#hope you have as much fun reading this as i did writing it!

[kannady]

rendezvous

summary: sylus has realised he's real, but everything around him isn't. but what happens when he decides to kidnap you from the real world?

a/n: as promised here's the long ass second and last part. honestly writing smth as long as this is fun and all, but rechecking it is a pain in the ass. so please ignore any errors. i hope you like reading it as much as i loved writing it. once again thankyou @tofufairy for this wonderful idea! <3

word count: 7.7k

genre: sylus, sylus smut, smut, love and deepspace, sexual tensions, slight stalking, cunnilingus, oral (female receiving), p in v, creampie, sexual content, nsfw. MINORS DNI!

The last bite of chocolate lingered on your tongue as your gaze drifted to the exposed skin of Sylus' throat. The undone buttons of his shirt revealed the sharp cut of his collarbone, the smooth plane of his chest, and you caught yourself wondering if he’d taste like the wine they’d shared or something darker, something just his own.

Then his fingers flexed around his fork, and you realized that he’d noticed.

You jerked your eyes away, clearing your throat nervously. "You promised you'd answer all my questions," you said, gripping the edge of the table like an anchor.

Sylus set his fork down slowly. Then, without a word, he rose and crossed the room to an old record player tucked in the corner. The vinyl hissed as the needle dropped, and a slow, sultry melody filled the air.

He turned back to you, hand outstretched.

"Dance with me," he said, voice rough, "and I will."

Your pulse stuttered.

For a breath, you hesitated. Did you want answers or did you just want him? The way his fingers twitched, impatient, told you he already knew.

You took his hand.

His palm was warm, his grip firm as he pulled you flush against him. One hand settled at the small of your back, pressing just enough to make your breath catch. The other tangled with yours, his thumb tracing slow circles over your knuckles.

"Where are we?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Sylus didn’t answer immediately. His gaze stayed locked onto yours, intense, unreadable, as if weighing how much truth you could handle. The music swelled around you, the heat of his body seeping through your clothes.

Finally, he spoke.

"You could say I brought you with me inside the game," he murmured, fingers tightening on your waist.

It seemed as if those words shattered your world. Because that wasn’t an answer, it was a confession.

And you weren’t sure you cared. Not when his lips were so close, not when the hand on your back slid lower.

The game had never felt like this.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure you wanted to go back.

The music still played, his arms still held you close, but everything felt suddenly too sharp, too real. The warmth of his hands, the scent of him, the weight of his confession hanging between you.

Your fingers tightened on his shoulder, nails digging in just slightly, as if testing whether he’d flinch. He didn’t.

"Why?" you demanded, voice trembling. "Why bring me here?"

Sylus didn’t hesitate. "Because you’re real." His thumb stroked the curve of your hip, slow, deliberate. "And none of this is."

A shudder ran through you. "How did you even leave the game? How is any of this possible?"

"For you," he said simply, as if that explained everything.

Your breath hitched. "Millions of people play this game. If you could just, just step out of it, why didn’t anyone notice you were gone? Why only come to me?"

He laughed then, low and dark, the sound curling around you like smoke. "You really don’t know?" His grip tightened, pulling you impossibly closer until your chest brushed his with every breath. "I wanted you with me. I wanted something real to live for in this miserable world."

The admission should have thrilled you. Instead, it made your stomach twist.

"But-" You faltered, voice trembling. "You don’t even know me. You like the game’s protagonist. Not... not me."

Sylus went utterly still.

Then, abruptly, he stopped dancing. His hands dropped from your waist, and he stepped back, his expression hardening into something unreadable. For a long moment, he just stared at you, crimson eyes burning with an intensity that made a shiver run down your spine.

"You think," he said slowly, each word deliberate, "after everything I’ve done, after tearing myself out of that godforsaken code, reshaping this world just to hold you, that I don’t know exactly who you are?"

You opened your mouth to protest, to demand more, but he cut you off with a sharp gesture.

"You’re not listening," he said, voice dangerously quiet. "I didn’t bring the protagonist here. I brought you."

The implication hung in the air, heavy and undeniable.

He’d chosen you. Not the game. Not the story. You.

And suddenly, the truth of it was terrifying.

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, sharp and laced with disbelief.

"Wait, so you did this out of greed?" You took a step back, the warmth of his touch still lingering on your skin like a brand. "You were... lonely, so you just dragged me here?"*

Sylus froze. His brows furrowed slightly, lips parting as if he’d been struck. For the first time since you’d met him in the game, in this impossible place, he looked lost.

"You don’t even love me," you continued, voice cracking under the weight of the realization. "You love her. The protagonist. The MC. The one written into your story, the one you’ve always smiled at, always fought for. Am I just– what, a replacement? Because you wanted something real to hold onto?"

The air between you grew heavy, suffocating. The record had long since stopped playing, leaving only the sound of your uneven breaths.

Sylus didn’t move.

Then, slowly, something in his expression shifted. His sharp features softened, the usual smirk gone, replaced by something raw and unguarded. His crimson eyes, always so calculating, so knowing, glistened under the dim light, as if your words had carved something out of him.

"You think," he began, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it, "that I don’t know the difference?"

You swallowed hard.

He took a step forward, then another, until you could see the flecks of crimson in his irises, the faint tremor in his jaw. "You think I spent months watching you, learning the way you bite your lip when you’re concentrating, the way your nose scrunches when you laugh at something stupid, the way you always pick the selfless choices even when it costs you, just to replace you with some scripted fantasy?"

"You think," he began, voice rough, "that I could love a script? A few lines of code designed to make players like you fall for me?" He took a step closer, and you swore you could hear his heartbeat or maybe it was yours, pounding in your ears. "Every word I said to her was for you. Every smile, every touch. Yours."

His hand lifted, hovering near your cheek as if afraid to touch. "You called my name through a screen. You stayed up late just to hear my voice. You-" His voice broke. His eyes were glistening. "You made me real. Not her. Never her."

A tear slipped free, yours or his, you couldn’t tell. His thumb caught it before it could fall, his touch achingly gentle.

"So tell me," he whispered, "who else was I supposed to love?"

Your chest ached.

"I don’t love her," he murmured, his hand lifting, hovering near your face as if afraid to touch. "I never did. Because she isn’t real. But you-" His thumb brushed your cheek, so gently it made your breath catch. "You’re the most real thing I’ve ever known."

The confession hung between you, fragile and terrifying.

You wanted to believe him.

But the doubt still clawed at your ribs. "Then why didn’t you just talk to me? In the real world? Why this?" 

You gestured around at the prison he’d built.

Sylus exhaled, long and slow. "Because out there, I don’t exist." His fingers curled into a fist at his side. "And in here? I can be someone worth loving."

The raw honesty in his voice shattered something inside you. Because now, finally, you understood.

He hadn’t taken you out of selfishness.

He’d done it out of hope.

And tha was so much worse.

Your vision blurred as hot tears welled up, spilling over before you could stop them. You took a shaky step back, the warmth of his touch still seared into your skin. "Sylus, this isn't right..." The words came out broken, barely above a whisper.

The moment they left your lips, something in his face shattered.

"Why are you blaming me for being real?" His voice cracked like ice under pressure. "For having feelings? For loving you?" Each word landed like a blow, his usually composed features twisted in anguish you'd never seen before. Not in the game, not in all your time here.

You shook your head, another tear tracing down your cheek. "You don't love me, Sylus-"

"I saw you in her. Always." He closed the distance between you in one swift movement, his hands coming up to cradle your face with surprising gentleness despite their trembling. "I've always loved you." His thumbs brushed away your tears, the leather of his gloves surprisingly soft against your skin. The scent of winter mint and something uniquely him.

"How do I make you believe me, sweetie?" His voice dropped to a whisper, his forehead nearly touching yours. "I wish I could show you what lengths I'm willing to go for you."

Your breath hitched as memories flashed through your mind. The library with its impossibly rare books, the bedroom crafted to your exact tastes down to the smallest detail, the way he'd remembered your favorite shade of pink. The way his eyes lit up when you laughed, the care he took in preparing every meal, the piano music drifting through the halls.

But then the darker thoughts crept in. The way he'd taken you from your world without asking. The way he'd watched you for months through a screen. 

You could feel his breath mingling with yours, see the desperate hope in those crimson eyes that usually held nothing but cool confidence. The realization hit you like a physical blow, he was terrified. Terrified you'd reject him. Terrified that after everything, it still wouldn't be enough.

The conflict tore at you. Part of you wanted to melt into his touch, to believe every word. Another part screamed that none of this was normal, that love shouldn't come with kidnapping.

But when his thumb brushed your lower lip so gently it made your knees weak, when you saw the unshed tears glistening in his eyes. Eyes you'd stared at through a screen for so many lonely nights. You couldn't bring yourself to pull away.

Because the most terrifying realization of all?

Part of you wanted to stay.

The moment stretched between you.You could see the intention in Sylus’ eyes as he leaned in, the way his lashes lowered slightly, the way his breath hitched just before he closed that final inch of distance. His lips were parted ever so slightly, and you caught the faintest scent of the dark coffee he’d been drinking earlier, mingled with something warmer, something him.

But at the last second, you turned your face away.

His lips brushed your cheek instead, so soft it might have been imagined. He froze. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. You could feel the heat of him so close, the tension in his body, the way his fingers flexed against your jaw as if fighting the urge to pull you back.

Then, slowly, he straightened.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. Your pulse roared in your ears, your skin still tingling where he’d almost kissed you. You wanted it. God, you wanted it. But the weight of everything. The mansion, the game, the way he’d taken you here, sat heavy in your chest, a knot of fear and longing tangled together so tightly you couldn’t separate them.

Sylus didn’t move.

You could feel his gaze on you, burning, waiting. He didn’t push. Didn’t demand. Didn’t try to convince you again. He just stood there, his presence a silent question, his hands now limp at his sides.

A floorboard creaked somewhere in the mansion, the sound unnaturally loud in the silence. The scent of the candles, vanilla and something smokier, like sandalwood, clung to the air, suddenly overwhelming. Your fingers trembled at your sides, and you clenched them into fists, nails biting into your palms.

Still, you didn’t speak. Still, you didn’t look at him.

And then a quiet exhale. The barest rustle of fabric as he stepped back.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you heard his footsteps retreating, measured and slow, as if giving you every possible chance to call him back. The distance between you grew, the warmth of his body fading, leaving you cold in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

Only when the sound of his footsteps completely disappeared did you finally lift your head.

The dining room was empty.

The candles still flickered, casting long, wavering shadows across the untouched dishes. The record had long since ended, the needle stuck in a silent, endless loop. Your reflection in the polished tabletop looked pale, wide-eyed, a stranger staring back at you.

You sank into the nearest chair, your legs suddenly unsteady.

What had you just done?

Part of you ached to run after him, to take back the unspoken rejection. You remembered the way his voice had cracked when he’d said I’ve always loved you, the rawness in his eyes when he’d realized you didn’t believe him. He’d spent his entire existence in a world that wasn’t real, surrounded by characters who weren’t real, loving a protagonist who wasn’t real, until he’d seen you.

And you’d turned him away.

Your fingers traced the edge of the table, the wood smooth beneath your touch. The mansion was so quiet now. No distant piano music, no footsteps, no low murmur of his voice. Just the oppressive silence.

You thought of the library, of the way he’d watched you as you’d pulled books from the shelves, his expression soft in a way the game had never shown. You thought of your bedroom, of every little detail he’d remembered, every trinket he’d placed there just to see you smile. You thought of the way he’d looked at you tonight, like you were the only real thing in his world.

And you’d walked away.

A sound escaped you, half laugh, half sob, as you pressed your palms into your eyes. You were such a coward. You wanted him. You ached for him. But the fear, the fear of what it meant, of what he’d done to bring you here, of the fact that none of this should be possible, had won.

The clock on the mantel ticked loudly, each second stretching into an eternity.

You stayed there for what felt like hours, staring at the untouched glass of wine in front of you, the liquid long gone still. The candles burned lower, their glow dimming as wax pooled at their bases.

And Sylus didn’t return.

Eventually, you pushed yourself up, your body heavy with exhaustion. The halls of the mansion stretched before you, dark and empty. Your footsteps echoed as you made your way back to your room, the door clicking shut behind you.

The bed was still perfectly made, the pillows fluffed, the blankets turned down, as if waiting for you. As if he’d known you’d come back here alone.

You curled into yourself beneath the covers, staring at the canopy above.

Somewhere, in this impossible house, in this impossible world, Sylus was alone too.

And for the first time since you’d arrived, you wondered which of you was more trapped.

The hours stretched endlessly as you lay there, the plush comforter beneath you suddenly feeling too soft, too suffocating. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, painting silver streaks across the ceiling. You traced them with your eyes, your mind racing through every moment since you'd arrived in this impossible place.

Your favorite fictional character had somehow stepped out of the game. For you.

The thought alone should have thrilled you. It had, at first. The library with its rare books, the bedroom crafted to your exact tastes, the way he'd remembered every little detail about you, your favorite color, the way you took your coffee, the anime merch you'd never been able to afford. He'd given you everything you'd ever wanted, everything you'd daydreamed about during lonely nights scrolling through your phone.

And now?

Now you'd pushed him away.

You rolled onto your side, fingers clutching the pillow beneath your head. Had you ruined everything? The way he'd looked at you, like you were the only real thing in his world, flashed behind your eyes. The rawness in his voice when he'd said I've always loved you. The way he'd stopped when you turned away, even though he could have easily forced the kiss, could have made you stay.

But he hadn't.

Because despite everything, despite the fact that he'd taken you here, he'd still given you a choice. A shaky breath escaped you.

Even if you wanted to go back now, you'd need his help. The realization settled heavily in your chest. You had no idea how this world worked, no idea how to return to your own. The thought should have terrified you, and it did, a little. But beneath the fear, there was something else.

Did you even want to go back?

Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Right now, all you wanted was to see him. To talk to him. To feel him, the warmth of his hands, the solidness of his chest beneath your palms, the way his breath hitched when you got too close.

Your gaze flicked to the ornate clock on the nightstand. 3:17 AM.

What was he doing right now?

Was he lying awake too, staring at some ceiling of his own, thinking of you? Was he in that grand library, fingers trailing over the spines of books he'd collected just for you? Or was he at the piano again, playing that same melancholy melody, his silver hair catching the moonlight like frost?

The thought of him alone, hurting because of you, made your chest ache.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you pushed back the covers and stood. The floor was cool beneath your bare feet as you treaded to the door, your pulse thrumming in your throat.

You had to find him. You needed to.

The hallway stretched before you, dark and silent. Somewhere in this mansion, Sylus was waiting. And this time, you wouldn't turn away.

***

Sylus sat on the edge of his bed, his body rigid, his hands clenched into tight fists on his knees. The room around him was dark, the only light coming from the pale moonlight filtering through the half-drawn curtains. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He just stared blankly at the opposite wall, as if he could erase the last few hours from existence if he focused hard enough.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

The way you had looked at him, like he was something terrifying, something wrong. The way you had turned your face away when he’d tried to kiss you. The way your voice had trembled when you’d accused him of being greedy, of dragging you into his world without a second thought for what you wanted.

And you had been right.

A hot tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it. Then another. He didn’t wipe them away. He just let them fall, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

Pathetic.

He had spent so long watching you from behind the screen, memorizing every little thing that made you smile, every detail that made you you. He had built this entire world for you, crafted every room, every book, every piece of clothing to perfection, all because he had been lonely. Because he had wanted you to look at him the way you’d looked at the screen.

But he had never stopped to think about what you might feel.

He had been selfish. Desperate. Greedy.

A broken laugh escaped him, harsh and humorless. He had spent his entire existence inside a game, surrounded by scripted lines and predetermined choices, and yet this was the first time he had ever truly felt real. And now he had ruined it.

Sylus leaned back against the headboard, pressing his palms against his eyes. He didn’t want to think about you. Didn’t want to imagine the fear in your expression, the way you had flinched away from him.

But he couldn’t help it. Because even now, even after everything, he still loved you, still wanted you.

And that was the worst part.

***

Your bare feet tingled across the cold marble floors as you stepped through the darkened halls. The mansion felt too vast, too silent, every corner and empty room a reminder of the distance you'd put between you.

You checked the library first, nothing. The piano in the garden sat untouched, its keys cold. Even the kitchen, where he'd prepared every meal with such care, stood empty.

Then, at last, you pushed open the door to what must have been his bedroom.

Oh. Shit.

You froze, one foot still hovering over the threshold. You should have knocked. What if he..

But then you saw him.

Sylus lay half-propped against the headboard, his silver-white hair messed up from restless fingers, his lashes casting delicate shadows over his cheeks. Moonlight spilled across him, gilding the sharp angles of his face, the curve of his parted lips. He looked younger like this, softer. The usual sharpness in his features was smoothed by sleep.

You held your breath as you crept closer, the plush carpet muffling your steps. For a moment, you just stood there, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. Then, before you could second-guess yourself, you climbed onto the bed, knees sinking into the mattress as you crawled toward him.

He didn't stir.

Up close, you could see the faint furrow between his brows, the way his fingers twitched slightly against the sheets. Had he cried himself to sleep? The thought sent an ache through your chest.

Slowly, so slowly, you reached out.

Your fingertips brushed his cheek first, warm, so warm, the stubble rough against your skin. He exhaled softly at the contact but didn't wake. Emboldened, you traced the bridge of his nose, the curve of his bottom lip, marveling at the reality of him. The game had never captured the way his breath hitched when you touched him, the way his skin flushed slightly under your fingers.

Real. He was real.

And in this moment, with the moonlight painting him in shades of silver and blue, with the quiet intimacy of his sleeping form beneath your hands, you couldn't remember why you'd ever pushed him away.

Your thumb brushed over his lip one last time and crimson eyes flicked open.

You froze.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Then Sylus's hand came up, his fingers wrapping gently around yours. Not pulling away. Just holding.

"Still doubting I'm real?" he murmured, voice rough with sleep.

Your breath hitched as crimson eyes locked onto yours, and for a second, panic spiked through you. Why did he have to wake up right now? You jerked your hand back, but his grip on your wrist stayed firm, not tight enough to trap you, but enough to make your pulse stutter.

You looked away first, your face burning. The room suddenly felt too small, the moonlight too bright, the silence between you too loud. What were you even supposed to say? Sorry I was creeping on you while you slept? Sorry I pushed you away earlier?

When you dared to glance back, Sylus was still watching you, his head tilted slightly, that infuriatingly knowing glint in his eyes. He didn’t speak. Just waited.

So you took a shaky breath and let the words spill out.

"Sylus, I’m sorry." Your voice was barely above a whisper. "I-I don’t know what you must have been going through all this time. Trapped in a world that wasn’t real, surrounded by people who weren’t real. And then I... I acted like you were the one who didn’t understand." You swallowed hard. "Maybe I was being too hesitant. Too scared."

Still, he said nothing. Just listened, his thumb absently stroking the inside of your wrist, sending little shocks of warmth up your arm.

"It’s just-" You huffed a frustrated laugh, your free hand gesturing vaguely. "None of this is supposed to be possible. You’re not supposed to be real. And yet here you are, and you… you know me. Better than anyone. And that’s terrifying."

Your voice cracked. "Because what if I’m not who you think I am? What if you’re disappointed?" The words hung between you, raw and vulnerable.

Sylus didn’t immediately respond. He just studied you, his gaze tracing every flicker of emotion on your face. Then, slowly, he tugged you closer, until your knees brushed against his thigh.

"Sweetie," he murmured, his voice rough with something that made your chest tighten. "Do you really think I’d go through all this trouble for someone I didn’t know?"

His free hand came up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. "You’re not a character in a game. You’re messy. You’re stubborn. You overthink everything." His lips quirked. "And I like that. All of it."

You let out a shaky breath, your shoulders dropping. "So... you’re not mad?"

"Oh, I’m furious," he responded. Then, softer, "But not at you."

His fingers slid into your hair, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to meet his gaze. "I should’ve given you time. Should’ve asked instead of just taking you." His thumb traced your bottom lip. "But I’m selfish. And impatient. And I wanted you here."

The admission should have scared you. Instead, it just made your heart ache.

"I’m still scared," you admitted quietly.

Sylus hummed, leaning in until his forehead rested against yours. "Good," he murmured. "So am I."

Your forehead pressed against his, breaths mingling in the narrow space between your lips. His exhales were warm and uneven, fanning over your mouth in a way that made your skin prickle with anticipation. Without thinking, your tongue darted out to wet your suddenly dry lips and his grip on the back of your head tightened ever so slightly in response.

Sylus leaned in slowly, his movements deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away. But when his lips were just a hair's breadth from yours, he paused, crimson eyes searching yours one last time.

Permission. He was asking.

Something inside you melted at the realization.

Instead of answering with words, you closed the distance yourself.

Your lips met his in a kiss that was soft at first, tentative, testing. His mouth was warmer than you'd imagined, the faint taste of coffee and something uniquely him lingering on your tongue. His hand cradled the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he kissed you back with a tenderness that contradicted everything you knew about him.

Then his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and the kiss deepened.

His teeth grazed your bottom lip, drawing a quiet gasp from you that he swallowed hungrily. Every point of contact between you burned, his chest pressed against yours, his thigh between your knees, his fingers tightening in your hair just enough to make your pulse spike.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless.

Sylus didn't let you go far. His forehead came to rest against yours again, his breathing ragged. 

"Convinced yet?" he murmured, voice rough with want.

You huffed a laugh, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "I think I need more evidence."

His answering smirk was all the warning you got before he claimed your lips again.

The moment your lips met again, any remaining hesitation burned away in the heat between you. His mouth moved against yours with a hunger that stole your breath, his tongue sliding past your lips in a claiming sweep that made your toes curl. You moaned into the kiss, fingers tangling in his silver-white hair, tugging just hard enough to draw a growl from deep in his throat.

Sylus didn’t just kiss you, he devoured you.

Every slide of his tongue was a challenge, every nip of his teeth a demand. You met him stroke for stroke, your thighs clenching together as wetness pooled in your panties. His hands roamed your back, pressing you impossibly closer until you could feel the hard planes of his body against every inch of yours.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, you were met with an unexpected sight.

A rosy blush staining Sylus’ sharp cheekbones, his lips swollen from your kisses.

You couldn’t help the breathless chuckle that escaped you. "Sylus," you teased, thumb brushing over his heated skin, "are you blushing?"

His crimson eyes darkened, a flicker of something dangerous and utterly delighted passing through them. His hand slid down to grip your hip, fingers pressing possessively into your flesh as he leaned in, his voice a low, rough purr against your ear.

"Do you see what you do to me, kitten?"

The words sent a shiver down your spine.

Before you could respond, he captured your lips again.

In one swift motion, Sylus pulled you up into his lap, your legs straddling his waist as he claimed your mouth again in a searing kiss. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp, a sound he swallowed with a satisfied hum.

His lips left yours only to trail down the column of your throat, teeth scraping lightly over your pulse point before sucking a mark into your skin. You arched into him, fingers tightening in his hair as a breathy moan escaped you.

"Sylus-"

His name on your lips seemed to unravel him. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, and what you saw in his crimson eyes stole your breath. Raw, unfiltered desire, a hunger so deep it made your stomach flip.

"Am I being too greedy," you whispered, your thumb brushing his cheekbone, "if I ask you to keep your eyes only on me?"

A low, rough laugh rumbled in his chest. "You always had that right." His hands slid up your sides, possessive. "Which means you can be even greedier." He nipped at your jaw. "Do you want it, kitten?"

"Yes." The word left you in a rush, barely more than a breath.

Sylus groaned, his lips finding your neck again, then your jaw, then the shell of your ear, each kiss hotter than the last. "I’m hoping yes is still your answer," he murmured, voice thick with need, "because I just can’t hold back anymore."

His hands slid under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he stood from the bed, your legs locking around his waist. You barely had time to register the movement before your back met the softness of the mattress, Sylus hovering above you, his silver hair framing his face like a halo in the moonlight.

"Last chance to say no," he breathed, though the way his hands trembled against your skin told you how much the words cost him.

You answered by pulling him down to you, sealing your lips against his in a kiss that held no hesitation, no fear, just want.

His mouth crashed into yours like a drowning man gasping for air, hot, desperate, and utterly consuming. You could taste the hunger in every searing kiss, the way his teeth nipped at your bottom lip before his tongue swept in to soothe the sting.

Then, without breaking the kiss, he gripped the fabric of your sleeve between his teeth and tugged it down your shoulder with deliberate slowness, his crimson eyes locked onto yours the entire time. The cool air hit your exposed skin, raising goosebumps that had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the way he was looking at you, like he wanted to devour you whole.

His lips left yours to trail down your jaw, your neck, your newly bared shoulder, each kiss searing a brand into your skin. You arched into him with a gasp, fingers tangling in his hair as he worked his way lower, his teeth grazing your collarbone just hard enough to make your breath hitch.

He didn’t stop there.

His mouth traced a slow, torturous path down your arm, kissing, nipping, licking, until he reached your wrist. Then, with a final, lingering press of his lips to your palm, he turned your hand over and met your gaze again, his breath hot against your skin.

"Still with me, kitten?" he murmured, his voice rough with want.

The moment his lips found the sensitive spot beneath your ear, a shiver raced down your spine. His fingers trailed down your back, finding the hidden zipper of your dress with practiced ease. As the fabric loosened, sliding down your shoulders, you caught the flicker of his gaze, dark with desire, but with a faint blush creeping up his neck.

He was blushing.

The realization sent a thrill through you. You reached for the buttons of his shirt, your fingers trembling slightly as you worked them open one by one. His breath hitched when your palms skimmed over his toned abs, tracing them with slow, teasing strokes.

When your hand drifted lower, brushing over the hardness straining against his jeans, his entire body tensed. But before you could go further, his fingers closed around your wrist, stopping you.

"Let me make you feel good tonight, kitten," he murmured, his voice rough with restraint.

His thumb brushed over your pulse point, his crimson eyes burning into yours. "Just you."

Then his mouth was on your neck again, his free hand sliding up your bare thigh.

His fingers traced slow, teasing paths up your bare thighs, the calloused pads of his fingertips dragging just hard enough to make your breath hitch. When he reached the damp lace of your panties, he paused, his thumb brushing over the soaked fabric with a low hum.

"Fuck, kitten," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "Already this wet for me?"

You whimpered as his fingers pressed harder, circling the aching bundle of nerves through the thin material. Your hips jerked involuntarily, seeking more friction, but he tutted, his grip tightening on your thigh to hold you still.

"Patience," he hummed, though the dark hunger in his crimson eyes betrayed his own restraint.

With deliberate slowness, he peeled your dress the rest of the way off, letting it pool around your waist before his hands moved to the clasp of your bra. The second it came undone, his mouth was on you, hot and greedy. His tongue swirled around one peaked nipple, then the other, sucking just hard enough to make your back arch off the bed.

"Sylus-!" Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging as pleasure coiled tight in your core.

He chuckled against your skin, the vibration sending another jolt of heat straight between your legs. "Love the way you say my name," he murmured before nipping lightly at the soft underside of your breast.

His lips trailed lower, kissing a searing path down your stomach, his tongue dipping into the hollow of your navel. You squirmed beneath him, your thighs trembling as he reached the waistband of your panties, but instead of removing them, he hooked his fingers into the lace and dragged them to the side, exposing you completely.

His breath hitched.

"Perfect," he growled.

Then his mouth was on you.

The first lick was light as a feather, just a teasing swipe of his tongue over your clit that had you gasping. The second was firmer, more deliberate, and by the third, he was devouring you like a man starved. His lips closed around your clit, sucking hard before flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud in rapid, relentless circles.

"Oh, god-!" Your back arched, your hands fisting in the sheets as pleasure crashed over you in waves.

He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core. "You taste even better than I imagined,kitten," he rasped before diving back in with renewed hunger.

His fingers joined his mouth, two slipping inside you with ease, curling just right to stroke that sweet spot that made your vision blur. Your hips rocked against his face, chasing the building pressure, but he held you down with his free hand, his grip unyielding.

"That's it, kitten," he murmured between licks. "Let go for me.”

And when you finally shattered, his name on your lips and his tongue drawing out every last shuddering wave of pleasure, he didn't stop, not until you were limp and trembling beneath him, oversensitive and utterly spent.

Only then did he pull back, his lips glistening, his gaze locked onto yours with dark satisfaction.

"Mine," he breathed, like it was the only truth that mattered.

Your chest rose and fell with each ragged breath as you watched him unbuckle his belt with deliberate slowness, the leather sliding free. His jeans fell to the floor, and your gaze dropped.

Oh.

A dark, wet patch stained the front of his boxers, the fabric clinging to the thick outline of his cock beneath. He palmed himself through the material with a rough groan, his head tilting back, the muscles in

his neck straining. The sight of him so desperate, so needy, made your mouth water and panties wetter.

Then he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and pushed his boxers down, freeing himself.

Your breath caught.

He was big, thick and flushed, the tip glistening with precum. He wrapped his hand around his length, giving himself a slow stroke, his hips jerking slightly into the touch. His crimson eyes locked onto yours as he bit out, "Fuck, sweetie. You’re watching me like you want to taste."

You did.

But before you could move, he was on the bed, hovering over you. His fingers slid between your thighs, gathering the slick arousal coating your folds, then dragging up to circle your clit, making you gasp. He didn't stop there. His wet fingers wrapped around his cock, spreading your wetness over his length as he stroked himself again, his groan vibrating through you.

Then he was pressing the head of his cock against your entrance, rubbing slow, teasing circles. "Is this what you want, kitten?" he gritted out, his voice wrecked.

You could only nod, your hips lifting toward him in silent pleas.

He smirked , that infuriating, perfect smirk, and finally pushed inside.

The moment he entered you, your breath caught in your throat, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as you arched your back in delicious surrender. His thick, throbbing length stretched you exquisitely, filling you so completely that your inner walls instinctively clenched around him, desperate to keep him buried deep inside. He paused, letting you adjust, his dark eyes burning with hunger as he watched your face twist in pleasure.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he growled, his voice rough with need.

You could feel every inch of him, every vein, the way his cock pulsed inside you, the way your body yielded to him so perfectly. And then he moved slow at first, a torturous drag of his shaft against your sensitive walls, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, the rhythm growing faster, harder, until you were both lost in the primal heat.

Your nails raked down his back as he pounded into you, his hips pistoning with relentless fervor. The heat between your bodies was unbearable, sweat glistening on your skin as you writhed beneath him. Every snap of his hips sent shockwaves through you, your moans growing louder, more desperate.

Then your eyes fluttered open, drawn to the mirror above. The sight was breathtaking, his sculpted body moving over yours, his back muscles flexing with each deep thrust, his cock disappearing into your slick, willing clit over and over again. The visual was intoxicating, and you whimpered, your arousal spiking at the sheer sight of it.

He noticed your gaze and smirked, his fingers tightening on your hips before he suddenly pulled out completely, leaving you empty and aching.

"Come here, sweetie," he commanded, patting his lap.

You didn't hesitate, straddling him eagerly, your wetness coating his thighs as you sank down onto him in one smooth, delicious motion. His groan was deep, guttural, as your tight warmth enveloped him again. Leaning back against the headrest, he gave you full view in the mirror, his thick cock buried inside you, your body taking him so perfectly.

His hands found your breasts, palming and kneading the soft flesh, his thumbs flicking over your hardened nipples until you were whimpering. Then he leaned forward, capturing one peak between his lips, sucking hard before grazing his teeth over the sensitive bud. You cried out, your hips rolling instinctively, grinding down on him as pleasure shot through you.

“That's it, ride me like a good girl,” he murmured against your skin, his hands gripping your waist, guiding your movements.

You obeyed, lifting yourself almost all the way off before slamming back down, taking him to the hilt. The friction was divine, his cock rubbing against every sweet spot inside you. The mirror reflected your desperate movements, your breasts bouncing, your body glistening with sweat, his thick length glistening with your arousal as you rode him harder, faster.

You could feel your climax building, coiling tight in your core, your walls fluttering around him. "Sylus, I'm... I'm going to-” you panted, your voice breaking as pleasure threatened to consume you.

And he knew. With a wicked grin, he thrust up into you with renewed force, his fingers digging into your hips as he drove you toward the edge. The sounds of your bodies colliding were filthy, wet, obscene, moans mingling, the slick sound of his cock plunging into your dripping pussy.

Just as you were about to shatter, he pulled out again, leaving you trembling on the brink. A whimper of protest escaped your lips, but before you could beg, he spun you around, bending you over the edge of the bed. His hand gripped the back of your neck, holding you down as he positioned himself behind you.

One powerful thrust, and he was inside you again, deeper than before, his cock stretching you impossibly wide. You screamed, the fullness overwhelming as he began pounding into you with brutal, unrelenting force.

"Fuck, you take me so well," he growled, his voice dark with desire.

Each thrust sent jolts of pleasure through you, his pelvis slamming against your ass, the sound lewd and intoxicating. You could feel every ridge of his cock, every pulse of his arousal as he fucked you with wild abandon. His fingers dug into your hips, his grip possessive, claiming.

"You're mine," he snarled, his pace becoming erratic, his breathing ragged.

Your orgasm crashed over you without warning, your body convulsing around him as pleasure ripped through you in violent waves. Your walls clenched, milking his cock as you cried out, your vision whiting out from the intensity.

Feeling you tighten around him, he lost control, slamming into you one final time before burying himself to the hilt. A deep, guttural groan tore from his throat as he came, his hot seed flooding your depths in thick, pulsing ropes. You could feel him twitching inside you, his release endless as he held you tightly against him, both of you trembling from the force of your climax.

He collapsed over you, his breath hot against your skin as you both struggled to come down from the high. 

His lips found your shoulder, pressing a lazy kiss there before murmuring, "Fuck, you're perfect." 

And you lay there, still connected, still throbbing from the pleasure.

He pulled out slowly, careful not to jostle you too much, and you exhaled, a long, trembling breath, as he leaned over you, pushing the damp strands of hair from your forehead. His fingers were warm against your skin, brushing gently, as if memorizing the way your lashes fluttered against flushed cheeks. He kissed your forehead, lingering there for a moment, his lips soft and reassuring.

"Let me take care of you," he murmured, voice rough but tender, and you nodded, boneless in his hands.

He left you just long enough to run the bath. You heard the rush of water, the quiet clink of the faucet as he adjusted the temperature. 

When he returned, he gathered you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly, and you melted against his chest, your face tucked into the curve of his neck. The bathroom was already hazy with steam, the air thick with the scent of lavender from the oil he’d added to the water.

He lowered you into the tub with infinite care, one hand braced against the small of your back, the other guiding your legs in. The heat was perfect, sinking into your muscles, winding off the last of the tension coiled in your limbs. 

You sighed, tipping your head back as his hands glided over your skin, smoothing soap along your arms, your collarbones, the dip of your waist. He was thorough but unhurried, washing away the sweat and the lingering heat of your bodies.

When the water cooled, he helped you out, wrapping you in a towel so large it swallowed you whole. He patted you dry with the same slow attention, dabbing at your shoulders, the backs of your knees, the delicate skin of your wrists, before turning his focus to your hair. 

The towel was soft as he gathered the damp strands, squeezing out the excess water before combing his fingers through the lengths, untangling the knots with a patience that made your chest ache.

You were drowsy by the time he finished, your eyelids heavy, your body loose with warmth and contentment. He chuckled, low and fond, and lifted you again, carrying you back to the bedroom where the sheets had already been changed, fresh and cool against your skin as he tucked you in.

"Wait," you mumbled, catching his wrist as he moved to pull away.

He hesitated, still half-dressed, still damp from the bath, but you tugged, insistent, and he complied, sliding in beside you. You curled into him immediately, your head pillowed on his chest, your fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt. 

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, and you could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

"Sleep. I’ve got you," he whispered, pressing his lips to your hair.

another cute gif

tags: @harbingers-lullaby, @crimsonsylus, @theshadowsdragon, @dummiebunny, @nm4565natty, @robotinvenus, @librarydame, @moonlight-inthe-sea, @myeagleexpert, @seventeen-x, @randomness39, @amiamango, @fangbangerghoul

[shadowheartshapedbox]

✶⋆.˚ ┆ 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞 {𝟏𝟖+}

pairing: bob reynolds x thunderbolts*reader x john walker summary: john walks in on you and bob sharing an intimate moment. to john's surprise, you invite him to join. warnings: 18+, minors dni, smut (threesome, john holds you while bob eats you out, bob and john share a kiss, you ride john and give bob head at the same time, not so much smut but naked cuddles at the end <3), swearing, potentially ooc characters (first time writing for bob so if i didn't give him justice please don't burn me at the stake) word count: 6k a/n: listen, i wasn't expecting to like the bob x john pairing as much as i did, but then i read some fics and thought ... yeah i gotta write something. i feel like i got a little lazy writing toward the end, so i might go back and rework some stuff. but for now, enjoy!

It had been the first Friday night in months that the Thunderbolts didn't have to go away for a mission. The team was elated to have a weekend to relax. Not only had they been training to become better heroes, but also training to keep a good public reputation.

After all, they had big shoes to fill now that they were the New Avengers. Being a Thunderbolt was one thing, being protectors of the innocent was another.

So, the break was well-deserved. It put everyone in a good mood. Even Bucky, who never seemed to be able to relax or have fun. Tonight, he joined Alexei in the common room at the Watchtower. Alexei had been watching an action movie and doing a terrible job at explaining it to Bucky, instead of just letting him watch.

Yelena had asked Ava for her help in her room, something about giving the guinea pig a bath. Despite Ava dragging her feet as she followed Yelena down the hall, John knew Ava wasn't really that annoyed by it. He'd noticed the two hanging out more, which also helped boost team morale. The better everyone got along, the better they worked together as a team.

With everyone occupied with their choice of entertainment for the evening, John decided to make his way to your room. He hoped after the long week you'd be up for some company.

Within the last year, you and John had grown close. Valentina often put you and John together on missions, which may have led to something more between the two of you. You guys weren't dating, but you drifted dangerously along the line of friendship and something more.

It put John in an uncomfortable position once Bob started coming around more. He wasn't upset; in fact, he was glad Bobby was hanging out with them now, but John couldn't deny that missed the time spent with just the two of you.

He missed you coming into his room at night, after everyone had gone to bed. You liked sleeping with John at night, letting him hold you while you drifted off. But lately you weren't stopping by his room, and when he saw Bob coming out of your room one morning, he knew something was up.

John didn't think to knock when he got to your room. He was so lost in his thoughts that he just walked right in. He barely made it through the doorway before he came to a complete stop.

The scene unfolding in front of John made the man turn red, his throat tightening shut. His blue eyes tried to find any other spot to look in your room, but they betrayed him and kept going back to what was happening on your bed.

Bob was sitting in your bed, back flat against the headboard. The same one John had nearly broken several times in the past. His eyes were closed, mouth hung open with his head fallen back. There was a shine of sweat across Bob's forehead, his curls sticking to his face. His fists were twisted in your sheets, the same ones you had stained more than once.

John's eyes dropped lower on the bed, where you were laying on your stomach in between Bob's legs. He could see your head bobbing up and down along his length. You had been so lost in the taste of Bob that you didn't hear the door open, not until you heard the door swoosh close. Bob let out a startled moan, weakly trying to push you off him now in embarrassment.

John wasn't sure what to say, how to react. He stood like an idiot with his mouth hung open from shock. A crimson color was creeping up his neck and to his ears. But then to make it worse, he felt his dick twitch in his pants. He awkwardly shifted, trying to not be obvious when he put his hands in front of his crotch. How could he be getting this turned on by what he saw?

Bob, on the other hand, was mortified. Sure, John and Bob were much better friends than they were when they first met, but Bob would be lying if he said he wasn't still a little intimidated by John. And now that he was fooling around with you, Bob was worried John wouldn't take it well.

He wasn't an idiot. Bob saw the way John looked at you when he thought nobody was looking. He was smitten over you. But John also didn't have any sort of claim on you. So, it's not like you and Bob were doing anything wrong.

John watched you finally pull yourself off Bob with a lewd 'pop!' noise. You wiped your mouth and grinned at John, before turning to look back at Bob. You leaned closer to him and whispered in his ear, "I told you he'd find us."

Bob glanced up and over at John. He watched the blonde's tongue peek out, licking his bottom lip. It made Bob's dick grow under his hands, causing him to groan and shift a little in your bed.

"I told you to lock the door," Bob said, looking over at you. He shook his head when you let out a giggle, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him in for a kiss on the cheek.

"Bobby, I didn't think you were being serious," you tried to be serious, but couldn't help the stifled laugh that slipped through your lips when Bob gave you a pointed look. "Besidesss, I thought we agreed that it would be fun if he joined."

John swore he died just then. Did he hear you right? You two had discussed this before? Him...joining you? He watched you two sit in your bed together, naked. Your bodies shining from sweat and slick. His eyes found his way to Bob's arms. The muscles of his biceps flexed, the veins popped. John's eyes continued further down, counting each ab on Bob's stomach before he-

The moan from across the room brought you to a hush. You and Bob's head turned to look over at John, who was not practically panting from his spot still by your door. Bob could see John's dick was ready to break through his pants. Was he...turned on by this?

John cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak, but no words fell out. His feet felt locked in place, unable to move.

"I should just-," Go. He needed to turn around and leave. His mind was screaming at him to walk away, so why couldn't he?

You leaned over and gave Bob one more wet kiss to his cheek before pushing yourself off the bed. Bob's eyes fell down your naked form, watching you make your way to John. His dominant hand wrapped around his cock, pumping slowly.

When you made your way to John, you circled him once like he was prey. It made him nervous, tense. Bob couldn't see you when you disappeared behind John, not only your arms poked out and wrapped around his middle. John only seemed to relax when he realized you were just hugging him.

"I'm not gonna force you to do anything you don't want," John leaned against your mouth when you whispered in his ear, feeling your lips press kisses across his face and along his jawline, down his neck. "But I'd love to have a night with both of my boys."

Bob whimpered at your words from across the room, feeling more pre-cum leak through the slit at the tip of his dick. Your boys, he liked the sound of that. And by the size of the tent in John's pants, he did too.

John sucked in a breath when your hands wandered lower, palming him through his sweatpants. He leaned back into your hold, knees threatening to give out from under him. He needed a moment to think.

A part of him knew the entire situation was fucked, but he also couldn't deny how much it turned him on. The idea of stuffing you full of him while Bob watched made him nearly faint. John nearly came in his pants then when he thought about watching Bob eat you out after.

When John's eyes found yours again, they were nearly black from lust. He turned in your hold, grabbing you by the waist and pulling him to him. John's hand extended out behind you to lock the door. He let out a hiss when he felt you start grinding on his dick.

He gave your ass a smack, a warning. John's hands kneaded the flesh before giving it another hard smack. "So, when did this little thing start, huh?" John pulled you with him as he made his way to the bed.

Bob watched John toss you like you were nothing on the bed. His eyes dropped to where you fell, in between his legs and dangerously close to his dick. His balls were practically sitting on top of your head.

You moved your head to rest on Bob's thigh, turning your face to look at his dick. You hummed and reached out, replacing Bob's hand with your own. His hands found the bedsheets again, twisting them in his fists.

"Go on, Bobby. Answer him," you contorted your body to be able to lean over and kiss the swollen red tip of his dick. Bob hissed at the contact.

"F-fuck, I don't know. A few weeks ago, I think," Bob whimpered and twisted his fists tighter in the sheets when he felt you kiss up and down his shaft. "When y-you were all gone on a mission."

John tried to think back a few weeks ago. All the days were beginning to blur together, but John eventually remembered what Bob was talking about. You had gotten injured, and Val made you sit out.

He let out a laugh more to himself than anyone as he pushed his pants down. You and Bob watched in awe as John stripped himself free from his clothes. He wasn't as chiseled as Bob was, but he was just as solid. Faint scars from his time in battle litter his body, freckles dancing around the scars like constellations.

He was beautiful, you and Bob both thought. In front of the team, John's ego was inflated. If you said that to him in front of everyone, but behind closed doors...John was sweeter.

Bob couldn't help but look down at John's dick, standing tall, proud. Bob's dick twitched and knocked against your nose as you were pulling away.

You sat up and on your knees. Bob followed your lead, sitting up and extending his arms out behind him to lean on. His legs were stretched out on the bed, dick twitching in his lap. He watched John crawl on the bed, kneeling in front of you and sitting at Bob's knees.

"It's only our third time," you explained, moaning when John's large hands groped your tits suddenly. You felt yourself become wet from him manhandling you. "W-we haven't even really done anything!"

Bob watched John play with your tits in front of him. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat when John's mouth licked and sucked at your neck, fingers twisting and pulling at your nipples. John knew what you liked, how you liked being touched. Maybe he'd be a good friend tonight to Bobby and give him a few pointers.

John's gaze glanced over at Bob, who had been staring at your breasts, his hand slowly pumping the top of his dick. John grinned against your neck before biting down, pulling away when you yelped. You were already in a daze, pouting when John's warm mouth left your skin. All he did was give you some hickeys on your neck and play with your tits, and this was the state you were left in.

"Tell me what you've done," His hands held onto your hips as he maneuvered you both on the bed, turning you so your back was against his chest, and you were facing Bob. John made sure to keep your legs open, so Bob had a direct view of your wet pussy.

You hummed at the warm feeling of John's front against your cold back. His hands went back to playing with your breasts, his legs pinning yours open. Bob watched through heavy eyes as John kissed your neck, biting at the skin and licking up until he pressed his lips to your ear. John locked his eyes on Bob while asking you, "Has he ate your pussy yet?"

You moaned at the question and squirmed in John's grip, rolling your hips down on the sheets. You felt John's hard dick pressing against your back, his teeth pulling at your earlobe. He stuck his tongue in your ear a little, causing you to groan and try and pull away. But John's grip only tightened so you would stay put.

"Tell me," he whispered harshly, bringing one of his hands down from your breast to smack your clit. You whimpered and bucked your hips up, chasing after his touch. All Bob could do was continue to watch in awe. You were putty in John's hands. "Tell me what you've done. I won't ask again."

Your chest heaved as you tried catching your breath. What little sense of control you thought you had, was now out the window. John already took you by surprise when he accepted to join you and Bob, now it seemed like he was taking charge of the situation entirely.

You weren't surprised though. Leave it to John to still need to be in control somehow. If you weren't painfully aroused by the moment, you'd probably give him shit for it. But you wanted him on you, in you.

"We've only kissed," You turned and buried your face in John's neck. "I-I've only sucked his dick. We were gonna do more tonight, though."

You whimpered when John slowly began rubbing circles on your clit. He nodded at your answer, satisfied with your response. His fingers slipped around the bundle of nerves the wetter you grew. But there was still something about your response that didn't sit right with John.

"But has Bobby tasted you yet? I saw his dick down your throat, but has he given you the same attention?"

Bob's face grew hotter. He watched you shake your head no before glancing back at John, who had a little smirk toying at the corner of his mouth. He stopped playing with your clit and pushed your legs open more with his legs, motioning for Bob to move in between.

He tried to not be so nervous, especially now that John was there. It's not like he didn't know what he was doing, he's just never ate your pussy before. Bob wanted to make sure he did a good job, and John was going to make sure that it happened.

"Be good and keep your legs open, yeah? I want Bobby to make sure he gets all in there." You nodded and watched Bob as he shifted to lay on his stomach. He wrapped his arms around yours and John's legs, adjusting them to rest over his shoulders and down his back. You found yourself panting, sandwiched between the both of them.

"Now, Bobby. Don't be afraid to get messy. She likes it when you clean her up after," You could feel Bob’s hot breath fanning over your pussy, drool threatening to spill out and on you.

But Bob felt frozen, unable to move. John scoffed and grabbed him by his hair, shoving his face deep into your folds. “Come on now, don’t keep our girl waiting.”

When you felt Bob's tongue go flat against your folds, you let out a loud moan. Your hands gripped John's biceps, legs squirming in both their grasps. Bob's hands tightened on your thighs as John's ankles locked onto yours.

"Good job, Bobby," John's hands eased up on Bob's head, pushing his hair back and out of his face. You felt John's dick slowly grind against your back. "How does she taste?"

Bob whimpered when John's hand left his hair. Through lidded eyes, Bob watched John's calloused fingers run along your body, working you up. His hands grabbed at the soft parts of your body, working their way back up your breasts. Bob moaned as he continued to eat you out when he watched John pinch and twist your hardened nipples.

"Come on, Bob. Tell me," John practically whined. He wasn't used to sharing, having to wait to taste you. "I wanna know what I'm missing out on."

Bob's hips slowly grinded into your mattress. Between the taste of you and John's voice coaxing him through the act, Bob was ready to cum. His tongue continued to swipe up and down through your folds, slurping up any liquid that dripped out of you.

"S-good," Bob muffled, not able to rip his mouth away from you. "Tastes like...mmm, candy."

You let out a whine at Bob's words, withering in John's grasp. His hands came down from your breasts to wrap around your middle, holding you still. Although you were starting to become overstimulated, you craved more. You needed more.

"Candy, huh?" John laughed and leaned down to kiss your cheek. "You hear that? Bobby said you taste like candy. I'm really jealous now. Not used to having to wait to have a taste."

You tore your gaze away from Bob and looked up at John, who was smiling down at you. Any sense of nervousness or uncomfortableness seemed to have vanished from the blonde. You were both lost in each other's eyes, that neither of you noticed Bob's eyes glaze over golden.

There was an urge that ripped through Bob suddenly. It was like an itch that needed to be scratched. His body was tingling, practically buzzing when he pulled himself off of you. You and John both turned your attention back to Bob.

He was sitting on his knees now, still in between your legs. Bob scooted himself closer to you, thighs resting under yours. His hands grabbed onto John's, since his legs were still pinning you down. The position was borderline uncomfortable, but the closeness had you quickly forgetting how uncomfortable you were.

From your spot in between John and Bob, you became uneasy. You knew what came with the golden eyes, but Bob wasn't backing down yet, so maybe he wasn't done? You began to wonder what you got yourself into.

"You okay, Bo-"

Bob cut you off by grabbing John's shoulder, pulling him closer. You fell into Bob's chest, pinned to his hard front when John was pulled closer by Bob. John tried to not squirm in Bob's hold, but he wasn't sure where this was heading.

You craned your neck back awkwardly to look up. Your mouth fell open when you watched Bob suddenly press his lips to John. Bob was more confident with that kiss than he'd been with anything else that night. John was taken back, but he didn't pull away. He was surprised with himself when Bob pulled away from the kiss, and John chased after his lips.

John watched with his mouth hung open as Bob pushed you and him both to lean back in your original spot. You were relieved to not be contorted like a pretzel any longer. The room fell back into a quiet hush, except for the lewd sounds of Bob eating you out.

Nothing was said about what just happened. John's lips were glossed over with a mixture of your slick and Bob's spit. He was watching Bob in a dream-like state, only pulled out of it when you pulled John in for a kiss.

You moaned at the taste on his lips, running your tongue over his top and bottom lip in circles, sucking his bottom lip and pulling away with your teeth dragging his lip out. You let it go and watched his lip stick out, a little swollen.

"Taste good," You mumbled before settling back in John's arms. One hand fell down to Bob's hair, fingers running through and pulling gently at his curls. "You're doing good, Bob. Making me feel so, oh!"

You jolted when you felt two fingers push into your dripping core. John's attention was drawn back to the act happening between your legs. He let out a moan of his own when he watched Bob's fingers pumping lewdly in you, mouth sucking hard at your clit.

"Good job, Bobby," He put his hands on your knees, pushing and pinning you deeper into the mattress. Bob's hand was reached out, holding on John's hip. It made John jump a little. "Keep going. She's getting messy, that means she's close."

You knew what was coming. You were going to squirt all over Bob's fingers, arm and mouth. The orgasm was going to hit you hard, nearly knock you out entirely. You closed your eyes to try and focus on not cumming right away.

"You gonna make a big mess on Bob, yeah?" John hissed when he felt Bob's blunt nails dig into his thigh. You nodded and withered around in John's arms. Your back was now dripping with John's pre-cum.

"I think Bobby's deserved it, don't you think?," John kissed the top of your head. "Finally got to taste you, baby. Why were you depriving him so long?"

You opened your eyes and looked at Bob, golden eyes meeting yours. He didn't look away from you, but his eyes were growing heavy, drunk off your pussy. You closed your eyes again and turned your head away.

"I-I don't know," you answered, whining when John grabbed you by your hair to force you to look back down at Bob. "John!"

"Don't get bratty with me. You should at least watch him when he's eating you out. He's doing a fucking good job at it, aren't you, Bobby?" Bob's eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. He wished John wouldn't talk so much right now.

You were right on the edge of your orgasm. Bob could feel your warm pussy clenching down on his fingers, making it almost impossible for him to curl his fingers up and punish your g-spot. He didn't want to hurt you, especially since this was only the first time, but you felt so good. He almost couldn't control himself.

Bob's fingers kept pace, but his mouth slowed. The two different sensations on two sensitive spots on your body had you teetering on insanity. You felt his tongue swipe up through your folds slowly, his soft lips kissing around your pussy and up your sticky thighs.

"She's close," Bob mumbled. He was hesitant for a second, as if deciding on if he should say what he wanted to. But at this point, he knew there wasn't much he could do to ruin things. "Feels like I'm gonna lose a couple fingers from her pussy."

John laughed at Bob's joke, earning a faint laugh from Bob. You watched Bob's shoulders relax. As happy as you were that he was getting comfortable, that him and John were getting along, why did they have to be stupid boys right as you were about to break?

Bob gave you one more kiss before wrapping his mouth around your clit again. He sucked on it like his life depended on it. You gasped and fisted your hands in Bob's hair, tugging on the curls.

It didn't take long before you let out a high pitch moan, shaking as you squirted all over him. Bob was quick to slurp you up, not wanting to waste any of the precious juices you graced him with.

John felt your legs shaking under his. He smiled and kissed your temple, whispering that you did a good job. You closed your eyes and panted, trying to catch your breath as you came down from your post-orgasm high. Your hips would occasionally buck up as Bob cleaned you up. But he eventually pulled away and sat up on his knees.

You didn't have the energy yet to open your eyes. John, on the other hand, couldn't help but watch Bob. He was kneeling in front of the both of you, grinning to himself in his fucked-out state. Your slick was glistening across Bob's lips, his chin. The hair that wasn't sticking to his face was sticking up a little. His eyes, still golden, but more subdued.

"You did good, Bobby. Glad you finally got a taste?" John asked, watching as Bob nodded. John nodded back before looking down at you. "Hey, we aren't done yet."

Bob fell back to his original spot in your bed, with his now sweaty back sticking to your headboard. His dick was painfully hard, leaking and red. He couldn't help himself at this point. While his right hand stroked his shaft, his left hands cupped his balls.

You opened your eyes with a groan when John began moving you. He adjusted himself so he was sitting up better, his legs now stretched over Bob's. You were in between them again, just not as close this time. Bob would have to lean forward to give you a kiss.

John's hands held you tight by the waist until he was comfortable. He then guided you down until you were seated on his dick. You moaned at the feeling of his dick in between your sticky folds. His dick was going to stretch you out deliciously. You clenched at the thought.

"I'm glad you got off, sweetheart. But Bobby and I haven't," John's hands moved up your stomach until they reached your breasts, giving them a squeeze. You whimpered and watched Bob continue to jack himself off, watching you intensely. You let out a small gasp when John's mouth found your ear. "So, you're gonna be our good girl, m'kay? You're gonna suck on Bobby's dick while you ride mine."

John's dick pulsated in anticipation. He wanted to give Bobby his time to shine when it came to eating you out, prepping you. But John could only be patient for so long. If he didn't sink his dick into you in the next ten seconds, he might've had to bend Bob over.

He grunted loud in your ear at the thought, bucking his hips up into you. You met John's movements in the middle, moaning at the contact. Your body was sticking to John's from both of your body heat, the sweat and slick from the evening. It was like you were glued to him.

Bob watched the two of you in front of him. His eyes wandered over your face, pulled in a tight expression as John edged you; your pussy, dripping now from slick as John's dick slid in and out between your folds. Bob licked his lips, wondering what the tip of John's dick tasted like. He tore his golden eyes away when John began pushing you forward.

Your hands came up to rest on Bob's thighs, using him as leverage to hold yourself up as John guided himself into you. By the third stroke, he was already setting a mean pace. The sound of slapping and squelching made Bob's dick harder, if that was even possible at this point.

John let out a huff like a bull, similar to when he was in combat. His hands were gripping your waist painfully hard, hips snapping up into you. You could already feel the bruises that were going to be left behind. Your head was hovering over Bob's dick, mouth open and panting above the tip.

Bob's hands moved away from his dick and up to your hair, moving it out of your face and holding it back in his hands. You moaned when you felt him tug at it. Not hard enough for it to hurt, but hard enough to leave a comfortable sting behind.

You kept your eyes locked on Bob's happy trail. You felt your pussy clench around John's dick at the thought of your nose pressing into the soft patch of hair above Bob's dick. Before John could make a quip, you practically engulfed Bob down your throat, earning a rather loud moan from him.

"S-shit, hey! Slow down, please," Bob panted and found his hands dropping down from your head and onto John's legs. He gripped his calves, blunt nails sinking into the muscle.

You gagged loudly on Bob's dick, pulling up and off him, spitting out the glob of saliva you had building in your mouth. Your hand was instantly sticky, stroking the base of Bob's dick while your mouth suckled on the tip.

John remained behind you, bucking his hips wildly into you. Your pussy felt so good around him, so wet and warm. Whenever the tip hit your g-spot, deep up in you, you clenched tight down on John and moaned around Bob's dick. Despite your clenching, it was still easy for him to pump in and out of you. He'd have to thank Bob later somehow, for getting you ready so well for him.

Your last moan around Bob's dick nearly had him cumming then and there. He was trying to last as long as John could, but he was already so sensitive from you blowing him earlier, before John even joined you. Bob wasn't ready to have the night end so soon.

But just like your current evening, things don't always go as planned. Before Bob could even warn you, his balls suddenly tightened, a sharp gasp escaping him that sent you in a frenzy.

Whatever you couldn't fit in your mouth you stroked with your hand. You tried to make it sloppy, keep him lubed up with your spit and his pre-cum. You liked the taste of Bob. He was sweeter than you imagined. He'd been working hard to be healthier, and it paid off. You were swallowing anything and everything he gave you.

"Taste so good, Bob," your tongue swirled along his slit, pulling off to pump his dick from balls to tip. "Can't wait to have you cum down my throa-"

You were cut off by Bob suddenly squirting his cum all over your face. You flinched when the warm liquid hit you square in the face, dripping down your nose. Bob was already apologizing profusely, hips still bucking wildly through his orgasm.

Meanwhile, John was behind you watching the scene unfold. He watched Bob's angry-looking dick finally shoot it's seed out, coaxing your face in its white and sticky substance. It made John gasp, losing his rhythm and staggering into you. He took a quick moment to refocus before picking up the pace again.

John gave your ass a few good smacks as he pounded into you. You were moaning around Bob's dick as you cleaned him up with your tongue. Bob, on the other hand, was practically knocked out entirely. His eyes were closed, thighs shaking from overstimulation. But he didn't push you away, he kept his hands on John's calves.

"You did so good for us tonight. So fucking good," John leaned forward and pressed his lips to your back, peppering your skin with kisses. He was rolling his hips deep into you, edging himself. Just like Bob, he wasn't ready to end the night just yet.

Once you were satisfied with your job at cleaning Bob up, you pulled off him and let your cheek rest against his inner thigh. You panted, holding onto Bob as John fucked you. Bob's arms loosely wrapped around your shoulders, almost like he was hugging you.

Your body rocked against his with each powerful thrust John gave you. You could feel your next orgasm approaching, building faster with each brutal hit to your g-spot. All you could blab out was John's name, weakly repeating it.

It didn't take long for John to finally cum deep in you. His hips suddenly jerked up and he locked himself in you. His body shook as he filled you with his seed. You weren't much further behind, soon creaming around his length.

You rocked your hips through your orgasm, milking John for all he had and could give you then, before your hips stilled. You felt John soften inside you, but he had no intention of pulling out just yet.

He fell back on your bed, staring up at your ceiling. John's head was nearly about to fall off the foot of the bed, but Bob's tight hold on his legs kept him safe and secure. You kept your own hold on Bob, nearly falling asleep.

After a while, John shifted in bed. He pulled his shaky legs out from under you and Bob, grabbing you by the waist again. You let out a whine, not ready for another round. John let out scoff and rolled his eyes. "Relax, I'm just getting us comfortable."

You hummed when John moved you up higher in bed, pushing Bob a little at his shoulders for him to scoot in the bed to make room. Bob let out a quiet moan when his head sank into one of your pillows, his eyes closing. You leaned forward and kissed his cheek, wrapping your arms around him and holding him. Your head rested on his chest, right above his heart.

John eventually settled on the other side of you. He laid on his stomach, like you. His right leg was tangled in between yours, his right arm thrown over you and Bob. John's left leg dangled off your bed while his left arm laid under the pillow he was using. Bob's free arm that wasn't trapped under you reached across you, his hand laying on John's back. His fingers traced John's soft skin, swirling circles and random patterns. Your bedroom eventually fell into a comfortable quietness.

There wasn't anything that necessarily needed to be said, but the future now remained uncertain. What came next? When you all recovered, would you pretend like nothing ever happened? Deep down, you didn't want that. You enjoyed spending time with John and Bob, you enjoyed your time with the three of you together even more now.

You were thankful to not be the one to talk next. As much as you were enjoying the silence, it began to be almost too quiet.

"Think we can make this happen again?" John asked, leaning up now and looking over at the two of you. Bob was surprised John wanted to make it happen again, but he can't say he disagreed.

You opened your eyes and looked at Bob, before turning enough to look at John. He had a smirk on his face, one that was far too smug for your liking. You let out a scoff and pushed his head a little, playfully. "Wipe that smirk off your face, Walker. Who said this was gonna happen again?"

You let your head fall back down on Bob's chest, feeling John lay on you and pepper kisses on your face as an apology. Bob smiled down at the two of you continuing to listen to your obvious sarcasm of not enjoying yourself to John who was asking you a dozen questions all at once. Bob's right hand ran through John's golden hair as he sat quietly in his own thoughts, his left hand coming down to your face, gently stroking it.

"I wouldn't mind doing this again," Bob admitted, cutting through you and John's teasing. He met eyes with John, who was now fully grinning ear to ear. It was like John knew if Bob agreed, then you would too.

"See? Bobby's down. So what do you say?" John flinched when you brought your hand up to flick his nose. You muttered how he was an idiot before rolling onto your back.

Bob wrapped an arm around you while John laid in between your legs, chin resting on your stomach. You let out a hum, stroking John's face.

"Fine," you agree, pinching John's cheeks between your fingers. "But I want to watch you choke on Bob's dick next time."

[norrisjpg]

── ☆ tea talks & torn paper

════════════════════════

series: my kind of woman, LN⁴

content: swearing, max & pietra being adorable, soft lando, relationship advice, torn pages, unspoken feelings and a little bit of tension

pairing: lando norris x fem!oc

rora's thoughts: hi everyone, ever so sorry i went quiet on you all! i was having a bit of an unmotivated era and literally gave up on life itself! but, i've had a mental reset and i'm ready to get back at writing again. so, i really hope you enjoy this one, and welcome to the world of my kind of woman!

════════════════════════

LILY’S FRIDAY AFTERNOON wasn’t supposed to look like this. 

her small suitcase had been packed, outfits meticulously chosen, and nervous system prepared for a full-on media blitz at the book launch she’d been anticipating for weeks. but, when the publishing company had abruptly postponed the event due to some sort of logistical complication, lily had found herself with an unclaimed weekend and a non-refundable train ticket to oxford.

“so, you’re sure you don’t want to reschedule this book launch thing?” the brit piped up from the couch. 

“it’s not reschedulable, you knob.” lily rolled her eyes as she placed her once-packed shoes back on the rack. “the whole thing was canned.”

“what a shame,” pietra teased, walking over to the couch and flopping down next to her boyfriend. “i was really looking forward to my saturday night voice notes about how some sweaty guy grabbed your ass.”

“thankyou p.” the younger fewtrell gave her a deadpan look.

“so welcome.” the girl grinned.

“the offer to come with me and p is still there,” max said breezily. “if you want it, of course. it’ll be fun, he has like ten spare rooms, and you haven’t seen him in ages.”

“you’re not giving me much time to think about this.” she frowned, zipping the suitcase back up.

“because i know you, el.” her brother replied. “you’ll just be in your flat all weekend, reading something sappy and avoiding socialisation – or god forbid, you spend it with harry.”

“hey, leave harry out of this – and maybe i like being a recluse.”

“oh, we’re going golfing too, so pack some golf-friendly clothes.” he pointed out, trying to think of any other things she should know. “and lando has a hot-tub, and a sauna, and a gym… actually just pack for everything.”

“does he even know i’m coming?” she asked, still contemplating whether she should just bale on her not-certain plans already.

“he’s lando, he’d probably forget even if i did tell him.” max shrugged casually, earning a hand to the shoulder from pietra.

“lily, it’ll be fine. lando likes you, you like lando. it’s not like he’s going to make you sleep on the driveway – so you’re not uninvited, just a… nice surprise.”

“okay, i’ll come, when are we leaving?” lily sighed, wheeling her case toward her bedroom. 

max checked his watch, “in thirty.” 

• • • •

THE BACKSEATS of max’s audi were surprisingly spacious, allowing lily to stretch her legs out across the seats, and lean on the pillow she’d brought with her. the spine of her latest read was pressed against her knee, a good girl’s guide to murder printed neatly in black and red on a white background. she’d been meaning to read it for years now, but she’d never quite gotten around to opening the front page – so this was a good excuse, an hours drive to get stuck in.

invested in the teenager’s journey, she had neglected to notice that max had indicated down a tree-lined driveway, and that lando’s surrey pad had come into view – sleek, modern lines softened by ivy-covered walls and warm yellow lights pouring from the interior. 

lando and lily had known each other since they were fifteen, meeting at one of max’s karting races. he’d been awkward and geeky, gushing over engine types and tyre wear, but always sweet and polite with her, if a little nervous sometimes. but the last time she’d seen him was almost a year ago. he’d filled out (obviously, formula 1 drivers aren’t exactly stick-like), and he was charming, making her laugh with well-polished wit and the same immature humour she’d grown to love in their childhood. he’d been effortlessly kind, gentle, sweet in an undemanding way that didn’t make her feel like she had to perform. 

“i still feel weird showing up unannounced.” lily mumbled as she closed her book and carefully placed it into her bag. 

“as my wonderful girlfriend said, just a delightful surprise.” max quoted pietra, shutting the driver’s side door. 

she grumbled something in response, walking around toward the boot of the audi, intending on hauling her suitcase out of the vehicle – but it was short-lived, because the subject of her worries stepped out of the front door with a wide grin on his face.

“hey lovebirds.” lando chimed, skipping down the front steps like the child he was – and not quite noticing the other girl stood behind the car. 

the driver gave the pair a quick hug, “how was your drive?”

“lily wouldn’t stop stressing out about the fact that you didn’t know she was coming.” max blurted, making his sister poke her head out from the rear of the audi.

“hi lando.” she waved with a small, sheepish smile. 

if he wasn’t already smiling, he was practically beaming now. lando’s features softened and lit up at the same time, and he laughed softly, quickly heading toward her. 

“hi lala.” the mclaren driver said quietly, casually embracing the girl as if he’d been waiting for this day – his hoodie smelled like cedarwood and lemon, and it assaulted her senses like a homely candle. “how’ve you been?”

“i’ve been good, thankyou.” she smiled. “you?”

“never better,” lando nodded, gaze flitting over her features as he spoke. “let me get your stuff.”

“it’s okay–” she was cut off by lando easily picking her bag up. “thankyou. you’re sure you don’t mind me crashing here for the weekend?”

“are you kidding?” the brit laughed, “you’ve just improved the guestlist.”

pietra looked at max, raising her eyebrows in that same way she always did, earning an eye roll from her boyfriend. the couple (code for max) grabbed their bags, and then the two of them headed into the house. 

“come on, you can pick your room.” lando nodded, reaching up and closing the boot, before gesturing for her to follow him into the large building.

inside, the house was as chaotic as she’d remembered, but in a more, subtle, i’m an adult now, way. the shoe-shelf by the door was dishevelled to say the least – all of his most-used shoes were on there, just randomised and not in pairs at all. her shoes actually looked out of place, paired neatly and placed next to the strangely organised rack. there were a few pillows on the bottom of the staircase, with an untouched basket of clean washing next to the bannister.

pietra was flopped on the couch like it was her own, with max complaining about having no space and trying to find something to watch on the ridiculously large tv.

“so why’d you end up coming?” lando asked as he carried lily’s suitcase up the stairs. “not that i’m unhappy you’re here.”

“the book launch i was going to got cancelled.” she explained with a shrug of her shoulders. “i wasn’t really looking forward to it anyway. they sent me an early release, didn’t bother to read it.”

“brutal.” the driver laughed, glancing back at her briefly.

“honestly?” lily continued. “i wasn’t in the mood to be charming to strangers.”

“and you are now?” lando queried as they entered the spare room next to his. 

“you’re not a stranger, and define charming.” she laughed.

“exactly what you’re doing now.” he replied coolly, his gaze trained on her for a little too long.

“lando, why do you have four tubs of peanut butter and no bread?” max yelled up the stairs. 

“they substituted my nutella and i forgot about bread.” lando groaned, turning to shout.

“still the same.” she chuckled.

“i’m evolving, slowly.”

“i noticed,” she teased. “you used to live on toast and protein bars.”

“bagels and protein shakes now, i’ve upgraded. very adult.”

“impressive.”

their eyes locked again, and for a second, the faint noise of max and pietra chatting downstairs faded to silence. it was the kind of moment lily had always brushed past before – innocent enough to ignore, but heavy enough to remember. she looked away first, thanking him for carrying her bags and letting her stay.

“you’re always welcome here, lala.”

• • • •

BY TEN O’CLOCK, max was flat out on the sofa after a debate about which premier league team had the best looking players, and pietra had rolled her eyes at her boyfriend so many times she was sure they were going to get stuck there. pietra retired to the other guest bedroom, and lando bidded the younger fewtrell goodnight, before she herself slipped away to her room, the soft click of the door punctuating the quietness of the house.

she wasn’t tired.

restless was a better way to describe her demeanour, the kind of restlessness that came from a long day of travel, too many not quite finished thoughts, and the underlying buzz of something unspoken. maybe it was lando’s nostalgic warmth, maybe it was the glance she caught between max and pietra when lando greeted her, as if they knew something lily didn’t.

she wouldn’t call what happened sleep, moreso closing her eyes for a couple hours and pretending too. so, at five o’clock in the morning, the pull of alertness won, dragging her out of bed and quietly downstairs to the kitchen. 

she padded down the stairs in her hoodie and shorts, expecting silence – but the kitchen light was on, but dimmed.

pietra sat at the counter, sipping from a ceramic mug, her body angled toward the sliding glass doors. outside, the early morning sky stretched wide and pale, clouds tinged with gold and papaya.

“oh, morning.” lily grumbled, not sure if she was pleasantly surprised by the lack of solitude or not. “how come you’re up?”

“not really that tired.” pietra shrugged, sighing softly as she sipped more of her coffee. “how are you and harry doing?”

“yeah, we’re okay, i guess.” lily said, sounding slightly unamused. “we’re just casual, you know?”

“you deserve something that isn’t casual.” she responded. “and look i know it might be a bit random to you, but have you considered lando?”

she laughed, quiet and a little shook. “lando? no way, he’s max’s best mate.”

“but he’s so sweet to you, not like he is with anyone else.”

“he’s nice to everyone.” she brushed it off, like she always did.

“you’re allowed to like someone who’s good for you, you know? no matter who they are.”

she was about to reply, consider pietra’s suggestion, when the pad of heavier footsteps interrupted her train of thought. “oh, good morning.” lando yawned.

“morning lan.” lily smiled, the nickname slipping off of her tongue. 

“morning lando.” pietra replied, glancing at the man. 

he was in the navy quadrant hoodie, looking too soft to be real, hood pulled up and curls sticking out everywhere. on his legs were a light grey pair of shorts, with some matching navy socks on his feet. he looked pliant, adorable even. 

the three of them sat in comfortable silence, lando knowingly sliding a hot cup of tea, with two sugars and a splash of milk, over to lily wordlessly, earning an appreciative smile from her. he hopped up onto the counter next to her, watching the sunrise with the two girls. lily watched a bird land on the balcony fence, wings sharp against the morning blush – admiring the way it could freely come and go whenever it wanted.

“you remembered,” lily smiled after swallowing a mouthful of the warm beverage. “my tea, that is.”

“i have a good memory.” the driver smiled, gently nudging her shoulder with his own. “two sugars with an obscenely small amount of milk.”

she laughed, quiet and real, glancing at him and noticing the faint traces of sleep on his face, in the forms of shallow lines and dishevelled eyelashes. his curls looked ridiculously soft, and when he ruffled them after taking his hood down, she briefly appreciated the beauty of his new hair. 

the way he leaned a little closer to her when she smiled didn’t go unnoticed, instead reluctantly swept away from her mind like the rest of the thoughts he brought with him.

• • • •

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, lily was sat on a deck chair on the patio, nearing the end of the first book in the trilogy. she was so deep into the plotline that she didn’t notice lando creeping up behind her until it was too late. 

when his hands squeezed her shoulders abruptly, she slammed the book shut and pulled on one of the pages near the end – tearing the paper almost clean out. she quietly noticed, he didn’t.

“lando!” she groaned, gently thumping him on the head with the paperback. 

“you ready for my cooking, miss fewtrell?” he asked, hands still on her shoulders, softly holding and rubbing his thumbs over them now. 

“call the fire brigade now.”

“hey! that was one time.” he laughed, resting his chin on top of her head and looking down at her book. “what’cha reading?”

“something you’re clearly too illiterate to read the title of.” she deadpanned, putting the book under her chair and going to get up.

he laughed, genuine and real, for the first time in a while. “so rude – i’ll make you sleep on the drive.”

“who would keep your ego in check then?” lily shook her head, furrowing her eyebrows with a teasing laugh.

a couple hours later, the group were full and max was pretty sure he had chronic indigestion from trying to see how many chips he could eat in thirty seconds. 

lando was out on the deck, making sure he hadn’t left anything out there, when he spotted the white and red book underneath a patio chair. en-route back to the house, the driver flicked through a few pages, his gaze immediately landing on the ripped page near the back – and he quickly realised that he was at fault for it. he didn’t say anything when he handed the book back to her, not yet.

• • • •

MONDAY MORNING came around too quickly, and lando left before the other three did, having to head out early to japan early for some media stuff. he’d hugged her, longer than he did the other two, even whispered a sweet ‘see you soon, lala’ in her ear as he’d pulled away.

she wasn’t actually sure when he’d done it, she’d been with him practically the entire weekend. but when she’d returned to the room she was staying in, with the intention of packing up her stuff – there was a neatly wrapped and strangely-shaped package on the foot of the double bed, clad in brown paper with a small white bow on the top left corner. 

‘sorry about the book. and sorry i didn’t scare max instead. had some help from p too - L’

lily stood there for a few minutes after unwrapping the entire holly jackson series, heart swelling, and the scent of the perfume she’d been wanting but could get curling around her like a spritzed embrace.

outside the window, the wind brushed the trees.

and somewhere deep in her soul, something had begun to change.

════════════════════════

taglist: @verogonewild @tvdtw4ever @shawnscurlz @f1fantasys @hescrush @stonesylove @irisesinthegarden @unfuckwitabella @mayax2o07 @curlylando

i do not give permission for my works to be re-written, re-published, or published on any other platform.

© norrisjpg 2025

[jitt4z]

vocal rest

zayne x mc!reader

2.6k+ words(!!!)

a/n: smut…kinda? i like honestly was TORTURED by this one bc i find zayne so hard to write but this was so fun but also so challenging and i debated on finishing ANYWAYSSSS i hope you like it!!

blurb: you practicing fake moans and got a sore throat and ofc you have to see our favorite doctor!!!

warnings: mentions of adult videos (veeery brief though), fingering (afab receiving), this plot is fucking ridiculous, idk what i was on, maybe bad writing???, zayne is just being a helpful guy :^), proofread in very lackluster fashion, uhhh…that’s it?, hope you like it!!!

“Mmm, fuck yeah!”

Okay…Definitely not.

“Oh, yes, baby— it’s so deep!!”

No.

“Oh, God! I’m coming!”

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

Maybe you just needed to get your voice warm first. Practice makes perfect, right?

At least, that’s what you had thought before you spent about two and a half hours practicing moans in your bed the previous night. Nothing sounded…right. Not that it needed to be— you weren’t seeing anyone at all— buuuuut what if you did see someone? What if you saw someone and you let out some kind of unsexy moan that kills the mood, one that’s not like the moans the women in the adult videos you’ve seen a few times? It was so theatrical, and yours just seemed so terribly normal.

Whatever, just try again, you thought.

“Oh, yes! Yes!! I—“

You suddenly were quiet. Only moments ago your voice was reverberating on the walls, and now all that came out was a hoarse whisper. You tried a couple more times before the pain became too much to bear. You decided to try speaking regularly, which was a bit better, but a slight stinging was still present. Your voice was gone.

Shit.

For the next two days, you did just about every at-home remedy there was. You drank hot liquids, sucked on throat lozenges, and ate an unprecedented amount of ice cream, yet nothing made your voice come back completely. You even took sick time as to not have to explain the story to anyone just to move on and forget, but your last sick day was coming very soon, and your throat was still very sore.

Okay. Just breathe— think, think…

You could try drinking that one ginger tea instead of the echinacea one you’ve been guzzling.

Maybe.

Or you could try a new over the counter medicine because you’ve used every single thing in your medicine cabinet.

Maybe.

Or you could go to the doctor.

Yes, you should go to the doctor. But what if he’s there?

Zayne could always see through you when you felt unwell. He knew exactly what each symptom meant: a sniffle, a cough, a throbbing headache— it didn’t matter because he was a professional. But more importantly, he knew you. You just wish he knew you less professionally. However, you knew him less professionally (in your dreams).

Many a night you’d stare up at your ceiling, thinking about if he ever saw the little peeks you’d give up your hospital gown when you were in his office and if he ever got a rise out of it. You’d think about if his face would turn into a deliciously soft pink if he saw the under cusps of your ass and how his cheeks would morph into an intense, yet passionate red if he ever got a chance to be inside of you and to make you feel the way he knew you wanted to feel.

But, alas, you only ever saw him for your checkups, minus the times he’d take you out to eat after your blood sugar was low from those said checkups. Other than that, you guys never saw each other really because of work, which made it even crazier that he could read you so well.

But right now, you couldn’t let that happen. You’d rather die than tell him about what you were doing. There was no other choice.

                                  . . .

You look ridiculous right now.

Between the sunglasses that hid your entire face, the baggy hoodie you wore, and the fact that it was practically a million degrees outside, you look like you’re about to commit a crime.

You shuffle up to the front desk, smiling sheepishly at the receptionist’s puzzled expression.

“Hey, it’s me.” You croak out lowly, your voice still sore.

The receptionist raises an eyebrow. You realize how odd you must look as you lean up against the counter, so you peek from over your sunglasses to show your face. Her eyes light up in recognition and she nods.

“Oh, I see. Would you like for me to see if Dr. Zayne is—“

“No!” You shout as loud as you could with your frail voice. She furrows her brow and you immediately start to apologize.

“Nooooo…worries! It’s just that it’s a sore throat. Don’t want to be a bother—”

“Oh, you aren’t bother at all. Here, just hang tight. I’ll page him.”

You try to say something else, but your voice didn’t come out as she starts typing away, so like any sensible person avoiding their (suuuuper hot) doctor would, you run away.

You turn around, hearing the receptionist call after you, but you kept going. You speed through the corridor, pushing your sunglasses further up the bridge of your nose as your eyes dart to and fro.

Everything seemed fine, other than the widened eyes that ran over your very suspicious getup. The widened eyes came and went as they pass by you: brown eyes, blue eyes, green eyes with a bit of hazel mixed in—

Oh, shit.

You try to swerve around him, but it was too late. Zayne stood firmly in front of you, his gaze unwavering. He looked you up and down, sending shivers down your spine.

“You’re here.” He sounded taken aback, yet the way he looked at you told you that he was trying to find a reason as to why you’d be here, especially looking like that.

“Yeah…” You said faintly, not trying to speak too much, but perceptive as ever, he knew. He pursed his lips as if he were thinking for a moment, digesting the fact that he found a possible symptom so he could diagnose you.

“Come.”

You shook your head, getting ready to protest, but you saw his jaw tighten.

“You’re already here. It would be pointless to not check for anything. Please, let me help.”

You heard the pleading undertone in his voice and your heart sank momentarily. Zayne was definitely more guarded with his emotions, but he always had a pattern of being concerned if anything happened to your health. He was a doctor, so you figured it was something he just did because of his title, but that wasn’t it. No, that wasn’t it at all.

You found yourself seated on the exam chair, the tissue paper crinkling underneath you as you settled. The sound of it was only amplified by your silence because your mind was running a blank. You couldn’t say anything. To hell with the sore throat, you would speak no matter how much it hurt just to avoid this terrible quiet you were plunged into. Then, he started typing. The click-clacking of Zayne’s fingers on the keyboard was only adding to your…what was it?

Fear of him about to scold you for not being so careful?

Relief from finally being able to get treatment?

Excitement from the fact that it’s him checking in on you?

He steps toward you, giving you a surveying look that sends chills through you. He froze when he got to your face. Unexpectedly, he gives a small smile.

“You look ridiculous. I’m surprised you didn’t have a heatstroke on your way over here.” He teased.

You wanted to retort, but you grumbled in response instead. He slipped his hands on either side of your head, his fingers steadying on the arms of your glasses.

“May I?” He asked, the slight tease in his voice still lingering.

You nod, giving him the go ahead.

The sunglasses come off and with that so did the last bit of your protection from his gaze. It’s as if you were encapsulated immediately, blinking over and over again as if you doing so would make this abysmal situation any less real.

“Is it just the sore throat or are your eyes irritated, too?”

“I’m fine—“

Immediately, he handed you his clipboard with a blank sheet of paper and a pen.

“Don’t speak. It’ll hurt more for you,” he instructed. “Write it down.”

You scribble onto the page for a moment.

Hi

His presence was almost overbearing as he leaned over your shoulder to read the words you wrote down, and when he spoke, it only got worse.

“Is that how you usually start conversations with friends you run away from?" You could hear the smirk in his voice, and you hated it. That added on to the way his breath tickled your ear, a heat began creeping into your body to somewhere that needed attention—his attention— rather than your embarrassingly sore throat.

Sorry :( I didn't want to bother you

He looks down at the notepad again before scoffing.

"It's not bothering me if it regards your health," he started as he walked over to the other side of the tiny room to get a thermometer. "Besides, if this is what you consider 'bothering,’ I only wish you bothered me a bit more…It gives me something to do."

He stood in front of you once again, holding the thermometer in front of your mouth.

"Open."

You were surprised at the sudden command despite doing this a million times before, but you were even more surprised that you complied so quickly and thoughtlessly.

"Good." He mused. Despite doing this a million times before, you never recalled him doing that. Or maybe he did, and you just couldn't remember because all you were thinking about was the way your thighs kept pressing together to give you some kind of relief from him.

Just get the diagnosis and go. Just get the diagnosis and fucking go.

A few more vitals were taken before he stood still for a moment, contemplating before he cleared his throat.

"Have you been shouting out orders while fighting Wanderers?" Zayne asked, keeping a bit of space between you two.

He gave you an out. You nodded thoughtlessly so you could avoid having to divulge any details you didn't want to say. You gripped the pen in your hand, wondering if you should write something down to make the story truly ironclad. It's just a little white lie.

You started to write, but you felt firm and steady hands take the pen from you. His fingers brushed against yours, and you looked at him.

"Tara came through a few days ago. She said she hadn't heard from you, that she hadn't seen you at work." He looked at you expectantly as if he were waiting for an answer, despite you not being able to give one because he took away the pen. He just watched you begin to flounder, and he seemed to be enjoying it.

"I need you to be straight with me."

He gingerly placed the pen back in your hand. You stared at him, your eyes unable to tear themselves from him.

"I went to your apartment to check on you. I didn't hear anything. I rang your doorbell, left you text messages, and left you phone calls. Nothing."

You saw the look in his eyes, the way he peered at you through a half-lidded gaze.

"But," he said after a pause. "After a bit, I did hear you."

Your face dropped, and you began to frantically write on the paper. It took you several tries to write something without scribbling it out and all starting over again. You began to write, but he stopped your hand.

"It's incredibly unrealistic to expect sex to be like that."

So he already knew you were faking? The realization that he heard you moaning? Screeching? Like a banshee? You wanted to be anywhere else.

He reached out to touch your face, his thumb and index finger tilting your face up to him.

"You're familiar with heavy deadlines— correct?" The way he stared at you would've made you think he was staring through you, but he was staring into you, reading you and your desires, sensing your wants through that pleading look in your eyes. You nodded.

"They're stressful. Some things should just be, wouldn't you agree?"

You nod again, your hands basically limp in your lap. He chuckles.

"You've been rather adamant about that in regard to me. I'm not a professional on that, but I've learned that certain things should just happen; not everything can be controlled."

He looks over and leans into you.

"It seems you need a reminder— it seems we both do."

He places a hand on your thigh. While he's only touching you through your sweatpants, you felt the way goosebumps prickled up on your skin. You stared at his hand as he continued to caress you.

"How's this?" He whispered, his head tilted to the side as he looked up at you from over his glasses. You braced both your hands on the chair, bits of the already crinkled tissue paper you sat on being ripped by the tightness of your grip. You stared back at him as he inched his hands a bit higher. Soon, your sweatpants were around your ankles, your feet dangling from the chair still. His hands moved under your sweatshirt, the baggy nature of it giving him more than enough room to explore your body.

Your throat burned so good, and you couldn't tell whether or not it was from your sore throat or because you felt moans threatening to come up. Finally, he pulled one out of you as an abnormally cold fingertip grazed over your nipple. An almost devilish smirk spread on his face.

"Isn't your throat sore? You should refrain from speaking or…other things," he smiled as he leaned in close to your ear. "It's best you rest your voice for now."

His hand started to wander over the cloth of your panties, feeling the soaking desire you had already produced. You begin to squirm a bit underneath his touch, finally reaching out to grab on to him rather than something else. You pant as he expertly works at you, pressing yourself against his fingers, chasing after more and more and more.

"Just keep breathing— yes, just like that. I've got you."

He keeps going, and your ability to keep your mouth shut is killing you.

"Z-Zayne, please…I can't take it…" You lowly moan out, the sound gentle and soft, yet raw and beautifully unpracticed, unlike the ones you did days before. He looks you in your eyes before leaning in to press kisses on your jawline until he gets to your ear. Once he was there, he asks you a singular question.

"I have to know; was it genuine?" He cooed as he teased you. A distinct wave of pleasure came over you again as you felt him move your panties to the side, his fingers now slicked over because of you. You nodded, your eyes shut tight as you focus only on the way he was making you feel and the filthy things he was whispering in your ear. He pulled back and rested his forehead on yours.

"You can take it," he hums. "I wouldn't want you exhausting your voice for no reason. If you were going to use your voice for anything, this would be it. To show me how this feels; how this really feels…"

"Please, tell me…does it feel good?" He breathes, his fingers still tracing the shape of your bud. It's almost as if you can sense the uncertainty in his eyes, the uncertainty that you completely washed away as you gave him your answer, which was a mix between a whine and a groan that you couldn't control. Without hesitation, you tug him forward, your lips meeting for a moment before you slip your tongue in his mouth, earning a muffled moan from him. He pulls apart from you for a second, slowly taking off his glasses, the lenses fogged before those warm and darkly verdant eyes look at you again.

"…Okay, then I'll keep going for you."

[deveondog]

But nothing can capture the sting.

Title from Gigi Perez's, Sailor Song

If you thought being in twisted wonderland– a world full of fantasy and fun, would help your mental issues. You'd be very wrong.

Cw: Depictions of self harm and mental issues. This is also very self indulgent. Not beta read

Twst gender neutral reader insert, very short

The first week or so was fun, getting to see an anomaly called an "overblot", it was so cool in your eyes.. Of course you felt bad for the boy stuck inside his own head but you couldn't seem to care in the moment. He looked so hypnotic, you wish your phone worked still so you could take pictures of him and draw him later. But after that was solved the world got.. boring. It fell into a routine again. Just like your world.

Get up, get Grim up, get ready for school, go to school, most likely end up in trouble for something you didn't take part in, end the day, repeat.

Same.

Old.

Routine.

You found yourself on auto pilot most days. Hell, you didn't even have a phone from this world yet so you couldn't even distract yourself for a few hours. It all felt so mundane and dull. You found yourself hoping something would go wrong. Like an explosion in alchemy or a simpler, special hands on lesson in history. But nothing. You stopped paying attention in class, not even fully there. Your freshman friend group had asked you if you're ok but honestly, how do you explain "this world is just as boring as mine?" when theres so much more to this one? so you settled for a basic "Yeah i'm okay! Sorry to make you guys worry hah."

Eventually you found yourself in your head again. Always there. You barely spoke unless asked something. You were in a bad place and you knew it. But you missed this feeling all too much. The isolating feeling of being on sad and empty. It was like a drug to you. Back home there was an incident with your school so there you had to start taking meds to help your mood stay stable. But here? You don't even know if those exist, and you couldn't be happier. Everything got worse after the second overblot. You felt the same feelings you had previously, 'He looks like he's in so much pain, but it's so beautiful..' you barely heard yourself say. The image of the second prince and his phantom burned into your head like a drill on fire. Beautiful. Bewitching. Alluring.. But like the other one, you were force to bring him back. You sometimes wished someone would help you..

How did it get worse? Well, now you often found yourself looking for sharp objects. Broken glass, a kitchen knife, a small pocket knife. Anything that would make you feel something again.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

FiveSixSeveneightnineteneleven.

Twelv—

You stopped.

Why were you doing this again?

You want help right? attention? thats why isnt it?

You want someone to look past your mask and see.

So you did this in hopes someone would help.

But no one ever looked far enough.

Your Third overblot in and everything just looked ugly. Foul. Plain even. You were to used to it at this point and even overblots didn't look like they did when you first came to Twisted wonderland. Sure, he was a gorgeous man. His overblot was no less appealing to you but.. you cant find it in yourself to look past the outside anymore.

Your thighs are covered.

You're running out of room..

Left shoulder.

Full.

Chest?

It's empty. why not?

It feels to good to stop.

You cant pay attention in class anymore. Your professors have pulled you aside and asked whats wrong "It cant be easy. Being in a world of magic, when you yourself never knew it existed." one of them said to you.

If only they knew.

A/N: um hi, this is awkward.. i really have been wanting to write some self indulgent twst x reader but this was just a full in vent it feels like, so sorry?? unless u enjoyed it.. thanks

Hopefully more x readers that arent this depressed to come!!!

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 6/10/2025

banger tuesdaysong about recreational chloroform. also, science fiction, my favorite genre full of so much dreck

listening

Lança Perfume, by Rita Lee and Roberto De Carvalho. i think spotify suggested this to me bc she was part of Os Mutantes, previously featured as a tuesdaysong artist. incredibly fun portugese-language song about recreational chloroform and fucking that sounds like an eighties anime closing song. sound of the summer 2025

-

reading

a brief review of books that left my house last week. many terrible lesbian novels. if you’re wondering why i ditched a particular title u can flick back through hr past six months of tuesdayposts bc tuesdayposts are quite frankly miserable to write on a phone.

The Wastelanders by KS Merbeth (duology). did not do anything interesting with its cannibal premise. just kind of a rolling series of lackluster action scenes that didn’t go anywhere.

Sing The Four Quarters by Tanya Huff. makes me feel like a bad feminist bc it’s so much more pregnancy focused than i will ever be interested in reading. canonically bisexual protagonist!

JEM by Frederik Pohl. im sure this is a really cool look at how utopias degenerate into dystopias but an astronomer gets pity sex from a hot woman who then gets him a pity grant of several billion dollars by fucking the leadership of a senate committee, and that is so far outside my experience of how astronomers get grants i had to slam dunk this one into the donation bag.

Nocturne for a Dangerous Man by Marc Matz. protagonist too important and good at everything it was no longer fun to read.

The Cloud Warriors by Patrick Tilley. im furious about this one bc it’s book one of The Amtrak Wars and has one of the cooler post-apocalyptic premises ive come across. however. however. one of the young man protagonists juuuuust misses being valedictorian of the knockoff air force academy and the actual valedictorian (hot girl) has pity sex with him while saying “you’re number one in my book” while his DAD, dying from CANCER, is out cold in the bedroom corner bc he had to be sedated at the graduation ceremony!!! WHAT THE FUCK

The Nemesis of Evil by Lin Carter. breathtakingly racist.

had a really good time with this thirteen hour audiobook about a Ghananian trust fund con unfolding over decades! the author does a great job explaining the background of the various political regimes and juntas that influenced the con, you get thoroughly backgrounded re: British imperialism, a real heavily sourced passion project. the narrator Jude Owusu has a really great voice, i wish he performed more nonfiction.

-

watching

three episodes left of The Apothecary Diaries 😭😭😭 really hope this one gets renewed. will have more thoughts next week after i finish it bc it very effectively tricks you into thinking it’s just an episodic mystery of the week show

-

playing

apparently i have three free months of Apple Arcade from some sort of promo. now taking recs/let me know if there’s anything specific you want me to take a look at

-

making

cross stitch update. please ignore the state of my kitchen table.

banger thrifting weekend: spent more money than i was planning to but checked off a lot of things on my little mental list ive had an eye out for multiple years

beach towels

food processor

stainless steel cat water fountain

cocktail jigger with measurements marked inside

[grimm-the-tiger]

If you're into SatW still, what are your headcanons on any character? If at all?

I'll do you one better and give you several!

Iceland and Norway are not full brothers. Iceland's mother is Sister Ireland, who booked it as soon as her kids were born, and he was raised by Norway because their father refused to take responsibility.

Iceland is buddy-buddies with the entire bureaucracy of Hell.

The cat demons' meows sound like old laugh tracks.

Wales and New Zealand's kid can switch between human and sheep forms at will.

Sister Japan can kick ass if she really wants to.

No one knows where Sweden came from. As far as anyone's concerned, he appeared out of the blue one day. He's probably related to the other Nordics somehow, but no one knows how. He's like that cousin who pops up out of nowhere at family reunions and keeps changing his story about how he's related to you.

Sweden is absolutely terrified of Scania turning out like Denmark. It's bad enough he already has to deal with Denmark and Christiania, he doesn't need to deal with a third one who also lives in his house.

Iceland didn't kill his children. He just has a really sick sense of humor and likes using their ashes to terrorize the kids he babysits.

Norway, Sister Norway, and Svalbard are triplets. (This one might be canon, idk.) There was a fourth sibling once. No one knows what happened to her.

Christiania is Denmark's kid with Sister Netherlands.

Norway likes to sew. This one's probably also canon.

[sabos-husband]

Hi! was hoping for a request (this might get really specific) reader as a strawhat member who grew up with luffy (by extension also ace and sabo) back in foosha village, but actually used to be a slave for the celestial dragons before she arrived there, maybe never told luffy because in her mind, luffy was the epitome of freedom and she was ashamed of her past. The scenario I had in mind for the reveal was maybe in the middle of battle, her clothes gets torn and her mark is seen, maybe some strawhats have an idea of that mark is (maybe jinbei, robin and alike) while others don't (ussop? maybe?), while making the enemies ridicule her and how the strawhats react, but you can choose another scene that you think are more fitting! i just wanted to see how you'd write luffy because i love your writing style! the way you write flows perfectly and it's never out of character, you're my current fav writer on tumblr! so thank you!

★ Around the World

Monkey D. Luffy and Reader ★

Fishman Island Spoilers!! ~ Straw Hat!Reader ~ Feminine Reader (she/her) ~ Hurt/Comfort

a/n: Aww, that's so sweet of you! I appreciate that so much! Specific asks are wonderful, it makes it easier to write something as close as possible to what you want. Thank you for the request <3 I put the majority of this between Fishman Island and Punk Hazard, but there aren't major spoilers. Sorry this took a while!

As well, there's description of the reader's history with slavery and the trauma that came from that. I left it vague for the most part, though.

For so much of your life, Luffy's been a constant. Even when you ran around Gray Terminal with Sabo and Ace, terrorizing all the people you could find for all the money you could grab, Luffy wasn't far behind for most of it. It took the Bluejam Pirates torturing Luffy for hours before his loyalty dawned on the three of you.

It then took Bluejam setting fire to Gray Terminal for you to truly consider Luffy special.

When Sabo took to the sea, swallowed by flame, you held Luffy tight as he wailed. When Ace left for the sea, aided by nothing but a burlap sack on his shoulder and the wind in his sails, Luffy had promised he would follow. When Luffy left for the sea, you were there, standing by his side. His very own first mate, meant to weather the Grand Line by his side.

You hoped with all your heart it'd stay that way. You hoped that it was all he'd know about you—you, his first mate, with nothing else of her past beyond the Grey Terminal's walls and Foosha Village's people.

Of course, nothing you want ever comes so simply.

You can still remember the shrieks of laughter that burst from Luffy as you both clambered into barrels—it made sense that he would wind up into trouble on the sea, but the first day takes the cake!

Your life has been non-stop ever since. From the very moment you both step foot on Shells Town with Koby in tow, the crew grew and grew to numbers that made your pride in Luffy bloom.

Zoro was tough with a sword and reliable when you need him, but his difficulty with directions always made your head spin. Nami was quick with her hands and quicker with her mind, just like how she could never stand to let a Berri slip by. Usopp was sharp as a tack with his constant innovations and steady sharpshooting, even when he ran at ten knots an hour away from danger. Sanji was nothing short of a first-rate chef and one of the strongest men you knew, despite how often he lost himself in the wild pursuit of women.

Then there came the Grand Line. It brought Chopper, Robin, Franky, Brook, Jinbei; thinking about the people Luffy drew to himself never failed to bring a smile to your lips. It's not like you could ever speak against them for their affection towards the captain—it's what brought you away from the safety of Foosha Village as well, skirting past the World Government you hated and feared for all your life.

It's like second nature, how much you love Luffy. Every single one of you would give anything for your captain.

"Anything" changes for you sometimes, though. Late into the night, long after the moon took its place in the sky, you wrestled with the dark. Could you keep this secret from your captain? From Luffy, the person you've known all your life?

(No, you'd remind yourself, not all your life.)

You think of the little boy you grew up alongside with, with a smile so bright you had to shield your eyes. The wind whipping his hair and threatening to carry away his straw hat as he lights up with laughter. You think of how your captain looks at you with the stars in his eyes, declaring that he will be the next King of the Pirates, and you believe him with all your heart.

Even after Ace died, his flames swallowed up in magma, you were there two years later. Luffy had gone through hell and back with you—couldn't that be enough?

It was thoughts like those that kept your secrets to yourself.

It was some foolish, childish part of you that thought you could have kept it up forever.

~

The day was as usual. It was nice, even. You had just finished helping Sanji with the groceries—to his chagrin, of course.

As much as he adores your company, he detests making such a sweet lady do manual labor for him, and he lets you know. Often. It was charming for the first while, but by the time you help Sanji put away the groceries, you're just glad it's over with.

The snack he rewards you after with, though, makes you sure that you'll help him next time. After he waves you off to begin lunch prep, you're quick to escape back to the docks.

You have some time to kill, you think. It's the last stretch until the log pose is finished setting and you've sort of lost track of the group... Thinking back, Zoro and Usopp got tied together, so you don't have to worry about searching for the poor swordsman. Nami stole Chopper to carry the clothes she was planning to get with Robin, while Brook and Franky were the ones assigned to watch the ship. That just leaves you with... Oh, seas.

There's a burst of screams that tear through the town's square, punctuated by a shriek of excited, almost maniacal laughter.

You're missing Luffy.

You're off like a shot towards the commotion before you can even think, weaving and pushing your way past the people. The crowd thickens as civilians shove past you. It's like swimming up river, but with every step you take, that familiar laughter gets closer.

When you finally burst from the mob, your feet catch on an unconscious marine. You stumble forward.

It's like breaking through a shield into a bubble—a ring of civilians gather to enclose Luffy as he's circled by marines, too duty-bound to flee but too cautious to fight.

Your captain hasn't put nearly as much thought into his approach. He barrels fists-first into the nearest hoard; the soldiers go flying like playing cards against a cannon. Sure it's charming, but he was supposed to be on board the Sunny, like, a hour ago.

So, Luffy deciding to gather the marines?

It sure isn't ideal.

Gathering your courage and tossing aside your exhaustion, you steel your nerves to storm the castle and extract your captain. And speak of the devil; Luffy whips his head around to stare at you.

"Oh! Hey!!" Luffy yells, with just a bit of manic glee. Great. You step forward—

—And a marine steps in your way. Really great.

As you fall into your fighting stance, you watch your captain dart from view. Well, whatever. You'll find him after you kick this guy's ass.

The marine wielded an odd weapon, like brass knuckles with claws soldered onto the palm. He hadn't bothered to clean the last victim's blood from it, and if the rust near the joints were to tell you anything, it was clear that he neglected to clean the blood of anyone from the weapon.

It feels like a warning.

It feels like a trophy.

Your captain rockets past him without a second thought (it's unlikely there was ever a first thought) to explode into another group of soldiers. It's like dynamite dropped in a haystack, the way navy officers go flying here and there.

The marine's eyes fall on you.

You can barely remember the fight afterwards, shamefully. You remember how it starts though.

He lunges at you with the speed of an animal, his clawed hands outstretched to sink into your flesh.

You dodge, he pivots, you aim to strike before he finds his footing—every move you make is to drive you closer to Luffy so you can cut and run.

Your mindlessness makes you sloppy. You don't even notice the way you're babying your secret, cradling it away from the fight. Of course that fucking marine notices.

Seas, you don't even know this marine's name, and yet he could still read you like a fucking book.

It's your last mistake.

When he slips to the side, too close for comfort, you jump back. His hand raises to tear out your eyes.

You raise your arms to guard, falling for the feint—the marine weaves past you, bearing his claws, and digs into your flesh.

It's over before you can even feel the pain.

You barely hold back a yell as you leap back, clutching your body. Warm blood trickles down the strike until it stained your clothes, sending panic shooting up your spine.

Like a curse from whatever gods left, that damn marine had struck you where you were weakest. There wasn't any time—by the time you whip around to clutch the wound, to hide your shame, it was too late.

"That pirate! She's... branded!"

A chorus of gasps tear through the crowd like a terrible symphony. You cling to the ribbons of your ruined attire like it could still save you.

Shadows claw at your vision as you struggle to breathe. Warm blood trickles down your limbs and your mark aches with a fresh, searing pain—it's grown with you, stretching over your skin in a reminder you can only try to forget.

You hear Robin gasp like she was struck herself. Oh seas, when did she arrive? You want to tuck yourself into a ball and hide from the prying eyes boring into your skin. You're sure she understands, if only because she shares your terror of who gave you this cross to bear, but it scares you. Somewhere, Usopp murmurs to her, "what is that?"

They know. They know.

The marine barks out in a fit of laughter, teeth bared and fingers curled around his claws. "What the hell is Straw Hat doing with government property?"

You think of Foosha Village, dodging your family and bathing in the river at night. You think of the clothes you had to give Makino back, too ridden by fear to wear them.

You think of your crew, sleeping soundly while you were working up the nerve to change your clothes in the dark. You think of Nami, with her skin graft and her new tattoo and the jealousy so strong you choke on it every time you see it. You think of how no one knows what was before that pinwheel tattoo except for the people she wants to know.

You think of your captain. You think of Luffy.

Oh seas, Luffy.

Tears cloud your eyes as you struggle to breathe. When you turn to your captain, you can barely see him—your vision swims, revealing splotches of color you'd recognize anywhere.

His haki rolls off in waves, so suffocating you can taste his rage on the back of your tongue. You see soldiers buckle and civilians collapse.

Your words escape before you can even think.

"Luffy, help...!"

A fist rockets past you. The sound of crunching bone hits you as air whips your cheeks. A mangled yell of pain is the last thing you hear from the marine.

"She doesn't," your captain growls, "belong to anybody."

~

You're brought into the medbay as soon as the Sunny left the docks. The silence is suffocating. You could barely look at Chopper as you shed your clothes, letting it slip until your shame was bare.

If you could guess, you'd bet it was nothing but professional courtesy that's keeping Chopper from reacting. That fucking mark takes up almost the entirety of the flesh, like a wound that can never heal.

The young doctor is kind when he cleans the blood. His touch hovers above your laceration when you hiss and tense. He's patient too, only continuing his work when you allow him to.

You hate this. Seas, you fucking hate this. You slump forward when Chopper continues his work.

You both pretend to not notice the tears that fall.

When he backs away, wound cleaned and bandaged, you don't turn to look him in the eye. You just turn your head and nod at Chopper.

The doctor straightens up like he always does after he works, but there's a new nervousness to him. His hooves are pressed together, like he's trying to quell the shaking. It makes you grit your teeth.

"The wound isn't bad," he says quickly, "but you'll need to rest. As for t-the rest, I couldn't..."

You nod. "Thanks, Chopper. You don't have to worry about... that. You're the best."

You watch the tension evaporate as he grins at you, leaning side to side. "That doesn't make me happy, you bastard!" He giggles, spinning. He sways a bit longer before he tamps it down, clearing his throat.

"But," he says clearly, "you can talk about it—"

"—Chopper—" you try to say.

"—Listen! It's important!" Chopper stands straighter like it'll give him the confidence his next words demand. "I-If you don't want to talk about it to me, it's okay. But... you should talk to someone. Nami, or Robin, or maybe- maybe if we call Jinbei, he would understand—"

"Chopper," you cut through. It hurts your heart to see the young doctor wilt. "It's okay. Thank you, but I'm alright."

"Okay... But- consider it? Please?"

You look away. "I will," you murmur.

Even though you don't see his face, you know Chopper knows you're lying. You know he won't push you farther, though. He hops down off his stool, shucks off his doctor's coat, and offers you the spare clothes Nami had lent you. She was kind enough to waive the fee this time too. You can't find it in you to appreciate it.

Chopper turns away as you get dressed again, which makes you smile. It makes you feel like you have some control again.

(You can't help but study your bandages. They're wrapped snug around you, but the edges of the brand sticks out like a hand print seared into your skin. You can still see the three pointed claws under the stark white of gauze.

It's the first time in a while you've really observed it. Every other time you forced yourself to look, all you could see was the red-hot brand and the wicked smiles of the demons who held it.

It's just as ugly as you remember.

You wish you had killed that marine, even if it wouldn't have changed anything.)

When you finish getting dressed, you signal to Chopper. He turns around, offers you a smile too bittersweet for someone of his youth, and reaches for the door.

"Oh, Luffy," Chopper comments idly. You can't stop how you flinch at the sound of his name.

You were dreading seeing him. It makes you want to cry again; how long has it been since you've dreaded being near Luffy?

The ringing in your ears swallow up the gentle words Chopper offers. Your bandages crush your ribs as you try to breathe—there isn't enough air, like that fucking marine took it all when he- when he—

The hands on your face smell like sun-warmed rubber. It's hard to say they're cradling your face, when Luffy just smacked his palms against your cheeks and squished them together until you were looking at him. When you blink, he blinks back at you.

"Are you there?" Luffy asks simply.

"Um, y-yes Captain," you force out. He nods thoughtfully.

Though, Captain isn't the right moniker. You aren't talking to isn't Captain Monkey D. Luffy, world-renowned Worst Generation pirate, capable of toppling kingdoms and challenging the World Government, feared by the powerful and adored by the powerless.

No, the boy in front of you is simply Luffy. The Luffy you've cherished since you were small, with a smile so bright and a heart so full—for all your life, you've never known how you got so lucky to have him.

Luffy pushes you to sit before he flops down next to you, bobbing with the mattress springing under his weight. You avoid his eye.

"You have something," Luffy states simply. It isn't a question, nor an accusation. It makes you flinch regardless—through all your tears, you can barely see the way your hands ball into fists in your lap.

He waits until you can find your words once again. It's kinder than you deserve.

"D-Do you- want to see it?"

"I don't care." Luffy just sort of... tilts his head at you. "I want to see you."

It's such a simple sentiment. It makes you feel like you've swallowed a thousand blades.

"I'm-... I didn't- I'm sorry, Luffy," you force out. The nails you dig into the stark white gauze don't put any pressure into the skin below it. Luffy frowns anyways.

"You can't apologize," he states simply. "You don't have to."

"But I- I lied—"

"It's okay." Luffy kicks his feet out. "I know you. I don't care about the rest."

All your words slip from your mind. If Luffy minds the silence, he doesn't show it.

Shame floods your chest. All these years hiding your past, unraveled just like that. You stare at your lap.

"They," you admit softly, "had me for so long. I- I never thought I'd be free."

He doesn't respond. You don't need him to—the words rush out before you can think. You stare into your open hands.

"W-When I escaped, I promised myself something. I said, they'll never control me ever again. But- I just... I've always been so scared! It's like- It's like I never even left—"

"Sabo is dead," Luffy says suddenly. "Ace is dead."

When Luffy looks forward, it isn't at Chopper's desk. It isn't at the medicine scattered along its surface, nor is it the kit the doctor had used to patch up your wounds. No—Luffy's gaze pierces farther, looking past the desk and the ship and the sea.

When Luffy looks forward, it's into the fire he left behind.

"But you aren't. You escaped. You're here with me."

Even without words, you understand. You can see the fire, too. "I am."

"You're not theirs anymore. You're mine," Luffy says just as suddenly, "but you aren't mine."

You don't respond. You wouldn't know how even if you tried.

Luffy turns to you with the same inferno that swallowed up your shared home. "You're my crew. You're my first mate. But I don't own you. No one does. That brand doesn't mean anything."

Before you can gather your thoughts, you feel Luffy's hand press his straw hat into your lap. It feels as warm as the sun he had been standing in just moments before. Luffy grabs at your hands to wrap them around its brim.

"You don't belong to anybody."

You could cry.

Luffy shakes your shared hold. "Say it."

"I-I..." You sniffle, "I don't..."

Luffy's eyes don't look away from you. They aren't mean, nor are they worried—they're fierce, just as sure of your power as they were the day he met you.

"I don't," you say finally, "belong to anybody."

When you collapse into his arms, shaking with every sob that wracks through your body, there is no shame when his hands brush over your mark. All you feel is warmth as he pulls you tighter.

You're not property. You're free.

You're a pirate—and no one is freer than a pirate.

[radiance1]

Danny often felt tired, as of late.

He wasn't certain as to why he did, though. It happened after his, apparent, coronation as the Prince of the Infinite Realms and after finally getting a boyfriend out of that damsel in distress who made him into one.

Which was unfortunate, because though he may try, it was very hard to pay attention on dates when Danny felt he just came from using the Ecto-Skeleton and no amount of sleep would make it go away. Fortunately, however, Billy was very understanding and accommodating of his plight, letting him sleep on him whenever he wanted and having their dates be less mentally/physically demanding things.

Man, Danny loved his boyfriend.

Unfortunately, he was away on one of his Justice League mission things.

Another thing he noticed, is that he liked to sleep in more cold places now. Very, very cold places.

So much so, that he genuinely debated moving to the Far Frozen if not for his parents turning his room into a literal walk-in freezer for him.

Did he ever find out why he needs to sleep so much? No, not really. But man.

Danny could go down for a nap right now.

---

Pariah was having a good, very good day.

He woke up, stretched, ate some food he didn't actually need to, did some light exercises after aeons of not using his sword and just fighting in general and sat down for some tea.

Even had a letter from the Master of Time with a P.S that two humans would be busting down his door!

Wait what-

"Ghost King!" Came the rather loud, effeminate shout accompanying the loud slam of his castle doors. "Where is our son!"

Honestly, Pariah is impressed by the lungs on that human.

"You heard her!" He looked down calmly at the... Actually, what in the infinite is that? Since when did humans go walking around with cannons??? "Tell us where our son is our so help me! Ghost King or not we'll exorcise you right where you stand!"

Pariah blinked slowly, very, very slowly.

Then took a sip of his favorite ghost blend then calmly placed the cup back down.

"You must be the boy's, human, parents I presume?" He asked calmly, gaze sweeping over them both. They seemed to be prepared for war, a burning fire in their eyes as they stared down the very King of Infinity and saw only an obstacle.

Oooooh, how that made the part of him that longed, sung for battle purr in sheer delight.

"Why don't you join me for tea?" He said, waving a hand and conjuring forth two extra, human sized, chairs on the opposing end of his table alongside two more tea cups. "And explain whatever is going on, while you're at it."

The two shared a glance between each other, then slowly lowered their weapons down to a point where they could still draw them at a moment's notice, yet not actively antagonizing the king at the same time-

Oh, he just loves these types of mortals.

-before slowly making their way to their seats, which were right next to each other of course. Married and whatnot.

"Tea?" He flicked a finger, filling their cups with the same that was in his cup but before remembering. "Ah, right. Human and your mortality." He casually mentioned, flicking his finger and changing the liquid to one of the few mortal blends he could still recall. "Worry not, for they are not poisoned." He chuckled lightly.

Honestly, doing such a thing would be beneath him, especially when faced with mortals of such fire.

"Now," He brought his cup to his lips. "Why don't you inform me as to what, exactly, has brought you to my doorstep prepared for battle?"

They, once more, exchanged a glance between each other, making sure the king was still in sight before Maddie opened her lips.

"Our son is missing."

---

The summoning was a success.

A terrible, terrible success.

One that the Justice League, One John Constantine especially, had valiantly attempted to stop.

But, unfortunately, once it got going it seemed to be incapable of stopping.

Faced with an entity being summoned from the Infinite Realms, they had called all of the heroes who were capable that weren't occupied. Shazam, unfortunately, was one of said heroes occupied.

Superman and Wonderwoman? Were not. So, at the very least, they had two of their heaviest hitters available.

The circle glowed a toxic green, growing and growing in glow until it reached its zenith.

Then was snuffed out as brightly as it glowed.

The air stilled, followed by a chill that rivaled the chilliest of snowstorms as if they were standing within one that very moment.

The next moment?

Ice.

Pure, unflinching, jagged pillars of ice rose from the circle the same moment it glow returned. Sticking out from the circle haphazardly and nearly impaling those that stood too close.

Mist, thick, blue mist. Rolled from the pillars of ice, descending down onto the floor with a gentleness that was almost deceptive if not occupied by such cold and being completely and utterly unnatural as it was.

The Justice League readied themselves.

[teethkid67]

PAYDAY

aka a valentine for the lovely @itsnotmystic / @corvids-calling - fanart for stars fic of the same name, which you can read here !!! i really enjoyed this concept and wanted to do some art for it :3 hope you like it because i REALLY loved your work & i hope this shows that !!! HAPPY VALENTINES DAY !!!!

this is also a loose love-letter to the wonderful @arginnit 's crazy background-drawing-ability and style/skill at portraying environments . wadds your stuff is insane and i love it

happy @mcyt-valentines exchange !!!!

[astronomical-light]

hold it against me

austin butler/callum turner, part 4/4, 54k

“We don’t need some guy in a cheap suit and sunglasses following you around and exacerbating anything,” James says, placating the look that Austin is sure is on his face. “It’ll be plainclothes, low key. Just as a precaution.” “Because having some random guy follow me around all the time in general is low key?” Austin asks, obvious skepticism bleeding into his voice. “What do I say if someone asks about it?” James waves a hand in flippant dismissal. “I don’t know, Austin,” he says. “Say he’s your boyfriend for all I care.”

or, Austin gets a new bodyguard.

[saltynsassy31]

*drags myself through the floor and slams this down*

I present to you

FULLMETAL BARTENDERS AVIAN AU

Divine Nugget Au

(Rant as to why I chose the White-throated Needletail as Blurr's bird and some minor AU lore under the cut)

And that's not all! It comes with a FULL FLEDGED COMIC!!!!!

I spent a whole fucking week on this

I haven't done a comic in 4 years now, I can't believe this is my come-back XD. Though, on that note, know that I probably won't be pumping out any more comics - not any time soon, at least. But I do got more stuff planned for this au! If you ask about it, I'll 100% rant about it LOL

Tw// ⚠️mild gore in the 3rd panel⚠️

While exploring the woods with his team, Swerve had an unfortunate encounter with a crazed hunter. In an attempt to escape, he got injured, but it seems he wasn't the only one caught in the crossfire...

.

.

Okay

So when you look up what the fastest bird in the world is, Google with show the Peregrin Falcom

But there's a catch

The Peregrine is only fast when diving

When it dives to catch its prey, it can go up to 389km/h

Which yeah, pretty fast

But when casually flying, it only goes up to 120 iirc

The Needle Tail?

It can go up to 170km/h

Some have even recorded going over 300! (Close to the Falcon's dive, I believe)

Additionally, these birds only fly. Their habitat is literally listed as "the air," and some even believe they sleep while flying! They only ever land to brood and mate, and then they're off again. Their legs are so short that, if they ground, they can't fly again because it doesn't give enough room to flap their wings.

It fits Blurr perfectly!

It also has a blue-ish colour pattern I can work with lol (it's green, but it looks blue, lol)

Though, also, he isn't 100% like the Needle Tail, just based off of it. I still want avians to be sorta their own species and doesn't have to be exactly like their bird counterparts cuz they aren't them, they're their own thing.

That said, Blurr is one of the shortest from Avians population, still.

They're pretty big.

Another trivial detail of the design!

I was stuck between having his arms be his wings or have them be separate

Until I saw a drawing where they had both, and I realised, "Wait, why isn't that done more often! That's so cool!"

So that's sorta what I did

It's mainly to catch small prey when grounded and to stay better perched up on trees since they're much bigger and having extra fingers helps a lot. Or when they're climbing against a tree to pick up fruits, it gives them an extra boost and can better hang from it

But they're pretty much useless besides that lol

Just neat lil design choice

Other lore stuff. The time in which the au takes place is vaguely modern? But with fantasy aspects? I still haven't decided lol

Technology exists, but not in the way we have it sort of deal, idk, this au is pretty bare bones right now, so go wild with it XD I don't mind it, I love brainstorming it with people. I know this au isn't as big or complex as some others out there, but it's fun, and I hope yall like it too fjsjajaj

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

I’m the anon who sent you that ask about Sonic and Shadow’s relationship in the Chronic Sonic au. If your post saying you ignore long asks was directed at me, can you please just… post the latest version without answering? I would prefer to save it to my likes and maybe have other fans read my thoughts.

thank you

Well no, it wasn’t just directed at you, there are a couple long asks in my inbox (some of which are positive and very beloved and i cherish, Dopambles I’m looking at you <3). But you’ve sent your ask twice now and this one too so I’ll answer this one. I don’t really want to make this a big long thing, but I also don’t really wanna leave ya hanging when this seems so important to you so lets do this (everyone else can ignore this if ya want I’m going long-winded through everything.)

So, reasons i don’t like to respond to or even post long asks sometimes lets do this [cracks knuckles]

1. I don’t like posting things onto my blog that I haven’t checked over first. I struggle a lot in reading and comprehending long asks. I don’t know why, it’s weird, okay. Let’s leave it at that. I’m not gonna blindly post walls of texts to my blog without checking them over first, because I want to make sure I’m filtering asks so nothing harmful gets posted to my blog. You’d be surprised at how whack a lot of anons can get. Not to say your ask was whack, but I also am struggling to read it so it’s hard to say for sure! It’s not due to the nature of your ask, it is simply because my brain be like dat.

2. Sometimes, I just don’t like having to scroll through walls of texts that aren’t my own to get to my latest posts. I get a lot of asks as it is. I do love answering them, but when they get long, the amount of time it takes to scroll through em makes it hard to refer back to my previous posts and is just is not intuitive or fun when interacting with my own blog, which leads me to my next point

3. This is my space. My blog is by me for me. I choose to post and share to interact and have fun with other people but at the end of the day this blog is my space. I did not create it for anyone other than me. I welcome the people who find joy in my stories here, but this remains my space. If i was being paid for this it’d be different, I’d absolutely curate and change things to make it a better and easier experience for those that i charged to be here, but like… I’m not being paid for this? And to ask me to do what you want in my space so that you can have the experience you want is… i dunno it sounds a little entitled. (I’m not saying that you ARE entitled, only that it sounds like it to me personally.) Contacting me even after I expressed my difficulty in answering asks to try and convince me to post it for your sake is a little rude. I’m not a professional creator, I’m not a person with fans, I’m just a random dude trying to have a good time with other people on a dumpster-fire website. I’m not a creator trying to make sure everyone else is having a good time. This is what i do in my free time to relax and—

4. —being a moderator for other peoples hc’s and conversations is not personally relaxing to me. My blog is not a public confessions blog and I am not a public message board. I am honoured when people share their personal stories and how what I doodle has helped them feel seen and that things will be okay, but I’m not a place for other people to come say what they want to each other, I’m a person, not a message board. How other people use Tumblr is up to them, however, I am not going to change how I use tumblr so that you can have a better experience when it will make the experience worse for me.

5. If i answer asks, I don’t draw. And I like drawing. If I’m posting asks (even without answering them) and stressing about being the middle man in conversations that I will have to regulate to make sure conversations stay kind, that takes a lot of time and energy and I got so incredibly burnt out when i tried to do that. So i stopped. And I will not be starting up again simply so you can have a good time, because I will have a bad one. And this is my space to not have a bad time. If something stresses me out, I will not do it here, it is as simple as that. I have my whole irl to be stressed about.

These are some of the reasons I don’t like to post long asks. I have notified you that I struggle to read, I don’t understand why you continue pushing. I have amazing anon’s who send wonderful long asks who have been kind and considerate with me about my struggles reading and processing. They continue to send their wonderful asks and have assured me it’s okay if I never post them. I am confused as to why you cannot seem to respect my decision as well.

The final reason regarding my hesitance in posting your ask in particular is simply that your hc was not accurate to how I was aiming to portray the characters in the current timeline. You are more than welcome to hc and speculate, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, but I cannot simply post it without answering it like you suggest because I would need to clarify that it’s not true. When I used to do that, people would start to misinterpret my au’s and it stressed me out. It takes hours for me to write up responses to things sometimes because I want to make sure I’m being kind and thoughtful and accurate. I am honoured that you shared something personal but what you wrote is simply not where the characters are at right now. It could be them in the future, but it is still early in the au so that kind of resentment hasn’t set in yet. Shadow is hurting because he’s taking the brunt of Sonic’s negativity but he is resigned to it because for him nothing else matters as long as Sonic stays alive, even if he has to be the person Sonic hates in all this and that is heavy. He’s angry at him when he does not take care of himself, but he is not resentful. Sonic struggles with being a burden on all of his friends, not just Shadow. The way you described the relationship was closer to how Tails and Sonic interact than Shadow and Sonic and even then, there’s more going on that I just don’t have the time or energy to really walk through. And besides, I want to save that energy to draw out things later.

As i shared with another commenter who asked something similar, I can absolutely DM you your ask back if you want to save it. However I don’t understand why you need me to post it to save it your likes if you simply want to save it. You have your own blog you can post it to. Why does it need to be on my blog? Why do I have to do extra work so you can have an easier time to do what you want? I am very grateful for your interaction and love of my comic, and I understand it’s frustrating when people make things harder for you to have a good time, but that’s exactly what you’re doing to me by asking me to change how I use tumblr to suit your wants instead of what is easiest for me. I am not a public service you pay for. I am a person, a full time student with family issues, struggling siblings that I’m trying to help, a person who is struggling myself. I have a limited amount of energy in a day, I get tired quickly. If i want to continue to find joy in drawing I have to set boundaries. You may not always know why someone does something, I guarantee there is more here that I will not share because it is personal. Sometimes you just have to be okay with not knowing, you have to be okay not understanding, and you have to be okay without an explanation that makes sense to you. All you need to do is understand that often times there is a reason people behave the way they do. It’s not a reflection on you or their opinion of you, it is simply many other factors at play that lead to such an outcome.

I sincerely hope this did not offend you, I am not angry with you, nor do I wish for any of this to be taken as scolding or upset you. If it has come across that way, I apologize. I am sorry I am not in a state to give you what you want, and I’m thankful for your patience with me in reading through this and I hope it is enough to at least paint a little bit of a picture as to why I will not be posting your ask. It’s unfortunate that I ended up spending hours addressing this anyway both to you and to another commenter—the very thing I wanted to avoid—but I value you as a person and did not want to leave you feeling negatively if I could change that. I hope this does not affect your enjoyment or experience with how you were having fun with my au, and if it does I am deeply regretful. However, I do have to set boundaries and make sure I’m doing okay or there would be no AU at all. Thanks for your understanding and I hope you have a day as kind as you are.

[rosielav]

Do you like fun?? Do you like whimsy??? How about mice???

Boy, do I have two games for you!! Both hacks of the Lasers + Feelings system, each game is one page, rp heavy, and can be played by small and large groups alike!

16 Mice in a Mech features the Mousey Mech Brigade and their many adventures! Create your perfect mousey crew, customize your mech, and pick from multiple customizable mission objectives!

16 Mice Make Soup (AKA MouSoup) is the culmination of two decades of watching cooking shows and wishing they weren't always so mean to each other. In this collaborative competition, you and your fellow MouChefs work together to create unique and unforgettable dishes using their customized Special Ingredient, but don't forget, at least one round MUST feature soup!!

I'm currently sitting at 247 + 189 sales respectively, and would absolutely love to hit 250 + 200 this month!! Since it is free+, I don't expect to make much/any $$, I just would love to share my silly little mouse games with as many people as possible 🐁

Thank you for your time! Keep Calm and Mouse On!!

[bones-of-sleep]

To Rest

Rating: T

POV: 1st Person

Summary: The simple question of where to sleep leads Eden's accidental arrival to discover that there is safety and rest to be found here among the strange men that call a ruined fort home, thanks to a midnight conversation with their leader.

Notes: Vessel's dialogue is in italics, MC is gender neutral, and the tags are in the tags below! Enjoy :D

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Er… I don't mean to be a nuisance, but is… there somewhere I can sleep?"

At my soft spoken question, the chatter (both verbal and mental) of the four men in front of me petered down. Glances were exchanged, ones that I assumed meant a more private mental conversation was happening. I could feel my shoulders tense, feel myself begin to pick at the already-raw flesh of the bottom corner of my thumbnails as the seconds wore on. They could ask me to sleep outside where monsters apparently roamed, after all. Frankly, I would be a thousand times more grateful for a few blankets on the kitchen floor.

Deliberation took what felt like ages. Finally, I heard the voice of the leader cut through the anxious static of my mind.

My room. Follow me.

Somehow, I still thought that blankets on the floor might be better.

The others said their goodnights to each other and to me, though all I could muster was a nod in response. The leader began to walk down the hallway out of the kitchen, lit by candles I was quite sure weren't there before. I was quick to follow.

I was unsure how many of my thoughts were audible to him as we walked in silence. So far, he and the others had been nothing but kind, after it was clear that I was just as confused as they were as to where in hell I'd found myself. But persistent thoughts that my luck might be running out very shortly kept my shoulders tight enough to bounce a ping-pong ball off of. I knew he had a sword. I knew that the shortest one of them could turn into a cat, any kind, it seemed. I wasn't too sure what the others were capable of. I wasn't sure I wanted to find out.

We walked down several hallways in varying states of disrepair. Whatever had assaulted the fort hadn't ruined it completely, far from it. But the evidence of something trying it's damnest to fix that was everywhere. Deep claw marks in the very stone of the walls, sections where night seeped in overtop of crumbled fortifications, even what looked like blast marks caught my attention as I followed my host for the night. What… creature, demon, entity had caused these? What was so terrible that the first thing I saw here was the edge of a blade?

If the leader could hear me, he gave no responses. He simply navigated the labyrinth of endless hallways until finally, he stopped at a rather unassuming wooden door. He pulled it open, and with a gesture, indicated that I should go in first. If my thoughts weren't audible, the gulp of me swallowing my fear before it choked me surely was.

The room was incredibly ornate. Marble floors stretched for what was probably triple the size of the shitty motel room I'd spent the previous night in. White walls with golden vines snaking across them, mahogany shelves that rose to the high ceilings… If I hadn't felt out of my depth before, I most certainly did now.

My host guided me to his very large bed, which sat under a window that dwarfed it in comparison. I was so sure he was going to climb in with me. There was room enough for two, three, possibly even four on here, after all. But no. Much to my shock and relief, he simply turned away once I was seated and walked to the table and loveseat that sat in front of his bookshelves.

I kept an eye on him as I bent over to undo the laces on my boots. There wasn't really anything I could do if he truly wanted to hurt me, but knowing it was coming might give me a fighting chance, at least. He seemed… well, wholly uninterested in me, if I was honest. How much of it was an act, I wasn't sure. But the sheets of paper splayed across his table held his attention for long enough that I could kick my boots off and lay down.

The bed welcomed me with open arms. Tension seeped out of me the further I sank into the comfort of the near-ridiculous amount of mattresses this man apparently required to sleep on. Of course, if I had ever had the option, I would have probably done the same.

And yet, for all that comfort, sleep was nowhere to be found.

I swaddled myself in a quilt that smelled like woodsmoke. I rearranged the many fluffy pillows about five times. I tried sleeping on both sides, my back, and even my stomach. But nothing got me anywhere closer to blissful unconsciousness. A frustrated sigh left me as I finally decided that laying on my back and keeping my eyes closed was… close enough, maybe.

Until I felt eyes on me.

I cracked one of mine open and saw my host for the evening looking at me. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, thanks to the mask that covered everything but the mouth I hadn't seen him speak with anyways. But when I heard his voice in my head, it sounded… gentle. Certainly gentler than it had the first time he spoke to me.

You are… welcome to read, if you cannot sleep. I have plenty of material in here, and if none of it piques your interest, I can guide you to the library.

I considered the offer for no more than a moment before I found myself walking across the floor to the many bookshelves. For the first time, I thought I saw the ghost of a smile flash across his lips. But he stood and turned his attention to his books far too fast for me to know for sure.

They are, admittedly, less well organized than the library. But generally, those two shelves are reserved for music and music theory, the one in front of you for nonfiction, and the one beside me for fiction.

I whispered my thanks and got to perusing.

The titles on display here ranged wildly in age. Books from several hundred years ago that probably belonged in a museum sat beside books that looked as though they were printed yesterday. The two shelves that held music unfortunately held nothing interesting for me. The nonfiction section, however, had many books on all sorts of animals, plants, and natural processes. I selected one about wolves and brought that one back to bed with me.

Though I tried to read, I found my gaze shifting from the words in front of me to my host at his table more and more frequently. At first it was merely to make sure I would see if he decided that I was no longer welcome. But as the night wore on, my fear melted into something of a… cautious curiosity. For hours, his focus was solely on his papers. He wrote on them very infrequently. It seemed that he was far too busy tapping on his desk and his thigh as he bobbed his head, only to sigh and rearrange some of the papers or cross something out.

Given the two shelves full of music behind him, it wasn't difficult to piece together what exactly he was doing.

It probably would have been easier to write his music with the aid of an instrument, and yet he hadn't made a move to go get one. If he could use his voice at all, he didn't even hum. I wondered why that might be until the thought that he was trying not to bother me drowned out all the other possibilities. He was… being nice. Kind, even. I set aside the pretense of reading and watched him openly for a moment or two.

"Hey." I said softly, unsure if I really wanted him to hear me. But he did, if his head raising from where he was hunched over the papers before him was any indication. "Do you… have a name?"

This time, I was quite sure I saw that phantom smile.

Vessel. The others are II, III, and IV.

"…Is this a cult? Am I going to be sacrificed, here?" I asked, only half joking. Surely he must have understood how bizarre this was.

I watched him chuckle, the motion shaking his shoulders a little, and lean back into his chair to better face me.

Unless you happen to be a goat in disguise, you have nothing to fear so far as being sacrificed.

"Oh, well that's… comforting, I guess. But cult, yeah? Am I being converted?"

My dear, not even Sleep herself knows how you got here. He didn't bring you to us for conversion.

I sat with that in silence for a few moments. Cult didn't seem too far off, but their… deity didn't want me here in the first place?

My thoughts shifted to the last few days before I found myself here. I drove through forests at three in the morning that wanted nothing more than for me to leave. I stayed in shitty motels that hadn't been cleaned in God knew how long and prayed that the bedbugs wouldn't bite. I willed myself to stop thinking as the memory of packing all my belongings, everything I had to my name, in one backpack and making my run for it flashed across my mind. A familiar panic sat surrounded by cold shocks as I tried desprately to keep from crying. I was pretty sure Vessel meant me no harm now. That didn't mean I was willing to hand him knowledge to hurt me with later.

He must have caught some of the mental threads I strained against. I wasn't sure exactly how much he heard, how much he saw, even, but whatever it was drove him to stand up. He walked over slowly. Carefully, even, giving me every opportunity to tell him to buzz off. When he got here, he didn't sit on the bed with me. Instead, Vessel sat cross-legged on the marble floor in front of me. He sighed audibly, a soft frown on his face now.

I… want you to know that none of us are strangers to being lost, in every sense of the word. You are not unwelcome here. And so long as you stay inside when the enemies of Sleep are around, you are quite safe here. You will be taken care of. Just, er, forgive us if we do not get things exactly right at first. It has been a while since even IV was human.

Reflexive mistrust saw me hike my knees up to my chest and hold them there. "What… what do you want in return? Everything's got a price, Vessel, I need to know yours."

This question apparently caught him off guard. He tilted his head to the side, not unlike the wolf cub on the cover of the book beside me.

Price? I do not ask for anything in return. You are not here because you chose to be. The only thing I could really ask of you is to not go through doors that are closed, especially that of our Ritual Space. If the doors are shut, not even I am allowed in. Other than that… er, please do not aid in the destruction of our home, please stay inside if we tell you to stay, and please tell us what you need when you need it? None of us have had to eat, drink, or sleep regularly for long enough that we cannot recall how often those things need to be done.

That… seemed more than reasonable. My brow furrowed as I searched futilely for any indication of a lie, any quirk of his mouth that might give away the fine print I couldn't see. "So… Closed doors are a no-go, if I get told to stay inside it's life or death, don't wreck the place, remind you guys that I need things to survive, and generally don't be a dick? Is… is that it? Are you sure?"

Very. Our home is your home.

I couldn't help the tears that pricked the corners of my eyes. The Garden of Eden, though apparently filled with monsters and a cult, was as close to a paradise as I had ever let myself dream. The mistrust in me was quickly overridden by willingness, at least for now, to believe the man sitting on the floor in front of me.

"Thank you." I whispered. Any louder and I was sure my voice would crack and betray the fact that I was half a step away from blubbering uncontrollably.

You are welcome. Please, enjoy your book and your rest. I will be by the shelves if you need anything.

With that, Vessel got to his feet and strolled back over to his table and his chair. It took some time for me to unfurl from the ball I'd curled myself into in an attempt to keep my tears from spilling out. Once I had, I wasted no time in swaddling myself in blankets and barricading myself in pillows again. My heavy eyelids finally shut and allowed me to drift off into the space between awake and asleep. Even if tomorrow held my exile from Eden, even if I was to be thrown to monsters or something else horrible, for now I was comfortable. Safe, even. As I sank into blessed unconsciousness, that momentary safety was good enough for me.

[vulpinesaint]

I just started reading locked tomb because you've talked about it before (and you have such good taste) and I need to know if anyone in this god forsaken planet is gonna be nice to Gideon :((

the world is terrible and everyone is mean to gideon but at least there is dulcinea... my darling girl the light of my life dulcinea...