#doesn't look anywhere near as cool as it sounds

[sceletaflores]

slippin' and slidin' all over you!

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, sweating, mutual masturbation, sweat licking (i don't know???), not-so-dry humping, p in v, JUST THE TIP RAHHH, creampie, fingering (fem!recieving), oral sex (fem!receiving), come swapping, come eating, literally over four thousand words of pure nasty smut, this is gross lowkey, idk i'm h*rny, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: very much not the winner or even an option of the poll i posted last week but...shhh don't hate me. it’s october and over 80 every single day, what the fuck is that? only good thing that came from this heat is thoughts of nasty sweaty sex with logan. once again shoutout to my wonderful husband @ebodebo for reading this over for me (i successfully changed her vendetta against sucking up some man sweat...which was the real point of this fic tbh) go give her fics some love if you're a slut for ghost! kisses!

logan forgot to fix the ac...

It's too hot out to be alive. 36°C and sunny.

One of the hottest days in recent memory for Alberta, and you're really feeling it.

"Remind me," you say slowly, the first words spoken in almost ten minutes. "How many times did I ask you to fix the air conditioner?"

"Don't start," Logan says from his spot across the room. His head is tipped back to rest on the couch cushion, eyes slipped shut.

You ignore him, lazily rolling your head to the side to look at him through squinted eyes, your brows furrowed in thought. "Was it ten? Or maybe thirteen?"

Logan huffs a breath, slow and heavy, but he doesn't move--doesn't even open his eyes. “I said don’t start,” he mutters again, though there’s the faintest edge of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Don't worry baby," you say, voice pitched lower in a terrible impersonation of Logan. "I'll get to it, promise. Won’t get too hot for another couple months."

Logan finally cracks an eye open, just enough to give you a sideways glance, his mouth twitching with amusement. "You done?"

You hum noncommittally, the sound lingering in the air like the lazy summer breeze doing nothing to cool the temperature outside. Your gaze slips down the side of his face to trace the jut of his jaw, then lower to the sweaty column of his neck. 

Both you and Logan lost most of your clothes earlier in the day, too hot to bother wearing anything but underwear. You trudged around the house like zombies until you finally gave up on trying to be productive, you both ended up in the living room. 

All the windows are cracked open, trying in vain to let in any cool air. You claimed the armchair closest to the fan, refusing to be anywhere near Logan and the massive heat wave he constantly gives off.

Logan’s on the couch, stripped down to the thinnest pair of sleep shorts you’ve ever seen. His chest is bare, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat that mats the dark hair dusted along his pecs to his skin. 

You can’t help the way your eyes follow the drops of moisture that slide slowly down the contours of his abs. A low heat starting to swirl through your gut when it disappears into his happy trail.

It's funny. When you basically peeled yourself off your mattress this morning, sex was the absolute last thing on your mind.

Now, as your eyes glide over the strong expanse of Logan's body on full display, you're having second thoughts.

Maybe it just comes with the heat. That sort of slow, syrupy feeling that slides along your overheated skin to pulse pleasantly between your thighs.

A bead of sweat slides down the length of your spine slowly, falling until it soaks into the damp waistband of your panties. You try to not notice how Logan is halfway across the room, not touching you.

You fail.

“It’s just a shame, though,” you start, fingers idly toying with the hem of your tank top. “If it was cooler, I could come over there.”

You slide a leg up, letting it rest against the wooden rest, newly exposed skin gleaming under the sunlight filtering in. 

The move isn't lost on Logan. You see his jaw clench slightly, the tiniest shift in his posture.

"Something you wanted?" Logan asks, his voice going low and teasing. "Looks like you've been gettin' yourself all worked up over there."

“Just thinking,” you reply, shifting slightly on the sticky leather of the chair.

Logan’s fingers twitch at his sides, his chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. His eyes slide the rest of the way open, his gaze heavy and lingering as it ventures down to where your thin shirt sticks to your skin, outlining every curve.

“Oh yeah?” he prompts, his voice a little rougher now. “Thinkin’ about what, baby?”

“You,” you say easily, fingers slipping down to your thigh. You bring your other leg up, perching it against the opposite armrest. Your thighs spread wide enough that you know Logan has a full view of the wet spot growing along the gusset of your panties.

The hitch in Logan’s breath has you stifling a smug smile, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as you watch the way his chest starts rising faster.

"That's real sweet, sugar," he drawls, an unimpressed look on his face as he drags his eyes back up to your own. "But if you're tryin' to get me over there, you're gonna have to do better than that." His voice slides through the air heavy and warm like molasses.

You bite back a grin, enjoying the slow game that's unfolding between the two of you. 

"Maybe I don’t want you to come over here," you let your fingers trail a little lower, just to the edge of your panties, teasing. “Maybe I like you right where you are.”

Logan’s brow raises, his thighs tensing before he spreads them just a touch wider. The fabric of his boxers goes taut over the strong muscle, riding up to expose even more hairy skin to your greedy eyes.

"You're playin' with fire, kid," he warns.

The tent in his shorts is obvious now, the hard length of his cock pressing against the fabric where it lays across his thigh. Your other hand twitches by your side at just the sight, your pussy throbbing with the sudden need to be filled.

"Am I?" you murmur, your fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties, just enough to make sure he knows exactly where this is headed. ”It’s not like you’re going to do anything about it, you’re too busy pouting."

With a deliberate slowness, you slide your fingers lower, brushing against your clit with just enough pressure to let out a soft gasp at the contact. You arch your back slightly, relishing in the way the air feels against your skin, hot and sticky.

You want him to see how badly you need him—how his heat is the only thing that could truly satisfy the insatiable ache building between your legs.

Logan's nostrils flare, jaw tightening and eyes darkening at the sight of you teasing yourself. His restraint is slipping, and you can practically feel the tension building in the room, thick and stifling like the oppressive summer heat. 

But he still doesn’t move, doesn’t rush over like you expect him to. Instead, he shifts his hips slightly, spreading his legs wider and letting his hand fall on his thigh. 

You can’t help the way your breath quickens at the sight, the way his fingers drift dangerously close to his own growing bulge, teasing you just as much as you’re teasing him. 

You tilt your head to the side, gazing at him through your lashes. “You're really just gonna leave me hanging?” you goad, fingers circling lazily around your sensitive clit. “Come on stud, whip it out.”

Logan chuckles low, a sound that sends shivers through you. "Is that what you want, baby?" he asks, voice thick and taunting, a smirk curling on his lips. “You want me to whip it out for you?”

“Yeah,” you murmur breathlessly, biting your lip as you maintain eye contact, your breath starting to come in short bursts. “I need to see you, Logan. Need to see how hard you are for me.”

“Need to, huh,” he muses slowly, fingers finally grazing over the hard length of his cock. “What’s in it for me?”

“How about this?” You slip your hand out from your ruined panties, fingers glistening with your own wetness as you hook your thumbs on either side and drag them down your legs.

You let the soaked cotton fall to the floor, leaving you completely exposed to him.

Logan’s pupils dilate, an inky black completely swallowing the warm hazel. He licks his lips slowly, the tip of his tongue running along his teeth like he wants to sink them into you. His cock twitches visibly beneath his shorts, the growing tension in the air between you thick enough to choke on.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, his voice low and gravelly, more of a growl than a word.

You smile, shifting in the chair to give him an even better view, your legs spreading wider. "Yeah?" you purr, running your fingers over your slick inner thigh, feeling the heat radiating from your own skin. “You like what you see?”

Logan swallows hard, his hand finally slipping beneath the waistband of his shorts, palming his cock as he watches you. “You know I do,” he says, voice rougher than before. 

You let your hand trail back down to your clit, rubbing it in slow, teasing circles as you hold his gaze. “Then show me, Logan,” you whisper, your voice almost a plea now. "I wanna see you."

Logan lets out a low, rumbling groan, his fingers making quick work of shoving his shorts down enough to free his cock. It springs free to slap lewdly against his stomach and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips at the sight.

He strokes himself slowly to start, his eyes locked on you, watching your every reaction, feeding off the way your chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths.

"Like this?" he asks, his tone taunting as he strokes himself from base to tip, his thumb swiping over the head with a low hiss. “That what you wanted?”

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him, straining and in his hand. The sight of his thumb brushing over the tip of his cock sends a hot, electric pulse through your body, your hand between your legs moving in time with his slow strokes.

"Yeah," you whisper, voice trembling with need. "Just like that."

You slip your hand lower, sliding two fingers inside yourself with a low moan. Logan groans like he’s the one being touched, his hand speeds up, eyes glued to where your fingers disappear in your slick heat.

His cock leaks pre-come over his knuckles each time his fist passes over the dripping head, the wet sound of it mixing with the low hum of the fan and your own breathy sighs.

"You look so fuckin' good like this honey," Logan groans, his voice rough, strained. "All spread out, playing with that pretty pussy for me."

You whimper at his words, your body aching for more than just your own touch. You need him, need the feel of his rough hands on your skin, his mouth, his cock—anything.

Your fingers move faster, slipping deeper inside with each pump, but it’s still not enough. The stretch is nothing compared to taking Logan, to the feeling of him carving a place for his thick cock inside your pussy, hitting that spot inside you that your fingers can’t quite reach.

Your hips buck up towards your hand, your back arching off the chair as your free hand clutches the armrest tightly.

Logan’s pace quickens, his fist pumping his cock with a new urgency, heavy balls bouncing with every rough tug.

“God, look at you, such a needy fuckin’ thing” he growls, chest heaving as his gaze flicks between your flushed face and the glistening mess you’re making of yourself like he can’t decide where to look. “You want it bad, don’t you?”

"Please," you whine, desperation creeping into your voice. Too keyed up to draw this out any longer. “I need you inside me, Logan. I can’t take it anymore.”

Logan groans, a sound that rumbles deep in his chest. His hand falters slightly on his cock, squeezing hard around the base as your words push him dangerously close to the edge. His jaw clenches, eyes raking over you, and with a growl, he stands. 

The last threads of his restraint snapping.

 He crosses the room in two long strides, towering over you where you sit. His cock swollen and hard, sways between his legs with every step, glistening with pre-come that drips to the floor. His eyes, hooded and burning, drink you in as he reaches down, yanking your hand away from your slick heat.

“Thought you said it was too hot to move,” you tease breathlessly, unable to quit egging him on even when your legs start to tremble with need, spreading wider to welcome him.

Logan ignores you, tugging your hand to his lips. Your breath catches in your chest, a weak moan escaping you as he takes your soaked fingers in his mouth. His tongue swirling along your skin to taste you, his eyes never leaving yours as he does.

“Changed my mind,” he growls, strong hands rough and possessive as they drop your wrist and haul you out of the chair so he can spin around, collapsing into it with you in his lap. The wood gives a warning creak beneath you but neither of you care.

Not when his mouth is on yours, hot and demanding as he slides his tongue past the seam of your lips. The heat radiating off his body is suffocating, but you welcome it—craving the weight of him on you.

You melt against him, feeling the hard planes of his body against yours, every inch of him alive and pulsating with need. Logan’s hands find their way to your hips, fingers digging in just enough to send a rush coursing through you.

It’s intoxicating, the way he devours you, his hands exploring every inch of your back, grasping and pulling you impossibly closer. 

The hard jut of his cock presses against your thigh, a thick plane of heat that makes your pussy throb with need. You shift your hips, grinding down on him in messy circles.

“You feel that?” he growls, lips brushing against your ear. “That’s all for you, darlin’.”

“Need you,” you whimper, grinding down against him faster, desperate for the friction that sends pleasure rippling through you. “Please, Logan, I need you inside me now.”

“Hold on, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky, sending sparks all up your spine.

He dips his head, capturing your lips again, while his hands roam hungrily down your sides, fingers curling around your thighs to urge your legs open wider. “You wanna tease me, you’re gonna have to get off just like this.”

Logan angles his hips so that his cock slips between your drenched folds the next time you roll your own down.

The hot, slick glide sends electric shocks of pleasure racing through you, your body responding instinctively to his touch. You gasp against his lips, fingers tangling in his hair as you push down, desperate for more.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ wet,” he growls, his voice dripping with lust as he watches your movements with hungry eyes. “Just for me, huh? She’s droolin’ just for me.”

You nod breathlessly, chasing the friction, craving the feel of him so close. You lift your hips and rock back down again, the blunt head of his cock brushing against your swollen clit, and you feel your body pulse in response. 

“More,” you plead, leaning in to nibble at his lower lip. “I need it.”

Logan pulls away, shaking his head with a wicked grin. “Come on, tough shot,” he says, giving your ass a quick smack and kneading the tender flesh in his hand roughly. “You’re gonna come like this, you can do it baby.”

You whine, dropping your chin to your chest. Your hands find his shoulders, nails digging crescent moons into the strong muscle. Your chest slips slickly against his, the front of your tank almost entirely soaked with sweat.

Yours or his, it doesn't matter. The white cotton turned transparent enough that your breasts are on full display, nipples hard and visible.

You watch a single bead of sweat make its way down the length of his throat. It trickles down and down and down until it dips between the pronounced muscles of his chest.

You duck your head, dragging your tongue up the valley of his pecs. A deep moan bursts from your lips, pussy drooling more slick over Logan’s cock at the coarse feel of his thick hair on your tongue, at the heady taste of his sweat filling your senses.

Logan groans, hands tightening their hold on your waist. The dull ache his strength leaves behind is enough to let you know that two hand shaped bruises will be blooming over your skin by tomorrow morning. 

“Come on, girly,” he encourages, nipping at the sweaty column of your throat, the sharp points of his teeth scraping along the sensitive skin deliciously. “Fuck me, give it to me good.”

Your hips speed up, his hard cock sliding through the slick folds of your cunt faster. The tip bumps against your clit deliciously with every move, smearing pre-come along the way to add even more to the mess between your legs.

“Gonna fuckin’ fill you up,” he groans, breath puffing warm and hot agasint the slick skin of your lips. “Pump you so full of my come you’ll be leakin’ for a goddamn week.”

He shifts underneath you, the tip of his cock catching on your entrance just enough for it to push inside on the next grind of your hips.

The barely there fullness has you coming with a sharp cry, nails roughly dragging down Logan’s back hard enough to leave red welts that heal as you go.

The pain mixing with the pleasure of finally getting to feel the warm, wet suction of your pussy has Logan coming with a rough shout of your name. He throws his head back, hands tightening their grip on your hips enough to have your bones grinding together as he pumps you full of his come. 

“Logan…” you mewl, your pussy fluttering over the tip of his cock, greedy little clenches like you're trying to suck him the rest of the way in. Drunk on the way his release paints your insides, how you can feel each thick spray coating your walls to claim you in the rawest way.

Logan pulls back just far enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and smoldering as he watches you squirm in his lap.

"You’re not tapping out on me already, are you?" he teases, his voice rough and gravelly. "I thought you were tougher than that."

A weak, breathy laugh escapes you, but it’s cut short when he applies just a little more pressure, making your thighs quiver. "Not tapping out," you manage between shallow breaths, your head falling back against the chair. "But you’re—fuck—you’re insatiable."

Logan smirks, leaning in to nip at the sensitive skin of your throat, his teeth scraping just enough to send shivers coursing through you.

"When it comes to you, baby?" he murmurs against your skin, the heat of his breath fanning over your pulse point. "Fuckin’ always."

A lazily smile takes over your lips as you tighten your core and push, the rest of Logan’s come leaking out over his fingers. Logan groans, pressing his forehead to your shoulder to try and ground himself.

His cock throbs where it sways heavily between his thighs, still hard and ready to go even after he just came. His hand slips down your body, thick fingers running through the creamy mess of come and slick to messily push it back inside you.

“Fuckin’ shit, honey,” he groans lowly, pressing his thumb to your clit. “You’re gonna kill me.” 

Before you can respond, he stands again, gently placing your trembling form back into the chair and dropping to his knees in front of you.

Your breath hitches, legs widening despite the way your pussy shakes with overstimulation, like you can’t help but spread your legs for Logan anytime he wants.

Logan smirks up at you from between your legs, his lips already ghosting over the inside of your thigh. "Look at you," he growls, voice low and filled with lust. "Still so needy."

The slick heat of his tongue runs along your folds, lapping at the mess he just made of you. You let out a sharp gasp, thighs trembling as your fingers weave into his hair, tugging him closer.

The sensation is overwhelming—the rough, demanding pace of his tongue as it swirls around your clit, teasing you, while his hands grip your thighs with bruising force. Keeping you exactly where he wants you, keeping you spread open for his tongue.

Your body arches off the chair with a loud cry, every nerve alight with raw pleasure as he feasts on you, his growls vibrating against your sensitive skin.

"Fuck! Logan," you moan breathlessly, head falling back as you try to keep up with the sensations he's pulling from you.

The heat that was pooling low in your belly reignites, stoked by the way his tongue flicks faster against your clit, each stroke sending you higher.

Logan doesn’t let up, his tongue delving deeper, drinking in every moan, every shaky gasp as he drives you closer to the edge. He moans into your pussy, his own arousal clear in the way his hips buck into the air, seeking any kind of friction.

You tug on his hair harder, desperate for more, for release. "Logan, please," you whimper, your voice barely above a whisper, thick with need.

"Atta’ girl," he rasps, his voice thick with desire as he watches your face contort with pleasure. "So fuckin’ pretty like this. You gonna give me another one, baby? Gonna come for me again?"

Every lick, every rough squeeze to your thighs, every teasing stroke sends you spiraling closer to that edge you’re dying to reach again. You can feel the heat radiating off him, his breath hot against your soaked skin and driving you wild.

“Logan, I—” You gasp, fingers tightening in his hair, urging him closer, closer, closer. “I’m so close—”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, nose and jaw glistening in your juices.

"Give it to me," he growls, the rough rasp of his voice sending a shiver through your overheated body. "I wanna feel you come on my tongue."

It’s all the encouragement you need. With a strangled cry, your body tenses, thighs quaking as the orgasm crashes over you.

Logan keeps his mouth on you, tongue working you through every pulse, drawing it out until you’re trembling and gasping, your body boneless in the chair.

When you finally come down, panting and spent, Logan pulls away. With one last kiss pressed over your clit, he makes his way up your body, not dropping eye contact as he settles over you.

His hand comes up to your face, thumbs meanly hooking into either side of your cheeks to gently force your mouth open. You part your lips willingly, the heat still radiating between you, a mix of lingering pleasure.

Logan leans in, and the intoxicating scent of sweat and sex surrounds you as he spits what he collected from between your legs back into your own mouth. 

Your cheeks burn with shame, a broken moan ringing through the space between you. Your glassy eyes stare into Logan’s, his own gaze so intense and all consuming you fight the urge to squirm.

"Swallow," he commands, unwavering. 

You hesitate for just a moment, caught off guard by the pure audacity, but the way his eyes darken with hunger makes your resolve crumble. With a breathless whimper, you obey, tasting the remnants of your own pleasure mingling with his, the act both humiliating and intensely arousing.

Logan watches you closely, his gaze never straying as you swallow, a dirty smirk creeping onto his lips. “That's my girl,” he praises, his tone thick with satisfaction.

As the taste lingers on your tongue, you can feel the weight of Logan’s stare like a physical touch.

“Think you can handle another round?” he teases, his voice low and sultry. “I don’t plan on letting you off that easy, kid. Not with all that mouthing off earlier.”

You catch your breath, shaking your head in exasperation. “You’re relentless,” you whisper, a hint of laughter in your voice, though your body betrays you, already craving more.

“Only for you, baby” he replies, brushing the strands of hair plastered to your sweaty forehead behind your ear. “Only for you.”

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mini nat's note: i started my period today chickens...that explains it...

[cherrychilli]

18+ Steve Harrington x F! reader, momentary mean! Steve, established relationship, lil bit of angst, PIV sex, rough sex, unprotected sex, hate sex turned make up sex WC:2.2K

A/N: Why not? Enjoy!

"So we're still fighting, huh?", Steve narrows his eyes at you from the kitchen entry way.

He's a picture of disarray — shirt misbuttoned, belt buckle in need of fastening, tie draped loosely over his shoulders and hair a wild, mussed up mess.

His unruly state came to be as a result of forgetting to set his alarm after your heated exchange last night, waking to find he was running late for work and you hadn't bothered to rouse him like you usually would have.

His sarcastic barb goes seemingly unheard though when you refuse to look up from the dishes you're scrubbing in the sink, back still turned to him even though the crumbs from your breakfast of blueberry jam on toast have long been washed clean from your plate.

It was a disagreement blown out of proportion that had caused the friction between you two. Steve had hoped sleeping it off would help to cool your tempers enough to reconcile in the morning but now that seems as likely as him making it to work on time.

Or was it?

He sighs, a clear note of irritation coming through because he should be digging through the laundry basket in search of his socks before he tries to shove his feet inside his shoes without them again in his rush, not rooted in place, eyes dark and stony but taking you in.

Of course you'd try to give him blue balls on top of it all too.

He grits his teeth as he stares at you in your too short satin robe, every inch of your legs and thighs on display as the hem hangs high, just a few inches below the swell of your ass. Practically dangling yourself in front of him.

He enters the kitchen then and though it feels risky approaching you the way that he does, he recognizes that the air's thick with a familiar kind of tension when he comes up behind you.

Quickly and none too gently, he rucks up your robe to confirm a suspicion he'd been harboring. He finds you're nude underneath the thin, silky layer when you allow him just a glimpse, swatting his hand away with a look sharper than a knife's edge when your eyes connect with his over your shoulder.

But Steve knows better than to take it seriously. There's no ire behind your glare — no unspoken threat meant to make him retreat. You're still mad, sure, he can feel the heat radiating off of you just as it's made his own skin warm but your expression softens just enough to confirm that what you really want is for him to come closer. And that's exactly what he does.

You feel the warmth of Steve's chest pressing against your back when you turn to the sink once more, his arms caging you in place, leaving you no room to escape. The water continues to run until he closes the faucet too, leaning down to whisper into your ear. "This how you want to solve it?", he asks, pulling his hand back to lift your robe again only this time you don't attempt to thwart him, letting him cup your ass and squeeze your soft skin. Hard.

The heat of last night's fight had died down to a simmer but it left you both burning in a different, much more familiar way as you answer him.

"Yeah. This is how I want to do it", you utter loud enough for him to hear you clearly though this close together, there's nothing he can miss no matter how softly you might whisper it.

The sound of his belt coming undone has you buzzing beneath your skin while you brace yourself, curling your fingers under the edge of the countertop as Steve finishes pulling out his girthy cock. But before he even attempts to get it anywhere near your entrance he holds out his palm to you, knowing that he doesn't need to ask for you to spit into it, something that feels instinctual now at this stage in your relationship as he draws it back and slicks up his cock with your saliva.

With his length coated in a warm, glossy mixture of your spit and his precum, Steve doesn't keep you waiting for long, your legs parting to help with easing the tip of his cock in.

"Does it hurt?", he asks and while it might sound like he's only concerned about you, you can hear the heat still present in his veins.

"A little", You answer with a little heat of your own, no intention of asking him to stop.

"Good. I know you can take it", he tells you, all thorns and shit eating grins.

It doesn't happen as easily as when you two take the time to engage in foreplay first, your body usually opening up to accept him once he's gotten you ready with his tongue or fingers but this time Steve manages to notch his tip by your hole and breach you once it pops inside with a little effort, the rest of him slowly sinking inch by inch into your velvet heat.

Despite the wetness that smears your inner thighs, your whole body tenses and you have to breathe through it, pain marrying pleasure while you're being stretched open, hissing under your breath when he reaches his base. He spends a few seconds all the way inside you, just feeling you wrap around him and squeeze, your walls pulsing when he decides that's as soft as he'll allow himself to be with you today.

And he proves it when he begins pulling himself out, only to grit his teeth and drive himself back in again, making you squeal instantly, getting you thoroughly acquainted with the feeling and the force of every thrust as his pelvis bounces against your ass.

Steve so rarely ever fucks you like this and you're so caught up in taking his cock that you barely notice the way he reaches up to pull the front of your robe open too, realizing what he's done when he finds your nipples and begins to pinch and tug on them, smirking when it draws a high pitched whimper out of you as your steady breathing turns to shallow pants.

But you're not some delicate flower type. You're not one to be so compliant and let him ruin you so easily. So while Steve's busy fondling your chest you're quick to even the score when you grab hold of his right hand, lifting it up to your mouth so you can sink your teeth into the soft skin between his thumb and his wrist.

The pained hiss turned groan he lets out despite himself is a small victory but a sweet one nonetheless, enough to make you smile around his throbbing hand before deciding to remove your teeth from him, making sure to scoff at him all smug as he rubs at the little red teeth marks left behind on his tan skin.

Of course he takes it as well as a throatful of glass, considering the act a challenge for more.

Steve offers you one small moment of respite, slowly pulling almost all the way out, making sure his swollen tip remains inside you while you sigh, only to make you choke on a moan when he pushes all the way inside again in a single hard thrust, punching the air out of you.

You wanted to retaliate again, maybe reach behind to sink your nails into his thigh, scraping at his skin until narrow lines or blood rise to the surface or even rip at the clothes that hang on him in his state of half undress but you're unable to follow through this time with how he's managed to rattle you.

Steve's far too pleased to feel your elbows start to shake as your arms struggle to keep you up at this point, set on making your knees wobble too just so he can gloat about it later when you find it difficult to pick yourself up off the kitchen floor and walk away once he's done with you.

Slowly, Steve withdraws again, glee lighting up his eyes when he pushes back in with the same force of that first sharp thrust and this time you fail to stop a short scream from ripping out of your throat, back arching from how well and hard he's pressing against that spot deep inside you.

"Something you wanna say, sweetheart?", he sneers and taunts, pleased when you struggle to put together a coherent sentence while trying to endure his unforgiving pace. "Spit it out before I stop being so nice."

You muster what you can and manage to whimper it out, feeling so worn out though you haven't even reached your climax yet.

"Cum inside me. Please", you tell him — beg him, fingers turning cold and numb from how hard your grasping the countertop.

He's nothing short of cocky when he hears you whine all desperate and spent, a smug sense of accomplishment washing over him when he sees the thick coating of slick and cream you've left on his cock as he watches it withdraw and disappear inside you one harsh thrust after the other.

And then you tell him the rest.

"M—miss you when you're gone. Need to —ngh. Need to feel you in me when you're not here", you manage to string the words together before letting out a sound that's somewhere between a gasp and a whine, the kind he'll think about later on his own, working himself up until he's got no choice but to pry it out of you again.

But this isn't one of those moments, no matter how much he'd liked the sounds falling from your parted, panting lips.

Steve loses his rhythm before he stills completely inside you, your words sinking in like nails piercing his skin.

This was it. The crux of last night's argument.

You missed Steve. He'd been working too hard lately and you'd grown concerned. With the stress of his job and the little sleep he'd had he'd grown defensive and you'd gotten irritated, both of you clashing when you should have been listening and working together.

When he had woken up this morning Steve had cooled down enough to know he'd been unfair to you the night before. He was usually the type to talk things out but he'd gotten swept up in how things happened to pan out today, wrapping an arm around you tenderly, the hand you'd bitten placed over your thumping heart. He nuzzles his chin onto your shoulder to get closer to you, the stubble he'd been unable to shave this morning scratching against your skin gently as he whispers into your ear with so much sincerity.

"I'm sorry— I'm so sorry."

The sound of him all earnest and ragged makes you melt in his hold because you know how much he means it — you can practically feel how much he means it as it sinks into your skin and reaches into your ribcage.

Like Steve, you would have been open to talking it out had this been a regular fight. This particular fight however had you dumping more fuel on to the fire that roared between you because it required more than just words to resolve everything. It needed more than swapped apologies for the two of you to make amends and return back to normal.

You really needed to fuck it out. All teeth and nails and sore, spent bodies.

"It's okay. I'm sorry too", you answer, a smile growing on your parted, panting lips. "Now fuck me, will you?"

It catches Steve off guard enough to make him snort, thankful that the worst of your fight is behind you now as he starts to pick up the pace again, firm but also tender with the way his lips move against your neck and his fingers brush and roll at your nipples.

"Going to make it up to you, baby. Gonna be around more. Gonna be here for you, okay?", he pants against your skin, all gravelly groans and grunts with his nails digging into the skin on your waist.

You moan out his name, using what little strength you feel you have left to push yourself back to meet his thrusts. "Steve, oh fuck... I'm so close. I need you— I fucking need you, please."

He snaps his hips against your ass again, drawing out a blissful shudder out of you. "Gonna make it all right but until then—", you feel him draw away from you a little bit then, his hands leaving your body as you realize that he's going through his pockets.

With his cock still buried inside you and throbbing, he pulls out his phone and begins dialing, his thrusts commencing again, steady and deep enough to make your whole body draw tight, your release within reach.

"Try to keep it down while I call in sick, okay? Gonna have you all to myself today. Promise I'll keep you nice and full— gonna look so beautiful when you're dripping with me..."

[teojira]

I saw that you had transformers on your fandom list, will you be willing to write a 'bot of choice x human reader jealousy/protectiveness fic? Like in that one scene from Transformers 2 where the Deception Pretender tried to seduce Sam but Bee absolutely wasn't having that but had to stay in car mode?

[Aren't you supposed to be more mature than this?]

Summary: Optimus knows better than to get attached to you (too late), he can't help but side eye you and a stranger interacting. (Based on Knightverse Optimus, after ROTB!)

Word count: 800+ words!

Pronouns: They/them

Warnings: Optimus is bad at feelings, Optimus being down bad, extremely self indulgent. Mainly Optimus' Pov as well! Lmk if I need to tag anything!

A/N: Everyone who knows me knows of my obsession and love for this man it's so bad, I have him tattooed and have a whole ass shrine I love HIMMM, Thank you sm for the request! He is the love of my life.

Optimus Prime has been called many things, many of which are true, things he'd accept with pride.

A great leader, a good friend, a valuable teammate, A war criminal.

A jealous bot was never one of them, until recently.

He wasn't sure when he started to take a shine towards you. Was it after Unicron? When he held you in his servos, cradling you to his chest as he transformed back into his bipedal form, only letting go of you after the confused looks from Bee and Mirage.

Maybe it was a while after that, when you offered to help clean him up, Noah was too busy rebuilding Mirage to offer his services to the big man himself.

Optimus could never wipe the feeling of your small hands gently running across his frame, taking extra care to mend any scratches you found, constantly checking in to make sure he was comfortable.

He's ashamed to admit, but he kept shuddering under your touch, his senses overwhelmed by your presence. Every time his cooling fans turned on, he'd wave it off as it was just hot outside. (it's 60 degrees out, liar.)

He tries to recharge that night, but the feeling in his chassis makes him restless. He can see his sensors go haywire at the mere thought of you. He is so fucked, he shuts his eyes and groans deeply, his mask shooting up to mask the sound, lest he wakes the others.

Primus help him.

With his new revelation, Optimus tries his best to distance himself towards you, always making excuses as to why he can't drive you home or to work (a flicker of jealously when Arcee offers, no one catches his digits curling ever so slightly into his palm), saying he must go on patrol for the time being. He waves you off when you try and care for him, asking if he'd like any help with any scrapes and dents, saying he can live with them, he's been through worse.

Its only natural that you'd give him some space, that's the kind of person you are, kind, loving, respectful, loyal to a fault, but it doesn't escape his notice when your smile falls after he politely tells you you're not needed, his spark aching when you turn around to go find another bot.

Optimus watches you now, stationed on the street.

He has no right to be upset when you're stopped outside of the garage by an older man, the man so clearly taking interest in you while you're very politely listening and nodding, shooting that oh so pretty smile to a man who he's sure is not fit to be anywhere near you, not worthy of the warm smile you wear.

It makes him seethe in jealousy, and it's scary.

He can not remember a time when he had ever been jealous. He's a prime. He was supposed to be a calm and collected leader and yet. And yet, he's so close to blowing his hor-

You suddenly whirl towards him. If he was any better of a man, he wouldn't immediately think of how cute you looked, how your lips moved as you let out a yelp.

It isn't until that thought passes his mind that he realizes he used his truckers horn. Embarrassment trickles through his body, although now he has your attention, and you are making your way towards him. The man following behind you keeps the conversation going, not catching a hint.

Optimus is ready to honk again, especially if this man keeps following so close behind you, way too close for comfort.

You beat him to it, turning around as you rest a hand on Optimus’ cabins door handle, shooting the man a polite smile.

“Sorry about that, but my husband is actually here to pick me up, so I have to go. Have a good day!” And You hoist yourself up, quickly buckling your seat belt, gently patting the dashboard in hopes Optimus fucking drives before you're bothered anymore.

Optimus’ processor buffers, his engine revving as he goes on autopilot to tale you both away. Does he know where to drive to? Certainly no, but you're with him now. He's sure you could ask him to take you to distant planets, and he'd make it work for you and only you.

“Thank you for the save, big guy.” You smile brightly at his steering wheel, your eyes lovingly trailing across the autobot symbol that sits in the center.

“It was nothing, I am glad to be there to assist.” The cabin rumbles with his voice, soothing your anxiety. You curl into your seat, resting your head.

“Where are we going?”

“If I'm not mistaken, you mentioned wanting to go to upstate New York to drive along some scenic routes? I'll gladly be your escort.”

He is so ridiculously falling for you, but he can't bring himself to hate it, especially when you excitedly hop in your seat.

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʀ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏᴏɴ!

[fangswbenefits]

Comfortable

Summary: Astarion walks in on you in a rather compromising situation. Naturally, he offers to help, but then you ask him to promise you something that he was not expecting…

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Astarion's POV. Fluff. Aftercare. Oral sex. Pillow humping. Innuendo. Mentions of masturbation.

Word count: 3.3k

It's a wavering sequence of whimpers that catches Astarion's attention just as he arrives at camp after a late night hunt.

The blood on non thinking creatures seldom presents itself as a decent meal, but he finds it unfair to depend exclusively on you.

The boars in the outskirts of Baldur's Gate are delectable enough to blind his hunger for a few hours – maybe a full day, if need be.

The camp seems peaceful and quiet with everyone still catching some rest after in their respective tents, and as the pale moon glows up high in the dark blue sky, he notices the dawn isn't breaking for at least a few more hours.

Maybe he can indulge in a trance to ease his mind and body after feeding, even though it's not a dire necessity.

But it seems that the night has other plans reserved for him.

His steps are light and sure, following the crescendo of sounds that seems to come from near his tent.

He would recognise that voice anywhere.

You.

As he draws near, trying to make out the origin of said whimpers, he vaguely wonders if you're having a dream.

That is the most reasonable explanation.

But then he hears what resembles a muffled groan.

A nightmare?

Instinctively, an eyebrow quirks as he approaches your tent.

And then he freezes.

Even through the obvious failed attempt at reining yourself in, he knows exactly what he heard.

His name. Muffled and barely intelligible, but his name, nonetheless.

An amused smile tugs at his lips as it dawns on him that you are indeed pleasuring yourself. Risky and unexpected, but beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Cheeky…

He could simply entertain this, and leave it to you to reach your peak on your own.

Unfortunately for him, he has just fed.

And unfortunately for you, he has every intention of interrupting your solo endeavour.

His usual cool body now flooded with the warmth and vigour that make it extremely easy not to succumb to your sweet and melodic whimpers.

As such, he tugs at the strings that hold both flaps together, successfully drawing a surprised gasp from you.

“You scared me!” 

He finds you propped up on one elbow before rushing to sit and pulling a blanket to cover yourself, a mortified look splattered across your face.

The sight in front of him is enough for the recently drunk blood to rush downwards at record speed. 

Predictable, but such is the nature of his body when it comes to you.

Flustered and quickened breaths. His senses are so sharp from the recent blood intake, that he can hear your heartbeat drumming fast in your chest.

By now, he knows you well enough.

So well, that he's sure he has just interrupted your climax.

The confirmation comes in the form of a low growl of frustration.

He almost feels sorry for you, but what crosses his mind is the offer of a moment of pleasure so great only he can provide.

“You were close.”

It isn't a question and he doesn't expect an answer.

But you're so visibly irritated that you scowl deeply. “Yes! Yes, I was. Thank you so much for interrupting.”

“My pleasure,” he retorts, knowing fully well he's about to set off a bomb if he doesn't choose his words carefully.

You have a temper he adores to test. He's used to dancing to your tune and knows exactly which strings to pull to get you riled up in ways that often lead to very enjoyable outcomes.

His cock welcomes your huff of annoyance with a faint twitch.

“Why didn’t you just… wait…” you almost cry out in sheer frustration.

He lets out a taunting laugh. “What, and miss out on all of the fun, darling?”

A dramatic pout settles your lips and it takes all of his self-control not to wipe it off your face with a kiss in an instant.

“How many did you take this time?”

It is a glaring taunt.

And your mouth drops open.

Maybe he should have eased his way in, considering the current predicament.

But the way your body is all flustered and heated from your own touch is enough to flare desire inside him. And whenever desire begins to swell inside him, the fine line between reason and pleasure begins to blur. 

Mostly because he knows he was the one on your mind when you had your fingers deep inside you.

Your eyes widen slowly, and you clutch the blanket closer to your lower half, still hiding the proof of your arousal from his prying eyes.

You don't reply at first, your pride keeping you silent.

But Astarion doesn't mind. In fact, he enjoys your resistance at first. Makes it all the more enjoyable when you finally give in.

“How many, darling?”

You frown, averting your eyes.

So stubborn…

His cock adores it.

“How many?” his tone is firmer this time and you slowly meet his eyes again.

“... two.”

He clicks his tongue, crouching before you. “Oh, darling…” 

Two fingers are not nearly enough to provide the fullness and stretch that only his cock can. But he appreciates your effort nonetheless.

It's quite adorable and enough to have his cock hardening even more.

Your fingers still glisten in the faint candlelight and he feels the sudden urge to have them in his mouth. He never tires of tasting you in more ways than one.

“You do not need to hide from me,” he says tenderly, but still not moving an inch. He wants you to feel comfortable enough under his gaze. “You've bared yourself to me many times, love.”

Still, you don't let go of the fabric, a slash of defiance crossing your face. “You took too long.”

Ah. “Did you miss me?”

You bite your lip, face softening as you nod twice.

And you were so desperate for him that you just couldn't wait?

Gods.

His cock stirs even more against his trousers at the silent realisation.

“And I am here now,” he says, dropping to his knees, as a wicked smile turns his lips. “So, allow me.”

He reaches out with his hand to tug at the fabric, silently looking for your permission.

A shaky sigh parts your lips and he spots a shiver as he pulls the blanket that keeps you from him.

His eyes drop to the sweet spot between your legs and he almost regrets having interrupted you.

Almost.

Your clit is so swollen it deliciously peeks from between your folds, parting them gently. It throbs faintly as he catches your clenching a few times, wetness dripping out.

After a moment, he manages to tear his gaze away, ignoring the twitches of protest from his cock.

He finds your half-hooded eyes. “May I?”

You hesitate at first, nearly pressing your thighs together, but he stops you with both hands on your knees, a reassuring grip that has you slowly but surely loosen up under his touch.

“You don't have to…”

No, he doesn't.

But he wants to.

In fact, he thinks he needs to.

He rubs circles along your flushed skin, wanting your full attention on him before he speaks, “I appreciate the concern, darling, but I'm impossibly hard and you look incredibly delectable.”

It's more than enough to have you yearning for more, as a surprise gasp parts your lips.

You finally nod, spreading your legs and leaning back as you settle on your elbows.

He offers a sly grin, lowering and positioning himself right where he craves to be.

But not before he eases some of the growing tension on his lower half. The blood coursing through his body is more of an inconvenience for now, and he's sure, under different circumstances, he'd have better control over this.

Or maybe not.

Maybe you're just that good for him.

You jerk slightly when his mouth draws near your slick folds.

“Wait.”

And he does, his concentration slightly shaken as he promptly scans your face for any cause for alarm.

“Just… don't leave afterwards.”

Don't leave–

Astarion's lips are so close to your clit, he has to pull back slightly so he can have a proper look at you, his hardened cock still straining against his undergarments.

“What do you mean?” he asks, perplexed. 

There is hesitance in your eyes. “You tend to leave after… like you don't want to be here with me.”

That sounds like a whiplash to him, because it is not true at all.

Your words take him by surprise  and he immediately worries he may have said or done something that could be interpreted as mixed signals.

“Darling, I–”

But you immediately shake your head. “If you can stay after… I'd appreciate it. Only you want to, of course,” you quickly add. “It doesn't feel right otherwise…”

It isn't a request. Nor a plea.

It's just what feels right.

He's done this many times to the point of instinct. It comes natural to him to please others. The aftermath, though, is something that he's also used to forgoing. The mess, the sweat, the fluids… the unnecessary and forced talk…

But you are different, aren't you?

You are not… the others.

And after all you've been through, he feels his mind nearly snap in half as he realises just how much he's still holding back with you.

Even something as simple as just staying still felt… tainted.

Slowly, he nods. 

And slowly, your lips turn into a tender smile that he's grown to adore beyond comprehension.

“I'll stay.”

You heave a deep sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

Astarion counters the impromptu detour with unmatched expertise, lowering his head and admiring just how eager your body is for him.

Before he drags his tongue along your folds, he slithers his hand down to reach for the front of his trousers, hurriedly undoing them.

It's his turn to sigh in relief as his cock is set free.

But now he misses the friction and the carpeted floor of your tent feels too rough.

His eyes roam around in search of something – anything – more comfortable.

And then he's caught off guard by your offer.

“Maybe this will help.”

A pillow.

He chuckles deviously, appreciating your creativity in moments such as these. Promptly, he takes it in his hand and positions it under him, his cock welcoming the soft surface.

“I adore that mind of yours,” he says cheekily.

You are about to voice a reply, but no word comes out when his tongue hits your entrance. 

Immediately, your hips buck and his smile never wavers.

He knows what you crave, but he will take his time even if you're already close to the edge.

After all, he's addicted to his devotion to you even if he never utters it out loud. He prefers his actions speak for themselves. Words are treacherous and deceiving. Actions speak louder.

And so he indulges in you. He indulges you, because that is what keeps him from reaching the frayed ends of his mind. 

You're what grounds him these days.

And he will ground you with him.

As such, he drags the tip along your folds, collecting your wetness and he only stops once it finds your clit.

A soft moan escapes your lips and he hopes you have it in you to keep it down so as to not wake the others. 

He locks eyes with you one last time. “Are you ready, darling?”

Your hips roll twice, but he knows you're not ready. You never are for the pleasure he offers to you so passionately. 

Another roll and he knows you're growing impatient, so he gives your clit a quick swipe of his tongue before he latches.

He doesn't begin suckling hard right away, as he needs to ensure he can steady you for what's to come. Both arms loop around your thighs and he allows his eyes to flutter shut, losing himself in you.

It amazes him how your body responds to him, and your hips try to find a desperate rhythm as if you're riding his cock.

The pillow under him provides enough friction for him to roll his own hips, eager to match your tempo.

He could feel the wetness drenching the fabric, but he can't bring himself to care.

Your hand finds his curls and he growls against your clit as you tug gently, but evidently craving more.

And more he gives you.

He's sucking more fiercely this time, taking his time to savour the swell in between his teeth. From this angle, he can feel your wetness coating his chin. He can't directly feel it, but he just knows you're clenching desperately around nothing.

Maybe he should take it slower.

Maybe he should pry you open with two of his fingers, even though you're wet enough to take a third one.

But the unexpected friction caused by the pillow is begging to edge him beyond belief.

Is it from the blood he drank? Is he just so ridiculously aroused? Why is your clit so swollen this time? Is it from his incessant suckles? 

His mind turns into haze and he decides he's not looking for any logical answers.

He simply allows his hips to move on their own accord, matching the face with each suckle.

“Astarion… Gods…” 

You're fortunate his mouth is kept busy, or he'd hurl a snarky reply. Gods have no place here. The delicacies of carnal bliss are reserved for those who tread the earth.

He's the only one who'd ever worship you, and you'd worship him right back, because that's how it's meant to be.

Precum drips from his tip at an alarming rate. He's too hard. He's too aroused. His body is seeking to be inside yours.

But he decided against it.

No.

He wants to see you unravel for him and in front of him.

His eyes open once again and he takes in the sight of your body undulating. Skin all flushed and eyes read to drop close as you near the precipice.

As always, his latch is impeccable. He never lets go and takes pride in leaving you dripping for him.

A few droplets run down his chin and dangle from it, bestowing upon him the most enticing silent praise he could ask for.

He knows you're close when your fingers close around his curls, desperately rocking your hips against him.

A low growl of approval rumbles in his chest and he's starting to struggle to keep his pace.

He has to find a way to still his hips before you reach your climax in fear you'll drag him along with you far too soon.

And so he does.

This time, he wants to see it.

He wants to see you as you come for him.

He's mostly perplexed that you found a way to muffle your moans, your shirt rolled up and captured in between your teeth, granting him the privileged view of your heaving breasts and hardened nipples.

Momentarily, his hips threaten to buck driven by pure instinct.

But he manages to hold back.

And when he's sure you're too far gone, head tilting back and legs shaking ever so slightly, does he unlatch from your clit.

He pulls back enough to witness the first sets of contractions course through your body. 

Wetness drips from his chin, and he can't tear his gaze from the mesmerising way your entrance clenches rhythmically before him.

He's felt those contractions many times. He is well aware of just how vicious and relentless they can be around his cock, never failing to draw every last drop of his cum deep inside you.

Your muffled cries and the way your hips still momentarily, are all he needs to get lost in his own pleasure again.

He props himself high enough to place his hips at the right angle, rolling them urgently against the soft fabric of the pillow.

He's so close… so deliciously close.

Your taste lingers on his tongue and the vision of you still writhing under him holds his gaze almost painfully.

Your fingers ease on his curls and he feels the familiar tightening of his balls warning him that he's about to reach the point of no return. 

It comes and overtakes his body so violently his mind blanks for a brief moment, as his mouth drops open.

He wants to groan and growl and hiss, but no sound comes out.

The friction is so overwhelming, he can't help but to lose balance, his lips finding your swollen clit once again.

And just like before, he latches instinctively and you try to jerk away from him, definitely being hit with a sting of oversensitivity. 

He comes undone, suckling on you harder than ever before.

Ropes of cum spill from him rhythmically, his own contractions taking over. He can feel the fabric underneath him drench with each thrust, and he vaguely wonders how much of it he still has left in him.

Your clit is now the only thing grounding him as he rides out his climax and, in the far corner of his hazy mind, he's thankful that you eased into him once again, granting him the solace he is seeking so desperately.

There's only so much he can withstand as his senses are flooded with overwhelming pleasure, and he finds himself unlatching and almost slumping against your lower abdomen.

He's spent.

Utterly spent.

He thinks he hears a tender giggle, but maybe it's simply his mind playing tricks on him.

With effort, he hoists himself along your body, collapsing, the side of his face resting against your stomach.

He wants to say something, but he's rendered silent by the aftershock of his climax.

And that's when he feels your fingers again, raking along his scalp and through unruly curls. 

“Are you leaving?”

He says nothing.

Your fingertips work their magic along his skin and he's sure you can lull him into a trance if you so wished. 

You're too powerful and he's too in love with you to care.

“Astarion.”

Your voice is low and sweet and he hums in return, arm wrapped around your waist.

“Can we stay like this for a while?”

Who's he to deny you of it? Or himself?

He's sweaty and his cock drenched in cum and precum and you're a mess yourself. Hardly the epitome of romance.

Or maybe he's wrong because when you bring a soft piece of cloth to his temple and drag it along his face, he suddenly gets it.

He finally understands why you want him to stay.

Why it makes sense.

His eyes flutter shut as he basks in your tenderness and adoration. 

You hum a soft tune under your breath, cleaning him up.

Face and neck first.

“Can you shift higher?” you ask.

He realises your intentions and lifts his head to stare at you.

“You don't have to.”

All you do is offer him a smile. Your smile. “I want to. Allow me, lover.”

No one has ever taken care of him. No one has ever bothered to. Not until you. 

He silently does what you asked, too stunned to come up with a clever tease.

His eyes flutter shut in what comes close to embarrassment. For some reason, he feels more exposed than ever when you wrap the cloth around his cock.

“Tell me if it gets too much,” you say, your voice but a whisper.

He immediately shakes his head. “Not with you.”

A hiss parts his lips as you tenderly take care of him.

Astarion rests his head just above your breast and 

“Do you wish to talk?” he asks.

Your lips find their way through his damp curls, placing a kiss atop his head.

“Do you want to?”

He chuckles, feeling his cock soften in your hand – definitely a first. “I fear I'm too drained to do so.”

“Silence it is,” you say and he feels your warm breath against his skin.

Not just any silence.

Comfortable silence.

The rare type old romance books mention in passing and that many seek to no avail.

But he's found it because he's found you.

Masterlist

[starlitmelanin]

she tries to get over her crush on her childhood best friend jude by trying to set him up with other people. recipe for disaster, actually.🥴

no good deed | jude bellingham

pairing - jude x fem!reader

word count - 1.1k

warnings - none

it starts with lily.

lily is near perfect. she's smart, funny, doesn’t have the slightest clue about football — but, she’s sweet enough.

you figure, if you can get jude to fall for someone like lily, you can convince your heart to calm the hell down. you're not sure of the logic there, but it makes sense at 2 am when you're staring at the ceiling, wondering why you're such an idiot.

"hey jude," you say one evening, as he jumps to sit on your bathroom counter, while you do your skin care routine before bed. "what do you think about lily?"

he looks at you, eyebrows raised. "lily? she's cool, i guess. why?"

you try to sound casual. "i dunno, just thought you two might get along."

he shrugs. "maybe. but i'm not really looking for anything right now, you know?"

you nod, pretending like that doesn't make your heart do a stupid little flip. of course, he's not looking for anything. he's focused on his career, on being the best. it's one of the things you love about him. dammit.

but you're not one to give up easily. next, you try suggesting clara. clara, who's a bit of a wild card but has this infectious energy that you think might be good for jude. plus, she's been eyeing him for months.

"clara asked about you the other day," you say nonchalantly while you're at a party.

jude glances over at her, then back at you. "clara? really?"

"yeah. i think she likes you."

he laughs, shaking his head. "she's fun and all, but not really my type."

you swallow your frustration. "what is your type then?"

he looks thoughtful for a moment, then shrugs. "dunno. someone who gets me, i guess. someone i can just... be myself with."

you know he's talking about you. you know he is. but you also know he doesn't see you that way. it's like some cosmic joke.

weeks pass, and you keep trying. each time, he's polite, he's interested, but it never goes anywhere. part of you is relieved, but another part is just tired. why can't you just tell him how you feel? why are you such a coward?

one evening, you're both sitting on his couch, some mindless tv show playing in the background. you've given up on the whole setting-him-up-with-someone-else thing, and he seems to sense your frustration.

"you've been weird lately," he says, nudging you with his shoulder. "what's going on?"

you laugh, but it's hollow. "nothing. just... life."

he doesn't buy it. "come on, we've known each other forever. you can tell me."

and that's the problem, isn't it? you can't tell him. you can't tell him that every time he smiles at you, it feels like the sun is shining just for you. you can't tell him that every time he dates someone new, it feels like someone's twisting a knife in your gut. you can't tell him that you're so stupidly, hopelessly in love with him that you can't even see straight.

instead, you say, "it's just... complicated."

he looks at you for a long moment, and you wonder if maybe he knows. if maybe he's always known. but then he smiles, and it's the same smile he's given you a thousand times, and you realise he doesn't. he has no idea.

"well, whatever it is," he says, "you know i'm here for you, right?"

and that's what breaks you. because he is there for you. he's always been there for you. and you're so tired of pretending. so tired of lying to yourself.

"yeah," you whisper. "i know."

you leave early that night, making some excuse about needing to get up early. he looks disappointed, but he doesn't push. you're grateful for that.

back at home, you stare at your reflection in the mirror. you look the same as always, but everything feels different. you can't keep doing this to yourself. you can't keep tearing yourself apart for someone who will never see you the way you want him to.

so you make a decision. you're going to tell him. you're going to lay it all out, consequences be damned. you'd rather have the truth out there, even if it means losing him, than keep living this half-life.

the next day, you call him. "can we talk?"

he senses the seriousness in your tone and agrees immediately. you meet at some secluded park, the same park where you grew up together. it feels fitting, somehow.

"what's up?" he asks, concern etched on his face.

you take a deep breath. "i need to tell you something. and i need you to just... listen."

he nods, eyebrows furrowed and attentive.

"i've been in love with you," you start, your voice trembling. "for as long as i can remember. and i tried to ignore it, tried to set you up with other people, tried to do anything to stop feeling this way. but it's not working. and i can't keep pretending."

his face is unreadable, and you feel your heart pounding in your chest. you brace yourself for rejection, for the inevitable awkwardness that will follow.

but then he steps closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "you idiot," he says softly. "why didn't you tell me sooner?"

you blink, stunned. "what?"

he takes your hands in his, and you feel your breath hitch. "i've been in love with you too. but i thought you just saw me as a friend. i didn't want to mess things up."

you stare at him, unable to process his words. "you... what?"

he laughs, and it's the most beautiful sound you've ever heard. "yeah. all this time, i've been waiting for the right moment. i guess we're both idiots, huh?"

you laugh too, a mixture of relief and disbelief flooding through you. "i guess so."

he pulls you into a hug, and you feel like you're finally home. all the pain, all the frustration, it melts away in his arms.

"so," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. "what now?"

you smile, pulling back to look at him. "now, we stop being idiots and see where this goes."

he grins, and it's like the sun is shining just for you. "sounds like a plan."

and for the first time in a long time, you feel like everything is going to be okay. because sometimes, the person you've been searching for has been right there all along.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for S; the puzzle trap sex-room. tw: discussion of past dubcon/underage sex, past grooming, unhealthy coping mechanisms. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

"It's fine, Jesus," Superboy says, more than a little frustrated with literally every-fucking-thing at this point. "I mean the pollen and the livestreaming and the deathtrap were all extremely fucking shitty but for, like, the millionth time, it was just sex." 

"Sex with someone that you aren't attracted to who is a gender that you aren't attracted to," Robin says tightly, clenching his fists down by his sides. Superboy does not look anywhere near Superman. 

Goddammit, he thinks. 

"No," he says, just pretending they're alone in this stupid cave because it's not actually cool to make Robin think the situation is any worse than it already is, and Robin's the one who already got upset enough to fucking puke over the situation, so . . . "Like I was kinda annoyed over the hair-pulling thing and you were pretty pushy and I definitely did want a condom involved, but–just, look, that problem is not a problem, alright? Neither of those problems are, uh . . . problems. And what do you care, anyway, nobody's gonna think you're into dick just because you got roofied into oblivion and fucked the only convenient mouth in the room." 

God, though, only he could ever possibly be enough of a fucking loser to end up having to confess to the stupid sexuality crisis he's been having in the fucking Batcave. In front of Batman. In front of Superman! Like–sure, why not, this might as well happen. Why not! 

Robin stares at him. 

"You have a crush on me?" he asks in obvious disbelief. 

"I didn't say I had a crush on you, Jesus," Superboy grumbles, re-folding his arms and very, very firmly still not looking anywhere near Superman. Or anywhere near Batman either, just while he's at it. But admittedly it's mostly Superman he's not looking at. "Ego much, birdboy?" 

"You have a crush on me," Robin repeats, covering his face with his hands again, and Superboy scowls at him and does not blush. "You have a crush on me and I made you go down on me in a deathtrap without even kissing you first." 

"Brush your teeth and we'll talk," Superboy says with a dismissive shrug, since Robin again did very literally just puke in that trash can and all. And like, yeah, the guy doesn't even like guys, but the flippancy is just a reflex at this point. 

Robin splays his fingers and stares at him. 

"Go to therapy and we'll talk," he says. Superboy scowls at him again. Rude. 

“Look who’s fucking talking, Bat-boy,” he says. “Are we all done freaking out about nothing now? Can I go get back to my life, please?” 

“Superboy, if you would be willing to talk to . . . someone . . .” Superman starts in a very careful tone that Superboy immediately hates the sound of. 

“Yeah, no,” he says in exasperation, just–not looking at him, still. “Therapy is for supervillains in Gotham and civilians fresh out of crisis situations, not for perfectly fine active duty superheroes who are just bad at problem-solving under pressure.” 

“You solved the puzzle perfectly, actually,” Batman says, just as neutral as before. 

“How are you making that sound like a bad thing?!” Superboy demands, shooting him a dirty look.

[magniloquent-raven]

When they first start dating (actually spending time together with their clothes on for once) Billy is completely unwilling to let Steve hold his hand. 100% against it. Snatching his hand away with varying levels of subtlety every time Steve's fingers get anywhere near his.

Steve tries not to take it personally. Billy's not that kind of touchy-feely, he supposes. Hand-holding is childish. It's what kids do when they like someone. Billy's made it very clear that he thinks it's stupid. Sometimes he withdraws entirely, folding his arms and tucking his hands under his elbows, snug against his torso where they stay hidden until Billy's posture can return to some semblance of normal and stops resembling a feral cat that's been cornered.

Sometimes he just redirects and tells Steve he can think of better things to do with his hands.

And it's not like Steve means to keep reaching for Billy's hand. He's not doing it on purpose, he's just. On dumb romantic autopilot or something. He gets warm fuzzy feelings and his brain turns to mush.

Which is why, when Billy falls asleep on the couch next to him, his fingers loosely perched on Steve's thigh, Steve starts caressing his knuckles. There's no thought behind it, he's half-asleep himself, barely watching the movie they've got on, lightly tracing scars he's mapped with his eyes but has never been allowed to touch.

By the time the credits roll Steve is dozing against Billy's shoulder, and he's got Billy's hand clutched in both of his, tucked securely between his palms.

He feels Billy startle, jolting awake, fingers twitching, then his whole body going carefully still. Steve doesn't feel like moving yet. So he doesn't.

The longer Billy goes without pulling his hand out of Steve's, the more awake Steve gets. The more aware he is of the fact that he's holding Billy's hand. It's a beautiful, shining little bubble of a moment, the warmth of him and the thrill of a first. Steve's sure that it'll be over if he moves an inch, so he pretends to sleep while Billy squirms in jerky little twitches, the motion of someone trying very hard not to let their restlessness win.

When his palm starts to sweat, Steve wonders if he's uncomfortable or just nervous, and why he doesn't just move away like he always does.

It's nearly impossible to pretend to sleep through Billy being confusing and indescribably endearing, so Steve shifts in place, turning his head to nuzzle against Billy's shoulder.

His hand is gone before Steve's even begun sleepily opening his eyes.

Confusing. Endearing.

Steve kisses his collarbone. "I was awake the whole time, you know."

"...So?" His casual tone is incredibly fake. Steve grins.

"Sooo..." It's only a little mocking, but Billy still flicks his knee in retaliation. "What's the deal, Hargrove."

"Dunno what you're talking about."

"Oh, please."

After a pause, Billy mumbles something, too quickly for Steve to make out.

"Hm?"

Billy groans. "My hands sweat."

Steve lifts his head to blink at him. The glow from the TV is just bright enough to see the flush on Billy's cheeks. "So?"

"It's." Billy rubs the back of his neck. "It's fucking embarrassing, okay?"

"I've literally licked the sweat off your body, why—" He squints at Billy's pursed lips and downcast gaze. He's trying so hard not to look nervous. He always tries so hard to pretend he's better than that, he's gotta be Mr Cool about everything—wait. "Oh. My god. Oh, that's adorable, holy shit. You know it's okay that it makes you nervous, right?"

"Fuck off."

"No, seriously, that's—I fucking love you." It tumbles out of him like it's the most natural thing in the world. He doesn't think about it, he doesn't have to, it's just true, and...

Billy makes a strangled noise. "Oh?" He's still trying to sound unaffected, and it's even less convincing than it was before.

Steve kisses him. He can't not.

Some time during the awkward tangle of Steve hauling himself into Billy's lap, rearranging their limbs without stopping to breathe, Billy catches Steve's hand. And laces their fingers together.

[sunni-stuff]

Silent pining

Part 1

What does he do now?

Ghost can't seem to get you out of his mind. The events from that day replay like a record in hia head. Oh, what a head-strong woman you are, with such a soft touch too.

Lying in his bed, Ghost found the constant wailing snores from Soap doing nothing to quell his thoughts. He'd been thinking about you for days now. Normally, he was good at stifling feelings, stuffing them into a bag to be opened later, but oh... when you fixed up his arm, he felt a new sensation coursing through his veins.

The memory of your gentle hands on his skin haunted him like a phantom, keeping him awake at night.

Ghost sat up in his bed, the dim light from a nearby lamp casting shadows on the walls. He glanced over at Soap, who was blissfully asleep despite his own noisy snoring. With a sigh, Ghost swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, quietly padding to the window.

He stared out into the night, the moonlight reflecting off the base in waves. His mind wandered back to you, to that moment when your hands had carefully tended to his shoulder. He could almost feel the warmth of your touch, the tenderness that had taken him by surprise.

Unable to shake the thought of you, Ghost decided to take a walk to clear his mind. He grabbed his jacket and slipped out of the room, moving silently through the base. The cool night air hit him as he stepped outside, offering a brief respite from the turmoil in his mind.

He made his way to the training grounds, hoping that some physical exertion might help him regain control over his thoughts. But as he began his routine, his movements were distracted, his mind constantly drifting back to you. Every punch, every kick, felt like a futile attempt to expel the image of your face, the sound of your voice.

Finally, he stopped, breathing heavily and leaning against the punching bag. His eyes closed, he allowed himself to remember you fully, to acknowledge the feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface.

The sound of laughter reaches his ears—your laugh.

Simon's eyes shoot open as he looks around for you until he sees it—the light on in your office, your silhouette hidden behind the blinds, leaning against your desk as you cheerfully laugh at something another figure in the room has said. His heart tightens.

Who?

Who is that?

A sharp pang of jealousy pierces through him, and before he knows it, Simon's feet are rushing forward. He sprints back inside, his pulse pounding in his ears. The empty halls blur around him as he races towards your office, his mind a whirlwind of emotions.

Reaching your office door, he hesitates for a split second, hand hovering above the handle. His breath is heavy, his thoughts a chaotic swirl. The need to see you overwhelms every other instinct. The sound of movement inside brings him back to his senses. He hangs back, deciding to hide around the corner and wait.

Soon, you step outside your office, your doctor's coat missing, allowing him to see the woman underneath. Your figure is eye-catching—a shame it has to be hidden, and an even bigger shame that the bloody moron inside your office stops Simon from admiring the view.

“Thanks for letting me come in and talk, Doc.”

Simon recognizes that voice, and it already has him grinding his teeth as he watches Sergeant Rodney Collins walk out. The man is a notorious man-whore, trying to fuck any woman who walks.

Don't you know that? Someone like you shouldn't be anywhere near trash like Collins.

Simon watches you smile, and his heart nearly tears in two.

Don't. Don't smile at him like that. Don't purse those pretty lips at Collins. He doesn't deserve it.

“Anytime, Collins. My door's always open, but next time, come at more reasonable hours. If any of your superiors saw you out here, they'd have your head,” you respond kindly.

How right you were.

After that night, Ghost ensures every single soldier is in bed by curfew. No late-night sneaking out and absolutely no bothering the doctor. It’s after-hours, meaning you're off the clock.

But that's not all he does.

Ghost changes his entire schedule just to hang around the medical ward, scaring off anyone lingering around. He makes it known that unless a soldier is critically injured, they should not be visiting you at all. He doesn't care that some lackey cadet needs a band-aid or another has a headache. "Go walk it off. You'll live."

The thing is, Simon is a fucking hypocrite.

Deep down, he knows it too. He can't stop thinking about you. Every chance he gets, he finds himself in your office with some excuse. A "random" check-up, a minor bruise, even a paper cut. Anything to feel your gentle hands on his skin again. He'd walk in with his usual stoic demeanor, but the moment you touched him to treat his so-called injuries, he'd feel that same surge of warmth. Your hands, your soothing voice—it was addictive.

His mates notice the change in his behavior—how he’s become more protective, more possessive over your time. Soap, knowing Simon all too well, raises an eyebrow when Ghost rearranges his patrols to coincide with your rounds.

"Seriously, man," Soap comments one day as they walk through the base, "you’re acting like you’ve got a crush on the doc."

Ghost scoffs, trying to play it cool, but the subtle twitch of his fingers give him away. "It’s just protocol, Soap. Someone’s gotta make sure she’s not being bothered."

Soap chuckles knowingly. "Uh-huh, sure. Just don’t forget to practice what you preach, Lieutenant. Hypocrisy doesn’t look good on anyone.”

Ghost’s jaw tightens, knowing Soap is right. He spends his days enforcing rules he himself can’t seem to follow. Every time he catches himself lingering, he reminds himself of his duty—but as soon as he sees that smile on your face, all his resolve crumbles like sand between his fingers.

Your office feels strangely quiet, devoid of the usual bustle of soldiers seeking medical attention. Sherry, your colleague, seems to have a growing list of patients, some of whom used to come to you. It's left you with an unusual amount of free time, enough to rearrange your office multiple times out of sheer boredom.

Every now and then, he catches a glimpse of you through the window of your office. You're always so focused, so dedicated. It's mesmerizing to watch you work, even from afar. Simon needs to get a grip and let Ghost do his job. He's a lieutenant, not some boy with a crush. But when he hears your laugh echo down the hallway, his heart skips a beat, and he can't help but wonder who's there with you, making you laugh like that.

When the door finally creaks open, it's him again.

Lieutenant Riley.

His presence is becoming a regular occurrence, and his excuses for visiting are increasingly flimsy—a minor papercut, a bruised knuckle that he insists needs a bandage. You've told him countless times that he doesn't need medical attention for such minor issues, but he always finds a reason to linger near the medical supplies just to exchange a few words with you.

Could he be the reason why your patient visits have dwindled?

During lunch, you sit beside Sherry, who exudes enthusiasm about her growing patient list. She chats animatedly about how the soldiers have been seeking her help more frequently lately.

“It's strange, though, isn't it?” you interject, stirring your soup thoughtfully. “Everyone in the ward seems to be busy except for me. Have you noticed anything?”

Sherry pauses, her brow furrowing slightly. “Come to think of it, when I walked by the training grounds today, I heard a recruit sayin' his arm was hurting him but Lieutenant Riley told him unless he was bleeding he couldn't come to you."

The next time Ghost entered your office, you decided to break from your usual routine. Instead of standing up to tend to him, you remained seated behind your desk, observing him with a raised eyebrow as he walked in with his usual "injury"—a minor scratch on his arm that barely broke the skin.

"Another 'injury,' Lieutenant?" you asked, your tone tinged with curiosity and a hint of amusement.

Ghost nodded silently, his eyes piercing through the holes of his balaclava, fixed on you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. He sat down across from you, expecting your usual care without a word spoken.

You leaned forward, hands clasped together, a sweet smile spreading across your lips. "Lieutenant, unless you're bleeding, I can't tend to you. Go walk it off."

His eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by your change in demeanor. For a moment, he seemed dumbfounded, perhaps slightly embarrassed, but his determination remained palpable. With a quick nod and a muttered "Okay," he left your office.

Ghost's return catches you off guard. His presence, intense as ever, fills the room with an unspoken tension. He doesn't say a word as he sits back down, the scratch on his arm now a more serious wound, oozing blood.

You meet his piercing gaze with a mix of concern and curiosity. "Lieutenant, what happened?" Your tone softens, genuine worry creeping into your voice despite your attempt to maintain professionalism.

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding your eyes. "Accident," he mutters, his voice barely audible.

You sigh inwardly, realizing he's not here for idle conversation or a Band-Aid. There's something more beneath the surface, something he's not willing to disclose. Ghost's silence is palpable, his unyielding demeanor a stark contrast to the vulnerability seeping through his actions.

Without another word, you retrieve the necessary supplies and begin cleaning and dressing his wound. The atmosphere hangs heavy with unspoken questions, each touch and movement laden with unspoken tension.

As you work, Ghost remains unusually still, his gaze fixed on a distant point. The silence between you stretches, filled only by the soft rustling of medical supplies and the rhythmic hum of the air conditioning.

Finally, when the last bandage is secured, Ghost speaks, his voice low and gravelly. "Thank you."

You nod in acknowledgment, sensing there's more he wants to say but isn't ready to voice. The encounter leaves you unsettled, your thoughts swirling with unanswered questions about Ghost and his enigmatic presence in your life.

Why was he acting this way?

You reach out, delicately taking his gloved hands in yours. "If I take you out to dinner, will you stop scaring off the soldiers from my office?" the question was both a playful challenge and a genuine inquiry into his motives. It was a way to confront his behavior while also acknowledging the unspoken tension between you.

Ghost blinked, caught off guard by your directness. His gloved hands tensed slightly in yours, a mixture of surprise and uncertainty flickering in his eyes visible through the balaclava. He hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his response carefully. Dinner.

Dinner with you.

He was a lucky man; his love was such a keen birdie.

Finally, he let out a faint, almost imperceptible chuckle, his voice low and gravelly. "You think dinner will make me stop?"

There was a hint of amusement in his tone, a rare glimpse of a lighter side beneath his usual seriousness. He looked down at your intertwined hands, his fingers subtly adjusting to hold yours more comfortably.

"I can't promise that," he admitted quietly, his gaze lifting to meet yours. "But I'd love to have dinner with you."

You shake your head in disbelief, chuckling at his words. What kind of man was he? Why did he scare everyone off and most importantly why did he want your attention so badly? "Fine. We'll have dinner, but can you at least stop injuring yourself to come see me?"

Ghost's expression softened slightly at your playful response, a hint of relief flickering in his eyes behind the balaclava. He nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Deal," he replied, his voice a touch lighter than usual. "No more injuries just to visit you." There was a warmth in his voice, a subtle reassurance that he understood your concern and was willing to make an effort to change his approach.

Ghost withdrew his hands from yours, the gloved fingers brushing against your palms briefly before he straightened up in his seat. His demeanor remained composed, yet there was a newfound ease in his presence, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

♡! It's been ten days, my beauties! I'm sorry for my constant disappearing act. The new Final Fantasy expansion recently came out, and I've been playing nonstop, but I have other fics dropping this week, along with request!!

"This weekend?" he asked, his tone now tinged with a hint of curiosity and a touch of anticipation.

P.S not proofread; I wrote this at 3 am 💞

[astroboots]

Heatwave

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Summary: Santiago and you try to occupy yourselves during another heatwave in Florida.

Rating: Explicit, edging, bratty-ass behavior from one Santiago.

Pairing: Santiago x female reader (you)

Word Count: 4,000

Homecoming Universe | Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss' masterlist

At what point does a spiking high temperature no longer count as a heatwave and just becomes the new average temperature for the local area. Is it after the third or sixth heatwave in a month? And for that matter, how many record breaking high temperatures can one summer have in store for a state that is already known for its hot climate?

Fuck! Why did he move back here again?

Santiago is melting. Lying slumped against the cool flooring of the bedroom where the breeze reaches. He's stripped off his clothes, wearing nothing but his boxers and staying far away from any walls because they are fucking radiating heat. At one point he's pretty sure he saw the edges of the walls wobble from the inferno temperature raging outside... either that or his vision is blurring out on him.

It must be what? 150 degrees, 200?? He doesn't care what the weatherman is reporting, there's no fucking way it's only 110 out there.

Leaning his head back down on the cold wooden flooring for reprieve, he can't remember the last time Florida got so hot. (If it has, he hasn't been here to see it).

Shit, it must be even hotter than that time you drove him down to the airport, what was it now, ten or twelve years ago? It got so fucking hot that the radio was warning about staying away from the highway because the tarmac was at risk of melting.

No one in their right mind would've gone out on the road that day. Except you of course. In your shitty little Volvo, with a broken A/C and a clutch that creaked with every change of gear. It's lucky the old piece of junk made it to the airport at all, and nothing short of a miracle that you made it there in time.

He can still see it in his mind's eye. The way your hair was matted with sweat as you pulled up to the drop off point. Still remembers how his old t-shirt was glued to every inch of his sweaty back as he peeled himself off the passenger seat. How, even as disgusting as the two of you felt, drenched in sweat and smelling like two dumpster diving raccoons, having been trapped on the highway for over an hour in that heat, you had held onto his torso as if you were never going to let him go. Your pinkie wrapped around his, so tightly, he was sure the blood circulation was entirely cut off as you told him in no uncertain terms: "You better fucking come back home in one piece, Santiago."

A smile breaks out across his face at the memory. From a distance he can hear the familiar sound of your footfall from the hallway, followed by your voice echoing all the way upstairs as you call out for him.

"Santiagoooo!"

If it wasn't for the heat, he'd call back in response to you. But all the strength is zapped out of him. Plus, he suspects that the reason you're calling for him is to rope him into helping Frankie with the latest crazy home project the man's set on finishing this weekend (and in this heat Santiago's not going anywhere near that).

"Honey." The endearing nickname has him smiling even wider. His mouth parts, just about to respond to you when he hears the rest of your sentence.

"Frankie needs help sanding down the fence."

Bingo.

No way in hell he's responding now.

He can hear you opening and closing doors all over the house in search of him. You'll find him eventually, but it doesn't mean he's not going to take his time enjoying the last few moments of being in the safe shelter out of the sun.

There's a soft click as the door to the bedroom opens. From his limited view on the floor, he sees glimpses of your feet from the corner of his eyes as you march in front of him until you're standing above, looming over his form.

"Santiago. I was looking for you everywhere."

He lets the hand resting on his thigh slide down to the front of his boxers without thought and that catches your immediate attention.

There's a sharp and sudden inhale from you, as if the air is spiked. You look like you've forgotten how to breathe properly.

You liked that huh? The corner of his lips curl into a smile as he holds eye contact with you.

"Sorry, must've dozed off."

"Har, har. Stop lounging around half naked and acting like a thirst trap. Frankie needs help with the fence."

"It's 200 fucking degrees. I'm not going to do that. Frankie can finish his home improvement project when Armageddon isn't happening outside."

You shoot him a small frown. Arms crossing in front of your chest.

He pats the space on the floor right next to himself, as he continues. “Come lay down with me for a second to cool down. You look like you might be overheating. Don’t wanna get heatstroke or anything. Frankie can wait a few minutes.”

You don't move from the spot, making no move to join him. "Poor Frankie is doing all the work."

Santiago's itching to retort that there's nothing "poor" about Frankie's situation. Man is having the time of his life out there. He loves doing these projects.

But Santiago keeps his mouth shut. Because he knows if he doesn't, he'll inevitable set you two up for a back and forth of who's right and wrong, who wins and who's losing the argument, trying to one-up each other the rest of the afternoon. And it's not that Santiago doesn't absolutely love doing that with you but...

Peering up at you, the way your lips are swollen with heat and parted as you look at him, Santiago has a much better idea of how he wants to spend the rest of the afternoon with you.

"Just a little bit, sweetheart," he says, doing his best to sweet talk you as he pats his free hand over the same spot on the floor in invitation. "Come sit with me for one minute, and I promise I'll go help Frankie okay?"

Glancing over your shoulder, you throw a quick glance over the window, probably to check in on Frankie.

"Just a minute, okay?"

"Mhmm. Just one."

It doesn't take more persuasion from him than that. Next thing he knows, you're walking over to him. Soft steps and an even softer gaze in your eyes. Then you sink down on the floor and sit down on the spot right where he patted.

That was... surprisingly easy.

He'd expected more resistance from you. Was fully prepared to do a filibuster marathon to try to convince you to join him. Hadn't quite expected you to just... give into him the way you just did. He blinks up in surprise, at your face mere inches away from him. He's not fully sure what just happened. You've never turned down an opportunity to put up a fight with him before.

You stare down at his chest and bare stomach, lingering there. You swallow down reflexively as you take him in with heated eyes.

Huh...

Santiago knows the effect he has on women. He just never knew he had that effect on you.

As arrogant as it sounds, he knows he's a good looking man. Knows that he's charming to boot. But the relationship between the two of you, for all the love that you had held for each other, had always remained platonic back in the day. You don't look at him the way other women do. And Santiago doesn't flirt with you the way he does with other women. Those were the unspoken rules you two had set for each other from the start and it's all you two have ever known.

And while things have changed now. While Santiago's seen the heated looks you give him when he's in bed with you, your relationship has remained largely unchanged outside of it.

You still pull him up on his bullshit when he's earned it. Never hesitate to square up with him in a competition for anything.

This... This is new.

He taps his bare thigh, almost experimentally to test his theory. He doesn't miss the way your pupils dilate with interest, and as always he can't resist the urge to goad you.

Not when you're eyeing him so appreciatively, in a way that you've never done in the past in all your years of friendships until recently. He figures he's earned the right after all this time to be a little bit obnoxious and revel and preen in the attention from you.

"Cariño," he calls out, until your eyes pulls back up to his face. "Eyes up here," he teases.

You roll your eyes, smacking him in the chest. It's supposedly a playful gesture, but you do it with enough strength that it knocks the breath out of him.

"I know," you retort, but your eyes drift back to his chest and then continue downwards and the attention has heat spearing through his limbs.

"You're still looking," he teases, and his hand snakes down over the plane of his thighs, reveling in your attentive gaze. "Didn't know you were such a perv."

By now you'd usually retaliate or cuss him out, but you don't.

Instead, you continue to stare, eyes blown wide as if you've been cast under a spell, mesmerized.

He palms himself through the front of his boxers, and he can feel the rush of blood rushing down and away from his head as his cock stirs to hardness. If Santiago was considered full of himself before this, it's nothing compared to how he feels in this moment with the way you're looking at him. Your expression blank, like the sight of him has made you lose your ability to speak. Mouth parted, the glistening pink of your tongue peeking out, as if you would devour him if he'd let you.

"Should I give you a show then?" he asks.

After all, if you want to look, he's more than happy to give you something proper to look at.

You nod with an eagerness that has your head bouncing up and down like the bopping bobble head toy Frankie keeps on the dashboard. Santiago lets out a laugh that's more breathless than he had expected from himself. He blames it on the heat.

Dragging down the edge of his boxers, he keeps his eyes on yours as his fingers wrap around the base of himself and his cock jumps in response to the touch.

Shit, that's good. A sweet spike of pleasure runs through him at the languid touch, and he feels breathless with it. His cock is slick with precome that drips down the length with each slide of his hand.

Running his hand up the rigid length, the calloused skin graze against the sensitive skin. Pleasure ooze and drips inside his chest and down his limbs, until his legs tremble with it. Santiago's touched himself countless times before but it's never felt like this before.

Maybe it's the heat that's getting to him. Or maybe it's the way you're inching closer with each passing second until you're practically straddling him on his lap. You and your soft and perfect thighs pressing down on his own, keeping him pinned onto the floor as he tries to keep going. The heat he can feel from between your legs, through the thin layer of cotton that's pressed onto his bare skin. Yeah... maybe it's that.

Santiago goes slow and languid as he touches himself for your benefit. And as ridiculous as it sounds it is for you. Because if it wasn't for you, there's no chance in hell he'd be going this slowly. He'd be fast and almost sloppy, squeezing down on his cock until the desperate need that's riding his spine lets go with his climax. If you weren't here, gorgeous eyes all focused on him, with a look that he wouldn't even let himself dream of in the past, he wouldn't want to prolong it the way he is.

Even now, with the strained effort of taking it as slow as he can possibly stand, he's not entirely sure how long he'll last. He feels like he's on a precarious edge, his climax taunting him, swelling up and simmering with a slow burn in his stomach.

Your torso tilts forward, squirming in his lap, with the tiniest movement every time his hand moves upwards, in time with his strokes.

You're practically riding his thigh, and Jesus fucking christ, that isn't helping Santiago's situation right now. At this point you're both going to come dry humping each other like horny clueless Mormons on their wedding night.

"Sweetheart, wait--" he tries, but you press yourself down on his thigh all the same, and he can feel your sweet slick drip down on his thigh and coat him with it. All he's capable of is a deep and shameless moan.

His cock twitches in his hand, and for several alarming seconds, Santiago thinks that's it. That it's already too late and he's going to come right then and there, spilling himself all over his hand and stomach.

Santiago squeezes down hard around the base of his cock to stave off the needy sensation.

"Shit," he hisses. "Fuck. fuck. Sweetheart, gonna need you to--" he doesn't finish his sentence. Can't spare the seconds it would take to properly think. One hand is already reaching out under your dress (thank god you're wearing a dress) wedging your panties to the side, his other pulling you closer by your waist until your pussy is lined up with the swollen head of his cock.

He doesn't even have time to move his hand in place to grip at his cock before you push down on him. Heat streaks through his insides until his lungs feels like they're burning. Your perfect pussy envelops all of him, every single throbbing aching inch with slick warmth and perfect pressure until his vision whites out.

Fuck, why is he so fucking sensitive.

He can't... fuck, he can't hold on. A desperate groan tears out of his throat and he buries his face into your neck to hide from the sensation that has him surrounded.

He thrusts upwards, canting his hips until you're taking all of him.

Pleasure singes his entire spine, and it burns him alive with it. The heat is unbearable, sweat is plastered to his back, but it doesn't matter. Santiago's skin is damp and sticky, but he's still pressing you closer. Wants every inch of you, warm and gorgeous and so fucking soft, pressed against him in every way he can have you, and he's still not sure if that'd be enough.

Wants to make up for every year, hour, minute and second that he'd wasted of his life, being away from you. Wants all of that even if it kills him.

Planting his feet on the wooden floor for leverage, he grabs your hips to force you down as far as you can take him. Until your head throws back with a high-pitched whine, palms pushing down on his chest as if it's too much for you to handle, and he lets go, sinking down his hips back towards the floor, until only the tip of him rests inside you.

He gives you a handful of seconds to catch your breath. Then he grabs your waist and push you down on his cock. Again, and again. To the gorgeous sounds of your keen moans and whines all blended into one, as you're sobbing out his name.

Forceful, deep thrusts that has tears pushing in the corner of your eyes. He keeps going as the sweet aching heat has him drunk and euphoric on you, with each and every rise and cant of his hips.

He's not going to last. Shit, shit, he's not going to last like this.

But that's okay. Because judging from the way you're grinding against him. Needy and desperate. Your cunt squeezing so tight around his cock it makes it hard to breathe, you're not going to last either.

His hand strays down below your stomach, sliding between your legs until his thumb catches at your clit, slippery and wet, and absolutely dripping for him. You sob at the contact, wracked in shivers as he continues to rub smooth little circles over it, and he can feel just how close you are.

You're perfect. Eyes squeezed shut, head tilted back in surrender, a high-pitched whine escaping your throat and oh fuck Santiago was not prepared for this.

His brain stalls out, hand stopping as his movements comes to a still to take in the sight before him because...You are so fucking beautiful like this.

"Santiago, what the fuck, make me—" you're slapping his shoulder, voice high pitched and desperate that makes his spine tingle as you grind on him. "Fuck make me cum, don't be an ass."

Fuck what is he doing?

Santiago's not sure. Not sure why he's stopped, even as every nerve and muscle in him is screaming for him to chase after the pleasure until both of you are coming.

Not sure why he's just sitting there dumbfounded. Except, this is everything he's wanted for so long that he's denied himself and he realizes that right now— it's here, landed in his very lap. You're the woman he's loved for so long, no matter how much he's denied it to himself, and he just wants to make this moment last.

All he knows is that he doesn't want this to end.

"Wait, sweetheart," he murmurs, even as you squirm from his grip pinning you in place. "Just give me a second. Want to remember this," and he means it with more sincerity than he ever thought he had left in him as he stares up at you in complete awe.

He wants it to last.

Not just out of a ill-placed sense of pride. Not just because he knows you're going to give him shit for coming too fast.

He just wants this to last. Wants you in his arms like this. Wants you to look at him, just like this, like you need him to survive, more than your next breath. This. This. This. He wants it to last forever.

You don't listen to him though. Of course you don't, because you never make it that easy for him. Your hips roll against him, grinding with desperation until his cock nudges something devastatingly perfect that has him convinced his brain is melting.

Shit, he has to stop. Oh fuck oh fuck, he's too close—

"Stop stop," he warns, hand gripping down on your hips to stop you "Boa, Stop— fuck you're gonna make me—"

But it's too late. It's already happening. He can feel his cock pulse and throb as he spills himself inside of you, shuddering through his orgasm— and fuck this was not how it was supposed to go down.

Everything slows. It's everywhere, rushing through him with a chaotic frenzy as it wrings him dry. The euphoric sensation overcrowding everything else, and his head feels like he is going to split with it. He can't think. Can't breathe.

But even in his post-cum haze he knows you still haven't come and he can't have that.

Santiago grits through it. Biting down and clenching on his jaw to ride through the over-brimming sensation that threatens to burst out of his skin as he continues to thrust into you.

Oversensitive and overstimulated. Every slick slide of your perfect pussy has him gasping for air. It's too much. Like live wires are running through his skin and every cant of your hips against him sets every receptor in his brain on overdrive. His cock is so sensitive, he can feel every fraction of you wrapped around him.

And it's perfect and it's good. And it's just so fucking much.

You're burning hot. He feels feverish and on the brink of delirium from the heat. Like he's inside a live furnace, but he doesn't want to stop. Can't stop. Not until he's seen your eyes roll into the back of your head. Not until you've come apart for him.

Locking his arm over the small of your back, he flips you over, onto your back. Pushing his free hand between your bodies until his thumb is rubbing rough little circles on your clit again.

He keeps going, pushing inside even as every nerve at him is screaming for respite. Santiago doesn't stop though. You're so close, and he just has to hold on even as each flutter and squeeze of your cunt is pushing him over the edge of too much.

Doesn't stop even as your gorgeous eyelashes flutter dramatically, your eyes rolling back as you kick your leg out and finally, finally comes on his cock.

The sensation of your climax punches the last breath out of him. He can hear himself whine pathetically into your neck.

The overwhelming tightness of you, your pussy squeezing and clenching down over and over, as if you're trying to wring and empty him out of anything he has left him. It brings him to his knees and collapses into you.

Everything feels sticky and clammy. Both of you drenched, as he's pinning you down with his weight. He feels weightless and heavy all at the same time. It doesn't make sense and shouldn't even be possible. But it certainly didn't help him in his efforts to move

To the protest of his exhausted limbs, Santiago rolls over to lay on his back next to you there on the floor. Both of you sweaty and panting.

God this might have been a bad idea.

It was too fucking hot even before all the physical exertion, now it's like an inferno. He's seconds from passing out. But at least the floor is marginally cooler against his back than the surrounding air, while you're laying there catching their breath.

Every inch of him thrums with pleasure, and his body practically tingles with the afterglow of his climax. But he can't help the scowl on his face. He's mentally cringing.

He came too fast.

Shot his load like some overeager virgin.

And there's no fucking way you wouldn't have noticed that he came before you. It's only a matter of you catching your breath, before you start giving him shit about it.

He lies there, staring up at the ceiling, preemptively trying to come up with some kind of defense or comeback but nothing comes to him. The only thing that fills his head is the image of your eyes from seconds ago, gazing down on him, looking at him the way that deep down, through all those years of platonic friendship, for all the way he's tried to repressed it, he's always wanted you to look at him.

It's so fucking stupid, but his stomach flutters pleasantly at the memory.

"Hey, Santiago...?"

He closes his eyes and runs a hand over his face trying desperately to pull himself together. Because even though he knows it's coming. Right now he feels too naked and raw, without protection to brace himself at whatever joke you're sure to make next at his expense.

Feels a little bit too exposed after that perfect moment of having everything he never let himself acknowledge that he wanted right there in his arms.

He swallows, bracing himself for the witty remark, as he responds to you with a weak, "Yeah?"

You don't say anything.

Instead, he feels just the barest touch against his hand, and he looks down. Your fingers slides against the heel of his hand, searching for his hand before you find his pinkie and curl around it. He drags his eyes back towards your face and you have the softest smile on your sweaty, gorgeous face.

"I'm glad you're here," you say, there's no sarcasm there. Your voice is soft and quiet, and so sincere.

He doesn't know what is happening to him but his chest constricts and is drawn so tight it's painful. And suddenly he's blinking back tears. Call him dramatic, but for a brief moment Santiago swears the chest pains are a sign of cardiac arrest, until you grip his pinkie tighter and the pain eases.

"Yeah...." Santiago nods. Has to clear his throat before he can get the rest of the words out from the lump that is lodged in his throat. "Yeah, me too. Sweetheart. Me too."

Sweat sticks to his back, and the heat is unbearable. But he doesn't want to move. Doesn't ever want to leave this spot with you lying next to him.

He'll never admit it out loud. But he knows why even though he hates Florida with every inch of his soul, he'll always find his way back here. Why no matter how far away he goes, a part of him will always be left behind here. A long long time ago in the drop off zone of Miami International, on a disgusting hot and sweaty day just like today, he made a promise. He promised that he'll always came back home to you.

Dedication & Credits: To my dearest @thirstworldproiblemss who came up with that DEVASTATING concept of the pinkie holding post-sex.

Follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[onskepa]

Stxeli: Silly demon

Here is another chapter to keep you guys occupied while I type the next request! Enjoy!

Stxeli series

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“Hhhmmmhhmm~” Stxeli hums in content as she returns home from her little yovo adventure. Harvesting a good amount, many will eat well tonight. As she passes by, many greet her, some gifting her little trinkets or snacks. All that stxeli happily accepts and gives them yovo in gratitude. 

Arriving at her home, making sure the fruits are away from direct sunlight and in a cool nook, stxeli snacks on one of her gifts. There is still plenty of daylight left, her mother doesn't need her assistance and her father is important with his duties. Neytiri, her poor big sister, left to teach the ugly demon. 

So what can she do now?

“What to do, what to do…” stxeli wonders as she walks around the village. Doing bits here and there, helping young mothers or playing with children around her age. Even helped one of the girls to braid her long hair. A skill stxeli is coming to be an expert at. Her family can proudly tell. 

“Stxeli!” 

She turns around to see Tsu'tey running up to her. Greeting each other, she smiles. 

“Hi tsu’tey! Aren't you going to train the others?” stxeli asks. 

Tsu’tey nods but grins a bit mischievous, “yes, we are going to ride the pali’s, would you like to come?” he offers. 

Stxeli loves pali riding, but the logical side of her speaks, “I love to, but I don't want to get in the way of your training” 

“You won't, your sister is already there with the demon” 

That instantly clicked in her mind, understanding tsu’tey now. Her grin matching his own, stxeli raises her arms up. 

“Up please!” 

“Again!” Neytiri demands, her patience running thin. 

Jake sighs tiredly, getting up from the ground groaning in pain and exhaustion. To think riding a pali would be easy. Not everything is easy in Pandora, Jake guesses. If this is the easier part, he fears the future challenges he has to face. 

“Get up!” Neytiri looks down at him, showing her very obvious disapproving look. 

“I'm up, I'm up” Jake says. 

Getting back onto his feet, dusting himself off, “I know you are making this difficult for me, isn't there a better way?” he asks. 

“No, now try again” short and straightforward, something jake is taking notes about neytiri. 

He does again, this time he succeeds on getting on top of his pali, calming down the creature, he bonds with her. It felt odd yet amazing,  he can feel what the pali is feeling, feeling her heartbeat. Gathering the courage to go further, “HYAH!” he yelps, only for the thrust of the pali to be too quick. 

He falls once more, his face meeting mud. 

It took a lot of strength from neytiri to not laugh at his failure. 

Groaning in pain again, jake suddenly hears the sound of multiple hoof sounds. All coming to his direction.  So getting up and turning he sees none other than Tsu'tey and his students. Along with a tiny someone. 

“You should go away!” Tsu'tey sneers at jake. Speaking in clear english. 

“No, you’d miss me” jake talks back, a bit in a joking manner as he gets closer to tsu’tey. By instinct, tsu’tey turns his pali to cover stxeli from jake’s eyes. 

Ignoring what the warrior is doing, jake points at him, “I knew you speak english” 

Neytiri walks to jake, gently guiding the pali back. Tsu’tey speaks something to neytiri, something jake doesn't understand but chuckles it off.

“He will not learn. A stone can see better. Look at him” tsu’tey tells neytiri, who just smiles. Shaking her head, she gives jake a little break to clean himself off. Jake happily does. 

“What are you doing here? I told you I don't want you to be anywhere near him” neytiri asks as she sees stxeli sitting comfortably in front of tsu’tey, while munching on some yovo fruit. 

“He offered!” stxeli was quick to point at tsu’tey. 

Neytiri glares at tsu’tey, grunting disapprovingly. 

“Are you two just here to watch Jake fail and laugh at him?” 

“Yes” her sister and friend both answer quickly and honestly. 

Sighing, neytiri places a hand on stxlie’s leg, “sister, please be careful, you as well tsu’tey. If she is joining you, then you will be fully responsible of her while I am busy”. 

Tsu’tey nods, “she is always safe with me,” he reminds.

While keeping a safe distance, stxeli was enjoying her time. Seeing the dream walker fail time and time again was very amusing. And the silly faces he makes! He may be ugly but his goofy falls make up for it. 

However, because of the constant failures, it is getting on Neytiri's nerves. Clearly the dream walker is not improving at all. 

“Bah! You are pathetic! You will never learn like this!” Neytiri shouts in frustration. Up on one of the branches, stxeli was observing the whole ordinal. Neytiri is looking a lot like their father when angry. Down to furrowing their eyes. 

Jake was huffing and puffing, exhausted beyond his capability. 

“Done, we are done for today. Bathe yourself! You reek!” Neytiri shouts as she walks away. 

“Stupid dreamwalker, stupid ugh!” Neytiri mutters in frustration as she chops the vegetables. The other na’vi kept their distance so as to not tip her anger even more. Mo’at took notice of neytiri’s emitting anger, and how it is frightening the others. Before she can ask, stxeli appear beside her. 

“Tsmuke is mad because the alien constantly fails. He is not improving sa’nu” mo’at’s youngest tells. Now finally understanding the situation. 

“You go on ahead, do what you like until dinner” mo’at says, nodding happily, stxeli leaves. 

Taking a deep breath, the tsahik gets up from her position to go speak with her eldest child. Knowing how much she takes after her father, mo’at prepares for a long talk

“DAMN IT!” Jake curses out in anger. 

Once again Jake falls on his ass from trying to ride a pali. Groaning out in anger, he slams his fist against the ground. 

“The hell am I doing wrong?” He asks out. Letting his voice echo throughout the forest. 

“Theenk tu demon!” a voice was heard. 

Jake turned around, his ears twitching, trying to search for the voice. It sounded like a little child speaking, with a very heavy accent. 

“Hello….?” he calls out. 

“Theenk na’vi!” the voice speaks out again. 

Jake gets up, trying to find the source, “where the hell are you?” 

“STAY AWAY!” the voice screeches. 

Jake does so, feeling very confused. “Ok, ok I won't move” 

“Theenk na’vi!” the voice repeats. 

Aaaah, Jake now understands. Grinning a bit, he asks, “are you helping me?” 

“Halp tsumke” the voice replies. 

The voice no doubt belongs to neytiri’s “little sister”. The child, Jake suspects, is a human. Neytiri and the other na’vi would do their best to hide her from his view. Seems the child is doing the same. 

“Halp you, halp tsmuke” the child’s English was very broken, can barely understand her words. Her na’vi accent is very thick. 

“Ok…think na’vi you say..” Jake understood more. How the hell does that work? 

Stxeli wanted to slam her whole head against the tree. Why did she think it was a good idea? Any of this? Maybe she was better off with tsu’tey. But seeing neytiri upset didn't sit well with her. No doubt she will be in big trouble for being this close to the demon, and alone non the less. Stxeli would do anything to ease her family’s tension. 

Too bad she didn't think it through that she had to speak in english to the demon. 

English is so hard! 

Stxeli only knows a few words from trying to repeat what her family says. Half the time she doesn't even know what it means. 

That demon better learn the peoples language soon because right now she sounds like a baby. 

“Theenk na’vi! Pali theenk!” the child continues to say. 

Jake tilts his head, trying to code what she meant. 

“Thump…!! To thump! Beating!” 

“Are you talking about heartbeat?” Jake asks. Remembering what neytiri said. Feel the pali’s heartbeat. 

“Theenk na’vi! Pali theenk!” the child continues to say. 

Jake tilts his head, trying to code what she meant. 

“Thump…!! To thump! Beating!” 

“Are you talking about heartbeat?” Jake asks. Remembering what neytiri said. Feel the pali’s heartbeat. 

Looking at the pali, Jake takes a deep breath. Heading over, slowly raising his arms, displaying no threat. The pali takes notice, hesitant at first. 

“Easy…easy girl…” Jake soothes. The pali snorts out, letting jake get closer. 

“Bond! Kuru! Thump!” the child instructs. 

Rolling his eyes, jake carefully gets on the pali, being steady to not scare her. Feeling how calm she is, jake connects his kuru with the pali. Feeling what she is feeling, the thump of her heartbeat, the dirt from her hooves, the air in her nostrils. He can feel it all. 

“Theenk! One! Move!” 

“Ok…” taking it slow, jake thinks of what he wants to do. The pali starts to walk slowly around the area. Even taking a bit of jumps in glee. 

“Woa..!” he smiles, seeing as he has not fallen off to the ground again. 

“Ok let's try it” he mutters, his smile growing. The pali walks a bit faster, then faster, to the point where she begins to run around the area. Feeling her strong legs, her lungs taking deep breaths. It felt great, it was as though it was Jake who was running. 

“Woohoo!!” he cheers. 

“You what?!” mo’at couldn't believe what she just heard. 

Stxeli looked down, feeling guilty. 

“I'm sorry sa’nu! I just didn't want tsmuke to be angry any longer” she tried to excuse. Mo’at wasn't hearing it. When her sweet child told her of how close she was in Jake's proximity, how it was so easy for him to see her. Mo’at was shaking in fear. 

One wrong move, that is all it can take, one wrong move and stxeli would be taken-

“Sa’nu?” 

Stxeli grabs her mothers hands, letting her smaller ones reach her warmth. 

By instinct mo’at pulled stxeli close to her chest, feeling her tiny heartbeat. Quickly it soothes mo’ats anxiety. 

“Ma’ite, that was very reckless of you. If neytiri told you to stay away from him, you do so. He is still considered dangerous ma’ite. I dont want anything terrible happen to you” mo’at says. 

Stxeli huffs a bit, “as if that demon can hurt me. He fell off of the poor pali multiple times” 

“I dont care. From now on you will be either with me, or your sempu. Do you hear me? If jakesully is close, you hide. I am serious ma’ite. Not until he is deemed trustworthy” 

Stxeli nods. However, seeing her mother behave like this is new to her. Not one did her mother display such uneasiness. It worried stxeli very much. 

“Sa’nu? Why are you and everyone so worried that the demon seeing me? Is something wrong with me?” stxeli couldn't help but ask. Mo’at was quick to shake her head, sharing a light kiss on her little head. 

“No, there is nothing wrong with you, my child. There are just things outsiders have no reason to lay their eyes on things that don't concern them”. 

Mo’at holds her child tightly, her golden eyes staring out into the world. Sharp and steady. She may allow Jake to stay in her village, but she will not hesitate to take him out if he ever dares to get close to her little one. 

Aaaaaaaaaand that is it! Hope you all enjoyed this new chapter! Until next time! See ya!

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Taglist:

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[t-tomuras]

Those cute little pictures or videos of couples sitting on their partners lap while they do their makeup but now im thinking about it with having your fave do your makeup for you while you cockwarm them…

Like, Katsuki is either mean and intentionally tries to make you squirm with the twitch of his cock or ‘adjusting’ and giving you some friction but if you move and react he jerks away or tries not to mess up your makeup while he’s doing it because he IS a perfectionist and he can’t have his pretty thing (gn) look disheveled by his hand when he’s supposed to be doing you up yeah?

But alternatively with someone like Tenko I just cant stop thinking about how precise Tenko is with it. He takes it so seriously, treats it like one of those accuracy or precision skills in a game. Absolutely has perfect reaction skills to stay still or move his hand away if you squirm on his lap. He knows you're doin it on purpose but you asked him so sweetly to do it for you before crawling into his lap, pullin his attention away from his game. But it steadily becomes a new game to him, one to see just how long it'll take you to break and near plead for him to "move. Just a little, please? Just a little bit."

Only to reward him with a cute whine and a trembling stillness when his thumb holds your chin and his breathes out a smooth, "not until I'm finished with this."

But then there’s a man like Touya that always fold when he's buried to the hilt in you but can you blame him? Just eating up your attention and your desire to be close to him. He acts like he's not good at the application, or like he really doesn't want to in his typical aloof façade. Ending up accidentally smearing your lipstick so they just make a bigger mess by pressing his fingers into your cheeks and pulling you in for a kiss. Tongue swiping along the seam of your lips, begging for entry before sighing with relief when you grant it. Letting the sound bleed into a soft groan as he envelops you in his arms and leans back in his seat or on the bed. Palming the curve of your skull while the other hand presses into the small of your back and forces a pretty little arch. Your chest near crushed against his before you pull back, parting for air but also not really wanting to get too far into whatever he wants to do because you really do have somewhere to be. But he's so insistent but so are you and he knows when to acquiesce. Falling back into a slump with a lopsided smirk and hooded gaze and a cool, "why would I wanna be anywhere else than right here?"

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Sooo, have you heard of Call Ducks? Because I just learned about Call Ducks. They are very small ducks that were bred to have a loud call in order for hunters to draw in other ducks. They are little bitty bait. (Also, so fucking adorable)

Anyways, AU time! Where Technoblade is treated with less dignity than a Call Duck!

Technoblade is an avian. A very small avian, true, and his claws aren't nearly as impressive as the stuffed hands that His Hunters keep as trophies. His Hunters treat him so well. He has a roof over his head, unlike wild avians. He has his delicious pellet food, unlike wild avians. He has a single blanket all for himself! Truly, he is lucky to be among His Hunters.

If he is REALLY good, they even pat him on the head. One of the Hunter's neices even called him cute once! Sure, she had pulled at his feathers, but-

All he has to do is sit alone in the woods and cry.

It's really easy! Most of the time, anyway. He's gotten good at crying on command. At first, he preferred to be quiet. There was already so much noise and he didn't want to be seen by Predators. But the Hunters were nice enough to teach him how to cry! Even if the pinching and slapping had hurt at the time. Now he's got it down! They only occasionally have to twist his wing to bring on the waterworks.

Then, it stops working.

He didn't do anything different. It had always worked before! But suddenly, no other Avians are falling for it! Even when they move to a different area, no luck! It has been a while since the hunters have seen so much as a FEATHER of other avians.

And Technoblade, well, he notices that things feel OFF. The hunters look at him with less patience. There is something disapproving in their gaze. Their words are harsher. They twist his arm harder and make his cries turn into screams. His throat feels raw from his desperate yells.

It doesn't work.

Technoblade feels like he is always only a moment from crying, but His Hunters don't want to hear it when he isn't working. So he curls up in his coop with his blanket and tries to sob quietly. It's hard to muffle the sound in the hay, but he lets himself indulge in his misery, if only a little while.

There is shouting happening in His Hunters' house, anyway. Arguing. Blaming. Pointed fingers and getting into each other's faces. It might even come to blows again.

Technoblade doesn't want to be anywhere near that. He doesn't want them to turn their anger on him. Again.

The angry shouts turn to fearful shrieks. Guns start to fire. Technoblade huddles in the back of the coop. Confused. Hidden. Scared.

Then it's silent. So quiet. Then, a heavy thud outside the coop. He hears the lock break, and the door slowly opens while Techno watches wide-eyed.

The BIGGEST avian that Technoblade has ever seen is standing in the door, blocking out the sunset.

Phil coos over the TINIEST avian he had ever seen. Kristin was right. He was so SMALL. Phil tries to convince him to come closer, but Technoblade doesn't move. He just yells for help, crying for help legitimately this time. Phil flinches, before just reaching closer and picking him up. He is so small that it is EASY. He's a child, yes, but also TINY. Phil hold him close and tries to calm him down as he flies back to the Nest and leaves the corpses of hunters for the worms.

Anyways, Call Ducks are cool. I want one.

AIUIOSUIOQSSQHJSQ LENN IM ABSOLUTELY OBSESSED WITH THIS ONE

I need Techno to be so small that he fits in Phil's hands cupped together. Just like, huge ass avian. I'm talking 9 feet monstrosity. And Techno who is tiny tiny. As he becomes an adult, he grows a little but not much and Phil can still lift him by the back of his shirt one-handed.

[dairy-farmer]

The lobotomised Tim AU.

Okay. But.

This one is hurt/no comfort. Like no happy ending. None at all. I'm almost crying while writing this down.

If it wasn't Bruce's fault and everything's completely innocent with the Bats.

Alfred is washing up Tim and cooks him food for children. Something easy to chew and swallow.

Damian sometimes draws with him. Teaches him to pet Alfred the cat and Titus. It's like having little brother. He feels very protective of him. And when he is not having a good day, he comes to Tim to spend some time with him. For Damian it's easy to be with Tim. He won't say things he doesn't mean. Won't lie or manipulate.

It's almost unbearable for Dick and Bruce.

Dick lives in Blud but he spends weekends with Tim. Cuddling him, watching cartoons, playing. But for Dick spending time with Tim means mourning everything his little brother has lost. He tries to keep it all in and cry only when Tim doesn't see him.

It's the same with Bruce. He let his son down. Tim will never recover and it's Bruce's fault. He asks Tim about his day, listens and nods in all the right places, but he thinks about what a brilliant future his genius and kindhearted son was supposed to have. After everything he has lost... Tim seems happy enough though. So Bruce is working on being present, giving his children attention they need, spending time with them. He misses working cases with Tim, his sassy remarks, but Tim is smiling and that's enough.

Jason was really quiet. He stayed away from the manor for a long time. No one heard him mentioning Tim in all that time. Dick tried to shame him, tell him that Tim needs them, but Jason left immediately.

For some reason things changed. Jason came back to the Cave, started showing up for family movie nights. Sometimes he looked at Tim silently. Though when Tim would run to him to show him a drawing he made or a cool rock he found in the garden, Jason would smile softly and say "that's great, Timmy. Sounds like you had a good day" or something else. So everyone could finally relax. Things seemed to get better.

Jason remembered that day vividly. Tim was on his back, staring at the ceiling with his eyes unseeing. It's like all life left him. But he still had a pulse, so there was hope. While others were busy taking care of him, Jason took care of that piece of shit. And he regrets it. He should have been there for Tim, should have made the right decision, when he had a chance. The obvious decision. The one everyone else is ignoring for some reason.

It's like Damian likes Tim better this way, Dick accepted a new brother and Bruce thinks that things haven't changed much and they can just keep living on. Tim won't grow as a person, he doesn't really remember his life before and doesn't register much of his life now, he will always depend on the family to take care of him. Tim would have hated it.

Bruce rejected the plan with Lazarus Pit, because they would have to disregard Tim's feelings for it. It's exactly the same with Tim's life as it is now, but it's like the choose not to see it. And they make Jason feel sick.

At first he avoids them, because he knows he'll blow up. He avoids Tim, because it hurts too much. But time goes by, and Jason has a sudden realization: nothing will change, unless he takes it in his own hands. Tim needs him.

What he has to do will probably permanently break him, but it's the right thing to do.

He doesn't even try suggesting euthanasia, they're just gonna think he's a monster, will never let him anywhere near Tim ever again.

So he starts spending time with his family, dropping by for movie nights, working cases, staying for dinner. He has small talks with kid (not Tim, Tim died months ago), he smiles at him, all the while feeling his heart break.

Finally, everyone is busy, no one can stay with kid, so Jason volunteered to look after him. He ignored Dick and Bruce's proud looks, because it really doesn't matter.

Kid is always happy to see him. It's like there're no other emotions left in him. His smile is... Different. It feels lifeless for Jason. He feels like his heart is bleeding out. He wants to postpone everything, but this isn't about him. This is what Tim wanted, and Jason couldn't save him, so he'll give him peace at least.

Jason suggests reading to kid. They are in Tim's bedroom, and kid's on the bed. Jason is laying beside him.

/And he took me by the hand. But he was still worrying.

"It was wrong of you to come. You will suffer. I shall look as if I were dead;

and that will not be true..."/

He is reading until kid starts to fall asleep from the pills Jason put in his lunch. And then Jason takes him in his hands, holding him close. He gets syringe out of his jacket pocket and carefully injects medication in kid's elbow and keeps on holding him. Even when Tim stops breathing, leaving painlessly in his sleep, Jason doesn't leave him. He knows that soon someone will be home. He doesn't know, what they'll do to him and he doesn't care. All he can do is cry and hold unmoving body.

"I'm sorry, Timmy. I'm so sorry. You can rest now. I love you".

/feel free to add or change anything. You and your subscribers keep inspiring me.

All the love/

🥺🥺🥺 the tragedy of jason in this.

it wasn't a decision jason made lightly- no matter how he turned it around and justified it to himself it was a hard choice to make. at first jason wasn't going to do anything. he was going to try.

he was going to do his best to be there for his little brother with the way he was now.

but then. he'd gone to the manor, gone to see tim as he recovered and...he couldn't.

he walked in when alfred was giving tim his lunch. warm chicken noodle soup with mushy rice. and he watched as alfred blew on a spoon and gently led it to tim's messy mouth. tim sometimes still struggled to swallow and would occasionally make a slight gag and spit out the soup and rice. alfred would make a concerned noise and dab at his mouth with the cloth bib tied around his neck.

and the sight. the way tim was tucked into bed and propped up by pillows, the way he had an adult bib wrapped around him as alfred hand fed him because tim couldn't do it himself.

god. jason knew it was going to be bad but nothing had prepared him for that sight. and watching it...hurt something inside jason.

so he'd left.

and that had hurt something deep in the other family. bruce hadn't fought him on it but jason knew he was disappointed. alfred as well.

dick had been furious. he'd call jason late at night and spit words at him over the phone over him not being there, over him abandoning tim and them.

and jason tried to let it rool off his back. but some nights the words would get to him.

and so, without the rest of the family knowing, jason would sneak into the manor, into tim's room.

and maybe it was some of tim's latent training, but a few times tim would wake up. he'd be powdered and dressed in pajamas, turning his head to look at jason and when their eyes met-

there'd been no recognition in them.

jason could just as well have been a stranger or the person who took care of him everyday- either way tim didn't recognize him.

jason's decision was a hard one. he agonized over it and he would not let anyone tell him otherwise.

jason loved tim. he cared for that kid so fucking much and maybe he didn't always make that clear but in jason's soul he loved that boy. and it broke something in him to see him that way.

helpless and squirming, unable to do anything for himself, stripped completely of his dignity and identity.

bruce and dick called what tim went through "lobotomy" but it wasn't true. it was something worse.

lobotomy victims could still live fulfilling lives, some even becoming fully independent with minor accommodation.

the monster that had hurt tim had shot some kind of...electromagnetic pulse into his brain. the damage was irreversible.

jason didn't care what anyone said, he hadn't made the fucker that did this suffer enough. jason should've kept him strung up in a warehouse for weeks but had let his rage get ahold of him and killed him too quickly.

jason's thoughts of tim don't go away. whether he's awake or asleep tim is all he thinks about. and part of jason knows why because...because everything about it reminded him of his own case.

jason had read the hospital medical chart of 'john doe'. the one picked up months after jason was buried, found wandering the streets half starved and with brain damage.

jason had read those medical files and just...wanted to puke. the nurses notes about him, the way they talked about him. discussing things like moving him to a state care home, of changing his diapers. along with the file had been report had been made against one of the nurses caring for jason by cleaning staff who'd found her...doing inappropriate things with him.

it never went into detail and part of jason never wanted to know.

but jason thought of that report, thought of how helpless and vulnerable and...NOT himself he'd been in that hospital bed. jason thought and thought and thought and he knew it was no way for a person to live.

no way for tim to live. tim didn't deserve that. god forgive jason tim didn't deserve to live like that.

because one day jason would die violently out in the streets of gotham. they all would. and tim would be left alone in that manor with no one to protect him and jason...jason couldn't breathe when he thought of what might happen to him.

so jason does not make his decision lightly.

it kills him. it kills him to think of what he has to do.

but tim was his baby brother and jason was not going to let the word tear him to bits like they did him.

so jason goes back to the manor.

part of him had hoped that maybe spending more time around tim would change his mind.

it doesn't.

jason watches the way tim is a husk of his former self. watches how the rest of the family ignores it. watches how they always talk around tim and about him but never TO him and remembers how tim had hated that with a passion because it reminded him about how his parents made decisions about him without letting him know.

jason watches and...and tries to remember the geeky annoying pest of a brother he used to have. how he'd talk smack to jason every chance he got, how he'd whine, how he'd giggle like a schoolgirl whenever he or damian got into trouble. jason would remember and blink away the tears of grief that wanted to leave hot trails down his cheeks.

it takes a while before jason gets his shot. alfred has errands, damian has school, dick and bruce have work.

and jason volunteers to care for tim.

its just a few hours they assure him but jason insists its okay. he tries to ignore the pit of guilt and watching them leave knowing they're going to be coming home to a dead son.

bruce presses a soft kiss to tim's forehead before leaving and it takes everything in jason to not drawn in a sharp breath.

jason is a killer. a murderer. an assassin. a gun for hire. a hitman. he is a lot of things but he's never once thought of himself as an executioner.

the word always seemed too...heavy. too institutional.

it's going to be tim's last day alive and jason knows what to do. this will be a day that haunts him for the rest of his life.

so jason makes mac and cheese. he finds a box of it in the back of the pantry. it's the cheap 99 cent stuff jason used to live off as a kid.

he doesn't even need to read the instructions anymore, its practically muscle memory. bringing the water to boil, draining the noodles, stirring in the milk, the butter, the packet of cheese powder.

jason serves tim a bowl and slowly presses little spoonfuls to his mouth. jason tries to eat some but it turns to mush and ash in his mouth and the wad struggles to go down because his throat feels small and tight from him holding back his emotions.

it feels more final somehow. more real.

he's giving tim his last meal.

the walk up the stairs is slow and heavy. tim's breath smells like the ice cream jason let him have for dessert even though tim was lactose intolerant.

a final parting gift. jason ignores the slight pain in his fingers from crushing up a pill between them to sprinkle over tim's ice cream.

jason makes sure tim's sheets are clean. he strips the bed and puts in the freshly laundered ones that alfred had left in a basket.

he makes sure tim is comfortable and then he climbs in with him.

tim is lax and pliant as jason hold him close. his baby soft hair is tucked under jason's chin and jason can feel warm breath on his neck as he makes sure tim is settled.

then he starts to read to him.

tim smells like rosemary soap from his morning bath. and for some reason the scent makes jason's eyes sting as he reads.

his voice trembles occasionally, it gets thick and he has to cough to clear his throat. but he keeps reading, turning page after page as tim's eyes grow droopier and his breathing gets softer.

when jason's little brother is asleep in his arms jason doesn't immediately do it.

for a moment. he just holds tim.

he just hugs him, closes his eyes and tries to memorize the rise and fall of his baby bird's chest.

jason thinks of backing out. of not doing it.

but he knows if he does...then he'll never work up the nerve to do it again. he just won't...have the strength in him to take his little brother's life.

so jason holds him. he bites down on his lip, buries his nose in the crown of tim's soft head, and he uncaps the syringe in his pocket.

jason didn't want tim to feel anything, not even the sting of a needle plunging into his skin. that's why he'd given him the pill.

jason pushes the plunger all the way down and then leaves the emptied needle on the bedside table.

jason lies there for hours.

even after tim's chest has stopped rising.

his tears have long dried when he hears the front door of the manor open. damian is loudy complaining about something and dick is pacifying him.

jason can hear the movement around the manor. bruce and alfred both come in through the garage.

he can hear someone on the stairs, the clap of dress shoes on the hall carpet as they approach tim's room. he can hear the call of his name behind the door followed by a knock.

still jason does not move.

jason never planned for what he would do when they found him.

maybe part of him didn't care.

maybe part of him hoped they send him to be with tim.

the door creaks open and jason closes his eyes and presses a soft kiss to tim's forehead.

[anistarrose]

I was going to make a post saying "Lucretia told everyone the truth there were seven Grand Relics instead of covering her ass and saying there were six because she's a storyteller, and six sounds objectively less cool than seven," but then I thought about it and actually, if you look at the timeline, I think this was probably a very pragmatic or at least tactically safe decision on her part?

When Lucretia founds the Bureau, Junior hasn't been born yet. Lucretia obviously doesn't even know Junior will be born someday. So once she inoculates Bureau members with Fisher — a necessity to staffing the Bureau in the first place — Lucretia can't keep any more secrets from them, with only one Voidfish at her disposal. And crucially, while Lucretia is the Bureau's primary source of info on the "Red Robes," basically all her recruits lived through the Relic Wars.

Upon inoculation, they'll all presumably remember at least some details about the Grand Relics. Obviously no one but Lucretia would know anywhere near everything about each Relic and their properties, not least of all because of a high eyewitness fatality rate, but part of the reason the wars were so deadly was because word of the Relics spread. Everyone in the world knew a few things about them.

So, if Lucretia were to tell her recruits: "oh, don't worry, there's only six terrible artifacts we need to destroy, tee hee!" then it's very possible that assorted Bureau members — especially Seekers, for whom looking into the Relics is literally their job — could start comparing memories amongst themselves, and put together that there was a seventh, leaving Lucretia with no option but to admit that she lied. If I recall correctly, the podcast never explicitly indicates what/how much damage the Bulwark Staff did to the world — but I find it hard to believe that it didn't do anything an inoculated person could later find record of or remember. (There's an admittedly good fanfic premise, though, in Lucretia leaving her Relic in someone's care to make it stationary, like how Magnus gave the Chalice to Jack, or how Barry is theorized to have given the Bell to the Wonderland twins.)

I digress, but the point is, Lucretia may have necessitated a lot of little lies for her future self by admitting there were seven Relics, but trying to winnow it down to six could've easily bit her in the ass, and she was definitely smart enough to realize that. She acted accordingly at the time.

And by the time Junior comes around, then of course she could theoretically use them to erase the Bulwark Staff from her employees' minds — but by then, she's been hiding the Staff under everyone's noses for about a year, and no one has gotten suspicious. So if it's working, why change it? She's no doubt also smart enough to reserve Junior's power for emergencies only — because even if people forget information, they can still retain the feeling they're forgetting something. With people planetside, that's one thing — but with her employees on the moon, from whom she needs unshakeable trust? Probably not worth it.

Overall, it's a deceptively rational decision on Lucretia's part, honestly. And also, yes, seven Grand Relics still sounds way more badass than just six.

[esamastation]

Shizuroth, part nineteen

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen

-

Finally, finally, finally, after the shopping has been done, and his stupid signature leather jacket has been adjusted, and Genesis has given his final bitchy warning about not acting out of character, finally… Sephiroth can have some peace and quiet.

Some day off! Not that the sparring wasn't great, and the clothes were frankly desperately needed, even if he couldn't make his usual colours fit right. All that aside though, he really needs time to himself! There's still so much to figure out! And he really needs to meditate. He needs to sort himself out! And he also, probably, needs to make use of Shinra's archive and records and study some history.

He also really needs a proper mirror in his little single room apartment. The bathroom mirror isn't enough to appreciate the new clothes. To think he used to hate dressing up formally as Shen Yuan. The difference of a few years as Peak Lord makes! And admittedly, Shen Yuan could've never looked anywhere near as good as Sephiroth in a suit like this. Sephiroth, really, looks just too good. Fit for a thousand magazine covers. Which is fitting because he's pretty sure Sephiroth has been on magazine covers back on earth! Which is kinda weird from this perspective! Famous in another world sounds like a damn isekai light novel title. 

Ah, but then his whole life is a mockery of the genre.

Dropping his shopping bags by the wardrobe and his new coats over its door, Sephiroth throws himself on his couch and sighs, running a hand through his long bangs.

He has clothing, his room still needs some improvements and will never be Qing Jing Peak, but it will do. Those were the easiest things to cover, really, and now that they're done, now that he's spent several hours getting used to this body and how it looks and who he's supposed to be… the world he's now part of…

Is he really just going to be Sephiroth from here on out? Is he supposed to forget PIDW and Binghe and Cang Qiong Mountain Sect? Just go on being Sephiroth, and put Shen Qingqiu behind him?

… He really isn't sure he can, actually! In a way, Shen Qingqiu had suited him better than Shen Yuan had. Well, once the OOC restrictions had come off and he was free to be himself, anyway. Being a soldier, a super SOLDIER at that, with alien DNA and the lifeblood of the planet in his guts… 

Resting a hand on his stomach, Sephiroth tugs at the blood red shirt he has on.

It's… really a bit like he's Binghe now. He's an alien hybrid thing here, so it's kind of like being a half demon! Or, ah, weirdly accurate biblical angel? What with the angel wing motif these games have going for themselves… Sephiroth's final form was kinda eldritch, from what he recalls. Wings sticking out every which way. Ridiculous and over the top in a way only Final Fantasy can be!

Damn but he hopes he can grow wings at some point. That would be just so cool, he doesn't even care how ludicrous it would get. The whole thing about wings being cause for existential monster angst is a thing he probably would need to consider, but, seriously. Wings! Yes, please, thank you!

It's the lifeblood of the planet that bothers him the most. Not just because of the oil allegory.

It's also how the local reincarnation cycle works. Though it's more like a spiritual composting rather than straight up reincarnation - but still! The energy pumped into his veins comes from the souls of dead things.

Yeah, he can't ignore that anymore.

Sitting up, Sephiroth gets out of the dress pants he'd bought and the button up shirt, switching back to the more comfortable pyjama pants and t-shirt he started the day with. He takes a moment to put purchases away and tidy his room up to peak Feng Shui before sitting down on his bed.

The energy in his gut is thick, massive and near immovable. He'd read up on Mako as much as there was to be read on his phone. The cycle went something like Lifestream to Mako to Materia - so, in the right conditions, the stuff actually crystallises. So, in a way, Materia is spirit stones! And that's kinda what it feels like in his gut - like his energies are condensing, hardening under pressure… crystallising. Except not into a golden core, nah, just one big shapeless lump of dead-weight-energy.

Well, not on his watch!

Relaxing and breathing in and then slowly out, Sephiroth thinks about all the Cultivation tricks he learned cultivating with damaged spiritual veins and incurable poison. Here he kind of has the opposite problem than with Shen Qingqiu, though - Sephiroth's spiritual veins aren't worn and fragile, they're hardened, like… scar tissue. He really feels a bit burnt on the inside!

Shinra's method was all quantity over quality where it comes to this stuff. Brute forcing their way into a semi-functional magic system, and who cares if it scorches the earth when there's instant profit to be made!

What a truly subtle metaphor.

Well… Shen Qingqiu has worked with worse - and at least there's a lot to work with! So as long as Sephiroth manages to avoid the Qi-deviation of the century, he will have one hell of a golden core! Just gotta not burn himself inside out! No pressure!

Qi Condensation stage - done! He couldn't have done better himself.  Foundation Establishment, however… yeah. Sephiroth really has a great body, but it is not prepared for a Golden Core Formation. His energy flow is all whack.

No wonder he cracked like an egg at the slightest bit of mental pressure… a bit like the original goods Shen Qingqiu, really, with his many Qi-deviations.

Right. Never mind that! He has a lot of work and not all the time in the world, alas. No seclusion training in this world!

Time to get to it.

[matt-roseheart]

I 'Lava' you

A short murder drones fanfic based on @dronebiscuitbat 's characters from their rp blog, @ask-elliot-doorman-fam, Tera and Kiara, Rad is here too :P

Kiara paced around the hideout cave, nervously fiddling with her fingers. "What if she doesn't like it? What if she thinks its too cheesy? what if-" Her rant is cut off by Rad trying to calm her down.

"Kia chill, this is Tera you're talking about, sure she may be tough, but every tough person i know has a soft and squishy side that loves this stuff" He says, as he's on the couch tuning a ukulele. "So, lets go over the plan one more time before shes back from checking the perimiter"

Kiara takes a deep breath, which doesn't help much to calm her nerves, "Okay, we're here becase you are 'practicing' for the short-story musical Mr.Roseheart is hosting,"

"Which is thankfully real, couldn't think of an exuse otherwise" He adds.

"Mhm, and hopefully she'll agree to sing along, oh robo-god i hope she'll sing along, she has to for this to work" Kia was nervous about that part, Tera had a beautiful voice, but only ever sang in the privacy of her room. Hopefully the hideout would be enough to bring her out of her shell a bit, no chances of others overhearing her here.

Before Kiara could linger on that thought, there was a sudden whoosh at the entrance, meaning Tera was back. Kia rushed to a seat, put on headphones, and brought up her laptop to a blank page, pretending to be writing something. No stories would be written today, only some of her thoughts going a million miles an hour, dont screw this up please work i have to tell her.

"okay, outside is clear, so Rad, why did you bring a ukulele again?" Tera asked, as she sat down on the other side of the couch.

"Oh, you know the musical Mr.Roseheart is gonna be hosting?" Wait, did she even know about that?

"The music teacher? Uh, yeah i think I've heard about that. Isn't it about a bunch of short-stories instead of one big one? My dad seems pretty interested in going." N had seemed exited when he heard about it, even wanted to audition.

Oh thank robo-god

"Yup, a friend of mine that auditioned asked if i could help with their story, so im here to practice"

"Ok, cool"

"And i was hoping you could help."

"Oh? with what? Guitar?"

"Vocals, i struggle on my own when theres multiple characters singing"

Oh no, she did not like the sound of that.

"I am NOT going anywhere near a stage and singing, no way!" Tera growled, which made kiara more nervous.

"No no no, just for practice, only here. The only audience being Kia" Rad said, as he motioned over to where Kiara was sitting. "The part I need you to sing is basically the same line over and over a few times anyway, please?" He was looking up at her with puppy eyes, hoping to convince her.

Tera hesitated for a moment, normally she wouldn't, but in this case, it was just the three of them, no prying ears to worry about, so why not. "Ugh, fine. But if a video of this starts floating around, you're dead. whats the song?"

"Do you know the song 'Lava'?" She should, Kiara made sure to show her, hoping Tera would listen to it for this.

"That cheesy lovesong between two volcanoes? Yeah, i think Kia showed that to me a while ago"

Good, so far the plan is working "Cool, I'll be the narrator, so all you need to sing is the volcano's part. Do you know the words?"

"He basically says the same thing over and over, so yeah, whenever you're ready." Wow, Kiara was suprised, this is going a lot smoother than she thought it would.

With Tera ready, Rad began to play, and sing suprisingly well, like he's practiced before....

"A long long time ago, there was a volcano, living all alone in the middle of the sea."

"He sat high above his bay, watching all the couples play, and wishing that he had someone too."

"And from his lava came, this song of hope that he sang out loud, every day for years and years" With her part coming up, Tera cleared her throat and began.

"I have a dream I hope will come true, that you're here with me, and I'm here with you, I wish that the earth sea and the sky up above will send me someone to lava"

"Years of singing all alone turned his lava into stone, until he was on the brink of extinction"

"But little did he know that living in the sea below, another volcano was listening to his song"

"Every day she heard his tune her lava grew and grew because she believed his song was meant for her"

"Now she was so ready to finally meet him above the sea as he sang his song of hope for the last time"

"I have a dream I hope will come true, that you're here with me, and I'm here with you, I wish that the earth sea and the sky up above will send me someone to lava"

At that part, Kiara began to remove her headphones and close her laptop, nervously making her way over behind Tera.

"Rising from the sea below stood a lovely volcano, looking all around but she could not see him"

"He tried to sing to let her know that she was not there alone, but with no lava his song was all gone"

"He filled the sea with his tears as he watched his dreams dissapear as she remembered what his song meant to her"

Tera was about to sing the next part, thinking nothing of it, until someone else began to sing, making her jump as she turned around to see Kiara.

"I have a dream I hope will come true, that you're here with me, and I'm here with you, I wish that the earth sea and the sky up above will send me someone to lava"

Tera was caught off guard, by both her singing and the fact that Kia reached out to hold her hand that was resting on the arm of the couch. Theres no way, is she....

As Tera realised what she was doing, Rad continued the song.

"Oh they were so happy to finally meet above the sea, all together now their lava grew and grew"

"No longer are they all alone with aloha as their new home, and when you visit them this is what they sing" Tera, now holding onto Kiara's hand, hoping this wasn't a dream, continued with her.

"I have a dream i hope will come true"

"That you'll grow old with me"

"And I'll grow old with you"

"We thank the earth sea and the sky we thank too"

"I Lava you"

"I Lava you"

"I Love you"

Tera's face was all blush, lighting up the cave with a lavender glow, along with Kia's equally bright white blush. They sat there staring at eachother in awe for a minute before Kia broke the silence.

"Was that too cheesy?"

Tera stood and said, "Not at all, you weren't practicing for the musical, were you?" she asked looking over at thad.

"Nope, this was all her idea" He motioned over towards Kiara.

"So did you like it?" She asked nervously.

"I loved it" Tera said, before placing a kiss on Kia's forehead, nearly sending her into a reboot.

"Oh! I think I need to sit down" Tera sat back down, with Kia sitting next to her.

As Tera put her arm around Kiara, she let out a sigh of relief, everything went perfectly, and she couldn't be happier.