#even if smaller sleeves do exist

[jucomx]

I just realised that Terry Pratchett's "trousers of history" is actually quite a decent physical interpretation of how time could work.

Because a lot of random fluctuations are so inconspicuous that they are in practice entirely reversible. So most of the random events (i.e. photon-matter conversion or nuclear decay level, not like pebble down a hill level) that happen from a certain point in time do not prevent the universe from returning to roughly the same state some time later. As such most of the points in a state-time plot would be surrounded by similar possible states, and only really big events will noticeably split these into multiple states.

Now trousers are the way it would "look" when such a "big event" occurs, but "big events" on a quantum scale are still imperceptible on a human scale. So all these tiny splits would kind of weave together in similar-to-humans states and then only some of the time this fabric would drift apart in a humanly perceptible change.

In conclusion: what Terry Pratchett describes as trousers of time would, according to thermodynamic principles (applied to quantum mechanics but thermodynamics is quite flexible actually) be fractal trousers where the fabric of every trouser is made up of a bunch of smaller trousers until you get all the way down to the quantum level, where a trouser is just 2 lines (2 lines that split every planck time and occasionally more than 2 lines and that aren't necessarily equally likely at all, but in essence it is 2 lines and thus a really tiny pair of trousers).

[heavenbarnes]

anyways, as i was saying about older bf!simon and his willingness to please learn

pt 2 to this

“you ever heard of a nut video with sound on?”

obviously, he hasn’t- far as he’s concerned, if you haven’t told him about it then it doesn’t exist to him.

no skin off your nose, you’d spend the rest of your life teaching him about the ‘latest trends’ if it meant he kept sending those filthy fucking videos to your phone.

(your favourites on tiktok were purely filled with ideas)

he’s holed up in a remote location, killing time till he can be home and actually do something to you rather than send you a bloody video about it.

your instructions come through clear and concise, just how he likes:

“it’s what’s written on the can, si- you can pick the setup but i just want to see you cum and, most importantly, i want to hear it”

you’re lucky simon is such a practical guy and maybe you could thank price one day for making him so good at following orders.

when he’s got his alone time he’s setting his phone up to record on the edge of the window sill, moonlight fighting through the curtain to illuminate him.

he’s lost the bulkiest of his gear, down to his tactical trousers and a compression t-shirt. the images in his tattoo sleeve almost move when the light catches them right.

balaclava on (the one that just shows his eyes above the painted image of a skull) and he’s standing up to undo his belt (that you think looks like an airplane seatbelt).

you can hear his boots against the floorboard as he steps back to give you the full view of him undoing his trousers, taking his sweet time because he knows it drives you fucking batty.

he’s so big that the phone is working overtime to get all of him in the frame but you see exactly what you need to- thick thighs at your eye line and massive hands drawing down his fly.

on (you assume) the other side of the globe, you’re at home in your shared bed and you’re propped up right in the middle with the smell of simon engulfing you as you watch the video play out before you.

(if you’d thought about it you should’ve cast it to the bedroom tv, hoping the neighbours didn’t mind)

simon sits back down with his legs spread wide, one hand gripping his thigh as the other rubs himself over his boxers. his eye contact with the camera was fucking intense, like you’d hoped, just like when he’s on top of you.

he’s dressed in all black and the moonlight is obscured but you can still see him firming up in his pants. his eyes flutter, an infinitesimal amount but you’ve been tuned into his every move since you met him.

your thumb leans hard on the volume up button and you can hear the diegetic sound of the building expanding and that usual technical hum that comes with a video. but at this pitch, you could hear him.

his breathing was chopped, chest expanding visibly as he pulled his cock out into clear view. jeeeeesus christ, it was never something you just got used to.

long, reasonably straight, fucking thick. even his hand struggled to make it look smaller as he wrapped around it, giving one dry tug.

as he closed his palm over the tip, you saw him make a swipe before he brought his hand back down considerably smoother than before. you’d had your hands down his pants enough times, man leaked like a fucking faucet.

simon’s head tipped back as he started to pull himself off, balaclava raising just enough to expose some of his throat. if you were there you would be perched in his lap, letting him do the work but running your tongue under the lip of the fabric.

one of the best things about the videos simon sent was, he didn’t really understand how sexy he was. he didn’t think any of the videos particularly watchable so he’d just send them on first take. if you liked them, you liked them- yours was the only opinion that mattered.

what that meant was, you never got b-roll. everything he sent you was unbridled perfection. captured exactly as it happens with no faffing about.

always whatever you’ve asked for, whenever you ask.

(simon’s nothing if not inexplicably obedient)

he brings his hand under his chin to spit into the wide span of his palm, wrapping back around his cock and tugging. his foreskin moved over the head, rolling back down and thick veins bulging under his grasp.

you’d almost forgotten the conditions of your request, totally fucking enamoured by the sight in front of you when it caught you off guard.

a guttural moan ripped out of simon’s chest as he twisted his wrist.

his free hand moved to cup his balls, big and heavy, he rolled them in his palm as another groan sounded out of him. what you wouldn’t give to be knelt between his thighs with the whole lot in your mouth.

you knew how much of an ask this was, you really had to work him up to making noise when it was just you two in bed. these days? you couldn’t shut the man up when he was balls deep and his face was buried in the crook of your neck.

but this was another step, this was him on his own with his crew just through the walls. he’d be a plain liar if he said there wasn’t that rumbling trepidation in his chest. he’d put it to bed though.

all he had to think of was you, one hand gripping your phone and the other between your thighs as you watched him through with a hazy smile- that kept him going.

with the thought still heavy on his mind, you didn’t have to strain to hear your name drift off his lips. his hips bucked into his hand as he did, speeding up the motion of his strokes.

you were going to black out, his tattoos flexing and his chest expanding with every stuttered breath. simon looked like a god among men and he fucking sounded like one too.

“fuck, sweetheart- you’re so fucking filthy giving me orders like this”

your cheeks were burning, he wasn’t wrong but you weren’t expecting him to call you out quite like this.

“what does that make me? always so fucking eager to do what you say? make a dirty old man, yeah?”

wheeeeeew that’ll do it, your thighs snapped together around your hand as your eyes nearly rolled back in your head. whenever you thought you couldn’t take any more, he was always there to do you one better.

“only for you, pet- you can always get whatever you fucking want from me”

and you knew he was serious, that’s what made it all the more debilitating. simon was unshakeable, you’d seen him go out of his way to defy orders if he didn’t think the person worth his time.

when it came to you? you could tell him to kill and he would.

(he probably had)

simon’s hips were twitching, back arching in a way he’d rather die than have anyone else know about. his mouth was hanging open beneath the balaclava, your name and a string of expletives falling off his tongue.

so quick you nearly missed it, the hand that was cradling his balls moved to grip the fabric of his shirt and push it up his toned front. you couldn’t call his abs cut and defined, there was aged layer to them, but they were undeniably there.

you’d rested your head on them, pressed your palms against them, even ridden them enough times to know they were there. regardless, he looked fucking perfect under the moon glow as he stroked himself hard and long.

eyes locked onto the camera, broken moans on his lips, you saw his hips lift one last time as thick spurts of cum began to paint his stomach and chest.

scars illuminated under the night sky, mirrored by shiny patches of hot cum splattered across the same stretch of skin. the hairs on his chest were matted with sweat and were now being splashed with how far he was shooting.

you could only watch with your mouth hung open as he tugged himself through his orgasm. soon it was only the sound of his laboured breathing, chest rising and falling as he tucked his soft cock back into his pants.

just when you thought that was it, you found one of his hands lifting up the edge of his balaclava till his lips were exposed. two fingers of his other hand swiped up some of his spend before he lay them on his tongue.

knuckles in your mouth, biting down to suppress a scream, simon readjusted his clothes as he stood and took a heavy step towards the camera.

one hand braced on the window sill, the other gently gripping himself through his trousers- his voice was so fucking gravely it could’ve reverberated round your room.

“what’s next sweet’art? you name it, it’s yours”

[loversmantra]

FREE FALLIN' LOVE ADDICT!

synopsis. satoru's fingers look their best soaking wet.

content. gojo satoru x cisfem!reader. smut. minors do not interact. lowkey... househusband satoru and his working wife. making out. fingering. cum eating. drooling. size difference. not explicitly stated but this definitely reads as sub!satoru. foul language. "gojo satoru has the biggest praise kink in existence," i say from the top of my hill. he's kinda pathetic in this tbh but so am i so it's fine.

title from poplar st by glass animals

wc. 2.3k

message from noe. this started as something very different, very wholesome... then it became this. i was fighting demons. sorry. also this is lowkey my first time doing smut be nice to me pls. anyways @neptuneblue dis one is for you twiiin

satoru’s hands are much bigger than yours.

you’ve known this for a long time, of course. as a teen, he never missed an opportunity to remind you you were smaller than him: whether that be by holding something out of your reach or using that creature of an appendage to cover your entire face and muffle your complaints.

he didn’t outgrow his antics. his hands did, however, get even bigger.

but it’s one thing to know, to have the theoretic knowledge of it in the back of your mind. it’s another to have indisputable proof of it: his huge hand wrapped around your own, both warming it and dwarfing it.

satoru’s had his hands on you since the day you first met. rough, teasing — and later loving. soft. and you’re thinking about them a lot these days. you’re thinking of his hands everywhere.

his longs fingers wrapped around your throat. snug around your waist, tight on your hips. deep inside you. you’re thinking about it, a lot.

the wonderful contrast of cherry red flush on his cheeks, down his neck, down his heaving chest. the heat of his breath on your lips, crazed, feverish, delirious. wide smile, all teeth, as he puts his fingers on his tongue and sucks. baby blues rolling back, away from the conscious world and into something he keeps on a tight, tight leash. he’s so beautiful when he gets like this. you want him.

you’re thinking about it so much, these days. you’re thinking about him.

you’re thinking today might be the boiling point.

you’re thinking satoru looks way too good in this outfit… and his hand is just so much bigger than yours.

your workday ended with a text from your beloved, urging you to hurry home, because he had a lil’ surprise for you. knowing satoru, you were fully expecting to find him laying on the bed naked and oiled up, but the sight you were greeted with when you arrived home was very different — though no less delectable.

the "surprise" itself: satoru in the kitchen, preparing dinner for you. he turned to face you when the door closed softly.

and while this might seem strange to anyone — anyone except you — when paired with his text telling you to hurry, you knew exactly where his intentions lied. you’ve been experiencing him long enough.

he wanted to seduce you. and fuck him, it worked.

not like you needed much help there: you’ve been thinking about jumping his bones, among other things, twenty-four seven, for days. you’re wrapped around his finger. head over heels. thoroughly whipped.

but to be fair, who could blame you?

briefly, you pondered. how wonderful it is, you thought, to have this man taking care you after a long day. how wonderful it is, to be loved by such a cosmic being. to come home and find the house clean. to come home and smell dinner cooking.

you pondered — but not for long. something else drew your attention away from his loving acts of service.

black slacks stretched around his toned legs, glorious ass on full display — you could have bitten him right there. his pristine white shirt was tight on his torso, showing off his rippling muscles as he expertly chopped vegetables. his sleeves — struggling to keep his biceps in check, it almost seemed — were rolled up to his elbows. displaying his hands and forearms perfectly. damn him.

to top it all off: an apron tight around his slim waist. picture perfect househusband.

he looked good. good enough to eat.

and you could tell he thought the same of you in your tailored suit. you saw his eyes darken from all the way across the room.

this was all part of his plan, of course.

he smiled. washed his hands, didn’t wipe away the droplets. he raked his eyes all over you, dark, wanting.

“hi, baby,” he purred.

you took off your shoes hastily, hurried to his side, pushed him against the counter and pushed your lips against his…

…to end up here, dress shirt wide open, tongue down his throat, arms pinned to the kitchen island by his large, large hands. his poor apron forgotten across the room.

there isn’t an inch of free space between the two of you — satoru simply refuses to let you drift away. you can feel his impatience all over him, little whines escaping his lips that you drink eagerly, narrow hips pressed to the furniture as if to give himself relief. you won’t have it, you refuse. his relief will be you or nothing.

“how was your day, satoru?” you smile against him.

he returns it, body shivering at his name falling from your lips. his hot mouth trails down to your shoulder, to leave no part of you untouched, untasted. “missed you,” he whispers with a push of his hips against you.

“hm, is that it?”

a hand leaves yours to flatten on your belly — he pushes you down easily and takes his rightful place, right on top of you. white hair tickles your skin as he makes his way back up until… “yeah,” he grins, eyes so dark you can barely breathe. his smile is all teeth. “that’s it.”

without your permission your thighs move to rub against one another. it doesn’t escape him. you try to turn your head away, to flee from his teasing. he follows. he always does.

“look at me, pretty,” he bites into your neck. “you want something from me?”

you do — you want his fingers knuckles deep inside you. and the absolute best part is, you know how bad he wants it, too, to see you come undone with his touch. you see it, you feel it in his every move. the need.

you feel it in the tight grip his hand has on your own, on your waist to keep you pressed against the marble. in the very, very slight tremor of his thighs close to yours, kept tightly under his control. in the tensing, untensing of his every muscle — restraint he’s giving his all to maintain. in the glorious pink of his cheeks, the sweat already accumulating on his flawless skin. he wants it. he wants you to ask for it.

but your satoru’s been quite spoiled lately. he’s gotten used to getting his way every time, little prince. it wouldn’t hurt him to work for it. you want to make him work for it.

you don’t answer him. instead, you keep him busy with your tongue tracing his lips, one hand trailing your nails down the soft hair of his undercut — earning you another full body shiver — while with the other you unbuckle your belt on your own.

it’s easy, after that, to shove your hand under your panties. satoru pushes himself off you, to better watch.

you make a show of it, just for him. making sure to really coat your fingers with your slick. two tight circles on your clit aren’t enough to relieve the pressure, but you trust him to come around and take care of it — he’s so good at taking care of you. you throw your head back with a soft whine, arch yourself into him, and in the hot air you share with him your hand comes back up, fingers glistening.

he looks jealous. already, he’s moving — moving to take your hand in his and taste — but you won’t have it. before he can do anything about it, you pop your fingers into your mouth, sucking yourself off them.

satoru’s eyebrows knit briefly, but his smile widens. his breaths are reduced to pathetic, shallow pants. if you push him a little more, will you get him drooling, tongue hanging out like a puppy? you bet you could. but today isn’t the day to find out. you want his fucking fingers.

he doesn’t let you think about it any longer. “can i?” he rasps, leaning down. his tongue runs over his teeth.

you don’t think about it. you nod your head, and he dives.

licking into your mouth desperately, moaning like he's having the time of his life. it’s so easy to meet him halfway, to suck his tongue in your mouth, to swallow all his little whimpers — so good, baby, fuck — you want it all, so you take it all.

he only stops to rest against your mouth and whine, “you taste so good, i wish you could eat yourself out.”

he catches you completely off guard. you have no answer to that, so brilliantly, you say, “huh?”

he noses at your cheek and explains, “i want to eat your cum straight from your mouth.”

and that’s enough of that — you’ve run out of patience. you think you’ve wrecked him enough, in any case, to hear such things spewing out of his mouth. you feel him throbbing. you are, too.

“can’t have that, angel,” you pant against him. “but you can make me cum.”

you can feel his smile. “i thought you’d never ask.”

his fingers slide down your body, under your pants, taking the same route yours did. only it’s much harder for him — they’re much bigger.

satoru wastes no time. the stretch is immediate, big finger pushing into you slowly. your hand knitted in his hair tugs him down to you. his moan is even louder than yours.

he stays there for a moment, savoring it, licking at your lips, your neck, the underside of your jaw — moaning like an animal in heat, like he could cry from the relief your hot walls hugging his fingers bring.

cherry red on his cheeks, down his neck and the glimpse of his heaving chest his shirt gives you. hot pants fanning your lips. crazed. feverish. delirious. wide smile, canines glimmering in the light. oh, you’ve been waiting for this. you want more of him, you need more of him. your hands move against your will, almost tearing open his clothing. a huff of laughter warms your cheek.

but your love is as impatient as you.

a second finger pumps into you, slow and steady. you mewl, and with your encouragement satoru rises on his elbow to increase the pace.

“feel good, sweetheart?” he pants.

you couldn’t keep quiet if you tried.

“yeah,” you smile. “i feel fucking good.”

then you sink your teeth straight into his neck and delight at the wild buck of his hips, the sinful cry he gifts you.

his entire body moves with him. his hips grind into you, shameless, desperate, following his hand’s movement — and so does his tongue, fucking into your mouth like he wants you everywhere, wants to be inside you everywhere, wants to bury himself into you. drool drops down his chin. you drink it.

every beautiful sound that comes from him, every whimper, every harsh breath, every high-pitched moan is rewarded with a soft murmur of yours — so good, angel, so good for me, so good! his pace increases, his bicep is bulging, his back tenses, his eyes cross, he’s so close, you’ve got him right where you want him.

the pressure in your lower belly grows stronger with every expert stroke. he touches everywhere, a tender caress pumped into you by the strengths of his arm and pelvis together. mimicked perfectly by his tongue tugging at your lips, stroking your own, invading your mouth. you feel it grow, grow, until—

you come undone right there on his hand, in your pants, with a loud cry of his name, digging his nails into his shoulders — in retaliation, and partly to stave of his own orgasm, you’re sure of it, his bites the soft flesh of your neck, a wail dying in the back of his throat.

you come down together, chests rising and falling against one another, hot breaths warming the air around you. he’s still throbbing against your thighs, fingers slowed to shallow thrusting, as if he couldn’t bear to let the moment end just yet. you force him to still by smothering his hand with your thighs.

satoru makes his way back to your lips, leaving behind a trail of wet kisses and a singular bite on your cheek, one you answer with a giggle.

“that was a good one, baby,” he says against your mouth. “how many more can i give you?”

“depends. how many more can you take?”

he doesn’t answer. instead, he smiles. his hand resurfaces from your underwear, soaked, glistening. he takes a moment to rub his fingers together, admire the slick, the feel of it all over his skin. you take the time he gives you to admire him.

he’s so beautiful, when he gets like this.

his hand rises, heading for his face. your gut clenches, thighs rubbing together in anticipation, a deep breath filling your lungs—

his tongue lolls out and his soaked fingers come to take their rightful place right onto it. his lips close around his hand. his cheeks hollow as he sucks.

baby blues rolling to the back of his head, satoru trembles, wracked with a full body shudder and a moan so sinfully loud you swear it echoes against the walls. his throbbing cock rubs on your thigh.

he allows himself one, two, three finger-deep thrusts into his mouth, practically fucking himself, gagging on his own hand, putting on the most wonderful show for you. just to make sure there’s not a droplet left.

then his fingers leave his mouth with a loud pop! and he looks back down at you. crazed. feverish. delirious. eyes so dark you can barely breathe.

looking good enough to eat.

later on, after a lot more cum from both parties and a well-deserved bath, you rush into the kitchen, praying your apartment isn’t about to burn down. satoru was, after all, supposed to be making you dinner.

when you lean over the countertops, you find that the stove was never on.

LOVERSMANTRA © 2024, all rights reserved. do not translate, crosspost, or copy. steal my work and i'll steal your kneecaps. bitch.

[tinytennisskirt]

The Motions

Summary: Reader and Art go through the motions of love, a wedding, the honeymoon, and pregnancy.

Warnings: smut! AU where Tashi doesn’t exist, tipsy sex, unprotected sex, oral f!receiving, mentions of calories and weight gain, pregnancy, mentions of pregnant sex.

You were picking berries in Art’s grandma’s garden, putting them in his grandma’s basket lined with a pink checkered cloth that she held in her wrinkled hands. You were talking about something out of earshot, but he could hear his grandma’s laughter ring out through the backyard, hearty and loud. You were smiling, the evening sun hitting you just right. Art watched from the gazebo by the pool, his mom who took care of the house talking to him about something he wasn’t hearing.

He loved seeing his grandma come back to visit her home from the retirement home, but he loved seeing you make her laugh even more. Art leaned onto his hand, mouth just a little open watching you cheers over a blackberry and eat it the same time as his grandma. He knew it then, he loved you so much, he knew he had to marry you.

And he did a year later. Married at twenty-five. A young couple, married in his grandma’s garden with only friends and family around. You looked perfect, like an angel in white. Art would never forget how much he smiled that day, his cheeks hurting.

The after party was perfect as well. String lights over the walls, delicious food, and good music. You in a smaller white dress that enabled you to dance with him all night long. Bell sleeves you insisted on because of some Anne Hathaway musical that you were obsessed with. You only ever stopped to thank family for coming and giggle about the wedding with your best friend. Art took some time to talk to Patrick, but no matter what anyone, even Patrick said to him, his eyes were glued on his perfect new bride.

You looked at him from where you were and waved, holding up your ring finger and blowing him a kiss off of it. He loved you more than anything.

A few more drinks from the open bar that had been set up by the shed in the garden and you and Art were laughing, pictures being snapped every now and then. You danced with Art’s grandmother before she headed back to the retirement home, pretending like you hadn’t had too many margaritas and Art enjoyed the attempt, surprised at how well it went.

You said goodbyes to your guests and soon it was just you, Art, Patrick and your best friend and maid of honour. You enjoyed what was left of the bottled wine and talked, but as soon as they left, Art had you against the wall.

You had the house to yourself, you’d leave for your honeymoon tomorrow evening and you two stumbled drunk on love and wine into the house, your back against the wall, the pictures falling off the wall- thank god there was no glass in the frame.

Kissing passionately, his hands all over your body, your arms around his neck, hands in his hair. He cradled your head as you both rolled against the wall, trying to make it to the bed but it was so useless. The table against the wall in the hallway was going to have to do. Art shoved the tennis trophy off of it along with the basket of keys and the small crocheted flower pots his grandma collected. He picked you up and set you down on the surface and in seconds you were kissing again, his hands reaching around the back to unzip the dress but when it wouldn’t come down, other measures had to be taken.

You and Art both hiked your dress up, him desperately kissing down your neck, one hand sliding down over your waist to rest on your now-bare hip. It was the other hand that pulled down the white lingerie you wore under the dress, something meant to be seen in better lighting, on a better surface, but was now on the floor.

Perfect warm kisses down your collarbone, up your neck, behind your ear as your hands fumbled with pulling off his tie, unbuttoning the top of his white dress shirt, moaning quietly as he used his teeth on your earlobe. You gave up on the buttons halfway and started on the button of his dress pants, undoing them, undoing the zipper. He gripped your hip with the tips of his fingers, sliding his hands over the smooth skin of your thigh, reaching down between them, pushing fingers into you as you moaned into his ear. Your legs wrapped around him in his boxers as he pumped his fingers in and out at the pace he knew you loved.

You moaned out loudly into the empty of the house and it set his body on fire. Neither of you could take it, you tugged on the rim of his boxers and he obliged, taking them off in seconds, stepping out and away and coming to reconnect with your lips hungrily, perfectly, fingers continuing to fuck you just right. You needed him more than anything.

“Art, please,” you mumbled against his lips.

“Mhm?” He grinned, lifting you just slightly to reposition you. Your hand fell to his dick, gripping it and slowly moving your hand up and down. He groaned audibly and it fuelled your own flame. His fingers left you and gripped your hips again as he pulled you to the edge of the table, the perfect height to push himself into you. You both moaned loudly, feeling him fill you. “Fuck, I love you.” He groaned, the thousandth ‘I love you’ of the night, but the sexiest. You grinned as he began to thrust him and out, breathing hard and gripping his hair.

“I love-mmm- I love you too,” you hummed, tossing your head back as he fucked you as you sat on the table, your legs wrapping around his waist. He took the time to kiss your neck again, your collarbone, biting your ear again. “Fuck!” You moaned out.

Art only fucked you harder with every moan, fuelling him, keeping him going. That and all the love- so much love. It wasn’t even your honeymoon yet.

He finished and you both were left sweating by this table in the hallway. You wrapped your arms around his neck, foreheads resting against each other’s. You shared a smile and Art grinned his signature grin, kissing your nose. You cupped his face, kissing him gently on the lips.

You slept like babies that night.

When you got off the plane in Dominican Republic, you raised your hands over your head and kissed Art hard on the lips. He loved seeing you excited. You practically told every stranger who spoke to you that you were on your honeymoon, showing off the wedding ring that was of course, a travel dupe, but just as beautiful. Your real rings were at home on the kitchen table.

The house you rented was beautiful, by the water, full of sun, and very private.

“This is perfect,” you sighed happily, flopping down on the large patio couch that was just outside on the deck under the shade of an umbrellas.

“Not as perfect-“ he sat next to you, “-as my wife.” He grinned. You sat up just to kiss him.

“That was cheesy,” you told him. “But I love it. And you.” You kissed him again. You headed into town that day, a grocery trip. The locals were lovely and very nice. There were vendors selling fruits, vegetables, kids playing at the playground.

You and Art bought yourselves some fruit and sat on a bench at the park, sharing it bite for bite. You watched the children play, smiling as they ran in circles around tree trunks. Art watched your expression as a woman with a baby in a wrap passed you both, the baby the cutest you both had ever seen. Chubby-cheeked, small fingers, curious eyes that looked over you both as the baby passed. Art noted how your hand subconsciously drifted to place itself flat over your stomach. He was feeling it too, if he was honest. Something about being married, something about you looking so empty in your tank top and skirt.

“Cute baby,” you said, snapping back to reality when you realized Art was watching you with a smile.

You smiled back and Art twisted his mouth to the side, knowingly. “Cute baby?” He teased.

“Something about being married, I don’t knowww,�� you said sheepishly. It was exactly what he was thinking… He leaned over and kissed you on the forehead. There was a wordless agreement made and the anticipation began.

Art cooked dinner while you worked on dessert, him making perfect seafood kababs over the provided barbecue in nothing but his swim trunks and some stupid apron you made him wear. You sat, admiring him from the kitchen inside, thinking about how he looked so husband. You had no other descriptors. He was so husband.

He waved at you through the window, staring at the bikini you were wearing as you baked your chocolate lava cake. You waved back, wiggling your fingers knowingly.

You ate together at the glass table right by the beach in the shade of the palms. The food was perfect and the dessert even better as the sun began to set. A whole day of enjoying being married and Art could not focus as you wiped your bottom lip of the lava cake, sucking the extra off your fingers, looking at him through your eyelashes. He watched, a little dumbstruck, mouth a little open. He could have had you on the table right then and there, but he knew he’d get lucky later…

You poured yourself a bath as you both digested, filling it with rose petals and sweet smelling candles. Art himself took a shower in the outdoor shower to clean himself from the water he’d been swimming in while he waited, then he cleaned up from dinner as his hair dried.

He was washing dishes when you stepped out from the bathroom. Hair perfect, eyelashes long, lips perfectly pouted and your body wrapped in delicate lace that barely covered you at all. a very small slip skirt to top it all off. Art almost dropped the dish he held but he was lucky to have the restraint to take off the dishwashing gloves as you used your pointer finger to signal him to come closer, slipping through the door of your bedroom and shutting the door behind you. He followed, opening it to you laying on the bed for him in wait.

He grinned as he jumped onto the bed, going to kiss you- but you dodged him. You giggled, looking at his surprise. He narrowed his eyes at you, going to kiss you again but you moved your head to the side, giggling more. “Uh-uh,” you teased. Art’s eyes glazed over with lust fuelled by love, looking over your body in this lingerie. You leaned forward and he thought you’d kiss him but you dodged him again. Art grinned his lopsided grin and grabbed your face, kissing you excitedly. You both laughed into it but the laugh was gone when he pressed his body to yours. He was hard before he even left the sink and he was glad there was so little to remove. You moaned as his hand slid down your neck, over your chest, gently squeezing through the thin fabric of your lingerie.

Oh, Art was driven crazy by the way you looked in it. The lights in the room were dim but enough to get a good look at you and if he weren’t so busy kissing you, lips against lips, hungry, driven, needed, he would be staring. He was painfully hard, pressing against you as he kissed down your neck, down your chest, moving your lingerie aside to kiss your chest, sending goosebumps to every part of your body and causing heat to flare between your thighs. He knew just what to do.

His fingers gently went between the slip of your skirt and your waist, lips following kissing between lace and skin and pulling it down. It revealed the bodysuit’s end, crotchless, perfect, but Art had a preference. He unsnapped the edges, the lace curling over your stomach as he kissed lower and lower. You pulled the lingerie off, not even minding that its purpose was quick, but effective.

Art’s lips grazed your thighs, planting the smallest of kisses down the inside of them, gently pushing your legs up into a bent position. You could have moaned just at the action of it, gentle but with intent.

He kissed up the thigh and over the hip again, coming to kiss your stomach. It was soft skin, pretty, but he imagined how it would feel to kiss in a few months after he was done with you. He kissed just below your belly button, then down, down, down, until he kissed gently over your clit and it send another wave of goosebumps, much stronger. He was gentle, so gentle it was almost unbearable.

Your hands slid into the roots of his hair. “Please,” you begged, breathless over the lack of touch, or rather the lack of pressure that you so needed.

“What was that?” Art said quietly from between your thighs, hovering over the places you needed his mouth, his tongue. He planted another kiss over your skin, not enough.

“Please,” you said, just a little louder. “I need it, I need you.”

“Need me to what?” He asked, eyes peeking up from where you laid. You pushed his head back down, but he didn’t you push him into any action. He was enjoying teasing you back, knowing it was so much worse than a dodged kiss. He could feel how in need you were as he kissed just a little lower, over the most sensitive parts. You breathed a heavy sigh, pulling his hair just gently but trying to push his mouth against you. “Say it.”

You flushed, “I need you-“ another heavy breath left your lungs, “-Please, Art.”

Honestly he didn’t even want you to take another second, he himself couldn’t help it. In a heartbeat his tongue was exactly where you needed it. Your back immediately arched at the contact and Art himself moaned as you did, the taste of you more delicious than any meal either one of you could ever cook.

His tongue licked over your clit, pressing hard against eliciting a second moan from you, licking down over you, his tongue sliding and pushing itself inside, just to lick up again. Your hands pulled his hair and you squeezed his head with your thighs gently, feeling all of it, every flick of his tongue, every time he circled your clit, every time his tongue pushed back inside, moving up and down quickly.

He pressed against the bed, but it wasn’t good enough, he was too excited to fuck his wife. He hummed against your cunt, sending vibrations down his tongue. You moaned louder, “Fuck, Art!” You moaned out. “Fuck, fuck- mmm.” You couldn’t help the noises he caused. He loved every second of it, every little noise, every tiny whine. Art would have continued until you came on his tongue, but your voice was the instruction he could never deny. “Fuck me, please.” You moaned.

He couldn’t waste a second after that ask, moving from between your legs just as you asked, wiping his mouth on his shirt before pulling it off and kissing you again. Hot, needy, passionate. Your hands travelled to his shorts, pulling them down, him following through by kicking them off. There was no waiting, there was no falter in his arousal, he plunged into you almost immediately, starting rough.

You both moaned loudly in unison as he began thrusting in and out. His excited crooked grin fucked right off by the way you tightened around him. His body over yours, chest to chest, dick deep inside you. Your whole body felt warm, fuzzy, and you were dazed, high on him. He lifted your leg over his shoulder, pushing deeper, you feeling it in your lower stomach as he fucked you. “You feel so good,” he said. He’d made love to you a million times before but this was rich with sober lust. “Fuck, Y/N.” He groaned.

Your eyes rolled back as he only went harder, faster, feeling you tighten under the pressure. He continued, more and more until, “Fuck, I’m close.” He said. “Can I?”

“Go ahead baby,” You grinned into the kiss, warmed as he continued, his thrusts getting harder, but more spaced, sloppier. You felt it hot as he finished into you, coming undone with your name on his tongue. It was loud, it was enough, it was hot and you were so full of him, even as he pulled out.

You breathed hard, feeling it when he moved out of you, kissing you a few more times before pushing up and moving right back between your thighs immediately following. He ate you out until you finished, HARD, moaning his name out desperately.

You fucked three more times that night.

The honeymoon was lovely. You came home and resumed work, Art resuming his tennis. You had both had late nights, sometimes early mornings, but slept soundly together every night, arms wrapped around one another until you woke up. Two months of a newly-wed routine with plenty of sex, plenty of kissing, and so much love in a singular household.

Art’s thing had been Chinese food lately. He’d come home from tennis with it, he’d get it on the way back from groceries and on Fridays when you both had nothing to do in the evenings and didn’t want to cook, you’d order in. It didn’t even occur to you that maybe it was too much when you when to put on your jeans and they didn’t fit. You felt the thighs were tighter as you pulled them up only to find that it was harder to button. You sucked in to button them and looked in the mirror. Maybe you’d put on some weight. You called Art into the bedroom, he walked in with his cereal and first thing he was excited to see you in just jeans and your bra.

“I have forty minutes before practice,” he said, setting the bowl down on the bedside table. You chuckled before looking back at the mirror.

You couldn’t help but smile, looking at him through it. “I have to ask you something and you have to answer it like you’re on truth serum, okay?” You said, turning to face him. He nodded, looking just a little bit concerned now at your approach. “You can’t answer as my husband or as the man who loves me, okay? Truth serum.”

“Truth serum,” he repeated, nodding. He walked over and kissed your forehead, confusion in his eyes.

You looked back in the mirror, back at him. “Havr you noticed any weight gain? On me.” You asked. You had heard about the effects of being someone’s wife but didn’t think they’d set in just yet.

Art cleared his throat, “Weight or not, you’re beautiful either way,” he said.

You smiled, but shook your head, “Not as my husband!” You giggled. “You’re sweet, though.”

He kissed you quickly, pulling you closer. “I have noticed, yes, but I don’t mind. In fact, I think I like it.” He smirked just a little. The man you loved for years could still make you blush. “I think it’s my fault. The Chinese.” He nodded.

“I was thinking that too,” you said. “It’s okay. I suppose I forgot I don’t have your metabolism and play tennis almost every day.” You chuckled. “I think I’ll lay off it for now.”

“Do you need to?” He grinned, pulling you into a kiss with intention.

“I have work in thirty,” you interrupted his kiss, though you loved it.

He grinned, “Oh, you have work.” He said back to you, kissing you again, this time with more passion. “I’ll make it quick?”

“Deal,” you agreed, pushing him back on the bed. You loved him and he loved you in any form, you were learning. That was good enough fuel for morning sex. Maybe you could burn calories bouncing for a bit…

The weight gain worsened. You gave it another three weeks, weeks that you began hitting the gym every morning of every other day, going with Art to practice, and only having Chinese once. You looked in the mirror again. Art came up behind you, kissing your shoulder, moving your hair to kiss your neck. You were undressing after work and you stood there in just your underwear. His hands slid over your waist, your hips.

“You still love me like this?” You asked him.

“Like what?” He asked, kissing your ear gently. It sent goosebumps over your skin.

“Like this,” you gestured to the mirror. “Bigger.”

He smiled against your skin, “So much.” He hummed into your ear. “You are so beautiful.”

“Promise?”

“You want me to prove it?” He asked, grinning. He moved to look at you, but you didn’t look very happy. “I’m sorry. Of course I promise. I married you, you just happen to be inside of a body. I love that too, but it doesn’t make you more or less worthy of how I feel.”

You were in love with his words. With the mouth that spoke them. With him. “But what if it gets worse.”

“There is no worse,” he chuckled, kissing your cheek, then nose, then lips, softly. “But Y/N, I don’t think it’s weight gain.” He said. He just smiled, “I have a theory.”

“What?” You asked. And it all clicked. You covered your mouth, eyes widening. “Do you think- I- why didn’t I even think about that?”

He grinned, “I think we both thought it was the Chinese.”

“It was supposed to be,” you laughed a bit breathily. “Oh my god, do you think we- oh my god.”

“I bought you two tests today,” he chuckled. You hit him in the arm. “What?”

“Move! I have to go take them!”

He laughed as you rushed in your underwear to the bathroom where he had laid them on the counter. It was a good thing you’d had a ton of iced tea at work that day. You were so cute. Art wouldn’t lie, from the moment it clicked for him, his heart hadn’t stopped racing. Part of him was worried that it wasn’t what the situation was and maybe it was something else, but he had a feeling. And so did you.

You wrapped yourself in your robes, your heart beating hard as you opened the door, Art waiting against the wall outside, arms crossed. Your hearts beat hard, nearly in unison. “I didn’t look yet, I thought we should together?” You said, the nerves apparent in your voice.

You set them down on the bedside table and sat on the edge, your eyes staying on Art’s. You could see the love in his eyes, the anticipation right along with it. You could feel it as your heart beat against your rib cage. “In three?” He said, perfect eyes meeting yours.

“I love you,” you said, trying not to giggle just because of the nerves. How did you not even think about this?

“I love you too. In three?” You both were so so scared, but so so in love. You nodded. “3…2…1,” and you both looked down at both of the tests, double-lined and confirming with a digital word,

pregnant.

You gasped, covering your mouth with one hand, the other grabbing Art’s arm. He inhaled sharply, turning to you without hesitation and kissing you hard, holding your face with both of his hands.

A baby, a baby, a baby.

“Oh my god,” he grinned between hard kisses, full kisses, perfect, excited kisses. “Oh my god.”

You kissed his cheek over and over and over, his whole face was peppered out of sheer excitement. “I’m pregnant!” You giggled. He chuckled, kissing you hard again. It was scary and new but wonderful to know it wasn’t Chinese food’s fault. It was lovely, wonderful, fulfilling. “I’m so glad I haven’t drank since the wedding.” You laughed. Art���s hands wrapped around you, holding you tight, your arms doing the same, keeping him in an embrace that he broke only to kiss your stomach the way he had on your honeymoon. He’d been waiting to do so.

And he never stopped kissing your stomach whenever he could, appreciating your body for what it was working so hard to grow. Sex got a little bit harder to achieve, but Art loved every second of it, worshipping your body for its achievements. He was great, very supportive, burying himself in books about parenting and pregnancy, buying you or making you every craving. He loved every change, every difference, how cute you looked in dresses. He cried when you ruptured the balloons to pink confetti, more excited to have a daughter than you’d ever expected. He loved you and he would love your daughter more than anything.

He was there through labour, through delivery, letting you squeeze his hand hard enough he thought you might break his bones. Even through the sweat and tears, you were the most beautiful woman in the world to him. And you were soon the most beautiful mother in the world to him when your daughter finally arrived after seven hours of labour. She was the most beautiful thing, covered in blood, but so beautiful. So tiny. So perfect.

He held his little girl in his arms when she was all clean and she smelled exactly as a baby should. She had big cheeks, a cute little nose, and he could pinpoint the features you’d given her. “She’s so beautiful,” Art said, trying not to cry. He was so in love, it was overwhelming. He passed you your baby and you held her, tired, crying. “Thank you.” He said.

You looked at him, “For her?” You pouted, your husband’s gratitude the most beautiful thing.

“For her.” He grinned, looking at his perfect daughter. “She’s absolutely perfect, you did such a good job.” He leaned down and kissed you quickly, then kissing his baby on the forehead. “I love you so much.” He said, meaning you both.

“I love you too,” you replied, kissing him again. You were so in love and here, in your arms, was the evidence

[kareofbears]

"You know," Thomas starts, putting the flowers down on the sand as he rolls his sleeves up. "How you yelled at me, back in the Glade, because I wasn't helping out?"

A breeze ruffles his hair, longer than it was a year ago, and the tang of salt doesn't register anymore. "I know, I know. You technically didn't yell. To be fair, I was new, and it's not like I had someone showing me the ropes."

He kneels on the ground, in front of where the tombstone stood. This wasn't the boulder that Vince had set up in the beginning of Safe Haven's existence--this was smaller, flatter, bordering on where the sand meets the dirt. "Now, I feel like all I'm doing with these kids is showing the ropes."

Busying himself with rearranging the flowers, he rubs his thumb on a golden petal idly. "They're doing fine. Between me and the others, things are getting done. Maybe not as efficiently if you were here, but we're trying." He pauses. "I'm trying."

Thomas' voice doesn't shake, not anymore. How can it? It's just him and Newt. His voice never shakes with Newt.

Waves crash somewhere behind him. A bird chirps, its tune lively and bright. The world continues to spin, and it's a long moment before he speaks again.

"I'm throwing myself into work, Newt." His gaze tilts skywards. "I'm working, aren't I? I build homes, I teach, I train the others. There's food, so much of it, enough for years and for anyone who wants to start a family. Last night, I woke up because people were laughing so loud near my bed--laughing. I couldn't even get mad."

Careful not to mess up the floral arrangement, Thomas leans forward slowly until his forehead is pressed right up against the slab, stone cool to the touch. "How busy?" he wonders. "How busy do I need to be until this gets better? How much more do I need to do before it starts to get better? How much more do I need to give?"

When he doesn't get an answer, Thomas lets his eyes slip close. "I'm busy, Newt. I'm busy, and I'm trying, and I'm so fucking sad."

Eventually, Thomas raises his head. He presses his lips to the top of the tombstone, smiling wryly to himself. "At least I can actually reach the top of your head like this, right?"

He gets on his feet, brushing the sand off of his pants, feeling the sun beat relentlessly down on his skin. "Tomorrow, then. Maybe it'll get better tomorrow."

[ataraxiaspainting]

Banquet of Massacre.

Yan Geto x F Reader.

Synopsis: The days are blending into each other, and you just want some sort of change. But soon, you realize you have to be far more careful about what you wish for.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, not SFW implications, takes place five or so years before JJK 0, and violence.

Continuation of Presentiment of Massacre.

Word Count: 800.

*~*~*~*

The green obi gently tightening with each passing second stops at your words, but after a chuckle resumes, the slight anger in Geto’s voice is smaller than the width of a hair.

He continues with the loose, wide red sodes. You focus so much on your anxiety, about what the rest of your life will be, that you don’t notice the small golden details of koi on the red sleeves. You don’t even pay attention to the silk that ties your wrists together, a consequence of you attempting to squirm your way out of dinner again. Not that dinner was anything special this evening.

“You know,” His voice rises and falls like the wind. “Perhaps there are some things you shouldn’t say to the only reason you are still alive.”

With that, he pulls, much harder than before, on the ends of the sash, causing you to gasp for air for a moment or two. 

“I could still feed you to one of my curses you know, or all of them at the same time, they would love to get a taste of you.”

At your desperate whines, as you attempt to claw at the ceiling with restrained hands, he lets go, and with his action, your vision blurs no longer.

He spins you around and he licks his lips.

“I-I’m sorry, Master Geto.” You might be uncertain if you mean your apology, but perhaps Geto has the answer.

Just as you are not sure if Geto forgives you, but he knows the answer for sure.

The woman sitting next to both of you on the floor holds a golden hairpin in her ragged, scarred hands. She holds the hairpin just like she held the underlayer, obi string, socks, obi, and sash. She held and currently holds them all so delicately because she did not want to lose her hands. She was your handmaiden, according to Geto, and although the two of you had never exchanged words, you knew her first name was Sookee, but her last name was of no relevance if it even existed. 

Even though she was around your age, Sookee looked much older than she was because of her premature wrinkles and little white hairs sticking out of her bangs, clear signs of all the stress Geto and the rest of the people here put her through. She was an indentured servant of sorts, from what you were told, and she, like you, is often tormented by the people who live here.

You feel bad for her, whenever you hear her screams and cries, whenever she trips and breaks a porcelain teapot and gets beaten for it, or when she is too late to dress you for supper, which always causes Geto to summon a curse that is so ugly and follows her for the rest of the day and makes crude comments toward her.

There was one time that it actually bit her, and after an hour’s worth of begging, Sookee earned the right to bandage herself up.

“Monkey,” The word is bitter on his tongue and lingers in the air for far longer than either Sookee or you would have liked. “Pin.”

Although you sympathize with Sookee, your instinct urges you to prioritize your well-being before her.

“Since you are so ungrateful for the life I have given you, maybe it would be better to make you like Sookee. Would you like that, princess? To be lesser than a pauper?”

You deeply repent for uttering a single word, which emerges from your lips with complete despair. Meanwhile, Geto wears a smile as he delicately places the luxurious golden hairpin, worth more than your two kidneys combined, into your hair. With a dismissive gesture and a piercing look, he sends Sookee away, and she quietly shuts the door behind her.

You don’t stop him from pushing you onto the bed, large enough for at least five people to rest on, because really is there anything you can do? “You’re so pretty. The loveliest one, the only one worthy of what I am about to do.”

You are trapped here, forever bound by him. The door is guarded by a terrifying curse that ensures your confinement, although Geto's power makes it unnecessary. You find yourself in this place, adorned in the kimono he compelled you to wear, lying in his bed, with the makeup Sookee was forced to apply on you. And here you are, hearing his whispered words of affection as he lies upon you.

“Since you are so ungrateful for what you already have, I will give you more and more, my love, until you regret ever wishing for a life outside of this one.”

[gojoidyll]

Infinity

Yandere ! Gojo Satoru x Female ! Reader

Part 2 | my childhood friend

Warnings | Gojo is kind of clingy, y/n is shy and has a stutter (at first), grammatical errors, etc.

Notes | this fic will be using she/her pronouns for y/n. Also this is a reincarnation fic, so Gojo's name will not be "Satoru" in this part. And please let me know if you want to be in a taglist for this series !! ^-^

Summary | And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you.

Infinity Masterlist

year 1102 AD

GOJO SHIRO was at the tender age of twelve when he regained his past life's memories, and with a sudden burst of excitement he realized that he was indeed living a new life as a reincarnation of his former self. With such news, he immediately set off with such knowledge and past experiences. He knew things as such a young age that baffled many adults. Which was to no surprise to the young Gojo. Though, truthfully, he had no intention of revealing how he had such vast knowledge and instead would give the simple answer of "I like to study when I'm not training." Which was believable to most adults with in the Gojo clan because they would take notice how the young future head of the clan would wander straight towards the clan's sacred library.

Little did they know, however, was that he was actually researching the l/n clan and trying to see if y/n even existed in this time period. And, much to his dismay, he would find that after his first death the l/n clan would have fallen from grace. (Which was very much deserved, mind you.) But now he had no way of finding her, of find y/n, or knowing if was even born yet or even if she would have the last name l/n or the first name y/n.

Because look at Gojo.

Sure, he still has the six eyes. His powerful cursed techniques that he will be expected to hone as he ages. Yet he has a different first name. So the same could be expected of y/n if she got reincarnated as well. But he knew that once he saw her, he would know that it was her. Without a doubt. Mainly because he wholeheartedly believed that when one is reincarnated, their personality stays the same. Their soul never changes. I mean, the only thing about him that changed was his first name for goodness sake! So the same could easily be said about his y/n. Easily.

However ...

"Oh! How frustrating!"

It was still very frustrating.

He slammed the book shut and pushed it aside. His gaze settling onto the nearest wall.

It was clear to him that searching through books on whereabouts of the l/n clan were no longer going to work. If he wanted to find his cute little maid, then he was going to have to leave the Gojo Estate. Simple, right? So, that was exactly what he set out to do. And much to his surprise, no one really stopped him. Probably because he was already at such a high position within the clan as the next head and all.

And thats how he found himself wandering the streets. Many people bustled around him but didn't dare to step in his path for it was easily known as to who he was and how much power he had.

Well, that was until he felt a small tug on his sleeve.

Rolling his eyes, he couldn't believe someone had the audacity to bother him, especially considering how he was busy looking for y/n. Not that whoever was pulling at him to get his attention needed to know that.

"What."

Though the moment that the word left his mouth, his whole body froze up when he had turned to look at the person who was bothering him. His brillant blue eyes fixated on the slightly smaller girl before him.

She looked exactly the same as before.

"Uhm- i- i- I'm so sorry, Lord Gojo! But- but you- i-," she stuttered over her words like a fool. She shut her eyes as she tried to find the right words she wanted to say, "its just.. us kids were going to play a game and- and we were wondering if you want to play with us. We- we know you probably have better things to do.. but but we j- just .. just wanted to be friends since- since w-we saw you pass by and and we never see you out from the estate walls, so..."

She blabbered on. To anyone else, they may have tried to cut her off or shut her up. But to Gojo? He was on cloud nine. In his past life, he only got to see her when she was a teenager, and that was only for a year before her life was taken from him. But now? Now he has a chance to get to know her as a child. They can grow up together, learn about each other at the same pace without someone threatening them. It made a smile stretching across his lips.

"Sure," he said suddenly, "I'll come play with you all. But...only on one condition."

She brightened at first when he agreed to come play but instantly deflated at the condition. He wasn't going to ask for money was he?! Her dirt smudged face and tattered clothes were proof enough of her wealth. So, she really did hope he didn't ask for anything too grand.

"Mmhmm, want to hear the condition?"

She shakily nodded and he basked in her shyness and fear. He found it was really fun to tease her! And he planned on teasing her a lot in the near future.

Booping her on the nose with an index finger, he grinned, "well, its actually two conditions. But don't worry, its within your power to fulfill them easily."

Rubbing her nose, she silently urged him to continue.

"First, I want you to call me Shiro. No more of that lame Lord Gojo crap. And second .. what's your name? You want me to come play with you, but don't offer an introduction? Honestly, I'm hurt."

He faked a pout while laying a hand on his chest. His heart beating rapidly against his palm and he silently hoped she wasn't able to hear it.

She bowed suddenly, "r- right! I'm s- sorry Lord- uhm- I mean! I'm sorry Shiro!"

She straightened back up as a blush coated her (color) cheeks. Her hand shakily jutting out as her feet moved from side to side in a nervous manner.

"I'm y/n and- and I was wondering if you like to come and play with me and my friends.."

His heart did a backflip and he internally swooned. So cute!

He immediately snatched her hand into his own despite her hand being slightly dirty than his clean, pristine one.

"I would love to!"

[f10werfae]

But That’s Mine Hen!

pairing: Lumberjack!Henry Cavill x Short!Shy!Wife

summary: Pouty Y/n gets jealous when her grump of a man is approached by a certain woman; she can't help but stomp her foot and whine, showing everyone that he's hers and vice versa (Dom!Henry)

Disclaimer: This story is fiction and should not be taken literally, the behaviour is simply imaginative and the content may be inappropriate

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated♥️

Henry Masterlist, Lumberjack!Henry, Full Masterlist, taglist form

“Come on bun, let’s go get that dress you wanted” Henry smirked keeping a hand on his wife’s ass, a small squeak leaving her rosy lips as he gave her cheeks a tight squeeze. Giving him a kiss wet enough to leave others drooling, she giggled interlacing their hands together. The both of them taking an afternoon stroll into town for some summer shopping, Y/n happily spending her burly man’s money.

“Oh Henry! Hey!!” A high shrilly voice said from behind them, Y/n’s face immediately furrowing seeing Patricia, the bar owner of the town calling after her man. A pang of jealousy immediately hitting her chest. Henry seemed to have noticed this, a smirk on his face, he walked forward and gave the woman a hug.

“Oh Patricia, it’s lovely to see you, still lookin’ as beautiful as ever” Henry smirked, his eyes still on Y/n who could be heard scoffing as she looked to the side, her eyes finding her shoes the most interesting thing in the world. Fisting the bottom of Henry’s shirt, a pout on her face as she stomped her foot slightly. Henry looked at her from the side of his eye, finding her jealous reaction the most adorable thing ever, she looked like a baby bunny. His baby bunny.

“Please, you flatter me too much, you never come round anymore been missin’ you round the bar” Patricia pouted crossing her arms over to prop up her breasts, ‘don’t be so obvious’ Y/n thought to herself. “Swear you have gotten more handsome, we should have dinner sometime, maybe we can catch up some more?” Patricia beamed happily, she had clearly been ignoring Y/n’s presence this entire time, because when Y/n tried to say something next she was rudely interrupted.

“Great it’s a date!” Patricia replied without even hearing Henry’s reply, wrapping her arms around his torso like a mad woman, how desperate Y/n thought. Deciding not to let herself third wheel her husband and some sloppy woman, Y/n turned straight on her heels and walked towards the dress boutique she was there for in the first place; her eyes set on the periwinkle backless dress settled on the mannequin. Her mood immediately lifting as she saw the glitter sleeves and the length seemed just perfect.

“Oh my, is that the Y/n L/n?” A guy around Y/n’s age shouted from the other side of the boutique, a shining smile on his face, a clearly well kept man of his time. “J-Jeremy?” Y/n said confused, she hadn’t seen her friend in years, truthfully she had forgotten he even existed. “What are you doing here?” She asked confused, seeing him holding a tape measure and pieces of fabric.

“Moved back from LA, took a job here as a fitter and designer, wanted to feel more at home. You get it?” He smiled setting down his things and folding his arms over his chest, “Y-yeah I get it” Y/n stuttered back feeling a bit anxious under his gaze, lowkey wishing for Henry to walk in now any second.

“So can I help you? Are you wanting that new periwinkle dress? I can help you get fitted with my tape measure, make sure it fits perfectly” He smiled honestly, holding up his tape measure; within seconds he had thrown it around the smaller woman’s waist.

“O-Oh no it’s okay, i’m just waiting on my husb-“

“Sugar? So this is where ya ran off to?” Hearing that same low voice she loved, she smiled shyly knowing he wouldn’t be happy with her being in such close proximity with another guy. Specifically one that she had dated mildly back when she was 14, even though it meant nothing, Henry still seemed pissy. “It’s okay my wife doesn’t need help, Jeremy” Henry grumbled standing up to his full height, then bending down and reading the shorter man’s name tag, leaving him slightly shaken merely by the size of the older man.

“A-are you sure? I can help with-“

“Listen, Jeremy, I told you we don’t need help. Do we sugar?” Henry asked deeply, his eyes travelling to Y/n who shook her head rapidly, her hands immediately wrapping around her man’s hairy forearm, her nails mindlessly raking through the arm hair. Jeremy simply nodded and scurried off to help the other elderly woman in the shop, leaving the married couple to their own devices.

“Leave ya alone for two seconds n you’re already givin’ away my pussy for a dress” Henry grumbled scoffing grabbing her hand tightly, pulling her out of the shop like a kid who was being scolded, pushing her into the back of his truck that was parked on the sidewalk. Her head landing on the soft pink seat covers she said she would die without, and Henry of course gave in without a second thought.

“W-wasn’t givin it away!” Y/n pouted crossing her arms as Henry hovered above her, pushing the seats down to almost make a bed like surface. “Sure you weren’t” Henry grumbled, his hands holding on tightly to her hips, his cock slightly hardening at the sight of her breasts now pushed against her thanks to gravity.

“B-but you were about to go say yes to dinner with Patricia, n-n that’s no fair. I-i’m your wife n’ that’s mine!” Y/n whisper shouted, tears slightly collecting in her eyes from frustration motioning to the tent in his trousers, so she turned her head to the side not wanting to look at Henry right now. “Oh baby sugar, did ya not hear me when I said no afterwards, or were ya too busy suckin’ off Jeremy”

Henry’s heart ached seeing her so riled up and upset, but he couldn’t help but notice how wet she got from him simply teasing her. “W-was not! You’re mean, I don’t wanna talk to you right now. Go back to Patricia or whatever her name is” Y/n grumbled, whining when Henry tilted her head back to look at him, a softer smile on his face as he kissed her tears away.

“M’sorry honey, jus wanted to tease ya but I promise I won’t do it no more, i’m all yours, n’ I definitely don’t want to see you around that Jeremy fucker ever again. You understand?”

“Yeah whatever, can we jus go home now please” Y/n pouted still feeling down in the dumps. “I love you sugar, my precious wife” Henry cooed nuzzling his nose against her slightly reddened one, her eyes as big as buttons as she looked up at him.

“L-love you too” She whispered back leaning forward and pecking his lips softly, wiping away her face with the back of her hand. “Aw i’m sorry honey, your Henry’s sorry, didn’t mean ta upset you so much” Henry whispered now feeling a bit guilty, making a mental note to never play this sorts gag on her ever again, he couldn’t bare to see his baby bun so upset. It broke his heart.

Nudging his head against hers he kissed both her cheeks, cupping her face, wiping her stray tears with his thumbs. “Come on, smile for me baby” He whispered kissing down her neck, over the pearl necklace he had bought her for no reason whatsoever, other than he had seen her stare at it for more than two seconds.

Seeing her lips crack up a smile, he himself also smiled as he kissed her lips passionately, his tongue coaxing open her lips; letting his tongue mingle with hers as he felt her arms wrap around his neck. “Gonna take you right here okay bun?” He kissed her full cheeks one more time before sitting up and unbuttoning his jeans, his cock already springing out without help.

Nodding ,Y/n shyly widened her legs and wrapped them around his waist, flipping her dress up to reveal the purple lace covering her centre. “Baby you spoil me too much” He chuckled pushing her underwear to the side, teasing the tip of his cock up and down her slit before resting it against her snug hole.

“J-just put it in already bear” Y/n whined wiggling her hips in hopes of him just slipping in, a sharp breath kicking her throat as he suddenly just filled her to the brim. “This what you wanted, your husband’s cock all up your wet pussy?” He said through gritted teeth, hid hands sliding up to cup her face, his forehead against hers as he basically lay on top of her.

“Come on, tell me what ya want or you aren’t going to get it butterfly, what do you want?”

“I-I want my husband’s-husband’s cock in my pussy alla time, j-jus for me and no one else” Y/n gasped feeling his thumb reach down and start toying with her clit, massaging it in all directions giving her a sense of overstimulation. With her mouth gaped open, Henry saw this as another opportunity to get his woman dirty, collecting spit onto his tongue before letting it dribble onto hers.

An excited whimper leaving her as she cupped his face and smashed their tongues together in an open-mouthed kiss, letting him swallow all her gasps and moans while he thrusted mercilessly. The sounds of hip and lip smacking filled the car, with it evidently becoming extremely steamed up giving them another cover from the public.

“Your little pussy is gonna make your husband cum baby, fuck, we were made for each other” He moaned breaking from the kiss, “W-what if you grow bored o-of me?” Y/n asked mid whimper, those insecure thoughts filling her head again, only for them to be interrupted with a pleasurable spank to her breast.

“Don’t speak that way about my wife”

“W-woah feel all fuzzy now” Y/n smiled lazily, her body jerking with each thrust, her arms again draping around Henry’s shoulders as best they could, “Oh do you honey? Fuckin’ brilliant” He swore picking up the pace to a heavenly rate, “go on baby bun, show em all who we belong to” He growled picking up her hand and dragging it down the steamed window, leaving a very erotic looking handprint amidst the mist, anyone walking by could guess what was going on; as if the car rocking wasn’t enough.

“H-Henry cumming” She said using his full name, which sent Henry into a frenzy, his rhythm falling as he felt his cock grow that bit more sensitive. “Love, i’m going to cum i-inside you okay? Wan’ fill you up and show everyone all of you is mine, show them all what they can’t have when you’re all round full of me” He rambled almost out of breath, her hands cupping his face and staring into his eyes hazily.

Both of them lost in each other ad Y/n clenched her hole around his thick cock, milking it for all its worth as he spurted rope after rope inside of her. Once they both calmed down, a small voice said “B-bear did ya really say no to P-patricia?” She mumbled looking into his icy blues, her fingers playing with the chain around his neck which had a pendant with her fingerprint.

“Course I did honey, ya kiddin me? There’s no other woman on this Earth I’d willingly spend my time with other than you baby bun. N’ that better be the same for you”

“Mhm mhm It is!” Y/n chirped now happily and more hyper despite the raging sex they had which now seemed to smell around the car, ignoring the fact that the mixture of those their orgasms were now leaking onto the cushioned seats.

“you’re going to stay here n look pretty while I go into that boutique” Henry smirked flipping her skirt down and buttoning himself back up, wiping the spit and drool of her face using his red plaid button up. “W-what?”

“Need to get ya that pretty dress you deserve, n’ show that Jimmy bastard who’s boss around here” He smiled leaning down and kissing her pussy passionately over the thin fabric of her dress before exiting the car, Y/n would have stopped him about the cum stains on his jeans, but she didn’t really see the big deal now that he was inside the boutique.

——-

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[oftenwantedafton]

the new hire | steve raglan x female reader

rating | explicit

part 1/?

words | 2k

ao3 link

You know you’re in trouble the moment you see those eyes.

The smile Steve Raglan offers is rehearsed, false. It doesn’t quite reach the blue; doesn’t match that warm, coarse voice that beckons you further into the office. Later on, you’ll know all too well what makes the smile turn genuine; wolf teeth, sharp and pleased, sunk into prey. But for now there is just the chair that makes your tailbone sore already, that is so much lower than the desk the career counselor sits at, making you feel even smaller than you already do. You’re looking up at the older man, at the facial hair that is marbled steel and white, fuller around the mouth and patchier on both cheeks. It looks new, like something the man’s just trying out, like one of those comically false disguise hair pieces that a spy on an old television program might employ. As if to prove your point he reaches absently to scratch along the sparse growth lining his jaw, the fastened sleeve of his shirt straining just a little at the wrist, revealing some sort of pink scar, or perhaps you are wrong; he doesn’t let you catch more than a glimpse before the hand moves to lift the cover of a folder on his desk.

Those fingers turn over the pages—only three, your entire adult existence summed up on just those scant sheets of paper—and you’re struck by how long those digits are. Artist fingers, pianist hands, the very spread of them dwarfing the documents as his eyes rove over each page. The lighting in the room—ample and yet insufficient, there are still so many shadows tucked into every corner of that office space—glares on the lenses of his glasses, temporarily impeding your view of his eyes. This accessory, too, seems somehow out of place, the shape all wrong for his facial structure, giving the illusion that this was yet another part of a disguise, a mere costume prop. You wonder if you tried the visual aids on yourself if you'd discover the lenses would be anything other than clear plastic, lacking any sort of correction.

There are a few signs of aging, a few lines here and there, most notably bracketing his eyes, but the rest of his complexion is smooth, pure—no, that was not the right word to use for this man at all—unblemished, yes, that was better. Unmarked by the natural ravages of time. Defying it. He’s older and yet somehow still young at the same time. Eternal.

It does not take long for the social worker to reach the end of your file. You squirm in your seat, trying to locate a more comfortable position. There is none to be found. Your hands twist together nervously—yours so much smaller than his, so much less delicate with your short fingers, short nails, you’ve tried to grow them out but they always split, so fragile—and then his face finally lifts to regard you, the reflected light sliding from the lenses so that his eyes are no longer obscured from your vision. You feel as if you are on trial, waiting for the judge to deliver the final verdict that will decide your fate. You had no way of knowing, then, how accurate that analogy would prove to be.

“I’ve looked through your file,” he begins, as if you have not been sitting here this entire time, seeing him do that very thing, “and I’m afraid this does not leave you with many options.”

He does not look afraid at all. He looks quite smug, and condescending. You feel yourself wither, shrinking down further into your seat, making yourself even smaller, but there is no escaping that judging gaze, that stare that pierces you like an insect on a taxidermist’s card.

“I’m willing to do anything.” You realize how this sounds the moment the words leave your lips. If you had just added two more, for work, perhaps it would have come across as a little less sleazy. Or maybe not. Maybe any phrasing would still sound the same—needy, desperate.

“Are you?” Something hot fills your gut. His voice is a soft rasp. Those two short words worm their way right inside you, burrowing into your core. They make you want to slide to your knees before this terrible figure, becoming worshipper and supplicant, and do whatever he instructs you to.

“Yes.” You feel as if you are consenting to something you don’t quite grasp all the details and nuances of.

The long fingers drum on the closed folder shielding your demographic information and employment history from view. You are torn between meeting the piercing gaze and watching those digits tapping in rapid succession. Each beat feels like he is grinding you further and further down, mallets that pound you right into the ground. You’re aware your lips are parted, because there is not enough air, not nearly enough, being drawn through your nostrils. Your lips feel chapped, your tongue dry and stuck to the roof of your mouth, adhered to the soft palate.

“I have a position for you.”

Oh, you’re willing to bet he does. Bent over the desk. The cheap skirt you’d gotten on clearance at a local department store lifted. Fingers scrabbling across the surface of the desk blotter, knocking over the placard bearing his name and title on his desk: Steve Raglan, Career Counselor. He does not look like someone who goes by a nickname. He does not even look like a Steve. You’re beginning to imagine just how that inappropriate session might feel—rough, no foreplay, no affection, just taking what he wants, those fingers digging into your skin, slapping—and you feel heat rise in your cheeks, between your legs. Shameful, except you seem fresh out of that feeling. It’s already been used up, the supply exhausted. That urge to please him, to be submissive, washes over you once more.

“What is it?” You manage after struggling to work moisture into your mouth. You’d never be able to suck his cock properly in this condition, but you’re certainly slick enough elsewhere to make up for it.

“A security gig.”

“I’ve never worked as a security guard.”

“Yes, I’m aware. One of the few career paths you haven’t pursued yet.” The disdain drips from every word. You’ve displeased him. He thinks you’re absolutely worthless. You want to prove him wrong.

“Where is it?”

“Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria.” This is the first time you hear something other than contempt in the bearded man’s voice. In fact, it was quite the opposite. There is a fondness there. A kind of affection and wonder. His features change, the thin press of his mouth softening, the sharp eyes now glassy with some far off look. Lost in some memory, savoring the details.

Then his eyes fix on your features again, so brisk and whiplike you gasp. “Would you like some coffee?”

“What?” You feel as if you’ve awoken from a trance, breaking free of whatever spell had been cast when he’d mentioned the restaurant name. You’re not familiar with it, but then again, you hadn’t lived here long. Had never really lived anywhere long. Army brat, and then a wanderer once you’d reached adulthood. A professional nomad.

“Coffee,” he repeats, rising to his feet. You’d already gotten the impression he was tall, just judging by what you could see of his upper frame, but you hadn’t anticipated quite this much length. Well over six feet. He towers above the worn piece of furniture in front of him, then makes his way around it to the coffee bar set up behind you. You’d smelled the caffeinated liquid brewing from the hallway, long before you’d ever entered the room. There is the sound of the glass carafe lifting from the burner and its contents poured into two mugs before settling back into place. Paper sugar packets are torn. Multiple. A cup is set on the desk in front of you. It has the look of being homemade, some glazed creation from a pottery class. Made by a child, perhaps? Some other family member? You make no move towards it, watching him stand beside your chair, looking down at you, pushing you even further into the earth with that gaze.

“I don’t drink coffee,” you murmur, sounding apologetic.

“Get used to it. You’re going to need to drink it to stay awake. The position is for third shift.”

“I…I don’t work nights,” you protest.

“You don’t work at all,” he returns, taking a sip from his mug. The words sting. “Beggars cannot be choosers, as they say.”

You swallow thickly, struggling with the movement. Maybe you should take a sip of the offering, just to wet your mouth.

“Drink it,” he says again, and the words make you want to cower, to grovel. Your father had always been strict. Dead and buried for years now and you still felt his presence, sharp and commanding. Maybe that was what made you feel so intense about this older man you’d just met. Daddy issues, some might say. Craving discipline. Being told what to do. You obediently lift the mug and swallow. It’s scalding hot and bitter. He’s placed nothing in it to alleviate the taste, nothing to sweeten or cool it, no sugar or cream, just a straight hot black brew to consume.

“Good girl,” he says, and the praise, oh that praise feels so ridiculously good, borderline orgasmic. You’ve finally done something to please him, and you take another gulp, ignoring your burnt tongue and protesting taste buds.

“When do I start?” You haven’t even discussed wages, or the amount of hours you’ll be working. Details you should care about, but don’t. You’ve already succumbed, agreed to what he’s put before you.

“Tonight. So you’d better take a nap and get some rest later today, because you have a long evening ahead of you.”

“I don’t…what about a uniform? Directions? I don’t know the address.”

“You can skip the uniform for tonight. Just wear something…appropriate.” He returns to his position behind the desk, settling back into the leather office chair. Setting the cup to one side, he swivels around to grab a blank piece of paper from the tray in the fax machine behind him, then rotates back around and begins writing.

The cursive is neat, elegant. Every word has little flourishes. Your eyes linger on the curves of the letters while his eyes linger on the curves of your body. Perhaps you should have done up that top button of your blouse, worn a brassiere that was a bit more restraining. He smiles and you feel the drag of those lips burn your skin, searing flesh and melting through every layer, sinking past muscle and bone, seeping into organs, tissues, reaching that delicate hidden place in your center, hollowed and waiting to be filled.

Then he’s back on his feet and you jerk to yours. One of your lower limbs has fallen asleep, making it feel heavy and awkward. You manage to follow him to the door. It’s solid wood, closed for privacy. Had you shut it? You couldn’t remember. Perhaps the woman who had guided you here had.

“See you at eleven. Be on time.”

You frown, not comprehending. “You’re going to be there?”

“Of course. How else are you going to learn what is expected of you?”

“Oh.” Naturally you’d need some sort of orientation. You lack experience. You have no idea why a restaurant would need guarding.

Maybe you should have wondered more about that. Maybe you should have refused the coffee and the job offer and struck out on your own, trying another town, another office.

But you hadn’t. You had come to Steve Raglan, desperate and eager to please, and he had seized on that neediness, trapping you before you’d ever had a chance to realize it.

He sticks out a hand for you to shake, something he hadn’t bothered with upon meeting you, and you reach for it. He doesn’t perform the expected polite gesture of parting, instead tugging on you, your body instantly shifting forward and dragged closer to his. So, so close. You can feel the heat wafting from him. Such strength in those artful fingers. How easily they would peel your clothing off, whatever he’d care to remove. Pinning you. Using you. No one could see, behind this closed door. The slats of the blinds on the window are shut. No one would ever know. Just the two of you. Your secret.

There’s a hungry haze clouding his eyes now. You lick your lips, still trying and failing for that moisture. He abruptly releases your hand and you want to cry out in protest as he jerks on the door handle and you’re ushered through unceremoniously. It clicks shut behind you.

The hallway is brighter. Fluorescent lighting. The air fresher, less stifling, the temperature cooler. Invigorating. It’s like being doused with cold water. You inhale deeply. You’re free.

But only for the moment.

[ilovemybishies87]

The Vacation from Hell - Chapter Two

Chapter two is now uploaded to AO3! It is also below the cut, in case anyone prefers to read on tumblr.

This chapter is VERY loosely based on the response sketch from @damntheyare's original 'human hotel' fanart. Because some tropes will never die (nor do we want them to).

Despite the numerous changes since Alastor was alive, he could more or less navigate thanks to a few familiar landmarks, like the old Hermann-Grima place. Back in his day, it had been a boarding house for single women. He slowed as they passed its faded blue shutters and gated front door.  

“What is it?” asked Charlie. “You know this place?” 

He shook his head. “Not exactly. I know about it. This house has quite a history, spanning back to before I was even alive! The families who owned it are well known around here.” 

“Speaking of, where is here? I didn’t ask since you seem to know the way.” 

“New Orleans.” Alastor paused. “Home, I suppose.” 

Charlie’s eyes widened. “This is where you lived when you were human?” 

“Born and raised!”   

“And the hotel we’re staying?” 

He didn’t answer. He could only hope it still existed.  

Their suitcase wheels clacked on the brick sidewalk as they strode down Saint Louis Street and turned right. Many of the businesses were from after his time. He didn’t care for their newer architecture: some flashes of style here and there, but mostly it simply existed. Functional without any flavor.  

They crossed over two more streets before reaching their destination.  

Alastor allowed himself to drink in the sight. The name Hotel Monteleone was embellished in bold cursive on all three sides of the sign above the main portico. Festoons and cartouches, worn with age, adorned the hotel’s facade. Flower-filled planters lined a set of windows, and sky-blue flags waved on poles attached to metal guards.  

Charlie’s jaw dropped, and her bag nearly so. “This is . . . wow.” She laughed. “Good choice, Al!” 

“Thank you, my dear!” he said, and found his mood marginally improved. 

A solitary footman stood before a pair of golden doors. His attire was more suited to the weather—a short sleeve button down—but the black hat couldn’t have been comfortable. As they approached, he swung the door closest to him open.  

Cold air wafted out from the lobby.  

“Maybe we should have someone greet our guests at the entrance, too!” she whispered, nodding her head in thanks as they entered. “Nothing says hospitable more than a friendly face greeting you when you arrive!” 

“Oh? And who would you suggest for our doorman?”  

“Angel Dust?” 

“Not the worst suggestion.” He thought she might suggest Vaggie, but Charlie seemed to realize her dour expression would deter sinners seeking redemption. “Though I can’t say the types of guests he’d attract are what you’re hoping for!” 

“That���s the point, Alastor! Everyone is welcome,” she insisted. “The problem is whether Angel would agree to it. He already works for Valentino. But maybe this will be a step in the right direction!” 

The lobby was even more impressive than the hotel’s front. Their suitcases glided over parquet marble floors. Framed paintings of the founder, along with other men Alastor couldn’t place, decorated the walls. Above them, gold inlayed panels adorned the bases of crystal chandeliers. The lighting filled the entrance with a soft glow, making the place feel otherworldly.  

To their left, a rose centerpiece stood in the middle, bench-like seating surrounding the arrangement. A set of stairs, most likely heading to the establishment's rooms, lay before it. Another smaller set of steps led to the entrance of a restaurant. Alastor filed that away for later. Once they were settled in, food would no doubt be a priority. They passed more seating in the form of sofas and upholstered armchairs, along with a grandfather clock ticking away the seconds.  

Charlie lingered behind as he approached the counter. 

The receptionist was a completely average woman. Not too tall or short, heavy or thin. Completely unremarkable. Her only standout feature was the short reddish locks framing her face. Her smile screamed ‘customer service,’ but she didn’t appear to be in a mood either. 

“Can I help you?”  

Alastor read the tag pinned to her blazer. “Why, yes, I believe you can, Marie!” he said with a flourish. “My companion and I are needing a room for the duration of our stay.” 

“Of course, sir.” Marie began typing and glanced between him and a screen that suspiciously resembled Vox’s head. “Do you already have a reservation?” 

Fuck.  

Yes, he did. Decades ago, when they were supposed to arrive. Alastor was left with quite the conundrum. Did he take a chance on the hotel having an open room? Or did he use his magic to . . . turn the odds in their favor? The latter was the obvious choice, but he had expended more energy than planned to transport the group and their belongings. 

Alastor lightly tapped the top of the machine and infused it with his magic. A green glow came forth from the monitor along with thread-like tendrils. They reached out toward the receptionist and infused her pupils with the same green glow.  

“Yes, indeed!” he gritted out. “It should be for Alastor Malveaux and Charlotte Magne.” 

Marie blinked; her eyes returned to normal. “Thank you, sir. One moment while I pull up that information.” 

“Was that your last name?” whispered Charlie, joining him at his side. 

Alastor shrugged. “Who knows?” he replied, his voice low. “Whatever it was, it’s lost to the wind. The Radio Demon is what I’m known as now, and I have no complaints.” 

“Okay, but what about my name? Charlotte Magne. Really? What’s wrong with Charlie Morningstar?” 

“Your last name might . . . raise a few eyebrows,” he said, smirking, “and Charlie Magne is too obvious.” 

“How so?” 

Marie interrupted before he could explain. “Okay, so I’ve found your reservation.” Her face twitched. “But I’m afraid the room you requested was double booked. Another couple has already checked in.” 

“I see.” Charlie turned to him. “I guess we’ll have to cut our trip short?” 

"No, no, Miss Magne!” said Marie. “This was entirely our fault! We do have another room available, though. Fortunately for you, it’s an upgrade!” She started furiously typing away. “How long did you and Mister Malveaux plan on staying again?” 

Alastor struggled to keep his grin. “Six days.” 

“And what time were you planning on returning home? Check out is before noon.” 

So many questions. “We can be out before then.” 

“Perfect! So, that will be five nights total—” 

“What a relief!” Charlie scooped Husk off her shoulder and held him in her arms. He had somehow managed to remain affixed the entire trip to the hotel.  

Alastor wholeheartedly agreed. “We’ll have to decide who gets which bed once we are in the room.” 

“Oh, you wanted two beds?” asked Marie, the clacking on her keyboard slowing.  

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”  

“I’m sorry if I wasn’t clearer.” She held up her index finger. “The room only has one. If it’s any consolation, it’s a King.”  

He would not murder the woman for doing her job, even if she was getting on the very last of his nerves. Alastor forced the violent urge down and laughed. “It would be quite improper for an unmarried man and woman to share—”  

“We’ll make do,” Charlie answered, much to his shock. She looked up at him. “Is that okay?” 

“As you said,” he stated with a deep breath, “we’ll make do.” 

“All right! That’s five nights total with two pets,” Marie said, eyeing Niffty and Husk in their arms. “They receive their own little welcome package for free. Trust me, everyone loves it! And did you want any add-ons or upgrades for your stay? We offer overnight valet parking, along with a wide selection of wines and hard liquors—” 

“That won’t be necessary.” 

“Maybe some macrons for you and Miss Magne—” 

Charlie watched their exchange with rapt attention. No doubt she was mentally taking notes on what could be added to their hotel. That was the purpose of this visit. And while he appreciated her passion in theory—the more invested, the more satisfying it would be to see her dreams torn to shreds—the only one suffering at the moment was him. 

“Just the total,” Alastor ground out. “Please.” 

“That’ll be $2,204.60.” 

Alastor turned to Charlie and handed her Niffty, who let out a small ‘Yip!’ of dismay. Charlie gasped. She barely managed to catch the other demon—now dog—and juggle both her and Husk in her arms. 

Alastor unzipped the bag sitting on top of Niffty’s luggage and made a show of rummaging around. As he suspected, Husk had packed nothing but alcohol. He was grateful for once. A bottle of whiskey was calling his name. Hopefully the staff didn’t check the contents before they settled in. With his last bit of magic—at least until he could get some food and rest and alcohol—he conjured a stack of bills and zipped the sack closed. 

He pulled out the cash and began counting.   

Marie’s almond eyes widened. “Wow, don’t see that too often!” She stared at him grimly. “You’ll want to be careful. You’ll be a target for sure.” 

Alastor chuckled as he placed the last bill down. The remainder was shoved into his pocket. “I’m not worried.” He took Niffty from Charlie, much to her relief, and held the small dog under his other arm.  

Marie picked up the bills and double checked the amount. “Suit yourself. We don’t keep change here, but—” 

“Don’t worry about the extra. Consider it a tip for your hard work! Otherwise, we’d be looking for another hotel or returning home.” 

“Thank you, Mister Malveaux!” This time her smile was genuine. “If you don’t mind me asking, where is home for you anyway?” 

“I'm technically from around these parts, but it's been years since I’ve been back. Things have changed quite a bit.” 

Marie nodded. “You’ll find yourself at home in no time. Change doesn’t happen that fast here.” She turned to Charlie. “What about you?” 

“Well . . . ,” said Charlie nervously, “where I’m from is pretty big. And dry. And hot! Not to mention very . . . intense! It’s nothing like here.” 

Marie raised a brow. “Huh?” 

“California!” said Alastor, and he felt Charlie relax.  

“It’s where we met,” Charlie added, smiling at him.  

“Oh, so you must be an actor,” said Marie to Alastor. “You sure are dedicated to the craft, not breaking character! It explains the accent. The glasses and cash too. Those Hollywood eccentrics sure have rubbed off on you.” 

Alastor quirked his head. “Pardon?” 

“I’ve never seen you in anything before, but I'm not much for historical pieces.” She reached for the safety deposit box below the counter and locked the cash away. “But I’m trying to branch out. I’ll watch for you.” 

He and Charlie shared a look. A smirk graced her lips. 

“Not a word, Miss Magne,” he said under his breath. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mister Malveaux.” 

“Your room will be ready in a few minutes. Our bellhop will take your luggage for you.” A stout man with curly black hair approached. He wore the same outfit as the doorman, though his dark pants still held the crisp line from when they were pressed earlier that day. “Olivier, could you take their things to room 606?” 

He tipped his hat in her direction, then piled their bags onto the luggage cart. “I’m on it!” 

Alastor eyed the sofas in the lounge, but before he could move, he heard the shuffling of papers from behind the counter. 

“So,” said Marie, “what do you two plan on doing while you’re here?” 

No. 

Charlie bit her lip. “I’m not sure honestly. I was only interested in the hotel,” she admitted. “Alastor did all the planning.” 

Absolutely not.  

“I see.” Marie nodded. “Any sites you wanted to visit with Miss Magne?” 

He was not having any small talk. 

“I hadn’t given it much thought,” he said, his tone clipped. 

Marie’s expression brightened. “In that case, would you mind if I made some suggestions?” 

“Not at all!” exclaimed Charlie. 

“The Phantom of the Opera is in town,” Marie said, handing over several brochures. “Not sure if you’ve seen it yet. Broadway is probably better, but it hasn’t been to New Orleans in about a decade, so we’re all excited.” 

Charlie turned to Alastor and placed Husk on his shoulder before he could say a word. She took the pamphlets from the receptionist and flipped through one.  

“Is this any good?”  

Marie leaned over to see what Charlie was showing her. “The Voodoo, Witchcraft and Vampires tour? If you’re into supernatural stuff, sure. There's no shortage of that around here, even at this very hotel.” 

"How so?” Charlie asked.  

“There’ve been countless unexplained happenings over the years. Doors that open on their own, elevators that go to the wrong floor, even shadows of kids playing in the halls! Eyewitness accounts from different times, guests, and staff. Hard to write it off as coincidence!” 

What drivel. Charlie seemed to think so too, judging by her incredulous expression. If anyone knew what happened to a soul after they passed, it would be the Princess of Hell. They were either in her domain or they weren’t. It was as simple as that. 

“What about this, Alastor? They have jazz bands and even a jazz museum!” 

“I wouldn’t mind hearing a live session again,” he said. “It’s been ages! But I also wouldn’t mind some place . . . quieter.”  

“Then you have to go to Oak Valley Plantation,” said Marie. “It’s about an hour away from here, but if you want to get away from it all, that’s your best bet! It’s like stepping back in time.” 

Alastor considered her briefly. “Maybe before we leave, to wind down.” 

“Excellent! I can help get you tickets for any or all of those excursions. Give me another ten or fifteen minutes to calculate—” 

“We’ll do them all.” He glanced at Charlie, who couldn’t have looked more thrilled than if every sinner in Hell had been redeemed in one fell swoop. Alastor pulled all but a couple of bills from his pocket and placed them in her hand. “I trust you with the schedule, my dear.”  

Charlie grasped the cash tightly. “Thank you, Al! I won’t let you down.” 

“Yes, yes.” He sighed. “I’m taking a breather until our room is ready.” 

“Olivier should be nearly finished if you would like to head up, Mister Malveaux. Here’s your key,” Marie said, handing him a piece of plastic. “I’ll give Miss Magne the other so she can join you when we’re done.” 

Alastor held the rectangular thing awkwardly between his fingers. What odd material to use for a key.  

The elevator was several paces behind them on the other side of the stairs. Leaving the two women to hash out their plans—a decision he hoped he would not come to regret—he stepped into an empty lift and pushed the backlit button with the number 6. 

Husk pawed at his head, nearly knocking his glasses off. 

Alastor turned, his glare ice cold. “You’re trying your luck, Husker! I’m not in the mood to be messed with. Unless you care to find out if cats really do have nine lives, I would suggest you mind yourself for the rest of the trip.”  

Silence filled the compartment for the ride up to the sixth floor. The elevator’s ding! notified them of their arrival, and the doors slid open. A gold cart was parked in the hall several doors down. He could see the last of their luggage—pink, in all its shameless glory—being picked up and transported inside. 

“Thank you for your hard work, my good sir!” said Alastor, steadfast in keeping the last of his remaining patience in check. He handed the man a crisp . . . twenty? Fifty? He didn’t look. “Much appreciated!” 

Olivier’s eyes widened. Had he slipped him a hundred by mistake? “You’re too kind, sir! Thank you. Let me know if you need anything!” He pushed the cart back toward the lifts. 

The room’s door remained open long enough to slip in. Alastor allowed it to close behind them as he placed Niffty on the ground beside him. Husk jumped from his shoulder and landed on the carpeted floor. They surveyed their accommodations. 

White. It was very white. Alastor crossed over to the king-size bed and upholstered headboard, a wallpapered inset behind it. They were white. So was the bedding. As was the much smaller, more rustic chandelier hanging up above. The nightstands, the single-seated sofa, and the vanity and set of chairs at the foot of the bed.  

The carpeting. The floors. The ceiling. 

Everything was white. Even the bathroom gave him no reprieve. 

Was this what Heaven was like? 

Alastor felt like he was going mad. The only hints of color came from the trio and the baggage they had dragged along for the trip. Charlie’s and Niffty’s luggage were a sight for sore eyes against the colorless landscape that was their room.  

Husk’s was too, but for very different reasons. Alastor picked up the leather bag, placed it on the vanity, and pulled out a seat. A small glass was set upside down beneath a mirror. He grabbed it and quickly zipped the bag open. The bottle of whiskey he eyed earlier clinked against a bottle of gin, and without hesitation, he twisted the cap off with his thumb and poured out a healthy amount.  

Husk jumped up and hissed.   

Alastor tipped his glass and downed the drink. “Even when you can’t pour, you make an excellent bartender, Husker old pal!”  

An almost imperceptible beep alerted him to Charlie’s arrival. “That receptionist really knows her stuff!” She dropped a handful of brochures on the vanity, along with a much thinner stack of cash, and pulled out the seat next to him. “So, I know we’re here for research—” 

“You are,” said Alastor, pouring himself another glass. “I am but the chauffer.” He picked up the money, returning it to his pocket. “And sponsor, clearly.” 

Charlie hesitated. “Are you okay, Al? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink before.” 

“Well, we are on vacation, aren’t we?” This time he didn’t down the liquor in one gulp. He allowed it to linger on his tongue before swallowing, relishing the slight burn. “You were saying?” 

“R-Right. I still plan on getting the full hotel experience while we’re here. Even checking in has given me so many ideas! I’ll need to take notes, so I don’t forget anything.” She took out a notepad and pen from her purse. “Everything is so luxurious, don’t you think?” 

If someone enjoyed the ‘padded room’ aesthetic, then certainly. 

“But I figured, we might as well take in the sights too! I can only imagine how much has changed since . . . .” 

Alastor allowed the silence to hang between them.  

Charlie looked around awkwardly. “I’m sorry about the bed. We can ask for more pillows to create a wall between us. If that helps.” 

“You needn’t worry about me.” Alastor took another long sip before grabbing a different bottle from Husk’s bag. He read the label and realized he didn’t care what he was drinking, so long as it was strong. “I will make do.” 

“I don’t want you sleeping on the floor, Al. Or in the chairs. You should be comfortable!” 

“We’ll burn that bridge when we get there,” he said, fumbling over the words. His accent slipped as well. “In the meantime, you should do what you set out to do! There’s a whole hotel waiting to be explored.” 

Charlie stood and tipped her luggage onto the floor. “What about you? You’re not going to spend the whole day drinking, are you?” 

Alastor made one last drink and toasted to her. “Well, you could say I have some research of my own. But until then”—he tipped the glass back and grimaced—“I’m starting this trip off with a bang!” 

[vexcraft]

i present you: grub species swap! avian cub and vex grian with some vex scar trying to eat everyone on the side (so warning for cannibalism mentions but like in a funny way). can also be read on ao3 here!

backwards

“What did you do?!” Grian basically screams as he lunges at Cub with almost inhumane speed. Cub steps to the side, avoiding Grian more easily than he should have been able to.

Right.  

Grian is considerably smaller and easier to dodge without his big bright wings that easily triple the amount of space the man needs around him even when they are neatly folded against his back. The wings that are currently not on Grian’s, but Cub’s back.

Which brings them to their current problem, which isn’t even Grian’s confused anger. At least that isn’t the main problem and Cub is fairly certain he can hopefully deal with it, though he’s no Grian-whisperer.

“Man, I didn’t do anything!” he replies, raising his hands in surrender. It was true – for once. He had nothing to do with this. The wings on his back shift as he moves, feeling unfamiliar and weird. “Not my fault, I swear!” 

“You have my wings!” Grian stares at Cub like he has grown a second head instead of wings, his deep black eyes even more ominous than usual. 

“Not by choice,” Cub argues. “Not everything is always someone else’s fault, y’know.”

Grian glares at him and Cub shrugs. The weight of the wings seems to put pressure on muscles Cub didn’t even know existed – hell, maybe they didn’t exist before this, who knows what the extent of these changes to his body really was? Whatever it was, it was certainly making him uncomfortable. 

“I’m having kind of a hard time believing that you here, Mr. Vex Magician, don’t have anything to do with you mysteriously having my wings, ouch-” Grian flinches suddenly and pauses, sticking out his tongue. “Bit my tongue, dude, that hurt .” Cub watches the blood bleed on his lips blue. His eyes widen in realization and Grian looks at him questioningly. “What? Stop staring, you’re being weird.”

Cub sucks in a breath and ignores the feeling of feathers puffing up behind him. “You’re a vex,” he says. 

Grian’s face twists from confusion to some sort of furious disbelief. “I’m what!? ” he shrieks. “Cub, what did you just say!?”

“You’re a vex,” he repeats. Suddenly things make more sense – still not enough sense, but more nonetheless. Something is very wrong, that much Cub can tell. “I’m a bird, you’re a vex.”

“An avian,” Grian corrects sourly as if that was the biggest of his concerns right now. “What do you mean? How can you even tell?”

“You’re bleeding blue,” Cub points out and Grian instantly wipes his mouth on his sleeve, staring at the stain left behind, dumbfounded. He opens his mouth to say something and Cub notes the row of pointy teeth clearly visible. “Also your teeth are sharp, like vex.” He watches Grian run his tongue over his teeth and does the same himself, noticing his own teeth are no longer like little daggers lined up but instead flat like humans and hybrids that didn’t have special diets tended to have.

“What does this mean?” Grian asks, sounding alarmed by the new discovery. “Being a vex, what does it mean for me?”

Cub thinks – what does it mean? He’s so used to his own nature and all the big and small quirks that come with it that it’s not as simple of a question as one might think. Now that he knows to look, he can tell Grian’s nails are sharper too and there’s a light blue tint to his face where normally he’d be flushing red. 

“Hopefully not much,” he ends up shrugging. “If we get this fixed quickly.” 

“That’s a pretty big if, considering neither of us seem to have any idea what happened!” Grian huffs. “What if we can’t get it fixed quickly, what then? Cub, vexes are weird creatures! I don’t know how any of this works!” 

Cub snorts, not taking offense. “Can you hear them?” Grian shakes his head, visibly confused. “Good, good. Are you hungry?” 

“I don’t think so?” he replies, taking a moment to focus on his now rather foreign-feeling body. “I feel like I could eat something but not hungry, I don’t think? Wait, what do you mean by hearing them? Can you hear them?” 

“That’s normal, if you’re not feeling hungry then there’s nothing to worry about,” Cub hums. There might, most likely will, be something to worry about in the future if they can’t get this solved, but right now he’d prefer to… avoid going into certain details unless he absolutely has to. “I can usually hear the vex, but not right now though.”

He’s grown so used to the little yells and screams in the back of his head that he hadn’t even realized they weren’t there anymore. The silence is odd now that he pays attention to it, but he’s relieved to know the cacophony hasn’t moved into Grian’s head instead. 

“What do you mean you can usually hear them?” Grian asks, sounding so horrified Cub is even more glad Grian apparently can’t hear them. “That’s awful, can Scar hear them too?” 

“Yep,” Cub replies. He would have assumed Scar would have told Grian, considering the two were good friends, but then again, it really wasn’t that much of a big deal. “It’s kinda annoying but we’re used to it by now. It’s not too bad.”

“Doesn’t sound like something ‘not too bad’ to me,” Grian insists. “Does Xisuma know?” 

“If he knows anything about vexes, then probably yeah. Seriously, it’s no big deal, I’m sure there are some bird things you don’t think are odd but others do,” Cub says, rolling his shoulders. The wings are starting to feel uncomfortable like things aren’t in the right places. “Like for example how itchy these wings are,” he mumbles, trying to reach for the itchy spot before realizing that one, he can’t reach it, and two, the wings aren’t moving in the ways he thinks they should be. “How do you even deal with this, mine are never like this-”

“You can preen them,” Grian points out with a shrug. “I’m kinda lazy with that though, so I’ve just gotten used to the discomfort. Hold on, what do you mean by your wings?” 

“My vex wings. You do know that vexes have wings, right?” 

Grian gapes at him and Cub pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“I know the little creatures have wings!” Grian defends himself as Cub sighs in fake disappointment. “Don’t act disappointed, I’ve never seen yours or Scar’s wings, how was I supposed to know?!” 

It was true neither of them really kept them visible, as they weren’t really all that useful and it was often easier to keep them hidden than to have them be on the way all the time, but still. Did this guy really know nothing about vexes at all?

“I don’t know, maybe like, look behind you or something?” 

Cub watches Grian turn around a full circle, only to realize he’s trying to see something on his own back, and then trying to look over his shoulder. The wings are transparent and nearly invisible, but still very much there, just like Cub had thought they would most likely be, considering Grian would not know how to hide them with magic. Grian gawks at the wings with his mouth open, looking quite stupid in Cub’s honest opinion.

“Shut up!” Grian yells before Cub can even open his mouth to say anything. Instead, he raises an eyebrow. “Maybe I don’t know anything about vexes but that just means we really need to fix this even faster. I don’t want to like, start hearing them, or whatever that was about.” 

Cub decides to not argue that he can usually hear the vexes because of his connection to the vex, which despite apparently having his species swapped with Grian, should not transfer over like that. 

“Right,” he says instead. “We should probably go find Xisuma once he comes back online.” 

Grian plucks his communicator out of his pocket and Cub watches his face drop in real time as he realizes they’re the only ones online. “Dude, this sucks. What if it’s a bug and the others will come back wrong too?” 

The communicator in Grian’s hand pings. “We’ll see, I guess?” Cub says, recognizing the sound of a player logging on to the server. 

“Scar!” Grian shouts. He makes a weird attempt to jump and it takes a second for Cub to realize he’s trying to fly. Before he can say anything, Grian has already noticed his mistake and taken off on foot, running towards the location of Scar’s base. Cub hurries behind him clumsily, weighed down by the wings against his back.

-

“So what exactly happened?” Scar asks curiously, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice as he watches Grian pace around the room. Cub had sat down as soon as he could once they made it to Scar’s base, tired from the running. “Cub is a bird and you’re vex? Like you got swapped somehow?”

“Cub is an avian,” Grian grumbles, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “And we don’t know what happened, but whatever it is, I don’t like it.”

“You’re feeling fully normal?” Cub asks Scar, who certainly looks normal. No weird wings, none of his usual visible traits missing. Cub can’t sense him like he usually can through his vex magic, but that seems like a given considering the current situation.

“Yep!” Scar grins and Cub can see the row of sharp vex teeth in his mouth glimmer in the light. Yeah, everything seems normal. “Never been better in my life!”

“Can you hear the vexes?” Grian asks and Cub rolls his eyes.

“Why, of course I can!” Scar replies cheerfully. “I’d be worried if I couldn’t. They’re a little irritated that they can’t reach Cub right now, but it’s probably fine.”

“Probably,” Grian repeats, not nearly as convinced as Scar seems to be. “We need to fix this, I don’t want to end up on the vexes’ bad side because of this or something.” 

Cub snorts and Scar bursts into laughter. 

“Don’t laugh!” Grian hisses. “Dude, this is what people mean when they say vexes are vicious little creatures, I’m losing my marbles over here and you two are laughing!” 

“You’re not going to make an enemy out of the vex because of something like this,” Cub assures, though he feels like his tone probably wasn’t as comforting as needed, considering the glare Grian sends his way.

“Cub is right! It’s very unlikely,” Scar chimes in to add. “It would be really funny though.”

“It would not!” Grian argues exasperatedly, dragging his hands down his face. “This is impossible. How is today the one day when barely anyone is online?” 

“Don’t be such a downer! You both should try to get all the fun out of this while it lasts!” Scar says with an excited smile. There’s a glint in his eyes Cub can recognize as the one that never means anything good. Grian looks suspicious of Scar’s suggestion. “Cub, can I eat you? I’ve always wondered if avians taste like chicken-”

“Scar!” Grian screeches, horrified. 

“Fine, can me and Grian eat you?” Scar corrects himself. 

Grian stares at Scar in horror. “No one is eating anyone!” 

Cub shrugs – it wasn’t the wildest thing Scar could have suggested. If he had some clue what had happened and how to fix it, he would probably be taking the opportunity to do some experimenting too. “It’s probably better we don’t die and respawn before we can figure out what went wrong,” he says. “So we don’t mess things up even more.” 

“Boring,” Scar laments.

“Wait, you said you’ve been wondering what avians taste like?” Grian stares at Scar. “Have you been wanting to eat me ?” 

“Well, not necessarily you,” Scar says thoughtfully. “I don’t think you would agree so it would be kinda pointless.”

“And Cub would?” he questions further. 

“Usually!” Scar says happily at the same time as Cub replies, “Yes.”

The expression on Grian’s face twists from suspicious disbelief back to looking absolutely horrified as his gaze flicks between Scar and Cub like the two weren’t known cannibals due to their vex nature. Grian hadn’t witnessed it firsthand, but with how things seemed to be going, he should probably start getting used to the thought.

“We really need to fix this,” he says, looking a little pale. Scar chuckles and Grian glares at him. 

“Yeah,” Cub agrees, again trying to reach for the colorful wings on his back to ease his discomfort. “I need to get these itchy wings off my back.”

“I told you that you can preen them if they feel uncomfortable,” Grian points out, taking a step towards Cub. Scar watches them curiously, tilting his head a little. It’s a habit he has that Cub is certain he subconsciously copied from Jellie.

“You do realize that I don’t usually have feathers and barely know what that means, right?” 

“Well, you could have said that!” Grian exclaims, throwing his hands in the air dramatically. “You can ask for help, y’know? I’ll help you sort them out.”

Cub moves back a little, noticing the wings folding even closer to his back as he shies away when Grian tries to approach him. “I don’t want you touching me,” he says, and Grian stops to stare at him. 

“So you’d rather suffer with uncomfortable wings,” he phrases his question as a statement. Cub nods and Grian rolls his eyes.

“I can help!” Scar offers, perking up a little. 

“It’s true,” Grian confirms. “He knows how to preen. Kinda.”

Cub blinks – he was not aware of Scar having such skill. “Really?” Scar nods enthusiastically, always eager to help. “Okay, sure, you can help. It’s just this one spot I can’t reach that’s bothering me.”

Scar stands up and makes his way behind Cub and the chair he’s sitting on with a few swift steps, seeming to easily find the feathers that had been bothering Cub. It’s a weird feeling as Scar touches the feathers, the discomfort becoming more obvious before disappearing as he seems to rearrange the feathers.

“Why does Scar get to do that but I don’t?” Grian asks, sounding more curious than offended. Cub suspects he wasn’t all that excited to help out of the kindness of his heart, but rather feeling obliged to do so considering Cub did have his wings.

“Vex privilege,” Scar hums easily as he straightens out a few more feathers and Cub feels the bad feeling slowly disappear and some tension he hadn’t even noticed melt away from his body. 

“I’m a vex now though,” Grian remarks.

“You don’t count,” Scar says cheerfully, stepping away once he deems he’s fixed the feathers. “Doesn’t work like that. You gotta sell your soul to the vex first and then you get the vex privilege.”

Cub chuckles at Scar’s explanation that isn’t really all that far-fetched despite being told like a joke. Grian doesn’t seem particularly amused by it, nor does he seem to have taken it too seriously, which is ideal considering Cub doesn’t feel like explaining the details of the vex bond between him and Scar to anyone today if he doesn’t have to.

“That hardly sounds worth it,” Grian retorts, crossing his arms. 

“It’s not too bad, it’s not too bad,” Cub shrugs.

“You guys have to eat people.”

“Like Cub said, it’s not too bad!” Scar adds cheerfully. “If you’re that disturbed by it, we better get this solved before you get hungry or we’ll have to eat Cub!”

“I’m not eating anyone!” Grian argues.

“Correction, we better get this solved before you get hungry or I’m going to have to force-feed you Cub before you go insane and cause irreparable damage to yourself and others.”

Grian gawks at Scar and this time Cub has to admit that was a pretty wild thing to say, even if Scar wasn’t exactly wrong. Vexes did not like being hungry. The horrified silence that had fallen is broken by a ping from Grian’s communicator. 

“Xisuma is back!” 

-

“Oh my goodness.” Xisuma looks rather caught off guard as he stares at Cub and Grian before him, confusion visible even through his helmet that hides most of his face. “You two certainly look… a little wrong.” 

“Isn’t that a little rude?” Scar comments from the side. “I don’t think they look that bad.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” X sighs and Cub sees Scar’s trademark little smirk appear on his face as he tries to act all innocent. “What happened? Is it just you two? Scar seems fine.”

Scar smiles proudly and Grian rolls his eyes.

“Just me and Grian, so far at least,” Cub explains. “I just logged on after testing some redstone stuff in a private world and suddenly things just kinda were like this. We might have logged on at the same time or something.”

“I see… Something must have gone wrong during the materialization process. Code problems happen but I haven’t seen them like this,” the admin mumbles mostly himself. “And you’ve both been feeling alright? No sickness or glitching?”

Cub shakes his head. 

“I’m starting to grow a little sick of Scar but nothing aside from that,” Grian snickers. 

“Hey!” Scar exclaims, pretending to be offended.

“You threatened to force-feed Cub to me!” 

Xisuma looks a little helpless as he looks between the two in confusion, eyes occasionally flicking to Cub who is mostly just enjoying the show, already more than used to Scar and Grian’s shenanigans. He shrugs and Xisuma sighs. “Alright, alright, let’s calm down now,” he says, pulling up the admin panel in his communicator. “I’ll see if I can find something in your code.”

Scar and Grian stop, freezing into an odd position that looks like Grian is trying to tackle Scar to the ground, and Scar is trying to bite Grian’s arm, before standing up straight as if nothing happened. Cub gives them an unimpressed look.

The three of them not-so-subtly inch closer to their admin to see what he's doing on his communicator as he scrolls through the lines of code none of them aside from him are familiar with. Grian yelps a little when Cub accidentally hits him with the wings, still not used to needing more space than usual. 

“I’m looking at the arrival logs,” Xisuma says thoughtfully. “Cub is right, it seems you both joined at the exact same time, down to milliseconds. The server must have gotten confused trying to materialize both of you at the same time.”

“And?” Grian inquires impatiently. “Can you fix it?” 

“I can correct the species you’re both assigned right now to your actual species and then hopefully a relog should do the rest.” The three of them watch Xisuma type something in the admin panel. “Alright, there we go. That should do it, hopefully.”

Grian looks a bit suspicious but nods. It’s not like they really have other options, Cub supposes. At least if something goes wrong again, Xisuma is here to help them right away this time.

“Should we just relog then?” Cub asks, quite frankly rather excited to have his own traits back.

“Yes, I think that should fix things,” Xisuma replies, looking at Cub and then Grian. “As long as you don’t log back in on the same exact second again,” he adds, amused. 

“Good luck!” Scar chimes.

Grian and Cub share a look before nodding in unison. Cub watches Grian dematerialize next to him before disconnecting from the server as well.

He waits a moment before logging back on to make sure Grian has a chance to log on first.

Cub instantly feels more comfortable as the familiar world appears before his eyes. He blinks a few times, his gaze focusing on his friends standing where they had been when he left – his eyes are automatically drawn to the large and colorful wings behind Grian and a relieved sigh leaves him. 

“It worked!” Grian cheers, his wings opening behind him as he does something that looks like a big stretch. Now that he knows what the wings feel like, Cub can imagine how nice that must feel. Grian flaps them a few times, gathering air under them before jumping into the air. “Oh man, how I missed flying!”

There are happy little high-pitched giggles in Cub’s head, joyous and gleeful. He smiles a little – everything feels normal again. His teeth and nails are sharp, he can tell his wings are there even if he can’t see them. He can feel his connection to Scar, and from the man’s grin, Cub can tell he can feel Cub again too.

“That was pretty wild, that was pretty wild,” Cub laughs. It feels good to be fully himself again. “Thanks, Xisuma.”

“No problem,” the admin replies as he watches Grian soar through the air. Cub can hear his smile even if he can’t see it. “I’m glad it was a simple fix, though I’ll have to look into the server code to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Cub hums in agreement.

“Grian!” Scar shouts, trying to get the avian’s attention. His hat nearly falls off his head as Grian flies past him. “Now that you’re a bird again, how do you feel about the whole eating thing?”

“Scar! ” Grian screams in horror. Cub and Xisuma laugh. 

Everything’s back to normal. 

[rimeswithpurple]

Thanks so much @cccloudsss, @bookish-bogwitch, @shrekgogurt & @facewithoutheart for the tags this morning! It's Wednesday, so it's time for a sweater update. I started the sleeve and while it's a much smaller circumference, it somehow feels even more endless than the body. I still haven't carved out a chunk of uninterrupted time to bind off the sweep, so it's just chilling on the needles.

I've been pretty inactive on here this week because I've been glued to my sewing machine since Sunday. We're watching the Peter Pan play on Saturday and I still have so much sewing to do! I thought the Wendy dress was gonna be the difficult one because of all of the gathering, but I finished it in a day. The two Tinkerbell dresses have been the bane of my existence. Everything that could go wrong has:

-just as I was about to finish the bodice I forgot to cut out the pieces for the flutter sleeves

-I ran out of fabric for the flutter sleeves and had to use the pocket bags (which I had to haphazardly stitch together)

-the chiffon is like trying to sew cobwebs; I had to baste every single pattern piece

-I had to unstitch part of the neck so I could turn the bodice right side out and then hand stitch it back together

Luckily, I just have to make the skirt and then I'll be ready to rhinestone! I can't wait for these dresses to be done!

A few tags and hellos below because I really need to get back to sewing:

@monbons @thewholelemon @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @blackberrysummerblog @mooncello @supercutedinosaurs @talentpiper11 @roomwithanopenfire @run-for-chamo-miles @iamamythologicalcreature @ileadacharmedlife @youarenevertooold @raenestee @artsyunderstudy @aristocratic-otter @valeffelees @emeryhall

[tearsofthekabak]

The Yona Rant.

Some people will say that this game came out months ago already, and everybody is over it, and even kinda like her now, and to that I answer 

First of all, I would like to remind you, reader, of the old texts. *blows into the sacred n64 oot cartridge* 

The Zora royal line have proven itself to be very obviously Linksexual. If you haven’t played, Ruto proclaims herself Link’s fiancée, the spiritual stone of water being a litteral engagement ring. It is clearly brought into BOTW, with Mipha actively making him an engagement present according to current Zora tradition.

Sidenote: Link accept both gifts, and as the player you never get to clear it up or refuse. Make it what you will. 

Why am I mentioning this? 

She’s Link’s Zora-sona.

(((If you want to bring gender into this, BORING. Link is canonically nonbinary. (neither male of female, able to be related to by anybody, those are things expressed multiple times by the creators))))

Everything about her that is different from the other Zoras is intended to be Link-like. 

The way she has the droopy sleeves instead of the shoulderpads 

The purple ribbon cutting into her silhouette in the same way the straps of his outfit do

The golden jewelry instead of Domain Silver

The horns simulating the spiky Hylian ears

Her head-tail is smaller and pointy, way closer to the shape of the classic hat

GREEN. A specific shade.

Babyfaced she-twink

She is the PEAK of Zora beauty standard, how silly of you to judge her with your human beauty standards. Yona is a bimbo, a barbie, everything hot under the sea. Literally evolved to be Link-like. She’s a trophy wife, a sex symbol, an idol. She has a dedicated Zora entourage simping for her.

Now, the way she suddenly shows up, without having being mentioned in BOTW… how do yall feel about surprises? I don’t think there would have been any moment in the game where it would have been natural for any Zora to bring her up, with the crisis happening, and the feelings about Mipha being so fresh to them. It made me feel like it was a world that was alive! Sidon is a hundred years old but you expect to meet everybody important to him in the first game he appears in? 

Also, I do think Yona’s existence was hinted, with Muzu there, and every other Zora looking like they could be Sidon’s sibling or child… I personally really felt like the Domain looked inbred in comparison. Was the only other option blue Mipha? Lame.

Can you imagine a young Muzu? Vibrant green, chibi-headed, Dorephan's very own "best friend". Come on.

Sidon is just like his dad fr

What about not getting married at all?

The thing with kingdoms, is that it specifically depends on a royal line, especially in Hyrule where abilities are given from parent to children. There was always going to be a need for a Zora Queen at some point.

What was the other option, simply not meeting Yona? Not addressing it? How tragic to imagine her absence, a lonely King with an elderly father, no mother, no sister, just a monogamous mass of subjects. And Muzu.

No, there needed to be a fiancée, a weird Link-like gremlin, who was there to accept their love. I don't believe Sidlink could have a better happy ending than this, given nintendo.

SQFD: If Sidon was to marry anybody to continue the royal line, it’s Link’s Zora-sona of course. Which is Yona. 

[cottonpuffmouse]

Warm Nights

More or less the Vash smut people were waiting for. You two get together for some late night fun. While this is not my first fanfic by any means, it is my first x-reader. Constructive Criticism is welcomed and encouraged. Also if anyone knows how to structure posts like this in a cuter way, please tell me how.

Tags: Lemon, L-bomb, Fem!Reader(if there’s a push for GN readers, I’ll start next fic), Light Body Worship, Light Praise.

Whether or not true love existed on Gunsmoke was usually left to the poets. Friendships, family, alliances, all of that existed plenty. But the feeling of being pulled to someone, of your heart trying to reach out through your rib cage, that was rare.

Did you love Vash?

You liked to think so. It had to be love if you were creeping down the hotel's hallway to his room. If you were just friends, you could walk right up to his door and bang on it until he answered. Instead, he'd begged that you sneak out of the girl's room quietly after they'd fallen asleep and go to him.

Despite your attempt at secrecy, the floorboards creaked under each step. You passed more rooms, each door one more closer to Vash's, until you reached the end of the hallway. Vash's door was identical to the ones you passed, except for the light shining out from under it.

You didn't knock so much as tap on the door quietly, feeling the wood grain under your nails. And silently it opened for you.

Vash stood on the other side, hushing you with a cheeky smile. He had changed out of his usual uniform into sweatpants and an old cotton shirt that was more hole than shirt. Through the Swiss cheesed fabric, you could catch glimpses of old puckered skin and dark grey scars. You briefly thought that this shirt and Vash had quite a bit in common before he pulled you inside.

You watched him peek outside, checking to ensure the hallway was clear before he closed the door. Then he gave you that cheeky boyish smile, like you two had just escaped a punishment together, and whispered, "Thanks for coming."

"Of course, is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, everything's fine," he assured, making a soothing gesture with his hands. "I just figured..."

Vash paused. His face scrunched up as though he'd just done something incredibly embarrassing.

"You figured what?" You pressed.

"Well I just thought we could hang out..."

Without the group? Alone? You thought as your heart started to beat in your ears.

You suddenly realized you were the only two people in the room. It felt a lot smaller than it was, as if the walls themselves were pushing you and Vash closer. Maybe it was imaginary but you could just barely feel the heat coming off him. You rolled up your sleeves.

"Um, what do you want to do?" You asked slowly.

Vash swallowed and suddenly couldn't keep eye contact with you. He would briefly stare at you like you were on fire before glancing at the ceiling or walls. It dawned on you that perhaps a young man asking to meet in the middle of the night had less than pure intentions.

But this was also Vash. Infamous for his inability to make an actual move.

Not that you would mind him making a move. You'd traveled together long enough to see him shed that coat and show off the black undersuit. More specifically the way it showed off his chest and the endless scars running down his arms. One could just imagine tracing their fingertips over each one, riding the ruined flesh down to his hand.

Vash had held you before, though usually just to save your life or help you into a Tomas. He had warm and rough palms but rather delicate and slim fingers. The way they wrapped around your arm or waist was always gentle, always polite. Even now, when you could see his hand twitching out of ache to touch something, they stayed by his sides.

"We could play cards?" You offered.

"We...could," he said slowly.

"Is there something on your mind? Maybe something not so group friendly?"

Vash nodded like a child who'd been caught stealing.

"And maybe it doesn't have anything to do with Knives?" You questioned a bit more. Vash nodded again, his head hanging even lower. "Maybe it has something to do with me?"

"You're really good at this!" He said in shock. "Are you able to read my mind?"

"No, or I'd be able to see all your dirty thoughts," you teased.

To your surprise, a blush started to fill his entire face. Red spread from his cheeks all the way to his forehead until he was pure pink. Vash looked away and found a spot on the floor to stare at.

"I was just teasing!"

He huffed. "Fine, let's just play cards."

"Did you call me here to play cards?"

"Well I don't want you to think I invited you here for that!”

You blinked. "Invited me here for sex? Is that what you mean?"

Vash covered his face with a scream. "No! No, I mean-I just wanted to spend some time together!"

"Okay, okay," you soothed. "Let's just have a seat."

Without uncovering his face, Vash stumbled onto the bed. Then he peeked through his fingers at you - the blush still lingering.

There was a moment where the air shifted and a look of sadness wiped the rest of the blush away. His hands fell into his lap limply. Vash had that blank smile you'd come to dread when his hand came away. You felt your shoulders sink.

"Sorry," he said, a blanket apologize for his entire life.

"It's okay. Maybe we could just talk?" You sat with him on the bed. "How have you been?" You had only been next to him two-thirds of everyday for the past year. Vash shrugged, eyes staring at the peeling wallpaper.

You planted yourself in his lap. Vash could always stop you if he wanted. And with the way his hand reached for you, he wanted you to stay. “Just kiss me, Vash.”

He leaned forward slowly, giving you plenty of time to change your mind. When you didn’t, he cupped the your head and pulled you towards him. Vash's kisses were something cheeky. Gentle pecks at first, he kissed the corners of your mouth before meeting your lips proper. A heat soared through you as excitement filled your body.

Vash's lips were a little chapped, a slight drag on yours as he pushed another kiss onto you. Your hands touched his chest, thumbing through the holes in the cotton to his blazing skin.

A sparkling sensation ran down your spine as his hands touched your back and pulled you further into his lap. You couldn't help arching into Vash a little as you felt something hard press into your thigh. You were so aware of the layers between you two as his hand continued to brush across your shirt.

"You can go under my shirt-" You snuck out between kisses.

While he kissed you, his hands were very polite about slipping under your shirt and pressing across your stomach. You gasped at the contact, hot and cold all at once. His hands were still rough but they slid up your sides in a smooth manner. Vash stopped just below your breasts, thumbs rubbing the soft tissue there.

You were sure he could feel your heartbeat, especially when he pulled away to look you in the eyes. He was breathing a bit heavier but his gaze was serious.

"Are you okay with continuing?" He asked.

"I was the one who said we should kiss," you said.

Vash smiled a bit. "Yeah but...that's just kissing. And I was kinda hoping to do more than kissing."

"Yes, I want to go further. Much, much further."

"And you know you can tell me to stop at anytime?" Vash reasured.

Damn him for being so nice. The only thing you wanted was more of that simmering heat and he was being so steadfast in his morality.

You nodded, hoping the questions ended there as you drew him in for another kiss. He got the message, helping you out of your shirt before grabbing your waist again. You eased into him, letting your bodies press against each other. Vash managed to get your bra off, leaving you bare before him.

His eyes combed over every inch of you with wonder, followed soon by his hands. He ran his hands down your back as he brought you in for a kiss.

"You're beautiful." He nuzzled your chest to send the point home.

“You're beautiful," you swore to him, leaving no room for argument. To prove your point, you started to pull off his shirt. He let out a whimper of disapproval but otherwise let you rip it off him, helping you get his arms through.

It was quite a scene.

Despite your excitement, your soul sighed at the sight of the scars. Third degree burns left bright pink patches on his arms and his chest had been gouged by all manner of weaponry. He was lucky to be alive and you were grateful to have him there.

There was an artistic side of you though, one that traced your finger in loops along the ruined skin. Brushing your thumbs against what were once great gashes without hesitation. Even if Vash twitched at every touch, you didn't flinch at any bump or rough edge.

Vash's face was red again as he looked away. "Sorry. I know it's a lot."

"Yeah it is hot," you teased. He let out a yowl, hiding his face. "Oh stop it! I'm serious, I love it!"

"...Yeah?" He curled out a bit.

"Yeah," you whispered, settling in his lap again. You brought his hands back to your sides as you kissed him again.

Perhaps emboldened by your touching, Vash finally brushed against your breasts. He was gentle in massaging them, never squeezing for a moment or two. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, releasing a gentle buzz through your system.

He leaned down to kiss your breasts lightly. Each kiss made your nipples tingle. Vash licked one, his tongue sliding over the mound to elicit a twitch from you before sucking lightly. Your hands met his shoulders to keep control of him as he continued to kissand squeeze your breasts.

Without thinking, you sat back against him, looking for a bit of fiction and finding it in his hips. Vash released your chest to wrap an arm around your waist. He pulled you down against his cock straining in his sweatpants with a soft moan.

The first contact was something intense. A shudder ran through you as you felt his cock press against your underwear. Even through your panties, you felt the length press against your folds, meaning it must be quite something.

As the thought was flooding your mind, Vash switched breasts. You felt him gently bring his teeth over your nipple and a soft rush flooded you to your fingertips. It was natural for you to sigh and cradle his head as you two moved together.

You became very aware he still had pants on as you tried to grind down just a little harder, to have more of his thigh brush against your tingling heat. Finally, as just the right angle, you could feel him brush your clit. Vash's grip became insistent as he pulled your hips together.

He kissed you again and a warmth blossomed between you two. It was like Vash wanted to consume you, rolling your hips together and pressing his lips to yours.

"Ah-" Vash let out a small moan before he bit his lip. You kissed him again to open him up and were rewarded with a soft, "Yes..."

Vash stopped suddenly, reaching between you two and under your skirts to tug on your underwear. You helped him get them off you without breaking the kiss. He rubbed your inner thighs with long smooth strokes until you were pushing against him.

Between your skirt, Vash stroked your pussy. Your thighs clamped around his hand as you felt yourself clench around nothing. He gently pulled your legs apart to rub his thumb against your clit. He kept your thighs open as they tried to twitch closed, lavishing your clit in soft strokes.

You bit your lip, rolling your hips into his hand. For a fraction of a second, you thought you saw Vash smirk.

"That's it," he whispered. Vash kissed your neck as you pressed against him. The heat was building in you as he kissed up to you ear. "You're doing so well for me."

"Kn-knock it-" You tried to tease back but he pushed the tip of a finger into you. Something in you squeezed around it hopelessly before he returned to massaging your clit.

A warmth crept up your neck like the flame was trying to escape you. Your body twisted and bounced trying to feel something more than the petting touches. Your breath came in pants as you mewled against him.

"Are you going to cum?" Vash smiled down at you. You blushed and hid your face in his shoulder as you shuddered at a particular swipe of his thumb. He pet your back with his other hand, the soothing gesture in contrast with the wicked way his fingers kept pressing into you.

Just as your pussy tightened again, he slid his middle finger into you. It was an absolutely blissful pressure and feeling it slide in and out of you was delightfully dirty. It was Vash's hands after all and it felt safe to just melt in them.

So you let yourself rest against him with a happy sigh. He added a finger, testing with a few pumps before looking at you for approval. You wanted something more than his hands but two fingers were a good start.

Vash was doing a good job of keeping your mind free of anything but him, dragging the pads of his fingers against your walls. The hand on your back melted you into a puddle as he kept fingering your dripping core.

With a soft sigh, Vash pulled away and you got to see how his blue eyes contrasted with his bubblegum blush. He kissed your lips gently and whispered, "Guess it’s about time we do this.'"

"Yes," you moaned back. "Yes, it is!"

"Heh, sorry. I just wanted to make sure you were ready," he said bashfully. Vash shimmed out of his sweats a bit. Just enough to pull himself free of his boxers and let his cock slap against your thigh.

As you fought down the blush, you were a bit intrigued by it. The head of his cock was a similar color to his blush and preceded a thick pale shaft. It was maybe six or seven inches, quite large by most standards. You wrapped your hand around it, just getting your fingers around the girth. A single pump and Vash was bucking wildly into your first.

"I'm getting kinda-ah-I thought we said it was time!" He stammered as you stroked his cock.

"I'm getting a feel for it."

Vash laughed awkwardly. "You'll feel it, I'm sure."

Your eyes meet. There was a silence with nothing but you two breathing. The whole world stood still to be with you two in the moment before.

Then you got on your knees, shuffling some of the blankets away, and guided his cock to your soft pussy. The tip of his cock slipped against your folds and on your aching clit. You steadied yourself and let the tip slide into you.

His hands flew to your hips to help balance you and his fingers dug into the flesh of your ass. With a deep breath, you sank down onto Vash's cock slowly. It filled you inch by satisfying inch. Your pussy welcomed it with a tight hug as you settled into his lap.

It was clear Vash could take it from there, holding you with one arm and letting you fall back onto the bed. With Vash on top, it was easier for him to roll his hips into you and give you that last bit of his cock you’d missed.

He thrust into you slowly and pulled out even slower, languishing in the way you squeezed him. Each slow fuck was better than the last. Vash's cock rubbed deep inside you before pressing against somewhere enlightening.

Your entire body lit up like the dashboard of a dying car as he thrust again. You grabbed his shoulders before pulling him down for another kiss. His hands gripped your hips as the thrusts came faster. Tapping against your core harder and without relent, his cock was gliding against all the nerves of your pussy.

The sound of your hips meeting became audible with a shift of Vash's hips. A tight knot formed in your stomach. Through the haze of pleasure, you could hear Vash softly moaning in your ear. Your pussy squeezing around him as hot bright pleasure fluttered your middle. You were gasping for air as he continued to make that pressure build in you.

"Good, this feels so-" Vash cut himself off with gasping cry. "This is! I love you!"

He didn't seem to notice the confession, slamming against your G-spot without care for if you'd like to respond. The bed scrapped against the floor with each movement as you two lost yourself in each other.

In your stomach, fluttering with delight, you felt that knot start to become a little too tight. You started to lose your grasp on anything but his cock thrusting in and out of you. Your head started to blur into nothing but Vash and the pleasure he was wringing from your pussy.

"Vash-" You whimpered softly in his arms.

Vash nodded and released your hip. He dragged one hand down your side and over your stomach to your twitching core. His thumb started rubbing your clit in contrastingly slow circles. Your back ached, desperate to feel more of him against you.

He kissed you for the final time as that knot snapped and washed his love over you. Your body hummed as he continued rolling your hips together. Then Vash let out a high whimper before you felt something hot gush inside you. It was just enough to make your toes curl as he rode out his orgasm with long strokes against your gripping pussy.

He pulled out with a shuddering sigh. "I-"

You rushed to carass his cheek. "I'm not worried about that...just...hush."

In a boneless heap, Vash collapsed beside you and pulled you to his chest like a lifelong security blanket. In turn, you relaxed into him, throwing a leg over his. As you both tried to quietly catch your breath, you could feel Vash's warmth like it was sunshine on a cool day.

WIth his arms wrapped around you and the lingering high making you feel a bit silly, you buried your face into his chest. In the moment Vash smelled like sweat and basic body soap. Sensory bliss engulfed you as easily as sleep did.

As you let your eyelids slide shut, you felt Vash stroking your back again, softly petting you before whispering, "I meant it, you know."

You snapped awake. You sat up before reaching down and holding his cheeks. "I was distracted before. I love you too...I mean it. I love you, Vash. Genuinely and truly and not just because we had great sex."

He gave you a tired smile that reached his eyes. "Thank you, I love you too." Vash's cheeks got red again and he looked away before he asked, "You're gonna stay and cuddle though, right?"

"Yes, oh yes!" You settled back into Vash's arms comfortably. The moon peeked through his curtains at the lovers nestled together. A sigh you'd been holding for years came off your chest as you wrapped your arms around him.

There was a lot of trouble ahead of you both but fear held no captive in your heart. Maybe things weren't going to be okay. Maybe there's isn't love on Gunsmoke.

You decided start making Vash wear chapstick anyways. Even if he demands you kiss him to put it on.



[claudemblems]

Jealous, Jealous Pt. 2 | Alhaitham

Part 1

Summary: A scholar in the Akademiya decides to flirt with you, unaware that your boyfriend has been watching the entire time

Notes: I feel like this is lacking in so many ways 😭 I might go back and rewrite this eventually but I'll wait until I pull Alhaitham (hopefully!!!!)

If looks could kill, Alhaitham would have ended the existence of your little admirer by now.

No one knew you were the girlfriend of the Akademiya’s honored Scribe, mainly due to Alhaitham’s concern for your own safety. His enemies wouldn’t think twice about hurting you if it meant being able to exploit him for all he was worth, and the last thing your lover wanted was to put you in danger. He was also simply a man of many secrets, choosing to keep his innermost feelings to himself rather than wear his heart on his sleeve. There was no reason to announce his changed relationship status to anyone. Well, until now, that is.

You could feel the tangible anger burning from Alhaitham as he stared into the back of the lovestruck fool’s head, no doubt plotting a thousand ways to swiftly relieve him of his duties. You would have shooed the stranger off if it wasn’t for the fact that his interest in you wasn’t just in you as a person but also as a renowned scholar. Everyone in the Akademiya was well-aware of how the sages constantly sang your praises, declaring that you were one of the brightest minds to enter the field in decades. You were their second favorite after Alhaitham which meant that they’d even offered to grant you the position of a Sumeru sage, but had to politely decline. Much like Alhaitham, you were less of a leader and more of a follower working in the shadows.

You truly wanted to give your admirer the benefit of the doubt—hoping that he was only speaking to you as a coworker that he looked up to—but you weren’t dense. It was plain as day exactly what he was trying to achieve.

“S-So I was hoping that maybe we could get dinner sometime…?”

“I truly appreciate your admiration, I really do, but I’m already committed to someone. If you want to talk strictly about projects in the Akademiya, though, I don’t mind!”

“You’re with someone else? No…you must be bluffing. I bet you’re one of those girls who likes to play hard to get.”

“N-No…Genuinely, I’m not interested in you. I’m sorry. I have a man in my life that my heart is devoted to—”

“Come on, I know you’ve probably got a superiority complex, but just give lowly ole me a chance, okay? Perhaps you can come to my office and I can help…ahem…assist you in some research—”

You didn’t even have a chance to gag at the disgusting suggestion before Alhaitham stepped in front of you, his tall, lean figure towering over the much smaller man.

“I believe [Name] told you that she’s unavailable. Since she’s busy, would you like me to escort you outside of the Akademiya? After all, we only allow accomplished scholars in here, not scumbags that want to force their colleagues into fulfilling their warped little fantasies.”

The scholar’s face turned white as he glanced back and forth at you and Alhaitham, clearly unprepared for dealing with an unexpected variable. Realizing his argument was getting him nowhere (and not wanting to challenge a man whose combat skills equaled his intellect), he opted to send a venomous glare Alhaitham’s way before swiftly exiting the room.

“Alhaitham, thank you—”

“There’s no need to thank me. I’m just doing what’s expected of a decent human being.” Despite his words, however, you noticed how his lips tugged upwards at the corners of his mouth. “I know we’re keeping things under wraps, but if you ever need help, call for me. I’ll intervene even if it means letting others know we’re together. No matter what happens, I’ll keep you safe. That’s a promise.”

Pretending to reach over you to grab a book, Alhaitham shielded you from view as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, holding back a smile even as he pulled away.

“Ah, just the book I was looking for, Quantum Physics and the Laws of Thermodynamics. This will be an interesting read.” He absentmindedly thumbed through its pages, likely already familiar with its contents considering he’d read most of the books in the Akademiya library twice over. “I’ll have to tell you all about it when I’m finished.”

You playfully rolled your eyes in response, but you found yourself smiling back at him, heart still fluttering from the sensation of his lips against your skin. With one last wave, he strolled out of the room, making his way to his office (or to annoy Kaveh—it was a favorite pastime of his).

Alhaitham might be an indifferent—and sometimes aggravating—man to everyone else, but with you, he is someone that loves and values you deeply, always taking the chance to tell you through small ways just how precious you are to him. He’s yours and yours alone, and he’ll make sure that no one else even dares to challenge it.

But perhaps you’d like to see him like this just once more. Somehow his jealousy makes him even more attractive…

[kaigarax]

Could You Love Me

Kaku x Reader

Quote: "Fall in love with someone you'd like to be like."

Kaku smiles softly as he presses the palm of his hand against your own.

It’s smaller than his and your skin is so much softer; so much prettier; and so much warmer.

Your eyes are so soft and gentle as you look at him. So warm and filled with so much unfamiliar affection.

You’re an absolute vision. A sight for sore eyes as you smile up at him. He wonders if his heart will always beat in such a way when he looks down at you. If it’ll always skip a beat and pound like nothing else will ever matter in this world. He thinks he’d like that - for nothing else in his life to matter but you. It’d be a simple life.

An honest life.

A life he would never get the chance to live.

You flow so nicely and easily leaving a nice and easy current for Kaku to follow after. You smoothly pull him towards you as if it’s second nature. He wonders if you would pull him in the same way after knowing that he’s done. If you would look at him with the same fondness and reverence as you do now.

“Dance with me?” You asked gently.

Kaku had never been a big fan of dancing.

It wasn’t like he was uncoordinated or anything. No, it was certainly nothing like that. It was just that dancing was never something he saw much use for. It was kinda just something that he knew existed like… the sky.

Everyone knows that the sky exists; that the sky is real; they know what it is and where to find it; they can even picture it in their minds if they tried; they just likely tell you much about what it actually is without speculating and guessing a good amount.

Kaku knew what dancing was; and he had taken a few dance classes here and there.

It was just that he never cared enough to learn about being particularly proficient at the task.

He interlaces your fingers with your own as he pulls you along to the beat of the music - humming gently to the familiar song.

“Of course,” Kaku smiles. Kaku had never been a fan of dancing, but things are a little different when it comes to you.

        If I could begin to be         Half of what you think of me         I could do about anything         I could even learn how to love

Sometimes, Kaku wonders what it is that you think of him.

If you’re like Iceberg and buried your feelings because of the weight of what you carried with you. Or if you were more like Paulie and wore your heart on your sleeve. Or, perhaps a little like him where you present yourself as one thing but are entirely another. He hoped mostly for the first option but wouldn’t mind the second much either. But his heart froze and he dreaded the third more than anything else.

No.

He pushes those thoughts away.

How could anyone be anything but genuine when they’re able to look up at him with a smile like that? That they’re able to regard him with so much gentleness and warmth.

It’s honestly such a foreign concept to Kaku. Love. He likes to think that his childhood was a relatively normal one but love was never really a large factor.

It’s why he thinks he’s turned out the way he is.

Apart from all the killing, that is.

Gosh, he doesn’t even want to think about what you might say if you ever learned about the bloodiness of his past. All the people’s lives that he had ended and all the ways that he had done it. There’s almost not a single thing that he’s proud of. Not a single thing that you would be proud of.

Not a single thing that you would have done the same way if you had been put into his position.

You’re not like him.

You look at the goodness in people. Believe in the goodness of this world. Regard everything with such a gentle touch and soft smile. You are everything that Kaku wishes that he could be and everything that he isn’t. You love this world and this world loves you ever so gently in return. Honestly, Kaku is a little envious.

        When I see the way you act         Wondering when I’m coming back         I could do about anything         I could even learn how to love like you

“What’re you thinking about?” You ask Kaku, propping your head on his shoulder as you lean against him from behind.

“Nothing important.” Kaku says, leaning back his weight onto you. He’s pleasantly surprised when you don’t tumble over immediately so he gradually adds more and more weight back onto you. You hold out longer than he expected you to. Collapsing beneath this weight and gravity causing the two of you to fall into a pile of limbs on the ground.

You pout, “Kaku!”

He chuckles in response, “you’re the one that failed to balance both my weight and your own, Lass.”

“Why would you put that much weight on me!”

“I thought you could handle it~”

“Right,” you roll your eyes, “sure you did.”

“Excuse me!” Kaku smiles teasingly, “are you implying that I have fibbed?”

You manage to untangle yourself from him as you attempt to get up from the ground - but before you can stand up Kaku wraps his arms around you and pulls you back down to him. You pout cutely and he laughs in response.

“Come on, Kaku,” you grumble, “let me go.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “don’t skedaddle off yet. Linger here for a while, Lass.”

You look like you’re about to say something. To bite back like you usually do but instead you sigh deeply before nuzzling into his neck for a moment. Your skin is warm against his own and your touch leaves a fuzzy feeling in his chest. Kaku feels as though the air around him is suddenly thinner despite it being all around him.

He feels as though his stomach is twisting in knots. A little nauseous, he thinks. Kind of like that one time where he accidentally ate that expired sandwich, or that other time when he ate the eggs that were left out in the sun or… well the point is that Kaku’s used to the feeling of an upset stomach and this most certainly falls into the same category. This is a familiar feeling.

Goodness.

You’re going to be the death of him, that he knows for sure.

        I always thought I might be bad         Now I’m sure that it’s true         ‘Cause I think you’re so good         And I’m nothing like you

Kaku doesn’t know how he’s going to be able to look at you as he stares down at his hands.

They’re red.

Scarlett even.

Dripping.

His stomach twists in knots but this feeling is unlike the one he remembers before. It doesn’t make him feel like singing or dancing in joy. Doesn’t bring up a bubble of laughter in his chest and reminds him of just how far away his life is from normal. Reminds him of just how different he is from you.

He swallows deeply.

He’s certain that you’re probably worried about him right now. Wondering where he might be. Debating why he had to cancel on your plans together.

Kaku thinks he’ll stop by the flower shop before he sees you tomorrow. Wondering what kind of flowers you would like this time.

Chrysanthemums maybe?

You’d like those. You liked them the last time he gave them to you. Kept them in a glass vase until all of them died. He’d even caught you replacing some of the dead flowers earlier until you noticed that he was watching. You then proceeded to make up a whole speech about why you wanted to keep the flowers that he gave you and didn’t want him to think that you were bad at keeping things alive. He merely laughed in response and promised that he would bring you a fresh bouquet whenever the latest one died.

At the last minute he changes his mind.

He can’t bear to look at the red flowers, scared that you might be able to see the red on his hands if you stared a little too long. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to look you in the eye if you ever knew the real him. Doesn’t understand why he can’t forget about you even when he tries to. Wonders why his thoughts always seem to drift back to you regardless of the moment.

        Look at you go         I just adore you         I wish that I knew         What makes you think I’m so special

Kaku watches fondly as you walk down the shoreline of Water 7. Your arms held out to either side as if you’re walking a tightrope. It’s a silly pose that makes you seem younger than you really are.

It’s cute.

You’re cute.

You walk a few paces ahead of him, humming a familiar melody. Kaku walks a little slower than you do, but his strides are longer so he manages to keep up rather easily. His hands are behind his back but would be ready to catch and steady you at the slightest of mishaps. Not that Kaku thinks that you would fall but he wants to be ready for any such scenario. He’d never want you to fall head first into something you aren’t yet ready for.

He’ll do what he can to protect you.

At least while he’s still here.

In the few years that Kaku’s lived he doesn’t think that he’s ever quite met anyone like you. Sure, he’s met someone with a smile a little like yours and another who laughs at the same things that you do but nothing that would make up the accumulation of who you are.

Kaku remembers reading somewhere that people are the reflection of everyone who they have ever loved. That they pick up little habits and quirks from the people around them. He wonders if he’s picked up any from you? If you have picked up any from him? Mostly though, he wonders what you have picked up from all the people that you had loved in your life.

You turn to look at him and he thinks that his heart stops for a moment.

Gosh.

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever be able to go back if you keep looking at him like that.

He has to turn away or risk you seeing the flush red of his cheeks though he doubts that turning his head does much anyways. You can probably see the red anyways as it floods through his cheeks and into the tips of his ears.

        If I could begin to do         Something that does right by you         I would do about anything         I would even learn how to love

You sit quietly, staring off into the distance, washing the waves crash onto the shore as Kaku sits beside you, diligently sketching your face and form. He’s never considered himself that good of an artist but he is decent after all those ship drawings he makes.

Kaku makes sure to capture the dip of your chin and the curve of your lip. His lines are a little more wobbly and certainly don’t do the real you any justice but Kaku likes to think, in his humble opinion, that drawing you would be pleased at how this is turning out. In fact, he thinks that even real you would like this (but you always like the things he draws).

What Kaku can’t fully encapsulate is that certain glimmer in your eyes that you get when you see something entertaining.

He doubts that any artis would ever be able to capture such an expression and any one that did manage to wouldn’t compare to the real thing.

You really are the most beautiful person that Kaku has ever met. From the colour of your hair and skin to the curve of your lips. Everything just seems to come together so perfectly and in a way that makes it almost impossible for him to look anywhere else other than you.

Truthfully, it’s a wonder you haven’t already been swept off your feet by someone else.

“How long do I have to sit here like this?” You ask petulantly.

“You’re the one that begged me to draw you, Lass.” Teases Kaku.

You groan, “I know, but I didn’t realise that it would take this long.”

Kaku chuckles softly, “alright fine. You can go take a break. But then you better be ready to sit in one place for the next hour.”

“How did people ever sit still long enough to have their portraits taken?”

“I suspect they simply had more patience than you, Lass.”

        Love like you         Love me like you

Kaku sighs pathetically like a lovesick school boy as he watches you take to the dance floor. You move ever so elegantly and ever so gracefully. He thinks that it’s the place in this world where you were meant to be.

He sits off to the side watching as people approach you and ask for a dance. His stomach churns annoyingly as you accept. The way that you’re too sweet to say no is something that he both loves and hates about you. When he was young, Kaku had no idea that it was possible to hate and love something at the same time but then you came into his life and everything changed. Everything in his life seemed to be flipping on its head.

Kaku thinks that he would have liked to have been someone like you if he had been able to live a normal life.

Someone that could so easily get along with the people around them. Someone that’s able to smile so easily and see the better parts of the world. Someone that isn’t afraid to jump head first into something and fall in love.

In another life, he thinks that he would have liked to have loved you freely instead of the way that he does now.

He sighs again.

The people sitting around him shoot him strange looks while others roll their eyes.

Kaku ignores them.

Well he tries to.

He wonders if you could ever learn to love someone like him.

Your eyes light up as they meet with Kaku’s across the dance floor.

Kaku had never been a fan of dancing, but things are a little different when it comes to you.

Fall in love with someone you’d like to be like.

---

Song: Love Like You Artist: Rebecca Sugar