#is he desperately speaking for an absent god?

[immortalbumblebee]

Chapter 19: Heart of Gold

Figured the Vander fandom could use a lil' treat right about now, so here's my gift to all of you! Fingers crossed for Act 3 tomorrow!

(Also yes, two updates in a single week. Points to me!)

THIS IS SMUT! 18+! MINORS DNI PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

Masterlist

“You hungry at all? Think we’ve got some leftovers I can warm up for y’.” He asks once you step through the threshold, shutting the door behind you. The apartment feels eerily empty without the others, despite the mountains of stuff that litter the floor space and every perceivable surface. But the homey warmth is welcomed after your bitterly cold walk home. You feel your cheeks begin to warm, sense coming back into them. You’ve hidden your hands in the large sleeves of Vander’s jacket, but still curl your fingers as warm blood begins to flow back into them.

You shake your head. “Maybe some water, if you don’t mind? And find where we put the bandages?” You ask. You’ll have to put fresh plasters on your injuries after your shower. 

“Of course!” Vander nods, and once the door lock clicks, he turns back to face you. He stands there for a moment, hands in his pockets and shuffling his weight from foot to foot, and looking down at you without saying anything. The air felt thick, charged, like something still hung between you, unresolved. So much so that it took you a solid moment to even realize you were doing much the same, just stupidly looking up at him. You found yourself wanting to say something, to bridge the space, but the words felt too small, too fragile. So, you just stood there. Time stretched, thick with everything that had been said, and everything that hadn’t. All that was left was the weight of your shared space, now too big for the both of you. The seconds slipped by, silent and heavy, until you weren’t sure if it was you or the room that was holding its breath. 

Finally, it’s Vander that speaks first, pulling the world back into motion. “You’re sure you’re alright?” It should be a simple question, but it feels like a lifeline thrown across a gap.

You shift, unknowingly taking a small step towards him, and the tension in your chest that you hadn’t even realized was there begins to lessen. You feel his gaze on you soften, but your own gaze is still absent-mindedly locked on his feet.

“I’m fine now,” you breathe out. Your voice barely more than a whisper. “Promise.” There was a long pause after that—no rush to fill the silence with anything else. But then he takes a step towards you, closing the physical space, and a gentle knuckle moves your chin up to meet his gaze. Something in his eyes—something raw, desperate—mesmerizes you and you suddenly can’t move your eyes away, locked in on the storming gray. 

Wordlessly, he extends his hand. You have to shove the sleeve of his jacket up your arm in order to meet his touch with your own, the large calloused hand easily enveloping yours. His thumb brushed over my knuckles once, twice, each touch like a promise, soft but knowing. Still silent, he lifts your hand to his lips. The warmth of his breath ghosts over your wrist before he pressed a soft kiss to the plaster, the touch lingering, gentle, reverent. Then, with gentle fingers, he opens your hand to press it against the warmth of his cheek. Despite your best attempts to keep your hands warm outside, the warmth of his cheek burns at the winter-bitten skin of your fingers, and his stubble brushes against the meat of your palm. 

His eyes closed, just for a moment, and in the stillness, there was something…but you couldn’t put a name to the feeling that filled that entryway to your shared apartment. Meditation? Thoughtfulness? A prayer? An apology? Whatever it was, you stayed, refusing to pull away but fighting the urge to bury yourself in his chest and stay there for an eternity. Thankfully, you don’t have to fight the urge for too long as he eventually does lower your hand, giving it one last, soft, reassuring squeeze before lowering it back to your side.

“I’ll get that water for you, Love.” He says with a smile, snapping you out of your daze. You couldn’t read the expression on his face. Somewhere between sad and thankful. “Go and wash up.” 

“Right.” You nod. Showering! Showering is good! In all your romantic kissy-faces to each other, you’d almost forgotten the reason you had been itching to return home so quickly. You quickly peel off his jacket, handing it back to him before bending down to unlace your boots. As you do, you’re quickly reminded of the coolness of your apartment as it hits your very exposed flesh all at once. Gods, you needed to get out of these fighting clothes. Would it be too dramatic to say you wanted to burn them? Maybe. But the thought still crossed your mind. 

The steam that wrapped around you was almost like a blanket, the warmth of the water a slow, soothing balm against your aching bones. The hot spray cascading from the top of your head, and pouring down your neck and over the skin of your back. Lazily, you’d lifted an arm and watched as the water washed away the dirt and grime from the past few hours, leaving behind murky trails as the droplets rolled down your skin. 

You shouldn’t be taking too long in the shower, you knew this. The boilers for your apartment building were old, and tended not to hold much hot water. But the minute you felt the heat seep into your muscles, you were hypnotized. Closing your eyes, you turned and let the water flow down your hair and into your face, the sound of rushing water drowning out any and all noise from the world outside. It hurts a little when the water hits your nose, shocking you out of your peace and making you step back away from the stream. 

Right, you think to yourself, your injuries. Had to work around those…

You look down at your damaged wrists, the raw, angry skin still tender from the rough treatment, and a small annoyance flickers in your chest. How are you supposed to wash your hair when you can’t even get soap in the wounds? Your fingers hover near the shampoo bottle, but your mind veers off, lost in a different memory. The shackles. You can almost feel the cold, unforgiving metal around your wrists again, the way they had bitten into your skin, rubbing it raw with every movement, tethering you in a way that was both physical and psychological. The sensation of being bound, unable to escape, floods your thoughts, and the anxiety tightens in your chest.

You breathe deeply, pushing the memories away as best you can. Your gaze shifts to the temperature dial of the shower, and your fingers flex, tentative, before flicking your wrist just so. The heat of the water rises, just a touch more, and as it hits your skin, it’s like a switch flips. The tension in your hands begins to ease, the deep ache in your muscles loosening, like a rusted hinge moving for the first time in ages after being oiled.

There’s a knock at the door that snaps you out of your thoughts, and you call out an invitation to come in. 

“Just wanted to check in,” Vander calls, “makin’ sure everything’s alright.”

You respond quickly, without even thinking. “Yup, I’m all good!” But another look at the shampoo bottle reminds you of your predicament. “...actually…could I ask a favour?” An uncomfortable feeling rises in your chest, the dread of having to depend on someone else for something so simple as washing your hair. 

The door clicks as Vander steps inside. “Of course, whatever you need.”

“I-” you exhale a sigh of annoyance, “I think I need help washing my hair. My wrists…”

You don’t need to say any more before Vander starts stripping himself of his clothes, the sound of rustling fabric and his belt hitting the tile floor. The rushing water is almost enough to drown out the self-deprecating thoughts that trickle into your mind, and the sound of your heartbeat skipping in your ears as he climbs in behind you. 

He doesn’t say anything at first, but you feel his hands on your body. His fingers swiping over the various discoloured bruises that now decorate your skin, some from Sevika, some from the Enforcers.  You can feel the weight of their gaze, full of care, but also something else—concern, maybe even guilt. “I promise, I’m fine.” You say as you turn around to face him, and his eyes immediately shift to your nose. You didn’t realize he was so close to you, your chests basically pressed to one another once you’ve turned to face him. “You and I both know I’ve been through worse.”  His eyebrows lift a little and he nods, muttering “fair enough,” as he detaches his hands and bends down to the shampoo he knows is yours. 

“I’m sorry to ask so much of you.” You blurt as he pours out the bottled liquid. But he just gives you a knowing look.

“It’s you, Doll,” he smiles, and you realize it’s the first genuine smile you’ve seen from him all night. “You could never ask too much of me.”

Your heart skips all over again.

As he begins working the shampoo into your hair, you find yourself leaning into the feel of his fingers. They’re a little awkward, clearly not used to doing this for someone else, but his touch feels heavenly as they rub into your scalp. Your eyes shut, but your hands latch onto his hips to help keep you steady. It doesn’t take him long to work the solution into your short-cut hair, and he ever so gently tilts your head back into the shower’s stream to wash it away.

“That cut to your nose’ll scar nicely.” He remarks as his hands keep busy in your strands.

“Like it?” You tentatively open one of your eyes and smirk. “At least my muzzle’s not quite as mashed as yours.”

He chuckles lowly. “We’re still young, Minnie. Give it a few more years, and we’ll see who’s talking. Besides,” he tips your head back up, but his hands stay entangled in your hair, “even with all the broken cartilage in the world, and every scar imaginable, you’re still gorgeous compared to my ugly mug.”

A heat rises through your chest that has absolutely nothing to do with the steaming shower, and suddenly, your retort about how much you hate that stupid nickname has vanished from your mind. Instead, you force a roll of your eyes and gently swat at his side with a scoff. 

“Oh fuck off, so not true.” 

“I think it is.” He smiles, his eyes locked on yours as a small smile pulls at his lips. “Besides, can’t blame a man for trying to flatter his girl.” 

Your eyebrows fly up into your hairline. “‘Yours’, huh?”

He hums in confirmation, his thumb brushing at the base of your skull. The touch sends a shiver down your spine, and your breath catches in your throat. He smirks as he confirms, “mine.” There’s no questioning tone or uncertainty, it’s matter-of-fact. Before you even have time to think of a proper response, he’s bending down to retrieve the soap. 

He rathers the bar in his hands, his eyes flickering back and forth up to yours, searching yours, as if asking for permission. The tension in the air is palpable, the space between you thick with hesitation. You nod, just once, barely, but it’s enough. He moves with practiced care, gently moving one sudsy hand to your shoulder. You can feel the bubbles wiping away the remnants of the grime and sweat, but you don’t move your eyes away from Vander. His, on the other hand, scans over every inch of you as he continues to move his hand over your skin. The moment his hands reach for your wrists, you flinch, instinctively pulling back, but he stops—just for a beat, letting you adjust, giving you a moment. His touch is careful, soft as he moves away from the tender wounds.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place. “I should have done something to stop them, to help you.”

You don’t say anything at first, letting him continue to work the soap into your torso. You can feel his hands pause for just a moment around your chest, almost out of habit, before continuing to slide over your sides. Then you lift your hands to his shoulders, stilling him. You search his expression, guilt coming up to the surface and written all over his furrowed brow. You’re looking for something, anything to indicate the right thing to say to him. But then you're moving to your tip-toes, and your hands are sliding around him, pulling his lips down to meet yours. 

Your lips are gentle. There’s no heat, no rush, to the kiss but he melts into it all the same. There’s a small, echoed, ‘thump’ as the soap falls to the floor of the shower and his hands encircle your waist. He’s gentle, careful, but pressed you into him. Not unsure or uncertain, just careful of the way your body moves with his touch.

Eventually, you pull away, but he refuses to let you go, and keeps the closeness between you even tighter as he gently presses his forehead to yours. You can feel his breath fanning over your face, and his strong grip keeping you firmly in place. The hot water from the shower streams down your back, and the combined heat from the steam and the shared warmth of his body radiating into both of you. When you do eventually separate, it’s only thanks to a firm hand on his chest that he lets you pull away.

“I think I can handle it from here.” You smile a little to yourself. “I’m 90% sure we’re about to run out of hot water, and I’d really rather that not happen while I’m in here. Is it okay if I meet you out there?”

There’s something like a low growl deep in his chest, and he pulls you in one more time, this time to press a gentle, tender kiss to your wet hair. One of your hands finds its way to his chest, the pads of your fingers tracing over the lines of his muscles appreciatively for a moment longer than strictly necessary before he takes a step back. 

“Take all the time you need, Love.” He smiles, squeezing your hand one final time before stepping out. You let him take your hand with him, until the very last moment before he disappears behind the curtain. 

As you predicted, it takes next to no time at all for you to finish washing up. You quickly dry off and dress in a much comfier set of clothes, but you’re still toweling off your hair as you step out of the bathroom and into the apartment at large. As you could have guessed, Vander’s sitting there, patiently, on the couch with a first aid kit on standby.

“You didn’t have to actually wait for me.” You explain. “And you really don’t have to help patch me back up.” 

“Oh, please,” Vander scoffs and waves you off, “you’ve patched me up plenty, it’s only right if I return the favour every once in a while.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, but take the spot next to him nonetheless, smiling as he grabs the antiseptic from the kit. His movements are calm, but a little unsure. Usually it’s him getting patched up, not the other way around. You watch him, the quiet comfort of their presence filling the space between you.

He focuses on your wrists first, his hands gentle as they begin cleaning and dressing your wounds. There’s no rush in the way he works, no sense of urgency, just the steady rhythm of their touch. The coolness of the ointment soothes your skin, and for a moment, you forget the discomfort, focusing instead on the simple act of being cared for. His fingers graze your arm as they adjust the bandage, warm and reassuring.

The silence between you isn’t heavy anymore. It’s easy, companionable, a shared moment of quiet that feels more like a pause than anything else. You lean back into the cushions, finally able to relax, the weight of the day starting to lift, if only for a little while. And in that space, with them beside you, you feel happily reassured, content even.

“You don’t have to apologize, you know.” You break the silence. His hands pause over the bandages for a moment, indicating he heard you, but his gaze doesn’t lift to meet yours. “You did help me. I’m assuming it wasn’t Silco’s idea to get my mom and Niya involved.”

He shrugs, wrapping the second bandage around your other wrist. “It was Silco who said that if we were seen anywhere topside, we’d get thrown in jail with you.” For such a large man, it was surprising when his voice was this small.

“He was probably right.” You nod, and lift your already-bandaged hand to cup his cheek. “But you still found a way to help me. What matters right now is that I’m safe, here with you, and everyone down here’s okay.”

He leans into your touch for a moment, shutting his eyes. He seems to be thinking to himself for a moment, then sighs, nods, and turns his attention back to bandaging you up. You drop your hand. 

“Suppose you’re right.” He mumbles, practically a whisper, and he looks up to give you a thankful smile. One you’re more than happy to return.

“When am I not?” 

To this, he can’t help but chuckle, and he gives you a knowing look, one that makes the air feel lighter, more peaceful. There’s something about his presence, the way he handles you with care, that feels grounding, even comforting. As he finishes with your wrist, he finally turns his attention to your nose. This one’s easy, shorter work, as he simply dabs on the last of the antiseptic and sticks a plaster to the bridge of your nose, just under your eye line. 

As he finishes tending to you, his hands remain steady, not moving away, not yet. He looks up at you, eyes soft, searching for a sign—anything that might let him know you're ready for him to pull away. But you don’t want him to. Instead, you happily let him move closer to you, his body pressing against yours as he captures your lips in a tender, passionate kiss. His arms wrap around you, pulling you in tightly as his mouth moves over yours, a mix of tenderness and hunger in his touch. Time seems to slow down as his mouth moves over yours, the kiss slow and languid, as if he wants to savor every moment. His hands gently caress your face, fingers tracing the outline of your jaw as he kisses you tenderly.

He takes his time, exploring your mouth with a gentle but firm tongue, mapping out every contour. He moves from your lips to your ears, his breath hot on your skin as he whispers sweet nothings, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the length of your neck that make your toes curl. Your hands snake around to the back of his head, your fingers gripping into his hair and successfully drawing out a moan from him. This makes you smirk, but you’re surprised when he quickly pulls his face away from you.

“When do you have to be at work?” He asks, voice husky but concern written on his face.

You shake your head. “I don’t, I booked today off in case the fight went sideways. You?”

His concern melts away into a gleeful smile, his arms enveloping your torso as he lifts you up with absolutely no effort, sitting back to lean against the arm of the couch and pulling you into his lap, your thighs straddling his. “Not until tonight.”

Gods bless!

You dip your face back to meet his lips again, letting a moan ring out at the contact. The kiss is slow and somewhat tentative at first, and it’s clear he wants to be gentle with you. But more and more as your kiss continues to deepen, he quickly becomes more confident until he inevitably dips his head back down to the crook of your neck. But he still moves slowly, taking his time to taste and touch, his mouth finding the sensitive spots on your neck, the hollow of your collarbone, and the slope of your shoulder. His mouth sears a path of pleasure as his hands continue to wander over your body, exploring every dip and curve. His stubble scratches you in the most delectable way. 

He worships you with his touch, as if he wants to memorize every inch of you, to commit the feel of your skin to his memory. It feels like every touch of his lips is your own personal heaven, your hand dropping to his shoulder and gripping, your chest heaving as your breath becomes more and more laboured. Damn this man, damn him and his memory of every little nerve ending in your body. 

As his hands move under the fabric of your shirt, you give him a silent nod of approval, letting him slide the material up and off your torso and not carrying where into the depths of your home he throws it. He pulls away, just for a moment, as his hands slide up and cup your breasts, his eyes scanning over every inch of you. “Best fuckin’ tits either side of the bridge, I swear to the Gods…” This makes you giggle a little, which only makes his smile grow even wider. 

“Shut up and kiss me again, idiot.” You laugh, using your magic to pull him in by the metal studs in his vest. He’s only too happy to follow orders, crashing his lips to yours once again.

Your hands run up his chest, helping him out of his vest and he thankfully takes the hint, pulling his shirt over his head. You take the moment to shimmy out of the pajama shorts you’d only just gotten dressed into as he begins to fiddle with his belt. It only takes a second for you to flick your finger, and the belt unloops itself and goes flying towards the bedroom. He gives you a knowing look.

“What?” You shrug as he resumes discarding his pants. “What’s the point of having these damn powers if I can’t use them, hm?”

“Lil’ trouble maker.” He tsk’s but very shortly pulls you right back to his lap.

His strong, muscular chest pressed up against your own, the feeling of skin against skin sending a wave of heat through both of you. He kisses you with a fervor and intensity that takes your breath away, his hands holding you tightly against him, as if he's scared to let you go. You feel as desired and wanted as you've ever been, every touch and kiss from him making you weak in the knees and stealing all rational thought from your mind. In all your years, you’ve never once felt quite as desired as you do with Vander. Similarly, it takes only a mere touch from him to make your knees weak and your mind go empty. Simply put, it’s just…him. And he’s the only one you want. 

The thought, and the pure intimacy of it all, is enough to make your hips begin to grind down on their own accord. You can feel how he’s pressing into you, how hard and perfectly shaped he is against your body. His hand finds your hip, steadying you and catching your gaze in a questioning look.

“Sure you’re up for this tonight, Love?” He asks, thumb rubbing softly against your pelvis bone. But all you’ve got to do is smile and dip down to capture his lips as you tilt your hips and scoot closer, for him to let out a full-body shiver and grab your hips with both hands, and thrust fully into you. You moan out a slew of curses as your body writhes against his, everything else ceasing to exist as he fills you. Getting lost in his embrace, his face finds your neck again and begins to pepper kisses across the skin. You feel the desperate need for friction, a primal urge taking control, but you're already so sensitive and overwhelmed from the initial stretch that you know you need time to adjust. He groans, a deep, guttural thing, when you finally take all of him, and the sound drives through you, making your core tighten in response. Your own self-restraint crumbles, and your hips move on their own accord, silently pleading for him to finally give in and begin the movement you both crave. Thankfully, he seems unable to resist, his own hips moving to match your rhythm until you hit the pace you need, causing pleasure to crash into you.

His strength is absolutely an asset, his hands helping to guide your hips up and down as you begin to slowly ride him. Your mind was already practically spinning, moans and curses tumbling from your lips as he dragged in and out of your warmth. Your hands find his shoulders (fuck, he has nice shoulders), a desperate attempt to ground yourself and bite back the urge to dig your fingernails into his skin.

“So-fuck–” you whine, almost pathetically, “so fucking full.”

The sound sends a shockwave through Vander, all but ramming himself deeper into you in a way that feels like it breaks your brain. But you both feel it, the desperate hunger for more. 

“That’s right. You take me so well, don’t you, Love?” He moans into your skin, pulling away from your neck to take in the sight of you on his lap. Somehow, seeing his eyes, seeing the way he looks at you; like water to a man parched, like your the greatest treasure you could hope to find. Mesmerized by the pleasure on your face and the way your tits bounce as you move against him. It feels wonderfully perfect, and all you can do is moan and nod, each time your hips snap down, sending a fresh wave of ecstasy through your body.

He’s relentless, his hips grinding against yours like he owns you, and there’s a sense of ownership in his actions, as if he’s claiming you as his own. He lets out a growl against your ear, and the sound of it sends a shiver down your spine. He’s wild and intense, and the pleasure he’s giving you is so much more than you ever thought possible. You cling to him, your fingers digging into his back as you hold on for dear life, overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensations.

At this point, any semblance of gentleness is long gone, replaced with the primarily urge, the exquisite electrical feeling that buzzes through both of you. You’re riding him with every intention of chasing both of your releases, every thrust down having him gripping your hips harder and harder to the point where you’re half-aware of the bruises you’re sure to have after. He dips back to the crook of your shoulder one last time, licking up the length of your neck with the flat of his tongue before suddenly, the piercing feeling of his teeth against your shoulder shocks through you. You shriek in the mix of pain in pleasure, letting your head roll back to allow him more access. 

“Mine.” He growls into your ear. “Understood?” 

“Fuck-yes!” You cry, feeling the coil in your lower stomach begin to tighten. “Yours. All of me, all that I am, yours.”

Fuck it. Right now, right here. All you needed was him. 

He’s driving you crazy with a pleasure more intense than you could have imagined, his body moving against yours with a raw, primal force. With each deep, hard thrust, you feel him claiming you, leaving you completely at his mercy, and the sense of submission only adds to the pleasure coursing through you. It’s as if he knows your body better than you do, and he’s able to draw out every ounce of pleasure from you. Knowing you’re both on the brink, he reaches out, grabbing one of your hands and pressing a kiss to your palm, then your bandaged wrist, then your arm, then where he just marked his teeth into your skin, all the way back to claim your lips. It’s maddening and intoxicating all at once, it’s perfect, and you find yourself being flown over the edge.

“That’s-” he lets out his own string of curses as you tighten around him, “that’s it, that’s it! So fucking good!”

Your mind is so fried from your orgasm that you barely register him all but throwing you onto the couch, didn’t even register the feel of the fabric on your back. But you most definitely felt him suddenly thrusting back into you, hooking one of your legs over your shoulder to allow him full and complete access to you. He’s more than happy to press kisses to the inside of your thigh, which mixed with the fully lewd sounds of his quickened pace, is enough to get you fully sex drunk and delirious as he continues to plow into you. 

“Gods, you look so-” he bites your thigh, and the same shriek escape your throat, combined with your drunken moans and whines, and it’s enough to make him groan deeply into the flesh he’s biting. “Fuck, I’m gonna-”

“Please!” You whine, voice cracking as your hands balling into fists as your mind struggles to comprehend the amount of pleasure flowing through you right now. “I need it, need to feel it! Vander, please!” That’s more than enough to ruin him, Vander dropping your leg so he could crash down and kiss you as he buried himself deep into you with one final thrust. You felt him groan against your lips and claw at your hips as he emptied himself into you, his chest rising and falling with each panted breath. 

You remain wrapped up in each other's embrace as several minutes pass, your lips moving against one another’s in a satisfied and languid kiss until he finally pulls away to catch his breath. He gasps for air, his warm breath fanning across your collarbone and sending a shiver through you.

Eventually, he can finally speak again, and he releases a deep, satisfied moan, “Fuuuuuck, that was good.” He manages to lift himself up slightly, gazing down at you with eyes filled with an adoring love, as they reach for your hand, their fingers brushing over your knuckles with a tenderness that makes your heart warm. You smile back at him, feeling giddy and blissful. “You alright, Love?”

Taking a deep, calming breath yourself as your consciousness slowly returns to you, you slide your hands up around his neck. “Oh Gods, yeah.” You laugh, and the smile he cracks is so wide, you’re sure he’s going to hurt himself. His head bends down, peppering your face full of kisses until you’re giggling and pushing him away. “...We should probably maybe move off the couch, though…and maybe grab our clothes before the guys get back.”

He whines a little, but concedes. “Right, yeah, hang on…”

Bless him, he carefully maneuvers you into your room, masterfully managing to stay completely in you until you’re laying on your bed. Then, with one final kiss, you feel him pull out before wandering back to the living room to collect all your things as you begin to clean yourself. It takes mere moments, but it feels like ages until he’s back in the room with you, tucking the both of you into your blankets as you begin to seep into the cozy warmth of your shared bodies. 

For a while, you just sit there, the two of you wrapped in warmth and quiet. Every now and then, he gently adjusts the blanket around you, their touch always light, always careful, like he’s trying to wrap you in comfort from every direction. You laugh softly when he tries to adjust your pillow for the third time, but it’s a light, easy sound, one that feels like things are returning to normal again.

You lean into him, your head resting on his shoulder, and he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. The room feels full of little moments like this—touches that reassure, smiles that say everything without needing to be said. You’re not sure how long you stay like that, but time feels slower, softer, in the best way. The world outside seems distant, like you’re tucked away in this small bubble of calm, where everything feels safe and cared for.

It’s simple, it’s quiet, but in that space, it’s everything.

[ineffable-hyperfixation]

As a religious person I immediately assumed God was just....being God?

God is omnipotent, they set the earth to spinning, and while sometimes they give a nudge here or there, they let their creations have free will

This would include the ethereal beings

I have this hc that She told Aziraphale to "protect everything in my garden" and he's been doing that all along 😉

(my other hc is that God is....sleeping? I guess is a good word for it? Or somehow a little.....gosh insane is a rather blasphemous word lol but the Job minisode kinda hammers home that she's a little....not ok. So maybe that's when everything went a little....wrong in heaven)

Did anyone else, when reading Good Omens, think that part of the point was that it’s unclear whether or not God exists in-universe? Like, there’s these two superpowers with incredibly similar bureaucracies (which run as not-at-all-thinly-veiled metaphors for the USSR and the US) and everyone in both bureaucracies—Hell as well as Heaven—are obsessed with figuring out God’s endgame. Said bureaucracies are both not very good at doing their actually job or even knowing what’s going on most of the time. And the literal end of the earth is attended by Satan (leader of Hell) and….Metatron, the Voice of God. When God doesn’t show up to Armageddon, I just assumed that meant God didn’t exist. Or at least, that part of the point is that everyone’s constantly reacting to an entity that may or may not actually exist but they build their whole lives around Him anyway.

Was this just my weird intrinsic agnosticism or did other people read it that way too?

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Heaven High (logan)

Summary: Logan tells you how much he adores you.

WC: 1K

Warnings: angst

A/N; there was a mistake that I placed this under a fluff. I was mistaking it with another Logan fic that I have in the works. I apologize.

Read on Ao3!

Want to be tagged in future fics?

The quiet hum of the hospital room buzzed in your ears, a dull contrast to the chaos roaring in your heart. You laid still, eyes half-lidded, body fragile and weak. The steady beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound marking time, but you didn’t need to hear it to know the truth. Time was running out.

Logan sat by your side, his calloused hand wrapped around yours. His thumb absently traced circles over your skin, a soothing rhythm he had adopted without thinking, like he was trying to will your heart to beat a little longer. He didn’t say much; he never did when the silence felt this heavy. But you knew he was there. He always was.

“Logan…” you whispered, your voice a raspy shadow of what it once was. The simple act of speaking felt like it took more energy than you had left.

He turned his head toward you instantly, his expression softening at the sound of your voice. The fierce intensity he carried everywhere, the weight of the world he seemed to bear on his shoulders, faded for a moment as his gaze met yours.

“Hey,” he said softly, leaning closer. His voice was gravelly, rough around the edges like everything about him, but there was warmth in it that only you ever really got to hear. “Don’t talk. Just rest.”

A weak smile tugged at the corners of your lips, but the effort was too much. “I don’t… have time to rest,” you murmured, your chest aching with the weight of what was coming. “Not anymore.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his face tightening as if he could physically stop the truth from sinking in. He had fought for you—God, how he had fought—but not even the Wolverine could win this battle. His healing factor couldn’t heal you.

“You don’t get to talk like that,” he growled, though there was no real anger behind his words. Just pain. The kind of pain he couldn’t fix, and it was tearing him apart. “You’re not done yet.”

You closed your eyes briefly, trying to summon the strength to push through, if only for him. The man who had been your rock, your shelter in the storm. The man who had loved you in ways he hadn’t thought he was capable of.

“I wish…” Your breath caught, and Logan immediately reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle. “I wish I could stay longer. With you.”

He didn’t say anything at first, but his grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, as if holding you a little closer would keep you from slipping away. His brows furrowed, the strain of holding it together evident in the tense line of his mouth.

“You’re not leavin’ me yet,” he said, his voice low, almost desperate. “I’m not lettin’ you go.”

A tear slid down your cheek, the weight of your reality settling between the two of you like a shadow you couldn’t escape. You had been through so much together—more battles than either of you could count, more heartache than most could endure. But this? This was the fight Logan couldn’t win.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words breaking your heart as much as his. “I’m sorry I can’t stay.”

Logan’s breath hitched, and for the first time since you had known him, you saw the crack in his armor. The Wolverine, unbreakable, unstoppable—shattered.

“Don’t say that,” he choked out, his hand trembling slightly as he cupped your face. “You don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t ask for this.”

You let out a soft, shaky breath, your hand reaching up weakly to cover his. His skin felt rough under your fingertips, but it was warm—comforting. You had always felt safe with him, even when the world around you had been anything but.

“I wish I could tell you… how much you’ve meant to me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “How much I love you.”

Logan closed his eyes, his forehead pressing gently against yours. He stayed like that, silent for a moment, as if trying to memorize the feel of you, the sound of your breath, the warmth of your skin. When he pulled back, his eyes were glassy, filled with emotions he couldn’t contain any longer.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he murmured, his voice raw, breaking. “I know. I’ve always known.”

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you gazed up at him. Even now, even with the end so close, you couldn’t help but marvel at the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

“Good,” you breathed, closing your eyes for a moment, feeling the exhaustion pulling at you. “Because I adore you, Logan. I hope… I hope the heavens know how much.”

Logan’s grip on your hand tightened, his thumb brushing over your knuckles like he could hold you there with him just a little longer. He looked away for a moment, as if he couldn’t bear to hear those words. But then he turned back, his voice a broken whisper as he leaned closer to you.

“They know,” he rasped, his lips brushing your temple. “And if they don’t… I’ll make sure they do.”

A tear slipped down his cheek, but you were too weak to wipe it away this time. You just stared up at him, your vision fading, but all you could see was him—the man who had been so much more than a hero to you. He had been your everything.

“Logan…”

“I’m right here, darlin’,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. Not without you.”

You smiled weakly, your eyelids fluttering as the world grew dimmer. You wanted to say more, to tell him just how much he had saved you—how much his love had meant. But the words wouldn’t come. Your breath was shallow now, the end closer than ever.

Logan stayed there, holding you close, his own heart breaking as yours faltered.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “More than I ever knew how to say.”

And as your eyes finally closed, you felt his lips press against your skin, his voice the last thing you heard before the darkness took you.

“I hope heaven knows how much I adore you too.”

[catcze]

N.sfw

//////

You cannot convince me Wriothesley could keep his mouth shut while getting head. Every time is just like the first, he's going to moan with a softness that's absent from his normal speaking voice, his hand buried in your hair as he shakily urges you onward... And if you just... Stopped? The Duke might be gruff when it comes to business, but with his lover, he's not going to use force. He's going to bite his lip, squeeze his eyes shut and swallow his pride before letting out the most desperate little "Please.."

NSFW!! 18+ ONLY !!

Oh?? My god ?? Dude this has lived rent-free in my brain this whole day I hope you know.

Goodness, yk, I can see Wrio as the kind of person who prefers to give rather than receive, you know? Who gains pleasure from knowing that you're feeling good. It's not often that you get to go down on him, but oh each time is worth remembering.

Fuck, and can you imagine the small, aborted thrusts? Ones that he can't help, so desperate from the feeling of your mouth just there. How, against his better efforts, his body is so desperate for you to take him deeper into your throat that he twitches and jerks even as he tries to keep still because he doesn't want to be rough with you.

Wriothesley who pants, voice raspy as he says your name so sweetly, the word practically a plea. His whole body is tense, like a coiled spring taut with restraint. A flush is high on his cheeks and sweat drips from his brow just from you cockwarming him with your mouth.

"Sweetheart, you're killing me here," he says, voice shaky as he chuckles. He had thought it harmless to let you have your fun when you asked earlier, but oh, he hadn't expected this.

The hand still in your hair goes to cup your jaw, feeling the way your mouth stretches open around his length, and gently guides you to look up up up at him so he can meet your eyes. And the sight of you on your knees, between his thighs and looking up at him with his hard length in your mouth— the slightest of quirks to your lip like you know how desperate you've made him— nearly makes him cum right then and there.

Wriothesley barely manages to hold his shit together, but his cock twitches in your mouth, betraying how badly he needs you.

"Baby." His voice is so so so breathless, so raspy. His thumb rubs against your bottom lip, and the slightest of moans escapes him when your tongue flicks against the underside of his cock. "Don't tease— Sweetheart don't tease me, please. I'm already so hard for you, it hurts."

And it's true— Wriothesley looks nearly delirious from how badly he wants to be deeper in your throat— looks like he'd beg a thousand more times, would whine your name and tell you how good you look as much as you want, if only to get another inch in your mouth. So you have mercy on him, and after a deep breath, you sink down the rest of his length, until he's so deep in your throat that you gag— and with a choked yell of your name, Wriothesley's cock jerks as he cums, flooding your mouth and throat with the taste of his spend.

[senualothbrok]

Mortal pleasures

Summary: Gale has shown you how gods bond in the astral. Now, you show him how good mortal pleasures can be.

Word count: 2.1k

AO3 link

Disclaimers: NSFW. 18+. Smut. Gale x female Tav/reader.

More disclaimers: Oral sex (blow job). Vaginal fingering.

A/N: This fic is long overdue, because I am a Gale-deserves-a-blow-job truther. Dedicated to @practicallydeadinside-blog who I love more than words can describe!

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

“And that’s how I got this baby.” Karlach smacks the scar on her right thigh with a grin. 

You nod absently. You can barely make out the jests that roar around your companions, their faces illuminated only by the campfire you huddle around on this spring night. Your focus is on him alone.

Gale’s gaze is sharp and hot, his lips curled in a sideways smile. He tilts his head ever so slightly. You do not move your eyes from him. It does not escape you, the dart of his tongue through the briefest parting of his mouth. You bite your lip.

Astarion coughs, slapping his knees as he rises. “And with that revolting tale, I think it’s time for us all to clear off.” 

“What?” Karlach whines. “Already? Boooo…”

“Take a hint, darling,” Astarion drawls. “I’ve had enough of whatever this is.” He makes a gesture of distaste towards you and Gale. 

You flush. Astarion chortles.

“Enjoy the magic, but please keep it down. We know how…verbose…the two of you can be.” 

You shrink at the winks, grumbles and jostling of the rest of your companions as they file away to their respective tents. It was wishful thinking to hope they were not aware of your time with Gale the night before, when your souls bonded in the astral. To think that they could not see how both of you had been transformed by the experience.

There is a chill in the air, but your core flames. There is no embarrassment in Gale’s eyes. Only the raw heat of desire.

“Alone at last,” he breathes.

Tonight, he is unusually quiet. He lets his actions speak. You barely make it to his tent. He wraps his arms around you from behind, unlacing the straps of your bodice with uncanny speed. Your struggle for breath as his deft fingers clutch at your breasts, your shoulders, your hips. You have been waiting all day for this moment. To be with him, to have him all to yourself. To give yourself to him again. 

You grind backwards against his thrumming body, aching for more of his touch. He clasps your chin to angle your neck back, as if he is starving to see your face. Your tongues glide against each other, frantic with hunger, a frenzy of moans. He tastes sweet and strong, like aged wine, and you cannot get enough. You can never have enough of him. 

“I didn’t lie,” you whisper when you break apart to breathe. “You’re a good kisser.”

He smiles against your lips before he plunges back in, lapping eagerly at your wet warmth. You are drunk from his musk, the sourness of sweat, the smoothness of sandalwood. You are not careful as you whip open his robe, shoving his sleeves down his arms, pushing them desperately down. You need to see him. You need to feel and smell and taste every inch of his quivering flesh. 

He lets out a little laugh, surprised, not displeased. Then, with one swift motion, he wrenches your breeches off your quaking legs. You gasp at the force of it, the smouldering in his eyes. His fingers dive behind your panties, already damp with desire. He almost rips them off.

“I want to show you more,” he pants. “Everything you could possibly imagine. Let me show you.”

A crackle of blue thread sizzles between his fingers. A spasm of bliss tears through you like lightning, sending you gasping for breath. You burn for more of it. But you steel yourself. 

Since your night together, you have not been able to get the idea out of your mind. You have been ravenous for it. And now is your chance.

You pull back.  

“No.”

Gale falters, the blue light of his magic fading into the purple of his glowing chest. You press against him again, licking at his bottom lip, gently sucking it into your mouth. He buckles against you.

“No?” 

You smile, teasing but resolute. 

“Yesterday, you showed me how to bond the way gods do.”

Your hand trails down his abdomen, following the hairs that meander from his navel to his groin. His breath hitches. He hangs on your every word, your every move. You are not a wizard or a sorcerer, but he is under your spell.

“Today, I want to show you how good mortal pleasures can be.”

His eyes flash. Before he can object, you push him downwards and back, so that he is reclined on his bed roll. Uncertainty blinks across his features as you pull his briefs down to expose the thrust of his cock. You clench your thighs as a string of moisture trickles from your folds.

He stares at you on your knees by his side. You lean forward, taking hold of his shaft, so thick and long in your small hands. Dark pink and purpling, veins drifting down to a wiry nest framed by the muscles of his lean thighs. You wet your lips. His cock pulses in your fingers, a bead spilling from its tip as he exhales sharply.  

“Gods,” he heaves.

You bend over. You are acutely aware of the way his body is suspended in the anticipation of pleasure. You can feel it vibrate, chasing after your touch. The tent is awash in his purple flame. You flare with yearning as you flick your tongue into his slit, gathering this first trace of his salty sweetness. He arches his back and groans.

“Has anyone ever done this to you?” 

Your tongue traces a slow, winding stripe down the underside of his cock. He trembles. You look up at him, mouth open, eyes wide and expectant.

He swallows. “A long time ago. Once, when I was very young. It was…quick. Clumsy. Messy.”

You suspected this might be the case. There was no way Mystra would have ever lowered herself to give Gale such a human gift, and you cannot imagine Gale asking any lover for such raw, unbridled ecstasy.  It makes you even more desperate. You want nothing more than to give this to him now.

“We’ll rectify that.”

You drag your tongue in a smooth circle at the base of his cock. He stifles a whine as his hips roll closer to your mouth. Gale’s longing is so palpable that it throbs wet and hot within you. But when you look up, he is frowning. He reaches towards you. 

“My love,” he huffs. “You really don’t need to-”

You anticipated this. Gale prides himself on giving, not receiving. He never asks, for fear of being turned away. He cannot fathom that anyone would get on their knees to show him their adoration. That anyone would ache to give him this most mortal of pleasures.

“I want to, Gale.” 

You take his straying hand and run your mouth over his palm. His eyelids flutter as your tongue flickers softly over the pads of his fingers. 

“I want to taste you. I want to show you how good this feels. Please let me show you.”

It is not completely selfless. You have been dreaming of doing this to Gale since you shared a moment in the Weave. You enjoy this act much more than he knows. He will find out just how much you enjoy it.

He grasps for a response and fails. For an instant, you savour the sight of Gale rendered speechless by your designs. Then you resume your position, your face tilted upwards beside his growing hardness. You can see him unravelling at the sight of it resting against your cheek, hovering beside the shining plumpness of your lips. His brown eyes are almost black, dilated in a stupor of need. 

“Or does this not feel good?”

He lets out a guttural moan as you slide his cock into your mouth. Your lips tighten around his girth as you roll your tongue around its head. You pump forward and backwards, once, twice, three times. With each stroke, waves of molten heat blaze through your centre, your clit swelling against your folds as you rock. Moisture trails down your chin as you draw back and look up at him.

“Do you like that?” 

The sound that escapes his lips is a muffled plea. His face is flushed, helpless, urgent. 

You grin. His back bows as you take him back inside you. You take your time, drawing out his pressure points, feeling for the rhythm of his pleasure. The slick sounds of you lapping and sucking at his cock fill the tent as you drive his length deeper and faster into you. Something about these wet, gulping noises makes you suddenly, overwhelmingly voracious.

“By the gods…”

You cannot decipher all the words that start tumbling from Gale now. You glide hungrily down to the hilt of his cock, thrusting it against the back of your mouth. Small bursts of his pleasure trickle down your throat like nectar as he shifts and sighs. Every blast of his yearning pools like lava in your belly. You whimper into his shaft, your hips grinding down into the bedroll, searching frantically for release.

As the storm surges within you, you realise that his groans are growing louder and closer together. You can feel him hardening, stretching your jaw with each tremor of your arousal. He fills you up so completely, there is almost no space for breath. You are famished, gorging yourself on him. 

You are abruptly aware of urgent fingers pressing between your thighs, demanding entrance. You sit up, turning to face him.

“Allow me,” he rasps.

You shake your head, trying to push his hand away. He does not budge.

“Please. Can you not tell what your pleasure does to me?” His gaze is ravenous. “Let me. Please.”

It was not your intention to allow it. You were to give and not receive. But you are powerless to resist as his fingers nestle into your gleaming folds. When he finds your throbbing clit, you crumple against him. His groin rises to meet you, his cock twitching at your undoing. You suck him back into your mouth with a needy cry.

You do not need a tadpole to know each other’s feelings now. You can taste the hardness of his desire, as he can feel the wetness of yours.

You shudder against each other as the world becomes a chaos of purple spasms. All you know is the whirling of your tongue around the head of his cock as he traces frenzied circles around the centre of your fire. A hot stream of slick melts between your thighs as he bucks against you. You can no longer distinguish between his moans and yours.

As his fingers flutter in their maddening dance, your mouth quickens to match his speed. You are aware of his muscles tightening as you grind against his hand, rubbing at every coiled nerve until it is ready to snap. Your whines are muffled vibrations against his skin. He lurches and keens as you lap and slide up and down his shaft with increasing fury, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Then the ache within you explodes. 

The world shatters into blinding shockwaves of white heat. It is all you can do to keep your mouth wrapped tightly around his swelling cock, your only anchor as you drown in the searing surges of your pleasure. As you writhe through the aftershocks, you feel a convulsion down his chest, snapping through his hips, jolting at the back of your throat. 

He shouts out a strangled sound, his toes curling, his free hand clinging to the side of the bedroll. You quiver as the taste of Gale fills your mouth. You swallow each rush of his delight as he rides out the peak of his climax, his features twisting in the beautiful anguish of release.

You remain in that position as your breathing returns to normal. Slowly, your vision clears. His cock is still half hard and glistening as you part from it. You brush away drops of his spend from your lips and chin as you sit up, steadying yourself. 

He looks up at you from where he lies panting, his tousled waves a tumble around his head. His face is radiant with passion. His chiselled abdomen heaves with the exhaustion of bliss. The mark on his chest glows a muted violet.

“That was…”

He has no words for the experience. His gaze is bright with awe, gratitude, adoration. Swollen with love. It glints with desire, still pure and unquenched.  

You beam. “That’s how mortals do it.” 

He pulls you into his arms with a throaty laugh.

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

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[vbecker10]

The Night Nurse (Part 5)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 6 (in progress)

Pairing: Loki x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: You are the newly appointed night nurse for SHIELD and you couldn't be less excited about it. You have been given the side task of finding out who is stealing supplies from the infirmary. Soon after you start, you learn Loki is the one who has been slipping in at night to patch up his wounds and you confront him about why he can't heal as quickly as Thor. He reveals a dangerous secret he is keeping from the team and you worry increasingly for his safety as the two of you become closer over the next few weeks.

Warning: You asked for angst so I shall give you angst lol but also... some mentions of blood, minor injuries needing stitches, arguing between you and Loki, you being super awkward and Loki being oblivious, some swearing, a pretty major injury towards the end but no one dies... a romantic ending was requested so of course there will be fluff and cuteness and whatnot

A/N: For those of you who skipped Part 4 cause it was mostly just smutty, the first section in italics is end of Part 4 so you didn't miss any plot. If you read Part 4, you can start at the regular font section so you don't reread stuff you already read.

Also, I'm sorry this one is kind of short but when you see where I left it, you'll know why... it's cause I'm horrible lol. Hope you all like this! 💚💚

Loki's lip pause and he pulls away in confusion, his eyes trying to connect with yours as your fingers trace the tape on his back absent-mindedly.

"Can you die even though you're a god?" you ask him, looking at the bandage on his cheek as he shifts to be directly above you.

"Yes," he answers quietly.

You nod and he tilts your chin so you are looking him in the eyes.

"What happened, love?" he asks. "Where did your beautiful mind just go?"

You are quiet for a moment and Loki lets you search for the words on your own instead of slipping into your thoughts. "I'm afraid," you tell him in a whisper.

"Of what?" he asks, concern spreading through him as your clothes and his reappear on your bodies in a green flicker.

"Of losing you," you admit as he sits up. "I can feel myself falling for you more each day and the more deeply I care for you, the more terrified I am that something will happen to you. We still don't know why your magic is failing or how to fix it."

"Y/N, I promise you will not lose me, I have only just found you and I do not intend for this to end. We will find a way to mend my magic and I will heal as I used to," he says as he pulls you into a hug. He presses a kiss to your lips in an effort to try and reassure you.

You put your arms around him tightly but don't feel any comfort in his words. "You can't promise me that," you say as you rest your cheek against his chest. "You're going to keep training with Thor and keep going on missions and... and you're going to keep getting hurt." You touch his bandaged cheek lightly as you lean away from him. "Your magic is healing you slower and less completely each time you are injured. The last stitches I gave you even left a small scar."

"Y/N..." he says with a worried expression.

"I've seen horrific injuries on this job, bullet wounds, stabbings, burns... I've lost people I've tried desperately to save for hours..." you shake your head. "I can only continue to work here because I've learned to distance myself from my patients. I'm not friends with any of the SHIELD agents or the Avengers on purpose, Loki," you tell him.

"I don't know if I can wait here terrified that you're going to come back to me hurt... or that you won't come back," you feel the same tightness in your chest that you did when you waited for him to arrive tonight.

He kisses your forehead softly and you look up at him, tears threatening to fall. "I will speak to Thor tomorrow," he assures you. "I will tell him the truth about my magic failing and my healing abilities. I have no doubt he will allow me to take time away from the team so I can understand what is wrong with my magic."

"You promise?" you ask, desperate for him to finally be out of harms way while he searches for an answer.

"I promise," he nods and kisses your lips softly. "I cannot bear being the cause of your worries. I will do this for you because I know you need me to."

You hug him tighter and rest your head on his chest. "Thank you, Loki," you mumble against him, feeling your fears subside.

He runs his fingers through your hair and adds, "There is one thing you could do to show me how thankful you are."

You sit up, lifting your head to look at him and he chuckles, "Darling, you have such a vivid imagination." Your cheeks heat as you blush, knowing Loki read the thought that instantly appeared in your mind. You hide your face against his chest again.

"As much as I love your suggestion," he says and you look up at him slowly, waiting for him to continue. "I had a different idea in mind. Go on a date with me." His smirk fades into a soft smile and his fingers run down your cheek, "Please. I wish to see you outside of this horrid infirmary."

Loki doesn't give you a moment to answer before he says, "I know you have become accustomed to sleeping during the day and I am more than willing to stay awake all night to be with you. I have found several restaurants in the area that are open quite late and some of the museums have night hours as well. Unless you would prefer to see a movie or walk through one of the parks, the gardens are well lit this time of year."

You can't help but giggle at how much he knows about places to visit at night, "This doesn't seem like a spur of the moment ask. How long have you been planning this?"

"To ask you out on a date?" he asks to clarify.

"Yeah," you nod, knowing him talking to his brother was not originally part of his plan.

"About a week," he admits.

"A week? What took you so long?" you wonder.

He shrugs, "I could see in your thoughts that your feelings for me were growing as mine have been for you but... I wanted to wait until you were comfortable enough with how you felt to tell me yourself. I know you hate that I can read your mind without your knowledge so I assumed if I asked you out based solely on your hidden thoughts, you would have felt like your privacy was being invaded."

"That's probably true, actually," you agree with him then smile. "In that case, thank you for waiting. That was really sweet."

"I have my moments," he laughs.

"So I guess since you've been in my mind a bunch, you know I really only like you a little bit right?" you joke nervously, unsure if Loki knows the depth of your feelings for him.

He shakes his head, "Oh, I think you like me more than a little bit."

"Nope, just a teeny tiny bit," you laugh but you can see in his eyes he knows the truth.

"You love me," he smiles, his arm holding you closer to his body. Your heart beats faster when you hear those words out loud. "Deny me all you want, princess, but I don't need read your mind to know what is in your heart."

You smile and shrug, trying to push down the little voice inside of you that agrees with Loki. You have fallen so hard for him so much quicker than you imagined possible. "I'm not sure what you are talking about," you force out your response but there is no fooling the prince.

His hand moves to the back of your neck and he pulls you closer. "Tell me you love me," his tone is much less playful than it had been as his lips inch closer to yours.

Before you can stop yourself you say, "I will tell you that tomorrow... after our first date."

He smirks, "I will accept those terms, beautiful."

"Good," you giggle. "But now you need to go," you pull yourself free from him and get up, afraid if he stays one minute longer you will tell him what he wants to hear. "I have a ton of work to do and you have to sleep, it's so late."

Loki gets up from the exam table and follows you to the door of the infirmary. He puts his arm around your waist and pulls you flush to his chest, hooking his finger under your chin so you are looking up at him. "I will see you tomorrow for our date," he leans down and kisses your lips much too quickly and when he pulls away he smirks. He lets you go and vanishes without another word.

The sound of your phone ringing pulls you from your sleep and you reach for it, trying not to open your eyes. "Yea?" you answer the call annoyed and still mostly sleep.

"Y/N?" the voice asks, "It's Annmarie."

"Annmarie, sorry," you sit up, recognizing the voice of your coworker immediately. "I was sleeping," you check the clock on your nightstand.

"I know you've only been off shift for a few hours and your not scheduled tonight," your stomach knots knowing this is anything but a social call. "But there's an emergency at the Tower. Dr. Palmer needs everyone to come in," she explains and you throw off your sheets, getting out of bed quickly. You can hear the faint sound of alarms blaring in the background.

Holding the phone to your ear with your shoulder, you grab a clean pair of scrubs, fully awake now. "What happened?" you ask trying to understand what type of emergency would have them calling in all of the medical staff. It wasn't a drill, that much you were sure of.

"We are still getting reports in. All I know for sure is that there was a containment breach in one of the labs," she says. "I don't know what the chemical is yet, but the fail safes to lock down the lab weren't triggered in time. The gas spread too quickly."

You slip on your sneakers and grab your keys, "I'm leaving now."

"Okay, hopefully by the time you get here, Loki will have it fully contained," she says. "We're just starting to get the first wave of victims from the lab down here."

You open your front door and your stomach drops when she says his name. "Loki," you repeat his name as last night flashes through your mind.

"What?" Annemarie asks, the sound of people talking in the background becoming louder. "Did you ask something about Loki?"

You don't answer her, afraid of what she will tell you. You close the door and hear her yell to someone but you aren't listening as you run down the steps of your apartment building. "There's no word-," she says and you stop in the middle of the staircase, her sentence cut off when someone asks her a question.

"What?" you ask, your heart racing.

"There's no word yet on if he contained the toxin," she says. "They're evacuating all three lab floors now."

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[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

GO FOR IT! ; YUUTA OKKOTSU

synopsis; yuuta’s been crushing on you ever since the first group project you had together, but he’s too nervous to confess. luckily, he has some over-eager friends willing to help! step 1: ask for your number!

word count; 7.4k

contents; yuuta okkotsu/reader, gn!reader, university au, yuuta majors in creative writing and writes poetry in his spare time <3, no curses au, yuuta is a cutiepie, he’s also a loserboy, pining and longing, unrequited love, maki inumaki and panda are wingmen (but not very good ones), fluffy vibes, gojo makes a guest appearance (stay safe), literally just yuuta being whipped for like 7k words straight

a/n; im gonna have to edit this a lot i think….. but for now it should be fine :3 i love the boy!!

”you’re staring. again.”

yuuta flinches. a jolt overtakes him, running through his body, and the pen he’d been absently writing with slips from his fingers. it tumbles down to the ground with a soft thunk. 

gazing up at the shadow towering over him, his eyes are wide, a little flustered; like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. like he’s expecting a smack on the head from the person in front of him.

— it’s maki. 

and she looks displeased, lips pursed and a single eyebrow raised. unimpressed, as she stares him down — the same way he’d been looking at you just a second ago.

”they’re gonna think you’re a creep if they catch you, you know,” she sighs, shifting from one foot to another. carrying her bass in a case on her back.

”maki, c’mon,” comes from behind her, an even larger figure strolling up to the pair. grinning brightly, fluffy hair tousled by the afternoon breeze. ”cut him some slack!” 

”salmon,” a third voice joins in. inumaki’s got some green paint staining the sleeve of his hoodie, and his fingers are dirtied with charcoal.

his closest friends, all joining him on the table they usually frequent on campus. right next to a giant tree, casting a pleasantly cool shade and obscuring the irritating brightness of the sun.

maki, headstrong and resilient. infamously rude. a music major, primarily, though yuuta knows she has more than a couple minors. if you pay attention, you can see her almost everywhere on campus, and she always does well on exams. confident, enough so that just being around her makes yuuta feel a little more secure in himself.

panda, a big kid with a big heart, always wearing monochrome clothes. ‘panda’ can’t possibly be his real name, though yuuta’s never found the courage to ask. truthfully, he isn’t sure panda even has a major, or goes to this university at all — but nobody��s mentioned it yet, and he doubts they ever will.

and then inumaki, the quiet kid, always helpful and kind. a little teasing, too. selectively mute, speaking exclusively in rice ball ingredients, but yuuta has already begun adjusting to the thought behind his phrases. an art student with remarkable talent, from sculptures to comics to paintings. he mostly spends his lectures playing games on his phone, though. and he's the kindest guy yuuta knows.

his beloved friends. the reason he can smile through each day, even when it’s a little difficult.

and maki’s right, he knows she is. if you were to lock eyes with him, and realize he’d been glancing over at you for the past ten minutes… god, he doesn’t even want to think about it. you’d be weirded out for sure, wouldn’t you?

but yuuta just can’t help it. you’re far too radiant to ever look away from, smile much too pretty.

you’re just sitting there, laughing and talking with your friends, the same as any other day. comparing hand sizes with miwa, or leaning over to whisper in mai’s ear. snorting over something momo said, or trying to understand the code kokochi’s fiddling with on his laptop. just being yourself, with people you’re close to.

and yuuta desperately wishes he could be among them. wishes he could see your honeyed smile up close, hear the melodic lilt of your laughter, breathe in the lingering scent of your shampoo. he wishes he could speak to you without stuttering, without tripping over his feet — hang out with you outside of class. just something small, like studying together, or grabbing a bite to eat.

he wishes he could get to know you. 

yuuta thinks he must seem like a fool, to be so affected by your mere presence. everything comes to him so easily, when he looks at you; the pitter patter of his heart, his sweaty hands, the whirlwind of butterflies swirling in his chest. even just the way you twirl your hair or chew on your pencil is so mesmerizing. 

so all he can do is stare, hopeless, a moth to a flame. basking in the warmth of your gaze, directed at your friends.

hoping one day, maybe… that warmth will fall upon him, as well.

(maybe one day.)

”hellooo? earth to yuuta!”

”see? he’s hopeless.”

”mentaiko…”

”inumaki’s right. he’s a man in love!”

”he’s a boy with a stupid crush,” maki scoffs, picking at a piece of lint on her tank top. ”and we have a study session we need to get done. the exam’s next week, remember?”

exam.

yuuta shoots up, wasting no time in grabbing his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. the ring hanging around his neck dangles with the sudden movement, and he clutches onto it.

”ah — right!” he squeaks, apologetic. ”sorry, it completely slipped my mind —”

before his mind can begin to overthink every action he’s taken these past few hours, a hand reaches out to pat his shoulder. pat, pat. reassuring and stabilizing.

inumaki smiles at him. yuuta can’t see his mouth, from behind the fabric of his hoodie, but his eyes crinkle softly; and it’s enough to put yuuta’s heart at ease.

”don’t apologize,” maki says. simple, straightforward. ”let’s just get going. i need to do better than naoya did last time.”

”you’re still mad about that, huh?”

”he only got a higher score because i wasn’t on top of my game,” she grumbles, digging her nails into the pockets of her baseball jacket. ”he doesn’t even like music. he’s just taking the course to piss me off. grown ass man.”

a chuckle slips from yuuta’s lips. the warm breeze ruffles his hair, and he holds onto the strap of his backpack, following closely behind as his friends begin to leave. sending one final glance at your figure, over by a table near the apricot trees.

and that’s when it happens.

— he looks over at you, and finds that your eyes are already on him. 

a moment passes.

while yuuta struggles to find his breathing, your lips curl up into a soft smile. then you raise your hand, waving to him cheerily, teeth peeking out from between your lips. he can see it clearly, even with the distance between you. 

a smile that glimmers like a jewel, in the light of the sun. 

yuuta feels his lips part, mouth falling open ever so slightly. but he waves back, afraid to take too long, unable to stop the pounding of his heartbeat — smiling giddily, like a schoolgirl tripping over her feet. 

his friends just watch, wholly unimpressed.

”do you think he’d notice if i threw a rock at him?”

”maki!”

”what do you like about them, anyway?”

the question is unexpected. yuuta has to do a double take, eyes straying from his excerpt of sappho 31 up to the person seated across from him. tapping her pencil on the edge of the table, resting her sharp jaw on the heel of her palm. 

”huh?”

”them. your crush,” maki reiterates. ”what caught your attention? there’s got to be something, yeah?”

”oh?” panda chirps, leaning back in his chair. a teasing grin playing at his lips. “i thought you didn’t care about his silly little crush.”

”i don’t.” a huff pushes past her lips, hands reaching to fix her lazy ponytail, hair tie dangling from between her teeth. ”i’m just bored. i already know all this, anyway.”

”tuna mayo.”

”oh, are you curious too, inumaki?”

”well, out with it. why them?”

yuuta blinks. once, then twice — mind spinning in circles, as his friends await his answer.

and, truthfully, yuuta can’t pinpoint the exact moment he felt it. that burst of joy, that tinge of excitement — the puppy love that rika always spoke of. she was always good at verbalizing her emotions, in a way yuuta never could.

(he always knew he loved her, but he could never put it into words.)

and he knows that he likes you. he knows because every word you speak has him stumbling over what to say, because even a single smile sent his way makes the world feel so gentle. he knows because he’d probably throw himself into incoming traffic, if you just asked him to.

but he can’t put it into words. not spoken ones, anyhow — putting them on paper is one thing, the one thing he can do. writing out his love for you in similes and metaphors, sonettes and alexandrines. it’s how he copes with everything; writing and writing, til his fingers start to hurt. he can compare you to a dandelion, to the way cicadas buzz in the light of the sun. the scent of childhood. but it’s harder to speak it out loud, to turn the feelings into sounds — that’s maki’s specialty, not his.

why does yuuta like you?

he remembers it clear as day, but still can’t pinpoint the exact second he fell headfirst into love. it was more of a creeping realization, something soft and sweet trickling through his veins. that sinking feeling, how helplessly he fell for you.

it all started with a pencil.

in hindsight, it’s a little silly. but yuuta can’t bring himself to think back to that moment with anything other than fondness.

(your smile was just so bright.)

that day had been a disaster. he was nervous, painfully so, afraid of every single new thing he came across during his first week of uni. scatterbrained, running on almost no sleep, unsure of where to put his feet as he walked.

honestly — what kind of trainwreck forgets their pen and notebook during their very first workshop?

all that anxiety, all those hours spent overthinking, and he still couldn’t manage something so small. in the moment, he almost panicked; sitting with you, a total stranger, wholly unprepared for such a simple assignment. read a couple excerpts, analyze them on paper. all yuuta could do was stare blankly at his lap, frozen, throat dry. hands cold with sweat.

but then you smiled.

”did you forget your notebook?” you had asked, voice set to a soothing tilt. calm, not angry or impatient.

”ah — yeah, i, um…” yuuta could only swallow thickly, fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie. ”i’m sorry. i haven't been sleeping well, so —”

”hey, hey, it’s fine!” you chuckled, teeth peeking out from between your lips. ”i totally get it. i almost forgot my laptop at yesterday’s lecture. we can just share!”

then you pushed your notebook closer to him, inviting him in. moving your chair a little, angling it towards him. but all yuuta could think of was how pretty your smile looked, how kind your presence felt.

”here you go,” you grinned, snapping him out of his trance. ”you can use this.”

a pencil. yuuta took it from your opened palm, gazing at it in wonder. an orange-coloured, halloween-themed pumpkin design. completely out of season. the tiny pumpkin was cute, though.

such a casual kindness. but maybe that's exactly why it made his heart flutter so deeply; as if you did it without even really thinking. as if kindness comes easy, to you.

that’s probably how it began. by the time the workshop ended, yuuta knew that he liked you, and he knew that he wanted nothing more than to be your friend.

(subconsciously, his fingers tap at the zipper of his backpack. the pumpkin pen is still with him, after you waved him off with a smooth you can keep it, if you want. yuuta has found that he always writes best when he uses it.)

”well?”

maki’s voice snaps him out of his trip down memory lane, and he stumbles for something to say. what does he like about you?

squirming, yuuta feels his face heat up, as he thinks of you. all he can see is your smile, the kindness in the tilt of your voice. the brightness of the grin you sent his way. warm and saccharine, like the sun peeking out after a downpour — when the streets smell like honeydew and rain.

”they’re just… so cool,” he finally sighs, a dreamy look smoothing over his face. ”they’re so nice. and their smile is so beautiful. they’re so smart, too — god, you should see the way they write — everything about them is just…”

yuuta blushes a deep red, smiling even still. lovesick. ”.. so, so wonderful.”

maki freezes in the midst of the tapping of her pencil. panda stops kicking at the foot of the table. and inumaki looks away from his phone, messing up his full combo.

a moment of silence passes. the study hall grows quiet, and yuuta looks down at his lap; suddenly embarrassed. sipping from his little carton of apple juice.

”hey…” panda starts, delicate. somehow, yuuta dreads the teasing edge to his voice. ”have you thought about confessing to them, yuuta?”

”what?” the boy in question squeaks, choking on his juice. ”no, of course not!”

”why?” maki deadpans. popping a chip into her mouth. ”you’re head over heels, right? might as well do something about it.”

inumaki hums. affirmative.

”i… don’t know,” yuuta sighs. a heavy breath, a little wobbly. meek. ”they’d just reject me, wouldn’t they? i mean…”

(you’re totally out of his league. right?)

maki scoffs, sitting up a little straighter. there’s an angered kind of affection in her eyes. ”you’re just deciding that all on your own. how would you know how they feel?”

the gaze she sends his way is intense. it always has been. there’s a kindness to it, though, something that makes yuuta want to look her in the eye — but he can’t, eyes still locked on his hands, resting in his lap. ”… still,” he manages a weak smile, somewhat sheepish. ”even if i wanted to, there’s no way i could. i’m too much of a coward.”

…

maki slams her textbook shut. the sound is sudden, loud. yuuta flinches, and a wince leaves inumaki’s lips. panda just watches her, snacking on some chips, a mild curiousity simmering in his eyes.

the girl in question gets up from her seat, grabbing her bass case and throwing it over her shoulder. then she looks at yuuta, eyes full of decision.

”— well, lucky for you, we’ve got some time to spare.”

a blink. yuuta gazes up at the girl in front of him, tilting his head in confusion.

maki sighs. exasperated. ”i’m saying we’ll help you. don’t look so resigned, dumbass.”

at that, panda gets up too — suddenly excited. ”are you thinking what i’m thinking?”

she just huffs, smiling even still. ”probably not. but let’s hear it.”

the grin on his face widens. he scribbles something down in his notebook, showing off the writing proudly. ”operation: get yuuta to confess is about to commence!”

inumaki turns off his phone. sitting up straight, arms decisively crossed, a strangely serious expression on his face. completely invested.

”wait — wait!” yuuta stutters, eyes wide with flustered shock. ”don’t i get a say in this?”

”of course not.”

”nope!”

”bonito flakes.”

”b… but —”

”alright, so here’s what i’m thinking,” panda begins, writing down unintelligible notes on the pages of his tattered notebook. ”we need to start small. we don’t want yuuta getting heart palpitations and fainting in the middle of campus, so —”

”tuna mayo?”

”yeah, that’s perfect! hang on, lemme just…”

”let me see. i don’t want you messing this up.”

yuuta’s voice comes out tiny, as it falls from his lips. more of a squeaky breath. ”guys, i really — you don’t need to —”

panda continues to scribble in the notebook, engrossed, arm hanging off maki’s shoulder as they go over the contents. inumaki nods along, walking over to them with lazy steps. yuuta’s protests go unnoticed, and all he can do is watch them mutter under their breaths.

”— okay. listen up, yuuta.”

he raises his head, and meets maki’s sharp eyes. she’s smiling, strolling over to place the notebook right in front of him. ”here’s how this is gonna go.”

yuuta looks down. 

everything is written out with a pink sharpie, glittery and pretty. there are little hearts doodled out across the pages, and he can tell exactly which ones were drawn by who. all of them look messy, with the exception of inumaki’s perfect little shapes. 

and there, right in the middle, lies a line of text.

panda reads it out, voice loud and cheery, while maki and inumaki stick close. all smiling, as a chill crawls down yuuta’s spine.

”step 1: ask for their number!”

plan a

”okay, so… what am i supposed to do, exactly?”

panda throws an arm over yuuta’s shoulder, and he’s enveloped by the scent of fresh sunlight. the weight is heavy, a comfort. ”we’re going with my plan first! it’s the best one, so don’t worry.”

”i don’t know about that,” maki scoffs. ”we can’t ask mai. best case scenario, she’ll laugh at us a little and say no.”

inumaki hums. he rips out a part of the notebook he’s been tasked with carrying, doodling a little face and showing it to the rest of his friends.

yuuta leans in close. it’s a cute doodle, charming. and he can tell who it’s supposed to depict. miwa kasumi.

”yeah, she’s our best bet,” maki sighs, brushing some specks of dust off her jeans. ”she seems like the nicest one in that group.”

yuuta tilts his head, brows furrowed in confusion. he plays with the ring hanging around his neck, a nervous tick he’s never managed to get rid of. ”wait, so…” he trails off, unsure. ”what are we doing, exactly?”

panda tugs him closer, a friendly smile on his face. ”we’re going to their friends for help!” he beams. ”that’ll be easier for you, right?”

a blink. yuuta gazes into the eyes of his friend, something soft blooming in his eyes.

they can be a chaotic bunch — but they’re still so considerate. considerate enough to know asking for your number straight out would be too much for him. considerate enough to think of his comfort, in a way no one else has bothered to before.

(faced with such immense understanding, such genuine friendship, how could he ever bear to let them down?)

”… alright,” yuuta gulps, clutching his ring as if to give him courage. managing a smile. ”let’s do this, then!”

with newfound determination, the four of them seek out miwa kasumi. it doesn’t take too long — she’s studying, going over legal codes in the library, eyes narrowed in concentration. and she isn’t alone.

”hey, miwa. muta.”

the pair look up from their respective textbooks and laptop, meeting the gaze of a certain maki zenin, waltzing over to their table. miwa smiles, but kokichi doesn’t say anything.

”hi, maki! how are you?”

”i’m good,” she answers, straight to the point; but her eyes soften a little. then she gestures towards yuuta with a tilt of her head. ”sorry, but this guy needs your help.” 

”hm?” miwa shifts in her seat, meeting yuuta’s nervous gaze, as he steps forward. ”ah, you’re… okkotsu, right?”

”ah, yeah! sorry for interrupting you two…”

”no, no! please, don’t worry about it,” she grins. sweet and soft, twirling a lock of her hair between her fingers. ”we don't mind. right?”

kokichi still doesn’t say anything. but he nods, when miwa meets his eyes — and yuuta notices that they seem a lot softer when she does.

”so, here’s how it is…”

panda explains the situation to the pair. yuuta looks down at the floor, face flushed as he shifts from foot to foot. by the time he’s finished, miwa looks wholly invested, and kokichi looks a little less like all he wants is for them to leave him and miwa be.

”awww, that’s so sweet!!” she gushes, clasping her hands together. eyes glimmering with excitement.

”right,” maki hums. already a little impatient. ”so, basically — we need their number.”

”… ah. well, um —” miwa trails off, averting her gaze. she looks over at kokichi, but he only shrugs, going back to his coding. ”see, here’s the thing…”

with an apologetic look in her eyes, she turns to yuuta. ”i support you 100% — but i dunno if it’d feel right to just… give away their number like that, you know?” she mumbles, sheepishly. ”i think you should ask them, yourself. that’d be way more romantic!”

”yeah, but that’s a tall hurdle for a socially anxious guy…” panda mutters, patting yuuta’s back.

”still! i’m sure they’d appreciate you being direct.” miwa closes her eyes, a dreamy expression painted on her face. ”i’d be elated if someone asked for my number like that!! all stuttering and shy… it’d be so cute!”

(if anyone notices kokichi stiffening beside her, they don’t mention it.)

maki sighs, resigned. ”well, i don’t think we’re getting any numbers here. good. what kind of creep just texts someone out of nowhere, anyway?”

”i thought it was a good plan!” panda protests, pouting a little. maki shoots him a look.

”it was an awful plan. what were you planning to say? hey, i forced your friend to give me your number, but would you want to hang out sometime?” she crosses her arms with a sharp scoff. ”i’d beat your ass!”

panda grumbles a little under his breath, but doesn’t say anything. 

”sorry i couldn’t be of more help,” miwa mumbles, sheepishly, rubbing the back of her head. ”good luck, though! i hope they say yes!”

”thanks, miwa,” yuuta smiles, already in the process of being tugged away by his friends. ”i really appreciate it!”

plan a

plan b

”alright, inumaki’s turn. what’s your take on the situation, mister?”

the boy in question sits up straight, back resting against a tree trunk. he writes something down, and yuuta waits, patiently — absentmindedly staring at the white petals of the apricot trees on campus. pure, fleeting, sweet blossoms unfurling before him.

when he’s finished, inumaki presents the page to yuuta, and everyone gathers round. reading the writing, eyes trailing over his little doodles. panda grins, and maki strokes her chin in contemplation.

”you’re a genius, inu!”

”well, it’s probably the easiest way to go about it…”

yuuta purses his lips. it’s a good plan, he thinks; writing out a note, and passing it to you in the middle of class. that way, he won’t have to turn his feelings into sounds, won’t have to speak them out loud. there’s a safety to it, the trickling of ink across blank papers. one that’s never failed him.

”… that should work,” he mumbles, and inumaki visibly brightens. ”what am i supposed to write, though?”

”just be straightforward.”

”not seconded!” panda huffs, crossing his legs. ”you need to be dramatic. heartfelt. that’ll catch their attention!” he stops to think for a moment, a hum buzzing loudly in his throat. ”hey — why not write them a love poem? put those skills to good use!”

”a love poem?” yuuta squeaks, a slight heat rising to the tips of his ears. ”there’s no way i could do that! and i’m not skilled, i —”

a pause. yuuta bites his lip.

”… it’d just be embarrassing,” he finally mutters, playing with his ring.

(he wonders what rika would think, if she were here. what she’d advise him to do — would she like the love poem idea? probably.)

”well, you could at least try. who knows, maybe they’ll like it,” maki attempts to reassure him, chewing at a piece of gum. ”if they’re anything like miwa, it’ll be easy.”

gnawing at his bottom lip, yuuta emits an anxious hum. deep in thought. maybe you would like it, but… what if you just think it’s cheesy?

maki observes him, intently. listening to the emotions behind his silence. tapping the pads of her fingers on her knee, in a rhythmic motion. ”… at least try writing something out,” she says. ”if you can’t think of anything, then just copy some random old guy. what was his name, uh — catallas? or something?”

yuuta’s gaze snaps up, eyes gone wide. ”catullus?” he gapes, in disbelief. ”are you insane? do you even know what kind of poems he wrote?”

maki shoots him a confused look, and a tilt of her head. ”isn’t he the ’give me a thousand kisses’ guy?”

”he is, but that’s —” a sigh, exasperated. flustered, as it flows from his parted lips. then he shakes his head. ”nevermind. it doesn’t matter.”

”tuna…” inumaki mumbles, nudging yuuta’s shoulder with his head. a silent encouragement. and even with no words, yuuta knows what he’s trying to say.

just be yourself. this is your specialty, right? 

write from your heart.

”inumaki…” yuuta meets his gaze, and is met with a pair of warm eyes. a friendly punch meets his shoulder, soft and delicate. kind.

”… alright. i’ll write it!”

”that’s the spirit!” panda grins. ”just give it to them during tomorrow’s lecture.”

”yeah,” yuuta nods, mustering the courage to smile. ”i will!”

when yuuta gets home that night, he makes himself a cup of coffee with too much sugar, and gets ready to write.

he listens to maki’s acoustic guitar covers through his headphones, curled up with the fluffy blanket panda gave him, and munches on a hastily made onigiri to give himself much-needed energy.

(writing with a certain pumpkin-themed pencil, basking in the scratching of lead against blank pages.)

his hands are shaking.

it’s barely noticeable, but it’s there. that nervous shiver of his bones, the rattling of his skeleton. you’re sitting right next to him, so close he can smell the shampoo you use, the mint off your breath —

and yuuta can’t seem to hand you the note.

he spent all last night writing it. putting every single little drop of his love into every single little word. but that fear of rejection still remains, rendering him useless, unable to act.

you’re listening to the lecture, but only halfheartedly, absentmindedly doodling in your notebook. out of boredom, he assumes.

it’s the perfect moment to strike.

yuuta’s hands are shaking, and his heartbeat is stuttering, crawling up his throat. he takes a sip of water, hoping it’ll make the dry sensation go away, but it doesn’t work.

(just be yourself.)

with a deep intake of breath, he pushes the note over to you — not daring to look your way.

his eyes remain glued on the laptop screen in front of him, but he hears you pick it up, hears the rustling of paper as you unfold it. his heart echoes with a similar rhythm, unstable, borderline erratic. the rest of the lecture passes by slowly, minute by minute, at an agonizing pace.

when it finally ends, yuuta has to restrain the urge to run away — turning towards you slowly, hesitantly, as if just the sight of you could blind him if he isn’t careful. but you’re already looking at him. and you’re smiling.

”that was so good, yuuta!”

….

huh?

”sorry, but i honestly don’t have any feedback,” you mumble, eyes trailing over the note again. ”i like it a lot. i didn’t know you wrote poetry!”

”… ah.”  yuuta stumbles for something to say. staring into your eyes, blankly. dumbly. ”t.. thank you! i’m glad you liked it.”

with a brief shake of your head, you smile, and something sickly sweet unfurls in his chest. ”not at all. thanks for letting me read it! i’m sorry i can’t really help you improve…”

mentally, yuuta falls to his knees. places his palms on the floor and dry heaves, clutching his heart. did you not get it? was he not clear enough? he wrote it with you in mind, so —

”maybe you could show it to professor nanami?” you suggest, unaware of the turmoil within the boy to your right. ”i'm sure he’ll be a great help! he can seem a bit intimidating, but he’s nice.”

”.. yeah,” yuuta smiles, weakly. ”i’ll do that. thanks again.”

for a moment, he isn’t even upset. because you flash him another bright smile, and suddenly, even the frustration of yet another setback doesn’t feel so awful.

(maybe it’s fine, he thinks. maybe this is enough; speaking to you, getting to see your smile up close. maybe he doesn’t need anything else, after all.)

”so?” maki questions, waiting for him outside of class with his other two friends. ”how’d it go?”

shoulders slumped, but still wearing a smile on his face, yuuta chuckles. it comes out sounding a little strangled. ”they… thought i wanted their feedback on my poetry.”

….

”what.”

panda attempt to stifle his laughter, but it doesn’t really work. inumaki elbows him gently, but yuuta sees his eyes crinkle, too. he breathes out a low chuckle. ”they liked the poem, at least. so i’m happy.”

a sigh falls from maki’s lips, and she waltzes over to him, a hand on her hip. the other reaches out for the note in his palm. ”let me see.”

quickly unfolding it, her eyes trail across the words on the pages, the flowery lines of writing —

and then she shoots him an unimpressed look.

”.. yuuta,” she pinches the bridge of her nose. ”what the hell is this? you didn’t even mention their number.”

panda leans over her shoulder, peeking at the text. eyes glancing over a couple lines, riddled with sugarsweet metaphors. ”uh, wow. you… really got into it, huh?”

a groan leaves yuuta’s lips, the sound muffled as he cradles his head in his hands. ”please don’t say anything else. i just wanna crawl into a hole and die…”

inumaki shakes his head, erratic, pointing at the poem with shining eyes. ”mentaiko!”

”ah, you liked it? thanks, inumaki…”

the boy in question smiles, shooting yuuta a thumbs up. he returns it with a small smile of his own.

surrounded by his friends, all he can do is bask in their warmth — and the memory of the smile you gave him.

plan a plan b

plan c

a groan fills the air, as yuuta slumps over the table. cheek pressed against the cold wood, absently kicking his legs, voice meek and defeated.

”this is never gonna work,” he mutters under his breath. eyes devoid of hope. ” i’m just not cut out for this, guys…”

”aw, c’mon….” panda reaches over to ruffle his hair, palm big and warm. ”don’t give up hope! you want to grow closer to them, don’t you?”

”i do, but…” he sighs. ”this isn’t going very well, is it…?”

inumaki frowns, sending yuuta a sympathetic glance.

”oh, quit moping already!” maki grumbles. ”we just need to keep brainstorming. isn’t it time for my plan, yet?”

”should we really even keep going…?” another sigh, heavy with fatigue. yuuta’s mind spins in circles, tiring him out. rendering him a bit cynical. ”i mean… maybe it’s fine if things stay this way.”

a moment passes. maki looks at him, emitting a soft scoff. ”what, so you’re just gonna keep pining for the rest of the term?”

”that’s the plan.”

”yuuta…” panda pouts, shoes bumping against his beneath the table. ”be more positive! just think about it; with every step you take, you get closer to confessing!”

yet another groan. this one is deep, riddled with exhaustion. muffled into the table. ”that’s the scariest part…”

before either of his friends can begin to persuade him otherwise, encourage him further, a sing-songy voice echoes throughout the air. loud, cheery — a little bit obnoxious.

”oh? did someone just say confess?”

at the same instant the sound reaches their ears, a chill runs down the youths’ spines. in tandem with each other, they raise their heads; gazes falling on a certain satoru gojo.

panda and maki are the first to act, speaking simultaneously as the white haired man inches closer. 

”— no.”

maki closes the notebook containing operation: get yuuta to confess, right before their professor can get close enough to see it. then she turns towards him, shooting him a cold look.

”your hearing’s getting bad,” she hums. ”maybe you should book a doctor’s appointment.”

a pout. gojo takes a seat right beside her, uncomfortably long legs bumping against every single other pair of shoes beneath the table.

”oh, c’mon. you know i heard you.” his hand reaches out to ruffle her hair, but she smacks it away. ”you’re starting to sound just like megumi, y’know that?”

maki grits her teeth. ”guess it’s a genetic thing,” she huffs. ”now can you leave? don’t you have papers to grade?”

”don’t you have papers to write?” gojo smirks, a teasing mirth in his eyes. hidden behind his sunglasses. maki ignores him. 

placing his palms on the table, he leans a little closer, lips curled up into a cheshire grin. foreboding. ”sooo… yuuta’s got himself a little crush, huh?” he teases. ”tell your favorite professor allll about it. maybe i can help!”

”professor geto is our favorite,” maki shoots back, instantaneous.

a soft huff. there’s something sour in gojo’s expression, now. ”that guy? really?”

before the two can argue further, yuuta takes the opportunity to to speak. smiling apologetically, polite and sweet. ”thanks, mr. gojo, but…”

”he doesn't need your help,” maki cuts in. so much for diffusing the tension. ”and do you really expect us to believe you get girls?”

”wha — rude!” gojo scoffs. ”for your information, i’m a natural charmer!”

… 

a moment passes. then another.

”… tough crowd,” he clicks his tongue, met only with four blank stares. ”but, really — let me help! i'm your professor, you know?”

and this time, yuuta thinks that gojo’s smile looks just a little more sincere. something kind and gentle in the way his lips curl up, like a father’s affection for their children. something that makes yuuta falter.

(maki might like mr. geto more — but when it comes to yuuta, his favorite professor is a no-brainer.)

so he speaks up, again. ”we can at least hear him out, right…?” maki shoots him an unimpressed look, but he doesn’t back down. ”we’re stuck, anyway…”

and just like that, gojo brightens. it’s obvious, in the way he sits up, more alert. in the way his grin grows wider. ”right? what you need is the perspective of someone more experienced.”

”have you even talked to a girl before?”

”i see him at ieiri’s office, sometimes.”

”salmon.”

”isn’t she a lesbian? that doesn’t count. i mean, like, in a romantic context.”

”i thought mr. gojo was gay, too?”

”what? no way. have you seen the way he’s dressed —?”

gojo clears his throat, voice loud and grating. demanding attention, cutting his eager students off. ”anyway,” he chirps. ”gather round, children! i’ll tell you exactly how to ask the person you like for their number.”

”wh —” yuuta blinks. ”how’d you…?”

”operation ’get yuuta to confess!’, step 1: ask for their number!” gojo repeats, grinning ear to ear. voice rich with amusement. ”i like the glitter. it’s a nice touch.”

maki huffs. looks like she didn’t close it fast enough.

begrudgingly, the youths quiet down, finally willing to hear their professor out. and gojo seems satisfied, at last, speaking in a hushed whisper; eerily serious all of a sudden. ”ok, so here’s what you do…”

everything goes silent. yuuta strains his ears, and gojo parts his lips. 

”— just ask them! easy, right?

….

”let’s go, yuuta.”

”mentaiko.”

”i heard they're serving those sandwiches you like at the cafeteria today! let's hurry before they run out.”

”ah — i was just kidding!” gojo laughs, as his students get up from their seats. ”i have an actual answer!”

maki grabs her bass, inumaki takes the notebook, and panda ushers yuuta away. they begin to walk down the hall, ignoring the pleas of the man behind them. pouting, as his shout echoes throughout the hallway. 

”kids! come back!”

plan a plan b plan c

plan d

”okay, so this is going absolutely nowhere.”

relishing in the shadow cast by the giant campus tree, the four friends sit on their usual table, sandwiches in hand. yuuta takes a bite of his, tentative. a little disheartened.

”really, guys… i appreciate it a lot, but maybe we should stop here.”

maki huffs. reaching across the table, she gently smacks him over the head with her can of sprite. ”no way. we still haven’t tried my plan.”

he leans back, a little further, a hesitant look in his eyes. the sun shines down, relentless, but the air smells like rain. in the distance he sees clouds, dark, approaching at a slow pace.

an omen, he thinks. a reason not to speak out.

rika always liked the rain. she liked the scent that came with it, the puddles she could jump in. she liked shaking the branches of tiny trees, just to see him jolt and squeak as the raindrops hit him.

the ring around his neck weighs heavy on his heart. the promise of it, the oath within the silver.

(when we grow up, let’s get married!)

”earth to yuuta!”

his eyes flutter open.

the sun shines down, embracing the contours of his face. painting his world yellow. from this angle, staring up at the tree, he can see it breaking through; between the gaps of the green leaves, the white blossoms. forcing its way into his line of vision.

a flicker of hope.

”do you want to hear the plan or not?” maki scoffs, crossing her arms and tapping at her elbow. impatient.

yuuta meets her gaze, finding it in him to muster up just a little more determination. ”yeah,” he breathes. ”i do.”

a smile blooms on her face. ”good. alright.”

panda and inumaki inch closer to the pair, careful not to knock over the cans of soda resting on the table. in a mess of limbs and tousled hair, they gather round.

this is it, yuuta thinks — the final plan. if it fails, he’ll just have to keep pining from afar. memorizing your smile, over and over, until you graduate and part ways. 

this is it.

maki parts her lips.

”— just ask them,” she says. ”straight out.”

silence. 

a moment passes. a soft, pleasant breeze flits by, caressing yuuta’s skin. his ring sways with the wind, gently. 

”… huh?!”

panda furrow his brows, leaning closer with his palms on his knees. ”i thought we agreed that was stupid!” inumaki huffs out a low affirmative noise, holding his sketchbook tightly to his chest. but maki only puffs out her chest.

yuuta tilts his head, with a soft furrow of his brows. ”didn’t you just cuss out mr. gojo for suggesting that…?”

”well, it’s dumb when he says it…” she mutters, under her breath. then her gaze turns firm. ”look — yuuta.”

when the two lock eyes, he notices a steadfast determination, glimmering in her irises. something almost burning.

”you aren’t going to get anywhere if you’re too cowardly to even look them in the eye,” she tells him, not allowing him to squirm away from the eye contact. ”you guys can come up with those convoluted plans all you want, but there’s no way you’ll grow closer if you can’t face them.”

tousling her hair, softly, maki lets out a sigh. there’s a kindness to it, distinct. he can tell she’s trying to be tactful. 

”if you really want to get to know them, then you have to be direct. and you have to believe in yourself. you’ve already resigned yourself to the fact that they’ll say no — but that’s just dumb.”

panda winces, under his breath, but doesn’t say anything. maybe this is exactly what yuuta needs to hear.

the boy in question listens, the eyes of his friend boring into his own. determined, confident, sincere — everything he isn’t. everything he wants to be.

”even if you don’t believe it, you’re a charming guy. we all think so,” she continues, matter-of-factly. angered affection overflowing in her voice.

”have some confidence, dammit!”

a moment passes. yuuta feels his lips part, ever so slightly. a little speechless.

panda and inumaki sit shoulder to shoulder, hands over their eyes, shielding themselves from the sight in front of them. comically, as if it’s too bright to look at directly. 

”this… overflowing tough love…!”

”salmon roe…!”

maki grins, all teeth, a little wolfish. but kind. ”the worst thing they can say is no, right? 

yuuta blinks. ”maki…” he mumbles, looking into her eyes, a certain sensation running through his chest. a kind of confidence. passed on from her to him — one friend to another. the most natural exchange in the world.

then he smiles. a little meek, somewhat awkward — but bright. ”yeah. yeah, you’re right!”

the lazy grin on her lips only deepens, as she gets up to her feet, dusting non-existent dirt off her jeans. reaching a hand out for yuuta to take. ”c’mon, loser. shape up. you’re gonna steal their heart, aren’t you?”

a moment passes.

yuuta takes her hand in his. ”i am,” he swallows down a gulp. willing his voice to sound even a little bit self-assured.

and she pulls him up, effortlessly, overflowing with a natural resilience. still grinning cheekily. encouraging him. ”you’re gonna go out there and do your best, right?”

”i — i am!”

another voice chimes in. ”you’re gonna finish my essay for me this week, right?”

”i am!”

…

”wait —”

maki hits panda over the head with a soft thwack. a wince leaves his lips, and inumaki giggles, quieting down when maki sends him a warning glance.

”don’t throw him off his game,” she huffs. then she turns to yuuta once more. ”let’s go find them. alright, loverboy?”

a smile blooms on his lips. grateful, to be surrounded by such sunny people. ones that make it a little easier to smile each day. ”right.”

— but before either of them can take a step forward, a warm voice spills into the open air.

”um, yuuta?”

the boy in question stops in his tracks. he feels his eyes widen, spinning on his heels, hair ruffled by the breeze — turning to look at the source of the sound. 

it’s you.

you, with your sunkissed smile, that inviting voice. that soothing, soothing presence. one that has his heartbeat picking up in speed, hands growing sweaty, throat running dry. one that makes him feel a little bit feverish. and you’re looking right at him, into his eyes.

”hey!” he sputters, blinking rapidly to convince himself that he isn’t hallucinating. but you just keep smiling, answering his awkward greeting without skipping a beat.

”hi! sorry, could i just… talk to you, for a second?” 

he blinks. the world stops spinning.

(you… want to talk….

to him?)

attempting to find the words, any words, he opens his mouth — but nothing comes out. not a single syllable, no vowels, not even a sound. nothing at all.

he can only stare, star-struck.

it’s not until his friends push him forward that he’s snapped out of it; they surround him, on all sides, wearing matching grins. teasing and excited.

”don’t worry, he’s all yours!”

”have fun, you two!”

”salmon!”

— then they’re off. 

yuuta tries to reach for their sleeves, in a weak attempt to keep them from leaving, but they’re gone before he can even blink. leaving him all alone, with someone he can’t talk to without experiencing intense symptoms of heart failure. 

he stumbles for something to say, again, but thankfully you beat him to it.

”sorry for interrupting you guys,” you say, voice set to a low tilt. apologetic. and his throat unclogs, a little.

”ah, no, it’s fine!” he smiles, maybe a little too giddy. wanting so badly to reassure you, to put you at ease. ”i’m happy to speak to you!”

…

(oh god oh no why did i say that —)

your smile widens, blooming like a flower in the sunlight. unfurling in front of his very eyes. ”me too!” you say, excitedly. ”i feel like you and i have been talking more, recently… it’s nice.”

eyes crinkling, you wringle your hands together, and look at him fondly. yuuta’s surprised he manages to keep his knees from buckling.

”i think so too!” he grins, ears pink and dimples showing. 

both of you smile. the breeze curls around your hair, illuminating the colour of your eyes. yuuta stops breathing, for a moment — just taking it all in.

”so — anyway…” you murmur, fiddling with the fabric of your pants. ”um… haha. sorry, i’m — a little nervous…”

yuuta blinks.

(he knows where this is going. all the signs are there, right in front of him; the flush of your cheeks, the nervous tapping of your fingers, the hesitance in your eyes. he’s read enough shoujo manga — he knows what this means.)

and he almost can’t believe it.

all he can do is keep smiling, hoping it’ll give you even a fraction of the peace that your smile brings him. ”don’t be,” he says, voice soothing. scratching the back of his head. ”whatever it is, i’ll — um. i’ll listen, so…”

he clears his throat. swallowing thickly.

”just — whenever you're ready.”

there’s no mistaking it. your ears are painted pink, and you’re gnawing at your bottom lip. fiddling with your fingers and avoiding his gaze, with a soft inhale, clear air filling your lungs. he wonders if your throat feels as dry as his, if your heart is beating even half as fast.

”um… okay, so…” you mumble, eyes unable to stay in one place for too long. a soft bout of laughter escapes you, and he can tell you’re trying to stave off your own nervosity; it sends a pang of ache running through his chest.

he wants to tell you that there’s no need to be nervous. that he’d listen to anything you have say, absolutely anything, no matter what it is.

he wants to tell you that he’d never let you down, that he’d have to be foolish to even think the thought.

he wants to tell you that he’ll hear you out. whenever, wherever. for as long as you need.

”do you, um…”

a gulp. your eyes find his, and there’s a soft kind of decisiveness in them. 

here it comes, he thinks. here it comes.

yuuta feels the heat on his cheeks, ears burning. and he hears the patter of his heartbeat, loud and heavy, echoing in his muddled mind like a mantra. but his chest feels light; fluttery, butterflies dancing around uncontrollably. 

clutching the ring around his neck, subconsciously, he looks you in the eye.

they’re bright, glimmering like little galaxies — or maybe more like summer skies. painted over with a warm hue, something nostalgic and sweet, so pretty it hurts. if he strains his eyes enough, he’s almost sure he can see the swirling of fluffy clouds in the depths of your irises.

a smile rests on your lips. it's almost overwhelmingly sweet, albeit a little shy, as you part your pretty lips. voice soaked in nervosity, tingly and shaky, and something he knows to be puppy love.

a shallow, dry intake of breath. yuuta braces himself.

here it comes. 

your voice spills out into the air, dripping with honey and magnolias. he thinks to himself that he’d like to hear the melodic lilt of it every single day; before going to bed, right after waking up. walking to campus together, heading back to the dorms when the sky gets dark.

just the sound alone would be enough.

subconsciously, he tugs on the strap of his backpack. thinking of the pencil inside it. his lucky charm, along with the ring around his neck — ordinary objects, both too precious for words.

(when we grow up, let’s get married!

you can keep it, if you want.)

here it comes, yuuta thinks.

a new beginning.

he strains his ears, and purses his lips, and watches your lips move as you finally ask —

”do you have maki’s number?”

(somewhere in the distance, from an inconspicuous bush, the muffled screams of three students and one professor resounds.)

[screamingcrows]

It looks easy enough on the picture

Note: Part of @ficsforgaza's kinktober event! Ehm. This is different from what I usually do. If you follow me, this probably isn't for you lmao. Thank you Juni for suggesting this very fun angle and to a lot of my mutuals for bearing with me as I struggled through this. Word count: 1k Tags: Xiao x afab reader, reader is Zhongli's partner (not cheating), voyeurism, exhibitionism, overstimulation, they have a safeword it just isn't discussed here, unprotected sex, orgasm denial, fingering (fem receiving), oral (fem receiving)

Zhongli had presented the book, and subsequently his desire, with steady hands and a smooth voice, tapping the colorful illustrations of bodies bending to merge together in ways that had want pooling in your gut. He'd merely chuckled and brushed his knuckles along your cheek when you'd pouted at his pitiful excuse.

Surely a god would be above common back pain?

Before your lover's gentle lips had fully shaped the word, a whirl of teal and shadow was already parting around his vigilant yaksha. Heat rushed to your cheeks, fingers nervously tugging the golden laze that lay across your skin, feeling the weight equally glimmering eyes drinking you, in as they often did, while Xiao spared no glance for anyone but his lord.

Though Xiao had been reluctant to touch you at first, a few coaxing words from the Lord of Geo had, as always, been enough to see him bow his head and approach. As a lingering morning fog banished by sunlight, so too had Xiao's initial reservation evaporated at the first squeeze of his hands around the meat of your hips. Zhongli had taken care to make you fall apart on his fingers while showing off every little tell of your body to the yaksha before he withdrew to a chair by the edge of the bed.

Already, your chest was heaving in desperate attempts to alleviate the growing haze, fingers rubbing at your insides and sending little sparks of pleasure through your body. Xiao hovered between your legs, hair disheveled and clinging to his forehead, the flush that stretched across his soft skin speaking volumes of his own predicament. Despite the subtle movement of his hips grinding down onto the mattress, he continued to work diligently, amber eyes that bordered on being hauntingly familiar committing every reaction to memory and using it to fan the flames of your arousal.

A choked sob left your lips as he suckled on your bundle of nerves, two deceptively soft fingers curling to press firmly against a spot that had you arching eagerly into the touch. Whether the soft groan came from him or your lover was impossible to discern, perhaps them both? Your thighs tightened around Xiao's face, the scorching heat of his breath against your entrance serving to tip you over the edge.

Even as you panted and squirmed, feeling yourself tighten around the fingers that continued to mercilessly prod against that same spot while your fingers tangled in his teal hair, he didn't let up. Wet sounds filled the silence between Xiao's quiet grunts and the loud thud of your heart, mind already hazy enough that the stretch in your muscles came in secondary as the yaksha dutifully pushed one of your legs further up in preparation.

"W-wait just-.. just a moment.." Every breath had your muscles quivering as you tried to push Xiao's head away, your eyes widening in utter disbelief when he straightened up and licked his glistening lips. The sight of your own juices coating his chin had an almost embarrassing effect, and you were more than a little grateful when he turned his head towards your partner.

"Do I-"

"No," Zhongli's rumbling chuckle didn't exactly help as you tried to breathe through the feeling of Xiao absently curling the fingers that remained buried in your heat. "Keep going, this is far from enough preparation."

Any thought of truly protesting was replaced with an overwhelming emptiness once Xiao removed his fingers. Clenching around nothing, you took a shaky breath and looked away, unable to meet his intense stare when he pushed your other leg against your chest as well, fully baring you to the eyes of both men.

It was a brief respite, a low command spoken just soft enough to be nothing but a murmur was the only warning before Xiao moved forward, hissing when he breached your opening. The sheets crumpled beneath your hands, tears welling up in your eyes at the feeling. Though far from as thick as Zhongli, it curved upwards to still provide the most delicious friction.

His hands tightened as though feeling the give of your body, the determined look in his eyes making you flutter around his tip.

No time was wasted in building a steady rhythm, Xiao moving with the precision and ease of one who honed their body as an artisan would their tools. Lean muscle rippled beneath your fingertips with every firm thrust of his hips, every nerve in your body burning as tension built too swiftly. Your body writhed as little huffs left your lips, body still tingling from the release just minutes prior as the drag against your puffy walls began bordering on painful.

Much to your regret, Xiao took your frantic tugging at his hair and clawing at his back as a request to lean down and lick along your chest. The debauched shriek that was pulled from your lips had every part of the yaksha go rigid before his restraint was shattered, a faint thrum of power enveloping his body as he snapped his hips forward. Another orgasm was ripped from your body, tears spilling from your eyes as he increased his pace despite the way you clenched around him like a vice.

If Zhongli hadn't been there the sight above you would've been frightening, the strained expression on Xiao's face combined with small black tendrils of smoke that coiled from his tattoos had something at the back of your mind reeling. But as it was, your biggest concern was the all-consuming pleasure that pulled you into its embrace.

"Careful now, you shouldn't lose yourself prematurely," Zhongli chided while doing nothing to hide the amusement over the predicament of both Xiao and yourself. Even through the almost painful waves of euphoria, you swore you could see his eyes glittering when he tapped a slender finger to a page in the book. "Take a breath and get into position."

[that-ari-blogger]

What exactly does Pan teach you?

So, Pan's inclusion in Stray Gods is weird, right? Not in a sense of he doesn't belong or fit in the story, because he certainly does. But why Pan?

When you think of the Greek gods, chances are you think of Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades. In Stray Gods, these big names are absent, and here is Pan, someone a large portion of players had never heard about before now, offering you some advice.

SPOILERS AHEAD

First up, mythologically, Pan was the god of the wilds, usually. I say usually because there was no cannon for Greek Mythology because of how ancient Greece works. It wasn't so much one unified nation, but a collection of city-states with shared cultural elements. As such, different states had very different views of the deities, and these shifted over time. For example, Artemis is usually defined by a lack of romantic interest, but Sparta worshiped an epithet called Artemis Orthia, who was a goddess of fertility and childbirth. You can see why this gets complicated.

With that said, Pan is usually a god of nature and freedom, sometimes associated with medicine, sometimes associated with madness and fear, and sometimes associated with music. This is a figure who is hard to pin down.

This doesn't really answer the question: Why is Pan?

I think the answer is his distance from the rest of the idols. Olympus is defined by tradition and the past. It is burdened by trauma, and Pan, the god of freedom, represents the exact opposite. This is a character who is desperately looking forward. He seeks grace out because of guilt over Caliope's death, and instead of confronting that, he runs as fast as he can into the future. He isn't as free as first impressions would tell you.

Ok, enough preamble, what is this song about?

First up, this song takes the "why are they all singing" comment about musicals and looks you directly in the face to say "its magic, deal with it."

But second, and more importantly, this song offers you another choice. Stray Gods is about choosing your own fate, and the teaching song gives you an obvious one. Freddie, Pan, or neither.

Stray Gods isn't short of incredible visuals, but this is by far my favourite. And it isn't what you think. In any other story, this would be the choice between going on the adventure or staying home, but you're going, otherwise, Grace will be killed. This is asking you how you will go about that.

Freddie, identified with small comfort, is contrasted against Pan with the very whimsical imagery of the tree. Freddie represents safety, Pan represents urgency. Freddie represents using what you know, Pan represents diving headfirst.

Speaking of that metaphor, welcome to the waters. It's deep, you can't see the surface from here, and the murk stops you from seeing much other than Freddie and Pan. Who do you choose? Who do you trust?

What does Pan actually teach you? Not much, he explains how Grace's powers work and that's pretty much it. Except for one thing, Pan, quite accidentally, teaches you how this story will work.

Welcome to the world, it's going to be murky, you're not always going to be able to tell what is in front of you, but you can always make a choice, and you have to deal with the consequences.

Previous - Next

[aziraphales-library]

Hi again!

After watching Season 2 I am finding myself fanfic-craving, but like, no fix-its. Not looking for that kind of escapism.

Instead, can you recommend fanfics going off the 'they're not talking to each other' (either serious or silly), or any post-season 2/ AU and deviants to season 2 that are not trying to fix or undo what was done?

Thank you!

Hello. Here are some fics regarding "they're aren't talking"...

Feathered Council by SazzyLJ (G)

Who needs a friend when ducks have ears? Crowley sits on a park bench with a bag of peas and talks things out… with a duck. It must be the duck he’s talking to since he’s definitely not talking to Aziraphale.

How Do You Talk To An Angel, Theme Song to The Heights (1992) by Karalyn (G)

They’re not talking, because it’s not safe to talk. That doesn’t mean they’re not communicating. “Who in Heaven could have possibly taught you about Paramore, for Satan’s sake,” Crowley murmured to himself while shuffling the tapes in his hands absently.

angel, just put your sweet lips on my lips by midnightdragons (G)

Aziraphale and Crowley have reunited to stop the Second Coming. But they cannot stop another Armageddon if they aren’t talking. And talking is difficult, because Crowley won’t even look at Aziraphale, let alone speak with him. (Short and sweet s3 speculation one-shot to celebrate its confirmation! And from Neil’s statement about how they ‘aren’t talking.’)

Though this be madness by Kotias (M)

Crowley and Aziraphale split up; Aziraphale went to Heaven, and Crowley drove away after that godforsaken kiss. Muriel takes over the bookshop, and discovers a world that they had never been aware of before. Something is afoot, something is brewing; the world is coming to an end, and They Are Not Talking.

amidst the important nothings by vivahate (T)

When they turn around they see Muriel exit the bookshop and make their way, once more, to the French restaurant. Nina frowns. “Are they seriously back to not talking again? They were fine with face to face meetings just a week ago.” Maggie sighs again. She’s been doing a lot of sighing lately. “Mr. Fell seems to have hit a nerve with what he said to Mr. Crowley last time.” “Really? What did he say?” “The days are getting colder,” Maggie quotes Aziraphale, “please take care of yourself.” “Ah.” Nina nods, watching the street lamps by the bookshop come to life. “That would do it.” --- (or: Aziraphale and Crowley may be stubborn, but they're notoriously bad at staying cross with each other. In less important news, the world is ending.)

Headlights by RoswellSmokingWoman (M)

Aziraphale made Crowley want to believe in the ineffability of a God that brought them together. Crowley made Aziraphale want to sacrifice his religion and worship their love instead. But that was then when love was enough to bring together two fools desperate to make it work. Three years after their divorce, Aziraphale and Crowley aren't talking. They've tried to move on, but neither can. It should be their anniversary, on New Year's Eve, but they're not together. They should be together. Aziraphale calls. He's not even sure whether Crowley will pick up, but he does. They see each other again for the first time in years, and it's a whirlwind. It's time to heal old wounds, put aside their differences, and make their relationship work again. They already know the alternative, and know they can't live like that anymore.

- Mod D

[blissfulip]

—Legion

On AO3

 

Priest!Viktor x F!demon!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Priest Kink, Blasphemy, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, demon reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Post medieval era, Dubious Science, Church Sex, Roman Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Shameless Smut, Masturbation, No use of Y/N, third person.

Cw: mentions of child abuse, masturbation. (separately, not related to one another)

Words: 2.4k

[A/N: we are so back yall, i think... (let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby @zaunitearchives

Previous

V. (NSFW)

Preach, pray, consume, forgive, kneel, repent, repeat.

Viktor’s  worn fingers traced the grooves of the heavy missal as the morning light filtered through stained glass, casting lazy hues upon the cold stone floor. The scent of incense, mingling with the earthy aroma of old wood and dust, rose in spirals as thoughts meandered like the smoke. He recited every prayer, absent from the materiality needed but without a misstep. Not a single one of the faithful that had congregated on that Sunday morning noticed something was amiss, which in retrospect made it seem like he had been doing this for a while, unbeknownst to him.

Their eyes, some pious, others wearied by life's burdens, stared back in expectation, and in their collective gaze, he intoned the familiar prayers, his voice a low murmur resonating through the vaulted space. No part of his body registered the passage of time; only the ashen-colored light that now bathed the right-most side of the altar accused the hours he had lost to the liturgy. A soft voice calling out to him gently nudged him out of his stupor. 

“Father” The altar boy whispered with an outstretched hand that held the washed communion plates. 

“Thank you, Tobias.” Viktor said as he reached out to grab the plates, “I’m sorry, I’ve been a bit distracted as of late.” 

The boy nodded animatedly and skipped his way down to the altar again. Tobias was a lad of scarcely ten summers. Like many others—including Viktor himself—he had been ‘donated’ to the church. To everyone else, this was seen as a foolproof way to skip purgatory, a show of mercy from his parents that proved their love for him and their devotion to god. To Viktor—who was there on the day he arrived and was charged with paying his parents an appropriate amount for him—it was a desperate plea to guarantee his five other siblings did not starve to death.

Viktor looked down again, and the boy was still walking around, clad in a robe slightly too large for him, its hem brushing the floor. His small hands worked with care, putting out the candles with a long, brass taper. Viktor watched as the boy handled the sacred objects with a reverence that belied his tender age, so full of potential and untainted by cynicism. When he was done with his duties, he walked back over to where Viktor sat and stood there in silence, waiting for more orders. 

“What do you wish to be when you grow up?” Viktor asked casually.

He spoke quickly, like he had rehearsed it. “A priest, like you.”

Viktor let out a small, good-humored chuckle in response and raised an incredulous eyebrow. Tobias looked on both sides like he was afraid someone would be there to hear him before speaking again. 

“A stonemason, like my father.”

“Do you miss him?”

His glossy eyes didn’t escape Viktor’s, but he didn’t wish to pry for answers any further, afraid the boy’s feelings would end up triggering memories of his own. And even though Tobias quickly left after Viktor nodded in understanding, the memories he was trying to repress came flooding down. 

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

The day his parents took him away was etched in Viktor’s memory with painful vagueness. Cold hands pried him from his mother’s skirt, her eyes wet and empty, filled with a sorrow too deep for words. He barely remembered her face, and now and then, when he tried to latch onto her ghost, she escaped him like smoke. His father’s voice, gruff and resigned as he muttered it was ‘for the best’, was the only thing he managed to recall clearly. He was never able to tell if he felt sad; although his tone seemed tired, it always had, this time seeming nothing more than a feeble attempt at justification. 

The heavy monastery door closed behind him with a finality that echoed through his young heart, and despite the fact that they lived nearby, he never saw them again. Stone walls towered over him, pressing in, their cold embrace devoid of the warmth and comfort he had known. Father Isidore's face, nothing more than a priest back then, loomed hard and unyielding, offering no solace.

Lonely nights were spent in a narrow cot. This was, for all intents and purposes, a better sleeping arrangement than what he previously had, but he longed for home, for the familiar sounds of his mother’s cooking and his father’s laughter as he woke up before sunrise, which had been replaced by an oppressive silence and whispered prayers. Days blurred into weeks, and the unfamiliar routine and stern discipline pressed down on his spirit as curiosity, once a joyful pursuit, became a dangerous trait to have.

He remembered the sting of Father Isidore’s cane against his skin, the punishment for asking questions deemed too freethinking. The pain on his back that burned with each strike, shame and pain mingling as his stern gaze bore into him, and the sickly feeling in his stomach when he smiled at him with the slimy insincerity of someone who believes he’s doing you a favor.

Back then, he bit his lip to stifle his cries, the taste of blood trickling down his throat that for so long he associated with fear, and now it had mutated into a morbid parade of all the wrong sentiments: pleasure, anger, and defiance. If only little Viktor the altar boy knew that the joy of discovery that was crushed under the weight of dogma and the vibrant world of his imagination that was stifled by the constant threat of retribution were once again enkindled, and by the spine-chilling yet exciting presence of a demonic creature nonetheless, he would not believe it. 

The university days provided a brief respite from the oppressive confines of the monastery. The city, alive with possibilities, offered a tantalizing glimpse of freedom. The rush of independence was exhilarating, a stark contrast to the rigid discipline he had known. Yet, even as the world beyond the monastery beckoned, he found himself bound by an inexplicable sense of duty. The decision to return was made—a choice that haunted him. The familiar chains of the clergy tightened around him, the opportunity for escape slipping away.

And although each passing year brought a deeper sense of regret and the burden of faith grew heavier, the ache of what could have been was, at this very moment, no longer a constant. His path led him to where he stood now, an experience so formidably unique that it felt tailor-made for him. Did he deserve such a test from god? It depended on how you saw it. If this was a punishment, then it was fit for all the sin that blackened his soul, and he would endure it in silent penitence. But if this was a reward for being a pious servant and having endured the temptation of unbridled knowledge before, a bigger and more difficult challenge for Viktor to prove his worth, then he did not feel deserving of it. 

Either way, no matter how he sliced it, he was failing. Whether this test had been put before him to teach him restraint or not, it was doing quite the opposite. She had given him a new set of eyes, and now he found a fresh and bitter perspective for every aspect of his practice that he had accepted and embraced before.

Confession was no longer a way for him to provide the people in his community with relief and forgiveness; it was a dirty show of egos for people who are disgustingly contaminated by greed and gluttony to flaunt their superiority in the eyes of a corrupt institution. Their opulent vestments were nothing more than a vainglorious boast of wealth, unfit for a group of men who made a vow of poverty to mirror the temperance of their god. The altar boys were only an unfortunate bunch of children stripped of their choices due to their inescapable place in society, a society where the poor, the vulnerable, and the young were exploited with the promise of salvation if they paid tithe and served their godly emissaries. 

And then there was the liturgy. Granted, he was never too entranced by any of the rites he had to perform; they had always felt like a distant repetition of nonsensical words that he felt no real connection to, as he always felt closer to god in silent and private prayer, but now, with his unintentional new perspective, it was the aspect that felt the most different to him. 

For decades, he had been taught to be passive, to repress, and to contain. To escape anything that was even remotely tempting and to be satisfied and held in contempt by the only nude body he’d ever be allowed to see, the one nailed to a cross. Why is it then that the art scattered around the church puts such an intent focus on the immaculate figures of naked men? Why is it that he is thought to rub, to whisper, and to consume in that context but is forced to repress such acts once he steps down the altar?

Viktor took a deep breath. His long fingers twirled the beads of his rosary absentmindedly as he pondered, and before realizing what he was doing, he brought it up to his nose, taking in the faint smell of roses that still lingered from when it was made. While he did that, images ran through his mind—of himself kissing the crucifix during Holy Week, the defined torsos carefully painted in the sacred images of saints, the almost ecstatic feeling brought by communion. Flashes that appeared in quick succession fused with the intense pleasure of flagellation and the still vibrant recollection of what She had made him feel. 

___________________________________________________________________

He knew those thoughts would lead to these, and not only did he purposefully not repress them, but he was hoping as much. There was that distinct tension, that heightened awareness of his body, that sense of electricity that seemed to hum just beneath his skin. Something that was no longer new to him and also no longer unwelcome. 

He stood from the chair he had spent the afternoon rotting away in deep thought on and lethargically walked back to his quarters. Once there and with the door tightly shut behind him, he fell on his back against the stubborn mattress, not waiting even a moment before pulling up the fabric of his cassock to reveal the tight clasp of his trousers. 

His fingers trembled as they moved to untie the sash with deliberate slowness, the anticipation heightening his senses. He hesitated for a moment, as if seeking some final absolution, before he grasped his swelling desire. An almost cynical laugh escaped his lips as he began to stroke himself, the motion tentative at first, then more assured as he slowly understood the intensity of his own touch. The sensation was electric, his body responding with a fervor that he had only experienced deep in prayer. 

His free hand, with his rosary entangled between his fingers, gripped the edge of the cot, knuckles white with tension as the wooden frame creaked under the strain and the beads etched small marks into his skin. As the feeling of that distracted him from the pressing heat gathering with each pump, another unusual feeling took him out of the moment. 

The same bone-chilling breeze he had felt for the past few days, every time she came around. There was no fear inside of him this time and no guilt either, so when her figure became clear and visible, he didn’t flinch, freeze, or even stop what he was doing. A silent acknowledgement was given in the form of a lingering look, before the pleasure building to an almost unbearable intensity urged him to start moving his hand once again. 

She looked at him with pleased eyes, contemptuous but not gloating. She recognized that her role had been simply one of a catalyst for something that had been inside of Viktor all along. Did she want to participate? Of course, but there would be a time for that; this was his victory to enjoy. 

He continued stroking with a rhythm characteristic of someone who was slowly trying to connect with his own body, not rushed by guilt or fear. In the midst of one of the pauses he took to prevent himself from coming to his release too early, he took notice of her again, still standing opposite him near the door. 

“Will you be in hell to welcome me when I die?”

“Hell is now, this, and here.”

“So there is no realm of eternal punishment?” Viktor chuckled bitterly. 

“If there was, it wouldn’t be for people like you.” 

“Eh, I don’t believe that.”

“Can you confidently say...” She started as she walked over and kneeled near the edge of the bed where Viktor sat, gently placing one of her cold hands over the one that gripped his cock. “...that something that feels like this is undoubtedly immoral?”

She slowly guided him up and down once again, increasing the pressure of his grip with her own as Viktor looked into her obscured eyes, mouth agape. 

“Perhaps, though I’m prepared to pay the price.” He said, almost in a whisper. 

They both continued moving, aided by her firm touch over his hand, and the pressure building became almost unbearable. In those final moments, his thoughts became a blur, a cacophony of want, desire, and need, with part of him wanting to touch her and another part wanting to completely lean back and let her finish him off. Instead, his body tensed right where he was, every muscle tightening as he reached his climax with a shuddering release that left him gasping for breath.

The crucifix dangled on his neck as he started to lean over. 

[strewnsouls]

instructor

art by 6uooU on twitter/x.

a little thing that i had in my drafts for awhile.. finally got around to finishing it! will be cross-posting on ao3 as well, so if that platform is more your style, it’ll be there soon!

content warning ahead! this work is 18+, minors dni!

“Oh, that’s it,” Hex groans, his fingers flexing as he holds your hair back and away from your face. You were currently sat in front of him, on your knees, with the tip of his cock in your mouth. Your lips are wrapped around the head, gently sucking on it and peering up at him through your lashes, looking all too innocent in comparison to the absolutely sinful things you were doing. “And you say you’ve never done this before.. but that tongue of yours? God,” he breathes out, his piercing gaze locked on you with lust blown pupils. 

You can only hum around his length, kitten-licking the slit before tentatively pulling away to speak. “I really haven’t.. but I’m happy you’re feeling good..,” you murmur, pressing a gentle kiss to his tip, the action making him shudder. “I’m more than feeling good, angel. But how about you? Think you can take more of me?” He asks then, the words making you bite your bottom lip, to which he quickly uses his free hand to coax it from your teeth with a smile. “Easy, baby. No biting.”

You nod, returning his smile and allowing your eyes to flicker down to his cock, admiring the look of it for just a moment. He was so fucking hard, it made you salivate. A vein ran along the underside from the base to the head, and you couldn’t help but feel the urge to run your tongue along it to see how he’d react. However, that was far too ambitious for you at the moment. He noticed the slight hesitancy in your movements, the way you licked your lips as you stared at his length, the action seeming like it happened subconsciously. 

“What are you thinking about, sweetheart?” His voice pulls you out of your brief haze, your brows quirking as you look back up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Mmm… Wanna taste you. I’m ready to take more,” you respond eagerly, bouncing a little bit on your thighs while your hands absently gripped at your chest, toying with your nipples through your shirt every so often. You can see the way his lashes flutter at your words, a low groan rumbling from his chest. “Yeah? Think your pretty throat can handle this?” Hex says, gripping himself at the base and tapping the head of his cock against your parted lips. You nod, your tongue darting out to lick at it in return.

“Fuck,” he groans, his fingers momentarily tightening their grip in your hair, delivering a delicious sting to your scalp that practically has you purring. “Open wide for me, baby,” he murmurs then, his free hand drifting down to grip your jaw and gently squeezing the sides of it, your mouth opening almost involuntarily with the motion. Of course, this was what you wanted. He bites his lip as he slides his cock into your mouth, slowly, a low grunt leaving his lips as he watches his length disappear down into your throat. He stops halfway, tapping your cheek gently. “Good? You can keep going, baby?” He asks softly. You nod, relaxing the best you can to take him fully, your lips stretched wide to accommodate the size of his girth. 

Hex curses under his breath as he continues to slide into your mouth, the warm wetness of your throat slowly enveloping his cock nearly has him throwing all caution to the wind and bucking his hips forward, but somehow he’s able to restrain himself. He’s teaching you a lesson, after all. He can feel the way your throat instinctively constricts around the intrusion, “Relax. Breathe through your nose, try not to gag.” His reminder has you sputtering for a moment before you’re trying your best to relax your throat, doing as he says and desperately trying to ignore the urge to choke. 

He smiles at your efforts, his grip loosening in your hair and instead giving you an affectionate headpat, almost as though he was trying to offer you some sort of distraction from the large size of his cock in your mouth. “You’re doing so well, angel. I see those pretty little tears.. but you’re doing so, so well,” he mutters, his nails now gently scratching at your scalp. You swallow around his length, the feeling pulling a soft groan from him as you gaze up at him with watery eyes that have him cooing at you. “Oh, darling. Look at you. So pretty like this..,” he whispers, the praise making you let out a muffled whimper. The sound sends a vibration through him, a shiver going down his spine as he groans again. 

Slowly but steadily, and after he checks to make sure that you’re still doing okay, he tightens the grip he has in your hair and begins moving your head back and forth. “Fuck,” he hisses through gritted teeth, throwing his head back at the way your throat tightens around him a little, squeezing his cock so deliciously as you take nearly the entirety of his length. “You’re so good at that, baby..,” he whispers, and you hum in response, the sound sending vibrations throughout his body that have him groaning and bucking his hips forward. Hex bites his lip when he hears you gag, but he can’t slow down now, not when the warm, wet cavern of your throat feels so fucking good wrapped around him. “I know, baby, I know.. just take it for me..,” he murmurs, continuing to gaze down at you with hooded eyes as he fucks your mouth. 

You hollow out your cheeks as you suck, tears beginning to spill from your eyes and down your face, but you didn’t pay it any attention—your focus now was on making him feel good. His movements speed up a little bit, his moans becoming more frequent and high pitched, the muscles of his thighs and abdomen rippling as he gets close to finishing. “God, fuck. Baby, I’m.. I’m gonna cum.. please, can I—,” before he’s even done speaking, you’re nodding the best you can with his cock down your throat, staring up at him with bleary, tear-filled eyes, and the sight has him shoving his length the furthest it’s been one last time, his mouth dropping open with a long, drawn out moan as his release fills your mouth. You have no choice but to swallow it, taking all he has to give you before you drag your tongue up the underside as you pull off with a pop!

 He’s panting heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he rides out his high, his head resting back against the chair he’d sat on to start this whole thing. “Goddamn,” he breathes, the hand he has in your hair going completely lax as he comes down from his orgasm, peering down at you with a half-lidded gaze and thinly veiled desire swirling in his eyes. You can only smile up at him and give him a hopeful look, your voice a little hoarse the next time you speak. “Was I good?” you ask, and the question has him scoffing and shaking his head playfully. “Baby, you were perfect. Passed my class with flying colors,” he murmurs, his hand drifting down to cup your jaw and run his thumb over your cheek. You lean into the touch with a hum, your eyes fluttering shut as a soft sigh of relief leaves your lips. The last things you hear before being thrown onto his bed is his low chuckle, his words sending a thrill of pleasure and anticipation through you. 

“Now it’s your turn. Let’s make another mess, yeah?”

[theunlikelycassiopeia]

Desperation (updated and improved)

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of sexual abuse, rape, enslavement, PTSD

Astarion desperately tried to remind himself what she was to him. She was supposed to be a meal ticket. A guarantee of safety. Manipulated alliance.

For 200 years, he’s lost count of how many conquests he’d had. He mostly couldn’t remember their names or faces. Every night, his soul would wander off somewhere far away as his body was used for the pleasure and demise of others. And when it was over, he would tend to himself. He felt filthy. Often, he would bleed. He would wince as he washed himself down.  As he limped back to the kennels, his siblings would hiss “whore” and “brat”. Naked, he would lie on his rotten bedroll and wrap himself in his shawl until that vampire rest washed over him. But his rest was a fever of nightmares. No, not nightmares. A reliving. Every night, everything happened again and again. He could smell it all, taste it all, feel it all. His wretched death. The agony of bottomless starvation. The horror of absent autonomy. The beatings. The cutting. The rape. The constant pain. The torment. His own screams. The darkness.

In his earliest years as a spawn, he was defiant and hopeful. He tried everything he could to escape. He would push back. He would cling on to everything that he was before. He would pray to divine gods.

But each punishment was more vicious than the last. With each assault on his body, all he used to be slipped further away from him. Eventually, his soul became small. So small, it hid in the smallest crook of his long empty existence. He tucked it into a small bed from an old blurry memory. He sat it in the recollection of sunlight. He wrapped it in the barely-there scent of children’s books, the ones that pilled next to his childhood bed. He lost it in the distant flavour of his favourite sweets. It crept away with the indistinguishable faces of his long-gone family.

Astarion tried very hard to die. He wanted to die in the warmth of the burning sun. No matter what he did, he was unable to. It was the will of his master that he would not die by his own doing.  

Until he found a way to die, all he could really do was minimise his suffering. And so he submitted. He learned to paint his face with a charming smile. He taught himself how to become irresistible. A perfect mask with a pretty body.

But then

The nautiloid.

The tadpoles.

Daylight.

Oh, blissful daylight.

And her.

Now, he would wake up early just to watch the rising sun. Perhaps I can live? And where despair once sat, there was now an insatiable need for revenge and power. A desperation to hold on to his newfound freedom.

No one will ever hurt me again.

Contemplating this, Astarion sat up in his bedroll. He’d managed to form a strong alliance with Cass. But something had shifted in him. He looked over at Cass. She was deep in meditation.

He supposed that Cass wasn’t like his last conquests. He had no plans on leading her to her death. Cass was not a one-night victim that he would never see again. He really could have picked anyone in their group. But he didn’t. He picked her. Why? He glanced back over to her.

When they met, the first thing he noticed about her was that she was truly beautiful. Unlike his silver-white hair, hers was a true white. And when her hair wasn’t braided, it was a halo of wavy mess around her head.  He briefly wondered if she was a moon elf. But he saw that she had an affinity with the wild. She was able to speak with animals and could name all the plants she saw. He wondered if that was typical of barbarians or not?

Aside from her beauty, he really didn’t like her much at first. She regarded him with distain and often poked fun at the way he talked or looked. This was something he was not used to. Perhaps this is why he choose her? He wanted a challenge. Perhaps.

Or perhaps it was that strange tug he felt inside of him. It pulled him into her. He felt it that first night he fed on her. It told him to be patient with her. It whispered a promise safety.

Astarion stood up, shaking the thought away. He picked up the half-drunk bottle of wine from next to his bedroll. He emptied the contents into his mouth. He was already hazy with drink.

There was no rest for him tonight. He silently stumbled his way to his tent.

What am I going to do?

[moon-quq]

Sanji × Fem!Reader

Sanji is hot, yes. And this is mainly based off the Live Action version so, yehh.. wouldn't really say spoilers as I jumped parts a good ammount to reach the smut, but enjoy~! @gamekun I dedicate this to you.

Warning: FemDom, Pegging, Praise, Swearing, Sanji is a goddamn bottom, both characters are switches. <3

You grew up along side Sanji, from the day you were dropped on that ship to following the boy around in the kitchen to help with anything at all.. However Sanji was always picking fights with the head chef because he wanted to have something cooked a certain way. Which that went on for ages, until the night pirates came to raid the ship.. " Sanji Im scared! " You sobbed, holding onto him whilst he backed you both up into a corner, a knife grasped in his hand tightly. " Don't worry, I've got you. " You knew he was brave, Sanji always was even in the most fucked up of situations,, However you knew that you both didn't stand a chance against a ship of pirates. And soon enough a big scary man barged through the door proving your point exactly,, the man however started looking around to notice what Sanji had last been cooking,, what he did next shocked you, he tasted it and said that it was good but needed oregano which caused Sanji to launch towards the man while screaming. " SANJI NO! " You yelped, chasing after him blindly.. Then everything blacked out,, you did not remember much after that.. You woke up on a cold wet rock in the middle of the ocean, with no one around. " What happened to everyone? " You heard Sanji ask the man,, The man of course said they all died before throwing a bag at him. " This is for you and her, go slow as its the only rations we have, and dont bug me unless you see a ship. " And with that.. The horror of your life began in motion, for days on end you sat at the edge of the rock beside Sanji, never speaking a word...

Time Skip ➜

The man who had rescued you both soon enough became a guardian of sorts, as well as revealing that he was a pirate named Red Leg of the cook pirates. At some point he even retired and became the chef and owner of a restaurant named Baratie. Along side were you and Sanji who were still as close as ever, you dare say you even became a couple after long enough. Zeff was always harsh on Sanji about his cooking, but Sanji put up with it and kept creating new things,, Till the day a bunch of shit excuses of pirates came into the place. One wearing a straw hat, one with 3 swords,, one with weird hair,, and another, a female with orange hair. Sanji became almost instantly infatuated with the orange haired woman which caused your blood to absolutely boil. You knew he was a flirt by nature to get better tips but, the way he absolutely stared at her didn't sit right with you. That night you hardly saw him, he was off doing god knows what with seas know fucking who. It was the first night you had slept alone in the bed and you hated it.. You hated it so much that you even cried a little.

Time Skip ➜

After having gotten to know the band of pirates as well as help Zeff save the green haired one youd come to learn was named Zoro, you'd forgiven Sanji and he apologized for being so absent so everything was back to normal as it should have been. All good things come to an end at some point, always.. and that ending was the day Luffy was almost killed by Arlong.. Nami had betrayed the entire group and fled with the map Luffy so desperately fought to get,, but even in the situation being so dire you couldn't help but stare at Sanji. After he dove into the water to save the little pirate, he sat knelt on the dock panting softly.. The unholy thoughts that racked your brain watching him kneel like that was the most inappropriate thing for the moment.

Even later that evening while everyone recuperated themselves you were lost in thought, imagining the ways you could bend the blonde to your will. You couldn't lie, the last time you and Sanji had been physical was months ago now, and it made your thoughts even worse. " Y/N? Are you alright? " Luffy called, eyeing you from his side of the ship which snapped you back to attention, nodding quickly before standing. " Im.. going to go find Sanji, try to get some rest guys. Goodnight " You muttered, glancing at Usopp before fulling leaving.You eventually did find Sanji, in your bedroom on the Baratie packing some of his things. " So you're going with them? As Zeff said. " Sanji only nodded, continuing as he was until you came to stop him by grabbing his arm. " Do you plan to take me with you or leave me here? " And with this you saw pain cross Sanjis face. " I can't take you with me, this is dangerous, and Zeff needs you.. And I won't be anything if I stay on this ship. " You only grinned, taking his words as a challenge. " You really think, I'm going let you walk out of here without bringing me with? Think again, now be a good boy, and kneel for me my love " Sanjis face now went blank, almost like he stopped thinking but his body obeyed like it always has and sunk down to the floor, his hands resting on his knees. " Im.. forgive me mon amour.. I will not abandon you here.. " At this you smiled softly, running your hand through his hair while he leaned into your stomach. " Can we have some fun..? " He muttered just loud enough for you to hear it, which caused your smile to grow ten fold,, as your hand traveled along the crown of his head to the back of his head you grabbed a handful of his hair to pull his head back. " You best apologize to me first, for threatening to leave me on this ship. " You could see it in his eyes he was internally screaming. Normally Sanji had control but every now and then you'd have the wheel,, and he was always so cute as a submissive little whore between your legs doing everything possible to please you.

Before you knew it he had already pushed your lower clothing down,, almost if a core memory he instantly started to place kisses along your stomach and thighs, but avoiding your cunt until given permission.. " Go ahead~ " You cooed softly, moving to lift one of your legs onto the stool sitting at the end of your bed to give Sanji better access of which he quickly took advantage of.. The feeling of his tongue cirling around your clit had you moaning softly while grabbing his hair harder,, pushing him as far against you as you could.. You didn't care if he suffocated right now either, just wanted your release and to punish him for possibly leaving you. " Fuck.. just like that,, good boy... " You kept spitting out small praises between moans that seemed to urge him on even more,, suckling harshly on your small bundle of nerves which caused your vision to explode in stars. Before you got to the edge though you could feel him starting to slow, starting to gain control of the situation which urked slightly as you were the one holding him buried in between your legs. " If.. you stop, I won't even touch you Sanji. " Your voice croaked, breathless from how well he was able to use his tongue but,, guess that's given due to him being a chef having to taste his food. Your threat alone caused an audible whine to escape him while he started back up his momentum, easily bringing you crashing over the edge onto his face.

After a moment of coming down from your high you'd let him pull away,, and my fucking God the view of his flushed face,, hair sticky from sweat as well as the puppy dog look in his eyes almost had you bursting again, it was earlier on the docks but so much hotter,, but now it wad time for his punishment. " Up. " You commanded gently, watching as he stood and a wave of confusion crossed his face,, " Stay still~ " You cooed, moving behind him, now going to grab one of his ties he normally wore.. but it was specifically the one he's tied you up with before. " Strip for me baby~ " He still couldn't see you which made him nervous,, worried of what was running through your brain. Once he had stripped entirely you'd grab his arms and pull them behind him to start tieing the soft fabric around his wrists,, you could tell his brain instantly stopped working which you took advantage for to be able to push him onto the bed once you tied the final knot. The fact you had this man bent over your bed with his hands tied gave you such a powerful feeling. " Say.. What do you think I should do to punish you? .. Should I just tease you or,, " As you spoke your hands started to grope his ass gently. " Should I see how well you could take me this time? " You watched him visibly shudder at this,, shudder at the fact you had threatened to peg him, but honestly he didn't seem against it. " D-do your worst.. " He huffed, his accent making his stutter sound so much cuter. You'd specifically ordered a special item just for the case a nice 8 inch dildo with a strap to go around your hips. He couldn't see the size or what you were holding in general since his face was buried against the pillows,, most likely mentally preparing himself. " Cmon my love~ spread your legs for me~.. " You purred softly, trailing one hand along his back while the other held a small bottle of lubrication that tilted slowly to pour a little ammount onto his hole. " Hey that's cold! " He yelped, pulling away only for you to laugh softly and rub his lower back. " It's okay dear,, it'll warm up soon enough~ " And you were correct as you just as quickly grabbed the base of the dildo to line it up with his entrance before slowly pressing in, watching the man before you moan out like a whore at the stretch was the last thing you'd expected,, " Oh? My Sanji is a little whore huh~? " You voice purred, now pushing half way inside, giving him the false hope that was all until you slammed the last half inside of him and you could swear he came just from that. " S-shit.. Y/N.. please move~ " He mewled, whining softly while trying to move himself along the dildo only to have no luck as you pulled away slowly, snapping your hips to shove back deep within him causing even more filthy mewls and begs to grace your ears. " That's my good boy.. Always doing so well for me.. " With each word you spoke you made sure to insinuate it with a thrust, burying as deep as you could within him. " im- I can't take it! Is too much I'm gonna explode! " He cried out, causing your pace to speed up even more until the point you had to lean over him for support while railing him over and over.. " Do it. Cum for me like the slut you are. " You spat, watching his body spasm as his own orgasm washed over him harshly. " That's it.. Relax.. " You purred, leaning into giving him the affection he deserves for being so good, as you pulled out and took off the harness you saw that he was still trembling slightly. " Damn, I didn't know you liked taking it up the ass that much~ " You laughed, smacking his ass before climbing onto the bed to untie his wrists from their binds. " Fuck you. " He mumbled, blushing heavily while turning over to look at you. " I just did. "

Time Skip ➜

The next day you and Sanji had both piled onto the Straw hats ship and started along your way,, Sanji of course wanted to ignore Zeff but in the end caved and said his goodbyes. " So guys! What's on the dinner menu?? " You heard Luffy shout, clapping his hands together. " Well tonight I will be making a smoked salmon with my special sauce. " Sanji responded, which caused Luffy to run around happily. " And you, I'll deal with you after Y/N. " That stopped you dead in your tracks, looking towards Sanji who only winked before walking away leaving you dumfounded. Well shit.. You were fucked.

[god-complex-12]

Rasāsvāda

— Paring; Khonshu x male reader. Fandom; Moon Knight/Marvel

Rasāsvāda: (n.) the taste of bliss in the absence of all thoughts

Quote; "Your heart is aching, Y/N. Your mind is trying desperately to hold you together, like clay being pinched at the seams. You're trying to maintain control, but something in you is not quite stable."

Description; Night conversation with Khonshu. Disclaimer; Sad. Mentions of a higher power. Reader is Moon Knight. High up on a building. Absent-mindedness. Mentions of degradation and judgment for an opinion? Khonshu’s depicted to be a dick. Ignorance to one’s own feelings. Mental health issues (not specified). Unstability. Loneliness.

Word Count: 1.2k

Masterlist

A/N: I don’t know. Everything had been fucking everywhere for me, so have this and do what you want with it. That's all I can muster up. 

Trillions of small little light sources scattered in the darkness of the sky appeared, occasionally disappearing behind the light gray clouds and reappearing when they pass. Small to what all see, but huge when closer. Perspective tricking the less developed minds into thinking there's tiny night lights gifted by a higher power or simply to make the night sky look pretty. The earth’s atmosphere makes the bright celestial body’s twinkle. From where the white armored vigilante sat, he was incapable of hearing the ever subtle sound those huge stars emitted despite the sound traveling through the gas in the huge vacuum of the universe. 

The cold night wind made the knight’s cloak gently rustle. One of his legs was dangling off the side of the building ledge and the other flat on the edge he was sitting on, bent to his chest as his head was completely pointed upward. His mind blank, his mask off, his body relaxed. 

The god looked down at his avatar. His hollow eyes staring at the back of Y/N. He knew Y/N was unaware of his presence, but that’s not what concerned Khonshu. He tapped his staff against the rooftop to make himself known before speaking. The loud ‘thud’ of the staff coming in contact with the concrete roof bounced around the area. “Y/N. What are you doing?” 

Y/N didn’t flinch or move. He had gotten so used to Khonshu’s frequent appearing and disappearing that he no longer got visibly frightened by being watched. “Looking.” His tone was quiet, calm, and vague. He didn’t go on into detail, instead leaving it short and sweet for Khonshu to interrupt for himself, so that Khonshu was given the chance to make what he wanted of the answer.

Khonshu didn’t like that. He knew why Y/N was doing it. Y/N spoke vaguely because he knew if the answer wasn’t of the deity’s liking, it would only lead to degradation and judgment, so he gave an open book answer. Khonshu looked at the Moon Knight for a few seconds before calmly speaking. “Looking for what, might I ask?”

Y/N shook his head, not looking at Khonshu. “Not looking for something. Just looking.” He wasn’t searching for anything. It’s like looking at a painting in a museum, some people look through the painting for inspiration, techniche, or flaws; others just admire the work, not actively searching for something in specific. 

Khonshu tilted his head to the side slightly like how a dog does when you say it’s favorite word in a baby voice. This caught his interest. All the many years he’s walked this Earth, human’s like this always caught him off guard. "And what is it you hope to see by 'just looking’? Is there any particular reason why you wanted to be here.. on this roof?" Khonshu clearly didn’t get the message in the last response.

Y/N sighs. Not an upset or disappointed sigh. Just a simple deep breath. “Peace.” Another vague, open ended question for Khonshu to mold and shape to his liking. He gave an answer that would fit both the stand points of the searching artist and the admiring artist. 

"Hmm. And has that peace you seek been found?" Khonshu's gaze remained locked on Y/N’s back. He didn't seem to be bothered by anything, either. A few moments passed after the question. A comfortable silence filling the air between them. 

“Momentarily.”

Khonshu nodded slightly, remaining silent. If this was the kind of answer he was going to get, perhaps he should try a different approach. He sighed before speaking again. "What troubles you, Y/N? I know you're hiding something." Khonshu's voice was low and quiet, but there was something about it that gave it a slight edge, an underlying sharpness.

"I am?" Y/N slowly turned his head to Khonshu. This was the first time he had looked at Khonshu this entire conversation. His face is an unreadable expression even for Khonshu. "Since you know I'm hiding something. What do you think I'm hiding?” Y/N seems more curious by the accusation than defensive. 

Khonshu's gaze remained still and cold, but there was something there — a sliver of compassion. He knew what he was asking Y/N. "Your heart is aching, Y/N. Your mind is trying desperately to hold you together, like clay being pinched at the seams. You're trying to maintain control, but something in you is not quite stable."

Y/N slowly nodded and hummed in acknowledgement. He was silent for a moment as he went back to looking at the sky. It was true, he couldn’t argue even if he wanted to. "I'd tell you you're wrong, but if you were... I wouldn't be your avatar."

Khonshu chuckled lightly, finding the small jab quite funny. "Very astute of you." He sounded appreciative. "But you still haven't answered my question. You hide something from me, from yourself. What is it?"

"I must be very good at hiding because I don't know." He looked back at the night sky. He constantly had this nagging, never ending sense of dread. That something would go wrong, or maybe that something was already wrong. He was paranoid of everything around him and it was tearing his mind apart. Piece by piece. He didn’t know what caused it though. He never did. That’s what drove him into the dark, never ending pit of madness. 

Khonshu took a moment to respond. His voice was very carefully measured, calm. He knew that Y/N was going through something, even if Y/N was too stubborn to admit it or if the man truly didn’t know. "I think you might, Y/N. I've had the chance to observe you at close range for a little while. I know there's a weight on your shoulders. I know it's there in the way you stand so rigid, because you're so desperately trying to not buckle under that weight."

“Oh, how poetic of you. Does that come from being so divine?” There was sarcasm carefully laced Y/N’s tone. He’s not stupid enough to insult a god who saved his life and had been protecting him, but he can’t help but show some of his annoyance with light “playful” sarcasm. 

“You are a lonely person.” Khonshu states this as fact.

“I am, aren’t I?”

[nym-wibbly]

Which one of TFW got the best line in Spn?

Huh. If it has to be one of Team Free Will then you've got me. They all had so many great lines. Crowley, Bobby, and Lucifer all got some stonkers, too.

The line that really seared itself into my brain from all of Supernatural was guest-character Hester's:

It really shook me! I mean, in and of itself it's a great line. But there's so much worldbuilding packed into the combination of the line with Emily Holmes's delivery. This idea that Castiel fetching Dean out of hell was the first domino tipped over, not only in Cas's personal fall ("You have fallen in every way imaginable,") but in the subsequent chaos and destruction in Heaven. And she's not wrong to single that event out as the turning point, but she turns the blame on Dean, who hardly got any choice in the matter:

"Why should we give you anything after everything you have taken from us? The very touch of you corrupts. When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell, he was lost! For that you're going to pay." Supernatural 7x21 - Reading is Fundamental

She says these lines to Dean, and it starts as the whole aloof, disdainful shtick we've seen from other angels speaking about and to humanity. But Hester reaches max gross load right there and then, so it finishes raw. She breaks down, shouts, loses all self-restraint and just hurls her grief, rage and pain at Dean. Moves to punish him. When Cas deflects Hester from physically attacking Dean - no small intervention, given his fragile state of mind - she whales on the helpless Cas instead, trying to claw back some control of her life by attacking what she sees as the source of her problems.

Hester's completely adrift in this new world of free will and personal responsibility that Team Free Will have dropped on her, and on all the other, surviving angels who didn't get a starring role in the Apocalypse or the war in Heaven. Hester's fallen too, they all have, and she only knows it when Inias begs her not to kill Castiel. Then she snaps completely, and Meg kills her before she can kill Cas.

That's some corking dialogue right there, and in some ways it's more of a reveal about the state of things in Heaven, post-non-Apocalypse, than all Castiel's season 6/7 power-grab arc with its exposition about what's going on up there. Hester's public breakdown is one of the few hints we ever get of exactly what Cas is so regretful and self-hating about in later seasons. Every time his storyline trips him over another failure or mistake, it adds to this guilt until he ends up just desperate to do something right. So desperate that it blinds him to the nuances of an evolving situation, sometimes.

I don't think Cas understands until almost the very end of the story, after becoming Jack's father and reaching rock-bottom in his relationship with Dean, that the one thing he always thought he got right in the first place - pulling Dean Winchester out of Hell, saving him, taking his side against an absent and uncaring God - was always victory enough.