#idk how to wrap it up really so there you have it

[reilemon]

𔘓Let's Break Up, Sylus!𔘓

⚠ MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY) ⚠

♡︎ Reason for the breakup? You got tired of chasing Sylus’ shadow.

♡︎ pairing: Sylus x fem!reader

♡︎ cw: brief mention of blood and wounds

♡︎ tags: angst, fluff, smut, dry humping, oral (female receiving), multiple orgasms

♡︎ word count: 6.5k

♡︎ a/n: idk, i don't like how i wrote the breakup fics, but i'd feel bad if i never posted them. so, if you don't like how i wrote this, especially the breakup part, then pls don't say anything.

♡︎ Thank you to my dearest friend and my beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @anitalenia

The faint hum of the car does nothing to soothe your nerves. If anything, it only serves as a reminder of today’s plans, the source of your anxiety. You sit in the driver’s seat, the plane tickets trembling slightly in your hands. You glance toward the house—the lights shining through the bedroom window suggests he woke up. You exhale slowly, staring at the tickets again.

This isn’t how you imagined your vacation. This was supposed to be your time to recharge, to take a step back from the chaos of work, but instead, you’re about to board a plane to a place you hadn’t even known existed. All because you couldn’t stay behind.

The irony isn’t lost on you. Hunters aren’t passive. The words you planned to say to him when he sees you holding up the tickets, rehearsed in your head with all the conviction you could muster. But now, sitting here in the quiet, you can’t help but wonder if bravery is just a mask for recklessness.

Would it really have been so terrible to let him go alone this time?

Your gaze drifts to the empty passenger seat.

Did he expect you to follow him?

You glance at your reflection in the rear-view mirror, the faint circles under your eyes a proof to the sleepless nights that have become all too familiar. Staying behind would’ve meant another string of those nights—lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he was alive, injured, or worse.

But this... this is no better.

The front door of the house creaks open, and you sit up straighter. Sylus steps out, his tall frame moving with its usual confidence, his silver hair catching the early light. He looks like he always does—calm, in control, untouchable. And you’re supposed to be the same.

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The room is dimly lit, the single overhead bulb flickering faintly like it might give out at any moment. The walls are bare, the furniture is sparse and the air is heavy. The faint metallic tang of blood lingers, mixing with the sharp bite of antiseptic.

Sylus sits on one of the chairs, his long legs sprawled out in front of him, his shirt discarded and tossed over the backrest. Blood-stained rags lie on the table beside him. His torso is marred with fresh cuts and bruises, deep gashes standing out against the taut muscle of his abdomen. You kneel in front of him, wrapping clean bandages around his ribs. Your forearm is already bandaged—a sloppy, hurried job. He’d insisted you patch yourself up first, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The quiet between you is oppressive. The only sound is the rustle of bandages and the faint hum of the overhead light.

Sylus watches you carefully. Usually, by now, you’d be berating him for getting hurt, but he knows that you always mask your worry with irritation. Or you’d be recounting the mission in vivid detail, your energy buzzing with lingering adrenaline. But tonight, you’re silent, your gaze focused on the task at hand, not meeting his.

“You’re quiet tonight.” he says.

You don’t look at him, your fingers securing the bandage. “I’m tired,” you reply curtly, your voice flat.

It’s a half-truth, and you both know it. He stays still, letting you finish your work, though his gaze never wavers.

Your mind won’t stop racing. The mission plays over and over in your head, the close calls, the mistakes, the weight of Sylus’ injuries.

“There.” you say quietly, standing up and turning away to gather the discarded rags and put them into a plastic bag, your back to him as you fight to steady your breathing.

Behind you, Sylus shifts slightly in the chair, his eyes following you.

“You handled everything well.” he says, his tone soft, almost coaxing. “Better than well. You were incredible out there.”

You freeze mid-motion, your fingers still gripping the bag. You swallow hard, trying to stifle the frustration bubbling in your chest, but it’s too late. When you turn to face him, your expression betrays you.

Sylus raises an eyebrow, his head tilting slightly as he studies you. “What’s that look for?” he asks with the faintest hint of amusement in his voice.

You take a step closer, arms crossing over your chest. “Sylus, we barely made it out. I don’t think anything about this is ‘incredible’.”

His lips quirk in a wry smile. “A few scratches. I’ve had worse.”

That does it. “Wha - Do you even hear yourself? ‘A few scratches’?!”

His smirk falters, replaced by a flicker of confusion, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“You didn’t even want me to know about this mission!” you continue, your voice rising. “I had to dig through your phone, beg my colleague for help, buy plane tickets, and then throw myself into danger just to keep up with you!”

Sylus’ jaw tightens, but his gaze stays fixed on you.

“And now you’re sitting here, acting like this is normal, like this is fine. Like it’s okay that we’re both bandaged up in the middle of nowhere!”

You don’t realize your hands are trembling until you feel the sting of your nails digging into your palms. Sylus stands, almost carefully stepping closer to you.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt.” he says, his voice low but firm.

“Too late for that,” you snap, your breath coming faster now. “Do you have any idea how exhausting this is? How much I—”

You cut yourself off, your throat too dry to continue. Your chest heaves, your heart pounding as you glare at him.

Sylus stays silent for a moment, his eyes searching yours. Then he speaks. “You didn’t have to come with me. You could’ve stayed behind.”

A bitter laugh escapes you. “Stayed behind? And what? Spent another week staring at the ceiling, wondering if you’re dead or alive?” You take in a shaky breath. “I didn’t come because I wanted to, Sylus. I came because the alternative was worse. It’s always worse.”

His expression falters for a split second, a flicker of something—surprise? Hurt?—crossing his face before it hardens again. “I knew you could handle it. I’ve always seen you as capable—more than capable.”

“And that’s part of the problem!” you fire back, your voice trembling now. “You always expect me to be right there, don’t you? Always catching up, always bending my life to fit yours. Do you know how exhausting that is?”

For the first time, Sylus doesn’t have a ready response. The argument stumbles into silence. The adrenaline of your frustration fades, leaving behind an aching exhaustion.

“I can’t keep doing this, Sylus,” you say quietly. “I can’t keep choosing you over everything else. Over my own sanity. Over my own life. I need to be on my own.”

His expression doesn’t change, but your eyes know his too well to be deceived – you know your words hurt him. He doesn’t argue, though. Instead, he steps toward you. You don’t pull away as he stops in front of you, his fingers brushing gently over your cheek. His touch is so tender that it takes everything in you not to lean into it.

“You’ll always have a place with me.” he murmurs.

His words pierce straight through you, and your chest tightens as you see the quiet acceptance in his gaze that makes it so much harder to walk away. Your throat constricts, but you manage a small nod. Stepping back, you feel the loss of his touch immediately, a hollow ache spreading through you as you turn to leave.

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Returning to work feels refreshing. That’s what you tell yourself. You smile through the questions about your bandaged forearm - “Just a stupid accident.” you brush them off with a rehearsed laugh and no one presses.

You take every mission they throw your way. You linger in the office long after everyone has left their desks, filing reports and analyzing cases until your eyes burn. When you’re not at work, you’re training. You work your body until your muscles shake, until your lungs burn. Exhaustion becomes your companion, the only thing that lets you collapse into bed.

And when you give your muscles a breather, you throw yourself into social plans. Nights at the bar with friends blur together into a haze of laughter and drinks. You keep the conversation light, deflecting whenever someone asks about your love life.

But you can’t always stop your mind from wandering.

On your walks through the city, where you tell yourself you’re just stretching your legs, just enjoying the scenery, the truth peeks through. You’re looking for him. A glint of silver hair in the crowd, the flutter of dark feathers overhead—anything that might mean Sylus is nearby. But he never is.

The frustration comes in waves, sharp and bitter. Sometimes it’s anger at him—for the secrecy, for the danger he seemed so at ease with. Other times, it’s anger at yourself. For following him. For leaving him. For caring so damn much. And yet, no matter how busy you keep yourself, the memories slip through the cracks. The way he’d call you ‘kitten’ in that smooth tone. The glint in his eyes when he teased you. The softness in them in the quiet moments. How he made you feel like you were the only person who truly mattered to him.

As the days pass, the routine becomes second nature. You throw yourself into missions, into nights out, into silence. The wound on your arm heals, but others linger. And no matter how much you try to move forward, his shadow remains.

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You lie in your bed, staring at the ceiling faintly illuminated by the light of the tablet beside you. It’s paused on some show you weren’t really watching. The air feels heavy tonight. You pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders, as if it could shield you from the thoughts creeping in, from the memories you’ve spent all day trying to push away.

Your focus is pulled towards your phone lying face down on the nightstand. You tell yourself to ignore it, to roll over and let sleep take you. But before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching for it.

The screen lights up, the harsh glow making you squint. Your tired eyes take a moment to adjust, before your finger taps the messaging app. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t look for his name. But tonight, you can’t help it.

Tapping the thread, the messages he sent a week or two ago fill the screen.

“The flower finally bloomed.” [Attached: A photo of a vibrant red flower, its petals unfurling.]

You skim through the words you’d typed in response.

“It’s beautiful.”

Further down, there’s another message—a photo of the same flower, wilted and curling in on itself. “Guess I should’ve expected this.”

You never replied to that one.

You scroll up, searching for happier times. Your thumb slows as you reach an older picture—one of the two of you. Sylus has your cheeks squished in his big hand, your face pouting in mock annoyance. Your eyes linger on his face. You gaze at his soft, genuine smile – an expression only you had the privilege to see.

And then there’s the voice note.

Your finger hovers over the play button, your chest tightening as you debate whether to listen. You remember the moment clearly—Sylus had sent it during one of his missions. You press play - his voice is quieter than usual, but the smile in his tone is obvious:

“I’ll be back soon, kitten. Don’t get too comfortable without me.”

Your vision blurs as tears gather in your eyes, spilling over before you can stop them. Pulling the blankets tighter around yourself, you press your face into the pillow, letting the tears fall freely.

You lie there in the dim light, the sound of your own breathing filling the room as sleep creeps up on you. The tears dry slowly on your lashes, but the ache in your chest doesn’t fade.

Eventually, exhaustion wins.

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Your breath fogs in the chilly air as you step outside a corner store, clutching a pack of noodles like a prize. You glance at the time on your phone and sigh. It’s late. Too late, actually, to be out in the cold hunting down instant noodles. But the craving wouldn’t leave you alone, not after the day you’ve had.

It had started early. You’d dragged yourself out of bed and decided to keep busy— run errands, go to the gym, deep clean the apartment. A pampering routine followed. Scrubbing the grime of the day away in a shower, leaving your skin soft and your mind momentarily calm. Wrapped in your fluffiest robe, smelling like heaven, you’d almost felt good.

Then the craving had started sometime after dinner. A silly little craving for a specific flavor of noodles you thought you had in your kitchen. You opened the cabinet and couldn’t find it, but you were determined, so you threw on a sweater and a pair of leggings and stepped out. The impulse led you further away from you building since your corner store didn’t have them.

Now, here you are.

You pass by the small park near your apartment, and your thoughts are more on getting home than on your surroundings.

But something catches your eye.

A figure with silver strands illuminated under the soft glow of a streetlamp. Your feet falter, your pulse quickening as your gaze zeroes in on him. Sylus.

He’s there, at the park, crouching with his arm extended toward a stray cat that eyes him warily. The sight is so achingly familiar —his careful, as-patient-as-possible approach, the way he stays still, letting the animal come to him. You don’t realize you’re staring, too focused on watching the scene unfold. The cat inches closer, sniffing cautiously at his outstretched hand. He murmurs something low, his voice too soft to hear from this distance. The sight is so disarming, so tender, that your chest tightens.

Slowly, you take a step forward, then another, careful not to startle the skittish animal. You approach from the side, your heart racing faster with each step. He must’ve sensed you before he sees you because his head tilts slightly, his attention shifting from the cat to you. His eyes meet yours, widening slightly in surprise. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The cat darts away, but you barely register it.

Sylus straightens to his full height.

“It’s been a while.” he says softly.

For a moment, you’re lost in his eyes – the tenderness his mesmerizing eyes hold when they’re on you.  You slightly shake your head as you catch yourself staring, your brain scrambling for a teasing remark, “I didn’t think you’d actually get the cat to—”

Your voice falters when you notice the cat again. It’s sitting a few feet away in the shadows, watching you and Sylus with wide eyes.

“Sorry,” you murmur. “I think I scared it off.”

Sylus chuckles. “Don’t worry. I just wanted to feed it anyway.”

True to his words, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small can of tuna. He crouches again, flipping open the lid with ease. His eyes flick to your hands.

“Still on the hunt for those, I see.” he teases, nodding toward the noodles you’d been craving.

You chuckle, about to reply, when the faintest frown crosses his features. Your eyes dart to his hands, and you notice the thin red line on his finger, a bead of blood welling at the tip.

“You cut yourself.” you say with tone sharper than you intended.

“It’s fine.” he replies casually.

Sylus places the can on the ground before stepping back to let the timid cat approach. As expected, the cat approaches, its tiny nose twitching as it investigates the food. You’re about to smile at the sight, but your focus snaps back to him when you catch the bead of blood rolling down his finger. Before you even think about it, you step closer and reach for his hand.

“Let me see.” you say softly, taking his hand in yours.

His fingers are cool, the faint roughness of his skin familiar under your touch. You tilt his hand, inspecting the small cut. Sylus doesn’t say a word, but you feel the weight of his gaze on you, the way his red eyes soften as he watches you carefully inspect the cut.

You clear your throat, letting go of his hand. “It’s not bad.” you murmur. “But it should be cleaned. And you’ll need a band-aid.” You glance around, as if a store might magically stay open just for you, but the quiet streets and locked doors tell you otherwise. Before you can stop yourself, the words slip out:

“You should come to my apartment.”

The moment the invitation leaves your lips, you freeze, realizing what you’ve just said. A habit developed of all the times you’ve patched him up before. And it still hasn’t died, no matter how much distance you’ve tried to put between you.

For a second, neither of you says anything. The cat crunches happily on its meal, oblivious to the sudden tension in the air.

Sylus tilts his head, studying you, then shrugs lightly. “If you’re offering.”

You nod, more to yourself than to him, convincing yourself it’s no big deal. He’ll come up, you’ll clean the cut, and he’ll leave. That’s it.

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Even though you were in your apartment minutes ago, now it feels completely different with Sylus standing in your entryway. You catch how he glances around, his eyes taking in every detail. Then he notices a particular pair of slippers near the door, and you quietly nudge them toward him with your foot.

“These are yours.” you murmur.

Without a word, he slips off his shoes and slides into the slippers.

You motion for him to sit on the sofa while you retrieve the first aid kit from the bathroom. When you return, Sylus is already seated, relaxed as always, his eyes following your every move. Sitting beside him, you set the kit on the coffee table and take his hand in yours again. You focus intently on cleaning the small cut on his finger, trying to ignore the awkward silence. The alcohol wipe stings, and his hand twitches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. You press the band-aid over the wound carefully, your fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary.

"There," you murmur softly. "All done."

But neither of you moves. His hand lingers in yours, and when you glance up, his gaze is already on you. Sylus shifts slightly, leaning forward just enough to brush his knee against yours. He lifts his free hand, his knuckles grazing your cheek.

His voice, low and soft, breaks the silence. "Can I hug you?"

Your chest tightens, the lump forming in your throat almost unbearable, but you nod, and it’s all the invitation he needs. Sylus shifts closer, his arms wrapping around you carefully, as though you might slip away if he moves too fast. The warmth of him envelops you as you rest your hands on his back, your cheek pressing against the soft fabric of his shirt, taking in his scent. You press your lips tightly, willing yourself to remain calm, but a single tear escapes, trailing down your cheek before soaking into his shirt.  Sylus holds you tighter, his hand moving slowly, soothing you. Neither of you speaks, the silence filled only with the faint sound of your breathing and the distant hum of the city outside.

When you finally pull back, his hands linger on your waist. His touch is light, uncertain whether you’ll allow him to keep holding you. His eyes trace the faint streak of wetness on your cheek, and with unbearable tenderness, his thumb brushes it away.

Your gaze flickers downward, just for a moment. A fleeting glance at his lips. But it’s long enough for him to notice.

With a quiet inhale, his thumb drifts, trailing from your cheek to your jaw, then lower—grazing your bottom lip. He hesitates there, his fingers barely pressing against your skin.

His eyes search yours before he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Your breath hitches, your heart hammering in your chest. A quiet sound escapes you—a barely audible hum of approval, “Mhm.”

He exhales, relief flickering in his eyes. The corners of his lips twitch, just slightly, before he slowly, carefully, leans in.

His lips brush softly against yours, your breaths mingling. His hands slide up your back, pulling you closer. You feel the faint tremble in his fingers as they press into the fabric of your sweater. Without thinking, your hands reach for him—trailing over his shoulders, up the curve of his neck, until your fingers slip into the softness of his hair. A low, faint hum escapes his throat, vibrating against your lips.

When he pulls back, just enough to break the kiss, his forehead rests against yours. His breath fans across your face, warm and uneven.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” he’s whispers, “I thought I could give you space, let you find peace without me, but—” His jaw tightens briefly, the muscles flexing as he searches for the words. “But every day felt wrong. I left a part of myself with you, and I don’t know how to be without it.”

His hands slide down to your waist, “I don’t know if I should ask you this, but - ” his gaze locks onto yours. “Can I stay a little longer?”

The lump in your throat doesn’t let up. You know why you left – how keeping up with his lifestyle has taken a toll on your mind and body. But you also know that the man, whose eyes are filled with adoration and reverence as he waits for your answer, is the sanctuary for your heart.

You nod, “I would like that.” You take in a shaky breath, your hands settling on his neck.

Sylus stills for a second, like he needs to make sure he heard you right. His grip on your waist tightens, and his breath hitches when you’re the one who closes the distance. He angles your face gently in his hands, his palms warm against your skin. His thumbs brush featherlight strokes along your cheekbones as he deepens the kiss. As though memorizing the shape of your lips, the taste of your mouth, the way you melt against him. Then his hands find your waist again, pulling you closer until the hard plane of his chest presses against yours. You feel the faint shudder in his breathing, the tension in his body, like he’s holding himself back despite the way his lips devour yours. You sink into the kiss, your nails lightly grazing the back of his neck, feeling the way his breath hitches at your touch. But the hunger builds—his kisses growing deeper, needier.

His hand slides down, finding your thigh, his palm searing through the thin fabric of your leggings, the touch making your breath stutter as liquid heat pools low in your belly.

Sylus exhales sharply. “Tell me if this is too much.” he murmurs against your lips. His thumb strokes your thigh in small, soothing circles, a contrast to the possessive grip of his other hand still anchored to your waist.

You shake your head, pulling him back in. “It’s not,” you whisper, though deep down, there’s a flicker of hesitation.

Of course, he notices. He always does. He leans back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes. “We don’t have to do anything tonight. Just this.”

Your fingers tremble slightly as they thread into his hair, tugging him back down. You kiss him again—with more urgency, as though trying to chase away your own uncertainty. And then you move without thinking, shifting onto your knees as you swing one leg over his lap, straddling him. Sylus groans softly as you settle onto him, his hands sliding to your hips, holding you there, and you can feel his cock pressing against your clothed core.

His breath is a ragged exhale against your skin, his lips trail down the line of your jaw, his teeth grazing just enough to leave a lingering tingle. His lips settle on the side of your neck, nipping and sucking the sensitive skin. You shudder, fingers tangling into the soft hair at the nape of his neck as warmth floods through you.

And then your hips move, feeling the hard press of him against the damp heat between your legs, the delicious friction making Sylus groan in response. His hands slide up, slipping beneath your sweater, palms skimming the heated skin of your back. Then his hips shift beneath you, pressing up to meet you in a deep grind. The motion sends a shock of pleasure straight to your core, your hands holding onto his shoulders as heat coils tighter inside you. His hands go back to your hips, guiding your movements, keeping you anchored to him as you find a rhythm together.

His lips unlatch from your neck, shifting his attention to you, watching every flicker of pleasure on your face. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Just like that.”

The way he’s looking at you, the way his body moves with yours—it’s too much, too good, and the coiling pressure in your core tightens too fast. Your nails dig into the fabric of his shirt, your thighs trembling against his hips. You try to slow down, to savor it, but the pleasure builds too quickly.

The orgasm hits out of nowhere. A soft, breathless cry tumbles from your lips and your body tightens, your hips stuttering against him as the pleasure rolls through you.

Sylus stills beneath you, his grip steadying you, his breathing uneven as he watches you come undone. His expression is both hunger and devotion. The corner of his lips tugs into a small smile.

The heat creeps up your cheeks as the mortification sets in. Your heart still racing, you bury your face against his shoulder. “I— I didn’t mean to—”

His hands are already sliding up, cradling your back. His voice is low, soothing. “Don’t,” he whispers, his lips brushing over your temple. “I’ve missed seeing you like this.”

His hands drift lower again, gripping your waist, pulling you closer. His mouth moves down, lips grazing your ear.

"Can you give me one more?"

Your cheeks flush at the question, the residual buzz of your climax still tingling through your limbs. You answer by shifting your hips, experimentally rolling them forward. The motion pulls a deep, guttural groan from his throat, and the sound alone makes your core tingle.

"That's my girl." Sylus rasps.

He starts a rhythm for you, his grip firm enough to steer you but loose enough for you to take control if you wish. The friction is delicious, his cock pressing against your soaked underwear through the fabric of his pants, creating just enough pressure to. The layers of clothing feel like a tease, amplifying every grind, every roll of your hips.

"You're so sensitive." he murmurs, his gaze never leaving your face.

His words make you shiver, spurring you on to move faster, your hips gaining a mind of their own. You can feel his breath on your neck as he leans forward, his lips brushing your ear.

"I want to hear you again." he whispers, teeth grazing the delicate shell of your ear.

Your body reacts instinctively, your pace faltering as you gasp, the coil of pleasure winding tighter with each roll of his hips. Sylus doesn’t let you lose the rhythm, his hands guiding your hips again.

"Let go for me." he urges, his voice a low rumble.

His words, combined with the perfect grind of his body against yours, tip you over the edge. A broken moan escapes your lips as the pleasure crashes through you once more. Your thighs tremble, your body arching as you cling to him, his name spilling from your lips. He groans as his grip tightens on your hips as he presses you down against him, drawing out every last pulse of your orgasm. His gaze locks onto yours, as he watches you come apart in his arms.

You slump forward, panting against him, your forehead brushing his shoulder as your arms wrap around his neck. His hands roam your back now, soothing as you catch your breath. You can feel the tension radiating from his body, the rigid line of his cock still pressing against you.

"Better?" he murmurs.

Your body feels like jelly, but you crave more. With a shaky exhale, you nod, nuzzling your face against his neck, the gesture earning a soft chuckle from him. You give yourself a moment to catch your breath before you sit up and move. Sylus doesn’t take his eyes off you as you stand from his lap, following your hands as they grip the hem of your sweater, lifting it over your head to reveal your bare skin. The soft glow from the living room lamp caresses every curve of your body, and his lips part slightly as he drinks in the sight of you. You hesitate briefly, heart pounding, before your fingers hook into the waistband of your leggings, sliding them down with your panties in one smooth motion, and now you stand completely bare before him.

Sylus leans forward, his breath warm as it fans over your skin. His gaze trails up your body, lingering for a moment, before settling on your face.

“You’re breathtaking.” he murmurs, his voice a low rasp.

You don’t have time to respond before his hands settle on your thighs. His lips brush against the curve of your hip, tender and sweet. He shifts forward, kissing the crease of your thigh, then above your pelvis, the attention making your knees weak. His hands slide up the backs of your thighs, gently urging you closer.

He turns around to push stray pillows off the sofa, before turning back to you, “Come here,” he says. “I want to taste you.”

Your breath hitches at the words, but you follow his lead. Sylus lies back on the sofa, his hands guiding your hips to straddle him, your knees settling on either side of his head. For a moment, you hover above him, your nerves fluttering. But you find reassurance when Sylus looks up at you with a gaze so utterly devoted as he places a kiss on your inner thigh.

“Don’t hold back,” he murmurs, his grip tightening slightly as he guides you down.

A soft gasp leaves your lips at the first stroke of his tongue against you wet folds. You grip the backrest with one hand, while the other one finds purchase in his hair and he pulls you closer, burying himself between your thighs. His tongue moves with expert precision, swirling and dipping, but then his nose presses against your clit, catching it just right, and a shiver bolts through you. The unexpected pressure makes your hips twitch, grinding against him instinctively. His tongue continues to lap at your entrance, tasting your juices, and the wet sounds of his mouth against you filling the room. You let yourself move, rolling your hips, the rhythm dragging your clit against the firm bridge of his nose while his tongue explores deeper, delving into you with an unrelenting hunger. Even lost in the haze of pleasure, you keep some of your weight off him, careful not to press down too hard.

“Sylus…” you whimper, the sound breathless, desperate.

He groans against you, the vibration coursing through your body and making you moan louder. His hands grip your thighs, keeping you steady but letting you control the movement, as though he relishes the way you’re using him to find your pleasure. Each grind sends sparks of ecstasy shooting through you, the friction of his nose against your clit and the way his tongue delves deeper, fucking you in shallow, filthy thrusts. He shifts slightly beneath you, the angle of his face changing just enough to hit a perfect spot, and your legs tremble as you chase another release, rolling your hips harder.

“Fuck - ” you gasp, your hands clutching the sofa like a lifeline.

Sylus hums again, his tongue and nose working in tandem to drive you higher, his hands kneading your thighs, encouraging you to let go completely. And you do.

You come with a shattered cry, hips jerking erratically as he drinks every pulse, every flutter, his grip tightening to keep you from pulling away from the overwhelming high. Your body slumps forward slightly, panting, thighs quivering as you try to gather yourself. But Sylus doesn’t give you time to recover. One moment, you’re perched above him, gasping in the aftershocks of your release, and the next, you’re on your back, the shift leaving you momentarily stunned.

You barely get the words out before his lips crash with yours. The moment your tongue brushes his, the taste of yourself coats your mouth. A shiver rolls through you, your thighs instinctively tightening around his waist. Sylus lets you kiss him like this, lets you taste what he’s done to you, but when your teeth graze his lower lip, teasing, claiming—his control finally breaks. Without breaking eye contact, he sits up just enough to swiftly take off his shirt before his lips are back on yours.

You hear the sound of his zipper, his hips shifting as he frees himself. His cock brushes against your drenched folds, the thick length sliding through your slickness, coating himself in your arousal. A shudder runs through both of you at the contact, the anticipation stretching unbearably between you.

Sylus exhales shakily, his forehead pressing against yours. “Can I finish inside?”

Without hesitation, you nod, your voice trembling as you whisper, “Yes... please.”

Sylus aligns himself, the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and he takes his time, pushing in slowly, watching your expression. The stretch is deliciously intense, every inch of him filling you, making your walls clench around him. A strangled groan escapes his throat as he bottoms out, his cock twitching inside you. His forearms cage you in, the heat of his body surrounding you as he rests his forehead against yours.

He starts to move, his thrusts slow and deep, dragging along every nerve inside you. But even with his languid pace, just the feel of your pussy already has him trembling. You feel him pulse, his hips stuttering as he groans your name, his body shuddering above you. Sylus buries himself as deep as he can, his cock throbbing as his release spills inside you. The warmth spreads, and you can feel every pulse of his cock as he collapses slightly against you, his breathing heavy, his lips brushing your neck.

But he doesn’t stop. Even as his hips jerk with the aftershocks of his first orgasm, he keeps moving, his cock still hard, still sensitive, as he rocks into you with slow thrusts.

“I can’t get enough of you.” he murmurs against your ear.

The sensation of his thick length moving inside you, now slick with his warm release, sends waves of delirious pleasure through you. Your hands cling to his shoulders, your nails pressing into his skin as his pace begins to pick up again. Your legs wrap tightly around his waist, pulling him deeper, and his name tumbles from your lips in breathless gasps. Sylus leans down, capturing your lips in a messy, desperate kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as his hips snap against yours. The pressure builds rapidly inside you, your body arching into his as his cock hits every perfect spot, the wet sounds of your connection filling the room.

“I missed you.” you finally confess, your voice trembling as the words spill out between moans.

Sylus freezes for a heartbeat, his eyes searching yours, his thrusts faltering as your words hit him. “Say it again.” he demands softly, his lips brushing against yours as his hips begin to move faster.

“I missed you.” you repeat breathlessly.

His rhythm grows erratic, his breaths ragged as his second orgasm builds rapidly. His hips slam into yours, his cock throbbing inside you as he grips your hips tightly.

“Fuck - I’m gonna—” His words cut off with a strangled groan as he thrusts into you one last time, his release flooding you again. The sensation of him filling you, paired with the grind of his pelvis against your clit, pushes you over the edge, your walls clenching around him as your fourth orgasm tears through you.

Your breaths mingle as both of you come down from your highs. Sylus doesn’t move right away, his cock still buried inside you as you both lie tangled together on the sofa, your limbs wrapped around him tightly. His weight presses into you, grounding, comforting, his body a welcome warmth against yours.

His lips brush against your temple first, then your cheek, and finally your lips. There’s no urgency now, just a gentle savoring. His hand cups your face, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone as he pulls back slightly.

"I never want to lose you again," he murmurs, the sincerity in his tone making your chest ache. "I was a fool for not seeing how much you were struggling. I took your strength for granted and thought you didn’t need me to change."

You swallow hard, unshed tears stinging your eyes. Your arms tighten around him instinctively, your fingers threading through the damp strands of his hair. He meets your gaze, his eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them.

"I’m more than willing to compromise," he continues. "Whatever it takes. I don’t care if it means slowing down, changing plans, or letting you set the pace. Just... please. I need you."

A lump forms in your throat as his words sink in. The dam of emotions you’ve been holding back all night begins to crack, a single tear slipping down your cheek before you can stop it. Sylus notices immediately. His thumb brushes the tear away, his touch featherlight.

You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, though there is a small tremble in your voice when you whisper. “I need you too."

Relief washes over his face, his lips curving into a small, genuine smile as he leans down to kiss you again, his hands cradling your face like you’re the most precious thing in his world. The kiss lingers, his lips moving against yours with tenderness that leaves no room for doubt. When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin as he whispers, "Thank you."

You smile softly, your heart swelling as you gaze up at him. For the first time in what feels like forever, the weight on your chest begins to lift, replaced by the tender hope cradling your heart.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

@totallytaurus4 @ladyparamount @solifloris @withering-dream @yumii-34 @sapphic-daze @feuilledelis @cheesemachine44 @codedove @curiositykilledthecatx3 @sarangdipity @grabby-smitten

[xaviersplvshiek1ller]

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

PAIRING. Sheltered!gojo x pervert!reader

GENRE. Smut

CONTENT. Sexual content, handjob, dryhumping, dub-con?(idk if it counts)

SYPNOSIS. Girlie has some secret feelings about her bestie she just had to put on paper but what what will she do when said bestie discovers it

Masterlist

You never meant to see your childhood bestie in this way. The boy you met because he fell on the playground and straight up started sobbing as if it had never happened to him before, so you went over there, helped him up, dusted him off and ever since you have been inseparable.

That’s why as your teen years started, and he started growing into this cocky annoyingly handsome man with the sharpest blue eyes you’ve ever seen and a pretentious attitude that hid your affectionate clingy sheltered best friend behind it, you realized you could never be with him as he was too untouchable and the best thing to do was to bury your feelings and keep them a secret. 

You should’ve also realized that eventually all secrets get revealed, and even entertaining the thought of ever sharing something more than friendship was dangerous. Especially if your thoughts were increasingly dirty. 

It’s just that one night, alone in your room, your hands in your panties, frantically rubbing your swollen clit desperately trying to scratch and itch that had to do with your white-haired bestie, but Twitter and your imagination alone didn’t seem to do it anymore, so you had to create your own spank bank. The nut you got from that didn’t compare to any you had before, so you kept writing more. Even when he was in your room just hanging out, as you usually do.

You should’ve been more careful.

You could see on his face he was planning to keep it a secret, but when you came back from getting some snacks and saw how he was sitting on your bed, face completely red, lookin at you with his blue puppy eyes, that got you feening for him like this in the first place, like he did something terrible. His face completely red, pushing his hard bulge down in a failed attempt to conceal it while looking at your open laptop.

You pathetically start crying, burying your face in your hands out of embarrassment. 

“I’m so sorry, ‘toru, I know you’re probably disgusted by me, and I’m not gonna blame you if you want nothing to do with me.”

Satoru immediately jumped up and hugged you, frantically trying to wipe your tears away and comfort you. “I-it’s okay, I’m not disgusted at all!”

You sniff and wrap your arms around him before jumping up and closing your legs around his muscled body to give him a bear hug, bringing your body even closer to his. Which is not an unusual position for you guys, since you are best friends and have always been really close and physically affectionate people.

“Really, are you sure? I wrote stuff no best friend should be even thinking about their other best friend” you pout

Satoru groans as his erection is now getting squished against your pussy, which is barely covered by the skintight satin booty shorts you prefer wearing at home.

“Y-yeah, it’s natural, right? Besides, my parents said that if you do that stuff with random people, you can die from diseases, it’s safer to experiment with someone you know well.” He earnestly looks into your damp eyes, obviously feeling awful that he invaded your privacy like this.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach because you can feel him twitching against your clit at the thought of the stuff he read about on your laptop. You can’t stop your body from ever so slightly grinding against him as he holds you up with no effort. At first, both of you didn’t notice being too enveloped in the emotions you were feeling, but the longer your movements continued, the wetter your cunt got, and satoru definitely felt that.

“Mmf w-what are you doing?” Satoru croaks out as the stimulation of your soaked cunt rubbing up and down his cock starts to make him weak in the knees.

You realize what you’re doing and immediately jump off him and run towards your bed and plop face down into your pillow, cursing at your body for being so horny. Eren carefully sits down next to you in silence, like he’s pondering over something.

“U-uhm if you want, we could try some of the stuff since we’re best friends, and it’s better to do that together where we're safe rather than risk it w-with other people” with every word he fumbles out of his mouth he gets quieter until you can see his lips moving but can’t hear anything.

“What?” You turn around and sit up to fully face him as he also fully sits on your bed with his legs crossed In front of you.

“I said if you want to, we can try to do some of what you wrote,” he mumbled with his head down.

Oh? Oh

You lean over and grab his face with both hands, making sure he’s looking you in the eyes. “Are you sure, ‘Toru? I don’t know if you’re supposed to do this with your best friend.”

He frowns at the thought of you doing any of the things you wrote about doing to him to anyone else. He grabs you by the waist and effortlessly lifts you and places you down on his lap, facing him with your legs crossed behind his back.

“I’m not very experienced with any of this, but I wouldn’t want to try this stuff with anybody but you,” he blushes

“Me neither, but I wouldn’t even know where to begin. I mean, I’ve read about it often, but I don’t know If any of that stuff is real.” You look down, getting insecure again.

He puts one arm around your waist, pulling you closer and uses the other one to reach over to grab your laptop and simultaneously keep you in his lap, but the movement accidentally slithers your still sensitive crotches in the perfect snug position for his needy cock to bully its way between your puffy lips. 

Neither of you dare to move as he starts reading everything you wrote. As the minutes go by and your embarrassment increases, so does the blood flow to his shaft, and before you know it, he’s growing more and more and pressing even harder at your special spot.

He clears his throat. “From what I’ve read we should start with kissing” he puts your laptop away and now has both hands planted firmly at your waist making sure you can’t move a muscle unless he moves it for you.

Fuck it.

You press your lips against him so quickly; he wasn’t quite prepared just yet, but just as soon you pull away. Your heart is beating so quickly you’re actually concerned he can hear it. 

Clearly the peck wasn’t enough because he follows your lips and you collide. Softly brushing against each other again and again until you start kissing harder and faster, the wet sounds are growing increasingly louder. You don’t know how long you’ve been kissing, but you don’t want to stop anytime soon, but the lack of oxygen is making you lightheaded. You pull back and gasp for air.

“Oh~ that felt really good,” you giggle.

He runs his hand through his hair. In an attempt to cool down a little, and smiles cockily at you, “Yeah, I know.”

"Do you wanna continue-"

He attacks your mouth again, but this time even more feverishly. In a moment of bold bravery, you nip at his lower lip and swipe your tongue across it. He doesn’t know what to do, so he just swipes back. You gently open your mouth, and he takes it as a sign to do the same. You pull back again, and he sighs irritably.

“‘Toru I’m gonna try something, I promise it’ll feel good.” He looks at you expectantly.

“Open your mouth a little”

“Stick your tongue out”

“Good” you coo at him before taking his tongue in your mouth and suuucking.

He went limp and started mewling in your mouth. The sound intensified as does the throbbing of your slick cunt, so you started moving back n forth on his leaky cock, looking for some relief. Your mouth turned slack at the feeling of his thick mushroom tip rubbing against your clit.

“Fuuuuuuuhck” 

He used your moment of distraction to explore your mouth with his tongue roaming around the entire hot cavern, not leaving an inch unexplored like he wanted to burn the shape of your mouth in his mind.

“Uh~ ‘toru please,” you wanton out with pure need. You didn’t even know what you were begging for in the first place.

He humps up at you, making the friction even more delicious. You feel something build up on your core, so you start going faster until you’re bouncing on him, but it just isn’t enough. You hastily remove your shorts, leaving your bare from the bottom down, and start working on untying his sweatpants.

“‘Toru can I take it out, please?”

“Huh?” He clearly was paying more attention to your drippy cunt as his eyes were glued to your soft looking folds

“Can I take your dick out? It will feel better this way.”

“Y-yeah, sweetheart whatever you want” As the words spill out of his mouth he’s already lifting his hips so you can pull down his pants, now you’re both naked on the bottom.

“Your dick is sooo pretty ‘Toru and HUGE.” He looks shy after your bold statement.

His leaky tip is calling to you, so you tap it with your finger. Both of you giggle as his weeping cock jumps at the sensation. You touch it again, but this time you run your finger down a vein before wrapping your hand around his cock, or at least you attempt to, one of your hands isn’t enough, so you use both hands to start pumping up and down, but he quickly stops you.

“Wait, it’s too dry” His eyebrows are furrowed up like It pains him to stop you.

U have a solution for that

You take two fingers and drag them in between your pussy lips to gather moisture for good measure; you also spit on your hands.

That should do it

You look up at him all doe eyed to measure up his reaction as you wrap your slick and spit covered And run it up and down his cock, mixing it with his precum.

This is the hottest thing he has ever experienced, and he fears he might faint. His eyes screw up, and the wind flies out of his body as you take a tight grip on his cock and start rapidly fisting his cock, twisting as you go down. The squelching sound of his cock being milked fills up the room.

He truly doesn’t know what has overcome him, he’s moaning like a bitch in heat as his eyes roll to the back of his head and his hips start thrusting up at you.

You’ve seen enough videos to know he’s close, so you scooch down, plant your pussy on his lower leg, and start humping it like a crazed animal. You lower your head to graze your nose through his white pubes and give him a kiss on his tip before licking a stripe in between his balls.

You’ve killed him.

Or you might as well have. His stomach is swimming with butterflies, his eyes cross and roll to the back of his head, and he lets’s out a high-pitched whine before he starts shaking like you’ve electrified him while spurts of white-hot cum fly onto the both of you.

The moment the first drip of nut hit, you creamed all over his leg. Still, you don’t stop pumping his softening cock and fondling his balls until he’s thoroughly milked, overstimulated and bucking your hands away.

“Soo How was it?” You drawl out.

When you don’t get an answer, you look up at him, but he’s staring at nothing, clearly blissed out.

You stand up to grab a towel so you can clean some of the white gooey liquid off of you. When you turn around again, he’s knocked out.

You clean off the both of you before falling asleep next to him.

Master list

Part two?

Dis my first time ever writing smut have mercy on meee…

[blessedmisery]

summary: sung jinwoo x reader - boyfriend headcannons. sfw and nsfw included. warnings: fluff, smut, idk this is silly authors note: ty for reading, hope u enjoy. likes and reblogs always appreciated <3

sung jinwoo is super introverted and literally so oblivious to anyone liking him so it'll take a while before the two of you get together

but when you do it'll be sooooo good. so so good.

jinwoo is terrible at communicating his feelings, and he will struggle to show you that he loves you at first

so you will be the one saying "i love you" first

his love languages would be acts of service, physical touch and quality time because this man seriously needs a hug but also loves doing things for you

he likes his space and alone time, but he would love to be in the same room together while the two of you do your own thing.

he'd be surprisingly really good at cooking because he's super detail-oriented and attentive

that also applies to your feelings, if you're feeling a certain way, he'll catch on instantly

but he won't really know what to do, he's pretty cold sometimes so he's not great at comforting people.

terrible texter. he texts like my dad. "ok", "👍" he's just super dry and doesn't feel the need to say more than he has to over text.

very blunt and honest, if you need advice he'll never sugarcoat. he'll tell you how things are straight up, even it it's the last thing you want to hear. he's a very no bullshit kind of guy.

arguments with jinwoo would actually be the worst. he hates being wrong and will argue until you give in and agree that he's right. he'll also fuck you while arguing to really drive the point home.

possessive. so possessive. will never let anything bad happen to you, and likes knowing that you are only his.

on that note, he also gets really jealous. but he won't make it obvious in public. however you will pay for making him feel that way later when you get home.

i imagine he looooves having his hair played with.

and just loves feeling taken care of in general. he's always taking care of everyone else that the feeling of having someone take care of him is so new but so intoxicating to him.

hates pda. he thinks that shit has a time and place (and i mean he ain't wrong) the most he will do is wrap an arm around your waist in a crowded area

but in the car? hand GLUED to your thigh. at home? always touching you or coming by to give you a kiss.

speaking of cars, he'd be a really good driver. but why have a car when you have kaisel.

BUT when jinwoo is being a normal member of society (aka not getting around on a literal shadow wyvern) hear me out, he would totally ride a motorcycle.

omg can you imagine riding on the back of it with him, the wind blowing against you while you tightly wrap your arms around his waist to hold on. fuck.

really hates valentine's day (he thinks it's stupid and a waste of time)

but that doesn't mean he still won't go all out for you and buy you flowers, chocolate, a huge teddy bear and fucking pink and red heart shaped balloons (he's so extra)

also hates his birthday, to him it's just any other day. that's when you have to come together with beru and igris and plan something out to make this man feel special.

fav season would definitely be fall or winter. he seems like someone who would despise the heat.

really annoying when he's sick. he'll pretend like he's fine and then he will act like he's dying. (he secretly just wants someone other than beru to take care of him)

forehead kisses. he loves to kiss you on your forehead, it's one of his favourite ways to show intimacy.

also gives really good hugs. he just has a really comforting aura (at least to you. others would likely disagree.)

really likes seeing you wear his clothes, particularly his hoodies. or when you sleep in his t-shirts. drives him absolutely mad.

has really good hygiene. i imagine he always smells really good.

with that, he's also a clean freak, and really hates making a mess and will get mad at you if you leave your clothes on the floor.

not a huge fan of pet names but will mostly stick to calling you "baby", "my love" when he's fucking you in missionary late at night, or "kitten" when he's feeling playful.

he's a cat person. i don't make the rules.

huge fan of the rain. he loves rainy days because they're an excuse to relax and lay in bed all day with you. and fuck.

hear me out, he would definitely be a reader. i can picture him enjoying a nice rainy afternoon with a good book. (anything to not socialize with other humans)

NOT a morning person. he likes to sleep in if he has nothing to do that day.

on that note he's a very light sleeper and has trouble falling asleep. so when he does u better not wake him tf up.

super competitive. if you're playing any games or making any bets with this man, best of luck to you. he will do anything to win.

lowkey a gamer. he's got a nice, expensive setup and he likes playing video games. especially when you're sitting on his lap while he plays.

hates being in pictures. good luck getting this man to smile in a photo.

stares at you a lot? (kinda creepy ngl) but he just really likes looking at you

now lets discuss the sex:

realistically he wouldn't be very experienced because this guy spent all his time in gates instead of talking to women.

but ofc its sung jinwoo so he'll be instantly good at anything he does

very respectful towards you overall

i imagine he's actually pretty vanilla, at least at first because he hasn't had many opportunities to explore kinks

unless he's mad. then ur getting it babe. and ur getting it good.

he will push your head into the sheets and take his anger out on you, pounding into you mercilessly while whispering dirty, degrading things into your ear.

"act like a bitch, get fucked like one" attitude when he's mad.

he's not very vocal himself but looooves to hear you make noise

lowkey size kink cuz hes tall af (6'3 i think?)

despite being kind of vanilla and abit of a clean freak this man gets filthy with you when then two of you fuck.

really likes cum play. and oral sex. he will spend hours eating you out like there's no tomorrow. he also loves getting head.

like i said he's not very vocal but if you give this man a blow job. whew. he will make the hottest sounds you'd ever hear coming out of a mans mouth. can you imagine him breathing heavily, his voice all raspy saying "fuck baby keep going, just like that" while he grabs your hair, choking you on his cock. bye.

and licking. holy shit. once he starts he wont stop. he will lick you from ass to clit. no questions asked.

really likes edging you— "what was that baby? i couldn't hear you" he'd mumble against the sensitive skin surrounding your clit after eating you out for a whole hour, pushing you so close to the edge but denying you your sweet release. by this point you're panting, tears are prickling the corners of your eyes and you've become completely incoherent. "p-please jinwoo. p-please ah, i need to c-cum" you'd utter, taking all of your energy to form that one simple sentence while tugging on his messy hair. "mmm kitten i know. but i'm not done. you just taste soo good" he'd mutter drunkenly in response and continue licking and sucking you until you've quite literally lost your damn mind.

hes so pussy drunk omfg

dacryphilia. really likes seeing you cry from his edging or overstim during sex

"you're mine. only mine". constantly whispering this in your ear while you fuck. (like i said, the man is possessive)

has the prettiest cock (just like him). not wide but he makes up for that shit in LENGTH. def above average length. good luck fitting that shit all the way in (if u say u can't he'll make u)

one word: fingering. yeah. those long, slender fingers will be exploring every inch of your clit and pussy. and you'll be loving every second of it.

loves to cum together. he's a big fan of creampies.

big handcuff enthusiast. likes to see you struggle.

his favourite position would be missionary. like i said, he loves looking at you and hearing the noises you make. missionary is ideal for him.

very big fan of shower sex. something about getting home after a long day and having a good fuck in the shower is so appealing to him.

"good girl" yeah mhm. he'd say this. a lot.

praises. these will be rare with jinwoo and you'll really have to earn it but he will praise you so good when you do.

ass > boobs. like i said, i don't make the rules babe.

© @blessedmisery 2025.

[voiceofthelionhearted]

something that i find very interesting is that, while playing as the long quiet, your footsteps are light. you sound as though you are a normal-sized person wearing regular tennis shoes or something. yes, we can see how his hands look, and we get a decent look at him in the mirror, but for all we know, he could just be. a normal-sized guy who has some weird features. even when compared to the smaller princesses (like the base princesses, the damsel, the witch, etc.) as you walk alongside them, you look to be only slightly taller than them. you are, from your perspective, a normal-sized guy.

this is up until the princess and the dragon. you finally get a really good look at how the character you play as looks. he's big. he practically fills the room with the bulk of his body, numerous wings wrapped around his face and body and stretched out behind him, and tail feathers (are they really feathers?) splayed out behind him -- in the long quiet's own words, "the world trailing behind it". his hands look like a corvid's feet, yes, but his feet notably don't. they look like dragon feet. he hunkers down to fit in the cabin, bending at the knee and slouching so that his head doesn't brush against the ceiling.

(i am well-aware that i might be embellishing things here but. well. this is one of my favorite chapters so i'm gonna go ham in my descriptions)

according to the gentle princess, you're "scary" and "hard to look at". according to the harsh princess, you "look the way you always do". additionally, the gentle princess comments on the fact that you always stomp around, which upon hearing it from your own body, is definitely indicative of your large size. this is the long quiet's default appearance.

and i have to wonder. can the narrator affect how you perceive yourself?

i'm still unsure of the mirror bit, if it's intentional misdirection or if he really, truly does not see the mirror, but i lean very heavily towards the latter.

i do believe though that he would think that it would be damaging for you to know what you truly look like, and we see that in the long quiet's alarm at seeing how he actually looks, yes, but we don't get to see any repercussions from that because it's the final chapter. memory either returns or you're able to look at yourself in the mirror anyway, so it's not look seeing how you look was shown to be particularly damaging to the narrator's plans. especially since the long quiet ultimately just kind of shrugs it off and everything goes back to normal once you're back in your body. the perception of a body that properly fits in the cabin and walks with light steps is back.

honestly though, it's more likely that he just doesn't think that how you look is very important. it doesn't help you when it comes to his plans, so he just doesn't mention it. not to completely contradict my previous theory -- i'm just spitballing here. it's not as though the narrator is truly malicious towards you from the start, after all.

i do stand by my guess that he can affect your perception of yourself, bc why does everything go back to normal regarding your perception of yourself after what you've seen of yourself? you would think that having a true understanding of yourself from her eyes would affect how you would perceive your body, but well. idk. that confuses me

[skribbledarker]

ughhh wip update on the hand/finger kink slash oral fixation fic im writing?1?1??1 idek at this point where this is going so here take this CW NSFW

—

Sanji has this look on his face, dark and settling heavy over the swordsman even through his pale lashes; he thumbs over Zoro’s pulse point once, twice, before pressing down on it lightly. “S’that what you want?”

“Yeah.” He swallows, and can feel his Adam's apple press against Sanji’s palm. “Harder, bastard.”

“Fucking freak,” Sanji murmurs, despite the fact that his own voice has gone husky with lust. Zoro can feel him, just as hard and insistent as he grinds down onto Zoro’s lap. Hypocrite. “Say please first.”

“You’re an ass—” The hand around Zoro’s neck squeezes, and he can’t help the way his eyes flutter closed, can’t help the choked sound that rips its way out of him. The feeling is nothing short of intoxicating, and all Zoro wants is more. “—Oh, fuck.” And then there’s even more pressure on his throat as Sanji grips him harder, carefully manicured nails digging into the soft flesh there.

“You like that? Want me to bruise you, moss?” Sanji asks into Zoro’s ear, low and imploring.

“Yeah, yes,” Zoro croaks, mouth moving on autopilot because he can’t seem to gather the focus to say anything but affirmatives. He feels like— like he’s slipping, like the sensation of Sanji’s body flush against him is the only thing keeping him tethered. His hands slip under his shirt to wrap securely around his waist, the feeling of his skin grounding.

“You have no idea how fucking good you look right now.”

“Really?”

“Yes, shit, I wanna—” And then the cook breaks off into a string of words in a language Zoro can’t understand, but Sanji’s tone alone tells him it’s vulgar. Sanji’s fingers disappear from their place wrapped around Zoro’s neck, instead reaching up to grasp the swordsman’s face in both of his hands. It’s gentle, almost sickeningly so.

Sanji presses a forehead against his, and Zoro relishes in the way both of them are panting, breaths mingling in the quiet of the galley. “You wanna what, cook?”

As if to answer, Sanji grinds down hard, squeezing his thighs tightly around Zoro’s hips and pressing both their clothed erections together. He crushes his lips into Zoro’s again, sloppy and frantic and hungry, then sandwiches his arm between them to fumble at his zipper.

The swordsman scrambles to help, removing his iron grip on Sanji’s waist to tug at his shirt, freeing the tails of the fabric from the cook’s waistband. It exposes the pale expanse of his stomach and the tantalizing trail of curly brown hair starting at his navel that disappears below the black band of his underwear . Zoro wants to rip them off him. Honestly, he’s about to— Before he can, though, Sanji bats his hands away, lifting himself up so he can shimmy his pants down past his hips.

“Hands off,” Sanji breathes, leaning forward and bracing a hand on Zoro’s thigh while palming himself through his briefs. He looks unspeakably pretty like that; eyes half-lidded, bottom lip red from being caught between his teeth. “Behind your back.”

Zoro scoffs, shifting under the cook’s weight. “You’re not fuckin’ serious.”

“Humor me. Come on.”

“You get off on telling me what to do?”

“I do, yeah.” And Zoro relents, putting his arms behind him while Sanji’s fingers trace over the planes of his stomach, edging past the elastic of his sweatpants. “Good,” the cook whispers to him— the praise makes Zoro lightheaded.

—

idk bossy sanji is speaking to me rn. hope you enjoyed gahh

[avifaunaa]

i tasted ash and knew [ it was you ] [ pt. 5 ]

Authors Note: i just went through a nasty breakup so. um, the last part of this may be emotional idk🧍🏻‍♀️so in writing this i had to do some digging. rio and wanda were never meant to be pitted against one another in the comics and stan lee had a really firm rule that any character can be stronger than another if the writer needs them to be. in my useless opinion, i believe that rio may have more power and knowledge than wanda, but wanda's abilities and her exposure to the Darkhold leave her incredibly formidable [ see her almost KOing Thanos BEFORE she touches the damn book ]. i do not think it wise to try and make these two enemies on a battlefield or else everyone else around them pays the price. lmao.

More Useless History Facts:

• Quaff-Aid, or brewer's yeast, was a "hang-over fix" that would be passed around at parties to try and prevent hangovers before they happened. It contained a mixture of vitamins and minerals -- and spoiler alert: it was not always successful lmfao

so like, parties were kinda funky in the fifties. they were a mix of formal and fun. i say this with confidence because on one end they had a "drop by and leave whenever" sort of feel and then on the other they were like, "oh here's a dress code and seating arrangements," type deal. not all parties were the same ofc, but it was interesting how people held parties like they were very important events lol even in their own home. it was apart of life and keeping appearances with peers.

Chex Mix was first created as a party recipe to be made in the home! It became a hit and used more broadly with various recipes in the fifties and did not become a pre-bagged snack until much later.

Masterlist

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Fem!Reader

Summary: Rio is at a loss when one of Agatha’s old enemies comes knocking at her door, and now both of you are on guard as she plays neighbor until you can figure out what she wants.

Content Warnings: Still dark so ensure you take care of yourselves — period-typical views on gender norms and homophobia, misuse of magic [ Rio ], reader has a severe mental breakdown in one of her flashbacks, manipulation, possessive behavior, territorial bastard Rio, Stockholm Syndrome, Pregnancy and symptoms that come with it,

Word Count:

2024

Rio was very agitated.

You were still cozied up on the couch in the living room, television paused on the Tell All episode of your reality show while Tommy’s stiff form slowly moved over to drape across your body, staring hard at the entry way where Rio had disappeared.

The invisible magic that caressed your neck at all times was thrumming with an uncomfortable buzz — burning and restless like a caged panther pacing back and forth.

Whatever who rang the bell was not a Girl Scout, obviously.

You debated leaving it alone for once and letting the witch handle it like you knew she could. Rio was adept and likely had the place warded with an ancient type of magic that most things sensitive to it would steer from or be wary of.

Ah, but would there be any fun in that? You may have decided to wave a white flag and ceased fighting with her, but what was her life [ or yours ] if you didn’t add to her plate once in a while?

“Off,” you told your new companion, nudging your knee gently upwards until the dog reluctantly moved off of the couch and stalked behind you like a shadow.

“Rio?” you called softly, wrapping your sweater-clad arms around one another as you shuffled down the hall to the entry way. The sunlight outlined her form in the entry way.

You knew Rio in the same way she claimed to know you — it was a mirrored understanding of each other and years of memorizing the very molecules of both of yourselves.

She was extremely agitated. She had one hand stretched out against the corner of the doorway, blocking the view and entrance to the visitor of her home. Her stance wasn’t aggressive, but it was deceptively polite — almost friendly.

She stiffed slightly at your call, fingers pressing deep into the fixture that decorated the door to your home as she sent you a brief glance.

Her eyes swirled with a dark green and brown flame.

Normally, the bluer the flame the hotter it is and the more damage it does. But you weren’t sure those rules applied to Rio — most of them didn’t anyway.

Her eyes were quickly off of you and returned to whoever stood at the edge of the doorway, responding to a question asked by a curious, friendly voice.

A head full of fiery red hair popped into your line of view before Rio could block it. “Oh — is this your sister?”

You almost laughed if the recognition of who exactly the fuck this was wasn’t hitting you like a tone of bricks. All in a bag and dropped straight down from a high point of distance.

“No,” Rio replied tightly as you edged forward, Tommy on your heels. You brushed your fingers along his leather collar. The tags jingled with contact. “She’s —“

“I’m her wife,” you announced, releasing Tommy and quickly stepping the rest of the way over. You rest your chin on Rio’s outstretched arm, remaining behind her but making yourself appear in easier view. You tell her your name.

“Wanda, it’s nice to meet you,” she introduces, a smile dimpling her cheeks.

“We know who you are,” Rio responded lowly. Formalities dropped, and an uptick in the breeze outside had you shivering slightly. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Am I?” Wanda interlaces her fingers together. “I suppose so, yes. I made it seem like that.”

She seemed rather whole and put together for a woman who magicked an entire mountain down on top of herself after a fierce battle and using a lot of her powers.

You decided to not comment, instead focusing on burying your nose into Rio’s arm and inhaling her scent.

“What do you want?” the words vibrated against your cheek as you eyed the details of the area around Wanda. The garden needed a better upkeeping in the front.

“I made mistakes,” the once-Avenger confessed, “and I regret them terribly. I’m seeking to make them right.”

You moved your face so that you could see Rio’s expression. You found it to be as blank as a fresh sheet of snow. “This has nothing to do with me. I was not involved nor do I have any care to. The Darkhold is yours, no?”

Wanda tapped her fingers together. “I don’t. Not anymore. I destroyed it when I took out Wundagore. But I went to Westview and looked for Agatha — turns out she was swept away by a detective called Rio Vidal.”

Rio tilted her chin downward dangerously. “Was she, now. I’m surprised they let you back in and didn’t call the government.”

“I used magic to cover my basis.”

A mean smile crossed Rio’s lips. “You didn’t learn the first time?” she asked, condescending. You winced — and oh you were pleased to not be on the end of the time she used for once.

Wanda swallowed. “I regret using it — and I wish I hadn’t been so careless in my grief. But I do need to find Agatha Harkness. She’s . . .”

“I know what she is.” A flash in Rio’s eyes silenced Wanda Maximoff. “You’re not going to find her here. She’s dead.”

Wanda’s face dropped and she slumped visibly. “I see.”

“And even if she wasn’t,” Rio continued, ice starting to creep through her tone like a blade, “I wouldn’t so much as give you a hint. You left her at the mercy of those people with her mind in shambles until I could fix her.”

Wanda curled her lip, a mixture of shame, guilt, and anger rising in her, “She tried to steal from me. I don’t have much of an appreciation for that — especially with my track record. I wasn’t going to let her take what I had.”

“You had won your battle,” Rio rebutted, though she didn’t outright disagree with Wanda’s defense. She was right in that regard — Agatha had played a stupid game against a witch more powerful than her at that time. “What you did to her after was not a fit punishment. She was stuck inside of her own mind and could not escape — she was a slave to the magic that you put upon her just like you did to everyone else in Westview.”

There was a part of you that wishes you could call Rio out at this moment — she was scolding Wanda about breaking some rules of magic and being morally incorrect while at the same time breaking multiple rules of her own nature.

You dug your chin into her arm instead of speaking out, and when she glanced at you, you hoped whatever she saw in your eyes was enough to get to her.

The three of you remained in an awkward, tense silence. Wanda had turned red from her shame and Rio was still posturing in the doorway.

“I made mistakes,” Wanda started, “after Thanos. Big ones that can never be forgiven. But I lost so much to this world and was never given anything in return. How is that fair? Who gets to decide how much loss someone experiences before they break?”

Your heart broke for this woman, who the world sought to fear — the woman from rubble and war and death who never seemed to achieve the peace she seemed to desire the most.

“Death,” Rio said simply. “Death gets to decide. It is not your responsibility to work around Her to try and cheat.”

“I just wanted a family.”

Rio found herself trying not to look at you at all. “I know. But I cannot help you with that. Agatha is gone, Wanda Maximoff, and I am in no position nor have any desire to make an attempt to seek her out in whatever afterlife Death has stolen her to."

The way those words leaked from her . . . the disdain within them was not directed at Wanda in their delivery, but rather like a sharpened dagger aiming for herself.

You ran your chin along her arm in hope she would take some form of comfort in you being close to her, but if she did it went unacknowledged and her muscles stayed stony beneath you.

The unfamiliar weight of a gaze had your attention returning to the Scarlet Witch, who looked at you with a seemingly more tired stance that she did not carry moments before.

"I understand," she finally relented softly, nodding. "Thank you. I am sorry . . . about Agatha."

Rio locked up and regarded the fellow witch coolly, but kept a leash on whatever threatened to rise to surface. "You knew nothing of her," she said shortly, "and her death had nothing to do with you in the end. Agatha's life was lost at her own hand and another's -- not yours."

Wanda tilted her head to the side, just slightly, and you wondered if she had the urge to use her abilities on Rio. If they would even work against her -- and you wondered just how evenly matched they would be should they have to end up on opposite sides of a battle.

"I plan on sticking around for a while," Wanda started as she gestured toward the street with her body. "I will . . . I need to learn how to be human again."

"Think you can handle that without warping everyone around you? Because you will not like what my answer to your actions will be should you decide that course," Rio told her shortly, lips thinning. The dark swirled in her eyes again and a chill swept across your skin despite the warm clothes you were bundled in.

The redhead hesitated, too, it seemed. "No magic," she vowed quietly. "Just living."

Rio glanced at you. No magic, seemed to echo a lot around her head these days.

"I cannot control you," your keeper said slowly as she began to inch the door closed in a way that would end the conversation, "but I will be keeping an eye on you. This is my territory, Maximoff. Tread lightly."

Wanda opened her mouth but Rio slammed the door in her face.

1955

"Go away," you moaned from under the sheets as a chilly hand crept up your naked spine. You were hiding from the shame of last night's events and no amount of seduction would rip you out of hiding.

The New Year's party Rio and you had hosted had been successful. There had not been very many people at all, only around fifteen in total. Her coworkers and their wives or sweethearts. When questioned about your status, you were easily able to lay on the widowed wife tale.

While most parties had a tendency to be formal and therefor fancy, Rio had no such taste and simply passed out invitations at the drugstore and gave a time in which the party would start and that there was no requirement to stay for a certain period.

You had decided on a different spread for the food after Rio had left for work that day. You went with your mother's Swedish meatball recipe and made life simpler on yourself by making finger sandwiches.

Shrimp cocktails were easy to procure -- all you had to do was make those just before the party guests would arrive and have them ready on the coffee table in the living room.

By the time Rio had returned from work with two hours before the party, the house was cleaned obsessively and you had showered and changed twice.

She paused in the kitchen where you were pulling out the Party Mix from the oven and pouring it into the large serving bowl for snacking on later.

"Angel." Rio watched you with hawk-like eye movements as you adjusted the placement of your creation on the table where the shrimp cocktails would be going later. "You are outdoing yourself."

"It's a party you are hosting," you said as you turned to her. She quirked her lips up at you in amusement as she strode toward you. "I decided to do something a little different than what we talked about yesterday."

"Hmm," she murmured as she wrapped her arms around your waist and drew you in for a soft kiss. One, two, three. Then a warm smile when she saw your sparkling eyes. "Whatever my girl wants."

You groaned when the hand ran up your back again. "Rio, please. My skin hurts and if I am forced out from under these covers I may simply vomit everywhere."

The hand paused movement and pressed directly into the middle of your back. "Awe, my poor Angel," the raspy voice responds from above you. Usually a comforting, welcoming sound brought pounding to your head in the moment.

"I shouldn't have had more than the cocktail."

A soft laugh that reverberated through Rio's body down to the hand still glued to your back. You closed your eyes tight and breathed out when the vibration threatened to upheave the uneasy calm in your stomach.

"You had fun," she murmured. You heard the rustle of sheets and covers over your head and you readied yourself for their removal. Cold air overtook the warmth that you once were cocooned in. Soft lips on your temple. "Do you want me to get you some ginger ale and perhaps a painkiller?"

"Please," you moaned, burying your face into the pillow. The lights were off but the light from early morning was piercing.

Rio scritched nails down your tender skin before padding into the master bathroom. You heard her moving around and searching for the painkillers and not long after, the bed dipped.

“Ale?” you slurred, eyes opening to a foggy Rio, still naked and smiling sweetly down at you when you turned over.

“Right here, Angel.” She briefly turned her back to wrap her hand around the neck of the bottle, newly opened and still cold as she helped you sit against the headboard. “Open.”

Your mind wandered to how quickly she gathered everything as she deposited the medicine and washed it down with the ginger ale. You didn’t hear her go downstairs, the loud humming of the fridge being opened and closed. You didn’t so much as hear the stairs creak.

But the drink was ice cold, and the bottle cap still lay atop your side table. Had you drifted back to sleep and lost time? Had she gotten the ginger ale before coming to wake you?

“You’re fading on me again, my sweet,” Rio commented as she pressed the cool glass against your temple. The effect was immediate — it pulled you straight from your own thoughts and you moaned. “That feel good?”

“Mhmm. Everything hurts. I am not a woman of the drink.”

Rio laughed, obviously amused by your lightweight approach to your own hangover as she sat the bottle back down and rubbed the back of your neck. “I suppose not. You enjoyed yourself, though.”

“Did I? I cannot seem to remember.”

And with a crushing reality, you couldn’t. You were sure Rio spoke honestly in that regard — but the last thing you can recall is greeting the last of the guests and enjoying the Swedish meatballs before pouring yourself wine after you finished your shrimp cocktail.

Did two drinks truly do you in?

Your teenage self would be ashamed.

“Hmm, maybe we keep you away from the wine. Or the cocktail mix?” Rio teases, leaning down with pressure keeping the ache at bay to kiss you sweetly.

“I feel as though I must go back to sleep, but I can’t even come to think about how many dishes I must do.” You raised the heels of your palms and rubbed your eyes. “Oh, the vacuuming, too.”

“I will do it, Angel,” Rio, your beloved gentle Rio, announced as though she were taking on a difficult quest in one of those fantasy films you’d seen grow popular lately. “You get some more sleep. Take a bath. But do not touch a dish in that sink or breath near any vacuum in the house.”

Your cheeks turned red as you watched her dress into some slacks from the previous night and a barely buttoned white shirt, hair messy and undone as she smirked at your expression.

“If you feel better, I wouldn’t mind an audience,” she added offhandedly, then broke into laughter when you dove back under the sheets, still in love with your shy nature.

You don’t remember falling back asleep, nor do you remember waking up. What awakens you isn’t a noise or a hand along your back so comforting, this time it’s a taste so foul in the air that you nearly choked on it.

Your head throbbed and the time was barely past noon when you sluggishly peeled away the covers and got into a sitting position. Why was the air so . . . Angry? Sad?

You forced the bedroom windows open on the other side of the bed, letting winter air rush across your skin and into the house.

It only allowed for little more breathing room, but you took whatever you could get. You swiped the bathrobe off of the door and tied it on as you snuck out into the quiet hall.

This was not the quiet you so adored with Rio. The quiet you two had built like a new home that you could fall back on when you needed it.

This was a quiet that was so familiar, with bitter reminders and tension stringing tight.

It lured you down the stairs as you called out for your lover, wondering why such an air filled your home that not even hours ago was happy.

“. . . me to leave you alone. Couldn’t find you, so I gave you what you wanted. Now you seek me out?” Rio, sounding much unlike herself.

You paused at the end of the stairs, hidden from the living room and kitchen both. Waiting.

“Gave me what I wanted,” an angrier [ angry like the air ] reply chortled back, a hard clank of something landing on a surface. “You took whatever you wanted, you mean.”

“I had no choice,” oh how you twitched in place at the pain in your Rio’s tone. How it echoed so freely within her in a way you’ve never heard her speak of before — not about her husband. Not like this. “I do not know how long you wish to punish me for my nature. For what I am.”

You placed a hand smooth on the wall, words spoken sinking into you and only filling you with a spiral of confusion. Nature? What she is?

“For the rest of time,” the other female promised darkly, deep and almost like some sort of contract signed with words rather than pen and paper.

“Why are you here, Agatha?” Rio finally asks after the two of them — her and this Agatha — fall into a pit of tense silence again. Rio sounded more exhausted right now than she ever had since you had met her. 

“I need to have the Road brought back. To be used. I think I’ve been able to master myself again and I want more.”

The Road? Your head was spinning again, and you lowered yourself on the steps before a fall overtook you. Black spots invaded your vision. 

“No.” A firm answer, unmoving and stony.

“Excuse me?”

“I said no, Agatha. I have given you everything and anything I could. Your last and final request of me was to leave you alone and never come to you again — I am fulfilling that request.”

You startled when a shatter and hard creaks groaned across your tiled kitchen floors from the chairs, no doubt. You hoped Rio cleaned the glass.

“Control yourself,” said woman snarled.

“You owe me,” Agatha announced, sounding suddenly closer to the archway of the kitchen that lead to the hall. “You owe me this after — after —“

“He was my son, too,” Rio spoke so lowly that you almost missed what she said at all. Even then, in your foggy state, you were unsure you heard right. “You don’t get to claim what you’re owed when I tried my best even when I prevented it for as long as I could. Because I loved you both, so very much.”

A son. A son. He was my son, too.

Who was this woman to Rio? How deep did her lies go?

“Your claim on him is null,” Agatha spat and hurried footsteps sent you careening upstairs as quietly as you could but it was too late. You heard a disbelieving scoff behind you, and you could not force yourself to keep from looking.

She was wild, and fury, and everything a feminine beauty demanded. She broke all laws of nature and she was dressed in flaring purple robes with a broach on her chest. Her hair was purposefully untamed, her eyes dark with a merciless glare.

Agatha — apparently.

“She found another one, did she?” Purple began to dance around her fingertips and you blinked multiple times.

“I think I may need a hospital,” you said in response, once again collapsing on whatever stair you had been stopped at. You would be sent off to the hospital and never released if Rio decided you weren’t fit anymore.

But the woman you loved so was hovering behind Agatha and suddenly shot forward. “Enough. She��s not like us.”

The glow flickered with Agatha’s arching brow, surprise sprouting on her features with a smirk. But then it ebbed, and her hands dropped. “You’re shacking up with a human woman?”

“Leave, now.” Rio put her body between you and Agatha as though it would help your hallucinations from taunting you. “I gave you an answer, and we have nothing else to say to one another.”

Agatha’s eyes were stormy, but she slammed the door shut behind her as she left.

Rio stared out the window for a moment, eyes flicking back and forth wildly for a brief period of time before she slowly turned to you and narrowed her eyes to study you closely.

But you . . . Were stuck in a motionless state, staring back at her, throat dry and sandpapery as you swallowed.

She went to climb the stairs and you flinched, forcing her to stop.

“Angel,” she said, crooning soft. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“Am I having a terrible dream?” you asked her as she drifted closer slowly, inch by inch, eyes beginning to have a glow around the edges.

“Yes, yes it’s all but a brutal nightmare, my sweet,” she murmured as her fingers trailed up your jawline as she stood over you. “It will all be fine when you awaken. I’ll be there to ease the panic.”

“You never married a man . . . Did you, Rio?” you asked, distantly and blinking at the beautiful woman you had trusted so.

“No, Angel, and you’re incredibly intelligent to come to that conclusion and confront me about it.” A pause as you nodded dreamily. “But I’m afraid you won’t be privy to that when you wake up. I can’t . . . I can’t lose you.”

“Where would I go?”

“Away from me. Something I simply cannot allow.”

“I don’t understand. Why would I leave you?”

“Why indeed?” Rio agrees gently, crouching down on one knee and pressing her lips to your forehead. “That is why I am going to go inside and fix this little tidbit. You never have to worry about being scared around me, or feeling lost.”

You leaned into the woman’s warmth even as her skin gave off a warning chill. You buried your nose into her soft shirt and inhaled this scent that you had come to know as yours.

“So pretty,” Rio murmured as a heaviness threw you into knowing no more.

2024

“Rio my feet hurt,” you called, laying on a thick tone of pleading as you watched her pace like a caged beast near the windows.

Two more episodes of your show and she was less eased after Maximoff had left.

She still donned her robes as if they were armor, but now that cursed dagger was back to being belted on her hip, catching the light whenever she moved into the light and nearly blinding you.

“Rio.”

A pause, glancing at you with darkened eyes as she let them roam you. She hesitated for a few seconds and decided against ignoring your calls again, striding over like a pissed off cat.

She sat down gingerly next to you, the robes fluttering gracefully around her as she took one of your ankles in hand and lifted it into her lap. They felt swollen already and you were barely pregnant.

“You’re in a foul mood.”

“Did you not see the Scarlet Witch parade herself up to our doorstep?”

“What’s she going to do, exactly? Magic some sugar from our cabinets?”

Fingers dug into the fleshy part of your ankle, the only warning you’d receive for the attitude you just gave her. “You’re a smartass.”

“You knocked me up, so you’ll deal with whatever comes with that.” You waved her off and let your neck angle backwards and groaned

As thumbs dug circles into the sole of your foot. “Jesus Christ, Rio.”

“I don’t trust what she’s doing here,” your captor said, eyes watching couples yell at one another on the television screen. “My instincts are telling me something about this is off.”

“Your instinct always tells you that everything is off,” you muttered, cheek resting against the body of the sofa. “Part of being Death, having Deathly duties.”

“You’re mouthy.”

“Why are you so worried? Aren’t you like — I don’t know. Death?” You smirked, lifting your head.

“Yes.” She wouldn’t meet your gaze. “But she is the Scarlet Witch — and that has always been a match against Death.”

Rio and reader will return in part six.

PART SIX

my often forgetful taglist: @dandelions4us , @flow33didontsmoke , @girlsgotissues

[doginprogress]

Ok. Let’s talk lure coursing safety.

A pretty awful accident occurred during the lure coursing at UKC Premier this past week. I wanna make it clear that I cannot and will not be passing any kind of judgement on what happened. I was not there, I do not know many details other than the owner themselves called it a freak accident.

And the truth of lure coursing is that even if/when things are done perfectly, this kind of accident is always a possibility. There is a certain amount of risk you must weigh and decide to take when you decide to let your dog lure course.

1. Mechanical Risks - like with this accident, there is always the possibility for injury when coming in close proximity to a thin, tensioned wire running at speeds upwards of 30+ mph. Line burns on paws and lower legs are not uncommon, and many dogs run muzzled to prevent them from cutting their mouths when trying to bite a moving line. Azula has gotten tangled and line burnt after the line, loosened by wet conditions, popped off a pulley mid run. I myself have scars from some pretty awful line burn after a freak accident while setting up the field.

To help mitigate this risk, the huntmaster should always have a knife or scissors on hand and should be closely watching the dogs running so they can cut the line and release tension at any sign of a tangle. The lure operator should be highly trained and also be keeping out for any sign of danger so they can stop the lure when needed. As a competitor, make sure you are aware of the line at all times. Not only where it is, but when it is and isn’t moving. I try to never move my dog over a moving line, and when I am moving over a line, I am either taking extra tall steps or stepping on it to make sure I don’t trip (but, DO NOT step on a moving line). Try not to grab a line unless absolutely necessary and never ever ever grab a moving line - you will cut through your hands.

2. Other Dogs - lure coursing is one of the few (maybe the only?) dog sports where multiple dogs are competing at the same time potentially hundreds of yards away from their humans. It’s a high arousal and highly competitive environment, and this can lead to conflict between dogs. Sometimes this can be mitigated with muzzles and sometimes the dog should simply not be participating in lure coursing. If it is your dog that is aggressive and putting others at risk, please do not run them in the Open or Specials stakes. Dogs can have just as much fun running in singles and no title is worth potentially endangering your dog and others by running a dangerous dog.

However sometimes the risk comes simply from dogs running together at high speeds. Dogs can unintentionally bump into or trip each other, I’ve seen dogs leap over another in the field, tumble into each other while slowing down, and run into each other when they’re paying too much attention to the lure and not enough to the other dogs on the field. Sometimes unintentional contact happens and it’s important to recognize that too. There’s really not much that can be done in those cases.

3. Field Conditions - heat, rain, snow, height of grass, dry ground, rocks, trees, and the course plan itself can all pose issues when running. The club running the event should be continuously assessing these and doing what they can to alleviate the effects, but there’s a lot that you have to judge for yourself and what you know about your own dog. Wrapping paws or soaking them in water can help minimize injury due to dry ground, soaking a dog in water can help keep them cool on hot days, and knowing how your dog may handle tight turns can help you evaluate whether you should enter based on the plan for the course.

Fields with numerous trees or other obstacles are dangerous for dogs who may be paying more attention to the lure than their surroundings. If you’ve never been to the field before I highly suggest talking to someone was has to get a feel for what to expect.

4. Honest to God Freak Accidents - sometimes shit happens. A dog steps into a hole no one noticed and breaks their leg. A group of deer pop onto the field and your dog takes off after them, disappearing for hours. A dog with no prior indications has a cardiac event mid run, and is gone before anyone can even process that they’ve stopped running.

Sometimes there is absolutely nothing that could have been done differently and things just happen. It unfortunately is part of life and something that can be so hard to accept. Occasionally, there is no rhyme or reason, no blame to lay. When you go to that coursing event and run your dog, you’re entrusting that a lot of the risk has been mitigated for you by those running the event. That’s why it’s so important to know who that is and what experience they have.

But beyond that, you are assuming some amount of gambling by participating in lure coursing. The sport itself has dangers that cannot be managed away. But so does agility, and flyball, and disc, and dock diving, and any other sport of any kind. This does not mean that any of these things should be discontinued, but that you should not take any of these lightly and consider the risks vs the rewards, both personal and for your dog. Lure coursing has unfortunately become fairly available to do on a whim in recent years when it is truly something you should be heavily educated about before choosing to participate.

[hajihiko]

Sobriety crew gets no mercy from drunk shenanigans

[welcometogrouchland]

Noticing that TV and film will often have a character either have had an abortion in the past that isn't showcased on screen (and just used as part of the character's ~fucked up and twisted backstory~) OR contemplate getting an abortion in the present day but not to through with it. Just once I want to see someone delete that fetus within the events of the plot and not be like. Extremely majorly punished for it and/or be in the wrong

[slavhew]

always covered in your tears and their blood.

[oceanwithouthermoon]

ive been unhealthily fixated on kubosai for the past few weeks, i just have no idea how to put it into words. kuboyasu aren and saiki kusuo are in love btw

[shyfurby]

I have not posted any of my analysis to reddit yet and I think I might just post it and ghost it. I've already spent too much time looking at other people's threads on there to feel any way good about interacting with folks.

I already went in an added the "I know you're going to bring this up let me save you the time" section which is exclusively touching on the frequent topics of:

"well what about the fingerprint nostrum and finger mimics? He is clearly just a crackpot"

And

"it's definitely some weird elaborate sacrifice to Metyr thing"

[thedreadvampy]

it's been a strange arc so far

when I was 19-21 and having an extremely imbalanced relationship with someone in their mid 30s I was like 'we are both adults so the fact that this is fucking me up is my fault'

when I hit my late 20s and saw how young people in their late teens and early 20s seem now I was like 'oh wait I was so fucking young I didn't know shit about my own limits or about managing relationships and I don't know why someone in their mid to late 30s would be into that except for nefarious purposes'

the weird bit is now I'm into my 30s - not even that far into my 30s - and while I still wholeheartedly believe that last thing about how young (and self destructive) 20 year olds are, I'm also kind of like 'huh, actually nobody I know that age has their shit remotely together and frankly the reason this fucked me up is because NEITHER of us knew what the fuck we were doing it how to cope, for different reasons and at different life stages, and there probably wasn't any malice or intent to control as much as there was Blind Flailing.'

[narcopathyfiles]

empathy like the actual experience of it is so interesting to read about it makes me feel like i'm 9 again and looking at stuff about mythological creatures. like it sounds so impossible and fascinating to me.

[nobodieshero-main]

NOBODY MOVE I'M HAVING POSITIVE THOUGHTS ABOUT MORDRED AND ATLAS.

[yoshistory]

part of me still feels like i might be sort of genderfluid and/or bisexual but just traumatized about it. no idea anymore