

Taking Lucifer’s cheeks into your palms, you brought them into a kiss. Soft and gentle, as if you were worried about hurting them again. They returned more than happily and they enveloped you in their arms in a warm embrace. You missed this terribly and now you could have it all for lifetimes. You pulled away for breath and pressed your forehead against theirs.

“Take me… Please.”

“Your wish is my command, my dear, dear Celestial…”

The moment you were unshackled, you threw your arms around their neck and caught her lips in another kiss. Greedy. Lustful. You had not a care in the world except for making up with Lucifer for centuries of depravity and the guilt of abandoning them. You gave them everything that made you an angel, and you were never turning back. Not when they had stripped you bare of your robes and especially not when they marked your perfect skin.

You were theirs to keep in Hell forever.

Could I please request a Lucifer x angel/celestial being reader with a massive corruption kink and virginity loss?

Where maybe before the fall the reader was the one tempting/playing with lucifer and that lust for the reader is part of the fall? Now hundreds of years later it's Lucifer's turn to corrupt one of god's most prized creations as they try to bring about the reader's fall from grace in an act of revenge but slowly with the more time they spend together Lucifer remembers why they fall for the reader in the first place.

Reader gives into Lucifer's temptation eventually and even feels remorse for having them fall so through their loss of virginity chooses to join Lucifer on the throne of hell?

[mariacallous]

Last month’s local election results in Turkey delivered a harsh blow to President Recep Tayyip Erdogan and the ruling Justice and Development Party (AKP). Just under a year since the presidential election, in which Erdogan won another five years in power, Turkey’s opposition party—the Republican People’s Party (CHP)—won big victories in the majority of the country’s largest cities, including Istanbul, the economic powerhouse of Turkey. Thirty-five provincial capitals (out of a total of 81) now have a CHP mayor, while the AKP-led People’s Alliance has just 24. The CHP also scraped past Erdogan’s party in the country overall, garnering 37.8 percent of the votes compared to 35.5 percent for the AKP.

The CHP’s victory is a hopeful signal of the resilience of Turkish democracy and its electoral system. After the CHP’s disappointing results in last year’s presidential election, where it only managed a little over 47 percent of the vote, its share of the national vote came as a shock to many experts. It was a surprising achievement, not least because nearly 90 percent of Turkey’s media is in the hands of the government or its supporters, granting the ruling party a lopsided advantage when campaigning.

For years, analysts have argued that Turkey has slid away from democracy and given way to authoritarian politics—with Erdogan leading the way. A single election does not erase years of calculated efforts to centralize power and remove checks and balances on the president. And yet, despite an uneven playing field, the opposition largely prevailed. Even Erdogan himself acknowledged that “regardless of the results, the winner of this election is primarily democracy.”

There may or may not be any real feeling behind the president’s statement. But the fact that he gave these conciliatory remarks on the night of the election is, in itself, surprising. Erdogan is not in immediate political peril himself. The next presidential elections will not take place until 2028. But it turns out that he has less space in which to maneuver than some analysts previously assumed.

At present, Erdogan is constitutionally limited from running for election in 2028. There’s been speculation that a new constitution could lift that limit. But the uncertainty introduced by the recent opposition victories makes that much less likely, buying democratic forces in Turkey more time.

It’s not clear what would be in a new constitution, but it could include an end to current term limits on the president, a move away from Turkey’s long-enshrined status as a secular state, and the strengthening of the central government’s power over the judiciary. However, introducing the constitution—which the president has stated he intends to do—would require a public referendum. Moving forward with a new constitution after these election results could risk strong public rebuke, and Erdogan may now feel far less confident in a referendum victory.

The requirement to hold a referendum for amendments to the constitution (enshrined in the document since 1982) provides a level of protection for Turkish democracy. Compare this to Hungary, where the erosion of democracy has largely been carried out through legal means. Hungary’s original constitution tipped the balance in favor of large parties and, in 2010, when Fidesz (Prime Minister Viktor Orban’s right-wing populist party) won 53 percent of the vote, it was able to convert its small majority into 68 percent of the seats in parliament. Subsequently, though the bar for writing a new Hungarian constitution was set at a four-fifths majority, the rule itself could be overturned by a two-thirds majority—which Fidesz did and immediately began drafting a constitution that gave the government significant new powers.

In contrast, the Turkish constitution means that Erdogan is still beholden to the public. He has already made significant changes to the constitution, including amending it in 2017 to shift from a parliamentary system to a presidential one. Those amendments were accepted both by parliament and—narrowly—through a referendum. Further revisions, and the introduction of a new document, will require significant public support the president may not have.

Turkey’s democracy also benefits from its decentralized voting process, which makes manipulating results on election day more difficult—and voter turnout is consistently high, with turnout at around 76 percent in last month’s elections. Allegations of election fraud are not unheard of, but the diffuse, paper-based nature of the process makes systematic fraud harder to accomplish.

In another indication of the resilience of the Turkish electoral system, electoral authorities overturned a decision by the local election board in Van, which had handed the mayoralty to the AKP candidate, despite the Peoples’ Equality and Democracy (DEM) party candidate besting him by 28 percentage points. This may be a small victory for democracy but is an unusual outcome in the Kurdish-dominated southeast, given the central government is traditionally not disposed to side with Kurdish voters.

Critically, Turkey’s political opposition is still an effective force and has not been excised from the electoral system, as it has been in other countries. Closing political and civic spaces is a common tactic for authoritarian leaders—such as in Venezuela, where arbitrary arrests and the criminalization of opposition parties’ activities were reported during regional and municipal elections in 2021. The disproportionate resources at the AKP’s disposal have made campaigns increasingly unbalanced, and the government has taken advantage of the legal system to jail and disqualify opposition candidates. Still, the CHP’s victory in seven of the 10 most populous Turkish cities and its overall share of the vote show that real political opposition, key to a functioning democracy, can still operate.

A single, if surprising, election doesn’t mean Turkey’s democracy is thriving, or even on the mend. It may be difficult for the opposition to sustain its current approach for the next four years. Ekrem Imamoglu—Istanbul’s mayor, often touted as a potential CHP presidential candidate—faces multiple court cases that could be used to bar him from running for president. Erdogan may turn to more authoritarian tactics to hold onto power, and how he chooses to respond politically could impact the future of Turkish democracy. If he doubles down on restricting the political space, including by following up on the outstanding court cases against opposition candidates—it will be for the worse.

But first, Erdogan will have to start by addressing his country’s economic woes. Inflation climbed to nearly 70 percent in March, and interest rates hit 50 percent the same month. Though the crisis hardly touched Erdogan’s popularity in the presidential election last year, the same does not seem to be true for his party. To have any hope of recouping the AKP’s political losses, Erdogan will have to improve the outlook for millions of Turks hit hard by the economic crisis.

If he succeeds, it would be a win for the general population—though it may also mean he seizes the opportunity to capitalize on any upswing in public opinion to introduce his proposed new constitution. He may also seek the support he needs for a referendum by pursuing a closer relationship with right-wing nationalists and Islamists. By tempting traditionally conservative AKP voters back into the fold, he could regain those he lost to the Islamist New Welfare Party in last month’s election.

Turkey has a long way to go before it can be considered a liberal democratic country. Its democracy has declined precipitously in the past 15 years; but this election signals that there are pockets of resilience. That’s worth paying attention to. A more resilient Turkish democracy merits encouragement and hope—not least because, as a global swing state, the choices that Turkey makes may have an impact beyond its borders.

[masterqwertster]

Ooh always love seeing the Hurt/Comfort D&D Subclass Prompts make a reappearance. Also love a good time travel/loop story, so might I request Chronurgy Wizard for any CR character?

Subclass Hurt/Comfort Prompt Chronurgy Wizard: Going back in time to try and stop the event from happening to them. I chose Imogen trying to save Laudna in a weird dunamancy mess courtesy of Ashton.

Imogen can’t help herself. 

Not when she can see the refracted image of Laudna, all dressed up and flush with life, walking up the road to Castle Whitestone, her parents at her side, in one facet of the crystal labyrinth they’ve all been thrown into by a clash of dunamancy and Ashton’s own dunamantic nature. 

Not when Imogen has the gut feeling, the certainty, that if she can push through the crystal glass like that disastrous dive into Ashton’s mind, she will actually be in that moment.

This is a place of possibility and time and space (and gravity, though she doesn’t see its effects here not yet). 

If Imogen can make it work with her, those powers could allow her to undo the worst thing to ever happen to Laudna. She could save Laudna. From the cruelty of her first death. From the harsh glares judging her appearance instead of her bright personality. From Delilah fucking Briarwood and nearly 30 years of isolation. 

An inexorable gravity draws her to that scene that she could change for the better. So Imogen places her hand to the glass and pushes.

It doesn’t yield, and for a moment, Imogen can feel a noose around her neck, strangling her. 

This is what Laudna experienced, how she will die if Imogen doesn’t interfere. 

Still drawn to it, Imogen pushes harder against the glass, electrical sparks dancing across her hand. Yet again, it’s not enough. The burning sensation of knives through the curve of her ears echo back, the mutilation that still marks Laudna to this day. 

Again. Small arcs of electricity dancing around her hands and forearms as Imogen pushes, mind and soul and body (is it even her actual body in this space, or all mental?).

Imogen stumbles through onto the road, Laudna and her parents about a hundred feet ahead of her.

As she begins to sprint towards them, Laudna’s name on her lips, Imogen feels the kiss of a knife to her wrist. Not deep enough to open her artery, but close enough to flirt with the idea of it. Hot blood spills across her fingers, but she has to press on. For Laudna.

“Wait!” Imogen pants out, magic flowing into the word to make them pause as she draws up to the little family, ignoring the phantom blade that kisses her other wrist, closer to the essential veins.

“What–? Oh! You poor thing, your wrists,” Laudna exclaims upon seeing her.

“Don’t worry about me. If you go up to that castle, she’s gonna kill you. All of you,” Imogen desperately imparts, hoping it will turn them away from this awful path.

“Now that’s not a nice thing to say. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity!” Laudna’s father rebukes her, even as a glint of fear gathers in his eyes.

“I’m beggin’ you, please don’t go up there. Please,” Imogen pleads, looking Laudna dead in the eyes, hoping against hope she’ll be believed. Ignores the almondy taste on her tongue as she says the words, painful, poisonous nausea roiling through her gut.

“They could just send the guards to collect us anyways,” Laudna quietly responds, even as her eyes dart about, looking for escape.

“I’ll protect you. I promise. Just come with me.” 

A glowing, lightning scarred hand offered. Accepted by a trembling hand (too warm, too plush. But the difference is okay because it will be better. It will).

“Now hold on, Matilda. You can’t just give up this opportunity on a stranger! This is your one chance to try to impress the Lady of Whitestone, to convince her to teach you real magic!” Laudna Matilda’s mother protests.

“I can teach her,” Imogen insists, anything to get her away. Except as she tries to cast her Dancing Lights to prove her claim, river water fills her throat and splatters down her front as she chokes it out.

“Are you sure you’ve actually got control over what you do?” Matilda’s father asks skeptically.

Imogen growls at his stubbornness, and flares her power, rising off the ground, hair floating and electricity crackling around her. 

“Still think I’ve got nothin’ to teach her?” Imogen grits out, glaring down at him, daring him to keep doubting her.

There’s fear in his eyes as he takes an unsteady step back and shakes his head, conceding to her. Finally. Now Imogen just has to get them out of here and it’ll be fine–

Imogen chokes on blood as her throat opens, draining her life away. The last thing she sees as it all goes dark is Matilda’s horrified face. And red and blue flickers around everything.

___

Imogen wakes with a gasp, rolling to her side to heave the last of the blood from her lungs.

“That was a really fucking stupid thing to do.”

She turns a glare towards Ashton, their seated position suggesting her head had been in their lap previously.

“It was not stupid to try and save her,” she hisses, even as she aches terribly.

“Laudna saved your life. If there’s no Laudna, there’s no you,” he evenly replies, his face tired and strained as sharp sparks burst in the glass in his head.

“I know that. But she didn’t need to die. To have Delilah stuck in her head,” Imogen stubbornly refutes, still drawn dragged towards the idea of saving her.

“She wouldn’t be Laudna if she didn’t. She’d be Matilda, an old woman living somewhere, or dead in the ground,” Ashton tells her, purple galaxies swirling across their eyes and glass for a moment.

“...You put it back,” Imogen accuses Ashton. 

If it really is Ashton. Or, well, just Ashton. She doesn’t think they are, not when Ashton doesn’t really have that kind of control of their powers. But infinite versions of Ashton exist inside them, so maybe this is one version that does and thinks they can ‘help.’

“I don’t want you to die. Laudna doesn’t want you to die. And the future is fucking full of possibilities. She doesn’t fall to Delilah in all of them,” they say, offering her hope with a wry grin. “So stick around and work on it, instead of destroying yourself.”

“Okay,” Imogen says after a moment, feeling that demanding draw start to fade. (Feeling a dawning horror for how a strange gravity pulled her to chase that sacrificial, suicidal act. What is gravity but attraction? And she was so attracted to the idea of saving Laudna)

“Great.”

They grin widely at her, and Imogen blacks out again.

I did some rolling for this adventure. First to get through the glass, DC13 Wis, 2d6 damage if fail from Chaos Burst Rebuff. First roll, Nat 1, Failure, 6 damage. Second roll 8+1, Failure, 7 damage. Third roll 13+1, Success. Next 2d6 damage plus another d6 for each turn to go through with saving Laudna as the paradox of no Laudna rips at Imogen. Because if Laudna fully escaped the dinner and being hung on the Sun Tree, she’s got little reason to ever meet Imogen later, and Imogen has said that she was real close to trying suicide when Laudna showed up and gave her reason to live, so no Laudna feels like a no Imogen situation. First round, Dash and 5 damage. Second round, run and Command (all fail save with 12, 10, 18 against DC19) and 10 damage. Third round, persuading Matilda to come with her DC30 19+15, success and 17 damage. Fourth round, convincing mom DC30 17+15, success and 15 damage. Fifth round, Imogen casts Fly, Intimidation against dad DC15 14+5 success, 23 damage, bringing Imogen to exactly 0hp.

[unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240]

Do we all need a refresher on tochecha? I think that the last several days of internet have shown me that perhaps we all might.

Here's an excellent article from Rabbi Freedman of Rodeph Shalom:

Tochecha: How We Rebuke

Picture the scene: The Israelites have been wandering for 40 years in the desert and are finally on the banks of the Jordan river just mere miles from the Holy Land. Moses, knowing that his time as their leader is coming to end, offers one final speech to his people. This not-so-short speech, which is basically the entire book of Deuteronomy, is a look back at their shared history and words of advice for their future. Specifically in this first portion of Deuteronomy, D’varim, Moses does not mince words and offers a harsh rebuke of his people. He says:

…you rebelled against the command of your God. You grumbled in your tents… I said to you, “Do not be terrified; do not be afraid…your God, who is going before you, will fight for you, as God did for you in Egypt…” In spite of this, you did not trust in your God, and when God heard what you said, God was angry and solemnly swore that no one from this evil generation shall see the good land I swore to give your ancestors… And because of you God became angry with me also and said, “You shall not enter it, either.

We have name for this type of unsolicited advice in Judaism – tochecha. Literally, tochecha is a reproof or a rebuke, a spoken frankness that reveals a fixable flaw. The purpose of giving a tochecha is to point out an important truth that someone just seems to keep missing. It is one of Judaism’s most spiritual practices, not to be dished out carelessly or in anger, but with genuine concern for another human being.

In the case of Moses and the Israelites, the tochecha from Moses is related to people’s lack of faith in God. Moses, seemingly coming from a place of love, is worried that if they continue to grumble, and fear, and fail to have faith, then it will not end well for the Israelites; especially without Moses to have their back as has throughout the journey. Moses knows he will no longer be there to help his people and so this final speech, this final rebuke, is an act of love.

Fundamentally, tochecha is a mitzvah of connection — a cornerstone of healthy relationships and strong community. If we can trust our neighbors to tell us the truth lovingly, and if we can hear a reprimand with calm consideration, then our path to one of Judaism’s most sought after spiritual destinations, shalom/wholeness, is well paved.

Tochecha — the art of giving and receiving honest feedback or rebuke — is part of the biblical formula for sustaining friendships and relationships. According to the talmudic rabbis, it is an integral part of love; without tochecha, love cannot endure. (Bereshit Raba 54:3) I see evidence of this every day while counselling wedding couples. Those who are skilled at giving and receiving feedback are able to sustain healthy relationships over the long term, while those who lack such skills are ill-equipped to deal with relationship challenges when they arise. Tochecha requires great integrity and impeccable communication skills. It also requires the use of an array of psychological capacities and virtues, including humility, empathy, mindfulness, courage, non-defensiveness, and integration. While highly evolved individuals welcome tochecha as an opportunity for self-improvement, most people defend against having their shortcomings pointed out to them, and they will employ a range of psychological defenses, including denial and projection, to protect themselves from the pain of reproof. According to Estelle Frankel, a psychotherapist and Jewish educator, we increase the likelihood that our words will be heard by paying attention to three things: our timing, tone, and intention.

Timing: The rabbis teach that just as it is a mitzvah to offer words of tochecha when our words are likely to be heard, it is a mitzvah to stay silent when our words will not be heard. (Yevamot 65) Before speaking, we need to be mindful of our own emotional state as well as that of the listener. If we are emotionally triggered or angry, or notice that the listener is in a state of agitation, it is better to wait for a more opportune time — one that is mutually agreed upon.

Tone: A voice that is angry, disdainful, blaming, or judgmental can undermine our message. It is better to communicate tochecha with humility and empathy. Remembering that we are all flawed and that we all possess the capacity for wrongdoing is key. When possible, offer feedback and insight as an equally imperfect individual — no better or worse than anyone else. As it says in Pirkei Avot (Chapter 2, Mishnah 5), “Do not judge your neighbors until you have stood in their place.”

Intention: Tochecha is not simply a matter of venting; rather, it involves a conscious effort to heal a breach in a relationship or to help others to awaken to their spiritual and moral deficits. Tochecha is most effective when we make use of our psychological capacity for integration — the ability to see ourselves and others as whole beings with strengths and weaknesses, virtues and vices. With integration, we do not define people by their mistakes and flaws; rather, we point out specific criticisms at the same time that we remember the person’s essential goodness. When giving tochecha, it is helpful to express our loving concern, respect, and appreciation alongside any critique. Doing so reduces defensiveness and any sense that the criticism is an assault on the individual’s character.

Looking back now upon Moses’ words of rebuke in this chapter, we find that perhaps he could have done it a bit better. One of the amazing aspects of our tradition is that our prophets are not perfect and that we actually learn quite a bit from their failings. Moses’ tone seems overly harsh and the setting perhaps not ideal. In addition, I think there is one more major flaw in Moses’ rebuke.

The Baal Shem Tov (c.1698-1760), the founder of Chasidism, taught that if we see another person doing something ugly, we should meditate on the presence of that same ugliness in ourselves. He writes that we should, “know that it is one of God’s mercies that God brought this sight before our eyes in order to remind us of that our own faults, so as to bring us back in repentance…” He then gives examples such as, “if you saw someone desecrating Shabbat, or desecrating God’s name some other way, you should examine your own deeds and you will certainly find among them desecration of the Shabbat and cursing God’s name.”

According to the Baal Shem Tov sometimes when we judge others about a particular character fault, we might actually be subconsciously critiquing a character fault of our own. Since we’re uncomfortable doing a self-critique because it hurts too much, yet at the same time we don’t like that aspect of ourselves, we “project” that unwanted character trait onto another individual and critique the other person—which is a much more comfortable thing to do. What the Baal Shem Tov is asking us to do is to be aware that we might subconsciously do this, and to focus our critique inward instead.

Moses is near the end of his life, knows he won’t be going into the land and is working through some issues – trying to come to terms with his own failings and thus projecting them on others. Yes, the people had anger issues, trust issues and complained a lot during the journey. But so did Moses! Moses claims that he won’t be allowed in the land because of the people’s sin. Here Moses is failing to see his own flaws and projecting them on his people.

When we practice tochecha, who are we doing it for? To what degree do we see our own failings in our loved ones? It is not always so easy in the moment but we most constantly ask ourselves before giving criticism, who is this for? Is the timing and tone right? What are my intentions? Will this person actually listen? How can I give feedback in the most thoughtful, least humiliating way?

I’ll end with a short story about the famous 19th century rabbi, Israel Kagan, also known as the Chofetz Chayim, which illustrates one possible, non-shaming way to give tochecha. A student at the yeshiva was caught smoking on the Shabbat. When he was called into the Chofetz Chayim’s office, he anticipated being harshly rebuked. Instead, the old rabbi took the young man’s hands into his own and gazed into his eyes with loving concern and sorrow. A tear fell from the rabbi’s eyes, landing on the student’s hand as he uttered three words: “Shabbos, Shabbos HaKodesh – Shabbat, Shabbat is holy.” The young man was deeply distressed to have caused his teacher such sorrow. On the spot, he repented and never broke the Sabbath again. The rabbi’s tears, an expression of his love and concern, left an indelible mark on the young man’s soul.

For further reading, Sefaria has you covered.

[kazoosandfannypacks]

"Flowers" The Shuttle ficlet for @monthly-challenge day 4!

Whenever Bettina visited Stornham, she'd spend as much time as possible in the garden. Something about it reminded Betty of herself, in a way. A garden was a busy place, with the lives of thousands of plants that couldn't grow without a consistent hand to help, and Bettina could naught but help it. While Kedgers and his team were more than fit for the job, Bettina couldn't forget how he had responded those months ago when she spoke of her return to America.

"Not here, miss! You, not here? Things wouldn't grow, miss!"

She knew that didn't make sense scientifically, but it was a lovely thought to dwell on, and if her presence made the gardeners believe their plants could survive, who was she to say otherwise? Maybe the power of their belief in her led to a diligent work at their tasks, and if that was the case, then, given the state of the gardens, it was paying off.

Acacia bordered and carnation and ambrosia. Crocuses and zinnia and everything in between gave forth their colors. Near a fountain toward the center of the garden was a patch of bluebells, which brought a smile to Bettina's face along with a precious memory.

She stopped and took a seat on the edge of the fountain, catching a glimmer of her eyes reflected in its blue. She then produced a notebook and jotted down a few names of flowers. The gardens at Dunstanwolde didn't rank high on the list of restorations necessary in light of the crumbling state of the rest of the estate, but she was ever a planner, and she knew it wouldn't be an eternity before she found herself tromping about Dunstanwolde's sprawling lawns with her husband once again, this time to see them flecked with a glory of color and life none had seen for generations.

And as silly and sentimental as it sounded, the first flower on her list for the gardens was bluebells.

Her schemes and dreams were interrupted by a lone visitor: her nephew, Ughtred, emerging from a path on the other side of the garden.

"I didn't expect to see you out here, Aunt Betty," he said, quickly hiding his hands behind his back.

"Oh?" Bettina asked, "then may I ask what you're doing?"

He hung his head a little and held out his hands, an assortment of flowers curled up in each fist, their stems bent and some of thier roots still clinging to the earth. Any other adult with a knowledge of plants such as Betty had might've scolded him at once for picking flowers from the garden, but Betty was unlike most adults. She also knew that Ughtred was unlike most kids, and little he did was without reason.

"What are those?" Bettina asked.

"Flowers," he said, "I picked them from the garden. I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't, but I..."

His hasty excuse made it clear he expected a harsh rebuke, but instead his aunt rose, then knelt before him and took the flowers from his hands.

"Don't worry, Ughtred," Bettina said, rearranging the bouquet in her hands as she spoke, "you're not in trouble. Who are these for?"

"For mother," he said.

"All of the garden is yours and your mother's," Bettina said.

"I know," Ughtred said, "but I wanted to give her some flowers anyways."

This would be a normal notion around Mother's day, or a birthday, or anniversary, or Christmas, but this week held no such day.

"May I ask why?" Bettina asked.

Ughtred nodded. "Sometimes Grandpa Rueben gives Grandma Annie flowers. Uncle Dunstan gives you flowers, and Lord Alanby gives flowers to Lady Jane. Mother doesn't have anyone to give flowers to her, and she never has."

A wave of emotion overtook Bettina. She could recall a time in her sister's youthful days of courtship in New York when her room overflowed with the colors and fragrance of dozens of flowers from dozens of hopeful admirers, but there was much doubt that in twelve years of marriage Nigel had ever cared enough to waste her money on such a wonderful trinket of affection as even a singular daisy.

"She does," Bettina said, brushing a few clumps of dirt from the root of some of the flowers before handing them back to Ughtred, "she has you."

She kissed her nephew's forehead and stood up.

"Come with me," she said, holding her hand to him.

"Where are we going?" Ughtred asked, taking his aunt's hand in his empty one.

"First, we're going to apologize to Mr. Kedger's for tearing a few flowers from his garden," Bettina said, "then, we're gonna ask him for a special favor."

"What's that?" Ughtred asked, eyes wide with wonder, having grown quite fond in the last year of Aunt Betty's "special favors."

"A bit of earth," Bettina said, and she met his inquisitive expression with an inquisition of her own: "Ughtred, how would you like your own little garden, where you can grow whatever flowers for your mother you'd like to?"

"You mean it?" Ughtred asked.

"Now, it is a responsibility," she said, "you must make sure to check on it, every day, and follow Mr. Kedgers' instructions on anything he tells you."

"Of course," Ughtred said.

Someday, Bettina knew, Ughtred would have a garden to himself the size of Stornham estate. Someday, he'd have a responsibility to check on land much larger than a few yards of earth. It was too soon to tell how the land might flourish under his rule, but Bettina could be sure of one thing.

For as long as Ughtred lived, his mother would always have flowers.

[beefromanoff]

Going Under Ch. 30

summary: Gianna and Bucky getting used to their new normal. Gianna performs for the first time since her tour.

characters: Bucky Barnes x OC

soundtrack: Silver Springs - Fleetwood Mac

warnings: fluff, pop star fantasy x love story, set in an AU where the Avengers reunite after Civil War, pre-infinity war, slight angst, hurt/comfort, lonely reader/OC.

author’s note: more angst, so many emotions! this is the plan I've had for this story for SO LONG. I am so so glad to finally get to write it, as painful and sad as it was. it has to hurt before it can get better. pls trust me.

ilysm, thank you for reading! please let me know what you think!

chapter list

________________________________

Gianna

The early morning air in New York was crisp, announcing the slow arrival of spring. Gianna, wrapped in an embarrassingly expensive coat, sat alone at the patio of a small coffee shop near her apartment. The sun was barely making its way over the buildings, casting long shadows on the empty streets. It was a place she and Bucky had never visited, a quiet spot she had discovered on her own. As much as she longed for the comfort of old familiar shops, she couldn’t help but feel thankful to have found places untouched by painful memories.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as Gianna sipped her cappuccino, staring into the swirls of foam. The city, usually bustling with life, felt calm and distant at this hour.

As she lost herself in thoughts, she didn’t notice two teenage girls approaching nervously. They wore wide smiles that faltered a bit when Gianna lifted her eyes to them. The apprehension in their eyes betrayed a mix of excitement and hesitation.

"Excuse me, Gianna Cruz?" one of them stammered.

A gentle smile played on Gianna's lips as she nodded, "Guilty."

The girls exchanged glances, building the courage to make their request. "Could we take a photo with you?" one finally blurted out.

"Of course," Gianna replied, her smile widening. She stood up, setting her cup down, and posed for a selfie that would undoubtedly end up on social media. Fortunately, she positioned herself against a relatively nondescript wall, hoping her new favorite location wouldn’t be broadcast to the world.

The girls buzzed with energy as they bumped into each other while leaving. “Oh,” One of them turned back to Gianna. “I’m sorry about Bucky. We were rooting for you guys.” 

Gianna gave a polite smile, ignoring the twist in her gut. “Thank you.”

As the girls thanked her again and walked away, their nervous energy palpable, Gianna returned to her seat. She checked her phone, a habit born out of the loneliness that had crept back into her life.

A text to Tom, her manager, sat unsent. She’d typed and deleted it over and over again in the past few weeks as she tried to establish a new normal. This time, she pressed send instead of delete. 

I’m ready to perform again.

Bucky

The training room in the Avengers Compound echoed with the thuds of fists striking pads, boots scraping against the mat, and the grunts of exertion. Bucky, clad in his training gear, led a group of SHIELD agents through an intense combat training session. His movements were swift, precise, and laced with a barely-controlled aggression that seemed to cut through the air.

Something was off. It had been for weeks.

Steve and Natasha stood on the sidelines, watching their friend with furrowed brows. Bucky's formerly stoic composure was replaced by an intensity that bordered on ferocity. Each correction he made was sharper, each word a biting rebuke. The harshness of his training was a mirror of the turmoil within him. They’d hoped that it would improve with the more time that passed since Gianna’s departure, but it had only gotten worse.

An agent faltered in executing a particular maneuver, and Bucky's reaction was enough to silence the whole room. 

"No, no, no!" he barked, his voice cutting through the room. "You're leaving yourself wide open. What if your life depended on this? You'd be dead!"

Steve exchanged a concerned glance with Natasha. This wasn't the Bucky they knew. He was always sharp, intense, but this was different — a raw anger fueled by something deeper.

Natasha whispered, "Steve, we can't let him continue like this. He's pushing them too hard. He's hurting, and it's bleeding into everything he does."

Steve nodded solemnly. "I'll talk to him."

As the training session ended and the agents filed out, looking more dejected than usual, Steve approached Bucky. The echoes of combat had faded, leaving a tense silence in their wake.

"Bucky, can we talk?" Steve's voice was calm, a stark contrast to his friend’s demeanor.

Bucky glanced at Steve as he began to wrap his hands for sparring.  "Not really in the mood to talk right now."

Steve persisted, his concern unwavering. "You’re not okay, Buck. We've all noticed. You're snapping at everyone. Let me help."

Bucky's jaw clenched, and for a moment, the ghost of the Winter Soldier seemed to flash behind his eyes. "I said not now."

Steve frowned as he watched Bucky finish wrapping his hands and begin to strike the punching bag. Picking his battles, he turned and slowly left the room. 

Gianna

The green room buzzed with activity as Gianna prepared for her appearance on The Tonight Show. Kate, her longtime makeup artist, applied the finishing touches like they were back in the old days of touring. The scent of hairspray and the hum of anticipation filled the room.

As Kate delicately worked on Gianna's makeup, the singer's mind drifted to a time when this routine was a familiar prelude to the bright lights and applause of a concert stage. She remembered another green room, far away from the studio here at 30 Rockefeller Plaza, where Bucky would wait with her, sharing a quiet moment before the chaos began.

The memories played in her mind like an old film reel. Bucky's calm presence, the shared candy, the laughs and the way his hands felt helping her in and out of her sequin bodysuits. There was a warmth in those memories that contrasted sharply with the chill of the present.

"Gianna, you're up in five," a stage manager peeked in, bringing her back to the present.

She took a deep breath, suppressing the twinge of nostalgia. "Thanks," she said, steeling herself to put her public persona back on. After a few final touch ups, she slid into her heels and was ready to go face the world for the first time since her press conference all those months ago.

The stage manager ushered her through the backstage area of the iconic Tonight Show set. The familiar sight stirred a mix of nerves and anticipation. The last time she was on a stage like this, Bucky stood in the wings. Now she was alone. She shook her head to clear it of the one thing she couldn’t afford to think about and plastered a fake, but dazzling smile on her face just as she stepped into the stage lights.

The interview with Jimmy Fallon began with casual banter, what she loved his show for in the first place. He asked all the pre-approved questions about her outfit, her new label, rumors that she was making a cameo in an upcoming film. Ever the charismatic host, he teased about the mysteries of her time away and what happened at the famed Avengers’ Compound. Practiced in the art of deflecting, she steered clear of specifics, smiling and evading with the skill of a seasoned celebrity.

"So, Gianna, what's next for you?" Jimmy asked, sipping his coffee.

Gianna grinned, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Well, Jimmy, let's just say, the stage missed me as much as I missed it. Stay tuned, because the tour might be making a comeback very soon."

The audience erupted into applause, only calming down when prompted by the monitors off camera.

"And what about the time off? Any inspiration for new music?" Jimmy prodded.

Gianna's expression remained composed. "It's been a journey, and I'm excited about what's to come. As for new music, I guess you’ll just have to wait and see."

Jimmy nodded, accepting the enigmatic response. "Well, Gianna, we can't wait for your performance later. Stick around, folks. We'll be right back after this break!"

The stage lights dimmed as the show cut to commercial, leaving Gianna with a moment of respite before the live performance. She stood as foreign hands removed her wired microphone and gave her a handheld. For a moment, she felt like she traveled straight back into the past. The weight of the microphone in her hand, the heat of the stage lights. She swore if she looked to her right, she’d see Bucky’s grinning face shielded from the crowd by the thick black curtain. 

Bucky

The spacious living room of the Avengers Compound was bathed in the flickering glow of the television. Sam sprawled, Wanda perched on the armrest, Peter lounging on the floor with a bag of snacks, and Natasha in her customary spot in the corner of the massive sectional. The atmosphere, usually vibrant with banter and camaraderie, felt subdued.

As the team waited for Bucky and Steve to return from their mission, the silence of the room was disrupted by the familiar sound of studio applause as the commercial break ended. The Tonight Show played on the large screen, Jimmy Fallon engaging the audience with his infectious energy as he introduced the first guest, none other than Gianna Cruz.

The atmosphere shifted slightly as Gianna's smiling face appeared on the screen. An involuntary hush swept through the room, replacing the calm with a more somber air as they watched her walk across the set to take her seat by Jimmy. Wanda broke the silence.

"I miss her," she said, her eyes fixed on the television.

The sentiment hung in the room, acknowledged by shared glances but unsaid for a while. 

Natasha added, "It's been quieter since she left."

"Yeah, things aren't the same without her." Peter toyed with the hem of the blanket on his lap

Wanda sighed, "She looks happy, though."

Natasha shared a small smile. "She deserves to be."

The team had purposefully avoided discussing Gianna in Bucky's presence, out of respect for his feelings. Yet, the absence of her laughter and vivacity had left a void that echoed through the Compound. Wanda had tried to keep the team dinners alive, but without Gianna to help cook, it was a tall task. Not to mention that Bucky preferred solitude these days anyway.

As the interview progressed, they admired Gianna's poise and the way she navigated the questions. Her makeup was flawless, her smile bright and cheeks rosy, but her eyes were smokier than usual. The dark liner was different, bringing a new intensity to her face. Hearing her voice in the common room felt familiar and foreign now that several weeks had passed and changed so much. With the chaos of the night she left, no one had really gotten to say goodbye to Gianna. Nat, being the one who flew her back to New York, came the closest. All they really exchanged was a sad hug and courtesy of Nat allowing her to cry in silence the whole flight back to the city. Wanda took it the hardest, second only to Bucky. She’d grown accustomed to having her friend around, and now her absence left a glaring hole.

In a fleeting moment of vulnerability, Wanda whispered, "I really hope she's doing well."

Gianna

In the studio, the set was simply a microphone stand and the musicians cloaked in shadow behind her, a stark contrast to Gianna's usual vibrant and glittering performances. Tonight, she stood resplendent in a sleek black dress, a departure from her signature pastels and sequins. She’d told her stylist she wanted a change. She wouldn’t admit it, but the dark colors were her way of mourning the love she lost and the life she dreamt of with it.

“I know everyone’s waiting for new music, but tonight I thought I’d pay tribute to one of my favorite bands, Fleetwood Mac. This song has always been beautiful, but it’s been especially resonating with me lately.” She gave a small smile. “I hope you enjoy.” 

As the haunting chords of Fleetwood Mac's "Silver Springs" began, Gianna closed her eyes and felt the warmth of the stage lights enveloping her. She wrapped her hands around the microphone and began to sing. 

Bucky

Heavy footsteps sounded in the kitchen and grew louder toward the living room. Steve and Bucky rounded the corner, still fully dressed in their uniforms. Steve’s helmet sat on his head, the chinstrap unbuttoned. Bucky’s hair was tousled, his eyebrow cut. Dirt and exhaustion covered both of their faces after being gone for two days. Steve paused, Bucky nearly running into him. His blue eyes locked onto the screen and the woman standing there.

The room's energy shifted, an unspoken tension taking hold. Natasha moved to change the channel, but Bucky's restrained voice stopped her. 

"Don't."

Gianna

And can you tell me was it worth it?

Baby, I don't want to know

Her voice was guttural, haunting. She sang with her eyes closed, brows knit together.

Steve shot Bucky a worried look, his own concern mirroring that of the rest of the team. Bucky didn’t move, every muscle tense.

Time cast a spell on you, but you won't forget me

I know I could have loved you

But you would not let me

Gianna's voice soared, a raw and soulful rendition of the song. The song, clearly chosen with purpose, echoed throughout the common room. The team carefully observed Bucky's reaction, realizing that the song's poignant lyrics struck a chord deep within him. He stayed rooted in place, but his jaw was clenched, eyes wide.

I'll follow you down 'til the sound of my voice will haunt you 

Give me just a chance

She clutched the microphone, barely moving as her voice and soul took over. All the words she wanted to say to Bucky, all the emotions she wanted to let overflow. She wanted to scream at him, throw things at him, fall at his feet and weep. She hated him for being the reason she wasn’t able to love him.

She wouldn’t, couldn’t, reach out to him. Her pride made her block his phone number as soon as she landed in New York. She had pages and pages of notes and half-written songs, all things she wanted to say to him. None of them felt ready to share with the world. This song captured all of her heartache, her anger. She hoped somehow, wherever he was, he was watching. She hoped the words hit him like a knife in the chest like his words that night had hit her. She hoped this song, her face, would haunt him like that last night still haunted her.

Opening her eyes, she let her voice turn raw and angry as she launched into the next line.

You'll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you

Bucky

As Gianna poured her heart into the song, the realization hit Bucky like a tidal wave. The haunting melody intertwined with his thoughts, and for a moment, the past seemed to converge with the present. He heard her voice now, but saw her then. City after city, night after night. Singing her heart out, seeking him out backstage. Running into his arms after a show. Smiling, chest heaving, glistening in sweat…she’d made him fall back in love with being alive. She was light, color, music. She was a sunny day, a rainbow. She was everything good about the world. Until…him.

Bucky's inner turmoil unfolded on his face, visible to the team. 

The woman on the screen before him was a shell of the one he knew. She wasn’t smiling as she sang. She didn’t dance or spin onstage. Her outfit was as devoid of color as his life felt. Even through the screen, he could see the anguish on her face, in the way her brows knit together.

Her kohl-lined eyes flew open as her voice reached a new intensity, a near growl, and she seemed to stare directly at him. 

You'll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you

As the final notes lingered in the air, the team watched in silence. The performance had laid bare all of her emotions, and Bucky stared at the screen with a mix of pain and recognition. Steve, torn between the desire to comfort his friend and the need to let him process, stood quietly by his side. The applause of the show, the commercials that resumed after she took a bow, all of it sounded muffled to Bucky as he stood frozen in place. 

His eyes remained fixed on the screen for what felt like an eternity. The room held its breath, the team's collective gaze shifting between the screen and Bucky's unreadable expression.

In that charged silence, it became evident that the lyrics had struck him right where she intended. The raw emotion in Gianna's voice had reached somewhere deep within Bucky, stirring something he’d been trying to repress for weeks.

Without uttering a word, Bucky turned abruptly and left the room. His footsteps echoed against the high ceilings as he walked away. The team exchanged uneasy glances, unsure of what to do, or what he’d do, for that matter.

Natasha sighed softly. "Give him some space," she suggested, tugging at the sleeve of Steve’s uniform. Clearly torn between following his friend and taking a much needed shower, he finally nodded.

Bucky, still clad in the dirt-streaked and blood-coated armor, moved with an urgency that mirrored the chaos in his mind. He needed to run, to escape the haunting words of the song, to process the emotions that had been stirred by Gianna's performance. He had to get her voice, her angry eyes out of his head. For weeks, he’d told himself that he did the right thing. He set her free, he wasn’t holding her back anymore. But tonight…seeing her made him question everything. He had something, someone so incredible. After him, she was a shadow. 

Was he really that dangerous, that he could utterly destroy the woman he loved in his attempt to spare her?

Outside, the cool night air hit him as he sprinted through the compound's trails. The sound of his boots on the pavement echoed his racing thoughts. Each step seemed to distance him from the echoes of the past that had resurfaced, and yet, the weight on his chest threatened to crush him.

Gianna

The night air was buzzing with excitement as Gianna stepped into the upscale lounge. The atmosphere was a blend of dimmed lights, smooth jazz, and the muted hum of conversation. She navigated the prestigious crowd, catching glimpses of familiar faces from the entertainment industry. It had been over a year since she’d been at this particular spot, a favorite of celebrities in New York. With her newfound loneliness, ahem, freedom -- she’d been doing her best to get out and socialize. Be seen again. She was never a huge fan of the performative nature of her industry, but she sure knew how to play the game. The more she was spotted out and about, the further away the headlines about her alleged breakup would get.

So here she was, in a meticulously styled outfit, attending an after party for an event she didn’t even remember the name of. Jimmy had invited her after the taping of the show earlier that afternoon. Her options were to say yes or to go back to her empty penthouse, and she was all out of the good gin anyways.

Gianna sidled up to the bar between overstuffed velvet stools and ordered a dirty martini. Another female artist and a friend of Gianna joined her at the bar, greeting her with a hug. They exchanged pleasantries amidst the loud chatter, discussing new albums and sharing touring stories.

Jimmy Fallon appeared, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Hey, Gianna, got a question for you," Jimmy said, interrupting their conversation as he held out his phone.

Curiosity etched on her face, Gianna glanced at the phone he offered. On the screen was a text conversation where her name jumped out. As she skimmed through the messages, Jimmy leaned in with a conspiratorial smile.

"Sebastian Stan wanted to say hi. Mind if I share your number?"