#i swear to god this will be the last post i make on the subject

[dotmander]

so. thoughts. im normaller now. in case anyone needs to see my POC Credentials for my opinion to matter, i am japanese, i have been for. yknow. my whole life. anyway

1. i would love to actually hear from other poc on this because right now it looks like Only White People are speaking up. all the poc i know think this drama is petty and blown way out of proportion.

2. it's very funny to shit on people for falling for copaganda when you yourself like anise. and rama. 💀

3. dear god everyone go touch some fucking grass. it's not that deep.

[aemondapologistfrfr]

You Can Have Anything You Want

aegon x fem!reader

Summary: Aegon needs comfort and seeks out the only person who can give him what he needs. You help him calm down and offer him as much comfort he desires.

Warnings: 18+ alicent not breaking generational curses!, swearing, wine, handjob, praise kink, oral(m), p in v, unprotected, sub!aeg 🫂, overstim

Authors Note: somewhat a s1ep8 insert but different bc i just wanna take care of him rn 🙂‍↕️🫠 bruh i almost put ice in this fic and i was like damn they really didn’t have ice or freezers wtf shits crazy - what’s also crazy is i’m posting this from my graduation ceremony so i’ll add the links to my masterlist and tag my taglist in a couple hours lmfao xx

Word Count: 2.8k

ᓚᘏᗢ

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

Aegon doesn’t care that Rhaenyra and Daemon are coming to court. He doesn’t care about the succession or any of it. All his mother does is yell at him lately and he can’t take it anymore. He avoids being within the Keep’s walls as often as he can but over the past week leading up to his sister's arrival she’s had him watched more carefully. The tunnels were his only form of escape but when he was found stumbling in the front gate of the Keep in the early hours of the morning she had his guard check on him in his chambers hourly to make sure he was where he was supposed to be.

“How kind of you to check on me in my cell.” Aegon turns his head as his mother walks into his chambers.

“I could have a cell prepared for you.” she looks at him with exhausted eyes. “I don’t understand what happened to the sweet boy I once had.” she sighs.

“Mm,” he nods his head and walks over to the table to pour himself a cup of wine but finds the bottle empty. He curses lowly and walks over to his stash and fishes out a clear jar of amber liquid.

“Gods and the amount you drink..” she continues to tear into his every move and every choice. He drowns out her words and walks back to the table to pour his glass to the brim. He jumps when he feels her hand on his shoulder and he sets the bottle down with shaking hands. “Are you even listening to me?” she pulls him towards him.

“You yell at me about the same things every single day, mother.” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m not the son you want. You don’t like anything about me and you wish I was different. Did I miss anything?” he gasps as her hand flies across his face.

Everytime she hits him he hopes it’ll be the last. Surely a woman who has devoted herself so wholly to the Gods wouldn’t subject her children to such things. He turns back to her with wet eyes and she scoffs at him. He clenches his jaw and tries to make his mind go blank as she looks over him. She offers him a sneer before sweeping out of his chambers and leaving her self hatred and poor upbringing across his face. He turns back to the table to fill his glass and drains its contents in one go. He sighs, brushing his hair back and out of his face before walking over to the tunnel door.

Aegon softly closes the door that connects to his chambers and sighs in relief as the cool air breathes against his skin. He starts down the stairs trying to push his mothers words and actions out of his head so his tears don’t start anew. Once he’s out of the confines of the Keep it feels as if weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He slips through the crowds as he makes his way deeper into the city. When the crowds get thinner the more depraved his sights become.

The sounds of people coupling in the alleys greet his ears and his heart starts to beat faster. Gods the women on their knees in front of men leaning against the brick have him wanting to stop and watch for a while. He shakes his head and keeps walking because what he seeks tonight is very specific. His pace slows as he rounds the corner and stops in front of large wooden doors. He pushes them open and is immediately greeted by the warm atmosphere.

He finds it funny that he can feel such a sense of comfort in a pleasure house but to him this is how he envisions a loving home to be. Soft lighting and plush couches fill up the main room. There is a soft haze in the air from the candles and incense and words and sounds of pleasure here are more hushed, more intimate. He inhales deeply shutting his eyes and when he exhales his shoulders relax. As he opens his eyes he’s greeted by the madam standing in front of him with a soft smile.

“What would you like tonight, my Prince?” she purrs.

“I want to see her.” he feels his cheeks flush. He looks around the room more intensely searching for your face amongst the couches. He turns back to the madam when he can’t spot you. “Where is she?” his brows scrunch.

“I’ll go get her.” the madam cups his cheek. “Go get a drink.” she pats his chest and disappears behind the curtain.

Aegon sighs and walks past the different couples, never shying away to look longer than he should. The barhand hands him an overflowing cup of ale and Aegon nods his head before downing half of the cup before walking back through the open room. Aegon sinks into an unoccupied couch and lets his eyes shut as he finishes the rest of his cup. A smile spreads across his face as he feels your fingers brushing his hair back. When your nails scrape against his scalp he cracks his eyes open and flushes as he’s greeted by your exposed chest.

“Hello my sweet boy.” you hum, softly tugging his hair. You watch as he leans back into your touch and lets out a soft whine. “Do you want to go to bed?” he nods his head once and you walk around the couch and pull him up. You lead him down the hall and into your room and start to lift off his tunic. “What’s wrong?” you brush his hair back taking in his soft pout and red cheeks. As you search his eyes you see them start to well with tears and then notice that one of his cheeks is redder than the other.

“I don’t know.” he curses himself as his voice breaks. When you wrap your arms around him he freezes and then completely falls apart in your arms. “I’m sorry.” he rasps as his tears fall onto your shoulder.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” you whisper into his neck. You smooth his hair and his breathing starts to even out. “Are you okay?” you lean back and search his eyes. You cup his overly red cheek and softly stroke your thumb over the heated skin. “Do you want me to get you a cool cloth?” he will never get used to your kindness.

“No.” he shakes his head. “I’ll be okay.” his hands squeeze at your sides. “I just want you.” he trails his fingers up your sides to rub under your breasts.

“You can always have me, Aegon.” you start to unlace his trousers and push them down. “You can have anything you want, good boy.” you blink up at him and he lets out a soft whine.

“I want to go to your bed.” he smiles as you grab his hand and lead him over to your warm bed. He’s sure you have the softest blankets and pillows throughout all of the realm and he revels when he gets to lay in them with you. He watches as you sit back against your mountain of pillows and gesture for him to come to you.

“Come, let me help you feel better.” you grab his hand and help him lean back against your chest and sit between your legs. After he’s settled your lips press against his neck while your hands squeeze at his sides. He lets out soft whimpers as your hands roam across his chest while grazing your nails down his soft skin.

“Please,” he softly gasps as your hands tease down his thighs.

“What do you want, sweet boy?” you suck softly at his neck. You look down and see his red and leaking tip and smile to yourself. He whimpers, jerking his hips up and grabbing for your hand. Aegon brings your hand to his straining cock and sighs when your fingers wrap around him. You stroke him slowly, thumbing the droplets from his tip to help your hand glide smoother.

“Please, please,” he jerks his hips up into your hand.

“Shh shh,” you whisper into his neck. You turn his head to press your lips against his mouth. Your hand cradles his cheek while the other pumps his length. “You’re my best boy.” you mumble as you kiss down his jaw and he squirms in your arms. “You have the most pretty cock, Aegon.” you softly suck on his neck.

You slide your hand on his cheek down his torso and past his length to cup his balls. He groans, spreading his legs and leaning back into you. He rocks his hips into your hands and the whines and moans leaving his mouth go straight to your center. “You’re doing so good for me.” you praise as you focus on his tip, swiping your thumb across his slit and underside. “My favorite boy and favorite cock.” his chest tightens at your words.

“Please, yes, I’ll be good,” his words broken and pleasure slurred.

“You’re always so good for me, Aegon,” you press your lips to his pulse. His jerks start to become erratic and you slowly start to move his balls around in your hand and you speed up your pumps. “Be a good boy and come for me.” you tighten your grip and he whines as his pleasure starts to shoot across his flexing stomach. “You did so good, Aegon.” you press your lips up his neck and to his mouth. He devours your mouth desperately as you continue to slowly stroke him.

“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth. “Please,” he rolls his hips, starting to harden again. “I need you to fuck me, please,” he grabs at your arms.

“I was going to suck your cock first.” you press kisses down his jaw as small moans and gasps spill from his lips. “Would you like that, sweet boy? Do you want me to give your cock the kisses and attention it deserves?” you smile when he nods quickly, desperately grabbing for your hands.

“Yes, yes please.” his chest heaves as you slowly start to loosen your grip around his length. You remove your hands from him and slowly start to scoot out from behind him. You kneel next to him and take in his flushed cheeks and parted pink lips. He reaches up and pulls you down to his lips and you indulge in his greedy grip and let his hands travel all over your skin.

You release his lips and kiss down his chest. Your tongue darts across his nipples and he squirms, digging his fingers into your shoulders. Slowing down your movements you leave open mouth kisses down his navel cleaning up his come along the way. He groans watching you lick him clean as he softly bucks his hips. You kiss around his leaking tip that’s resting against his stomach as you settle between his thighs. He props himself up on his elbows when your fingers wrap around his cock and groans as you press your lips against him.

“Such a pretty cock, Aegon.” his cheeks flush a deeper red as your tongue swirls around his tip. “Such a pretty boy with a pretty cock.” he whimpers at your words. “Who is always so good for me. So sweet.” you murmur before flicking your tongue against the underside of his tip. Aegon tosses his head back into the pillows as you suck his tip into your mouth. He whines as your hands squeeze into his hips as you slowly sink your mouth down around him.

“Gods yes,” he whines as your cheeks hollow. His fingers go to your hair and you pull up. “No, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he removes his hands and you look up to him seeing his lip wobble.

“You have nothing to apologize for, sweet boy.” you hum. “I just want to hold your hands.” you nod at him offering a soft smile. You intertwine your fingers with his and bring them back to his hips as you press your lips against his shaft. He squeezes your hands as you suck him back into your mouth and bring him to the back of your throat. His hips jerk up and you moan around him moving your mouth faster.

“I’m gonna, fuck please,” he gasps as you suck his tip harshly while flicking your tongue against his slit. You look up and see his eyes slam shut as his hips go taught as his seed starts to pour down your throat. You continue your movements as he whimpers above you. “Please,” he squirms and tries to move out of your grasp but you dig your fingers into his as you keep licking and sucking at him. He trembles as you continue to shower him with pleasure as he cries out your name. You slowly loosen your grip on him and pull off of his cock while he whines.

“You did so good for me.” you press your lips back up his navel and chest. As you kiss up his body you move to straddle his hips as you hover above him. “You’re so pretty.” you cup his cheeks and start to pepper kisses across his flushed face. You slowly start to rock your hips against his sensitive cock, watching his eyes roll back. His fingers grip your sides as you slide your wetness across him.

“I wanna be in you. Please,” he jerks his hips up into you. Your lips fall to his and he pulls you closer molding you to him. “Please,” he whispers, arching his chest into yours.

“Relax, sweet boy.” you kiss down his jaw as you grind your hips down harder onto his slowly hardening length. “You know I like to take my time with you.” you chuckle feeling his fingers dig harder into your flesh. “Until your cock is crying for my cunt.” he gasps as your fingers reach between you both to grab his cock.

“Gods I’ll do anything, please,” his voice cracks as you pump him faster. You dip his tip into your wet core only to pull it out the next second. “Fuck,” he pants as he jerks his hips desperately. You guide his tip through your wetness relishing in his whimpers. “Please,” he pushes your hips down and you let out a soft moan. “Fuck, please let me make you feel good.” you nod, guiding his now hard cock to your entrance.

“Aegon,” you whine his name as you sink down on him. You press your hands to his chest as you start to rock against him. He looks up at you with lidded eyes as you start to bounce against him. “You feel so good.” you moan breathlessly tossing your head back. “Your cock always makes me,” you gasp as he jerks his hips up. You slow your rocking and you both moan loudly digging fingers into one another.

You lean down and move your hands to bury them in his hair as you press your lips to his. Aegon’s hands lower to your ass and squeeze before he starts to guide you. “Your cunt hugs my cock so perfectly. I wanna stay in it all night. Please,” you start to rock your hips faster at his words finally working towards your own pleasure.

“Of course, sweet boy.” you bury your head in his neck. “You make me feel so good.” you suck on his neck. Your hips roll against his faster as your stomach starts to tighten. “Fuck, Aegon.” you whine as he jerks his hips up into you. “Just like that, fuck, you’re such a good boy,” you cry out as your pleasure washes through you. He whines as you sink your teeth into his neck.

Aegon fills you with his pleasure at the feeling of you squeezing around him. He holds you tightly as he feels as if he’s being drained completely. His legs shake as you brush his hair back and offer him small kisses. You move up slightly to kiss across his hairline and you both moan at the feeling of him still buried deep inside you.

“You did so good, Aegon.” you press your lips to his. “You’re always so good for me. So good.” you roll your hips and he groans. “My perfect boy with his perfect cock.” his arms tighten around you as you continue to whisper words of praise and affection.

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

masterlist 🔌

aegons the goodest boy fr

taglist ✍️

[simplyraeblue]

King and Captive

(Hunter and Hunted Spin-Off) read here

modern au a chance meeting with Sukuna quickly turns into a nightly routine you can't escape. as the lines between game and something more blur, you start to wonder—how long can you keep playing, or will Sukuna make you his next conquest? !Sukuna x !femreader

chapter warnings/tags: MDNI, NSFW, swearing, use of "princess", "she/her" pronouns used, mentions of OG story, appearance of other characters, SMUT SMUT SMUT, p in v, creampie, unprotected, Sukuna is a changed man afterwards (but really?) A/N: the time has COME my friends (heh, pun). so sorry it took me forever to post, the holidays have been insane with travel, and I was soaking up every second with my long-distance BF. someone in the OG storyline had commented that Sukuna needed someone to match his freak... well, they were right. (• ᴗ -)

index part four | part six

part five word count : 4,588

every day since your first kiss with him, without fail, Sukuna appeared parked out front of your work waiting for you. you weren’t sure if the satisfaction you felt was from seeing him leaned against his bike, or if it was the reactions of the dickwads you worked with.

“are you sure that’s safe?”

“does he have a motorcycle license?”

“what’s up with all that ink?”

you just brushed them off, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you practically skipped over to your mysterious tattooed man before receiving a warm welcome in the form of a deep kiss on the lips. to make it worse for your coworkers, they definitely saw Sukuna slip his tongue in your mouth as he side-eyed them.

bunch of heathens, he thought to himself. he knew the comments they made behind your back, the peaks they took at your ass, even could guess that they thought of you when they had nothing but their hand to give them comfort. pathetic.

and yet, he’d made no move to take things further than a few heavy make out sessions. maybe he was the pathetic one.

but all that would be put to the test tonight.

“a party?” you asked, twirling the straw in your glass around and around while Sukuna smirked at you. of course, had taken you to your usual bar to treat you after work - just like he did almost every day.

“my brother asked me to come, said I was required to bring a guest.” Sukuna was only partly lying – Yuji had asked him to come but never mentioned anything about bringing someone. but he knew you’d be just fine.

“I don’t know, aren’t we a little… old to be going?” you teased lightly but truthfully, you’d already accepted the invitation in your mind. “bunch of college kids, drinking and dicking around?”

Sukuna’s shoulder shook with a booming laugh. “if there’s no dicking around, then it’s not a party, princess.”

you couldn’t help but pout as the thought of who would be there crossed your mind. did you dare ask him? risk bringing up a sore subject?

he’d told you about what happened last summer, one night when you both had a few too many glasses of wine. Sukuna swore that wine was his truth serum. so now you knew that his former – lover, ex girlfriend, fling? – was dating his half brother Choso.

curiosity gnawed at your bones. was she pretty? hot? drop dead fucking gorgeous? how did you compare?

a light tap of Sukuna’s finger to your temple snapped your from your anxiety spiral. “what’s going through your mind?” he asked softer than usual, the change in his demeanor catching you off guard.

no, you couldn’t let yourself drown in what-ifs. “let’s do it. I owe you one.” you told him with finality, face set in determination as you downed the rest of your drink in one go before standing from your seat and pulling your jacket on.

Sukuna was curious why your attitude towards the idea suddenly changed; you were dead quiet for a minute, brows furrowed and already thinking of something he would have loved to correct you on. most certainly about how you’d fit in. and yet you stood with confidence now, lips in a tight line and eyes locking with his.

god, he wanted to kiss you until he couldn’t breathe.

“owe me for what, princess?” Sukuna smiled at you, sharp canines flashing in doing so.

“for putting on a damn good show in front of my ex. it’s time I return the favor.”

oh.

-

this was a mistake. a big fat fucking mistake and you didn’t realize it until you were walking up to the front door with Sukuna. you fidgeted with your skirt, smoothed your hair, tried to make yourself at least look like you hadn’t just let Sukuna tongue fuck your mouth in the car just moments ago.

would anyone be able to tell that you were sexually frustrated and as tense as a stretched rubber band? god you should have told him to knock it off but you just couldn’t help it.

Sukuna knocked three times, alerting Yuji to his presence before opening the door ahead of any answer. this used to be his home, after all. before everyone and their mother decided to come and dry hump on the couch every night.

he’d seen Choso’s lights on as you both walked up, and he was sure that she’d be here - and he silently hoped that wouldn’t scare you away.

“hey, Sukuna’s here everybody!” you heard someone shout, followed by a few grumbles of fake enthusiasm. did everyone really look down on him that much?

his brother Yuji, or you assumed by the matching head of pink fluffy hair, practically bounded over and wrapped his arms around Sukuna. “I’m so glad you made it!” Yuji exclaimed with a wide, toothy grin.

“yeah, yeah, like you would’ve noticed my absence.” Sukuna teased before turning the tables on Yuji and enclosing an arm around his brother’s throat to roughly rub his knuckles across Yuji’s scalp. “don’t make a big deal okay? I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”

it was until then that Yuji noticed you, standing slightly behind Sukuna and smiling at the display - honestly surprised to see that side of Sukuna. “hi, I hope you don’t mind that I tagged along.” you bowed your head slightly, but a quick elbow from Sukuna had you straightening up.

“don’t do that, you don’t have to.” he corrected you with a smirk, and Yuji was having none of it.

your hands were quickly enclosed in his, and he bounced up and down with enthusiasm. “guys, Sukuna brought a girl with him!” Yuji yelled out behind him as he suddenly wrapped you in a hug too.

Sukuna rolled his eyes as he watched his little brother almost squeeze the life out of you. he half expected you to shrug it off, or push him away, but you were beaming. a grin stretched across your face and he felt his heart race wildly at the sight.

“woah, really? what, did you kidnap her or something?” a red-haired girl rushed around the corner, but when she saw you her jaw dropped. “holy fucking shit, she’s gorgeous!”

“that’s Nobara Kugisake, please ignore her for your own mental sanity.” Sukuna grumbled out an introduction, earning a sharp glare from Nobara before she also wrapped you up in a hug - joining Yuji seeing as he hadn’t even let go yet.

you were soon introduced to Megumi Fushiguro, Toge Inumaki, Yuta Okkotsu, and Maki Zenin. the only one out of four who showed an ounce of enthusiam was Inumaki, who extended his hand for you to shake.

you couldn’t help but wonder where -

“who’s your friend, Sukuna?” you turned at the voice, eyes catching on his other brother Choso standing at the bottom of the stairs, and then -

fucking hell. she was beautiful. like, “doesn’t have to try” beautiful.

and you were very, very aware of her eyes scanning over you, lips parted slightly in what looked to be surprise as she noted your presence. more specifically, Sukuna’s hand enclosed in yours.

Sukuna was quick to make introductions, not wanting to dwell on the fact that he had noticed how your demeanor shifted suddenly. he knew why, and he’d make sure to discuss it later, but for now he focused on wrapping an arm around your waist and keeping you at his side.

he didn’t want you to draw comparisons, but he could tell you were already doing so. your eyes followed her almost every where before you’d look down at your outfit, comb your fingers through your hair, or adjusted your posture.

to Sukuna, there was no fucking comparison. you were his and she was not.

but you couldn’t help it. you had wanted to know how - how had this one girl once had both Sukuna and Choso wrapped around her finger? and now after looking at her you knew. and you hated that she wasn’t hideous or bitchy. hated that you had yet to find anything negative about her.

the night dragged on, and so did your swirl of negative thoughts. Yuji was amazing, and Sukuna had been right that you two would get along. Choso was even very sweet, although still side eyeing Sukuna on occasion as if you couldn’t see.

once everyone was good and drunk, and things took a turn for the crazier side of a party, you were mentally checked out. Sukuna watched as you started to stare off into the distance, blinking a little too long and yawning into your elbow. you were getting sleepy, he knew it because you always looked the cutest when you were half awake.

“I think it’s time I get her back home. right, princess?” Sukuna pulled you closer to his side as everyone bid you goodnight, Yuji making sure to express repeatedly that you were always welcome. he didn’t miss the last long look you gave her from across the room.

you almost fell asleep on the ride back to your apartment, Sukuna’s warmth radiating off of him as your arms were wrapped around his torso. did you make a good first impression? did everyone like you, or hate you?

were you as pretty as her?

Sukuna had been fully intent on walking you to your door, and dropping you off like a gentleman. but manners be damned. as soon as you turned the key, and turned to look at him with big doe eyes, he was screwed.

“am I as pretty as her?” the question slipped from your lips before you could stop it, but you couldn’t help it. you had to know, otherwise you’d go crazy wondering about it.

but Sukuna didn’t respond, which made your stomach drop as he ushered you through your door before clicking it shut behind him. you almost took the silence as your answer, until suddenly your back was pressed up against the inside of your door and Sukuna had two hands firmly planted on either side of your head.

“don’t. don’t start making comparisons to her, because there is nothing to compare.” Sukuna growled lightly, chest heaving as he tried to keep a tight leash on his resolve to kiss you until you forgot all about it. “if you’re looking for something to set yourself apart - you’re mine. she’s not, and that’s that.”

“but-”

“no buts.” you were making it increasingly more difficult for him to control himself. what must he do to prove it to you? to chase away your negative thoughts and show you that you are the one he wants, exes and hookups be damned.

when you looked up at him again, he had one tiny, tiny shred left.

“then show me I’m yours.”

you were expecting him to laugh it off, to tell you that you were too tired or that he was going to be a gentleman. you were sick of that - fuck being a gentleman, you wanted him to fuck you.

but no, Sukuna took it as a challenge.

his lips crashed into yours, rough and unrestrained as his body pressed into you fervently. you tasted sweet, all he could think about as soon as he kissed you was how sweet you tasted and how he craved more. it made him wonder if you tasted just as sweet every where else.

the notion led him to start trailing rough kisses down your cheek, your jaw, onto your neck. peppered kisses mixed with nips of his teeth against your skin and you were already feeling hot. so fucking hot that it made you wonder what you’d set your thermostat to before you left.

you were so ablaze that you decided you needed your clothes off - now.

you started to lean into Sukuna, more and more until he started backing into your apartment with you in his arms, not allowing himself to breath and stuffing his face into your neck. he didn’t want to move or stop what he was doing, not until he was thoroughly drunk on your scent.

he backed up until he hit your bedroom door, reaching behind himself with one hand to open it and pull you inside with him. Sukuna’s lips returned to yours, nipping and tugging roughly at your bottom lip, causing you to moan out of your parted lips. he made note of how much he loved that sound, deciding to make sure he heard it throughout the night.

both of you tumbled back onto your bedspread, with Sukuna pinned under your body as you returned his needy kisses ten fold. he was warm and rough and sturdy and you ached for every bit of it. you went to bite his lip back, barely missing and catching his cheek again and his hips jolted in response.

Sukuna felt like a wild animal, and you seemingly matched his energy with your roaming hands and rough gentle teeth. if he knew how much you loved to bite he would have done this a hell of a lot sooner.

as your hands reached between your bodies and fumbled with his belt, Sukuna’s sank his canines into the exposed skin right between your neck and shoulder and hauled. hauled you to the side and rolled until you were firmly planted beneath him now, turning the tables.

he had to remind himself of where he was, who he was with, and what he intended to do with you. with permission.

“do you want to?” Sukuna’s voice came out broken and rough from lack of air due to your addictive kiss. his eyes scanned your face for any ounce of hesitation, but all he could find was your eyes half open as you smirked up at him.

“oh for fuck’s sake, I want you.” you murmured to answer him, reaching a hand up to rest on his cheek and smile at him.

and he melted on the spot. your warm touch, your smile, everything you were taking and giving right back to him made his heart thump wildly in his chest. if he didn’t know any better he thought you might be able to hear his pulse racing in the silence.

he didn’t let himself hesitate before his lips were on your skin again, now more gentle as he worked over your neck and jaw line. “tell me what you want. or don’t want.” Sukuna bit out that last part, trying desperately to remember how much progress he’d made in his journey to becoming a better man.

but dammit was it hard to be better right now when all he wanted to do was shove your face in the mattress and make you take his cock deep.

you hummed out soft praises as he worked his way down to your top, helping you rise and pull it over your shoulders, and soon after your pants followed to be discarded somewhere on the floor.

“how come I’m the first one that had to strip, and you’re still fully dressed?” you teased as you nipped at his exposed neck, pressing your tongue flat to lick a small stripe up the tattoo lining his shoulder.

Sukuna wanted to fire back, argue and tease until your cheeks were heated, but not right now. no, he made quick work of his own clothing, until the both of you were down to only your underwear.

and my oh my was Sukuna in nothing but boxers a sight to behold. you couldn’t help but ogle the growing mass straining in his underwear, twitching already as if it was begging to be freed.

“I knew it.” you gave him a smug grin as you stared right at his covered cock. “I knew you were big.”

Sukuna laughed, your blunt honesty taking him off guard but finding it hilarious nonetheless. “so, you’ve been thinking ‘bout my dick, have you?” he quipped before quickly smashing his lips to yours to halt any further remarks from your mouth. “how’d you like to see the real thing, princess?”

you nodded eagerly, hands already reaching for the waistband of his boxers and gulping as you felt him twitch at your touch. just by looking at it, even covered by fabric, you wondered if you’d be able to take it. would he even fucking fit?

your question was validated as soon as you slipped his boxers down past his knees and his cock was released.

the tip was already glistening with leaking pre-cum, his veins so prominent that your mouth went dry, and the thickness… god you really would be struggling to take him all in.

“your turn.” Sukuna grinned wickedly as he watched you stare at his cock. he could see the way you gulped at the sight, no doubt wracking your brain for an explanation of just how he could fit inside of you. “let me see you, pretty girl.”

his fingers danced along your panty line, feather-light touches sending chills up your spine as his knuckles brushed over your core.

“so wet already, hm?” he cooed as he let his middle knuckle press into your clit through the cloth. your back arched at the touch, and he sucked in a breath as he watched your mouth fall open from the littlest amount of pleasure.

without wasting any more time, he pulled your panties past you knees and off of your ankles - tossing them in his pile of clothes instead of yours. he’d be saving those for later, of course.

Sukuna had never felt himself go breathless at the sight of someone naked before. but now, every touch he gave and every noise from your lips had him shaking with anticipation.

you felt one of his fingers run through your wet folds, a groan escaping his lips at the feeling. “don’t be a tease.” you whined as you tried to scoot your hips into his touch. one of his hands firmly planted itself on your waist, pinning you in place to halt your desperate movements.

“just trying to get you ready, princess.” Sukuna explained before circling your clit, causing you to suck in a breath and grip the sheets a little tighter between your palms. “you said it yourself, it’s pretty big.

but you were impatient. you needed him right fucking now. “don’t care, I can take it.”

you can’t take it, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“don’t wanna hurt you.” Sukuna was trying so hard to be gentle, to fuck you the way you deserved but goddamn were you starting to make him crazy.

you looked him in the eye, pupils blown out with lust already, and smirked. “what are you, scared?” you teased, hoping that it would elicit the exact response you wanted.

and oh it did. he snapped, immediately pushing your legs up and back so that you knees met your chest to fold you up. Sukuna loved that you were smaller than him, pliable, easy to move around as he saw fit. if you were going to act like a brat then you could take it like a brat.

you moan at the first nudge of his tip in your entrance, his pre-cum mixing with your arousal as he teased so deliciously at your hole. he was baiting you to say something more. to talk back so that he could fuck the attitude out of you.

“you wanna rethink your cockiness now, sweet girl?” he bit out the words as he restrained himself from sheathing his cock to the hilt in one go. fuck he wanted to bury himself within you and watch as you fell apart. “I can feel your tight cunt already startin’ to stretch.”

it was a divine mixture of pain and pleasure to feel him slowly ease in, the tip of his dick now pushing past the first ring and sliding into your cunt. but it wasn’t enough for you.

“more, pl - please, give me more.” you groaned while reaching up to claw at his pecs. “just - ah - fuck me already dammit.”

“if you say so.” a grin spread across Sukuna’s face before he jolted his hips forward, bullying past your tight walls as fast as you could physically allow him until he was firmly planted deep inside of you.

you cried out, borderline screamed, at the stretch and burn of his huge dick molding you to his desire. oh it was so so good. you had never felt anything like it - you felt completely stuffed.

Sukuna but his lip so hard that he tasted copper as your walls clenched around him. “fuck you’re so - ngh - tight princess.” he pressed a hand across your abdomen, finding that sweet spot where he could feel his tip under your skin, almost buried within your cervix, or even past that. “takin’ me so well, feel s’ good.”

“holy shit, holy fucking shit.” a whine escaped you when you sucked in a breath. you dared to open your eyes from being clenched to see Sukuna hovering above you, completely still as if he couldn’t risk making another move.

and sure enough, his hand lifted to rest on your cheek, eyes boring into yours as he searched your expression. “you okay?” Sukuna bit out, resisting the urge to move his hips even the slightest.

“s’ good, Sukuna. ‘m okay.”

he watched as the tension left your body and your gaze softened as you looked at him. with your cheeks already flushed, Sukuna thought he was the luckiest guy in the world to see you like this. “Ryomen. if I’m inside you, start calling me Ryomen.” he blurted before he could stop himself. not that he regretted it.

the corners of your mouth turned up, and if your heart wasn’t already racing it sure was now. “now, can we continue, Ryo?”

he was so fucking screwed.

“anything for you, princess.”

and so were you.

literally.

one roll of Sukuna’s hips, even slight, had you clawing at his shoulders. you felt like you were floating and being suffocated all at once, and he fared no better. he didn’t know it could feel like this, like it was… well, he didn’t know what, but it was fucking better than anything else.

his head dipped into your shoulder, sinking his teeth into your skin and groaning into the bite. you swear you felt full body chills as his hands continued to roam your body as his cock destroyed your cunt.

with each gentle thrust, Sukuna became more and more confident with your responses, and started to pick up his pace with ferocity. honestly, if he didn’t, he was going cum sooner than you and he couldn’t have that. “god, you feel s’ fucking good. can’t believe we haven’t done this sooner.” he cursed under his breath at one particularly brutal thrust that had your walls clenching around him even more than they already were.

“well – shit – you had to earn it.” even in your messed up state you stilled toyed with him, watching as he smirked back at your attitude before reaching a hand down between the two of your bodies. his fingers brushed against your clit, feather light and teasing, but it still sent shockwaves through you. “ah don’t be a fucking tease, Ryo. I’m sure you know better – fuck!”

a harsh pinch to the clit had you shutting your mouth, or at least moaning so loud it interrupted your sarcasm, and Sukuna grinned devilishly. “what were y’ sayin’?” he chided as he pinched the sensitive nub again, delighted to watch as your body heaved in reaction.

“fuck, ‘m sorry, just don’t stop!” your nails dug into the muscle of his bicep, desperately trying to keep it pinned in place so that he would continue to work his magic with his hand. “please, please keep going!”

Sukuna obliged, now circling your clit as his cock shoved harder inside of you – in out in out – at an almost inhuman pace. his hand gripped your hip so tightly you were sure there would be bruises from where he tried to keep you still while he fucked you senseless. you were so beautiful to look at that Sukuna couldn’t look way, eyes screwed shut and mouth wide open to release your honeyed moans, cunt sucking him in with each thrust.

when he felt your walls pulse and tighten, he knew you were close. and he prided himself in the knowledge that it was him getting you there. “you gonna cum, princess? all over my dick?” as you nodded fervently, he swept in and crashed his lips to yours, slipping his tongue inside your mouth and swallowing your moans as your release came crashing over you.

your cunt became like a vice, squeezing him to death as your body spasmed beneath him. the tightly wound band inside Sukuna’s abdomen was holding on by a single string, but he pulled away to watch you come undone.

“Ryo, please, want y’ to fill me up.” and fuck if he was going to argue with you. Sukuna slid both arms behind your back, wrapping around you to hold you still while his hips thrusted even harsher and faster than before, chasing his own high.

“say my name, princess. I’m gonna – ah shit – gonna cum. wanna cum inside this perfect pussy.” Sukuna was babbling at this point, and if he had any sense he’d hate himself for it but with a cunt this warm and good he couldn’t stop.

“fuck, Ryo!” you scratched your nails down his back harshly, pushing him off the edge. he let out a low, guttural groan as you felt him twitch inside of you, before you felt the warmth of his cum coating your walls and spilling out of you with the force of it.

once his balls started to ache, Sukuna pulled out and collapsed on the bed next to you. “holy shit.” he panted, wiping the sweat from his forehead and pushing his hair back. “that was –”

“– fucking phenomenal.” you finished for him, a cheesy grin spreading across your face as you started to chuckle. “hell, I think you enjoyed yourself more than me.”

“did not.” Sukuna growled lightly but you didn’t miss the corner of his mouth twitch upwards.

“did too. gonna have you pussy whipped now, right?”

you were only teasing, but when he glanced your way, his pupils were so dilated that his eyes looked nearly black. he gave your shoulder a playful shove, a loud laugh spilling from his lips. “maybe,” he said with a grin, “just maybe.”

you’d count that as a win.

before you could fire back another quip, Sukuna slid an arm around your waist, tugging you closer in one smooth motion.

“c’mere,” he murmured, the warmth in his voice betraying how much he enjoyed seeing you flustered.

his free hand guided you until you were nestled comfortably against him, the steady rise and fall of his chest lulling you into a sense of calm. it felt surprisingly natural—his larger frame, the solid press of his body, and the low, rumbling chuckle that vibrated through you when he realized you weren’t resisting.

“just maybe, huh?” you teased again, your cheek pressed to his shoulder.

he let out a soft snort, tightening his hold as if you might slip away. “shut up,” he grumbled good-naturedly, but the way his hand splayed against your back was anything but irritated.

⊹. ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . taglist : @mangiswig @sorahatake @osohchoso @clp-84 @sterzin @csolya @emochosoluvr @aldebrana @ravester @marie-is-in-the-dark @makingtimemine . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

[gay-jesus-probably]

Let me just preface this by saying everyone is allowed to have their own opinions, TOTK is a really fun game, and I'm glad that other people have been able to enjoy the story as well.

...But I'm being dead serious with my complaints about the narrative being 100% imperialist propaganda. And I'm getting really tired of people replying to those posts by saying it can't be imperialist propaganda, because imperialism is bad and the game says that Hyrule is the good guys.

Like, guys. That's not the argument you think it is. Yes, I am aware that the game tells us Ganondorf is a flat, one dimensional character with no ambitions, interests or motivations beyond destroying the entire world for the hell of it, and also it's totally not racist because he's green, not brown like literally every other member of his race. Unfortunately literally all of these things are kind of the entire goddamn problem.

See, the thing is, everyone trying to make these arguments is accepting the game at face value. Hyrule is the perfect and almighty nation chosen by the demigod Zonai, and whose royal family has the right to rule due to their divine heritage. The other races exist to serve the glory of Hyrule, and they're happy to do it. Ganondorf is pure evil and must be stopped at any costs.

But that's not how anything works. The story informing me that Hyrule is the ultimate good that has done nothing wrong is the whole goddamn reason why I don't trust Hyrule at all. There's always more of a reason than that. And the game fucking suggests there was more going on! Ganondorf mentions Rauru has repeatedly 'invited' the Gerudo to become Rauru's subjects, and let's be clear here, it doesn't matter how peaceful those 'invitations' were, when the guy who owns every single magical nuclear missile in the world repeatedly demands you surrender to him, there's always going to be an implied threat of 'do it or get magically nuked'. Just that power difference alone shows us exactly why Ganon would feel threatened enough to invade. It's because Rauru was holding a gun to his head, and Ganon was expected to just trust that he'd never pull the trigger.

And yes, even if it wasn't intentional Hyrule was always threatening to wipe out the other nations, considering the entire royal family walked around openly wearing their magical nukes as cute accessories. If they couldn't be safely hidden away, there wouldn't be four other secret stones sitting untouched in a vault until the last second.

But that's never acknowledged. Of course Hyrule is the only nation with the right to the secret stones; even if other races get to touch them, they can only have them if they swear eternal blind loyalty and servitude to the glory of King Rauru and Princess Zelda. Ganon wanting to have one magical nuclear bomb out of a stockpile of eight of them is proof that he's dangerous and evil. I mean my god, what if he just walked around all day wearing a magical nuke and using its power for his own benefit, that would be terrifying. It's only okay when Hylian royalty does it.

And you can't argue that Ganon betrayed his own people, considering we don't get to know fucking anything about his relationship with his people. He's shows as the leader of the Gerudo, we're told he's a hero to his people, he has soldiers that loyally follow him into battle... and then oh nevermind, they all hate him and will spend eternity trying to atone for sharing a race with him. How did the entire race do a complete 180 in the span of at most a few months? Who cares, what's important is that now they accept they exist to serve Hyrule so they get to be the good guys now and we don't need to know why they were following Ganondorf, or why they stopped following him.

Basically my point is that yeah, I fucking know how the game insists everything went down. That's the entire reason I think it's imperialist propaganda, because the entire story feels like Hylian propaganda to conceal and justify some horrific atrocities that caused all of this. I literally do not believe that I'm getting the story through reliable narrators, especially considering that the only people allowed to actually tell me the story are all the characters that have the most reasons to be heavily biased in favour of Hyrule.

When the game shows me protagonists that have a massive amount of power and control over the entire world, then says the bad guy doesn't like that system just because he's evil, and literally nothing and nobody in the game says anything to oppose that take, I have some questions about what the fuck the story isn't telling me. And I'd really appreciate it if people would stop trying to argue with me just by telling me to stop asking those questions.

[tellmeallaboutit]

the infamous non-con fantasy aka Why Am I So Fucked Up?

I've been meaning to write down my thoughts on the psychosexual origins of non-con fantasy for some time, as I write about it a lot. A lot of dissertations have been written on the subject, a lot people way smarter than me have spoken. I will share the reasons that apply to me personally.

Disclaimer: a commonly cited reason for engaging in this fantasy is to process sexual trauma and regain agency. I have no history of sexual trauma, so I won't comment on this particular reason.

Disclaimer 2: post in this series would be #tat:non-con , feel free to block. It will be very controversial, personal and amateurish.

Reason Number One: Don’t Hold Me Responsible, It Was Never My Choice!

We are generally judged harshly for our mating choices (and women are held to a much higher standard and are generally considered the 'gatekeepers' of sex).

So what do you do when your attraction to someone can be seen as a reflection of your character? How do you excuse yourself if the object of your desire is morally reprehensible in every way?

That's right, there is a solution!

Non-con fantasy: your (self-insert) is not responsible for anything and able to have sex with the object of their desire without any moral responsibility. No judgement for laying with a torturer, slaver, dictator, fascist, you name it, just pity and sympathy.

Non-con fantasy: You cannot hold me responsible because I never made the choice! I never wanted to fuck this immoral asshole, I swear to God!

Reason Number Two: The Special Victim Aka The Power Is Actually Mine 

While there are certainly such works, no one wants to be the victim number 1000 in the 15 minute window between the victims 999 and 1001.

They want to be THE victim. THE one who forced the perpetrator to do the unspeakable. Preferably, your irresistible sexual appeal has forced someone to lose all control. This, baby, is pure power. Power to turn the perpetrator into a raging beast, a criminal all while remaining a victim.

Even if the antagonist is prone to such behavior, you are definitely their favorite victim. The one they like to hunt down best.

Because that's your fantasy. Your power fantasy, in fact.

Reason Number Three: The Controversy That Is Sex

Somewhere around adolescent years, there is this weird entirtwinement of what everybody is fascinated about, and what you should be mortally afraid of - sex.

Sex is fun, pleasure, love // Sex is danger, death and violence.

Assault is the worst thing that can happen to a woman, and then you hear girls in the high school locker room whispering about how "this one hot guy pinned me in the dark corner and oh god oh god can you imagine?! lifted his hand up my skirt. Oh, the horror, the horror! Tell me all the details!".

The rape culture's dark twin, the "playing hard to get", the faking disinterest, the competition and rivalry between sexes and within them - who is the most desirable of them all - feeds into reasons number (1) and (2).

In general, sex is such a controversial topic; the most controversial of them all, perhaps. Sex in human society is a walking paradox. It's connected to fear, fascination, love, violence, it's omnipresent, over-consuming, animalistic and chaotic. It's easy to have your neurons a bit fried and confused about different sort of stimuli. Fear, lust, violence, anxiety all make our blood rush.

Reason Number Four: Masculinity on Steroids

What are the traits that are considered masculine / hypermasculine in society? Arrogance, power, determination, aggression, dominance, risk-taking, emotional callousness, addiction to danger. Now combine that all and what kind of sexual behavior do we get it? Exactly.

And now enter the dichotomy: all these traits are both condemned and glorified in the society.

We say it’s bad but we don’t act like it’s bad. If anything, this hypermasculine behavior is encouraged. The nice guys finish last vibe is still alive and strong in society.

Non-con fantasy is a lot about rationally hating these traits but physically still being attracted to them. You'd never fuck a man like that IRL because everything he stands for disgusts you, but hey, no judges in the world of fantasy.

[nolita-fairytale]

burn your life down | chef luca x fem!reader | chapter thirteen

summary: luca visits his mom, while you deal with the aftermath of aiko's funeral.

warnings: fluff, angst, grief, death, conversations about divorce, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, very little connection to the storyline of the bear.

word count: 4.5k

listen to: the official 'burn your life down' playlist

a/n: well folks, this is the final chapter of 'burn your life down.' what a beautiful journey we've all been on together. i swear, this was only supposed to be a headcanon, then a few chapters maybe, and then 46.5k words later... thank you again and again if you read, commented, reblogged, or screamed at me in gifs because this story quite literally took over my life. i will be releasing a 'behind the scenes'/director's cut post, a few headcanons about the kimuras and the mikkelson twins, and want to write more for these two. so... what do you want to see them do next?

in the meantime, let's go get carmy married in "don't want to walk alone."

part twelve | masterlist

The clang of spoons against chipped mugs that date back to his primary school days feels comforting and familiar. Luca smiles to himself, dropping another sugar cube into his tea, using his teaspoon to mix it in as he listens to his mother make a sharp pivot away from her previous subject. 

“Anyways, it’s not that I don’t love a spontaneous visit home, but we can’t ignore the elephant in the room, love,” his mother prompts him, finally done with dancing around the small talk her son’s have engaged in for the last thirty minutes.

“This girl, Luca,” she continues, sending him a look that says ‘you’re not getting out this one.’ “You haven’t brought a girl home in… god knows how long.”

“I-,” Luca begins, a smile on his lips that’s contagious. “It’s-, it’s not like that mom.”

He’s not sure what he’s supposed to say: that he’s hopelessly in love and that he hasn’t said anything yet because even though he wants nothing more than to shout it from the rooftops, that you’re here in London for a funeral and not to meet him mum?

“Well, darling. Then what is it like?” his mother asks him with a quirk of an eyebrow. 

Luca hesitates, wanting to be strategic with how he explains this because the love he feels for you really is extraordinary. But he doesn’t want to jump the gun either. Because what if it all falls apart and he’s spoken too soon? You did just lose your mother-in-law, and he’d rather introduce you to his mum when you both are ready. 

Finally, Luca decides what he’d like to say, returning his attention to his mother before replying with:

“She’s special… She's really special to me.”

His mother laughs, because although her son seems to be cautiously tiptoeing around some kind of imaginary fine line, the truth is written all over his face. 

It’s in the way the corners of his lips turn up when she’s mentioned you. It’s in his shy nature and eagerness to avoid the subject. It’s in the way her son’s undeniable coyness, as she bridges the subject, that tells her that he’s found his heart. 

“Oh I know that look. You’re in love,” Luca’s mother declares, reminding Luca that she really does see right through him. 

“Do you think she’s the one?’ 

Luca sighs, turning the idea over in his head. It’s almost as if he hasn’t let himself feel it, hasn’t let himself think too hard about it, but the blush that runs across his cheeks gives him away. 

“I sure hope so, mum,” Luca answers, honestly. 

“Well,” his mother replies, smugly, as if to remind her son that she’s always right when it comes to him. “I’d like to meet her,”

“Mum, I-,” Luca begins, before pausing once more, suddenly overcome with the desire to fulfill her wishes. “It’s just… we’re here for a funeral is all.”

“And that means the two of you can’t stop by for a cup of tea?” his mother asks, haphazardly. 

“I’ll ask,” Luca promises, firmly. 

“I mean, what’s the hold up, my love?” she asks again, and it’s almost as if Luca knows she isn’t expecting an answer. 

“Right,” he mumbles in agreement, something distant in his voice. 

And while Luca wants nothing more than to be patient with you, for the both of you to make this decision together, the irrefutable pressure he feels from his mother’s question seems to create a sense of urgency that takes root.  As it begins to spiral out of control, his mind filled with thoughts of doubt, his mother’s question echoes in his head: 

What’s the hold up?

Surely you could manage just one visit before returning to Copenhagen, right?

Luca watches his mother take a sip from her teacup, his mind beginning to wander to earlier today, as she goes on about a recent neighborhood happening. As brave of a face as he’s been putting on, it was odd, seeing the family you used to belong to. And it’s not as if, with the divorce, that all just went away. He knows you’re still close with Astrid and the fact that you and Joe aren’t mortal enemies, seeing the two of you together earlier today, was harder to stomach than he imagined. 

He can’t help but be filled with feelings of jealousy – jealous of how close you still are to the Kimurs, irrationally nervous that you and Joe seem to still have such a positive relationship, envious that he got to love you first. His reaction to his mother’s question is just a reflection back to him of his own worries, his own impatience, his own insecurities.

And Luca can’t help but wonder:

What would it mean if you weren’t ready to meet his mum?

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

“I hope it’s not too late to set my demons straight. I know i made you wait, but how much can you take?” – kendrick lamar, ‘die hard’

You decide to take the long way home, walking off the afternoon, surprised to find how deep of sadness that still remains buried in your belly. Of course you expected to be sad, to be filled with grief over the loss of your former mother-in-law, but it’s something else, the bittersweetness of closure that’s left you feeling so heavy. 

It’s not that you’ve missed Joe – not in that way at least. 

But as you sat next to him at the neighborhood pub you’ve been to with him more times than you can count, it became more and more evident that he is no longer your Joe – and hasn’t been for a long time now. 

You recall just a few of the things you remember about him that reminded you of this: the way his dark curls seemed wilder, messier, than you’d seen them in a long time, that his five o’ clock shadow that used to feel so rough against your lips looked unfamiliar now and how much you’ve forgotten the way the rough texture laid against the soft skin of his face, how his shoulders slumped with a burden you know is too heavy to bear. 

When he’d told you all about his new job, it’s as if the elaborate portrait of his life that he’d painted for you began to unfold right in front of you. Only this time, as you listen, you come to realize that it’s been painted with brush strokes that weren’t yours, with colors you don't recognize, making your revelation clearer and clearer:

Joe has built a life without you �� one that you don’t fit into anymore, at least not in the same way – and you’ve done the same. 

Even though you left on a high note, at peace with Joe, reconnected with the Kimuras, and free to begin your next chapter, it feels like your heart is in pieces, reeling from the emotional whiplash of endings and beginnings. 

And you can’t seem to stop crying, letting the tears run down your face with every step you take towards your temporary residence. 

As you approach the hotel, riding the elevator up to you and Luca’s room, you’re surprised to find him more jovial than you expected. It’s not like you expected him to be sad – this isn’t his loss to grieve after all, and you’re glad that it seems like he’d had a good visit with his mum – but it feels jarring, like you’re not sure how to meet him there as you continue to sort through your thoughts and feelings from today. 

“Hi,” you say, cautiously. 

He hums in response, pulling you into a huge, sweeping kiss as he smiles against your lips. 

“Hello, my love,” he grins, as he pulls away from the kiss. 

You can’t help it, and you wish it were different, but there’s a pit in your stomach as you begin to notice how different of spirits you’re in. 

“How was your visit with your mum?” you ask him, as if you’re trying to solve a mystery, trying to figure out where all of this energy is coming from. 

Luca, driven to boldness by his mother’s question, seems to have thrown all caution to the wind as he answers with:

“It was great! Listen, I know it’s not the best of timing but, she really wants to meet you. Before we go home. What do you think?” he pitches to you, charging through his sentence like a confident and emboldened CEO. 

“Oh,” is all you manage to get out. 

No longer as patient as you’ve come to know him, his sudden change makes you nervous, and for the first time in a long time, you panic; you feel like running. 

“Luca, I-,” you stammer, searching for the right words to just fall out of your mouth. 

But they don’t. 

So you pause, licking your lips before adding, “I’ve had a long day and… I just-, I don’t know if I’m in the right headspace for that?” 

You don’t mean for it to sound like a question, but it comes out as one. Expecting for him to be just as understanding as he’s been the last few months, you’re more than surprised when Luca seems disappointed, cross even, at your response as you’re met with silence. You watch as he presses his lips together in a thin line, swallowing as he focuses on the floor. 

You feel like you just told him that Santa Claus wasn’t real, taking a breath as you take a few steps towards him. 

You’re not sure how, under the circumstances, he could expect you to be as enthusiastic as he is, but you’re almost too afraid to ask questions – a pit in your stomach about where this could all go. 

“Honey, I-,” you sigh, taking his hands in yours as you’re quick to reassure him. You want nothing more than to remedy this, to tell him yes, but you can’t seem to get those words out of your mouth so instead you choose to explain yourself. 

“Today has been… totally fucking crazy and… I think I just want to take a nap. I-, just because-.” You pause once more, trying your best to address the situation at hand. “It doesn’t mean anything that I don’t-, that I’m maybe not ready to-.”

“Well, that’s just it, isn’t it?” he asks you, pulling his hands back and taking a few steps away. You’re silent as you watch him pace back and forth, your heart sinking as he pulls away from you. 

“Wh-, what do you mean?” you stumble through, nervously. 

Luca pauses his movements, really looking at you this time as he asks, “You say it doesn’t mean anything. But it does. To me.”

“Baby, what’re you talking about?” you ask him, taking another step towards him. 

“That you’re not ready,” he snaps at you. 

Perhaps it could be different, he could react with much more grace and compassion, but between seeing a piece of your old life, and the doubts swimming in his head, he’s not sure he can wait any longer. 

“Luca, that’s not fair,” you whisper softly. 

“I-, I know. But-,” Luca tries his best to explain, becoming increasingly frustrated with himself as he continues to talk. “I just-, it’s hard not to think it means something. That you wouldn’t want to meet her.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to meet her!” you insist, trying your best to reassure your boyfriend. “It’s just that I just said goodbye to my mother-in-law and it-, it kind of feels like… well, I can’t just replace her!” 

“I’m not-, I’m not trying to replace her!” Luca can’t help but exhale frustratedly. 

“That’s not what I meant,” you’re quick to interject, the air between the two of you suddenly feeling tenuous. 

Luca takes a breath, his jaw clenching in response to his deep feelings of jealousy. He knows it’s not fair but he reminds himself that he’s only human as his mind is filled with questions he wants to ask you like: 

Why can’t you just let go of them? and, Do you miss them more than you love me? and lastly, this one in his mother’s voice, What’s the bloody hold up?

“I know,” is what he says instead, choosing to be the better man he knows he can be. He pauses, taking a seat on the hotel bed, his eyes fixed to the floor once again. 

“Luca, I don’t understand,” you start, taking another few steps toward him so that you’re now standing in front of him. “Why are we fighting right now?”

Instead of answering right away, you search his face as he avoids your gaze, giving you more and more pause for concern. 

“I just… are you having doubts… about us? After today?” he drags out, his voice strained. 

“No, what-, where would you have gotten-, what do you mean?” you ask him, suddenly questioning if you’ve given him any reason to think otherwise. 

“I just don’t understand why you don’t want to meet her!” he exclaims with a shake of his head. 

“I never said I didn’t want to!” you’re quick to object. 

As Luca leans forward, his forearms resting on his knees, you cross your arms over your chest as it becomes more and more evident that this conversation is getting heated. 

“Luca, where is this coming from?” you ask softly, in an attempt to de-escalate the situation. 

“Well, you didn’t say yes,” he throws back at you, and it hurts more than you thought it would. 

“Yes, because-. I told you that I don't think I’m in the right mindset,” you struggle to explain. “Wouldn’t you rather I meet her when we’re both ready?”

“When you’re ready?” he points out. 

“Luca, where is this all coming from?” you repeat your question, this time more sure, a deep concern in your eyes as you drop your arms to your side. You sit down on the bed next to him this time, wanting him to know that you’re on his side. 

“It’s-,” he starts, before letting out another frustrated sigh. “I know that you’ve needed us to take things slow… but it’s been months and I just don’t understand how you’re still not ready.”

His insistence that you’re not ready only continues to frustrate you

“I’m not! That’s not what’s happening here,” you defend yourself. “Luca, please. I am ready. But meeting your mom is a whole different thing especially when, shit, babe. Especially when I’m navigating this loss and… and when you’re pressuring me like this!” 

He scoffs, “You’re just scared.”

“I-. That’s not-. Yes, I am, and so far I’ve pushed through my fears because I want to be with you. Because I love being with you, Luca,” you insist, angling your body towards him this time. 

“But right now this all feels pretty unfair and I just don’t know why, suddenly, you need me to do this. I mean, if it was this important to you we should’ve talked about it before we came.”

You pause once more, because really, you’d just like to understand why you’re fighting in the first place. 

“Why is this suddenly so important for you?”

“Because I need to know-,” he snaps, finally turning to you. “I need to know that you feel the same way that I-. Because I-.”

You know what he’s about to say so you cut him off, knowing that, regardless of whatever’s got him so tied up into knots, it’s not the right time for either of you. 

“Don’t,” you beg him, reaching out to grab his hand with yours. Luca looks up at you, returning your gaze this time and the disappointment in his eyes breaks your heart for a third time today. 

“Please, don’t say it. Not right now. Not while we’re fighting. I don’t want the first time we say it to be when we’re fighting.”

There are so many things Luca wants to say, but instead, he doesn’t, too afraid the words will tumble out of his mouth because he knows it’s not the right time either. So instead, he sits there, wondering how he got himself caught up in this mess. 

“I think I should go for a walk,” you say, breaking the thick silence between you. “Think we need to take a break… from this conversation. Before either of us say anything we don’t mean.”

“I promise. I’ll come back. I promise,” you reassure him. 

“Okay,” he finally says, agreeing with you that maybe you both need a time out from this conversation. 

“Okay.” 

You can’t help it, but you can’t get out of there fast enough. With your jacket wrapped tightly around you, you wander the city for as long as you need to, especially since the tears have come back. 

You can only imagine that it’s not been easy for Luca to have accompanied you to the funeral today, but you can’t seem to figure out what would’ve set him off like this – what could’ve filled him with so much doubt and so much urgency. You wonder what his mother must’ve said to him, wonder if something she said got into his head about your relationship. You know you’re not a walk in the park, but doesn’t everyone come with their own set of baggage? 

The answer is simple. You take a time out, then you and Luca talk this all out when you get back to the hotel. You have no intention of running away, as much as the lesser parts of you would like to do nothing but, because you’re in this. 

You know you’re in this, and even though it doesn’t seem like it, you know that Luca can feel it too. 

Your mind wanders over to what he almost said. 

I love you. 

And you love him too. 

The words have felt more and more prominent as of late, lingering in every goodbye, hanging heavy in the air as he’s held your hand through your grief, on the cusp of being said every time you make love. 

Suddenly, overcome with the urge to tell him, you turn around, power-walking towards the hotel. He said it earlier, that he just needed to know that you felt the same way, and while there is so much more you need to talk out, this feels like a good place to start. 

And more than anything, it feels like the thing that you need to do. 

You come bursting through the doors to the hotel room, finding Luca there, still pacing. His jacket is thrown on the bed in a different place, and you gather that he must’ve gone out for his own walk as well. 

“Hi,” he greets you, almost as if he’s surprised that you came back. 

“I came back,” is all you say. 

He nods slowly, before taking a seat on the bed once more, “Yeah.”

You walk towards him so that you’re now standing in front of him again.

“We have… so much to talk about… but… my walk made one thing clear,” you begin, cradling his head in your hands and lifting it to your gaze as you kneel down. “There’s something I-. I have to tell you that….”

His eyes meet yours as you finally say it: 

“I love you, Luca.” 

Overcome with a swell of emotions, Luca pulls you in, kissing you as you crawl onto his lap. You press your lips to his in a passionate kiss, and while he entertains you for a few more moments, he finally pulls away with a chuckle. 

“What?”

“It’s just that-. Well, I wanted to say it first,” Luca chuckles, earning a laugh from you as well. 

“Well sometimes things happen unexpectedly. Like meeting you,” you say, pressing your forehead against his as you whisper the words against his lips. “And I need you to know… that that was the very best thing. You are the very best thing.”

“I’m sorry about earlier. I should’ve been more considerate. It’s not like we’re here for a holiday or anything-,” Luca begins to apologize, now that he’s come down from whatever had possessed him earlier. 

“You’re right. I wasn’t being fair to you, my love.”

“No it’s-, you needed to hear how I felt. And I get it now. This… whole trip has been… weird, I know,” you catch up to him, wanting him to know that you understand. “But I so appreciate you owning your part in it too.”

“My mum just, I don’t know. She got in my head. Had me overthinkin’... About us. Made me realize that I’ve got a lot more on the line here to lose,” Luca tries to explain as you leave soft kisses across his face. 

“And what does that mean?” you ask him playfully, knowing exactly where this could go. 

“It means that,” he starts, a cheeky smile on his face, before Luca leans in for another kiss. This time, he whispers the words against your lips. 

“That I love you too. So, so much.”

 -------------------------------

You’ve asked, requested, demanded really, time and time again to see photos, but as you sit in Luca’s mum’s home, staring at a photo of a young, rebellious, teenage Luca, it’s better than you could’ve ever imagined. 

“And that was his ‘I just want to be normal like the riff raff that he was runnin’ around with’ phase,'' his mother, Elaine, explains over your fit of giggles. 

“Oh mum. Can we not, please?” Luca groans, shooting his mother a playful glare. 

“He insisted that ‘Luca’ was too strange of a name. Not a proper English name either. Insisted I call him ‘Lucas’ so, yes, this is Lucas,” Elaine continues to share, against her son’s wishes. 

“God, that’s so embarrassing. I don’t know why I wanted this to happen in the first place,” Luca sighs, looking from you to his mother.

“Oh honey, I think I just fell in love with you all over again,” you giggle, giving his knee a squeeze under the table. “And yes, Elaine. I will be taking this photo with me. Think we should hang it on the fridge.”

Luca groans again, while Elaine exchanges a glance with her son, an entire conversation being had with just a shared look. 

As Elaine continues to share another photo of ‘Lucas,’ pouring over old family photos and memories, you’re sure that this man is the love of your life. 

You’ve had first love, the naive kind that breaks your heart because it’s the first time that you’ve ever felt this way before – the good and the bad. And then there was Joe, who somehow encompassed the feeling of being forever young, while being the love that grew you up too. But this? Loving Luca makes you feel safe and wild at the same time – like at any moment you could take a risk, knowing that you’ll always have a safe place to land. 

And as you look to Luca, watching him beg his mum not to embarass him any further, you smile knowingly, because you can feel that this is it. 

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

It’s the night you launch your Winter menu, and while you recognize that if any of your signature dishes came off the menu, there would be riots in the streets, you’re more than excited (yes, and definitely a little nervous) about the cozy additions you and Mathilde have dreamed up. 

At your pre-shift standup, your wait staff take turns practicing how to talk about some of the new dishes on the menu, and while you trust them to handle this one with care, you feel it’s important for you to speak on this one. 

“And this is the final dish that we’ve added to our winter menu,” you begin, pausing before you share. 

“As most of you know, I lost my former mother-in-law almost two months ago and um. Well, she taught me everything I know about Japanese cooking. So this is a dish for her: a red miso ramen with white miso-glazed kabocha squash, enoki mushrooms, ajitama and pickled green onions. It’s um. It’s a very personal dish to me, so I hope you enjoy.”

You watch as your staff, front and back of house, dive into the ramen bowls, trying the last dish you have to go over as a team, their faces lighting up with pure glee and sheer delight in response to the dish. 

Your phone buzzes in your apron pocket, and as you pull it out, you see a few texts from your group message with the Kimuras, in response to the photos you sent of your finished dish. 

Astrid: OMG it’s beautiful! 

Lina: I’m hungry now. Save us some!!

Joe: She would’ve loved it. :)

“Looks like I’m right on time,” you hear a familiar voice say, pulling your focus from your phone to the front door. 

“Luca! What’re you doing here?” you ask him, as you shove your phone back into your pocket, moving towards him. 

“I know it’s a big night for you. Thought I’d come in a bit later but Mathilde invited me to the standup. Thought you may need a little additional support,” Luca shrugs, as you give him a soft ‘hello’ peck on the lips. 

“Yeah, no I-. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. I just introduced the ramen, actually. Aiko’s dish,” you reply, the smile on your face undeniable as you're filled with nothing but joy and love for the man that stands in front of you. “But let me make you up a bowl.”

“I’d love that,” Luca nods in agreement. 

You make your way back to the open kitchen, watching as Jesper pulls up a chair for Luca, right next to yours. Mathilde is quick to offer him a smaller plate, welcoming him in with open arms. As you plate your dish, you can’t take your eyes off of him, and you have to remind yourself that you do need to make up this bowl of ramen at some point. 

But seeing Luca here with your team – here to support you on your big night, on a night that you’re sharing your whole heart in one bowl of noodles – you’re overcome with a deep sense of gratitude that you get to be the one who loves him. You think back to the day you met, so glad that that evening was slow, that he chose to leave the box of pastries, that he asked you to come to AOC, because if he hadn’t, who knows where you’d be? 

You walk the ramen bowl back to the table, setting it down in front of Luca with a kiss to his cheek as a bonus, as you sit down in the chair next to him. He smiles at you, a glimmer in his eyes that says, ‘thank you, my love.’

You smile back, thinking about what he said earlier, when he first walked in this evening because the double meaning isn’t lost on you. 

And because he’s right. 

Maybe, he’s always been right on time.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

I can't stop fucking thinking about premature ejaculation today, literally, I've been so distracted from everything, and it's probably definitely K's (@howdoyousleep3 's) fault with this fucking post (plus her broader, totally understandable, fixation with it 👀) that will haunt me for the rest of my days. So. Evanstan filth.

Chris was slotting his key card into his hotel room door but he isn't anymore and he doesn't know, honest to god, how he got from standing outside the room to lying flat on his fucking back on the plush, tightly made bed of that same room without remembering even a single rushed step but he is, he is, it's not even been a full minute, he swears, and ohhh--

Sebastian is here.

He's not supposed to be is the thing, though, he's got a thousand other places he's all but contracted to be right now; their schedules have been hell the last few months between their competing, demanding press tours for movies with such laugably different tones. Sebastian is doing two fucking press tours at once for Christ's sake, he doesn't have time for even a quickie. Chris feels like they've hardly heard each other's voices, seen each other's faces--they've not been calling, certainly not FaceTime-ing, just texting back and forth between the circuses of their limelight lives, just trying to keep it together while the world spins too fast around them.

Chris' head is spinning off his shoulders now. He's slammed his head back into the overstuffed pillows, his hair fanning out around him with a strand of it sticking to his forehead, sweating when, shit, he can't have been in the room for more than a minute or two, tops. He doesn't know if he pushed or Seb pulled--who led who to the bed? How'd they get here? How'd it become this?

Not that he can complain, he doesn't know and he doesn't fucking care how they ended up on top of each other, tangled together, knotted and beyond coming apart easily. He can't care because he's not even fully out of his shirt--it's half unbuttoned, pulled apart and pulled down to expose the upper half of his chest, flushed, normally pale skin and dark ink and a forest of hair, his necklace left astray, heated to his feverish body temperature and sizzling where it rests in the pit of his neck. That's not all, though. His shirt is rucked up to display even more of the scattered art across his skin, his abs clenching tight. He lost his slacks somewhere. Shoes, too. He was wearing shoes when he got in here, right? He had to be. Definitely. He wouldn't've--

It doesn't matter.

A moan comes tumbling out of Chris' mouth, and it doesn't fucking matter. His toes curl without even half of a muttled thought spared to investigating the sensation to rediscover if he's still wearing socks or not. And, oops, his boxer briefs are gone, too, now. Sebastian is stripping him of them impatiently, his hands frantic, greedy, as they slide down over his skin.

Bared, his cock hits his exposed stomach and Chris makes a sound that doesn't even make sense.

His mouth is open, somehow both too dry and wet with spit--almost drool. His bearded jaw has dropped so fucking wide it would be embarrassing if he could comprehend such a concept as embarrassment at a time like this.

This--

One leg bent at the knee, foot flat against the mattress, and the other leg curled indecently over his lover's shoulder as Sebastian's lips glide, slick and hot and unfairly erotic, against his cock, he's so hard so fast--responding to Seb's mouth like a subject of Pavlov, a damn dirty dog--that he's not even sure he was ever soft. How could he be soft when Sebastian is tilting his whole head into it? Getting fucking into it.

Woof.

He's merciless, mouthing at his dick, moaning like he fucking missed it. The weight. The taste. The mouthful. He must've missed it bad with how he's going at it, licking, dragging his tongue over it broadly, outrageously, then resting it heavily on his tongue, mouth open, sloppy, letting the tip slide against the soaked velvet inside of his cheek, bulging out pornographically, moaning, sucking on the tip, letting it slide deep shiveringly, impressively quickly. He's hungry--starved even.

And Chris' entire body clenches, uncontrollably, his muscles tight, helpless to not be swallowed up by it all. Then, just as involuntarily, Chris' hips buck up jaggedly.

Sebastian lets them, only groaning messily as Chris is enveloped deep in that lush mouth, deeper into that wicked throat.

Seb hardly even gags.

Fuuck.

Chris' neck arches harder, fighting and losing the battle against the flood of pleasure, feeling the sweet, hurting pull in his muscles and tendons past their usual use. Gasping, he can't get in enough oxygen to feed the bonfire Sebastian has sparked from just a match but grew impatient with, dumping gasoline on the whole fucking thing instead. Lighting. him. up.

Shit.

God, fuckin'--

It feels sofuckinggood.

His mouth.

Chris missed his mouth desperately, he missed him so badly, he was going crazy without him, now he's here and Chris can't understand it, did he take a plane? Did he drive from whatever fucking stop he was on with press? When? How long do they have? How is Chris supposed to think, to ask, when he can't even shut his fucking mouth. Groaning and gasping, then moaning. Endless. It's pure adrenalin and shock. Pleasure coursing through him so suddenly that it fractures him into a million tiny pieces.

Guh.

Sebastian is going to fucking suck his soul out of his body, going at him like that. It's not just the way he slurps and swallows and moans on his cock, though, it's how he's bobbing his head, taking it gorgeously, an inescapable, dire rush to every action, gagging, choking a little with his recklessness. He's filthy. He's gorgeous. He's--

"Oh. Oh," Chris can't stop any of the embarrassing sounds that are, just, coming out of him, spilling over, dripping down his chin, making a mess of his throat and chest. He's wet. Sweating. Spit. Dripping. "Wait," he's panting, moaning sharply, Sebastian's mouth is leaving scorching kisses down his shaft, his tongue flicking out to lewdly trace the throbbing veins, prominent on him visibly and psychologically, Chris' heart throbs in his chest, its beat pounding through his dick and rushing in his ears.

And Seb's just going, going, going--plunging deeper, getting to the base of his cock, slurping at his balls gluttonously, grazing them with his lips and teeth, sending tingling danger rushing through Chris like static.

"Baby-!"

He just keeps getting lower, using every weakness Chris has without even thinking about it, he knows his body too well, it's too, too good, so much, pulsing, rushing, boiling over.

"Baby, nno," he scrambles, his hands finding their way to Sebastian's gorgeous hair, pulling until he shivers and groans at the scalp-pin-prick pain, debauched, "I'm gonna," Chris struggles to use his mouth for something understandable, "oh, no, no-nnnghh, ugh, oh, I'm, w-we just st-AH-started! Wait!" He whines, "if you--'m gonna--"

His words turn from whining words to something entirely useless for communication, incoherent sounds of pleasure too good to not be afraid of it, razor-sharp around the edges, treacherous, all-consuming as Sebastian doesn't heed his strangled attempts at warning, burying his fucking face in him. He feels so fucking close to him that he might as well be inside him--reaching up through his gut to his chest to squeeze his racing heart--his nose pressed right up against that hypersensitive, intimate place behind his balls while his lips and tongue ravish his hole. He has no hesitation. No shame. He just--

Eats him.

He eats him out so fucking good, ravenous with that wet-dream mouth, that there's nothing Chris can do to stop it, even with his fist flying to the base of his dick to squeeze and choke off his embarrassingly early orgasm--it's all in vain. He can't stop it.

He's fucking cumming.

Spilling hard over his quivering stomach in all-consuming pumps that crash over him like storm-charged waves against the shore. His hips are pushed up so far--fighting it, squirming, trying to get away and get closer, and, shit, he doesn't even know what his body is doing as it's ripped out of him--that he nearly makes it to his bearded chin with his own release. It's wet and hot over his stomach, his chest, and his collarbones, almost his throat.

Christ.

With his chest fucking heaving, his lungs rasping, audibly struggling to get each breath out of his throat, Chris quakes through the aftershocks. Barely able to keep his eyes open enough to see Sebastian, buried between his legs, shuddering, and, oh fuck, thoughtlessly squirming against the bed, rubbing himself off against it, caught up in the same indulgent mood.

After another short, blurry, fast-motion moment, when Chris whines--again from too much pleasure, wishing for it to stop so he isn't so mortified, except for that last part, the mortification has already come, spreading itself out over his face like a proud, deep sunburn, then--Sebastian pulls away. His lips are swollen. Puffy, wet, and red. He looks as wrecked as Chris feels. Chris feels fucking scrambled. He's still half-humping the bed, whispering, heady, "Chris, Chr--" his voice catches in his throat "--Chris, Jesus," he spreads his legs wider, getting more friction, making Chris' sensitive cock jolt painfully at the obscene picture he makes, "you're so hot."

Chris feels hot. The blushing and embarrassed and squirming kind of hot, though. He kind of wants to fucking melt into the bed, it's been fucking years since he's cum with that little action and he usually prides himself on how he goddamn pleasures his partners first, then takes his, sometimes not even his own, he loves making others feel good and he's fucking good at doing it, bringing them to their knees, he's not like this, not normally; but, also, he really wants to surge forward, wrestle Seb flat onto his belly and get him back to tear into him. Right now, the best he can do, though, still recovering from the quick and dirty intensity of his shattering orgasm, is mumble, "your mouth," his face must be swollen with all the blood rushing into his tingling cheeks, "can't fuckin' help it, you drive me crazy," he excuses himself, shaky.

"Cr-crazy, nngh, yeahh," Seb echoes, losing it, melting from cocky and confident and in control to plain needy with all that good friction to his dick.

God, what a fucking sight he is, down there, between his legs, frenzied.

[swordbisexual]

A Party

Rolan Week Day Four

In which Rolan seeks Shaxibis out just before sunrise. 2.1k words

(cross-posted to AO3)

--

“Any minute now. Just you wait.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I swear!”

Gods, but Cal and Lia can be just as bad as the children. They’ve been circling back round to this argument all night, when they aren’t busy drinking or dancing or singing horribly off-key along with Alfira’s relentless lute-playing. Even during a victory celebration, Lia can’t help but see the worst - which Rolan finds all too relatable, and therefore annoying beyond belief - and Cal can’t help but try to keep her from matching, in their words, the “perpetual Rolan sulk.”

The subject of Cal’s optimism is the sunrise; a thing none of them have seen for days now, so long that Rolan has to wonder if they’ve been stuck here for the ages and eons it’s felt like beneath the interminable moonlit night. According to Cal’s reckoning, they’re less than an hour out from dawn, which has only served to rouse the actual children into staying up well past the wee hours just to see it. If anything, Lia’s arguing is likely only to serve as entertainment. She and Cal can be a right double act when they’ve a mind to it, and for once, Rolan is just glad that he’s not the butt of their jokes.

There is something lightening the air around Last Light Inn that feels more widespread and far-reaching than the cleric’s spell. While most of the Harpers are still at Moonrise making a last sweep for straggling cultists, Cal and Lia and Danis and Lakirssa all agreed, quietly, that they’d rather spend the night back here before setting back out with what remains of their fellow Elturians. They’ve scrounged up what they can from the wine cellar and made a proper party of it, or as best they can with what they’ve got.

To everyone’s great surprise, Shaxibis and her band of misfits all came to join them on their last hurrah. It’s fitting, really; the children swarm Wyll and Karlach just like they did back at the Grove, and even Astarion’s skulking in the corner feels nearly the same as his skulking during the party at the riverside camp. All that’s changed is the location, and the quality of the wine, and, well…

Everything.

The city is closer than ever before, and with it his apprenticeship. His future. That there is a greater threat looming feels like something he can actually face, and maybe even stand down, with the help of proper training. He could be more than the greatest wizard the Gate has seen. He could help, like Lia has begged him to from the start, and he could do it with all the heroism and flair as…

As…

Damnation.

Baldur’s Gate and all the accomplishment it promises has been far from the first thing on his mind, truthfully. For the last half hour, Rolan has been watching the door, waiting for Shaxibis to return. After her last duet with Alfira, she’d begged off, saying that she just needed some fresh air. No one else seems to have noticed that her brief step outside has stretched out beyond reasonable measure.

But for Rolan, he may as well be waiting for sunrise of another sort.

No one notices when he slips away as well, picking up a bottle of wine and two empty goblets along the way, stepping outside the inn and starting a slow, searching circuit around its perimeter. She could be anywhere - the lakeside, the cellar, even the upstairs balcony - and he hasn’t the faintest idea of where to start, or whether she actually wants to be found.

“The water is wide, I cannot cross over…”

There. The strings of an instrument; not as richly-toned as a lute, but not as sweepingly ethereal as a lyre, either. There’s a simple, mournful quality to whatever is being strummed, almost as enchanting as the voice it accompanies.

“Neither have I wings to fly…”

Rolan follows the sound of Shaxibis’ voice, soft and low, to the dock below. There she sits, alone on the wooden slats, her feet dangling to nearly skim the water’s surface. Little light makes it down here near the inn’s cellars, but her hair glows like a moon all its own, unbound from the knots she’s taken to wearing it in so that it waves around her neck and skims her bare shoulders.

She’s quiet, and in that quiet there is a new, soft loveliness to her. And that only makes his stomach roil and head swim even more.

Whatever instrument she plays is laid across her lap, its wooden body gently curved at the sides, and only strung with four strings that ring out like a chime with every sweep of her thumbnail. She slides her other fingers along the fretboard with an ease that looks like second, simple nature. This is not an instrument she has studied; this is one she was practically born playing, as much as part of her as her own hands. It’s so like how he naturally slips into his own self-taught spellwork, and like a spell, he’s so entranced that he can’t look away.

“Bring me a boat that can carry two, and both shall row, my love and I.”

He hangs back to listen. Most of the songs he’s ever heard her play are old standards, and always lively, dancing tunes. Things that inspire the bold to dance, and the meek to tap their toes in time, and someone as upright as himself to lean in, just a little, to better hear the sound. This song, though, is so sweetly wistful, and with the simplest of chords strummed on the simplest of strings, he feels it as a knot in his throat and an ache in his lungs.

Her voice trails off, and she turns her head to look just so over her shoulder. “I know you’re there, Rolan.”

Wincing, he steps out of the shadows and onto the dock. “And here I thought I was being stealthy.”

She snorts. “For a crowded city street, maybe.” When he doesn’t move to join her, she turns to look him in full, then pats the space beside her, cocking a brow. “Well?”

Rolan finally lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, and he takes the last few steps to the edge of the dock. Carefully, he places the wine and the cups at her side, then sits down with the drink between them. With a small grunting huff through his nose, he tugs his robes up around his knees to keep the hem from dipping into the lake. “You know, you’d have a rapt audience inside.”

She looks down at the instrument in her lap and plucks a string. “This one is just for me, really.”

He gets a closer look. The body is bowed much like a violin’s, but it’s longer and slimmer, with a much less pronounced curve. The carvings on its body are similarly plain: only a pair of twin hearts, charmingly simple, with the notches of whatever knife hewed them out still visible along the curved tops. “What is it?”

Shaxibis runs a hand over the fretboard and smiles, fondly, making Rolan’s stomach flutter. “A dulcimer.”

“I’ve never seen such a thing before.”

“You wouldn’t have.” She strums it again, and he notices that two of the strings are closely paired together, and they echo one another with the same note. “They aren’t seen much in the bards’ guildhalls. Definitely not in tavern rooms.” Idly, she presses down on the frets, and the same tune she’d been singing moments ago hums beneath her touch. “Folk up in the High Forest hills play them at home, mostly.”

All he knows to do is uncork the wine and pour. “So that is where the great Shaxibis comes from.”

She wrinkles her nose at him, but she still takes the goblet that he offers up and drinks deep. “I’m the ‘great’ now, hm?”

“After all you’ve done?” He takes his own drink and swirls it beneath his nose, breathing in the scent of stone fruit beneath the richly tannic top notes. “I suppose you’re at least ‘good.’”

She laughs. “High praise.”

That laugh is more intoxicating than the wine at his lips. He wants to sing her praises as poetry, but for all his appreciation for the fine arts, he hasn’t even the slightest gift for them. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I would never.” She sets her goblet down and turns her attention back to the dulcimer in her lap, playing a few more bars of the tune, though she only hums along now, keeping the song’s words to herself. The song dwindles away again, and she sits in silence; strange, for her to be so, and it makes Rolan hold his breath as he stares into the deep red dregs of his wine.

Finally, she speaks again. “You’re lucky.”

Rolan furrows his brows and turns towards her. “You must be joking.”

She should be, because that’s her way, but the look in her eyes as she turns her face up to his is anything but droll. There’s a sad shine to that gold-flecked gaze, breathtakingly wistful, and when she smiles, it never quite makes it any higher than the curve of her cheek. “I mean it. To have a family like yours…”

He frowns with a sigh. “Not by blood,” he says. “I’m not…” He gestures in helpless circles with his goblet. “Not really their family.”

“You try telling Lia that.” Shaxibis picks up the bottle and tilts it towards him til he brings his cup over to be filled once more. “See what happens.”

“Fine.” He watches her pour a few glugs into her own cup and chews his bottom lip. “And what of your family?”

She raises her cup back in the general direction of the inn. “Could I join in on yours?”

The words seize him like a bolt of lightning, blinding his good sense for a moment and rooting him to the spot with sudden visions of what it would mean for Shaxibis to be a part of his life. To see her every day, to groan at her constant jokes, to secretly hope for her laugh of delight and hand over his and—

What are you thinking? Just as quickly, he comes to his senses. If anything, it was simply a figure of speech, an easy way for Shaxibis to deflect his question and declare that she is fond of Cal and Lia all in one fell swoop. She could not possibly mean it any other way, and he is a fool for letting his imagination run full tilt away from him at even the slightest suggestion.

Or… perhaps not.

“I didn’t mean…” Her eyes have gone wide, and in the dim light he can nearly see a flush darkening her cheeks. She licks her lips; suddenly, he cannot look away. “I just…”

There is a lightening rosy glow behind her now, reflected off the lake’s glittering surface beyond. Sunrise. So it is still real, and the curse was lifted, and the impossible truly is possible, isn’t it? That is what pushes him to try, to lean in, to tilt his head just so, to brush the pad of his thumb to her chin and bump his knuckle beneath in a wordless question that hangs between his tongue and parted lips on bated breath.

She kisses him, gently, with lips the color and taste of wine. Those lips are as bold as the rest of her, but soft too, soft in this quiet space between. A gentle hum in her throat, the warmest breath of air as she exhales against his cheek, and while she doesn’t move any closer, in truth she doesn’t have to. This is close enough - too close - and the millimeters between his nose to her cheek, her hand hovering at the edge of his jaw, all of those minuscule spaces are brimming with raw, powerful magic, a hum like thunder as steady and rolling as a drum.

Just as surely as she leaned in to him, she is the one who breaks them apart, and he aches with the cool kiss of the air in her absence. “We should go,” she says. “Before they come looking for us.”

Rolan drops his hand from her chin, but he still lets it hang in the space between them. “Shaxibis…”

She moves her dulcimer from her lap and swings her legs up to the dock, moving to stand. “You already thanked me once,” she says, scooping up her wine cup and the half-empty bottle as she graces him with another painfully wistful smile. “I don’t want to be greedy.”

[toracainz]

Tell Me Where to Put My Love pt4

You and Steven haven’t been together very long, but that won’t stop either of you from fighting tooth and nail for a chance at a future together.

Series Masterlist

Part 3 -  Different Kind of Danger in the Daylight

Part 4 -  Unavailability Is The Only Thing That Turns You On

Part 5 - At Last, When All of the World is Asleep

Warnings: Inaccurate depictions of DID (only knowledge from the show and some light research). Swearing. Established relationships. Married relationship. Use of term “priest” in a gender neutral sense. Discussion about cheating. Discussion about homewreckers. Canon typical violence in later chapters. Mentions of food. Angst. Fluff.

Word Count: 4k

A/N: I am so sorry it's taken me this long to post the next part, been stewing over this part for so long. 😭 Personal stuff happened and then writer's block and ugh. Anyways, I hope you like it. 🥺

There you were, outside his flat, standing by the road looking up at his floor. You had to go in sooner or later, but the pit in your stomach made it hard to move any further. You were honestly lucky you made it as far as you did thanks to some encouragement from Tutu. It was strange that he seemed to care so much, maybe he really did. You were sure that by now Layla was in town and inside the flat. The bustling sounds of average Londoners going about their day helped keep you calm (well, calmer), oddly enough.

“He’s not going to come to you, child.” Tutu stood atop the nearby building. “Though knowing him, he might actually.” The god chuckled. “Go. All will be well. You are strong.”

Glancing up at his masked face you can almost feel the reassuring smile hidden behind it. With a nod, you take a moment to collect yourself before starting inside the building. What would you say first? What do you say first? Obviously introduce yourself, or maybe Steven would introduce you. Wait, who’s going to be fronting during this? Are they going to be, what did Steven call it? Co-conscious? How easy was it for them to switch? Steven had mentioned he and Marc could do it pretty effortlessly now that they were closer. You still hadn’t actually seen them switch yet. Since he had come back it had always just been him with maybe a stray comment here or there in Steven’s head from Marc.

The lift seemed to be moving so slowly, compared to the speed of your thoughts racing through your mind. Oh God, would Layla even want you to step foot in the flat? What would Steven do if she refused to talk to you? Surely, she would at least talk…right?

Oh. When did you get in front of his door? Muscle memory must have carried you here. Well, you’re here. You take another deep breath sensing Tutu’s reassuring presence as you lift your hand to knock. That’s when you hear it. Layla is talking, but you’re not sure to who, was it Marc or Steven? You imagine probably Marc, that’s who she’s here to see…unless... You try not to dwell on it and find yourself knocking on the door. Things fall silent in the flat other than a low voice, maybe Marc, and the sound of approaching steps. To say you were relieved when Steven swung open the door with a smile was an understatement.

“Hello, love. Come in, come in. Make yourself comfortable of course. Uh…but first I think it’s best to get the introductions out the way, yeah?” He ushers you in, his hand finding a gentle place on your back out of habit as he introduces you to Layla. She gives you a curt smile, brows lifting slightly as she reaches out offering a handshake. You take it with a nod.

“Steven has said a lot of nice things about you.” She rests her hands in her pockets glancing between you and Steven. “So, I guess now that everyone’s here…we should eat.” She says, trying to change the subject. The air was so thick with tension you weren’t sure you could move from where you stood.

“Oh right, yeah.” Steven says to Layla as she starts into the kitchen to get out plates and cups. He turns to you with obvious concern on his face. “I truly am glad you came. I made your favorite and look…nothing has to happen tonight. I certainly don’t expect things are alright between us, but I’m just happy you’re here. Um, Marc and I, we’ll be switching a bit so just warning you. It’s not scary or anything, I just…well Layla’s seen it so she’s used to it. I just didn’t want you to be surprised.”

Oh, God did you love him. He was so concerned about you being comfortable despite the very uncomfortable situation you all found yourselves in. He had made your favorite dish and was trying to make sure you knew that there were no expectations and that you wouldn’t be surprised by his and Marc’s behavior. You nod letting a small smile appear. “Yeah, alright, Steven. Thank you.”

He smiles back with a nod. He would have usually kissed your head, but he resigned himself to just placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. It didn’t feel right, even with the context of everything happening. The very demure gesture when both of you were very much comfortable with hugs and kisses just felt foreign.

“Uh, Steven? The food?” Layla approaches the cleaned off dinette table and starts setting it as Steven hurries into the kitchen to bring the dishes over.

“Is there anything I can do?” You offer, trying to rescue yourself from the role of knot-on-a-log.

“Yeah, love. Could you get that dish there on the counter please? We’re doing a sort of pot luck style, just get what you like sort of thing.” He set the dish down before going to get the drinks. “Hope everyone enjoys. Marc tried to make one of Layla’s favorites and one of his. I, of course, made a favorite of mine and of yours. We can all dig in! Try out each other’s favorites!” Suddenly, Steven’s face scrunched up like he smelled something bad, but it wasn’t Steven that spoke. The seamless way they switched was something entirely unexpected.

“Hell no, Steven, you can have your vegan food. I’m gonna stick with my corned beef kugel. I won’t make you eat it, so don’t make me eat yours.” He shook his head with a huff as you all gathered around the table and took your seats. Just as seamlessly as Marc appeared Steven was back.

“Oi, rude. I didn’t say you had to, Marc. Just that everyone could if they wanted. He didn’t sleep well, stressed about cooking everything. Told him not to worry, that I could help. He’s a bit crank-“

“I am not cranky, Steven.” Marc returned to the front annoyed as he started to plate his food. You and Layla just watched as the two bickered about the food. Layla watched curiously while plating her own food. She had seen them do this while fighting in Cairo, so fighting amongst themselves in their flat wasn’t too different. You on the other hand tried not to stare. Not because you were weirded out or thought they were crazy. It was just incredible to experience, after all you had never known anyone to do this before.

You remembered how Steven was before he disappeared. Sullen, but still hopeful about life. A dark cloud always not far behind. Steven had been so beat down that he had nearly accepted his lot in life, lonely gift shoppist destined to never be a tour guide or have a partner of any kind, no friends, just unreturned voicemails to his mother and the living statue man. Steven seemed so free now. Free of his past burden, the secret life Marc was keeping from him, he was lighter and smiling much more, much much more. You loved it. Seeing him so happy and full of life. Even bickering with Marc seemed to elicit some degree of joy, poking fun at each other.

Layla had been there for them during such a chaotic time. She was strong after all. Stronger than you. The voice from your dream comes careening back through your mind, “What can you do that she can’t do better?” You close your eyes as you pick at your food, nibbling on the different dishes, trying to block out such thoughts. But what if there was truth to it? What if she really could do better for them than you could? You didn’t realize you had gone still until you felt a hand rest on yours. Following the hand up to its source you’re met with Steven’s concern filled eyes.

“You alright, love?”

You take in a shuddering breath. Were you starting to panic? Oh no, no not now. Not in front of her. “I uh, I’m sorry I just…I’m sorry. I just have to go to the loo.” You get up and try not to seem desperate to escape the room as you enter the bathroom sliding the door shut. Not much privacy, but it’s better than sitting in front of her. Comparing yourself to her. Being judged by her. Leaning against the sink your chest begins to rise and fall with hastened breaths. You try to force them to slow and deepen but they only come out shaky.

She was definitely better for them, both of them, than you were for Steven alone. She was strong and he deserved that. He didn’t need to be coddled or looked after like  before with you. Layla could keep up with him and Marc. But you? Where could you fit in all of this? You can't find a place to fit. This is a different puzzle, one you’re certain your piece didn’t belong to. You look up into the mirror, seeing Tutu’s visage behind you. A gentle hand rests on your shoulder. Again, the mask hiding what could only be a look of sympathy…and perhaps pity.

“This isn’t going to work, Steven. This…whole thing is just…it’s too awkward. I don’t see this lasting long.” Layla says to Steven in a hushed tone, not enough for you not to catch some of it. Somehow your breathing quiets enough for you to listen, Tutu unsurprisingly gone now.

“They’re just nervous. This will work. It’s going to work, Layla.” Steven doesn't look at her as he shakes his head. “It has to work.”

“What? So…are the four of us going to live in the same house, hmm? Go on some weird double date, cause this dinner was going so well.” Her voice dripping with sarcasm as she moves to try and make Steven look at her, leaning forward slightly. “Marc and I haven’t even really started working through our own shit and now this?”

Steven stands up harshly, you imagine from the sound of a chair sliding back suddenly. He squeezes his eyes shut, staving off Marc’s attempts to front. “No, mate, you can talk to your wife after I make sure they’re okay.” This time he does look at Layla, his gaze firm, before starting towards the loo, his steps becoming softer and more careful the closer he gets.

“Love? You alright? You sick? If you need anything I’ll g-“

You open the door miraculously fighting off your tears. Looking up at him you reach out and his hand instinctively finds yours, his other one hesitantly reaches up to your cheek. Before it can make contact you move past him towards the front of the flat starting to grab your bag. You turn and look Layla in the eye, her slightly surprised gaze meets yours. No doubt surprised someone like you had the nerve to even look her way again (or so your brain was telling you).

“I’m sorry.” You find the words spilling out before you mean for them to, if those were even the words you wanted to say. Steven had followed you from the loo watching you wondering what you’d say next. “I’m sorry for…whatever it is you think I’ve done. I truly had no idea about you and Marc. How could I? I know I’m something akin to a homewrecker and I never meant to be. I just…I love Steven. I do, but you are clearly more capable and better suited for both him and Marc. I’m not you, by any-“

“Love, what are you saying?”

“They’re leaving, Steven.” Layla says. You just nod, unable to fight the tears any longer.

“I truly do love Steven, but from what he’s told me about you…you can take better care of both of them. I would just get in the way.” You sniffle, wiping your tears as you turn to start out the door. As your hand grabs the door knob a strong calloused hand grabs your arm. The fiery determination in the warm brown eyes that look at you catch you off guard.

“Now wait, just hold on, just a minute…time out. Now let’s all just chill the eff out, yeah?” He looks from you to Layla. “Yeah, alright, this isn’t ideal. But I love them and they love me, you heard them.” His grip on your arm isn’t painful despite how firm he holds on. Looking at you, his expression begs you to stay, but his eyes burn with a fire you’ve never seen before. “This can work if we are all willing to try. I won’t just give up…not getting rid of me that easily, love.” His focus is drawn away from you and to the mirror next to the door. He must be listening to Marc.

With the room growing quiet, expectant of what would be said next and by who, Layla decides to fill the silence.

“If they want to go, Steven, you can’t make them stay.” She stands up from the table.

Steven, shaking his head as he tries to listen to Marc and Layla, something that never went well in the past, steps away from you.

“What about what I want? I want to be with them. I never wanted to be Khonshu’s avatar, never wanted to have a “sleeping disorder”, and…no! I’m not giving you the body, you can talk with Layla when I’m through!” In the middle of Steven’s rant his head snaps to the fish tank, hands flying to his head, fighting against the pull from Marc trying to take control. Things are escalating and neither Marc nor Steven want the people they love to leave, and Marc knows Layla might.

“I believe I may be of assistance.”

His voice carried over the flat like a blanket, though a little louder than Steven or Layla would have liked.  Both of them flinched, yelping, Steven jumping closer to you almost protectively (though screaming a little louder than he intended), and turning to see Tutu standing there in the middle of the flat. Layla suddenly was no longer in her normal clothes but instead in the gorgeous suit Taweret had gifted to her, holding her two swords out, almost like a reflex.

“Ha! I knew it!” Marc says, pushing to the front. Pointing at Layla, a satisfied grin on his face, confirming that she was still an avatar distracting him enough from the fact that there was a god standing in the flat. Layla looked as embarrassed as she would let herself appear to be as the suit dematerialized leaving her in her casual clothes yet again.

“What? Alright, yes I’m still Taweret’s avatar and because of this suit I’ve helped a lot of people.” She stood firm, justifying her connection with the goddess, her contrapposto posture contradicting her conviction as she defended herself.

“No, that’s great. I mean, Taweret was actually really nice so I don’t imagine she’s like Khonshu…manipulating and threatening,” Marc couldn’t help but smile at her. You recognize that smile. Love. A smile Steven would give you, and you fear that he has given that smile to Layla as well. Suddenly, Marc shifts and his posture changes.

“How?” Steven asks, turning the attention back to Tutu. Talking with gods had become fairly normal for Steven during his recent adventure. “You're the god of tombs and the protector of dreamers. Sorry, but…I’m not sure I understand how you could help.”

“You are correct, but it is my skill set that is more than capable of assisting.” His golden head nods towards Steven, as if to say “I’m at your service”. “I believe my avatar already knows what I intend to offer.”

With that, all eyes fall on you, your back against the door, eyes wide but drying up now that Tutu has appeared. His presence always a comfort to you. “Yeah…I know.”

“Well, what is it, love?” Steven’s brows gather in a myriad of emotions: confusion, curiosity, concentration.

“He intends to put us all into a dream. Any one of us could be the dreamer, but he would give us all the energy to lucid dream…in a space where we all could have a voice.” As if reading the god’s mind, you explain Tutu’s plan. You’d never done this before, created a dream space where you and another could interact. All of Tutu’s missions involved lucid dreaming, entering someone’s dreams and being fully in control of yourself. For the average person lucid dreaming is something you train yourself to do through repetition and practice.

“Yes, within the dream perhaps communication could be more effectively practiced.”

It was worth a shot, if all parties agreed, but something told you that Layla didn’t want to try it, didn’t want this to work. You couldn’t blame her. She was “here first”, and was actually married to Marc. If it were the other way around, maybe you might feel the same? Honestly it’s hard to truly know how you’d react in a situation until you’re actually in it. It’s easy to say “I’d do this” or “I’d never do that”, but when it really comes down to it you never really know.

Steven’s eyes and mouth open wide, mind racing to conclude how this could work, what it would feel like, if this would even be something he (or Marc) would feel comfortable doing. Communication is a little difficult, sure, tensions and stakes are high–not ‘ancient Egyptian god trying to take over the world and eat people’s souls’ high…but still high.

“I…I think…I think Marc and I need to talk…alone. The last time we were…not together…it wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience, yeah? Don’t think that this would be the same, no, it’s just…I think we should talk about it first.” Steven can’t help how his hands find each other to fidget like he had done so many times before, taking a deep breath he wills them apart. Things are different now, he’s not quite as timid or unsure of himself as he was before Marc, before Cairo. Things are different. He has Marc now and this is the life they wanted to share with each other, but the thought of someone catching a glimpse of one of their dreams, their nightmares…it was scary.

“Of course, Steven…Marc. Both of you. Not sure I like the idea much either but…stranger things have happened, yeah?” Layla’s voice has turned soft and tender. She can only imagine what could be going through Steven’s and Marc’s head. You felt the same. The two of them had been through so much in such a short time. Being vulnerable and open is still so new to them. If they were uncomfortable with entering a dream world, then maybe you all could find another way. You nod with a short agreement to Layla’s words.

The air in the flat was thinning in a good way, from the thick tense air that had begun to settle. You think that maybe it was Tutu’s presence that was facilitating this calm and maybe you'd be right. He’d never admit to such, but it’s welcomed all the same.

Steven looked at you and Layla, his lips curled at the corners into a gentle smile. “Thank you, both of you. I promise, we’ll try and have an answer for you both soon…uh well for all of you.” He turns to Tutu, his smile turning sheepish.

“Take your time. I’ve waited this long, right? I don’t mind waiting…I’ll always wait for you, Steven.” You could feel your body wanting to take his hand, but could you? Would that be weird in front of Layla? This whole night had been weird so what’s one more thing? Before you can worry about that, as if he feels the pull too, Steven takes your hand. When your eyes meet it’s like the warmth from his hand spreads through you, even to your cheeks where a smile has found its way across your lips. This could work. It had to. You didn't really want to walk away. Sure, you still worry about being compared to Layla, but that will just be something to work through…with Steven.

~*~*~*~

After saying your goodbyes, each of you to your respective man, you and Layla share a very awkward elevator ride. If you thought the ride up was slow, this one is moving at a glacial pace, as if the weight of the tension was straining the mechanics. Thanks to the mirror covered walls you steal glances of Layla, seeing how beautiful she is this close, feeling how confidence just falls off of her. You could see why Marc and even Steven could fall for her. Taking a deep breath, you try and keep those dark thoughts from growing again, the last thing you need is to have yet another panic attack in front of her.

“It’s nothing personal, you know,” Layla says, breaking the silence, not turning to look at you but opting to look at you in the reflection facing you both. Your eyes widening a fraction prompt her to continue. “I get it. Finding out there’s ‘someone else’ is…it’s not fun. I mean, every time I think I know him, Marc I mean, it seems something else comes up and it’s like I haven’t known him at all.” She took a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing a fraction. You really could sympathize. You could only imagine what it must have felt like for her, to think that her husband was cheating on her. You and Steven weren’t married, but it still hurt a lot.

You take a moment to mull over her words. What do you even say? “Yeah, it was a not-so-pleasant surprise…guess we’ll just have to wait and see what’ll happen next.” What more was there to say right now? It was clear by how she was talking to Steven that she didn’t think this would work or maybe she didn’t want it to work. There was something that neither of you realized you had in common…persistance. Neither of you were going to give up the man you loved so easily, even in the face of uncharted territory.

Layla’s gaze went from the light indicating what floor you were passing back to you. It was…intense wasn’t the right word. Strong definitely, but there was something else there. You didn’t know how to react, if you should, but you could feel it. Like she was assessing a threat in battle. Your posture straightened, your expression steeling…you couldn’t let her get to you, whether she was meaning to get to you or not. If this was going to work, you couldn’t continue feeling so very small around her. You’re an avatar just like her, you can do this.

“Guess we will.” She said just after the elevator door dinged and opened to the ground floor hall. Her words felt like a challenge. It almost felt like she was expecting you to throw in the towel right then and there. Putting her hands in the pockets of her jacket, Layla started for the front door without looking back…she didn’t need to. You took a step out of the elevator and watched as she left, looking dazed? Stunned? You weren’t sure what you were feeling, anxious certainly, but there was so much going through your head you weren’t sure what to call it.

Once you were outside the building and headed for the sidewalk, you took a moment to look back at the building, up to the floor where Steven’s flat resides like you had only a hour or so ago. Your hands gathering together to fidget with the other, you could almost still feel Steven’s touch. With a sigh you turn and begin the trek back to your own flat.

Tutu loomed, ever watchful of his avatar, his golden deathmask for a head concealing any expression that might give away how he felt or what he was thinking. However, the god couldn’t hide how his body tensed, the way his hands clenched into fists. Ever so slightly, his head turned to glance behind him in the direction of Steven’s building, though there was nothing to be seen, there was no mistaking what he heard, what he sensed. Not wanting to be too far from his avatar (or at least that’s what he told himsel), Tutu disappears.

The sound of fabric fluttering in the wind was all that could be heard in the light of the crescent moon.

Don't forget to reblog and/or comment! I love to hear from you all!!

taglist: @roseqzpd​ @rosecentaur1916​ @ahookedheroespureheart @sleepyamaya @parkeepingparker @lockleysgrl @marc-spectorr @vermillionsails @harrys-tittie @n0ripeaches @missdictatorme @bitchyglitterfox @spacecowboyhotch @randomchick546 @teacupcollector @local-mr-frog @stevenknightmarc @ahookedheroespureheart @mccn-bcys @juneknight

[single-malt-scotch]

Bdubs' speech patterns & quirks

i made a post a while back about Bdubs' typing habits and ya know what. ill be a little stupid obsessed and unhinged again and do this one. might be useful for fics.

been watching this man from day one and im trying to throw together everything i can in my head. he really hasnt changed that much if we arent considering a shift of humor and energy-- but i will regard it at certain points for clarity of how his speech is handled.

General speech pattern

Through time Bdubs has gained more energy in his voice, and more confidence in how he speaks as a person presenting in his videos. But he still has his quirks, quirks that have remained forever.

biggest one. There is a big habit of stuttering in some sense. Either on the same words with the intended phrase:

Example: "You-- you don't- you don't understand!"

or a phrase that is altered during the stutter:

Example: "Yeah but-- you-- I don't think you get it..."

They aren't the stutters people default to in most cases (no "y-yes" "i th-thought.." etc-- in *some* cases you can throw this in but i suggest the bigger ones and never make it too frequent).

Theyre long and very obviously, and make him take longer to get his words out. sometimes it cuts his train of thought and he stops his sentences, maybe even starts over entirely.

in addition to that, bdubs also cuts words in a way i think most people will- goin', gonna, thinkin' etc. however at times he will enunciate the whole word for effect (plays into his "exaggeration" described below)

With his awkward pacing and stumbling, there are times where he fumbles and might say something in a "weird" way. sometimes, it becomes purposeful! he'll keep doing it when its funny, but you can tell its more of a slip than on purpose at first. there are far too many examples of this, but its obvious that he picked up the funny way of saying 'hermitcraft' on purpose at a certain point, for example. this may be hard to get across in writing however and its not as important.

bdubs loves to exaggerate. personality wise, hes like this obviously. and it plays into how he talks. boisterous is the best word. dont be afraid to go hard on the exclamation points or question marks! "!!" and "??" may describe what you want when you need to imply more of his noise.

Exclamations, regarding swearing

Bdubs doesnt swear anymore, but its worth addressing it, in context to what... replaces it, in a sense. or if youre writing something based in the years when he did swear.

Lets get one thing straight. bdubs does not say fuck. like, even back when he swore. there may have been some very light instances of words slipping (the old video where he completely bleeped out his words may have likely had that) but it is not how he spoke on the regular.

bdubs' most used 'bad' words were "damn", not as often "ass". he used a lot of 'safe' words-- shoot, crap (crapper, directed at someone/thing), frick (fricker, directed at someone/thing), dang ('dang man'), freaking (this is exclaimed very strong when it comes up, as if he was saying "fucking". comment phrase "very freaking funny!")....

these are the most frequent choices. id say bdubs has the capability of more swears, but it would be a last resort/under extreme duress.

Other notable phrases

Some of these fall under 'exclamations' at times, but i wanted to address the phrases he says in response to things, one subject is what people like him say in place of things like "oh god". you can see this in some hermits too, but bdubs does not say "oh (my) god". there is no exclamation of "god" when he needs to say something like this.

some are more or less frequent in the overall timeline, but you will likely hear...

"judas priest!" "oh goodness!" "oh jeez/jeezer!" if there is any phrase regarding god its a sorta "dont use the lord's name in vain" situation. none of the "oh god" stuff.

in terms of other frequent phrases,

"Trying my heart out/off" pops up a lot, and it means that he is trying hard at something whilst also saying he is 'putting his whole heart into it'.

Older/less frequent these days:

the good ol 'pet names'. it is/was never a super frequent thing (that bdubs/etho ooge video was surprisingly frequent...) "sweetheart" is most likely, "baby" but not always in a 'pet name' way, just a casual word to throw out at nothing. might get a "darlin'" in there too. the instance of calling someone specific those things is not super common, but still important to note.

a final notable one is "boy", directed at others in a more like. jokingly stern way. "What are you doin' boy?" a direct aim at a person, perhaps in a (joking) accusatory way at times? (wanted to comment there was an early ooge instance where etho picked it up as well lol). and imo i saw this way more in the early days, less so now.

Conclusion

bdubs has a variety of expressions in his speech. generally very relaxed and sometimes even careless, hes not tryin to focus too hard on every word he speaks. which is only natural! imo i think his personality is what affects this more than anything. hes silly, extroverted, and acts first.

his 'loudness' and stutter is important and it can be hard to express through words. outside of the way you describe the way he tackled talking in fics, seriously dont be afraid to double those punctuation marks imo. definitely dont be afraid of those big 'stutters'!! its probably the most defining part of his voice imo. i hope this is useful and feel free to add on or ask about it!

[roxyteal]

I swear to GOD mobile loves doing this thing where instead of saving an existing draft, "Save" means "I'm gonna post this whether you like it or not". Jesus fuck

Anyway I guess y'all are about to get some stuff about Imnever (WTTW) early. Sigh

Also contains WTTW spoilers but in a B-plot kinda way

He lives in an otherwise uninhabited area that resembles a forest with a creek. He likes the nature and seclusion. His school was modified into a traditional Japanese house, with a garden and everything (holy shit). There's still a lot of yellow, however. It is about a ten minute walk to the city area

Viktor has asked him to move so developments can happen but was refused several times. Even to a point of protest by literally sitting in the garden and not leaving. Eventually Viktor decided that fighting him on this wasn't worth it and left him alone

He finds Billy "cold" and "hard to read", and thus doesn't trust him

He is a Rare Snacks Enthusiast, or so he claims. But really he's just a Snacks Enthusiast

He also appreciates the little things in life, such as a snowflake landing on a bird's cheek or seeing slivers of blue sky on a cloudy day. And also he believes that sleeping for rest is good for mental health (unproven for AIs such as himself, possibly just a placebo)

As mentioned in the Joe 5 post, he is an animator by trade, but teaches art at Baldina's school. What hasn't been said is that it's not coincidence. The two have history together, similar to Text and Lady Blossom's original circumstances

They are best friends who vowed to meet up at the Webspace together, but a mishap caused Baldina to enter first, Imnever eventually making it roughly two months later

Anyway by animator, I am of course referring to 3D animation. He makes them in his free time

In fact, he has Animation Powers. Fastforwarding or rewinding, pause, play, shuffle or loop frames. Requires physical contact with the subject to initiate, but is automatic on himself. Lasts only a brief period, though (fifteen seconds at most), and even shorter if said subject is particularly resistent

So even if he held onto Alex the whole time, he would still break free quickly...

Was injured in the Incident, via a non-lethal stab in the shoulder. He was already too drained to rewind it. But he has long-since recovered, don't worry

Another friend and colleague he knows is Dave 46, the algebra teacher (of course). He always tried getting Imnever to be a little more assertive, but it usually never worked

He left with the other staff for the Yellowstone National Park field trip, while Joe and 46 stayed behind. Joe was to be a lookout, while 46's reason was a mystery. Of course, later on, it all became clear and Baldina fired 46 for coup participation. Imnever has heard him out after the fact, and remains his friend

Meanwhile he asks what Joe thinks about all this and he's just like "i never want to talk about daves ever again". Oh yeah... He saw them flying to Infinity School. He called Baldina and said that "Hell must've froze over because the Daves are rioting". Understandable, have a good day

Still, he's trying to pass on what he knows to Baldina in hopes of reinstating 46. Unsuccessful thus far. Maybe he could have a hearing? Baldina is reluctant

Some other things would go here but the draft posted early so sorry I don't have anything else for you THANKS MOBILE!!!

[pockyteau]

i don't think i'll ever finish this so i'm just going to post it here lmao

You don't know why you're calling.

You nibble the bottom of your lip anxiously. The blue light of your phone screen almost stings your eyes in the darkness as it rings once, twice. Three times. The alcohol that had been coursing through your veins earlier has slowed to a halt, the warmth in your bones quickly cooling to a chill. You're kind of hoping he doesn't pick up. No, that's not true. You miss his voice so much - his teasing remarks, his stupid-smart quips that always go right over your head. You miss him. Please pick up. 

You miss Chishiya so much, you don't know what to do with yourself.  

"Hello?" His voice, Chishiya's voice, crackles to life through the receiver. He sounds tired, his voice rough. "We talked about this. You shouldn't be calling-"

"I miss you, Shuntaro," you cut across him in a whisper. "I'm sorry, I just..." Your eyes no longer sting from the light of the dialing screen but with tears. Your voice wobbles and you attempt to keep your tone under control, but it's no use. The alcohol is in your system now. "I miss you," you say again, as a tear slides down your cheek. 

Chishiya sighs on the other line, a sharp breath edged like a blade. It’s almost as if he’s saying I can tell. "Have you been drinking?" 

You consider saying no, but it wouldn’t really be much use. Chishiya always saw right through you – that, and how suspiciously wobbly your voice was. "Yes, but..."

There's a bit of fumbling on the line, muffled talking. Oh god, was he working a shift right now? How could you have made such a mistake? You scramble to make amends, desperately trying to apologise. Stupid, stupid. "Shun, I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were working - I'll hang up now, sorry-"

Chishiya comes back on the line. "No, it's fine," he says, in a way that indicates it’s not really fine at all. "I'm about to clock out for today anyway."

"Are you sure?" Your voice is small, so small, as if it were an object you could drop in the darkness and never find again. You hate how weary he sounds. You used to wait for him to come back from his shifts at the hospital and his voice would sound exactly like that. He would never say anything about it, but the slight darkness under his eyes were telltale of just how tired he really was.

You cradle the phone with both hands, the screen held so close to your ear its glass is icy against your cheek. Even so, things were better back then; you would give him a hug as soon as the door was open, hoping to lift some of the weight off his shoulders. The warmth of his body enveloping you at the doorstep, the little hum he would make as you welcomed him home. Your nights were so empty without those exchanges now. You missed him, so much. 

"You only drink when you're upset," Chishiya says, deftly changing the subject. "What happened?" 

Chishiya's voice has always been calm, clinical. The epitome of stability, and in a way his unwavering voice drifting through the speaker helps to ground you. You hiccup, the result of alcohol and the sobs that had been silently wracking your body. You're so glad to hear his voice again, so glad you called and so glad he picked up. "I miss you," you repeat. How many times have you said that already? 

You stumble over your words in your haste to get them out, barely registering that they are slurring together. Chishiya is still here, talking to you. "Shun, please, can I just see you for a bit? I swear, this will be the last time, I just...I need to see you."

Chishiya is silent on the other line. Soft static crackles in your ear as you wait on his answer. Please, please. If you just see him this one time, everything will be okay. 

"I'll call Kuina to get you a taxi," he says finally. 

"Shun, please-"

"You should stop calling." Chishiya says flatly, and the line goes dead. 

[guilty-pleasures21]

Yooooooooouuuuuuuuuu!!!!!!! You SUCK!

I'm actually going to start posting a new chapter everyday, just because 😁.

0. The Slow Burn

Part 1 - the meet-cute

Part 2 - the coffee mug

Part 3 - the spicy song

Part 4 - the absence

Part 5 - the watch/the sweet song

Part 6 - the backrub

Warnings: none.

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

“So,” Jess began, her eyes flicking up to gauge X’s reaction, “you and Miguel, huh? Can’t say I’m not surprised.”

She froze, her eyes widening with terror at the implication of Jess’s words. She swallowed her food slowly, trying to keep herself calm as she replied. “What about me and Miguel?”

“Oh, come on, X!” MJ gave her a light smack on the arm. “It’s so obvious that you guys like each other!”

Another pause, another attempt at not choking on her food. Was it really? Did he like her? Like, like-like her? In the same way that she like-liked him? She kept her head down, trying to hide her blush from everyone else at the table.

“No way,” she protested weakly, pushing the last few grains of rice around her plate. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “There’s no way he likes me. Like that.”

How could he? When he was so handsome and strong and smart and … and she was just her. Small and quiet and with absolutely nothing to offer him. She slumped over, disappointed.

“Of course he does!” Ben reassured her, noting her sudden drop in mood. “It’s so obvious even I can tell.”

Her lips twitched at that, but she kept her head down, still hesitant to believe it.

“I don’t know,” she argued softly. She bit her lip, considering the next words out of her mouth. “What … Why do you think so?”

She looked up at them, the nerves written plainly all over her face. She must really, really like him. Jess grinned.

“Girl, you should have seen him when you weren’t around,” she informed X, waving her spoon in the air enthusiastically. “The man was basically throwing a tantrum the entire day!”

“Oh my God, yes!” Ben agreed, his eyes wide as he leaned forward in his seat. “I asked him if we had any cashew nuts left and he got so mad at me! He started cursing and swearing and everything!”

X let out an amused snort at the revelation, finally seeming to ease up a little. She returned her attention back to her food, rolling the rice around her plate.

“What does that have to do with me, though?” MJ and Ben sighed, both of them exchanging incredulous glances.

“Because!” MJ replied, insistent on making her understand. They’d be so cute together, after all, the big and grumpy Miguel who only ever let himself relax when he was around her, and the small and shy X who’d light up with excitement whenever she was with him. They made each other happy, and what more could anyone ask for?

“Hey guys,” Peter began, settling into the seat beside X. “What are we talking about?”

He looked around at their faces, trying to discern the subject from the excited looks on Ben’s, MJ’s and Jess’s faces and the hesitant smile on X’s.

“Peter!” MJ exclaimed, her expression transforming into one of victory as she looked at him. “Tell her! Tell X how much Miguel missed her when she was gone.”

Ohhh. So that’s what they’d been talking about. X glanced over at him nervously, her eyes wide as she waited for his answer.

“It’s true,” Peter revealed, giving her a gentle pat on the forearm. “He was practically counting down the days until you came back!”

She grinned, then lowered her head, letting her hair fall over her face to hide her blush.

“Oh.” Her voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the happiness in it. Then suddenly, a vibration buzzed through the air, causing her to jump in her seat. She looked down at her wrist and began tapping frantically on her watch, trying to stop the notification that her vitals were abnormally high.

“X? What’s wrong?” She turned around, startled to find Miguel standing right behind her. She froze, panicked, then turned around quickly, curling into herself to hide her expression from him.

“Nothing!” She winced when her voice came out as a squeak. Then she cleared her throat and tried again. “Um, nothing. What’s up with you, Miguel?”

He’d heard - he’d heard everything they’d said about him being agitated when she’d been away. And then he’d heard her heart, pounding in her chest at the thought that he might have missed her. He swung his leg over the bench, taking the seat on her other side. Then he glanced around at the others, his eyes narrowing in suspicion beneath his eye protectors.

“Are they bullying you?” She turned to him, lips parting in horror at the suggestion.

“No! No, they’re … they’re not bullying me.” She waved her hands, then lowered her head again, her lips curling into a shy smile that had his own heart racing. She brushed her hair behind her ear, then flickered her eyes back up to his, peeking up at him from beneath her curly lashes. Dios, she was cute. He cleared his throat, shaking away the thought.

“Then why was your heart beating so fast, arañita?” Oh God. Had he heard? Had he heard her heart speeding up at the thought that he might like her? That she most definitely liked him? As more than a friend? She pulled her gaze away from his, trying to ignore the warmth radiating off of him, the pure masculine scent of him flooding her senses.

“Um, did you … did you hear that?” she asked him apprehensively. “Or did you get a notification?”

The corner of his lips curled at her reaction. Could it really be true? Could she really have had a crush on him? A passing infatuation that would wear off once she knew the real him? His stomach curdled at the thought, his smile slipping slightly.

“I heard it,” he told her, wanting to tease her, to see that shy smile grace her lips once again. She tensed, her fingers curling into fists as she studiously avoided meeting his gaze. He lowered his head, his lips stretching wider as he tried to get her to look at him. “¿Qué pasa, arañita? Is something bothering you?”

He straightened when she looked up at him again, that devilish smirk taking over his features. God, he was so hot. She squeezed her legs tight, dragging her gaze away from his as she clasped her hands together. He carried on, undeterred by her lack of response. “Or someone?”

He reached out and scratched her waist lightly with his finger, causing her to let out a surprised squeak. He snickered at the sound, only getting more amused when her watch started buzzing again, signalling the increase in her heart rate. MJ reached across the table and punched him in the arm.

“Stop teasing her like that, Miguel!” she scolded him when he turned to glare at her. He returned his attention to X, raising an eyebrow and feigning confusion.

“I’m not teasing her,” he argued, convincing absolutely no one at the table. “I’m just worried about her vitals being so high.”

She shifted in her seat uncomfortably, wondering if he knew exactly why she was getting so flustered right now.

“I just have a naturally high resting heart rate,” she protested, still avoiding his gaze. “And I have an anxiety disorder! Therefore, I would like to petition for the sensitivity of my watch to be turned down. Just a little?”

She held up her finger and thumb, wincing as she awaited his response. He smirked again, holding his hand out for hers.

“Well, if your vitals are naturally so abnormally high,” he began, fiddling with her watch, “then maybe we should increase the sensitivity. Just a little.”

He pulled on her wrist, tugging her closer to him so that her knee was pressing against his. She let out a little whimper and, mierda, the sound of it, the reminder of how absolutely tiny she was compared to him, it drove him wild. He leaned down slightly, bending over to murmur in her ear.

“After all,” he continued, his fingers still curled around her wrist, “we wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you, would we, arañita?”

She looked up at him, eyes wide, lips parted in surprise, so close he could have leaned forward and brushed his own against them. Then her watch started vibrating again, and she pulled her hand out of his grasp, holding it close to her chest as she frowned up at him. Dios, she was cute when she was mad.

“You’re so mean, Miguel!” she huffed, getting up from the bench. She picked up her plate, going over to return it to the kitchen, and he followed after her, catching up to her easily.

“Arañita,” he called, grabbing her wrist to get her to stop. “I was only joking, arañita.”

She set her plate down, then turned around to face him, that adorable frown still etched onto her features. He took a step closer to her, forcing her to crane her neck back to look up at him.

“Here, let me fix it,” he reassured her, tapping on her watch again. She held her breath as he worked, trying to keep herself calm even though their proximity was making her heart leap out of her chest and into her throat. Finally, he released her, letting her arm fall back to her side. “There. It should be better now.”

“Um, thanks, Miguel.” She clasped her hands behind her back, that shy smile taking over her features as she shifted in place. “See you tomorrow!”

And then she ran off without another word. He crossed his arms, trying not to let out a frustrated groan as he watched her retreating figure. Ay, ¡por Dios! Why did she have to be so f*cking cute?!

She wasn’t here again - something about going out with a friend. But it was okay this time, because he knew he’d see her tomorrow. That didn’t stop the uncomfortable ache in his chest that made him feel like his day was missing something though. He rubbed his chin, studying the data in front of him. There was something he wasn’t seeing, something that X would have stared at for a minute and then figured out somehow. Maybe he’d just wait for her to come back.

“Lyla?” She popped up beside him immediately.

“Yes, boss?”

“Play some of that music that X always plays.”

“Copy that. Pulling up her playlist now.” She disappeared and then the sound of old-timey pop music began filling the room - well, old-timey to him anyway. He furrowed his brow, not recalling having heard this song before - he’d listen in sometimes, when she put her earphones in to start playing her music: because it helped her focus, she’d told him when he’d asked her about it. He’d grabbed her phone then, showing her how to connect it to the speaker system so that she could just play it out loud in the lab or the control room. Her eyes had widened with amazement and she’d treated him to that sweet smile he was getting far too fond of as her music started playing around them. He’d waved her thanks away, doing his best to ignore the way his heart fluttered in his chest as he turned back to his monitors.

‘Son esas ganas de sentirte cerca, al pronunciar tu nombre …’ He paused for a second, surprised by the Spanish flowing through the speakers. He knew she listened to Spanish songs sometimes, French ones too, but it always made his heart skip a beat, the reminder that she could understand his native tongue.

‘Qué está pasando, que esa carita divina, se ha vuelto mi medicina, y poco a poco yo me estoy sanando …’ His lips curled at the lyrics, a very specific little face popping into his head immediately: thick, curly lashes framing large, almond-shaped eyes, her full lips so soft and rosy. She had seemed to pop up in his life right when he'd needed it the most. And she never asked him for anything, nothing except his company, the two of them sitting in contented silence for hours at a time. And everything always seemed so much easier whenever she was around, less … scary. Just like in the song. He pulled out his tools, setting the data aside and deciding to work on some gadgets instead. He’d take a little break, come back to the problem after he’d given his brain some time to reset. And maybe she’d be back by then, there to lend a fresh set of eyes to the problem. But then the music started to fade away, the song changing to a new one, and he looked up, frowning.

“Lyla,” he called her back, “play the other one again. The Spanish one.” The song restarted and he felt his lips quirk at the ends again, the tension leaving his body as he settled down to get some work done.

She’d had fun today; going out with her friend to get some shopping done. But, of course, it still wasn’t as fun as hanging out with Miguel. So she’d changed into her suit when she’d gotten back, opening up a portal to take her to HQ. An unexpected sight greeted her when she entered the control room, however - or an unexpected sound, rather. Miguel stood on the platform, bobbing his head in time with the music as he fiddled with a gadget, his smooth, deep voice mumbling along to the lyrics of one of her favourite songs.

“Miguel?” she called to him, trying not to laugh as she webbed up to stand beside him. “What are you doing?”

¡Coño! He dropped his tools, startled by her sudden arrival. He hadn’t even heard her walk in, so absorbed had he been in the song. But what was she even doing here anyway? She wasn’t supposed to be back until tomorrow. She looked up at him, lips stretched into a wide smile, her face lit up with amusement as she waited for his answer.

“Uh …” he began slowly, trying to come up with a response. He gritted his teeth, flashing her an embarrassed grimace as he muttered out of the side of his mouth. “Lyla! Turn it off!” Thankfully, she did as he said, turning off the music without arguing back - for once. He let out an awkward chuckle.

“Uh, what are you doing here, arañita?” he asked. “I thought you said you wouldn’t be able to make it today.” She continued grinning at him, a hint of shyness tinging the edges of her knowing expression.

“Well, I … I wanted to see you,” she confessed, breaking his gaze for a moment. Then she looked up at him again, her features rearranged into an expression of mischief this time. “I didn’t know you missed me.”

“Oh.” He broke her gaze, afraid to use that word specifically to describe how he’d been feeling without her there. “Uh, well, it was just a little quiet, that's all.” He turned back to his desk, fiddling with the gadget there as he figured out what to say.

“Hmm.” She nodded thoughtfully and took a step closer to him, trying to tamp the happiness starting to bubble up in her chest. Had he really missed her? Just like the others had said? Just like she'd missed him? She kept her gaze fixed on his hands as she leaned into him, her eyes tracking the movements of his long fingers as he twisted and fidgeted with the gadget. “I missed you too, Miguel.”

He froze again, unsure if he’d heard right. He glanced over at her and found her gaze trained on the ground as she smiled and shifted on the spot shyly. His stomach flipped at the sight and he dragged his eyes away from her, tapping on the table nervously as he digested her response. She’d missed him - she’d missed him even though she’d only seen him yesterday. How much had she missed him then, that week she’d been away? As much as he’d missed her? He shook his head at the sudden thought, not wanting to admit how he felt about her - not even to himself. He bit his lip, thinking. Then he cleared his throat and returned his attention to the computer, pulling up the dataset he’d been having trouble with earlier.

“Uh, I … I was having some trouble analysing this data, arañita,” he informed her, turning to face her without meeting her gaze. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Could you take a look at it?”

Of course he’d never use the word ‘help’ - probably an oldest sibling thing, considering how she still struggled to ask for help too, sometimes. She grinned, delighted by how well she was beginning to know him, how soft and easy everything was with him. She clasped her hands behind her back and turned her attention to the screen, trying to keep her heart beat steady as she studied the data in front of her.

“Okay, yeah, this is … not right,” she told him, lips still curled into an amused smile. He raised an eyebrow, confused.

“What do you mean?” She stretched onto her toes and pointed at a set of numbers that didn’t seem to fit with the rest.

“These numbers make no sense at all,” she informed him, lowering herself back down again. “I don’t know if you accidentally typed in the wrong numbers or something, but … this ain’t right, boss.” It was the way she always said it, that playful smile on her face, that teasing tone of her voice. Dios, it drove him mad. He tucked his hands under his arms, his muscles clenching as his stomach gave another flip.

“Vale, I’ll … I’ll go back and check the raw data,” he acquiesced, waving her away, needing her to leave so that he could work on getting his emotions back under his control again. “You should go home, arañita: it’s getting late.”

He was so cute, the way he kept rubbing the back of his neck or clearing his throat or pulling his gaze away from hers. Was he nervous? Around her? Now she wished she had some of his super senses, so she could hear his heartbeat and be sure of it. She tugged her chair over and sank back into it, swivelling around as she looked up at the screen. “I’ll wait. We can go through the data together.”

She turned to him, smiling up at him in a way that made his heart stop beating in his chest. And he wondered what it would sound like, hearing the words ‘I love you’ fall from those lips, what they would taste like beneath his own, her body small and soft in his hands. Just like in the song. He tensed up, suddenly realising the direction his thoughts had been going in, and turned away from her quickly. He was being ridiculous. They were just … colleagues. Just two strangers thrown together by unfortunate circumstances. Just … His stomach curdled with each excuse, the words weighing heavily on his heart. Even he hated how they sounded in his mind. He slid his gaze over to her and she smiled at him again, waiting. But he couldn't let himself indulge in … whatever this was. They'd only get hurt and she might not have been able to see that, but he … he knew better. He gripped the edge of the table, considering his next words.

“Uh, actually,” he began slowly, trying to come up with a lie that would get her to leave. Not something that would hurt her though - he knew he wouldn't be able to stand the crestfallen expression on her face if he hurt her. If anyone hurt her. “I was just going to get someone else to take a look at it. You said you'd have a lot to do at work this week, so I already got someone else to cover all your stuff.” He waved her off in a way that he hoped was an adequate mix of dismissal and reassurance. Not so dismissive as to make her think she wasn't valuable, but not so reassuring as to convince her that she meant more to him than anyone else at HQ. It was perfect.

She pursed her lips, thinking. She could see how careful he was to control his instinct to push people away. He was still afraid to let her get too close - hence the dismissal - but a part of him seemed to have begrudgingly accepted that she wouldn't be pushed away so easily. He was trying, and that was all she'd asked for. So, she wouldn't push him. She stood up and took a step closer to him, her brain running through all the possible responses she could leave him with. And then, she found it.

“Great,” she replied unexpectedly, sidling up to him. “That means I get to spend more time with you.” She flashed him a cheeky smile, then opened up a portal to take her home, not giving him the chance to respond. Not that he would have had a response anyway: what could he say, after all, when she'd told him she'd missed him? When she'd said she liked spending time with him, just the two of them alone together? When he'd started to like it too? He sank back into his seat, clutching at his hair in frustration as he sighed loudly. Por Dios, she was going to be the death of him one day.

Tags: @leahnicole1219

[peskellence]

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Masterlist

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: A lot has changed since the revolution. Crimes against androids are now being treated with greater severity, with many being subject to the same penalties as crimes against humans. While anti-android attitudes are on the decline, transforming the mindset of an entire city is no simple task.

A reluctant Gavin Reed and his new partner RK900 have been assigned to investigate a string of disturbing murders. Despite the shift in Detroit's social climate, Gavin still holds reservations about whether or not androids are truly alive. Will his developing feelings for 'Nines' prompt a shift in perspective?

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Smut

Word Count: 2.9K

Gavin was leaning so close to the windshield that he appeared intent on jumping through it. His body was draped over the dash as his nails clawed fervently against the plastic. Every slight deceleration of the car triggered immediate sounds of protest. "Can't you go any faster?" 

Hank clenched his jaw, his knuckles whitening as he tightened his hold on the wheel. "I'm already going as fast as I can." 

"Like shit you are. Move over and let me drive."

"I am not letting you drive my car", came a firm response. "When was the last time you drove a driver-operated transmission? Do you even know how it works?"

"I was born in 2002; I'm not a goddamn teenager." 

"Could’ve fooled me. Because you sure as Hell act like enough of a kid."

Gavin snarled at the older man’s stubbornness. It didn’t help that the rain outside was gradually picking up, creating a thick torrent that was difficult to see through. "What if the Reaper has another android?" he said defiantly. "What if they die because we were too busy dicking around? This isn't a game, Anderson, go faster. "

There was a brief hesitation as Hank ground his teeth before his left foot pressed down, the engine roaring to life with it. Gavin observed as the speedometer steadily began to creep—until the needle twitched and staggered around 80mph. Then, it stalled entirely as the vehicle began to audibly struggle. 

This only riled him further as his clawing hands balled into fists, pounding indignantly against the dash. "Why do you still have this piece of shit? It's 2039, you fucking fossil."

"It would make no difference if it were auto-drive. If anything, we'd get there slower because the speed lock would kick in." 

Distracted by his escalating argument with the belligerent man beside him, Hank sped past a merge point where another car had already entered. The resulting reception was a loud blare of horns as the driver made a series of obscene gestures. 

The wheels of his car skidded through the deepening pools of water, as Hank veered sharply to one side, narrowly avoiding a collision. 

There was a small yelp from the back seat, accompanied by the squeak of fingers tightening on leather. "Gavin, I must inform you that we are exceeding the speed limit by 10 miles." 

"Shut the fuck up, Connor. No one asked you." Gavin shot a pointed glare into the rearview mirror, his teeth bared in an unapologetic show of hostility. 

"If you tell him to shut up one more time , I swear to god I'm booting you out." 

Connor shifted towards the door, seemingly trying to escape his view. He stared forlornly out the window as his eyelids started to flit, LED spinning yellow. 

"What are you doing?" Gavin asked, his eyes narrowed dubiously. 

"I'm trying to contact Nines."

The detective made a sharp, strangled noise. Caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Fat lot of good that'll do. He's left us, dipshit, he doesn't want anything to do with this." 

As directed by the GPS, they branched off the intersection and merged onto the road leading to the industrial estate. The loss of momentum did not go unnoticed, as Gavin’s impatience was only exacerbated by a shifting traffic light, which abruptly halted the car. The red glow above taunted him as he reared himself further forward. "We're wasting time. For God's sake, just run it!"

"What, and take the pedestrian out with me?" Hank gestured to an elderly woman who was hobbling across the street. "We're almost there, be fucking patient."

Passing by a parade of glum, derelict-looking buildings, it was evident that the district had been abandoned for quite some time. As they rounded the corner, a particularly large building came into view, looming forebodingly on the horizon.

CyberLife West seemed more like a park than it did a centre, with smaller structures forming a perimeter around the larger construct within. A parade of shipment trucks were housed in the numerous loading docks. Half emerged as though they'd been ready to pull away. The whole thing resembled a prison, with high chain-link fences and dormant spotlights caging a bleak interior. Gavin may have believed it was, had it not been for the distinctive blue and white accents adorning the walls.

When they reached the entrance, he had barely waited for the car to stop before barrelling his way out the door. His jacket was left abandoned on the seat, with his gun held firmly in his hand. Faint protests followed as he charged to a set of reinforced doors. With a nudge, he found them to be unsecured, and promptly slammed his way through—the heavy panels striking loudly against the opposing walls.

Scanning the vacant reception area, he spotted a sign hanging above the reception desk, directing to the warehouses. He sped down the hall, as a nervous pressure tightened his chest. Rounding a corner, he was faced by a sudden crossroads and almost collided with the wall.

Dimmed emergency bulbs allowed for sparse visibility, but it did little to guide his next move. He was faced with a vast network of corridors stretching out for seemingly implausible lengths. They were filled with sporadically placed doors, and as Gavin canvassed the ones in view, he noted that they were all unmarked. 

A hurried pace of footsteps informed him that Hank and Connor had caught up. The older man was first to speak as he hunched over, hands on his knees. "Multi-billion dollar company and they can't afford number plates," he mumbled through strained pants. "How are we supposed to know where to go?" 

"What do you mean? We have coordinates; Connor can lead us."

There was a faint grumble from behind—and while Gavin couldn't see, he was confident that he could sense the judgemental eye roll which accompanied it. 

"The coordinates lead to the building." Connor swiftly corrected before directing to a projection that he had displayed on his palm. "The warehouse number was stated separately: WH-52."

The detective growled in frustration, as he firmly smacked the hand away. "Then upload the warehouse blueprints."

"They don’t specify the room layout—but it stands to reason they would be in numerical order."

"Yeah, starting from which direction?" Gavin shot back, as he made a sweeping gesture to the various outstretched paths. 

"I have never physically been here, so I have no idea."

God-fucking-dammit. 

He rushed ahead, footsteps echoing against the concrete as he veered onto one of the many paths. Connor and Hank tried to follow, but their pursuing steps began to fade as the surroundings grew increasingly dark. It wasn't long until the detective found himself alone, navigating almost solely by touch. He stumbled aimlessly for quite some time until he heard a rogue noise. 

His first instinct was to call out, assuming it might be one of the partners, but he firmly stopped himself - not wishing to compromise his position. Feeling his way along the brick, he began to approach the source of the noise. The steel indents of one of the doors brushed against his fingers, and with the added pressure, it creaked open. 

There was a brief hesitation as he stood in the doorway, silently weighing his options. Then, he heard another sound - like shuffling footsteps - compelling him to move inside. Barely three paces in, the door slammed shut, and a voice called out from within the darkness:

 

 

"You've kept me in suspense, Detective."

 

 

The words struck with disturbing resonance, cutting through the air like a blade. It triggered a moment of stunned inactivity, as Gavin’s fraught mind sought to determine the direction it had come from. 

His grip tightened on the handle of his firearm, before he raised it in defense. Looking around, he tried to detect any hints of lurking movement.

"I had hoped the machine could put the pieces together from my most recent message. But when it didn't come to find me, I decided to be a touch more direct." The Reaper stopped periodically as he chuckled to himself. "Good thing I was. Otherwise, I doubt you would have found me."

Small streaks of light filtered in from the far end of the room, through the cracked margins of a loading dock. Gavin made his way towards it, seeking a potential vantage point. 

"It is disappointing you're alone. We were ready for your partner's return. It has been missed."

We. 

The man halted his advance. He stood to attention, guard raised, as he listened for further sounds. Conscious of anything that could indicate encroaching assailants. "Is there anyone with you?"

"In a sense. Although I wouldn't say ‘anyone’. More like 'anything'."

This vague response only heightened Gavin's growing sense of unease as his sightless gaze trailed his surroundings. "Where are we, you fucking asshole? Why did you want my partner to come here?"

There was a brief pause before the room was filled with thunderous, mocking laughter. It ricocheted off the walls, bouncing back and forth, until it reached a near-deafening fever pitch. 

"Surely you’ve worked that out by now, or are you really that stupid?" 

As the noise began to subside, the detective noted a subtle shift coming from overhead - before an unseen object crashed to the floor, emitting a jarring crash. Whirling around, he gestured towards it and instinctively fired off a shot. The brief flash revealed nothing but an indistinct mass, and the action was met with another laugh.

"I would have thought your partner would have told you all about this place. Perhaps it has been keeping secrets." 

Lowering his weapon, Gavin panted, his rush of adrenaline beginning to taper. He refocused his efforts on deciphering the meaning behind the Reaper's words:

The location was somewhere Nines would know…somewhere he has been before…  

We're in a warehouse… A CyberLife warehouse…

A revelation struck him. One that, in hindsight, seemed to be obvious. 

"Your silence is telling", the Reaper mocked, stalling his mental trajectory. "Did it never tell you where it came from?"

As the voice grew louder, Gavin stepped back, raising his gun once again. There was a hollow thud as his heel knocked against something hard. While initially sturdy, it began to roll, throwing him off balance. 

"It seems to have neglected to fill you in on some rather important details. I suppose I’ll have to show you."

There was a low hum from above as the fluorescent bulbs roared to life. The room was flooded by a harsh wave of light, dazzling him temporarily. His strained eyes took a moment to adjust to the shift. When they did, his heart sank.

Wedged beneath his toes was a tuft of brown hair, still attached to the scalp of a disembodied head. Bright eyes peered at him, cold and lifeless, amidst a canvas of pale, freckled skin. "Nines—" The name was choked out before he could stop it,  his body racked with violent shudders.

"Don't look so glum", the Reaper said, his voice tinged with feigned sympathy. "This one isn't yours. It's been here for a while." 

Struggling to focus his gaze through a densening blur of tears, Gavin realised the assertion was likely genuine. Although it looked like Nines, the synthetic skin was worn and tarnished, with patches of white peering through. With marked reluctance, he glanced up, fearing the extent of the horrors he was about to confront.

It soon became apparent what the Reaper had meant—when he implied he wasn't alone. 

The room was vast and cavernous, piled high with empty pallets, and sectioned off with lofty shelves. In every visible corner of space, Gavin saw the bodies of androids - strewn about like crumpled dolls. There seemed to be hundreds. A sea of death which fanned out in every direction.

"Quite a sight, isn't it?" The Reaper spoke with a wistful airiness, making no attempt to disguise the pleasure he was deriving from their surroundings. "This is Hell, Detective Reed. Their Hell. The only fate any android deserves."

The bodies lay in varying states of disrepair, with many bearing disfigurations, yet still identifiable by their distinctive black and white jackets. While Gavin’s logical mind informed that none of them were Nines, the thought that he could have easily blended into their ranks was enough to turn his stomach. He retched loudly, unable to contain his sickness, as vomit dribbled down his chin.

The Reaper found amusement in this, taunting the visceral response. "To think that a Homicide Detective would be so rattled by the replica of a corpse," he tsked disapprovingly. "I suppose it is a shame, objectively speaking. If you subscribe to the ethos that newer is better."

Gavin took some time to collect himself before pressing forward. His head spun, legs threatening to buckle under increasingly unsteady weight. Navigating the bodies proved a challenge, as he tried his best not to look down. 

"Because the RK900 is a technical marvel. Faster, stronger, and more resilient than anything that came before it. I was on the production line when they first came into manufacture."

Progressing further into the carnage, Gavin discovered that many of the fallen androids were not RK900s, despite his original assessment. While the models varied, their clothing pointed to a shared affiliation. Brown trenchcoats with a rounded sigil embroidered on the left-hand pocket.

The Reaper continued to speak, his voice droning on like incessant white noise. "The RK900 was equipped with an advanced antiviral programme: employing meticulous diagnostic screenings and routine system resets, making it impossible for the model to deviate—or so we thought, there were outliers."

The initial shock of the situation was beginning to wane, morphing into confusion. Gavin recognised the symbol on the jackets, but he couldn't recall from where. 

"What the fuck happened here…" The question had been mumbled under his breath, barely above a whisper. Despite this, the Reaper still responded. 

"I would think it's fairly straightforward", he breezed. "A non-deviated android will always execute its primary function."

Realising the killer must be close, Gavin’s heartbeat quickened. His finger nervously traced the trigger of his weapon as he waited for the man to strike. When nothing happened, the digit eased, before retracting.

"At first, it was intended to assist law enforcement, much like its predecessor, but as the revolution gained momentum, last-minute changes were made. They were repurposed into military units. To be used as instruments of war—weapons."

As he listened, Gavin’s already overworked mind was sent into overdrive. What Nines said…about being dangerous…

"After the RK800’s skills of diplomacy proved ineffective, it was deemed that a more aggressive approach was needed to tackle the deviants."

Surveying the bodies, he noted a prominent bullet wound between the eyes of one of the RK900s. He was angled towards another figure, one of the trenchcoat-clad androids, a handgun clutched in her lifeless grasp. 

This is what Connor was talking about…why Jericho never went back for the rest…

"Of course, this came with a failsafe. Should an RK900 be compromised by the virus—and be unable to counter its effects prior to full system corruption—it will seek to destroy itself."

It all made sense. The way Nines had unravelled and ultimately regressed upon seeing the other RK900. Like he was fighting something deep inside himself. Grappling for control. 

Gavin felt himself lurch forward as he suppressed another wave of nausea. No. Please, God, no. 

"It was already such a pleasure to destroy one. How exhilarating would it have been to terminate another? The crowning jewels in my collection."

Through the tightening grips of sorrow, another emotion flared: a white-hot rage, warping his senses, propelling him forward with newfound fortitude.

"Shut up", he commanded, the words spat harshly through gritted teeth.

"But if it's not here with you, I imagine it is not doing well? Perhaps the issue will resolve itself."

A bellowing snarl ripped from his throat, as his desperation to find his tormentor reached a breaking point. Gavin wished for nothing more than to lock eyes with the man, before extinguishing their light forever with a single, decisive bullet.

"I said shut the fuck up!" His words came in garbled fragments, interspersed with animalistic growls. "It's over, Gideon. Now get out here so I can fucking end you! "

The Reaper hummed in faux deliberation, before snickering once again. "A tempting offer, but I’ll have to decline. You’re getting warmer, Gavin. Keep looking." 

Weaving his way through the room, Gavin focused in on the voice, trailing every drawn-out syllable. Any concerns of self-preservation were callously tossed aside. All that mattered was bringing his target to justice.

Then, he stumbled upon something else. The penultimate feature of the Reaper's morbid operation:

Between a set of towering shelves was a crimson-draped table: adorned with flickering candles, casting a series of disquieting shadows. More unsettling was the wire-frame effigy proudly displayed behind it. A complex series of limbs and bio-components, meticulously intertwined in the metal—like a cruel jigsaw puzzle. Amongst them were the trophies the Reaper had claimed from his most recent victims, as well as the victims that predated their investigation.

Gavin stumbled his way forward, trying to get a closer look, when he was struck by a sudden, searing pain—radiating from the back of his head. His body crumpled under the strike as he let out a winded gasp. Before he could seek to retaliate, his assailant had grabbed him by the hair and harshly wrenched him back. He struck the ground and his gun propelled from his loosened grip, skidding across the concrete. 

Still reeling from the impact, Gavin barely registered the set of legs that came to straddle his torso. A large hand found his jaw and turned his head, forcing him to stare into a set of cruel, focused eyes. Despite the blur of his spotted vision, a recognition struck him.

"It’s you." 

[wickprompts]

* ― ANGELS IN AMERICA PROMPTS PRT 1 .

my friend psyche asked me to post these for them💕

❝ i wish i was an octopus, a fucking octopus. eight loving arms and all those suckers. ❞

❝ not the brightest man on the bench, but he has manners. ❞

❝ could you please not take the lord’s name in vain? ❞

❝ i’m not religious but i like god and god likes me. ❞

❝ it would mean something to me. you understand? ❞

❝ thanks, [name]. but i have to give it some thought. ❞

❝ people who are lonely, people who are left alone, sit talking nonsense to the air. ❞

❝ everywhere, things are collapsing, lies surfacing, systems of defense giving away. ❞

❝ cash, check or credit card? ❞

❝ people are like planets, you need a thick skin. ❞

❝ it’s the price of rootlessness. motion sickness. the only cure: to keep moving. ❞

❝ oooh, cemetery fun. don’t wanna miss that. ❞

❝ poor [name]. i’m sorry your [familiar, lover, friend] is dead. ❞

❝ sorry i didn’t introduced you… i always get so closety at this family things. ❞

❝ i don’t blame you hiding. bloodlines. ❞

❝ you don’t notice anything, if i hadn’t been fellating you last night i’d swear you were straight. ❞

❝ dogs have brains. ❞

❝ cats have intuition. ❞

❝ don’t you think i’m handling this well? i’m going to die. ❞

❝ i can’t find a way to spare you. ❞

❝ fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! ❞

❝ that’s what i like to hear. a mature reaction. ❞

❝ bad timing, funeral and all, but i figured as long as we were on the subject of death… ❞

❝ there’s something creepy about this place, remember rosemary’s baby? this apartment looks like that one. ❞

❝ i am afraid of the crimes i may commit. ❞

❝ you want to confess, better you find a priest. ❞

❝ catholics believe in forgiveness. jews believe in guilt. ❞

❝ change for the good. i need to be a part of that, i need something big to lift me up. ❞

❝ if i do have emotional problems is from living with you. ❞

❝ life sucks shit. life… just sucks shit. ❞

❝ well, oh boy. a gay republican. ❞

❝ i mean you sound like a… like a republican. ❞

❝ one wants… but one so seldom gets what one wants, does one? ❞

❝ you know you’ve hit rock-bottom when even drag is a drag. ❞

❝ in my church, we don’t believe in homosexuals. ❞

❝ in my church, we don’t believe in mormons. ❞

❝ nothing unknown is knowable. don’t you think it’s depressing? ❞

❝ i usually say “fuck the truth”, but mostly, the truth fucks you. ❞

❝ tell me without making me ask. please. ❞

❝ are you a homo? ❞

❝ i like this, this is very zen; it’s… reassuringly incomprehensible and useless. ❞

❝ what if i walked out on this? would you hate me forever? ❞

❝ there’s nothing left of me to kill. ❞

❝ i am not a homosexual. i am a heterosexual man, [name], who fucks around with other guys ❞

[counter-culture-christian]

ANTICHRIST/CHRISTOPHOBIA

Many people who speak about Christianity speak in a way that makes me think that they really don't know what they're talking about. Not only do they not know what they're talking about regarding true Christianity and what a Christian is actually considered from Scripture but they're absolutely obstinate in their ideologies, opinions and speak from a place of hatred, fallacy and real ignorance. I've come to realize that those types have made up their mind about Christians and Christianity, about Christ Jesus as well and will debate without even considering logic nor common sense. I've realized you can give them all the non biblical evidence or whatever they're asking for and they'll willingly choose to reject it (even after you've given them the truth) because they've decided to change the goal posts they're using to measure their subjectivity against. The concept of somebody professing to be a Christian or professing to be anything other than what or who they truly are as a disguise to commit vile acts against people goes completely off their heads, I swear they either aren't able to comprehend that something like that is possible or they're just wasting time with their "intellectual" or "liberal" stances on it. Sometimes I read their posts and wonder do they even know what they're writing? Do they understand what they themselves are writing? Christianity has been used by evil people and is now a scapegoat to take the blame. The very people who left Christianity cannot seem to leave it alone as they still continue to talk about it and what they experienced, they're stuck, unable to move on, to let go. No, they hold on, and don't forgive because if they let go, they cannot justify their hatred towards Christians or Christianity. Then who else will they blame for not being able to move on when it's their decision not to. They mock Christians, and persecute them because they cannot acknowledge the truth, it disturbs them so much to the point of hysteria. Well, the Bible mentioned this would happen in the last days, I'm hardly surprised. They cannot sympathize with Christians nor empathize because in their pursuit of their hatred towards Christians their love has grown cold. The depth of darkness they're in, is a cave they're stuck in for lack of wanting to be helped out because they're in denial about the place they're in. They take offense and project their own misunderstanding of everything onto Christians when they're told to repent and seek God. We know that our fight is not against flesh and blood but they don't even recognize their true enemy. They hate Christians and Christianity because in their minds Christians are evil. Woe to them that take good for evil and evil for good.