#even through all the misdirection

[theygender]

I love being T4T. My gf has been on estrogen for a couple weeks now and she's been having a rough time with her mood so I'm teaching her about the ancient art of soaking in a bubble bath with a little drink to sip while watching shows on your laptop

[hexastitchimera]

Genuine observation, no sass and no disrespect, but being someone who is chronically OFFline & an active volunteer/activist for over a decade, and seeing what people say is "crucial discourse" online is... Quite the trip, honestly.

[tofixtheshadows]

Sorry but Kabru is so fascinating to me as a character, in a pure mechanical sense, because of what Ryoko Kui does with him. Everything about him is a red herring. He's deliberately introduced as some kind of rival for Laios, a party leader who is hopeless against monsters but absolutely brilliant with people both in and out of combat, and who has good reason to oppose him.

By the end of chapter 31, you might even think Kabru's going to end up as some sort of anti-villain, an antagonist with the best of intentions who nevertheless tries to foil our hero's plans. He wants to defeat the Mad Mage himself, he suspects Laios of being too irresponsible to be trusted with control of the dungeon, and his crew even thinks that Laios's party stole from them (and they're kind of right!). All signs point towards an inevitable showdown.

And then ... none of that happens.

Confrontation over the stolen treasure? Kabru is literally too smart to fall for the classic miscommunication trope and correctly decides it's not worth making a big deal of.

Kabru's deadly PVP skills? Aside from trying to take down Falin, he never fights another human again.

Wanting to be the one who defeats the dungeon? Turns out he was only doing that because he didn't think any other adventurer would have people's best interests at heart, and he's more than willing to play a support role in the whole affair.

Thinking Laios is up to no good? He really did just want to get to know the guy more. He has his misgivings, but ultimately ends up trusting Laios with his life.

Is Kabru going to get some sort of comeuppance for hating monsters and not appreciating their ecosystem? Well no, he has good reasons for hating monsters. He ends up wanting to learn about them through Laios's eyes, but he's never forced into any "Wow, guess I was wrong about them!" revelation.

Hell, even his implied ladykiller ways, which might lead you to think he'll end up being the stock "chivalrous lech" type of character, don't really manifest. He has a lot of opportunities to act flirtatiously around women, but doesn't. He's just a guy whose natural charisma makes him into human catnip.

And that's all hysterical to me, to pull it off. It's a fascinating way to tell a story. To introduce a character explicitly as a rival, potentially even a villain, and instead make them a deuteragonist. It's like a magician making a coin disappear, then slowing down their trick to show you the misdirection. "Did you see what I did there?" they ask with a wink. "The coin was in my other hand the entire time."

[brainrotfm]

draft title: fat cock slow sex, sukuna x f!reader

divider credits to @cafekitsune

sukuna liked you best when you were thrashing.

he had no interest in restraints, binding your hands or feet in silly straps or cuffs to keep you still, having had several lifetimes worth of entrapment and no reason to ensnare you the same, not when he was twice your size and exponentially stronger than you could ever perceive.

no, he wanted you like this, at all times - splayed out unashamedly, blubbering nonsensically, hips wriggling for friction, small fists beating at his chest, trying to spurn a moment of reprieve or relief, whatever came quicker for the little darling trapped beneath your chosen predator.

why were you in such distress?

well, because sukuna loved taking your sopping, plushy little cunt and splitting her in half, bullying the fat girth of his cock as deep as possible before… just... stopping.

every. fucking. time. you should know better by now, always getting yourself into this mess, your fault for loving the most sadistic creature known to history —

a creature indeed, as sukuna rumbles above you, able to feel the timbre against the backs of your legs where they sat flush against his broad chest. his growling earned him a pitiful whimper in return, body twitching back and forth beneath his sheer mass, as if there was any hope for escape.

“so fucking wet for me, woman.”

“love sinking my cock into you and feeling this sweet pussy spasm around me.”

“should i sit here forever, just feeling your little cunt flex for me?”

of course, he won't move unless you beg for it. why should he? this is his favorite way to take you, after all - cunt clenching endlessly, clinging to his cock, weeping to be stuffed full of his cum whenever he pleased. he has no reason to indulge you unless you really put up a fight, and even then, he'll taunt you all the same. but beg you do, as you always do, happily the loser of this battle when this was a neverending game of his maintaining his attention.

“you sure, brat? i can always get you off just like this,” and he punctuated his point with a rough slide of his thumb over your slit, catching at your clit and pressing, “let you cum all over my cock without even moving, be my selfish little whore tonight. yeah?”

it's not enough though, never truly satisfying to finish like that, your hips twitching toward the sensation of being filled completely, satiated fully, the way that only sukuna could. only he knew how to cure the ache throbbing in your naval.

“okay little one, but you asked for it. we don’t stop til I say we stop.”

finally, finally he sat back on his heels, but there would be no mercy for you.

sukuna picked up your hips from where they rested against his impossibly large thighs, his eyes losing their focus on you. now, his gaze was trained on that delicious, glimmering cunt of yours, still pulsating around his cock, your anticipation drooling out of you. slowly, so slowly it would drive you insane, sukuna began to drag his cock back out of your perfect little heat, spit pooling in his mouth as he salivated at the sight. no point in wasting it - he spits down at the place your bodies connect, easing the pull, eliciting a twin shudder from both of you at the noise.

the problem with his misdirected focus was that it took forever for either of you to cum like this, which was the point, but you detested him sometimes for it, you really did. even if he let out the breathiest sighs of enjoyment, having you like this, that made your spine curl inside you.

when he has you right where he wants you, whimpering like a little bitch in heat, wide eyed simmering with want and unshed tears as he simply enjoys himself. inching himself out, and there's so much of him, dragging through you until the fat mushroom tip of his cock bulged the sensitive ring of your entrance - before plunging his hips forward, fucking you full in an instant, kicking the breath right out of your lungs.

your impatience was beginning to show as your hips wriggled, your breaths slipping an octave higher as a whine passed your lips right as sukuna began the slow drag out of you once again. he sighed dreamily above you, practically purring as he grinned at the trails of tears actively staining your cheeks,

“that's it, little one, cry for me. make me cum with those pretty tears."

[cipheramnesia]

Ryoko Kui is freakin hilarious, because she gives everyone in Dungeon Meshi all these personal internalized biases and forms of racism none of the characters ever think about for themselves because they're so used to those biases that they don't recognize them as forms of bigotry. And it's really cool, because through the lens of fantasy it's relatively easy for a reader to have enough distance and perspective to understand how all of the characters, whether protagonists or antagonists, experience these biases. It's a nice piece of world building that doesn't take away from the story if you happen to miss it, but adds a lot once you begin to pick up on it.

Then she introduces Kabru, a dark skinned protagonist, to readers who are in their vast majority from counties with a large amount of baking in racism towards darker skin, and is like okay now you the reader are invited to be a part of experiencing your own internalized biases and to become a part of this theme of unconscious bias subtly or overtly misdirecting how people understand each other. I think it's very funny of her to drop that in there and see how many of us self reflect about it. And of course he's just as much part of the story and plot, so we don't have to do any of that or even notice it, but it's a more enriching experience if we do.

[a-case-of-attachment]

A continuation of this.

Astarion was relentless in his need to get you away from Gale’s wandering lips and pathetically sad and hopeful kicked puppy attitude, silently seething as he dragged you along behind him. His grip was tight on your arm, probably too tight if he was being honest but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of you. He knew he was being foolish, but Astarion couldn’t help but feel that if he let you go you would be gone, running back to Gale like a moth to a flame.

You had looked so happy sat there with Gale, all bright smiles and casual affection like it was nothing to open yourself up to another. Had it been that easy for you to be like that with Astarion? He could recall your smiles, your gentle laughter along with the teasing and somewhat sarcastic back and forth you two had going. It had felt easy at the time, but had it actually been so or were his memories tainted by his own need for you to want something from him?

Astarion knew he could be charming and sweet. After all, those were the traits that had made him such an effective seducer, but he also knew that he could be difficult sometimes, rude and a little shut off from others even when honesty would serve him better. He was selfish, there was no denying that, but he was also cold and calculating, often working out how best to use someone to his advantage before using his charm and tempting smiles to get what he wanted. Astarion was trying with you though. Trying to be a better person and letting you in closer than he had anyone else in the better part of two centuries. But was it enough?

He hated the fact that blasted wizard was getting to him, but Astarion couldn’t stop himself from beginning to question why you had stayed by his side for so long. Gale wouldn’t hide himself from you like Astarion had. He wouldn’t deny you any part of himself whilst trying to cover it up with pretty lies and sugar-coated words. Everything about Astarion was a performance, designed to misdirect and mislead the audience. He didn’t want people looking to closely, didn’t want the attention the truth got him. The sad reality was he simply didn’t trust people, couldn’t trust people, not after everything he had been through and he wasn’t about to show weakness to just anyone when he needed to be strong and untouchable to survive. You were infuriatingly different though. You did care, Astarion was sure of it and if there was anyone, he was going to let see him at his most vulnerable then, well, it could only ever be you. So why did he feel so hollow all of a sudden? Like he had already lost you before he had the chance to really have you in the first place.

The trees and undergrowth suddenly gave way and Astarion stumbled slightly as he stepped out unexpectedly into a clearing. It’s not that big, probably smaller than the average tavern and if he was so inclined Astarion could probably make it to the other side with a few long strides. It is unassumingly quaint though, the gaps in the otherwise thick canopy allowing the silvery moonlight to give the small space an almost otherworldly glow. In any other circumstance it would be disgustingly romantic, somewhere Astarion would have whisked you off to to whisper sweet nothings in your ear whilst making your body singing under his skilled touch. Not tonight though. Tonight he couldn’t care less, taking a few seconds to gain his bearings before he took a sure step forward, intent on getting you across to the other side and as far away from Gale as he could. You apparently, had other ideas though.

“Enough!” you shouted suddenly, digging in your heels and yanking your arm from his grip. Astarion let you go, coming to a standstill at the edge of the clearing and looking back at you with thinly veiled impatience. You glared back, fists clenched at your sides and shoulders noticeably tensed. “What in the hells was that Astarion!” In a nearby tree birds took flight, frightened away from their nests by your angry yell. Astarion flinched slightly, shame settling uncomfortably in his chest. There was a possibility, and a small one at that, that he might have overreacted, but could you really blame him? Gale had overstepped yet again, and you had just looked at the walking bomb like the idiot you were, all lost and confused like you couldn’t possibly fathom someone was actually interested in you in such a way.

Astarion had every right to whisk you off. Had every right to be angry and jealous too, but that didn’t mean he liked it. He hated being forced to feel all these emotions that he had stamped down for so long, unaccustomed to anything but pain and desperation. It left him feeling exposed and raw in a way he wasn’t used to. Unfortunately, when he was feeling cornered and out of his depth Astarion had a bad habit of lashing out at people, uncaring as he spat honey covered poison in an attempt to regain control of something he probably never would.

He hated himself for it, even as he practically leered at you, his lips curling up into a smirk. “Come now darling, I was doing us all a favour,” Astarion laughed, waving his hand dismissively in the air. “It was starting to get a little sad.” Your breath caught, Astarion able to hear your heartbeat pick up ever so slightly. It had been the wrong thing to say but it had come so naturally, to be dismissive and cruel when it came to the feelings of others. Especially now when his own emotions were getting the better of him, uncertainty and doubt mixing with anger and jealousy. “Honestly, for a man who claims to be so smart he can be rather dense.”

Your eyes narrowed; arms now crossed over your chest and very clearly unimpressed with his cruel words towards the wizard. “You done?” Astarion’s smirk fell slightly at your sharp tone, his centuries worth of skill faltering when faced with the rather real possibility that he was ruining the only good relationship he had ever had. Fear crept in, Astarion unable to stop his intrusive thoughts from taking over his already compromised mind. He had been afraid of losing things before, things like his freedom, his food, his life. Never before though had he been so scared of losing another person before. He didn’t like it, the panic making his throat feel tight and his hands twitch in some sort of aborted need to touch you. To wrap his arms around you and pull you tight against him, refusing to let you go ever again.

Astarion swallowed noticeably, trying to force the lump that was forming in his throat down. Scoffing, he adjusted his stance, making sure he looked as casual and unbothered by all this as he could. “I don’t know what you are talking about darling. All I did was save you from having to suffer through Gale’s rather pitiful attempts of seduction.” They really had been atrocious, awkward to, like the man didn’t have a suave bone in his body. You hadn’t needed to be subjected to that and lucky enough for you Astarion had been there to chase the cretin off. Unless, of course, you hadn’t wanted the wizard gone.

“Astarion,” your voice was thick with warning, the muscles in your jaw visible twitching as you clenched your teeth. Foolishly though, Astarion didn’t listen. He was on a roll, his anger and jealousy in full force as he let his emotions taint his words. “But if you’re into tragic little magicians who are already hopelessly in love with a goddess then please, accept my sincerest apology for disturbing you.”

“Astarion.”

“Though if you are planning on slipping into his bedroll tonight might I suggest you get him to cast a silencing spell beforehand. I doubt any of us want to hear him grunting like a stuck pig. Oh, and maybe get yourself a healing balm. I would imagine that beard of his would leave an awful rash between your le…”

“That’s enough!”

Astarion’s mouth snapped shut at your angry outburst. He wouldn’t be surprised if they had heard you back at camp, having shouted loud enough to cut through his rude and somewhat crude words. You looked so angry, shoulders tenses and hands curled into fists at your sides. He had seen you angry before, all righteous fury on the battlefield and smouldering hatred when pretending amongst the absolute. You had never been angry at him before though. Annoyed and suspicious yes but never angry, not even when you had awoken to him hovering over you, mouth open wide and fangs glistening as he practically salivated over how perfect you would taste on his tongue. He hadn’t thought it possible for you to look at him in such a way, but it seemed he had been mistaken because there you were, eyes dark and dangerous as you watched him intently, waiting for him to do or say something but for once Astarion found himself at a loss, his quick wit and sharp tongue failing him spectacularly.

You sighed loudly when it became clear that he wouldn’t be the first to break the tense silence, your shoulders slumping and the stench of pain and disappointment thickening in the air. “Look, I don’t know why you’re being like this or what you think you're going to accomplish here but I can’t do this with you anymore.” You sounded tired, heartbroken even and Astarion felt his own chest tighten in response. Some part of him had known it was coming, that things had been too good to be true, but it still hurt none the less. Even more so knowing that he only had himself to blame, but who had he been trying to fool? Someone like you was never going to find their happy ever after with the likes of him. After all he was just a broken and twisted monster with nothing to his name apart from the trail of pain and suffering he had left behind him. He had been delusional to think this thing between you could be anything more than the tentative and somewhat convenient friendship you had allowed it to be.

“Well,” he said stupidly, not really knowing what to say, “best I not keep you then.” Astarion stepped back slightly, angling his body to create a space for you to slip through and make your way back to camp and most likely right back into Gale’s open arms. Shame and rejection burned heavy in his heart, so much so that Astarion couldn’t bear to even look at you. He turned his head to the side, his eyes slipping closed as he waited for you to move past him. He heard you sigh, the rustle of fabric as you moved and the slight crunch of grass under your booted feet as you slowly made your way towards him.

He felt so alone, a pathetic and useless mess of a man as he let you slip through his fingers like grains of sand. It had been so easy to begin with, all charming smiles and flowery compliments that had you practically glowing under his attention. It had all been an act then, a means to an end that was supposed to keep him safe and protected within your close circle of confidants and friends. He had planned it all out but the one thing he hadn’t taken into consideration was, well, you and now he was left with nothing to show for his efforts other than a few tainted memories and the knowledge that he had been the one to drive you away into the arms of another man. He truly was incapable of doing anything right, just like Cazador had always said he was. A beautiful idiot.

A gentle hand cupped his cheek and Astarion startled, his head whipping round as his hand shot out to curl around your wrist, preventing you from moving it away or any closer. You were smiling softly at him but there was nothing happy about it, the sadness crystal clear in your eyes. Astarion could taste your unshed tears, see them clinging to your eyelashes. He wanted to reach out, to gently run his thumbs under your eyes and wipe away the tears as he whispered his apology, but he had never been good at admitting he had been wrong or even saying he was sorry. He hated that you were looking at him like he had broken you but despite how badly he wanted to take it all back the words wouldn’t come. So instead, the two of you just stood there, staring at one another and waiting for someone to do or say something to break the silence that felt like it was going to suffocate him.

Your shoulders slump, the sad little smile you had been supporting slipping into a frown. He can see it in your eyes, see you searching for the right thing to say and Astarion wants nothing more than to run before you get the chance to break his heart before you had even known it was yours to shatter. He’s moving your hand back towards you and already stepping away when he stills, your words nothing but a whisper but they seemed like a shout to him. “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t think he would be able to keep the confusion off his face even if he had tried.

He doesn’t understand. Are you apologising for ending things between the two of you? Not that either of you had actually put a name to what the two of you were doing. Maybe you were apologising for turning your fondness towards Gale? It hurt, more than Astarion would ever admit to, but he had expected something like this to happen, waiting for the moment you got bored of the pretty little elf and moved on. That’s all he was. Something to pass the time with that looked good both in and out of his clothes and knew how to leave their partner satisfied. No one has ever given him an apology before, not that he can remember anyway, and he doesn’t know what to do with one now that you had whispered it so sweetly to him. Astarion doesn’t understand you or this entire situation and it frustrates him to no end because how is he supposed to react in a way that will please you if he has no clue what you are even trying to do here?

His grip on your wrist had gone lose whilst he panicked externally and without him keeping you at bay you easily put your hand back on his cheek. Your warm, so much warmer than him and it feels so much like being bathed in sunlight to feel you against him. Despite knowing better Astarion can’t help but turn into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed as he basked in your sunlight. What was the harm in enjoying this for just a second longer? Astarion was a selfish creature at heart, and you would be gone soon enough, so why not? Why not take this one thing for himself. Just this once. Just this.

“Astarion.” He doesn’t want to look at you. To look at you would be to acknowledge that this confusing and all consuming thing between the two of you was over. He doesn’t want that. Wants to hold onto you for just that little bit longer. You are insistent though, using your hand on his cheek to turn his head towards you and no matter how much he wishes to prolong this moment Astarion knows that isn’t his choice to make. So he looks, opening his eyes and meeting yours, waiting for you to throw him away just like everyone else had.

@mangomonk @skittleabyss @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @atsv-obsession @duckyhowls @tamwritesstuff @unrestrictedbyreality @dinstailor @vhaldren @ammistorm @aoirohi

I think that’s everyone! Please do let me know if I have missed anyone though and if you want to be tagged in the third and final part!

[eupheme]

— meet me in the woods

halsin x druid!reader/tav

rated e - 7.2k

tags: double druids, smut with feelings, aphrodisiac (in the form of a fertility solstice), mates/mating rituals, hinted at breeding kink, poly!halsin (but has a connection with you), pleasure dom!Halsin, canon-typical violence, masturbation, miscommunication, oral, PiV, size kink, multiple orgasms, cum play

Living in the city had muted your druidic powers, cut you off. That all had changed, in your journey across Faerûn. Something inside of you had cracked open - letting nature and instinct sink in.

And in spite of the feelings now burning inside you - you don’t know what it means to celebrate the Solstice. Luckily for you… Halsin is there to help you through your first.

The sky has started to slip from soft shades of blue to deep orange and purples. Your wrist aches from where you scrub at your hide armor, removing the layers of grime from the long days of travel.

Your eyes flick up, like they have three times already in the last ten minutes. Across the twist of smoke from the fire that Gale tends, a cauldron of stew that has begun to fill the camp with it's rich aroma.

To where he lounges. To where your eyes meet soft green.

You look away.

"Do you think he's looking at us?"

You don't mean to ask this question out loud. It's a thought that swirls in your mind - slipping between teeth and a tongue loosened from a warm afternoon under the sun and a flagon of crisp wine.

There's the cutting strike of shale against steel. Sharp eyes flicking across to where yours have slipped, once again.

A lip curling, with the click of a tongue.

"Chk. I've seen that look on a male before." Lae'zel's tone is knowing, the slightest hint of a smirk sent your way, as she sharpens the edge of her longsword, "A bear that wishes to devour."

You blink, glancing her way at the humor in her voice. Trying to ignore the fluttering flip in your stomach at the thought.

"Oh, I am not so sure he sees me that way." Your knuckles curl as they press into a stain, your eyes dropping in mock concentration.

A red eye cracks open near your hip, Astarion's head propped up on the wrap of your bedroll. Curled like a cat under the sun and with the wafting warmth of the fire - a hand coming up to shield the bright glare above.

If it had been anyone else lazing next to you, you might have asked them to lend you a hand with the basket of vegetables for the stew - the next in your long list of things to-do. But secretly, you were just pleased he chose to spend the afternoon near you.

"Gods - I took you for boring, darling. But I never took you for stupid." He sighs, with a stretch.

Well, you had been pleased.

He ignores your look of offense as he pushes himself up on an elegant elbow, chin propped in the cup of his hand, "I don't think he's stopped looking at you since he's joined us."

A wistful sigh, "It's enough to make me wish I had saved that child."

Before his nose wrinkles, as he reappraises that thought with displeasure.

"Appreciate that, friend." Your response to his earlier remark is flat, as he flops down again.

"Oh, don't be like that," He drawls, "You were the one who asked."

The misdirection is noted with a small huff of a laugh, as you turn back to work again. Flipping around their thoughts in your own mind.

How you wish that were true.

Your own feelings were no secret to yourself. There had been no pretending in your heart, after your first meeting. Even if you had not always known the strength of your powers, you had always known yourself.

There had been a near-instant attraction with your first meeting. A suspicion that there was something special about the bear trapped in the worg pens. That feeling blossoming with the fluttering in your stomach when he had changed - the depth of his thanks at your aid in protecting the Grove.

A seed had been planted then. A hope that perhaps, with time - with some tending - that there could be more. That feeling only grows since, flourishing, weaving its way between your ribs.

And lately, you think there has been something more. His laugh comes easier. An eagerness to join you when you left the camp. Never far from you, when you return.

You were the first one he turned to after the rage of battle.

“Are you well, teuivae?”

As if you could not mend your own wounds. The word that slipped from his tongue lost as his eyes searched - until he was satisfied that the blood splattered across your leather armor was not your own. Broad hands that cupped your face. Close enough to brush his own against yours, but instead he had hovered.

Waiting - but for what, you did not know.

It had you wondering. You suppose enough now that those thoughts have made their way out into the world. Not knowing what to do, with your friend’s confirmation.

That feeling only increases, the turn of the moon turning it into a surging weight in your chest. Something physical, that gnaws at you. Tipping past want and hurtling towards something that felt like need.

Your thoughts of desire running wild, until you can’t help but slip your fingers beneath the layers of your bedroll. Your teeth biting into the heavy fabric that muffles the quick circle of your fingers, the soft sigh of your relief.

It was hard not to. To see him that way, to want him.

He is kind. Almong the best Elves you have met. He could take care of you. Your mind tells you, now. Protect you.

A very instinctual thought, one that you’ve brushed aside. You don’t need protecting. How could one protect against the tadpole, better than you already are?

But the thought comes back.

He would keep you safe. You know that, as certain as the changing of the seasons.

How quick he already is to race to your side - all teeth and claws. Imagining the honor of sharing his bedroll, how he’d wrap around you…

Only now do you realize you’ve been staring - your damp rag hovering in your still hands. A small shake of your head as you concentrate on your work. Making a point not to look again, to push the thoughts from your mind.

You really needed to get a hold of yourself.

You’re still thinking about it later, as dusk settled. The sky now streaked with hues of purple and grey, the camp littered with small fires and torches. Bellies full of stew, content to wind down after the long day.

Under the stars, it's impossbile to ignore just how much things have changed.

In the city, everything had felt muted.

Even in the outskirts, the small towns you had flitted to. The desire to fit in cutting off your attunement with nature.

But, after the Nautiloid. After you had crashed down to the Wilderness. Met the others - truly embraced who and what you were - things had changed.

You felt more like yourself than ever.

Even when you thought your time left was marked by days. Hours.

The warmth of the sun against your face. Acres of trees, the bark rough beneath your fingers as you climbed.

It seeped into your skin. Invigorating you. That liminal space between beast and body melding as you changed freely, unrestrained by space or propriety.

It was freeing.

You didn't have a coven, in the city. A lone wolf - left to wander along.

Forgetting how it felt to channel the forces of nature, with the night air wrapping around you. A bond formed when you had met Halsin, your first prolonged contact with another Druid in years. Something had been planted, watered with admiration, carefully tended in the absence that had soon come.

An urge to stay at the Druid's Grove, once the fight was over. Something unlocking in you, a need for kinship.

It had been ignored - there had been no other option. But it was like part of you stayed cracked open. Inviting nature, the whims of Silvanus, to eddy inside you. Growing potent, under the wax and wane of the moon above.

Intimate feelings mixing their way in along the way. Undeterred by the quiet, shared murmurs. Of rumors and whispers of Halsin's many lovers - good natured ribbing about his scar.

You had often thought your heart was too large to belong to only one other. It had been a relief, when you heard Halsin speak the same, around the fire.

Not fearing a connection, but not limiting it. Like nature itself, he had said. His eyes had found yours - you had taken it as some sort of lesson, from the Archdruid.

Perhaps it had been an invitation, instead.

The thought is pleasing to you. Enough so that you think… you think it’s worth being brave for.

You can’t help but seek him out, once more. Thick arms cross over a broad chest as he talks, though you’re too far away to hear. But it doesn’t stop his gaze from finding yours over the top of Wyll’s head. The way his friendly smile softens, a look you suddenly feel certain is just for you.

One you return, as that thing inside your chest swells. Blooms.

You’ve trusted your gut so far.

You’re ready to trust it again.

There is a stirring. A rooting, something sprouting in his chest. A feeling that has flickered before, but never this strong.

It had been easy, for gratitude and respect to bleed into something more, after their first meeting. After seeing such a fierce little thing take down two goblins with the flash of sharp teeth, sharper claws. A worg following, almost bigger than themselves.

Few would have stood before him, after. A frown as ferocious as their bear-form as she had offered her own opinion on how to handle the Druid Kagha, though his sentence had already been bestowed.

It had been hard not to smile.

There had been more pressing matters that had kept him away, after. Denying the offer to join her - them - the Emerald Grove had needed him more.

But still, something had lingered.

A connection. Something invisible that ties them together, that has nothing to do with the being that squirms in her mind. It begins lower - beneath the cage of ribs and where, perhaps, something soft lies.

It has him feeling like a yearling again, in spite of his three hundred and fifty years amongst Faerûn.

As the moons have passed, he'd become too accustomed to the gleam of her fur, in the sunlight. Nearly blinding him. Eyes as sharp and a tongue as quick as his.

Her true form as pretty as a field of wildflowers, of the rainbow spray of colors against the mist of a waterfall.

Evenly matched, he has thought. More than once.

The sentiment settles in his bones, trapping him - a rabbit in a snare. Though he's not so desperate to be freed, as he might have thought. The idea of being tied down had never been appealing.

But there is no urge to leave. To walk amongst the forest again, to find his way back to the Druid's Grove, for Spring. To dance and join beneath the moon, like he had for so long.

A more singular focus taking over his thoughts, as the rite approaches. A deep-seated hope, his affections shown in the ways known by his people.

Many have begun their attachments in the span of evenings to follow. Perhaps they would take the same path, if is she was willing.

The thought is more than pleasing.

It has him seeking out the eyes that fall on him so often. Finding where they linger now, in the flickering of the fire. The look she gives him - one of consideration, one of seeing in a new light - is one he knows well.

The beast inside him can read the subtle looks like tracks in the mudbank. The glitter of lights in her eyes like runes - etching a message just for him.

Enough that when she turns from the fire, when she pushes herself so carefully up - slipping like a shadow, into the forest...

It's impossible not to follow.

You can feel him behind you, as you weave through the trees.

Anticipation, excitement, pricking up the hairs on the back of your neck. Guided by the stars that sift through the canopy of leaves above.

Your feet know the way, though your mind does not. Guided by something primal inside you, taking you to a small clearing.

Grass blankets the space, tucked away in the forest. Dotted with wildflowers, a break in the branches above to let down a shaft of moonlight.

The armor you once clung to left back at the camp. An innate knowledge that there was something special about this place - that you were safe here. Protected by your own abilities. Even more so, with him following.

There is much said, in the look that he gives you as you turn. The shift of his shoulders as he approaches, a slow nod of approval as his eyes sweep across the clearing.

“You’ve chosen this spot well. The Solstice, could you feel it?”

His words make you frown, suddenly unsure. The curve of his smile wanes at your silence, as he takes another step closer, “Is that not why you’ve come here?”

The hope you’ve carried sinks, settling low in your belly. So unlike the weight that was there before - one of hunger and desire.

“I must confess, I had been hoping.” He continues, with a cock to his head, “But it seems like we are on different paths.”

You have to answer him, you know this. It takes a second to gather your courage, this meeting quickly taking a much different turn that you have expected.

“I do not know anything of your Solstices. I came here because I hoped…” Your gaze drops, unable to look at him, “I had hoped that you would follow. That this night might be ours.”

A hand cups your jaw, tilting your head up. To your surprise he is smiling, his thumb stroking across your cheek, “Your answer relieves me. We are not so far apart. I thought I had been clear, but it seems you are still unsure of my intentions.”

Something flips in your stomach, melting the spray of ice that has coated your insides. A small flutter of hope, as your eyes search his green ones, “What do you mean?”

“I have become so accustomed to your presence, that I’ve forgotten that our ways are still unknown to you.” His voice softens, and you can’t help but lean into his touch - hanging on to each of his words, “I’ve been courting you for some time, now.”

Time freezes, for a moment. Your mind whirling past all the small moments you’ve collected - held so close to your chest. Reaching out to touch others that now made more sense.

Bringing you your share of dinner at the camp. A solving of the mystery of a fire that had been stoked during the night, an extra pelt placed over you for warmth. Caring for you.

You had mistaken them all for chivalry.

“-and I had thought you were accepting, tonight. With the beginning of the Solstice.”

“I must be dense.” You can’t help but smile, with a sensation of being able to breath again, “I had my own wishes, but I never knew-”

“I should have been more clear. Forgive me,” His hands touch his scars, his smile turning wry, “I thought it wise to let you set the pace of our journey.”

Hence his waiting for you to kiss him, after that battle. His following you, tonight.

Courage rises in you, once again.

“I want you to show me what it means to celebrate.”

He softens, for you. Hands dropping to entwine with yours, bending until your foreheads touch, “Then I am yours.”

The slightest tilt of his head, bringing your joined hands to point at the heavens.

“With the spring comes new beginnings. We lead the way, with the Solstice. Baring our flesh and joining beneath the moon, in an offering to the Oak Father.” His words are a low rumble, it’s impossible not to focus on his mouth, the way it quirks at his next words, “It is… rigorous.”

The heat that has simmered for weeks now flares to life, as his eyes darken.

Bu there's something small tickles at you, making you lean back. Your brow furrowing, needing the clarity.

"Is it just the Solstice that draws you to me?" Is it just duty that has ensnared his affections? Is this no more than fulfilling the desires of Silvanas?

He laughs, with a shake of his head, "If our first meeting had been in the Grove, your beauty would have been more than enough to enthrall me."

The knowledge is flattering. That he still would have wanted you, in another life, in another time. His next words are enough to cast the rest of your doubts aside.

"But make no mistake. For quite some time now, I have desired more. Deeper than the skin, down to the marrow." He brings your entwined fingers to his mouth, his lips pressing against your knuckles, "I fear you stole more than gold that day, in the Sanctum."

There is much that he reveals, with his words.

A sense that your feelings are more than reciprocated. A reminder that he does not mince words, like others you have known.

For as keen as your eyes are, you should have realized this sooner. The last curl of unease lifts, wafting up to stars above.

“How do we begin?”

“Eager. I like that.” Halsin grins - his eyes dragging over you, as his voice pitched low, “For starters… you are overdressed.”

With as large as his fingers are, they are dexterous as they tug at the tie of your tunic. A palm curling around your waist, tugging you close as your face tips up to his.

“And there is usually music.” He murmurs, dipping just enough to brush his mouth against yours, “But I am sure we can make our own.”

His name is a soft sound on your lips, before they press against his. Warm and solid and plush, a sigh in his throat as your hands reach up to grasp at broad shoulders. Slipping to tangle in his chestnut-colored strands, keeping him pulled close.

And you are reminded that he is strong. Abandoning your shirt when your tongue brushes his lip. Hands catching the underside of your thighs to haul you against him.

Your legs stretch wide around his waist. One of those hands moving to splay across the small of your back, a low growl rumbling as you nip at his lower lip.

Hunger gnaws at you, as he deepens the kiss. An ache to be closer, unable to get enough of the taste of him as he licks into your mouth.

Holding you against him as he sinks to his knees. Bringing you down against the blanket of grass, nestling you against it. A low chuckle at the way you still cling to him, entangling yourself around him like vines, as Halsin begins to tug at your clothes again.

Carefully, as if it's a gift to unwrap you.

"Come now, my love." He coos - another gentle tug, as you finally let go.

The air ghosts against your skin, warm with the changing of seasons. A low sound of approval with each layer that is stripped from you. The curl of a palm against your ankle, tugging off your boots. Heat pooling low, as fingertips brush up your thigh, settling at your belt.

"I long to see you bare beneath me."

He touches you as if he can't get enough. The sweep of his thumb over your thigh. Fingers joining yours as your hips lift, allowing him to peel your trousers down, and then off.

You think that perhaps it should feel strange, to be naked in the moonlight. But Halsin eclipses the brief fluttering of unease. The hunger in his expression captures yours, as he leans back to sit on his haunches.

So broad, so big. You think the desire must match in your own eyes, his sentiment so shared.

"Join me," You coax, a hand reaching for his thigh - feeling the muscles jump underneath.

His grin gleams in the moonlight, as he lets you start to do the same to him. Distracting you terribly as his hands skim from your waist to cup your breasts, teasing and pinching.

Only tearing the sleevless tunic from his shoulders before he's curling over you - his mouth pressing against your neck. Inhaling your scent with another low growl, his nose skimming over heated skin.

Those lips pressing against your throat, the threat of teeth as they part. You squirm beneath him, something inside you aching for him to bite down. To mark you.

You can feel his smile against your skin, his hands still teasing the tight peaks of your nipples. One drifting lower across sternum and belly, drifting across the curve of your mound.

It’s easy to arch into his touch, to urge his fingers lower. The sweep of his fingertips is so light, a summers breeze against your skin - a low hum of a laugh as your hips jerk again.

“I know it’s affected you.” There’s the slightest pressure - thick fingers split, tracing the crease where your thigh meets groin. Purposely avoiding where you need him, where you know you’re wet and wanting.

Another sharp intake of breath, before he’s pushing himself up to hover over you, “At camp. Your smell. It was difficult to hold myself back.”

He touches you, then. Twin moans as his fingers slip against slick flesh. Dripping, for him. Almost making you forget your words as the pad of his fingers circles your clit, as your hand brace against his biceps, nails biting skin.

“W-wasn’t the coming of Spring.” You protest - the rhythmic swipe of his fingers stealing your breath, “It was just you.”

The look he gives you then - it’s all soft edges, wrapped in a focus that’s so intense your eyes flutter shut. It’s too much, his gaze, his touch.

A low groan from his chest then, in recollection, “There were many nights lately where I wished to offer myself for your pleasure. Perhaps I should have.”

For your pleasure. Few would word it that way - conjuring images of him beneath you. His tongue tracing the same path of his fingers, your thighs pressing against the long points of his ears.

It makes you clench - the simmering fire in your belly sending up sparks, stoked by the way his head moves lower. Your fingers slipping to twist sharply in his hair, as his tongue peeks out to brush your breast.

“More, Halsin. I need you-” You pant, your free hand fitting under the bulk of his shoulder. Reaching to nudge his hand down lower, until his fingers are brushing your entrance.

He traces you, before he sinks into you, down to the first knuckle. His hands are so much bigger than yours, there’s already the slight stretching burn as he eases deeper.

The tilt of his head, chin pressing against your ribs. The fire burns in his own eyes, a heavy press of his hips against your thigh, letting you feel him.

“If we had been at the Grove, I would have hoped you would have chosen me as your mate for the duration of the three nights.” It’s a confession, the word mate ringing out - enthralling you, “Now, I do not know what tomorrow brings. I will give you all that I can, tonight.”

In a fluid motion, he moves. The ripple of muscles as he shifts between your thighs - their breadth stretching them too wide. Enough that you have to hook one over the curve his shoulder, before his head dips.

The heated swipe of his tongue hits you just as his finger presses deep and curls. You’re instantly thankful for his three hundred and fifty years, with the pointed exploration of his mouth.

A groan as he tastes you, those green eyes fixing on yours again. Fitting another finger into you as your heel digs into his shoulder, as your head tips back with a cry.

It’s too much. Pleasure skitters through your stomach, your hips moving on their own, matching the steady thrust of his fingers. How he drags them against a spot that makes you keen and squirm, before sliding them free to fit them between his lips.

Tasting the honey of your arousal, his lips already shining with you, before filling you again. Muscles clenching like the pull of a bow, waiting for the arrow to fire.

Halsin moans into your cunt like he’s feasting, like he truly means to devour you. His own hips pressing into the ground, easing his own need for friction.

Too practiced with the tight flicks of his tongue, the way his lips kiss and suck against the sensitive bud. The press of his fingers loud with how wet you are, matching your sharp, panting breath.

His name is a whimper before your muscles string even tighter. Going stiff as your breath catches, a pathetic whimper of a sound before you’re crying out.

The pleasure ignites, ripping through you as you come. As your thighs press around his ears, though he does not slow. Fucking you through it with his fingers, soft growls that buzz against your clit with each press of his tongue.

Leaving you breathless, boneless.

His mouth soft as kisses are pressed to your thighs, as you come back to yourself. It feels like you’re glowing, a soft haze settling over your limbs, down to the curl of your toes.

A broad hand smears your slick across his jaw, as he pushes himself up to kneel between your thighs. Where his cock strains against the leather of his leggings, tenting the soft fabric.

You ache to make him feel as good you feel. Something primal roars in your belly, as you follow him. Hands pressing against his chest, the flicker of shock turning warm as he lets himself be eased back.

Until it’s your thighs straddling his, moving up until your slick cunt is pressing against that heavy curve. His lips parting with a soft pant as you lean over him, your head dipping to kiss him.

He tastes like you, the sweet tang of your orgasm. Another shudder of pleasure coursing through you at the thought - as his hands find your hips, coaxing you to rock yourself against him.

Back home, you don’t know if you would have had the courage to climb this mountain of a man. But the images that flicker through your mind - the ones of him beneath you - are too strong, tugging at you. Beckoning your limbs to follow.

“I want to-,” You’re mumbling, between kisses, “Will you let me?”

“Follow your urges, my heart. Wherever they lead you, I am here.” His words sound strained, his hips flexing up, against you. More than content to be your guide, or to let you explore at your pace.

Your fingers drop to tug at his belt, with his consent. His hands coming to cover yours, lifting you with the rise of his hips. Freeing himself, his clothes joining yours on the forest floor.

It’s only here that you pause, as your thighs stretch across his waist. Where it becomes evident just how proportional he is - his cock full and flushed and heavy, curving up towards his stomach.

Unable to help touching him, his eyes fixed on the slight frown and then panic that flits across your features. A low rumble as your hand fits around him, your fingertips unable to touch.

“You-” You stammer, suddenly unsure, “Halsin, I don't know if I can-”

His eyes darken at your insinuation, his teeth flashing with his smile. Fingers curl around his base, tilting himself up. Pressing himself against your belly, the tip smearing a wet spot on your skin.

Measuring. Your grip tightens and he groans, his hips flexing into your touch.

His voice ragged, rough in the night air, “You can take me. Know you can, my love.”

You can’t pretend you’re not eager to try. Hands pressing against his chest, eyes flicking between his face and his cock, as you lift yourself up.

One leaving to hold him steady, taking a second to feel him slide against you. Muffling a sigh when he bumps against your clit, slicking him up with your release. Before you line him up, and start to sink down.

He splits you open. The pinch of his fingers against your hips hurts, as he tries to resist thrusting up into you. Even with your orgasm, your cunt slick with pleasure, he still stretches you wide.

Taking an inch, and then another. A tremble in your thighs as your knees press into the earth, a strangled whine as you make room for him.

His murmured encouragement catches in his chest, the moon and spring calling to him - only his experience keeping him from taking matters into his own hands.

A strong jaw ticking as you sink onto him, achingly slow - until your hips finally lie flush. Your hand flying to your belly, as if you could feel where he fits inside you.

His gaze is heavy, reverent. The press of fingertips against your skin as his grip eases, lips parting as you carefully begin to lift up - to rock back down.

The sensation flickers through you like faerie fire, the slow and sweet drag of him. Making you feel impossibly full, your head dipping down to hang between your shoulders. Hands curling into the hair covering his chest, as you figure out how to move.

It’s impossible to describe. A desire like you’ve never known bites at you, curling in your belly. You think perhaps you understand now - this need to bring forth the Spring and celebrate its arrival. It’s been something inside of you this whole time, waiting for guidance.

You have it, now.

“I-I did not think there was anything that could rival your touch,” Your words some out shaky - your thighs already twinging with the effort of moving. The steady rise and fall of your hips, the hitch in your breath when he sits flush within you, “I am happy to be wrong.”

The corner of his lip lifts in a snarl, but it’s one of pleasure. Just as gone as you are, with the drag of his eyes from your face, down to where you bounce on his cock. The thick peek of him each time your rise, shining with your slick.

It’s enough that his hands slip lower. Fingers slipping to rub at you again, each time you sink down.

“Use me, then.” He rasps, “Come on, sweet one. Take your pleasure.”

Your heart races, breath caught in your throat at his words, his touch. The slow pace increasing, as you try to do what he says.

Instincts flooding wisdom, drowning it out - tilting your hips until your thighs tremble, as he knocks against a sweet spot inside you.

Again, and then again. His eyes are fixed on you now, and the look he gives makes you clench - coveting his attention. Wanting him to only look at you, tonight.

To sear the feeling of you into his memory, as he has done to you. You think there is nothing that could make you forget tonight.

To forget this swirl of magic, as if you’re tethered to the ground, the sky, him - all at once. Utterly free at the same time, your body moving on its own without inhibition, encouraged by the sound of his moans.

The clench of teeth - the heavy press of hips that have begun to snap upward, no longer able to hold back.

“Oh gods-” You keen. Once, and then again - a grinding circle of your hips against his fingers, as that feeling inside you threatens to burst again.

Halsin chases the rock of your hips now with his own, with his fingers. His laugh rough, caught between his teeth.

“The gods may be listening, little one. But only I will answer.”

It makes you shudder, makes you beg.

“I’m so close. Please don’t stop.”

His fingers stay true. Pressing just a little harder, a jostle of his thighs as his feet plant against the ground. Fucking up into you now, as your pace falters. Too focused on the rushing white noise in your ears, the feeling that’s so big that it feels like you’ll choke on it.

“Let me feel you.” The words are muted, miles away. Digging into your skin to weave around your ribs, “Sweet one, come on-”

Your cry rips from your lungs, as you tip over the edge. He’s there to catch you, the steady pound of his hips as your own legs fail you. Fingers sweeping as the pulse of your cunt matches the heartbeat in your ears, clenching around him as you find your release.

Pushing himself up to meet you, as your arms wrap around him. Letting you chase the last waves of pleasure with the grind of your hips, your mouth panting into his neck.

A sweet sweat beading at the nape of your neck, across your skin. Your head turns just enough to meet his, his hand coming up to curl around the back of your neck.

To hold you to him, hovering over him, as he buries himself in you again. Again and again, until he is panting as you steal kisses. Tasting where you still linger in his tongue, another melding of your spirits.

“How do you want me?” His eyes are bright, hands slipping down to cup your ass, to help you ride him, “My heart, I fear I won’t last-”

You had made a pretty coin, brewing herbs and potions. Enough that you could do it in your sleep, your talents extending to camp. Teas of protection brewed openly and without shame.

The need for him to spill in you floods your senses, your own breath ragged at the thought.

“In me, my bear.” You beg, leaning back - the snap of your own hips sharp and loud, “I need you in me.”

The groan he makes is laced with relief. The feeling coursing through him as well - an innate need to spill himself into your cunt. To rut himself into you, until you’ve taken every drop.

Your name is ragged on his lips, as his thrusts turn shallow. As you take over, riding him until his hands grasp at your waist, as he goes stiff beneath you.

He throbs, a warmth flooding deep inside you. A pretty sight, his strong back arching into you - lips parted, hair streaming loose amongst the wildflowers. A snap of teeth as he grinds against you until you drip with him, too full of his cock to keep everything inside.

Fully joined, beneath the moonlight.

Afterwards, you melt against him. A hand smooths down your back as your fingers wander. Across the fur of his bare chest, the curve of his lip. The swirls of scarred and tattooed skin - your lips following.

He’s beautiful beneath you. Eyes content and half-lidded as an arm tucks beneath his head. A little inhale of breath - his broad chest rising as your lips move to his neck.

If you were Volo you think that, perhaps, you’d write a song about this. But that would mean that you would not be with him now, and the thought all but fills you with agony.

That hand on your waist tightening as you push the thought away - stretching up to reach the curve of his ear, a groan as your tongue traces the point.

It moves you against him. His cock slipping part-way out, only to sink deep again with your exploration.

He’s still hard, achingly so. You’re more sure whether it is a blessing of Silvanus or just him - this being so perfectly crafted in nature’s image.

Your teasing winds him up, even as his release leaks from you, shining against your thighs. A groan buzzes against your lips, where they still press against his throat.

A shifting beneath you, a pointed lift of his hips that nudges him against that sensitive place inside you.

“Let me take you, once more,” He husks, his face tipping up to yours. Knuckles brushing your cheek, tender in spite of the fire burning in his eyes, “Like the Oak Father intended.”

Desire still burns in you. An ache at the thought of having him another time, enough that you’re pushing yourself up to straddle him.

Nodding, your begging “please” making him smile, as he pushes himself up on an elbow. His eyes raking over your body, bathed in the glow of moonlight. Where he’s still buried deep, kept warm by you.

Before he’s moving. Hands gripping at your waist - a soft whine when he lifts you off him. His cock flushed and shining where it rests against his belly, as he rolls you beneath him.

“Hands and knees, my love.”

You’re eager to do so. The grass soft against your palms as your knees press into the ground. Arching your back - feeling the weight of his gaze as his thighs brush against yours.

The curve of his cock pressing against you, as he squeezes the flesh of your ass. His touch reverent and hungry, grinding himself against your core as he groans.

“If I could keep but one image in my mind, it would be this one.”

You moan at his praise, rocking back to meet his press of his hips. His hand dropping to wrap around his slick cock, notching it at your entrance.

Holding himself there as his chest presses against your back - warm, as his other arm wraps around your middle. It does something to you. The position, the feel of him overwhelming you.

“Halsin-” You pant, each second ticking by feeding into your desperation, “Why do you wait?”

“My impatient little she-bear,” He laughs, but the sound is strained with you beneath him, “Do not fear, I will give you what you want.”

And he does, the thick tip of him parting you. Sinking deep with a rough thrust of his hip, making you cry out as he fills you.

You had thought he was big before, when you rode him. But you had been in control - taking him at your own pace. Bouncing at your leisure, aided by the span of your hands against his muscular chest for balance.

Now, it feels like he’s in your throat, as he seats himself completely. As you make room for him, gripping him so tightly he chokes on a breath, fingers biting into your skin.

Yours wrap around his wrist, braced against the grass for balance. Nails biting into skin as he noses at your neck, his breath warm where it ghosts against your skin.

A kiss pressed there, so tender that you feel yourself relaxing. Rocking your hips back, whimpering at the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls.

“Take me,” You beg, wanting more, “Feels so good, I want you-”

He groans, and you can feel him throb inside you. There’s the sharp snap of his hips, starting shallow. Sliding out further each time, until pleasure is crackling against your skin.

The little clearing filled with the sounds of your joining. Panting breaths and the slick sound of you taking him. Fucking his own cum deeper into you, lewd with the way you cry out when his cock grinds against that spot. When the heft of his balls kiss your clit again and again, heavy with his arousal.

It feels right. Halsin’s body pressed against your back, bending you until your chest is flattened against the grass. Fingers finding purchase in the strands and flowers, giving you something to hold onto as his thighs crash against yours.

Each deep thrust pushed your breath from you with a soft whine, leaving you panting.

Trapped beneath him, until all you can do is take it.

Squirming against the cage of his chest and arms.

Fuck me. Take me. Fill me-

It comes from deep inside you. The want to be filled. An ache at knowing he’s already spent himself, that each thrust brings him closer to a second.

You must say the words out loud because he makes a noise that sounds wounded. A stutter of his hips, his words a jagged rasp, “Let go, my love. I've got you.”

So, you do. Releasing your hold on that last ounce of control. Leaving yourself in his hands, letting your sounds and cries flow freely. Embracing the mounting pleasure as it swirls through you.

You babble - half-formed words as he holds you against him. Shifting when he hears you sob, rutting himself against the spot that sends you up to the stars above. The broken “oh, oh, oh’s-” bleeding into “Gods, Halsin-”

His teeth press against your neck, pinching against your skin, “Give yourself to me.”

The arm curve around your waist moves. Fingers carefully wrap around your hair until it’s fisted in his grip. Pinning you further as he pants in your ear, soft grunts and growls that sound like music in the night air.

Not stopping until you’re shuddering beneath him. Until he feels the tight pulse of your cunt, his own release not far behind. As sweet as the taste of you, as your muscles jump under his touch, as you arch and claw at the grass below you.

It’s bliss. It feels like you’re channeling the forest itself. Feeding off the pleasure that radiates from him. The new beginning of the season, the pull of the moon above.

The Gods are pleased, you think dizzily, they must be, for I have never felt like this.

The slap of his hips is louder, as you soak him. An overwhelming instinct to claim you, as his teeth sink into the curve between neck and shoulder.

Holding you still against him as he growls. Eyes flashing gold as you cry out again - pleasure and pain melding as your orgasm flares out, beginning to ebb in sweet bursts. As the sensation drags him along to find his own end.

Spilling into you a second time with a shout. His hips moving on their own, shallow thrusts with each pulse of his cock. Your head twisting to meet his mouth, a press of teeth and tongue as you swallow his groans.

Until his strength is all but sapped from him.

Until he is more man that beast again, those eyes soft and green again - a field of clover on a bright spring day.

It’s an easy thing, to take you with him to the forest floor. To curl around you - blocking your smaller form from the midnight chill that’s begun to creep in.

Warm and strong - an arm wrapping around your hip, a large hand splaying across your belly. As if those thoughts still lingered.

Still pressed inside you, keeping you filled with him. You think you’d be content to stay like this all night. Longer, if there was not more work to be done, tomorrow. More paths to be taken.

It’s not long though, before you find yourself shifting. Dozing in his grip, a sleepy rock of your hips in an effort to feel him move in you again.

“Oak Father, preserve me.” Halsin stirs behind you, as he huffs into your hair, “Insatiable little thing. And to think I worried about you lasting through the solstice.”

Your teeth bite into your lip as you grin, as his arms wrap more tightly around you.

“I should have been concerned about myself. This old bear needs rest, little one.”

But even with his low rumbling, his hand drifts. The pad of a finger brushing against your clit, sending another shot of pleasure coursing through you.

Your thighs part, a knee bending to give him access. Another soft whine as his circles against skin that is slick with his release, as his hips slowly match the lazy rhythm.

“Do not worry, my love. I will not leave you wanting.” He rasps.

“And there are many left hours until dawn.”

omg I started playing recently and I am so in love with this game. this was so much fun, I hope you enjoyed! I love Druids so much (and am playing one) and thought they for sure would have a 👀festival👀 of some kind and wanted to explore that in the context of like, act ii/iii (I am still playing so please let me know if I got any lore wrong!!)

Teuivae – ‘Moonlight’

(tags: @samspenandsword, @amywritesthings)

[apas-95]

If bigotry isn't based on what's in a bigot's head, how can something like misogyny have any consistent meaning? How does something change from misogyny to not misogyny depending on what pronouns someone uses? I could describe to you an act of violence in detail down to the very arrangement of it's atoms, plus a book filled with a series of interviews with the aggressor, but you wouldn't know what to call it if I left out how the victim personally identifies?

Whatsoever constitutes violence against women is misogyny. If it is carried out against someone who is not a woman, it does not make sense to call it misogyny regardless of the shape it takes, if it is carried out against women it makes sense to call it misogyny regardless of the bigot's own thoughts.

I could describe to you an act of violence in detail down to the very arrangement of it's atoms, plus a book filled with a series of interviews with the aggressor, but you wouldn't know what to call it if I left out the victim's race or sexuality?

How is their gender different?

Gender is not a fake axis of oppression, people do not simply identify as a certain gender, they genuinely are that gender.

A man who doesn't believe that lesbianism exists, or doesn't consider black women to be female, would still be engaging in homophobic or misogynistic violence against lesbians and black women - not 'misdirected heterophobia and misandry'.

Oppression experienced by a transgender man is, fundamentally, transphobic oppression, not misogynistic oppression. To say otherwise is to state that transgender men are not genuinely men.

A heterosexual asian man who is seen as effeminate by western cultural standards and berated for it is experiencing racism, not homophobia or misogyny -- even though, certainly, it is through the form of homophobic and misogynistic insults that the racism is being carried out, and in doing so the aggressor is reinfocing homophobia and misogyny.

The key point is this: Racism, misogyny, homophobia, transphobia, etc, are all relationships between people, they are all dependent on the context of the people. The actions that mediate these relationships are not the things themselves. This is the materialist view of the matter.

[a-very-tired-jew]

More JVP Shenanigans

TLDR; JVP's Haggadah was put together by goys and their tax filings show they have no intent to help and/or represent Jews. We all know JVP is the Autism Speaks of the Jewish community. They exploit Jews and try to present themselves as a Jewish organization concerned with systemic discrimination, Palestinian rights, antisemitism, and much more. Hell, you can go look at their core values on their website and a lot of us would agree that these are good things.

JVP uses all that as misdirection. It uses Judaism as set dressing for its own agenda and exploits people’s ignorance. However, if you have just a little bit of knowledge you can tell that JVP is not only exploiting Judaism, but it is an organization that has wholly embraced Jew face and does not know what it’s doing.

Take a look at their Haggadah.

Their Haggadah was clearly put together by goys who didn’t know what they were doing. Many of the translations for their blessings are wrong or were clearly put through google translate. Other blessings are slapdash put together or grabbed from other Seders. Take a look at this blessing:

Baruch atah adonai eloheynu melech ha’olam asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu l’hadlik ner shel (Shabbat v’shel) yom tov. Blessed is the spirit of freedom in whose honor we kindle the lights of this holiday, Passover, the season of Freedom.

Do you see the issue? For those who don't know, there is no mention of Passover in the blessing at all. So why is it in the translation? They also didn't include any of the extra words for Shabbat in the translation as well. If you have the patience, go through and read it. It omits the story of Passover, dismisses the importance of the holiday, and just changes the entire thing for their agenda. Edit: Above is about last year's haggadah as someone pointing out in the replies. Below is the link to this year's and it's just as bad, but this time they have a lot of tokenization to justify why they change the entire holiday to support their agenda. It literally asks you to write to the NY Times at one point...

“But it’s a Jewish organization, I swear!”

Well let’s look at their tax filing where they as a 501(c)3 have to describe what their organization is and their intent.

That's weird. A Jewish organization that states it fights against antisemitism and is committed to Jewish communities has nothing on their filing about Judaism or Jews in any capacity. It's mission is regarding education about Palestinians. Some of you might say "what's wrong with that?" There's nothing inherently wrong with that mission statement. What is wrong is that JVP hides its intent, bigotry, and antisemitism behind a veil of Jew face. It claims to be a Jewish organization, but it can't even get basic translations of prayers right. It omits, misleads, and misinforms about our culture, history, and traditions in such a heinous way that it's downright disgraceful. JVP does not represent the Jewish community and at this point it's clear that they're Jewish in name only.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy birthday! Could you continue the naruto daughter of the homage series?

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6

Naruto doesn’t feel comfortable going back to the tower until the Suna kids have collected their scroll and arrived. Gaara had killed nine people – three teams total – in that time. None of them Konoha, thankfully, but that’s mostly due to her team and Itachi engaging in some creative luring and misdirection. The Konoha Twelve can be redirected outright by one of her clones, but the other leaf genin that she doesn’t know as well have to be lured rather than instructed. Getting their own scroll is more an afterthought than anything else.

They probably should have thinned the herd a little more. Now they’re having preliminary matches, which is just another chance for Gaara to kill one of her shinobi.

Great.

“Is that Orochimaru?” Sakura hisses, looking up at the spectator box. “Isn’t he a missing nin?”

Naruto flickers her glance upward, but she’d already known he was attending. What does surprise her are the two people by his side. “Yeah, but he’s also the Otokage, and one sort of trumps the other. Dad gave up on that one a long time ago, and Sarutobi still likes him besides. That’s not the interesting part.”

Jiraiya sends intelligence back to the village frequently enough, but she’s never thought she’d seen Tsunade back in the village.

~

Orochimaru is already bored.

He barely attends chunin exams when they’re in his own village. But Kabuto had given him an interesting report, and he hasn’t seen Minato in something like fifteen years, so he figured it couldn’t hurt. Besides, Anko is proctoring a portion of the exam, and she always complains that he doesn’t visit.

Jiraiya found out, somehow, which was bad enough, but then the traitor told Tsunade, and the two idiots insisted on coming with him for some reason.

Probably because they were worried Minato might try to arrest him, which is frankly insulting. He can and will kick that kid’s ass if he has to.

Hm. Maybe that’s what they’re intending to prevent, on second thought.

Minato’s daughter has her father’s coloring and her mother’s bone structure.

“I’m surprised she’s made it this far,” Jiraiya murmurs.

Kushina throws him an irritated glance, but the white knuckled grip she has on her armrests seems to imply she agrees with him. Minato doesn’t look at either of them, not that he’s looked at Kushina at all. There’s really no point in them playing the part of happy couple in front of foreign ninja if they can’t commit to the deception.

“She’s got a solid stance,” Tsunade says. “Don’t need working chakra coils for that, I suppose.”

Minato’s lips thin, but he keeps his silence.

“Gaara of Suna versus Rock Lee!” shouts Hayate, pausing to cough halfway through.

Orochimaru leans forward now that something interesting is finally happening.

It’s not as immediate of a bloodbath as he thought it’d be. Lee holds out, demonstrating a mastery of taijutsu truly can make up for an awful lot. He fiddles with the weights on his wrist, but then he glances up. It seems as if he’s looking at his sensei, who’s shouting encouragement, but standing just to the left of them is Team Seven.

Naruto’s lips tug down at the side and she shakes her head just slightly, the movements so small thar Orochimaru wouldn’t notice them if he wasn’t focusing on her.

Lee’s shoulders droop even as he backflips to avoid another deadly arm of sand. He’s not even close to exhausted, and he’s lasted longer against Gaara than anyone else has, but he raises his arm and says, “I surrender.”

Everyone is stunned, an air of disbelief surrounding them.

Gaara acts like he hasn’t heard, more sand barreling for Lee. Hayate moves to interfere, but he’s a lot slower than that sand is.

There’s a smudge of yellow across the arena, there and gone, taking Lee with it.

Orochimaru turns, expecting to see Minato’s seat empty, but he’s still there, eyebrows raised.

He frowns, looking back down, and Naruto is back out of the arena, putting Lee back on his feet. “It seems you didn’t hear him!” she shouts, grin so wide her eyes are slits.

“I didn’t know you taught her the Flash,” Jiraiya says.

Kushina stares between her husband and her daughter, eyebrows pushed together.

“Yes,” Minato says stiffly, “well.”

Interesting.

It appears Kabuto’s report was accurate.

[tofixtheshadows]

Id love to hear ur interpretation and analysis on falin! She’s one of my favorite characters and and I was wondering what ur thoughts on her are

Man, I struggle to think of anything I could say about Falin that others have not already said. But she's one of my favorite things about Dungeon Meshi too.

So much of the story revolves around Falin, and she's not even there. Tumblr loves to talk about haunting the narrative, but Falin might be one of the best examples of it ever put to page. She's dead. She's alive. She's dead. She's alive. She's alive but she's missing, she's alive but she isn't herself. She's dead but she might wake. She's dead but she's frozen in ice. She's alive but she's sleepwalking. They chase her ghost and they chase her body all through the story.

I think what Kui does with her is fascinating. Not just as character with a personality we can analyze, but as an object in a narrative- that's why I say she's one of my favorite things about the story, because I also mean it in a mechanical sense. As a writer, Kui's really good at misdirection- that is, setting you up to believe or expect something about a character or a plot, and then turning that on its head. It's most apparent with Kabru, but it works really well with Falin too.

Because the precious little sister is a very well known character archetype, right? So is the gentle healer. The heart of the party. The white mage girl. The damsel in distress. The martyr.

And this isn't a Laura Palmer situation, where we find out that beneath her wholesome surface there's something dark and troubled. No, Falin truly is a kind and gentle person. That isn't where the misdirection leads (and that, too, I think, is another misdirection- it's not "Plot twist, she isn't as nice as you thought!", which would almost be too easy).

The misdirection here is more about structure than about character (but also, yeah- a little about character).

What I mean is, with these archetypes firmly in mind, along with a whole other host of fantasy genre expectations, I think anyone who goes into Dungeon Meshi un-spoiled probably expects Falin's rescue to be an endgame event; at least on a subconscious level, where you're not really thinking about it but in the back of your head you're already stretching out the story to place Falin firmly in the distance. Fire breathing dragon at the bottom of the dungeon is perfect final boss material, right? Slay the dragon. Rescue the princess.

And Falin is the perfect prize in the traditional old school fantasy that the concept of the titular dungeon is a send-up to. Blonde (white), soft-spoken, sweet-natured, beloved by everyone. An angelic figure.

Maybe that's why Ryoko Kui gave her white wings.

It is sort of jarring when chapter 23 rolls around and it's already time to fight the red dragon. And it takes a few chapters, but they succeed. And then Falin's impossible resurrection succeeds. But by then you guess that this is not going to be the story you expected it to be.

I want to point out that Falin spends a lot of time getting, well, babied, post-resurrection. Marcille washes her in the bath, despite Falin stating that she's capable of washing herself. Marcille schools her about her mana use despite Falin demonstrating that she is not hurting for mana, and brushes aside Falin's explanations. Both Marcille and Laios refuse to actually tell her what happened. Laios scruffs up her hair like she's a little kid and scolds her for something she can't remember doing. Marcille explicitly calls her a little kid when Falin tries to talk about how much she's grown.

Of course I'm not saying that Laios was wrong to act like a big brother, or that Marcille shouldn't be worried about taking care of her shell-shocked friend in the bath. But the framing of it clearly shows a Falin who is struggling to be heard.

If you'd like to address the big gay elephant in the room while we're here, I want to state for the record that- whether you read her as gay or not -I think Marcille is completely oblivious during this. Because Falin is her little friend from school. Her best friend, yes, but also the young tallman student she, in her infinite elven wisdom, had to mentor and look after. Marcille has not yet accepted that Falin is an adult now, nor has she accepted that she, herself, is only barely past teenagerhood developmentally and is not nearly as mature as she believes. Of course she'd scrub Falin in the bath and fuss over her.

Falin, meanwhile, seems more than aware of her own adult body and the inappropriate way Marcille is treating it.

The mana-sharing scene is, I think, Falin trying to get a little of her own back. How do you like it, Marcille?

And she tries again in bed.

Maybe she's wondering if their relationship will change now that they're grown ups. If Marcille prefers her as a little girl, or at least as a woman who lets herself be guided like one; if Marcille will react badly if Falin keeps trying to assert herself. She also might be subtly trying to signal to Marcille that bed sharing, like bathing, carries a different weight to it when you do it as adults rather than as children.

With all this in mind, the decision to turn Falin from the precious prize they rescued into to the vicious dragon they have to slay, hits a lot harder.

Falin with a powerful, monstrous, destructive body. Falin, who couldn't even stand to cause people pain from using healing spells, slaughtering half a dozen people in brutal ways. And that's not her, she's being mind-controlled, but as an object in the story she has completely flipped. From damsel to threat.

And I love that she carries a little bit of that with her when she's resurrected again.

Because she's no longer the girl who's going to let herself be stifled by her brother's and her best friend's co-dependency, no matter how much she loves them. She's different now: stronger, eyes open, forging her own path instead of following in their wake. Falin is still going to come back to them again, but this time it won't be because they chased her. It'll be because they let her go.

[landoscaring]

my thoughts on monza '24

let me preface this post with a big fucking heave of a sigh

[siiiiiigh]

i gotta admit that i was nervous for this one. the tension has been building up, the pace has gotten stronger, and the media have had a field day commenting on mclaren's strategy. it's been stressful.

on the one hand i gotta say as a mclaren purist that yeah, this blows, but also the fact that this is what we're worrying over? two wdc-potential drivers in our team??? the pace being too good??? like. yeah. give me this over the DNFs and the shit car.

but then.

ugh.

i support lando and oscar equally. always. until the day their contract's up. that being said:

McLaren need to make up their minds

Oscar didn't do anything wrong today

Lando wasn't going to win the race even if he'd kept P1 from the beginning because the tye strat was off anyway

the media NEED TO STOP THE NARRATIVE AROUND OSCAR HELPING LANDO SCORE A WDC BECAUSE THAT'S NOT WHAT LANDO WANTS. do you think he wants to win a wdc because his teammate, who he knows is competitive enough, rolled over and let him through? fuck no, that's not the lando we know

i completely understand the frustration some fans have, but it's misdirected. IF mclaren stepped the fuck up and gave clear orders to both their drivers, this wouldn't be such a shit show

i don't fully agree that team orders are the way to go, but also, i would appreciate if they just made up their minds about it already? time's running out

some fans' takes about this whole thing are just...bad

insert taylor swift quote about "you wouldn't have survived in the asylum they raised me" or whatever because hah, this is nothing, you guys. a few people would've fainted with the way things happened with lewis and nico, mark and seb, prost and senna... and countless more. this sport is RUTHLESS. and CUTTHROAT. it's not tiktok edits with taylor swift songs in the background. oscar did what he knew he could do under the orders given to them both (papaya rules)

in a way i think this needed to happen -and has been building up for a while- for a few reasons, a) for mclaren to wake the fuck up and make up their minds already, b) for fans to realize that oscar is not lando's lapdog and he fully intends to fight for race wins, and c) that just because we like to imagine they're bffs or boyfriends in our fan spaces it doesn't mean they got to be okay with each other all the time. let them be upset. let them be angry. it is what it is.

it was a great race. probably one of the best we've seen all season. as a retired ferrari fan (but really, everyone is a ferrari fan in this sport) i thoroughly enjoyed watching charles win today. he deserved it on grit alone. and their strategy worked, which is something that mclaren needs to learn from.

i will continue to support these two idiots in their highs and lows. neither of them are perfect, and there's so much room for improvement. they're young. allow them some grace when you comment about how this or that should've happened. lando is wdc material, yes, but he wants and needs to earn it.

that's all, folks

[qingxin-dream]

“The Afterparty”

summary | lyney is the face of fontaine’s entertainment industry, stealing hearts with every flourish of his magic. however, in the night, lyney tends to entertain a different kind of crowd.

warnings | written pre-4.0, ooc lyney, light yandere themes (stalking/manipulation/obsession), a sprinkle of smut (creampie/implied dubcon) [18+, MDNI], brief mention of drugs/alcohol, reader is neutral but wears a dress, lyney uses a little french

genre | yandere, slight smut

word count | 1.6k

pairing | lyney x reader

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

It’s no mystery that the Great Magician of Fontaine is a man of many talents. His shows are famous across Teyvat for their grandeur and flare. Beautiful venues draped in red curtains frame the scene before a sea of velvety theater seats, skilled acrobats maneuver themselves among rings suspended in the air. Blazes of fire erupt from the stage dramatically. A master of misdirection, the audience falls for his tricks every time as he effortlessly makes the impossible possible.

Lyney is incredibly perceptive. He knows how to read people, as a showman can read his audience, a small smug smile crinkling the corner of his eyes if you’re paying attention. It’s an art form—the way he flips through the pages of your soul, licking his fingers to reveal the next juicy detail with ease. Rarely ever does anyone truly surprise someone as cynical as him, who has been personally privy to the vile nature of the Fatui.

A life of fame is never kind to anyone. The planning and training for shows is incredibly rigorous. Executing the stunts in front of a live audience is equally thrilling and terrifying. Without fail, the crowd is mesmerized and the show ends in a shower of roses and marriage proposals. Rinse and repeat. Though, this is only what Lyney allows the public to know of him.

It’s after hours, when the theater is empty and the stage is dim, when the mask begins to slip.

Lyney is the lead, the star, and as such he maintains his appearance by rubbing elbows with the elite of Fontaine. You’d never catch him amid the nightlife of the city, no. You wouldn’t believe the sheer grandeur of the dazzling, flamboyant parties thrown every night at the country’s largest mansions.

It was Arlecchino who insisted that he attends these lavish parties, rampant with the city’s darkest vices between drugs, alcohol, and sex. But Lyney is a cynical man, so this much is to be expected of wealthy aristocrats.

It was all a façade, couldn’t they see? It sickened him, how gullible people were and how obsessed they were with status. Not to mention the inevitable hordes of women who threw themselves at him.

Nevertheless, Lyney played the game well and with a bewitching, handsome smile. Eventually he had learned to take pleasure in this little game.

As fate would have it, you let your friend convince you to crash one of these extravagant parties with them. You had heard whispers of what takes place at night behind the golden gates of Fontaine’s richest residences. Why wouldn’t you want to have a taste of the finest wine, dressed in designer, getting lost in the magnificent corridors of a packed mansion of partygoers?

It’s something straight from the movies.

You emerged from the bushes to sneak inside, which wasn’t that difficult surprisingly. You wore your best dress, not knowing what to expect. It was a floor length, silky black dress with a sexy slit that traveled all the way up to your mid-thigh. You had a lovely string of pearls dangling from your pretty neck. A classic choice.

Unfortunately for you, Lyney is a man who is extremely attentive to his surroundings. After all, an illusionist must be a master of his environment as well. The moment he spots you, a mere reflection of something new and fascinating for him to discover, he gravitates to you smoothly.

“Mm, I don’t believe we’ve met,” his voice is an alluring, a well-practiced approach. Before you could even answer, Lyney had already taken note of your little mannerisms and nuances just in these few passing moments. He had already adjusted the figurative mirrors of misdirection in this little trick, assuring your undivided attention.

You glance to your friend, who isn’t there. Oh. You had been cornered without even the opportunity to explore the party.

More of a wallflower type, you found yourself struggling to conjure up a confident answer. You were acutely aware of who this gentleman is, and his egotistical demeanor was already a huge turn off.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know who I am,” he chuckled lightheartedly, yet there was a peculiar undertone hidden beneath. It was hard to place. He kisses your hand. “Lyney, the Great Magician.”

You withdrew your hand, unable to hide the way your eyebrows crinkled together with disinterest. Perhaps you should’ve been more prepared for these guests to be more brazen and unapologetic when they see something—or someone—they want.

Taking no for an answer is not even in the realm of possibility for these people.

The party continued on, gorgeous partygoers dancing and drinking to their heart’s content. All the while, Lyney kept his eyes trained on you. It wasn’t necessarily out of admiration; rather, it was curiosity. Why didn’t you bat your eyelashes at him like a good girl? Bite your lip when he kissed your hand?

He followed you like a ghost, slinking through the crowd tactfully to observe you. You were a rare creature indeed. None of the other women could hold a candle to you. Archons, he felt this unsettling churning in his stomach everyone your glimmering irises met his. His heart would tense instantaneously, threatening to explode within his chest.

You saw through Lyney from the moment he kissed your hand, and he hated it.

Through the night, you both danced this delicate tango around the massive mansion, a palpable tension tethering him to you. He was equally appalled and fascinated by you, never wasting any opportunity to slip in an innocent question or two to learn about you.

“A beautiful lady like you in a place like this… Do you feel lost in Wonderland yet, Alice?” Lyney had persuaded you to follow him to an unoccupied balcony, closing the French doors behind him.

He stalks toward you, his soft lavender irises cool and calculated. In an ashy flourish of embers, a deck of onyx cards materialized in his gloved hands. It had taken all evening, but just enough wine had passed beyond your lips to give Lyney the opportunity to disarm you.

“Not scared of a little fire, are you, love?” His voice was warm and inviting as a hearth, though it held a hint of mischief like that of a crackling inferno. Each mysterious card in his hand is shuffled with a distinct flick.

You were much more susceptible to his charm now more than ever, allowing him to weave glittering silk strands of harmless sweet nothings to entice you. Had you taken a step back, you would’ve seen the web for what it is. The grand reveal was imminent.

“Now, now, don’t fret. I won’t let anything harm you, chérie,” Lyney chuckles lightheartedly, as if he hadn’t been playing and pawing at you like a cat ready to pounce all night.

Your poor little breath hitched at every whisper and touch he gifted you. It started by fatefully picking the Queen of Hearts from his custom deck of cards. You should’ve known better. Maybe you should’ve picked the one next to it. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered.

Lyney’s lilac eyes spark with intrigue at your choice. How fitting. Had you paid any attention to the magician’s sneaky maneuvers, you would have seen that every card in the deck was from the suite of Hearts.

The illusion of choice.

He takes this as an opportunity to step closer, his hands reaching forward. Your chest is beating wildly, begging for relief from how he intoxicates you with just a flutter of his long lashes.

Lyney rests his hands on the marble railing on either side of your hips, drinking in your anticipation, your fear, and your desire. A small, smug smirk pulls at the corner of his pretty lips. He takes the liberty of helping you meet his gaze by bringing his wrist to his mouth, white teeth tugging to remove his glove. Your body feels weightless when he lifts your chin with his bare index finger and thumb.

The Great Magician would argue that he took extreme precautions to ensure the success of this escapade. It was all carefully calculated and orchestrated according to his whim. He had you exactly where he wanted you, blissfully unaware of how deep these exhilarating feelings for you had rooted themselves into his guarded heart.

“Do you feel the magic in my fingertips? Hehe, tonight’s show will be a private event for only for you, mon trésor.”

The night was a blur. Fading in and out of consciousness, one moment you were dancing with him in empty halls and the next you were enveloped in his embrace against a wall. Lyney would pin your hands above your head before pushing you onto the bed, catapulting you into his next breathtaking trick like one of the acrobats in his show.

The silhouettes of your frames were shadowed in the moonlight that bathed the sheets in silver. Lyney skillfully unzipped your dress. Clothes fell to the wayside, vanishing in a flourish of passion. There was no denying it. He had to have you, and you were such a willing participant in his performance.

Of course, the wealthy partygoers were none the wiser, the echoes of pleasure the Great Magician was able to rip from your lungs were easily deafened by the music of their own opulent fantasies.

What is a magician if not an artist who must mark what is rightfully his—painting your womb with a decadent display, a growl escaping his throat.

However, Lyney is a perfectionist. When he catches a glimpse of his seed spilling out of you, he is quick to stuff his slender fingers into your overstimulated hole and seal the masterpiece with a final kiss on your bruised lips.

“Magnifique…” ❤️

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! my masterlist.

[pshcomforts]

➳ shameless | psh.

highschool!sunghoon x fem!reader

“there’s just inches between us”

synopsis: you and sunghoon are academic rivals, always going head to head.

warnings/content: written in third pov. cursing. not proofread. sexual tension. kind of suggestive? a little bit of idiots in love. sunghoon gets jealous.. and possessive? reader’s always late to class but somehow still has the best grade. (this one’s my favorite so far)

comments, likes, and reposts are appreciated :)

word count: 3.9k

༘˚⋆𐙚｡masterlist⋆.✧˚

a/n: fictional characters — dae (jungwon’s partner), min-su (heeseung’s partner), and ji-woo (jake’s partner).

current song playing: shameless by camila cabello

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

2:35 ──────────────|───── -1:04

another day, another struggle of being late to class.

y/n sighed as she checked her phone for the time.

[ 10:42am ] — it read. she felt her heart weigh down at the given time. “fucking late again..,” she groaned while speed walking her legs to class. an unusual amount of notifications blew up her silenced phone, indicating that her friends were questioning her whereabouts.

“come on, i gotta make it.” the girl harshly huffed in quiet and unsteady breaths. “mr. lee’s gonna kill me.”

in minutes, she found herself booming through the door with only deep breaths audible. [ 10:56am ] — her phone beamed.

“made it..,” she murmured through her harsh gasps for air.

“y/n, you made it!” yelled her friend, dae, who had widened eyes. “well to second period but..”

“y..yeah, hold on… give me a second.” her hands smacked down on his desk as her head lowered with exhaustion.

dae giggled at her state. “did you run here?”

“i basically did!” she yelled out, causing him and their two other friends — min-su and ji-woo to laugh as well.

“you’re who i have to beat and yet you can’t even get to class on time?” a voice from behind jerkily snorted.

y/n’s head instantly bolted up at that familiar, stupid tone she could easily recognize. “shut the hell up, park. you’re here more than me and yet your scores are lower, you really wanna mention who’s beating who?” she shot back with an intense glare.

her rival, sunghoon, only chuckled in a laugh at her words. “your score was lower than mine last test, second place. i don’t think you should be talking either.” he let a stupidly handsome smirk tug onto his lips.

she rolled her eyes, blood beginning to boil the more she looked at him. “who’s grade is higher hm? exactly.” the girl uttered, before turning her full back to him.

she heard him humor a chuckle before giving a faint ruffle to her hair. “we’ll see about that, nerd.” her hands went to the messy strands, huffing out an annoyed sigh as he left with a playful smile plastered.

her friends giggled at their relationship.

“girl, you and sunghoon need to get together already.” ji-woo chimed with a teasing grin.

y/n’s face morphed into disgust before furiously shaking her head. “are you crazy?? i could never be with someone like him.”

“your dynamic is cute though. a little disgusting, but cute.” min-su added in, shrugging her shoulders afterward.

“puh-lease. he hates me and i hate him, nothing could change that.”

dae’s brows slightly raised. “mhm… okay..,” he murmured.

“look, just because you guys are dating his friends, that doesn’t mean i should date him. he’s too much of an asshole anyway, who would even like him?”

she would. the girl was in complete denial, turning all her confused love into misdirected fuel for competition.

he was a distraction and she made sure she’d always see it that way. he couldn’t possibly differ her from the strong perspective she had of him being the hot, asshole nerd he was.

he was attractive, maybe a little too attractive; but his personality couldn’t agree with that. as her academic rival, he joked and played around with her, enjoying the little reactions he could get out of the cold, heartless girl.

but she couldn’t say she liked the teasings she’d receive from him. she could never admit to it because no matter how appealing he’d may be, he was still competition.

“well we’re not saying you should-“

ji-woo’s words were cut off by the entrance of mr. lee and their widely known friend, jay.

heads were turned and confused faces had morphed in onto each student.

“class, this is park jongseong from mr. yang’s class. he’s transferred to ours so his schedule can fit a few other classes, please welcome him,” he announced to everyone.

y/n’s eyes twinkled with delight at the sight of her friend who was awkwardly waving to his new peers. “hello..,” she heard him beam with a smile.

“you’re welcome to choose whichever empty seat you’d like. i’d suggest sitting next to either of my top two students, y/n,” mr. lee pointed to her, “or sunghoon. both are great choices to choose for catching up with our class.”

given that jay was a friend of both, he remained a little unsure before ultimately deciding to sit next to y/n.

he placed himself on the right side of her, giving sunghoon a clear shot of the two alarmingly close to each other. he let a puff of air slip by his lips as he subtly rolled his eyes.

“could’ve sat next to me but chose to sit next to that loser?” he silently fumed in his seat, forcing his attention away from the two who were conversing.

sunghoon didn’t know why but his heart was burning, aching almost. he’s never felt this way before. seeing how the girl he attempted to hate smile and smack his friend’s shoulders churned his stomach.

his jaw clenched and his ears fell deaf on everything else once he heard his rival call him — “park.”

“park?? park?” he guffawed with a loud, clear scoff in his throat. “she’s calling him park? my nickname she has for me??”

he angrily folded his arms as he tried to keep himself quiet. his mouth continued to spew out a few other words about her existence, along with some curse words added in for jay’s part before being interrupted — “why are you so loud?”

his head whipped to the right, meeting eyes with his friend, heeseung whose head was laying on the desk. “almost everyone can hear you, hoon. you’re showing that you like her a little too much.” the older male teased with a shit eating grin.

sunghoon exhaled a long breath before uttering a quiet — “shut up” to his friend. just then, a little note was thrown onto his desk, catching his attention.

his head cocked to the side in confusion before turning to the direction of where the paper came from.

in seconds, he found ji-woo’s boyfriend, jake, mouthing ‘open it.’

his hands crumbled it open and found the words — ‘are you jealous?’ — written on it.

hoon’s face immediately wore a frown as his brows furrowed back to his friend. in return, jake motioned for him to write back with his hand doing little scribbly lines.

he groaned out a soft sigh before complying to his friends words. ‘jealous about what?’ he wrote, faking his coy state to hide how he felt.

he gave a harsh toss back to jake, allowing the aussie to open it with a ‘pft’ leaving his lips afterward.

‘don’t act stupid, you’re looking sus ඞ’ — written back to sunghoon.

jake tried to throw it back to him but with such a bad angle toss, it ended up landing on jungwon’s desk.

he cocked a brow at the crumbled paper, opening it to find the two different sets of colored words — red from sunghoon and black from jake.

won turned to sunghoon with an eyebrow raise, giving a quick toss back to him, not before adding in his own input of course.

‘hoon’s jealous? about what? y/n? (⚆ ̫ ⚆)’ — colored blue to the tall boy.

sunghoon gave an annoyed grunt after reading his friend’s words. almost a little too harshly, his hands quickened in a pace before throwing it to jungwon once more.

‘i’m not jealous (ง •̀_•́)ง’— he rolled his eyes at his confirmation. “me? jealous?” he quietly scoffed in disbelief.

before he could toss it to jungwon’s desk, a snatch from the right was made to the paper, indicating that heeseung had caught on to their little game.

he crumbled it open, raising his brows and widening his eyes in amusement. sunghoon softly sighed as he watched the older male start writing as well. “great.. heeseung’s in on this now too.” he whispered under his breath.

min-su’s boyfriend finished his thought and gracefully threw it to jake. ‘he’s such a liar, i heard him just minutes ago talking about them (ఠꍓఠ)’ — heeseung wrote in green.

the younger boy silently laughed, widening his bright smile as he scribbled a few words back. ‘hoonie has a crush (ꗞ _ ꗞ)’ — he threw to y/n’s rival.

sunghoon opened the note before rolling his eyes and clenching his already-tense jaw. his hand wrote out his thoughts, pen undeniably denting the paper in frustration.

the passing of the note went around the four for a while, eventually reaching niki and sunoo as well; jay staying mindless to all of it because well, he was still talking to y/n.

the two conversing and turning to one another for a peer talk was the view from sunghoon’s perspective.

soon enough, mr. lee caught on as well, and just with luck on its side, sunghoon was the one to be seen with the passed note.

“one of my star students? really?” the teacher uttered in a slight scoff.

hoon’s head instantly lowered at the obvious disappointment present in his teacher’s tone. he’s never felt this sort of fizzling letdown before and he didn’t know how to take it.

“what? no, i-“ he tried to justify, only to be cut off by mr. lee — “i’m fairly disappointed, sunghoon. i expected more.”

everyone’s eyes were on him and all he could do was have an embarrassing amount of blush on his cheeks.

“you’ll serve detention for disrupting my class after school today. see me then.”

his head lowered even more, avoiding the judgmental stares received from his peers.

a snicker then came from the direction of where his rival was at. a poorly hidden snicker at that.

y/n softly snorted out laughter, hands attempting to cover her mouth but doing it very horribly with the fact that her worst enemy was just embarrassed.

sunghoon shot a glance to her, teary eyes narrowing at the girl before shifting to jay who was trying to quiet her down. there it was again. his heart painfully throbbed at how his friend interacted with her.

“well if you think it’s so funny y/n, you can join sunghoon for detention as well,” mr. lee spat to her.

almost immediately, her eyes widened at his words. “what?? but-“

“can’t wait,” he intruded with a push to his glasses. “would anyone else like to join my two students who i thought were my academic weapons before i return back to this lesson? no? okay, let’s proceed.”

min-su, ji-woo, dae, and the rest of the enhypen members avoided eye contact from the two

y/n fumed in her seat, grumbling out quiet curse words to herself as she rolled her eyes. “he gets in trouble but i somehow get sucked in? pft, asshole.” she mumbled, putting the blame on him even though it was her own fault.

from the back, hoon placed his hand over his mouth to cover himself from sneering a laugh. sure, he hated the fact that he was about to spend more time with the girl he hated (liar), but he felt satisfied that she got in just as much trouble as him. then the thought of having to see her again clouded his head, and it pissed him off once more.

karma really was a bitch.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

hours passed through the school day, and ms. choi was the last and final teacher.

with just a few minutes left, she caught everyone’s attention. ”your tests have finally been graded, so scores will be out soon. please look out for it on the bulletin board when you get the chance.” she said, giving an approval head nod seconds after the bell rang to head over.

students scattered around to the bulletin board, little pushes and shoves were made as most of y/n’s friend group rushed for their score.

“a 95! yes!” screamed ji-woo.

“92! i can live with this,” dae pointed out.

“93! holy shit, i passed!” min-su yelled.

y/n’s eyes widened. “97?? OH MY GOD! i actually passed! all that hard work paid off!” she shouted, jumping up and down in glee.

the academic group cheered together, giving hops in their designated stance all at once. they circled around, still in oblivious glee before y/n had come in contact with sunghoon’s score.

68.

her heart dropped a little for him. she immediately stopped her jumps and examined the paper.

eight rankings.. the boy went down by eight rankings, no longer being her competition for now.

she didn’t know how to feel. for as long as she could remember, they’d been going head to head for first place, and now she’s got the upper hand.

y/n was finally in the lead and for once, sunghoon wasn’t the runner up.

her eyes continuously looked over at his score. she couldn’t even lie, she’d be in distress if her score went low like that.

‘wait- no way i feel bad for him?? i should be happy that i’m finally rank one by myself.’ she thought, scoffing in disbelief with how she almost felt sympathetic for a jerk named sunghoon. but she’d understand him — the disappointed looks from his family, the eating guilt from doing bad, the expectations to never failing again — she knew what it was like.

and it was then that y/n shifted her attention from her friends to across the hall where he was. her heart instantly thumped in pity as she watched his strikingly, attractive face turn sour with every step he took.

the look of disappointment was clear in his facial expression, and she could see it herself. she almost wore a frown when watching him slowly disassociate from his conversation with the enhypen members — something that only she noticed.

the girl watched him excuse himself to leave, then it clicked into her head that she had detention with him.

“aw fuck!” she cursed aloud, catching her friend’s attentions.

“what?” asked ji-woo with a head tilt.

“she has detention with sunghoon,” jake chimed from behind, slinging an arm around his girlfriend.

min-su and dae snickered in laughs before y/n exhausted a groan. “shut up!” she yelled to them.

“have fun,” min-su’s boyfriend, heeseung, teased with a sly smile.

“you know she won’t baby,” his girl intervened, following his smile and mirroring the evil grin he had.

the single girl rolled her eyes after noticing their friends link arms with their significant others.

“it’ll be over soon, y/n. just ignore him!” dae yelled. “i mean you could talk to him but..,”

“babe, does it really look like she wants to talk to him?” jungwon asked, planting a soft peck onto his boyfriend’s cheeks afterwards.

“well i’d rather be in there than seeing all this couple stuff.” y/n refuted, huffing out a breath of air before leaving to detention in defeat.

she left the scene, hearing the remaining words of jay scream out — “i’m staying after school for a bit, so say hi if you see me!”

when she approached the class, she felt her heartbeats in her throat. she softly clenched her chest. ‘what is this feeling? pft, this is stupid,’ the girl thought while entering in.

“y/n, good to see you’ve finally arrived on time. take a seat right there,” mr. lee spoke with another push to his glasses.

a red color picked at her cheeks when she met eyes with her arch rival, sunghoon. being announced that she wasn’t late for once in front of the person she hated was way too humiliating.

but then she remembered that he got a low score and she suddenly felt better.

y/n sat across the room from him, making sure that she’d breathe no same air as him. she gave a soft sigh as she checked her phone.

[ 3:17pm ] — it read.

it’s gonna be a long while.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

about an hour passed, and detention was almost over.

the entire time the two were stuck in there, it remained silent. tension filled the air with every quiet glance they could get, every small glimpse they could steal from each other.

a few minutes later, and mr. lee had finally announced they could leave.

“i sincerely hope that my two star pupils won’t disrupt my class again, have a great rest of your day.” he murmured, lips firmly pressed together to emphasize disappointment.

y/n groaned out a sigh once the teacher had made his exit. “finally gonna go home,” she mumbled under her breath.

a clink from behind was made, indicating that sunghoon was still in the class. she gave a quick stink eye and though he couldn’t see it, she felt stupidly proud of herself.

she exited out before he could, head directly staring down onto her phone, causing her face to meet a very broad chest.

y/n shot her head up, expecting to see a stranger but instead saw a familiar face. “oh jay! you stayed!” she yelled.

his face beamed a bright smile before nudging her head. “yeah i had to for a class, how was it spending time with sunghoon?” his brows raised in amusement, enjoying how frustrated she got.

“shut up, park!” she cackled, sending a smile and a smack to him.

it was then that sunghoon’s feet were glued to the ground at the door frame. he seethed through the gaps of air in his teeth. there it was again; that stupid pounding in his heart.

the nickname ‘park’ was in a different sense of tone that he’s never heard before. a playful, sweet tone that set him off in the wrong way.

“park?” he unbelievably scoffed.

he watched the two interact from afar, hearing how they unintentionally flirted with each other was boiling his blood. jealous? no. can’t be.

“are you about to leave?” he heard jay ask her with his infamous smirk.

“yep, just waiting for my brother.” y/n beamed, showing him a bright smile that should’ve been for hoon.

the tall male rolled his eyes. she’s never that nice to him.

“i could take you home if you want?” jay asked, lips pressing into a line.

sunghoon’s heart dropped, sank even. taking her home? his arch rival? hell no.

he stepped into the scene with a firm jaw clench. arms folding in an irritated way, he spoke — “i’m gonna talk to y/n, no need to take her home.”

he stared down at jay, unintentionally burning holes into the boy who had accidentally got involved. no sense of indulging familiarity spoke in his eyes because all he could do was drag his enemy away with a tight grip on her wrist.

hoon brought her to a more secluded area, ignoring her confused whines to let go. he loosened his grip, letting go just to grasp her in his hands again. they dug into her shoulders as he pushed her back against the wall.

he furrowed his brows before keeping his gaze down, avoiding eye contact. y/n didn’t say anything as she stared at him in confusion.

only heavy breaths from him were heard before he angrily spat — “you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

his teeth gritted, digging his fingers deeper into her shoulders. he didn’t know why he was acting this way. he just couldn’t stand the fact that she was so close to jay after basically spending an entire day together.

y/n’s brows furrowed at his question. “what? what’s wrong with you? i was just talking to jay.”

hoon’s head picked up at her words, finally locking gaze in a softened look she’s never seen before. “does he mean anything to you?” he croaked in a husky voice.

“he’s just a friend. why are you even asking this? you’re not my boyfriend,” the girl scoffed with a slight smile. “you’d like to be though, wouldn’t you?”

“shut up,” he seethed in a stern expression. his softened eyes turned back to a glare. y/n quickly caught onto the pent up frustration in it, hinting that his test score added in on his outburst. “you don’t know how badly i wanted to pull you away from him today, how badly i should’ve shown him that you’re not his.”

sunghoon’s face inched closer to hers, noses delicately coming in contact. she could feel his breath on hers and all she could do was feel physically weak.

“i should’ve huh?” he uttered in a scoff, trailing his gaze from her lips and back to her eyes. “would you have liked that?”

their lips were close to connecting, grazing against each others. she’d pull in but he’d pull away, and when he’d pull in, she’d pull away as well.

✩ ‘i want you to give in, i want you to give in’ ✩

tension raised and so did their body heat. y/n’s hand was firmly pushed on his chest but she didn’t actually push him away, she just liked having the chance to have her hand lay there. she felt her heartbeats get louder within each second, chest heaving at how close he’s been getting.

✩ ‘there is tension between us’ ✩

“this is not like you, sunghoon.” her brows furrowed more. “you can’t be acting like this.”

“i can’t?” he cracked with a shit eating grin. “and why can’t i?”

his head cocked to the side before questioning with his eyes. “isn’t it better for us to act like this than us acting like enemies?” he inched his lips closer once more, letting just heavy breaths be audible to ears.

✩ ‘i just wanna give in’ ✩

y/n’s hands finally pushed against his chest. “control yourself, park. you’re not my boyfriend.” she repeated, face becoming stern.

“control myself?” he laughingly mocked. “you don’t know how much i’ve been doing that in front of you. i’ve been holding myself back this entire time from doing more, and you want me to control myself, now?”

✩ ‘it’s been a secret for the longest time’ ✩

sunghoon’s grip tightened around her shoulders once more, pressing her harder against the wall.

“look at me, pretty girl.” he spoke, letting one of his hands hold onto her chin.

y/n gulped. her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach at the sudden name change. she’s never seen this side of him before. it was new and unfamiliar, and she liked it.

✩ ‘i need you more than i want to’ ✩

hesitantly, she let her eyes fall on him.

he jerkily smiled, enjoying how his academic rival had now fallen under his touch.

“control myself?” sunghoon restated. “fine, i’ll control myself.”

he quickly backed away, grip loosening and letting go. he watched her fall into ease, hands clenching onto her chest to stop her rapid heartbeats.

a sly smirk curled onto his lips as he raised his brows. “see you tomorrow, nerd.” he uttered, walking away soon afterward so he could have the last say.

y/n stayed still in her stance. her sense of touch almost went numb as she tried to process all of what happened.

she suddenly felt her phone buzzing, indicating that her friend group was calling. her brows pinched together before declining the call, and texting that she’d join when she’d get home.

a breath of air left her mouth once she found a text notification from her rival, sunghoon.

park 👎🏼:

Let’s talk soon, pretty girl.

I don’t think I could ever control myself around you.

nothing would ever be the same between the two again.

★・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・★

[merakiui]

Rollo who never saw the point in oral, he thinks, it was intended for the mans dick to go into a pussy, why would you ever misdirected gods course?

Until has you sucking his cock and all his viewpoints change. EVEN BETTER, HE EATS YOU OUT AND SUDDENLY HE CAN’T STOP??? You’re so overstimulated, even crying. Even as he devours you he doesn’t stop to speak, he talks through it, sending vibrations to your core. When he’s done…? Suddenly, he prays his thanks about finding something so pure in delicious in you.

You… you’ll let him have another taste of heaven again won’t you…?

- 📝🎨 anon (The Rollo brainrot is going EXTRA hard this week)

ROLLO NUMBER ONE PUSSY EATER AT NOBLE BELL??!?!?!?!?! 📝🎨 anon, I am planting a smooch on your brain because it is SO GALAXY. Omg Rollo having his entire world shattered when he realizes the appeal of oral.... 😵‍💫 it's already enticing enough having you on your knees, your soft mouth wrapped around the head of his cock. But then it's even better to bury his face between your legs and lap at your slick folds, to feel your fingers in his scalp as you hold on tight or try to push him away...... orz

He's strict and goes on about how it would be unbecoming to break his schedules just to give into temptation, but his restraint is only so thick. >_< it snaps easily, and so maybe there have been times where the student council meeting room has its windows left open to air out a certain,,,,,, stuffiness. :)

He's just so addicted to your taste and the way your body reacts. The way you cry and whine and beg him to give you a break. Eating you out when you're menstruating....... he's a Freak behind that handkerchief of his, but you're already well aware of that.

Omegaverse with him would be absolutely insane because in my mind nothing gets him harder than your smell,,,, do you see the vision!!!

[stellarbit]

The Batch Comfort You

Word Count: 2.1k Pairing: One excerpt for each of the boys Warnings: Nada Anon requested the Batch reacting to you saying, "I'm so stupid! Seriously, how can you stand to be around someone like this?" So here we go

You'd made another mistake, adding to the already colossal pile of ones you'd made recently. And worse, your whole team lay witness to the most recent. Upon landing for refuel, everyone besides you took the opportunity to stretch their legs. Everyone else except for one.

"You shouldn't let it get to you." They said, seeing that you were clearly still upset. "Just let it go."

In a burst of misdirected frustration you snapped at them, "I'm so stupid. Seriously, how can you stand to be around someone like this?!" You stormed off towards the ship's exit.

Tech

Tech watched you slump against the Marauder’s step. Your elbows were resting on your knees while your head hung between your shoulders. A quick shake ran through you, a suppressed heave marked only by the fast motion. 

Gripping his datapad tighter, Tech considered what to do. This was an irregular response from you and not one he necessarily knew how to navigate. But he was certain of one thing.

Tucking his datapad away, Tech descended the stairs and took up a seat next to you.

You were quick to duck your head into your hands, but not quick enough for Tech to miss the wet streaks staining your face. Turning his eyes forward, Tech afforded you what little privacy the situation allowed.

The technician rubbed his hands over his thighs, preparing himself one last time before saying, “It is not unusual for one to become frustrated with one’s flaws and mistakes.”

One might describe that sound you made as a choked laugh, others may have called it a sob. Which it was, Tech could not say for sure.

“Flaws and mistakes.” You parroted in a cracked voice. “Two things I’m full of.”

Tech glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “Yes. As all humans are.” Your answer, another strangled sound, gave Tech pause. Running his hands over his thighs in another soothing motion, he clutched his knees. His attempts at helping were clearly doing the opposite. 

Maybe if he tried another approach… “By chance, do you know the definition of ‘stupid?’” Tech asked.

On an exasperated sigh, you lifted your head to finally turn your tear stained, blotchy face to Tech. “Lacking knowledge and making mistakes.”

Tech made a thoughtful hum and pivoted slightly to face you. “You are partially correct. However the complete definition would be ‘having a lack of intelligence or common sense.’”

You blinked before giving an empty shrug and scoffing. “How is that any different?”

Tech bit the inside of his cheek, this topic was quickly putting him out of his depth. But he wanted to help - to see you happy and sure of yourself again.

Clearing his throat, Tech looked away momentarily as he asked. “Do you find me intelligent?”

“Of course.” You replied without pause. 

Turning to face you again, Tech hummed, “Well, I am currently struggling to comfort you at this moment.” He rolled one shoulder in a half shrug. “Some might surmise that is a result of lacking common sense and, by definition, that would make me stupid.”

“Tech you are not stupid.” Your tone was defensive, almost offended that Tech would insinuate such a thing.

“Neither are you.” He retaliated.

You blinked once, then twice, and a wobbly smile cracked to the surface. “Thank you, Tech.”

Tech smiled, patting your shoulder before using you as support to stand up. “It is something I am happy to remind you of in the future, should you need it.”

Wrecker

Wrecker trailed after you, taking steps two at a time to cut your path short. You stood on the last step, eyes cast downwards and shoulders shaking. Wrecker’s heart ached as he realized you were trying so hard not to cry.

“Hey, hey.” He said as took your hand in his. As he feared, even your hand was shaking. Wrecker knelt to the ground, gently guiding you down with him. “What’s all this all of the sudden?”

You blinked, attempting to keep back the tears, but it didn’t stop the sob to come. “I’m sorry.” Your voice warbled. Shaking your head, you kept your gaze lowered. “I can’t even keep it together.”

The large man extended a hand to tilt your chin up with a knuckle, but you still refused to meet his gaze. Wrecker took his knuckle and brushed away a few tears only for more to take their place.

“You’re not stupid.” Wrecker said firmly.

Unconvinced, you whispered back, “You’re my friend- you have to say that.”

“Oh, no I don’t.” Wrecker twisted on his heals, pivoting to get in your sights and finally pull your watery attention to him. When you met his gaze a wide grin spread across Wrecker’s face complimented by a wink. “I’m saying it because I know it.” Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Wrecker got to his feet and extended a hand, palm up, to you

“Besides,” Wrecker started saying in a light tone, wiggling his fingers in invitation to you. Rolling your eyes, you conceded and placed your hand in his. Wrecker immediately lifted you to your feet. “I like you ‘cause of the way you make me feel.” He stood on his toes to playfully whisper, “And for how pretty you are.”

You scoffed hard, giving him a light push back. The blush his compliment gave you only made your face all the redder. “Well that doesn’t make me feel better. You’re half-blind, Wrecker.”

Wrecker chuckled triumphantly. “Ha! There it is.”

“What?”

Using both hands, Wrecker held the side of your face, still damp from crying, and touched the corners of your mouth. “Your smile.”

Again, his comment made your stomach flutter. You hadn’t even realized you were smiling.

Echo

Echo caught you by your elbow, pulling you back to meet his eye.“Oh no you don’t.” He said in an almost scolding tone.

“Let go.” You grunted as you tried to pull away, but Echo held fast. Your eyes darted between his hold on you and his eyes. 

Turning you to face him fully, Echo pressed on, “You can’t give up every time it gets tough.”

You recoiled. “I’m not giving up.” You were quickly going from upset to offended and Echo could see it. The situation didn’t call for the militant approach. 

Echo sighed, releasing you as he did. “A bad situation got the better of you and you call yourself stupid?” The cyborg gave a disapproving shake of his head. “That’s giving up on yourself.” His call out instantly deflated what little energy you had left. Watching your shoulders drop, Echo thought to himself, Softer, soldier. 

Coming to your side, Echo placed a hand on the small of your back, mumbling softly. “C’mon.” Guiding you into a chair near the nav screens, he took a seat across from you.

“Listen,” Echo’s voice was softer than usual. He leaned in to touch your knee, continuing, “Not everything is going to go well, that’s just a fact of life. But all you can do is learn and move on. So, stop beating yourself up so much.”

Somehow he was riling you up further. It was as if you were offended he would even try to challenge you on this. You leaned in sharply, hissing, “I do move on. Then I mess up and I move on and mess up again. And on and on I go with a trail of fuck ups behind me.”

“There are wins in there too.” Echo challenged, firming his grip on your knee. His hazel eyes darted between yours, his features softening as he chuckled, “Your enemies better be glad for all this self doubt of yours.” He patted your knee and leaned back in his chair.

“Why?” You asked hesitantly.

“Because if you believed in yourself half as much as I believe in you, there’s nothing you couldn’t do.”

Warmth bloomed in your chest. Your eyes fell to where his hand had been, considering what he just said. Your stomach flipped over when you met his eyes again. “You really mean that?”

“I really mean that.” He’d barely gotten the words out when your arms made it around his neck. Echo sat still, hands flared at his sides, as you nestled into you.

“I can do that.” You said into his shoulder.

Echo softly smiled, allowing his hands to rest on your back. “Do what?”

He felt you smile into his neck as you said, “Believe in me like you do.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Echo hummed, leaning his head against yours.

Crosshair

“Oh, get over it.” Crosshair’s snarky tone stopped you mid step. Turning back, you watched him prop out a foot and put a toothpick between his lips. “Something went wrong. It happens. Moping about solves nothing..”

Your lower lip wobbled as you took him in. Tossing a hand in his direction you said, “You are good at everything you do. You’ve no idea what it’s like to be like me.”

A snarl curled Crosshair’s lip. The reaction wasn’t meant for you, but for whoever made you believe you were less. He rolled the toothpick in his mouth to one side before removing it completely. 

Stepping forward, Crosshair pointed the toothpick at you and drawled, “Stop the dramatics, you’re fine the way you are.”

The realization that Crosshair was complimenting you pricked you with shame. You must look pretty pathetic for Crosshair to be pitying you. Your lips pressed into a tight line in an attempt to hold your composure. “You don’t mean that.”

Crosshair’s eyes momentarily widened. He was used to you fighting and your strong spirit. Hearing you sound so defeated - so worn down - pulled at something in him.  He closed the gap between you and muttered. “I don’t lie.”

His sudden proximity caught you off guard and brought with it the smell of mint and gun oil. You couldn’t control the reflexive inhale you took. If nothing else, he did a fine job of distracting you. You were so distracted you flinched when he rested a hand on your head. 

Gently, he stroked his hand over your hair. “Everyone has their moments.” A soft smirk perked his lips as he added, “Even me.”

“You’re being awfully nice.” You said softly, sounding more breathless than you had intended

Crosshair’s smirk grew. Snorting, he flicked you in the forehead. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

Wincing as you rubbed your forehead you asked, “Then you mean it?”

Groaning, Crosshair rolled his eyes and pulled you by the chin. “I won’t say it again.” He said gruffly. In a lighter tone he continued, “You are not stupid. You’re fine the way you are.”

The sniper paused, watching as your words sunk in. He was starting to enjoy seeing these new expressions. He just needed one more push. “Got it, sweetheart?”

His words sent a chill up your spine. A satisfied smirk settled on him as heat singed your cheeks and ears. “Much better.”

Hunter

Hunter let you go, but kept an eye on you as you made for the outskirts of camp. He knew what it was like to be mad with yourself and he knew sometimes a little space helps. Eventually you did make your way back inside.

You checked for Hunter, hoping to sneak over to the fresher without his notice. Until you were toweling off your face, you thought you’d succeeded. Until you lowered your towel, found Hunter standing a few paces away and nearly jumped out of your skin.

He raised his hands, one holding a warm cup of caf and the other holding a ration bar. “Easy there.” He chuckled warmly.

A flush crept up your neck as your earlier shame reared its head again. Twisting the towel between your hands, you nervously laughed out an apology. Nodding to the items he held, you asked, “Afternoon snack?”

Hunter didn’t answer, but smiled at you and nodded towards the bunks as he stepped back towards them. For a moment you forgot your embarrassment and followed Hunter to the bottom bunk. He put the food in your hand and gestured for you to sit. Once down, Hunter sat right up against you and put the warm cup in your free hand.

You stared at your now full hands for a few blinks before looking back at Hunter with more confusion. With a soft laugh he wrapped an arm around you. “Feeling better?”

You silently nodded in response for fear of your voice cracking.

Hunter seemed pleased, having contemplated during your absence how best to comfort you. Not one for many words, he resorted to simple gestures. “Decaf,” he mentioned, tapping the rim of your mug. “A warm drink and a bite to eat always seem to help.” He began gently rubbing your arm in a comforting rhythm.

“Hey.” Hunter’s voice dropped to a softer tone, “You’re not stupid. You do your best everyday. You might not see it, but we all do.” He gave your arm a light squeeze and added, “So, have a little more faith in yourself.”

Your eyes fell to the caf and ration bar again, your grip on the cup tightening. “And what if I keep failing?”

Hunter shook his head, “That kind of thinking doesn’t do anyone any good.” He leaned forward to catch your eyes. “All we can do is keep going and try to be better.”

Clearing the lump forming in your throat and took a sip of the warm drink. Hunter was right, the caf did help.

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