#it has been skimmed to the perfect extent

[sweetbunpura]

Okay but the thing is… Malleus ISN’T controlling the dreams?

That’s been a HUGE misconception due to him offering to give Lilia a good dream when he came in at the end of his dream. But he doesn’t actually control them at first.

His power is giving them their happily ever after dream at the time he cast the spell.

We know this because why would he have given Lilia that dream? The dream full of suffering where his best friend died and he was in the middle of a war? But it was still his FAVORITE MEMORY because it was Malleus’ birth. That was NOT Malleus’ choice. That was NOT his influence. Malleus wanted to give Lilia his happiest moment, and his magic delivered, no matter how horrible that moment might have seemed to others.

Because Lilia’s happiest moment was also surrounded by some of his worst. Can’t have sunshine without storms and all that.

Now when it comes to Floyd - the problem is, he DOES have ADHD like CRAZY. So the dream WAS fun for him. It WAS what he wanted… at first. The magic worked as it was supposed to. But Floyd’s definition of what was a great dream, a great happily ever after changed. Which meant the good dream became a terrible one.

But he was stuck in it, because the magic didn’t change with him, Malleus’ magic didn’t WORK with Floyd. It gave him ONE dream. It wasn’t expecting Floyd to get BORED of his “perfect” world. Which is how we got that really sad situation.

Another thing that kinda proves that Malleus does not control the dreams unless he directly involves himself, like with Lilia’s dream, is that he has ALL of Sage island asleep and under his spell.

He doesn’t know all of the students at NRC or all the people on Sage Island. So how could he have possibly known what their ideal HEAs were if he’s never met them? He doesn’t. But his magic works with their minds to give them that, just like all the students we know.

So… from what I can tell, Malleus actually isn’t controlling the dreams at all unless he comes in and interferes directly. His magic literally gives the dreamer what they think is what they want in their perfect world. It’s obviously NOT, in the long run, as they are all finding out, but that’s not the point lol.

Now don’t get me wrong, I am still very, VERY interested in what the Savanaclaw students are gonna dream about, because honestly? The twst devs really seem to fuck Leona over. They keep giving him the short end of the stick and like to have characters be mean to him for seemingly no reason. So I’m wondering if they are going to continue this trend and make me SUPER FREAKING MAD or actually give Leona the development that they have continuously hinted at throughout the ENTIRE GAME and actually let him shine for once.

I somehow doubt it, but a girl can *snorts* dream.

Anyway, sorry for the long ask! Just wanted to add my 2¢ about the Malleus dream issue!

You're all good!

I'm just piecing stuff together from what I saw based on Floyd's POV and we don't know the full extent from Malleus' UM. While Floyd's was sad to see, my son needs enrichment, we get moments like Kalim and Jamil's fist fight that made us go:

And the cursed image that is Buff Epel.

So Malleus' magic most likely skims the dreams of the person and makes up the dream from there. But yeah, my now largest issue is Leona's dream given his relationship with Mallues.

But I will admit, it's funny to not only see these dreams, but to figure out some of what we speculated was right.

TWST Devs out here looking at the fandom and taking down notes.

...But this book and Malleus' actions have made me like him a little less. I really wanna see the aftermath tho, cause Crowley can keep the other 6 overblots hidden, but Malleus' was worldwide, you can't hide that.

[theflyindutchwoman]

Is that an apology? Yes. All right. No! Look, because you never would've let me work my magic if I had told you, and then I would have ended up transferring to another station to save you from yourself, and…this worked out so much better. And if you can't see that, I'm sorry not sorry. Okay. I accept your non-apology.

| ANATOMY OF A SCENE - CHENFORD EDITION 5.16 - Exposed

I'm not going to lie… this is one of those scenes that I wish I could fully love… It has so much potential, but, unfortunately, it feels like something is missing. Like, say, a deeper conversation between Tim and Lucy… one where he gets to explain why he is so upset with her in the first place. Is it because she went behind his back to orchestrate the five-player trade, as suggested here? Is it because he worries about how this makes him look, as he implied earlier in the shop? Those are not mutually exclusive but since he never get to properly voice his thoughts on the matter, we never really find out which is it (or if it's both for that matter). Instead, it is skimmed over, as if it was an argument just for the sake of it.

Now, there's nothing wrong with that in itself… Not everything needs to be an arc. But as this 'fight' is connected to two storylines, it needed more depth. And this is where I, personally, feel a bit let down by this. I absolutely loved how Lucy didn't hesitate to put her career on the line to help Tim find a more suitable job, just like he did when he decided to take a desk job for her… They are prioritising the other, which is something neither of them ever had before… And that is extremely special for them, to have this unconditional support and love. In Tim's case, he was asked twice to sacrifice his career. And this time, he has someone who does everything in her power to make sure he can have it all, a job that he loves and a relationship. But none of this is truly acknowledged. We saw Lucy being grateful and appreciative when he transfered for her but not Tim… And I have a hard time believing that he wouldn't be even a little, once the sting fades. That is not to say he doesn't have any reason to be upset… And that's my second issue with this : this could have been used as a setup for the coming angst, the one that is brewing with Sava and Jake, Isabel's return, Lucy's undercover mission… All these episodes have one main theme : how secrecy and lies can destroy a relationship. How this is what actually started to break Tim's marriage with Isabel, long before her addiction drove the final nail in the coffin… So this could have been the perfect opportunity to have Tim confide in Lucy why her going behind his back, no matter how good her intentions were, is triggering some bad memories. Why their promise not to lie to each other is that important. This could have tied this whole arc altogether in a more organic way.

That said, I love how unapologetic Lucy is. She gets where he's coming from - to an extent. But she still stands her ground, simply explaining why she did it. After all, this all started because of the decision he unilaterally took, when he went to Grey and accepted a desk job, without consulting her first. So her worries that he would end up resenting her, their relationship or even just his situation are natural. Honesty works both ways. And that's the thing with them : while they are usually really good at communicating, they can also be selfless and impulsive when it comes to the other, ready to sacrifice themselves so the other can be happy. That, and they're both used to being independent. They just need to find a balance in their personal relationship. And as upset as Tim appears to be, it's quite clear that he is ready to move on right after her first apology. They might be good at arguing but he doesn't like being mad at her, that much is clear. He can't even stay that way too long, even after she turns the tables on him #sorrynotsorry. His smile… He's just so amused and disarmed. He can't even hide it anymore. So much for not being a softy...

(To be continued...)

[stars-n-spice]

A Shot in the Dark

Crosshair x OC (Tay'kaa Marr) - aka 'Sharpshooters'

Warnings: mild TBB S3 spoilers Word Count: 4.4k (<- whoops was supposed to be shorter, I got carried away) Summary: There was nothing more damning to Crosshair than his shaky hands. Well, other than if he were to suddenly lose his sight, but the shaky hands were bad enough. He felt completely and utterly useless now that he wasn’t the great sniper he once was with his hand tremors. He was made to be a sniper and now he lost that purpose. And damn if that didn’t drive him utterly crazy. He felt helpless, hopeless, and useless. But Tay wasn't going to let him continue feeling that way.

Nights on Pabu were cold.

From morning to sunset, the air was warm; a perfect tropical temperature where some days were humid and others were just chilly enough to warrant a thin jacket, but when night rolled around it was a whole other story. 

While it wasn’t freezing, per se, it was still the kind of cold that nipped at your nose and fingertips and left you coughing in the morning. It was like an annoying bug, tolerable to an extent, but constantly buzzing and stinging at your skin, trying to get you to break. It wasn’t the kind of cold that you wanted to be out in, so when night rolled around on the tranquil island, everyone retreated into the warmth of their homes and let the cold take over the night. 

So, yes, nights on Pabu were cold, but they were peaceful. 

Everything on the island seemed to be quiet and at peace. A gentle breeze with only the soft sound of the waves crashing up on the shore. The pale moonlight illuminating the quiet houses. The faint chirp of a moon-yo as the leaves of the trees rustled a quiet melody. Everything as it always was and has been. 

Aside from the sound of a rifle firing in the distance. 

In the dark, cold, peaceful late nights of Pabu; Crosshair would sneak down to the shore to practice because doing so meant that nobody could see and hear as he struggled to do something that used to come so simply to him. There were no judging eyes, no pitiful frowns, nobody around to watch as his hands trembled and his rifle misfired as blaster bolts skimmed their targets leaving only a faint streak of burning black in its wake. 

Nobody could see him struggle in the dark, cold, peaceful late nights of Pabu and that’s exactly what Crosshair wanted. 

A misfire. A grunt of frustration. A click as the rifle reloaded. Another shot. And a miss. A hiss of anger. Repeat. 

Until his hands shook so badly he couldn’t hold the rifle up anymore. Until his eyes grew too heavy to keep open. Until the sun poked its orange crown over the blanket of the ocean horizon. Until the memories of Tatniss and everything he endured during and before it, silenced themselves enough for him to feel ready for sleep. 

Until the smooth voice of Tay’kaa Marr cut through the cold like the warmth of a striking match. 

“It’s kinda late to be training right now, don’t you think?”

Crosshair grimaced, clicking his tongue as he lowered his rifle, watching as the bright bolt shot right past his target. 

“You made me miss,” he growled, clenching his fists to ease the trembling as he set down his rifle and slowly turned to the sight of Tay approaching with a bowl of colorful fruit Crosshair didn’t recognize. 

With his steel blue skin that reminded Crosshair of the waves on a good day on Kamino and the dark poncho covering his build, Tay nearly blended into the night. If it weren’t for the gentle shimmer of the silver clasps on his bottom lethorns or gentle glow of his orange eyes, the untrained eye could’ve totally missed him. 

But Crosshair’s eyes weren’t untrained. They were the best in the business. Specifically made for picking targets out no matter the environment. But even still, he missed more shots than he landed. 

With a soft chuckle, Tay closed the few feet between them, the sound of sand and sediment crackling underneath his boots with each step. 

“Let me make it up to you then,” Tay hummed, offering up the bowl of fruits to Crosshair. 

The chagrian merc only got a blank stare in response from the sniper as he stared down at the bowl, his gaze flickering back and forth between the fruits and Tay’s face, clearly unamused. Even if Tay hadn’t been the reason why Crosshair missed his shot, he wasn’t going to admit to it, even if they both knew that wasn’t the case. “I don’t want fruit,” Crosshair huffed, rolling his eyes as he turned away from Tay and his offer. Crosshair didn’t want to admit that he did want fruit, he’d skipped out on dinner after all, but taking the offer meant reaching out and peeling the fruit with his shaky hands. Even if Tay was already well aware of Crosshair’s hand tremors, the sniper tried his absolute best to not let Tay see just how bad the tremors were. 

“Ah…more for me then,” Tay shrugged as he pulled the bowl back towards him. The subtle glance down to his hands told Crosshair that Tay could see right through him and that alone was enough to make his chest tighten. Tay might be able to read him like a book at times, but the best thing about him was that he always knew when to say nothing about it. 

Crosshair appreciated this fact about his partner, but he never told him that he did. He liked that things could go unspoken between each other until it reached a point where they needed to talk about it when they were ready. So he enjoyed the silence that settled between them as Tay began to peel one of the fruits and Crosshair turned back to his rifle. 

Of course, Tay knew when to keep quiet, but unfortunately he was also incredibly impatient at times. 

“Y’know, it really is a little too late to be up training. Batcher’s wondering where you are…” 

Another misfire. Another groan. 

Crosshair shot Tay a glare, one that hit its mark and immediately made the chagrian stand down and hold up a hand in mock surrender, his cheeks puffed up and filled with fruit. It was a sight that almost made Crosshair snort in amusement, but then he remembered he was supposed to be angry and irritated with Tay. 

“I can train whenever I want to, and Batcher’s fine without me,” Crosshair hissed, shaking his head in frustration at both Tay’s attempts to start a more serious conversation and his constant misfiring. “Why do you care when I train anyways?” He asked, his words having a little more sting and bite to them than Crosshair really meant them to.  

Tay swallowed his fruit and shook his head, backing down with a grunt. “Alright, alright, do what you want, then…” he muttered, popping another slice of the fruit into his mouth as he glanced away from Crosshair, giving him some space. He watched as Crosshair rolled his eyes yet again before he turned back to his rifle, the subtle tremble in his fingers not going unnoticed by Tay. 

He knew Crosshair tried his best to hide the tremors from everyone, especially him, and Tay didn’t blame him. He understood better than anyone what it felt like to suddenly feel utterly useless. To have the thing you thought was your identity stripped away from you so unexpectedly in the most horrific way possible. For everything you ever knew, everything you ever stood for, everything you were loyal to come crashing down on you. And it hurt, by the stars it hurt to see him like this. 

With a sigh, Tay began to peel another fruit, his eyes down at the bowl resting on the top of a rock. His mind swirled with how to deal with this, not wanting it to continue. It was quiet for a bit before Tay’s mouth spoke before his mind could approve of anything. 

“And I care because the bed is cold without you there.”

Read the rest on A03!

[bunny-hoodlum]

I almost forgot about this! 👀📌🖊️❓please!

Hiii~~ 💕 Thank you for the ask~ 😌

👀 Do I have any words/phrases I use habitually?

Probably, but I can't remember. 😓 I think I use 'Well,' quite a bit, along with other short phrases to add a sort of casual/musing flavor to the inner dialogue. I know there's some sort of phrase that I'll cap a sentence off with, but I really don't know which fic to skim through to confirm that. 😅 Sorry, my laziness has yet to budge. 🥴

📌 If all your fics/WIPs fell off a ship and were drowning (go with it), and you could only save one, which would it be?

I think it'd have to be Powerless. I could probably rewrite all the others to some extent. They wouldn't be perfect 1-to-1 replicas or anything, but they'd still retain the same spirit. Powerless, however, was written during pure creative possession. Plus, that mofo is like 39k overall or more? I forget. But that in of itself would be hard to replicate and the only reason why I took it down was due to uninformed advice. That I was worried about shipbaiting my readers because I didn't know when Hinata was going to show up, so I just took it down like that was going to be okay. 🤦‍♀️ As if I could repost it in a matter of weeks and nothing would be lost. Lesigh. I'm still totally fond of it. There are some changes I want to make when I work on the rest of the re-upload, but Naruto's childhood in the first chapter was my favorite thing to write and I could never replicate the same feelings, I don't think. Even if I listen to the playlist I made for it. It'd help but never be the same.

🖊 What is the most recent line you've written?

I haven't written anything new yet since my Witchcraft AU. 😅 I wish. Yoga AU is top of my list. I think it's gonna be really long, but I'm looking forward to it. I feel like I have a better understanding of oneshots now. Hmmm, y'know what? I had this pre-written in my head, so let's just go with this (and I'll most likely edit in the final draft anyways):

"He was exactly like a sunflower. Tall and lanky, his hair sticking out in every direction like radial petals. She's never seen a shade as cheerful as his. It contrasted so sharply against the consternation darkening his face. As she drew closer, she noticed two things: The erratic bouncing of his right leg. His right hand cupped over his mouth, with forefinger and middle finger parted as if something was meant to be there. A pantomime of a bad habit."

Or maybe I don't have to edit this. This turned out pretty good. 🤔

❓ Write an alternate summary for a published fic without using names. (Points if your followers can guess the fic.)

Oh, you sadist. 🤣 Making me write a whole new summary. 💀 I'll just totally go ahead and use this line that's been sitting my outline files for ages. Not much of a proper summary, but excerpts count. 😤

"Pressing himself against her backside, slouchy black pants rustling against her fitted pair, he breathed hot venom in her ear, his hands like vices clamped around her wrists. She could twist, whimper and wrench away all she wants, but she wasn't going anywhere. "Do you know how boys do it, huh? They take it in the ass.""

I feel like I made that one pretty obvious. 🤭

[siconetribal]

A Royally Unexpected Turnabout 3

Summary: With Tamaki back in school, Kyoya hopes for some semblance of normal insanity. However, the presence of a new queen with her own shadow throws that away. With a personality that rivals the energy of their excitable king and a guard that catches the eye of Honey and Mori, the duo sends the Host Club running once more.

A/N: Please like/comment/reblog and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know!

If you’re new to the story, please check out the master post for the rest of the chapters.

The lovely banners used in this fic are from @cafekitsune.

    The Hitachiin twins were pulled to an abrupt halt by their captive whose attention returned to Zaina and Rin. Much to their annoyance, Haruhi managed to free herself and walked back towards the remaining four. “I wanted to ask you too, what class group were you assigned to?” The brothers looked to one another, clearly uninterested in finding out.

    “According to the papers we were given,” Rin quickly skimmed the sheet handed to her by Zaina, “We have been assigned to 1-A” She glanced back at the remaining hosts.

    “So you’re in our class,” the twins bluntly commented with hope they would be able to resume what they desired. If anything, they were growing more irritable by Haruhi’s attention being taken from them. “We need to get going to class, we’re going to be late.” They continued to talk and move in perfect synchronization, this skill catching the attention of the new girls.

    “You two are really amazing!” Rin praised the two, her hands clapped together with eyes brimming with hidden excitement. “To be able to say and do anything with such perfect unison, it’s hard not to praise. It’s also a testament to the bond you share, it’s lovely. I hope we get along,” she smiled at the two before turning to Haruhi. ”You as well. I’ve heard so much about you from Zaina and have always wanted to meet you. I never thought it would be possible, but now we’ll be classmates as well! The world certainly works in the oddest ways,” She grabbed both of Haruhi’s hands, giving a gentle squeeze as a way to convey her earnest excitement. I wonder why she’s dressed in the boy’s uniform though. The teacher didn’t seem to really care about it, but made a fuss about Zaina. There’s the possibility she may prefer being referred to as “he”, but Zaina always said “she”. There’s no doubt Zaina would respect her friend’s wishes. Maybe it’s a Host Club thing?

    Haruhi blushed at Rin’s excitement of finally meeting her. She was not anyone worth noting being a commoner, but here was a young lady of a well known family treating her like she was some celebrity. “Ah, Zaina’s told me about you as well actually. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, too,” she commented and warmly smiled back as she returned the gentle squeeze. Finally, some girls I can hangout with! As much as she adored the host club members, regardless of how much they tried her patience at times, she had a little yearning to have simple girl time without Host Club restraints. Although her female classmates were amusing to spend time with in Music Room 3, there were times she simply desired to be Haruhi. Zaina’s work kept her busy and then I started to attend here. Time together has essentially become nonexistent.

    This little display did not sit well with the twins. Here were two strangers just parading around as if they knew everything and owned everything. It was acceptable from Rin to some extent, though her straightforward and praise of all of them was surprising. It was Zaina’s comfort and acting as if she was equal to them which rubbed them the wrong way. She was the help and they were above her. Hikaru scowled at this budding friendship. Kaoru noticed how irritated his brother was by this, but he was also not fond of being pushed aside and ignored as well. Chibana or not, they were not simply going to bow to her and let her do as she pleased. 

    “Oi, let our Haruhi go,” Kaoru spoke up as Hikaru reached out to pull the two apart. Takashi noticed and was ready to catch Rin in case she were to lose balance, but Zaina intercepted before anything could happen. She had seen him reach out and she quickly reacted, grabbing Hikaru’s wrist to pull his arm behind him.

    “Please refrain from touching Ms. Chibana in such a rude or careless manner. Regardless of your personal opinion towards her, I expect you to conduct yourself in a proper gentlemanly manner. That pertains to you as well.” She glared at the twins. “Secondly, Haruhi is not yours.”

    “What do you know? She doesn’t mind it at all. You should just mind your own business,” Hikaru snapped as he struggled to free himself from the surprisingly strong grip. He turned to glare at her, only to be shocked by how unfazed she was by him. 

    “Let him go,” Kaoru glared and reached out to help free his brother but stopped when Hikaru was suddenly pushed towards him instead.

    “If you keep to proper etiquette, then there won’t be any issues,” She coolly replied as Hikaru turned and came up into her face.

    “You should really keep her in check.” Kaoru turned to Rin who seemed to do nothing about this behavior.

    “Oh, why is that?” Rin found it curious that he would direct such a comment to her. “She’s doing her job. If you had personal bodyguards right now and I suddenly reached out to you after demanding something as you did, would they simply let me grab you?” It was clear Kaoru knew the answer to this question. “She is my personal aid, and that includes being my personal bodyguard as well.” Kaoru wanted to argue, but she made her point. Zaina did not use excessive force either, she simply stopped him from touching Rin.

    “Hey, why don’t we just settle this over cake?” Mitsukuni suddenly chimed in, hoping to diffuse the tension between everyone. “Sweets always make things better!” Sadly, no one seemed to be paying the cute blond any mind.

    “Who the hell do you think you are anyway? You’re nobody, a tag-along riding on coattails!” He sneered, hoping to get under her skin but her lack of reaction led to her getting to him even more. Look at her, acting so familiar! She doesn’t know us or anyone! The fact that he was so easily grabbed and unable to free himself was embarrassing enough as is, but to be treated as such by an absolute stranger was borderline humiliating. “What, do you have some hero kick or something?”

    “That’s enough, Hikaru!” Haruhi finally managed to find her way in front of Zaina as if to shield her. “She’s my friend.”

    “Your friend,” Kaoru raised an eyebrow at this. “That’s convenient, you’ve never spoken about her before,” He scoffed, equally irritated as his twin.

    “Why would I suddenly start talking about her to you all? You’d end up trying to find her and cause her trouble when she’s busy working!” She sighed and shook her head. The two opened their mouths to deny this, but they knew it was true. “Regardless, she is my friend and I would like it if you both stopped treating her like that.” When the two begrudgingly acquiesced to leave Zaina be, she then turned to her friend and gave an apologetic smile. “Please forgive them, they’re a bit rough on the outside but they’re also really kind.” She scratched the back of her head.

    “Yeah, I know, you’ve told me before.” She gave a small smile to Haruhi to assure her no offense was taken. “However, I cannot allow anything to happen to Ms. Chibana. My task is to keep her safe and if that means having to physically restrain another person, then so be it.” This resolve resonated with the silent Takashi who glanced up at his cousin that he held on his shoulders. Though the two of them were essentially forgotten, he sighed with relief that the tension was mostly gone. However, he was curious about this new friend of Haruhi’s.

    “I will say this,” Rin stepped forward now that everything had settled and she could fully process what was going on. “I didn’t intend to cause trouble. Zaina is very diligent in her duties and reacted as necessary for my safety. Please do not think ill of her. I will be sure to speak to her about how to respond to fellow students who are not intentionally out to cause harm.”

    “No, it wasn’t her fault! Trouble is their middle name.” Haruhi quickly shook her head.

    “They don’t seem like trouble to me. They’re clearly very fond of you and simply wanted your attention back. I’ve also never seen someone get so close to Zaina before, they really are entertaining in their own respect. I wasn’t sure what to expect from that!” She softly giggled, the twins’ ears perking up at the compliment.

    "At least someone truly sees us!" Hikaru scoffed as the two crossed over to Rin, plucking her from beside Zaina and sandwiching her between them much like they would Haruhi. When her cheeks reddened like most girls, the interest in her began to plummet when she placed a hand over Hikaru's and looked to Kaoru.

    "Well now, this is quite bold indeed, but are you sure the two of you can handle me?" She asked and the two were taken aback. This was not a reaction they had expected at all from her.

    "Great, now they got her going." Zaina sighed alongside Haruhi as Mitsukuni watched in wide-eyed shock.

    This is certainly new! I'll have to tell Tama and Kyo for sure! He looked down towards Takashi with a bright smile, Takashi greeting it with a small smile of his own.

    "So, you really weren't kidding about her then… I was hoping you were just exaggerating since she seemed so normal." Haruhi gently pat Zaina on the back.

    "No, this is her and it seems she's found not one but two people to encourage her. At least it’s better than them trying to push her away?" She stood up a little straighter as the twins separated from Rin but kept an arm on either shoulder. "C'mon, we better actually head to class."

    "That’s true! I'll show you Usa then, too! See you later!" Mitsukuni excitedly waved, Zaina blinking a bit to make sure she had hallucinated the flowers that seemed to burst from the petite young man.

    “Usa? I would love to meet him! Thank you for all your help.” Rin smiled and waved back from between the twins.

    "Sure, see you later." She waved back, Mitsukuni’s smile infectious. Takashi stared at Zaina’s smile in slight surprise. Feeling his gaze directed at her, she turned her attention to him and for the first time made eye contact with the tallest host. "See you later as well," she waved. He simply grunted a response as he turned and the two took their leave.

    "We should definitely get going now. Just follow us." Haruhi smiled as the twins let Rin go and walked side by side, leading the way to the classroom.

[biographygen]

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[herefortheships]

I continue reading the Jujutsu Kaisen manga. ✨

Update:

The culling game arc has been too boring so far, for me 😭. I'm sorry to say it.

I'm on chapter 196 and I feel like I'm just skimming the chapters now in order to catch up.

I know what's coming, to some extent (I was spoiled accidentally 🙄🙃💔). Anyway it gave me something to look forward to because these chapters have been incredibly boring. I imagine Gege just hadn't planned out what will happen after Shibuya arc, and so he was improvising or something. 😅

But still, I look forward to seeing what will happen even though I so don't agree with the Megumi as Sukuna's new vessel thing I was spoiled about. I think it's a Naruto repeat at this point, just like Sasuke being wanted for his "perfection" or whatever. I could see that's what Sukuna wanted of Megumi but I hoped I was wrong because I find that predictable and annoying lol.

I just honestly can't care about the fights if the characters I know and love aren't in them? Like this arc is just a bunch of new characters having fights (of course, it's the culling game), so I simply don't care. There have been some exciting fights, but I just don't care 😭💔. I mean, since I just met these people, why do I care if they get killed or not? That's what I mean...

I wonder how they will animate this for season 3 of the anime when there are long stretches of time Itadori isn't even seen. Will the general anime-watching audience care when it's a bunch of new characters every episode? And it isn't even clear if Nobara really did die or not, and Itadori and Megumi aren't even in the same place, so I think season 3 unless they omit a lot of stuff, it will be a boring or just not engaging enough season. Just what I personally think.

[phoenix-is-the-hottest-thing]

I want to pre-emptively say that what I'm gonna ask is in good faith and I'm really curious, that said I wanted to ask since you are the one who I follow who enjoys Elysia a lot and I tend to find really interesting your readings of characters:

What is it that makes Ellie that enjoyable for you? I genuinely am perplexed because It feels to me like a character I would normally like, the whole motif of loving humanity, not by necessity or weird cult, but out of pure admiration of what humanity can be feels like something I would enjoy, but throughout the whole ER experience Elysia has always prompted an eye rolling experience to me, and I think it may be because of how much everyone seems to not be able to shut up about how great she is for a second, but I feel I'm probably biased by an annoyance I've head with her before hand from interacting with a vocal subset of fans of her wich usually ends up being "she hot, repeated sex and horn joke n.387" so I ended up kind of skimming through when dialogue involving her was present.

Sorry for the long ask but now that ER has ended I wanted to try and see If I'm missing something with her, and if you decide to respond to this long-ass ask thank you in advance, if you don't feel like I absolutely get it dw and thank you for your time

I think, first off, it's perfectly ok to not like her! She seemed to be a pretty hit or miss character, many people love her but a lot also don't like her at all. That's totally fine.

For me, first of all I liked the mystery about her. When you're really trying to think of what's up with a character, you think more about them, and if you think a lot about a character you'll usually get attached. If you're not interested, obviously that's not gonna happen. She made me curious! She had a lot of sneaky sneaky recollections, and to be honest some things she could do haven't been clearly explained even now.

Second thing, Elysia made me laugh a lot. She just says completely shameless and outrageous things, and she's not shy about what she thinks or wants— she's also a huge tease who knows exactly what to say to gently bully her friends. Laughing is a positive experience, I like doing it, so it made me like her even more!

Third thing that got kinda dropped in Elysium Everlasting (SHAME), but was more present in ER chapter 1 and 2, is how they were actively subverting the "she's perfect" narrative. Elysia will say outrageous things, but whoever she's talking to reacts more like *facepalm*. Mei, Mobius and to a lesser extent Su would do that. It creates a comedic dynamic, sometimes at her expense ("must be growing up" "you're just getting fat, Elysia"), sometimes not, and balances out what she says. Even in her enemy collection, you have Elysia bragging, Mei asking "Can anyone keep her under control?" and Kevin answering "No". It's very funny, and it disarms the annoyance I feel, because the other characters are literally siding with me. (But they like her anyway).

Fourth I guess comes her actual character, she's a nice girl who wants to make everyone around her happy, but she is also profoundly lonely and covers up her negative feelings with smiles and jokes. That kind of character is fun to write and read about! She's also very insightful so she delivers so good lines to other characters too, which is ALSO very good. I like seeing her be soft, but I like see her teasing too. Just a delight to write and read about.

Fifth she is very pretty and fun to play, I always enjoy my runs with her! Not a fan of the color pink myself but her model is very very well made, and her gameplay feels really good to me. Then again I love most characters' gameplay, as long as they don't hurt my hand hahaha.

Sixth she is very memeable and I love making jokes and memes so that made me like and think about her more, joins back with point two except I'm the one joking around.

Let's stop here... getting a bit long. But on top of my head that's what I like about her!

[wkemeup]

Back to Bourbon Street

summary: When you’re badly injured on a mission, Bucky works desperately to keep you alive. Only, it might not be enough.  pairing: bucky x reader word count: 6.7k warnings: canon level violence, hurt!reader, poison, brink of death cuddling, angst with a happy ending

There is a moment of clarity amidst the chaos of the battlefield; a brief, impossible moment that allows Bucky to take hold of a peace he’s been missing for decades. The perfect storm of violence and adrenaline is one he’s familiar with, something he knows well enough to allow his mind to take a step back and give control to his instincts.  

Left jab. Right hook. Kick. Swipe the leg. Shoot.

The sound of the chopper above is muffled. The shouts of the men rushing at him with weapons and malice are indistinguishable. His body moves of its own accord and this is what makes him untouchable. Even with the Winter Soldier buried to the deepest parts of his mind, Bucky finds a relief in letting go of the control, of allowing an untethered detachment to rise to the surface just long enough to get the job done. 

Bodies in his wake, blood on his hands, and his mind elsewhere.

That is, until you come into view.  

Elegant in your movements, exceptional in your ability, you’re teasing Sam on the coms as you duck under the swing of a mercenary and clip him on the chin on your way up. You’re laughing, bright enough that it carries the several feet away to where Bucky is in hand to hand with a combatant half his size.  

He pauses, taken back by how clear your laugh comes through when the rest of the world seems muffled and distant. It’s not enough to give the scrawny opponent an advantage, because even as Bucky watches you with an awe and disbelief, his left arm snakes around the man’s throat and hurtles him fifty feet away with little effort.  

Amongst enemy lines filled with bad guys and guns, amongst the blinding snowfall and the blistering wind, amongst blood staining crystalized white upon the frozen dirt, you capture the entirety of his focus. Clear as day. Spotlight down from the sky. A wonder to behold.  

You catch his eye and for a moment his heart skips completely because you smile at him. A light breaking through a sea of shadows, wrinkling up by your eyes, a giggle in your chest, and Bucky’s knees nearly give out from under him. 

You must notice the fluster burning hot on his cheeks and you start to laugh; that same beautifully, sweet sound that shouldn’t belong on a battlefield. He smiles back.

But the moment lasts longer than it should. It’s something too kind for the evil you’re surrounded with and it’s taken away in a matter of seconds when Bucky sees the sharp reflection of a blade flicker under the haze of sunlight.  

His stomach drops as if he’s stepped off the edge of the cliff, as if he’s falling hundreds of feet into a dark ravine to the icy waters below, and he barely feels the sharp burn of a bullet as it skims his right shoulder.  

“Y/n!” he screams, wasting no time in firing fatal shots to the men around him before he rushes towards you.  

But he’s trudging through mud and quicksand and his limbs are fighting through the resistance of ocean currents. He’s trapped in a nightmare, he’s certain of it, because his body is failing him in the one place it’s not supposed to. Time slows down as he watches the flash of panic in your eyes.

He’s still a few feet away when the knife embeds itself in your stomach.

Something else takes over; maybe it's the Winter Soldier, maybe it’s something darker that has always resided inside of him, lying in wait, but his vision fills with red as he watches you clutch at the shoulders of your assailant, lips parted in shock, chest heaving as you glance down at the knife buried in your gut. A sickening smile curves up on the man’s face and he drops you to the ground.  

Bucky only vaguely registers the bodies that fall around him as he empties his clip. He can't look at you now, not as blood starts to seep around your suit and drip into the snow, so he focuses the brunt of his tunnel vision to the man wielding the knife. The satisfied grin drops as he notices Bucky raise his weapon. It only takes one shot, but Bucky fires six.  

By the time he reaches you, he’s skidding on his knees into the snow. It soaks into his suit and sends shivers into his spine in unpleasant memories of the ice, but he pays it little mind as he bends down to assess the damage. His hands hover over the blade, almost afraid to touch you, and he resides to keep the knife secure until he can safely remove it.  

“Hey, Barnes,” you mutter weakly and it snaps Bucky from his trance. He looks up to see you smiling at him, though your eyes are fluttering shut. Your breathing is shallow.  

“Don’t talk right now,” Bucky warns you because he can see the energy draining away. It’s happening too quick. The blade doesn’t appear as though it’s nicked any major arteries, and yet, you look as though it plunged straight through your heart.

You chuckle, though it’s faint and you wince in the effort. “Sick of my voice already?”

Bucky shakes his head, astounded how you can still tease him in your position. “You kidding me? Not a chance.”

He reaches up to press a finger to the coms to get ahold of someone, anyone, to get you airlifted out of here, only to find it slipped out of his ear in the struggle. A quick glance back behind him and he knows he’ll never find it amongst the snow. He clenches his jaw and tried not to let the panic show as he looks for yours.  

“Lost mine, too,” you mumble, gesturing to the broken pieces in the snow beside you. One of your attackers must have hit you hard enough to dislodge it and slammed it under his heel to cause that much damage.  

Bucky pulls in a deep breath, glancing up to the sky in search of Sam, only to find a dark cast of clouds carrying over. On the ground, dozens of mercenaries are engaged with the rest of the Shield team and more are piling out from the woodwork.  

“I have to get you out of here,” Bucky resides. He doesn’t have a plan, but he knows it’s not safe where you are. He slips a hand under your knees, another around your back, and hoists you into his arms. He’s lucky the blade is small enough that it stays nestled in place as he carries you away from the field.  

He tries not to think of what would happen if a mercenary caught up with him now. He was defenseless with you in his arms and there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d sacrifice you to save himself.  

The wind whips around the trees, snow stinging on his cheeks as it builds in the scruff on his cheeks. You curl into his neck as best you can and he knows it’s subconscious, that it doesn’t mean much more than you seeking out the warmth of his body, but it doesn’t stop the trace of a smile that pushes at his cheeks.  

“Stay with me, alright?” he pleads, though he’s not sure you can hear him. It earns a tired hum in response.  

A storm is approaching quickly judging by the dark overcast of clouds and the snow on his boots that inches up higher along his shins with every step. If the blade doesn’t kill you, the exposure will, and Bucky starts to pick up his pace.  

The field is nothing but a distant haze by the time he reaches an unmarked dirt road. He must have walked miles with you in his arms, fading in and out of consciousness, waking you up every few paces when your eyes started to flutter closed. The relief is overwhelming when he spots a cabin at the end of the road, obstructed by trees and overgrown weeds. Abandoned.  

“Almost there,” he tells you and you curl up tighter against him. A whine leaves your lips and he picks up the pace.  

Bucky doesn’t bother with picking the lock and slams his foot to the most vulnerable angle of the door instead. It whips open to reveal an empty living room; dark, with cobwebs hanging in the corners and dust upon the mantle. He rushes inside to escape the painful sting of the wind and the snowfall as it piles outside the door. His footprints are already swept away in the impending storm. 

“You’re alright, hold on,” Bucky mumbles, blindly searching around the room until he can lower you onto the couch. He wipes away as much of the dust as he can as he eases you against the cushions. Your face scrunches up in pain and he knows how hard you’re trying to hide it from him.  

He brushes a hand over your forehead and it startles him when he finds it burning hot. He doesn't have a lot of time.  

“I’ll be right back.”

“No! Wait--”

He freezes, stunned when he hears your voice so clearly. Your hand wraps at his wrist, clenching so tight it would have hurt if it wasn’t constructed of solid metal. When he meets your eye, he finds a pain stab straight through his chest, because he’s become so used to your light and joy and charm that the fear etched into your features ruins him completely.  

“Bucky, don’t go.”

His heart splinters.  

“I need to find a first aid kit. I’ve got to clean that wound before it gets infected,” he explains as gently as he can, sinking down to his knees beside you. You nod at his words, but you’re unconvinced.

“I won’t leave you,” he adds with a little more conviction.

His relationship to you is complicated; filled with teasing smiles and playful tension in the sparring ring, late night talks and comfortable silence. You were the first person he trusted in Shield outside of Steve and Sam, the first to make him laugh until his stomach hurt, the first to accept him completely and entirely as the man he is, not who he was in his youth or what Hydra made him to be. You didn’t ask questions, didn’t expect him to be anything he wasn’t.  

He cares for you and he knows, at least on some level, you must care for him, too. He can't imagine that anyone would be as sweet as you are with him if you didn’t. There’s too much violence to overlook, too much evil ingrained into his veins. You don’t seem to mind and Bucky wonders most days if you’re not simply an angel sent from heaven itself with the extent of absolution you grant to him. 

So it’s not a question. There’s no second guessing. He won’t leave you.  

“I’ll be right back,” he presses again, eyes flickering to the knife in your side. “I promise.”

You nod, letting go of his wrist, but he can tell you’re still afraid. He recognizes it in himself, how he’s felt as though if he closed his eyes for even a second, he might convince himself it was all a dream and he’ll wake up right back in Hydra’s cell. He realizes then that you’re wondering if Bucky steps out of your view, he might disappear entirely and you’ll be alone, facing the impending darkness on your own.  

“Hey, remember that summer in New Orleans?” Bucky starts, hoping to ease your panic through the sound of his voice as he slips from the room. “Sam was walking around Bourbon Street with a dozen beaded necklaces and tripping over his own feet?”  

Bucky can vaguely hear you chuckle weakly from the living room as he rummages through the drawers in the bathroom.  

He continues. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen Sam that wasted before. I had to carry him up three flights of stairs to his room.”  

Shifting through old toothpaste containers, wash rags, makeup brushes, Bucky knelt down under the sink in search of anything he can use. He grabs the clean towels and an ace bandage hidden behind the pipes and moves onto the first bedroom. He still needs something to close the wound.  

“Idiot passed out on me before midnight,” Bucky calls out to the living room, stealing a glance at you to make sure your eyes were still open. You smile at him, faded and faint, but he continues on. “You called when we didn’t show up to the bar, remember? You didn’t think you could keep up with Natalia’s tolerance and you wanted to push some of your drinks off on me.”

Bucky is surprised when his lips curve up into a smile at the memory. It was the first time anyone managed to convince him to stay a few days passed the scheduled mission. He always had such a hard time saying no to you.  

“Think that might have been the first night I went out dancing since the forties. It was a little different than what I was used to but the music had the same soul to it,” Bucky continues as he searches under the bed, through the closet, shoving aside old clothes and shoe boxes. He can feel the panic rising, though he keeps his voice as calm as he can manage. His hands are trembling until he finds a small white box tucked into the back corner. Red cross on the top.  

It’s missing a few pieces inside but it’s enough. Relief surges through him and Bucky makes his way back out to the living room.  

“Don’t know if I would have let anyone else drag me away from the bar long enough to get a whole song out of me,” Bucky says as he holds up the kit for you to see and quickly moves to the kitchen to wash his hands.  

“You’re a good dancer, Barnes,” you mutter out feebly, smiling fondly at the memory.  

It’s a good memory, he thinks. A little faded with time, but he can still recall how you felt pressed against his chest, how his left nestled along the small of your back, his right intertwined with yours. Slow movements, swaying gently to the soft strum of the guitar. 

Bucky smiles backs at you, pauses for just a moment to memorize the way your lips curve up so beautifully into your cheeks before he turns to the sink to wash his hands. The water comes out brown for the first few seconds before it clears up. He washes his hands quickly and gathers a bucket of water before he makes his way back to you.  

As he kneels down at your side, he tries to mask the flash of panic that courses through him as he catches sight of the blood seeped into the couch under your back and the sweat dripping down your temples. It’s wet in your hair and you don’t seem to be in much pain anymore. Just tired. Your eyelids fall heavy.

“Hey,” Bucky calls sharply, shaking your shoulder a little harsher than he intended. Your eyes snap open. “You need to stay awake for me, alright? You know I’m lousy at this stuff. Need you to make sure I’m doing it right.”

You laugh, though Bucky can tell it’s forced. You both know he’s lying. He’d tended to wounds of his own far worse than this before. But Bucky doesn’t care about causing himself pain. He powers through it, uses it as a means of strength. He knows how badly this will hurt you and he hesitates as he holds a pair of scissors to your suit.  

“I trust you,” you say so quietly Bucky isn’t certain he even heard it. You nod at him.  

Bucky takes a deep breath as he cuts away at your suit and removes the fabric away from the wound.  

“It’s going to bleed a lot,” he warns. “Don’t let it scare you.”

You nod, staring up at the ceiling as you try to prepare yourself.  

Bucky doesn’t say anything else, because he knows it will make this harder. Your chest rises a little quicker, hands clench into fists, and it takes nearly everything Bucky has not to hold your hand instead of the hilt of the knife.  

It happens quickly. He pulls the knife from your stomach in one fluid motion. You gasp at the sudden sensation, a cry in your voice as you bite down on your fist to keep yourself from screaming, and Bucky presses a towel to your side to absorb the gush of blood and it drenches the cloth in a matter of seconds.  

He removes it in favor of a clean one and drops the bloodied rag onto the floor. The next towel doesn’t turn red as quickly and Buck begins to exhale a sigh of relief. The blood flow is slowing down. It’s a good sign. It’ll give him the chance to clean the wound and stitch you up enough to keep you together until rescue shows up.  

It takes a while before Bucky dares to lift the cloth. It’s heavy in his hands and dripping with blood, but the wound doesn’t appear to be freshly bleeding. Bucky gets to work, humming quietly to himself as he cleans the wound as best he can. He can feel your eyes on him, watching as he tends to the wound and mumbles under his breath, but he doesn’t mind. You’re awake. It's all that matters to him.  

“You really need to do that?” you ask nervously as Bucky begins to thread a needle.  

Bucky shrugs. “There’s a stapler in the office if you prefer that?”  

You laugh, enough to cause a bit of blood to seep out from the cleaned wound and Bucky presses a hand to your stomach to stop the bleeding.  

“Hey! Don’t mess with my work!” he teases, thankful for a moment where you feel more like yourself than you had since he picked you from the snowbank on the battlefield. You nod, trying to contain your smile, though its weak and fading.  

“My apologies, Sergeant Barnes.”

“That’s Dr. Barnes to you,” Bucky quips back, distracting you long enough to slip the thread through your skin. You wince, hand gripping in tight to the straps on his shoulder.

“Yeah?” you mutter out tensely. “What decade did you get your medical degree in, Doctor? Feels pretty amateur from where I’m sitting.”

“You should be nicer to me, doll. I’m the one with the needle in my hand,” Bucky smirks. Only two more threads to go before the wound is closed and you’re taking it like a champ. Pride swells in his chest and he has the urge to kiss you, but quickly pushes the feeling down.  

“Imagine how I must feel,” you scoff playfully, exhaling a heavy breath of relief as Bucky sits back and cuts the thread.  

Bucky grins, brushing a clean cloth over the surface to wipe away the excess blood. “You did good. Try to get some rest now, alright? I’ll be here.”

He lifts a blanket up over your body and lets it lay against your chest. You smile at him again and he’s certain it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. He stands to clean up the mess around the couch when your hand catches his.  

“Thank you.” You squeeze his hand, rub your thumb over his wrist, something so tender and loving that it nearly jolts his heart straight from his chest.  

“Anytime, doll,” he replies as even as his voice will let him. By the time he finishes cleaning the bloodied rags and rinsing the red stains from his hands, you’ve already fallen asleep.  

Bucky takes his time as he gathers a few stray blankets and lays them down on the floor beside the couch. He knows there’s a room with a decent bed just a few feet down the hall but he meant what he promised you. He wasn’t going to leave your side.  

So, he lays down on the hardwoods, rests a pillow under his head, and stars up at the ceiling; content to listen to the soft sounds of your breathing until they too lull him to sleep.  

***

He wakes abruptly a few hours later. It’s dark outside, nearly pitch black in the cabin, and Bucky rubs his hands over his tired eyes before he realizes what woke him up.  

Quiet whimpers above him, muffled, pained. You’re crying.  

Bucky jolts up in a panic. He kneels beside you to find you curled up on your side, knees tucked to your stomach, tears streaming down your cheeks. You're sweating again, and it drenches into your hair.  

“Y/n?” Bucky begs, hands hovering over you, terrified to make it worse. “Y/n, talk to me.”

“It hurts,” you cry, barely able to mutter the words out. “It hurts... bad. S-Somethings wrong.”

Bucky nods, rushing up to the fireplace to give some light. It takes him longer than it should and he nearly shouts out in frustration before it sparks and a flame bursts onto the wood. It’s a faint flicker, but it’s enough.  

“Let me see,” he requests, and you release the blanket to let Bucky's slide it off of you. He helps guide you to lay flat on the couch and he knows how much it hurts you because you’ve bitten down so hard on your lip, it’s bleeding. You choke back a cry.  

“I know, sweetheart,” Bucky soothes, running a hand down your arm to find you shaking so badly it trembles right into his palm. You’re fully sobbing as he tries to pry your hands away from the wound. “I’m so sorry, but you have to let me see it, honey. Come on now. It’s alright.”

You pull your hands away, clutching them tight into the couch cushions and it's then that Bucky sees the series of large, angry, purple veins extending from the wound. Jagged lines protruding out across your stomach, stretching up towards your chest to your heart.  

Bucky can’t find his breath as he stumbles back. On the ground at his feet, the faint flicker of the knife catches his eye in the dim light of the fire behind him, and he bends down to pick it up. On its surface, hardly visible, is a sticky thin substance; green in color, bitter in its stench. Poison.  

“I’m gonna die, aren’t I?”

Bucky’s eyes snap up to you as the knife slips from his hand. It clashes against the hardwoods and echoes through the painful silence in the cabin, only obstructed by the muffled whistle of the wind outside and your faint attempts to stifle the sob etching its way through your throat.  

“No,” Bucky replies quickly, though his voice wavers. You’re unconvinced as tears slip past your eyes and you drop his gaze in favor of the ceiling tiles.  

“No,” he tries again, firmer as he kneels by your side. He runs a hand over your forehead to brush away the sweat, soothes his palm against your face and traces the line of your cheekbone until you dare to meet his eye again. “I’m not going to let that happen. I’m not letting you die today; you hear me? You’re going to be just fine.”

“Bucky...”

“You’re going to be fine,” he says again, determined. “Starks probably got a whole branch of the military searching for you by now. We both know how much of a soft spot he’s got for you. Hell, I’m lucky you’re the one I’m MIA with. Stark wouldn’t waste an AI suit on tracking me down. But you? Come on. He won’t sleep until you’re home safe.”

Bucky doesn’t know why he’s trying to draw a smile out of you. He’s terrified and he knows you are too, but dammit, all he ever wants to do is make you smile.  

“Tony would send more than an AI for you.”

Bucky chuckles, shaking his head. “You underestimate how much he dislikes me.”

“It’s been better, hasn’t it?” you ask, and he knows you’re trying to distract yourself from the pain, so Bucky nods.  

“It has. He hasn’t tried to kill me lately, so I’d consider that an improvement.”

You smile and Bucky’s whole world brightens around him. Sunshine through the night sky, past the dark clouds and the blizzard outside the window, flowers blooming through the snow. It's perfect. You’re perfect.  

But then the pain sweeps in again and steals your smile away, warps it and twists it until you’re crying so hard you can barely breathe and Bucky is helpless but to watch.  

There’s nothing he can do. He doesn’t know what the poison is, let alone how to counteract it. He doesn't often wish Stark was around, but he does in this moment. He’d know what to do. He could save you, take away this pain, in a way Bucky couldn’t.

He finds himself looking to the windows, watching as the snow continues to fall in blurring sweeps enough that he can’t see the trees beyond the clearing. He figures at least another foot of snow has piled up in the last hour but maybe if he could find the right layers in the back bedroom, he could make himself useful, venture out to find a nearby town or a phone or --  

“Don’t.”  

Your voice is barely a whisper but it punctures straight through to Bucky’s heart.

“Please don’t go,” you mutter out. “I don’t want to be alone when... when I...”

“Hey,” Bucky exhales, shaking his head, “hey, come on. What did I say? You’re not dying today, remember?”

He tears his eyes away from the window, forgets his plan because he knows you’re right. He can’t leave you. He wants to believe that his hope is enough, that his insistence will sway fate herself, but the truth is he doesn’t know. He can’t do much of anything at all, but he starts to wonder if there is something he can do to shoulder even an ounce of your pain.  

Slowly, Bucky slips an arm under your back and gently guides you forward just enough so that he can slide into the space behind you. You mold against him as he eases his way onto the couch beside you, gathering you up into his arms. He runs a tender hand over your stomach along the spidery veins around the knife wound and you don’t wince. It seems to come and go in waves.  

The next wave comes quickly and Bucky holds you through it the best he can. He’s never felt so helpless in his life; arms wrapped tight around you, a hand soothing along your arm as he tries to reassure you that this will pass, that Stark’s on his way, that you’ll be okay, but he doesn’t know if he’s telling the truth anymore.  

You exhale as the pain subsides again and you’re drenched in sweat. Bucky is too, but he doesn’t mind, not if it means he can give you even an ounce of comfort through this. You curl against him, careful of the fresh stitches in your side.  

“I’m scared.” It comes out broken and aching and Bucky’s heart lurches.  

“I know, honey. But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, alright? I’ve got you. You’re not alone.”  

It’s all he can say.  

His own helplessness makes him sick.  

There’s a prolonged silence and Bucky finds himself keeping a finger against your pulse, just to be sure. He feels like screaming or crying or maybe both, but he exhales a steady breath and tries to calm his heart rate instead because he knows you can hear it.  

“I’m glad it’s you,” you say after a while, voice barely louder than a whisper. It’s faint, fading, and Bucky bites down on his cheek. “I’m glad... that if this is... if this is it... you’re here.”

It breaks his heart, shatters it to pieces. He’d trade places with you if he could, absorb your pain tenfold if it meant you’d survive this, but he knows it’s a fantasy. Bucky Barnes stopped allowing himself to indulge in such dreams a long time ago.  

So, he holds you a little tighter, dares to press a kiss to the crown of your head, and rubs gentle circles along your spine. He can feel your pulse weaken, how it slips to beats a little longer apart, how your breaths fall shallow and he’s not ready to lose you yet. He’s not.

“How about when we get out of here, we go dancing?”

You don’t say anything, but he can feel your smile against his chest, the warm of your breath as you exhale a tired chuckle. It takes nearly all of your energy.  

“Been thinking about it a lot since New Orleans,” Bucky continues. “It could be fun, you know? Get dressed up. Listen to good music. Beautiful woman in my arms. Sounds nice.”

“You should... You should go,” you tell him and he barely recognizes your voice. He clenches his jaw until it aches, brushes at the tear in his eyes you’re too weak to lift your head to notice.  

“I’m not going with anyone but you, so no deal.”

“Bucky...”

“No deal. You or nothing, doll.” Bucky finds himself smiling through the tears. “You’re my only dance partner, okay? Can’t be having just anyone step all over my toes.”

You hum and it’s so faint he can hardly hear it. 

Bucky clears his throat, swallowing back the lump that threatens to choke him. “We’ll have to go back to that bar, okay? The one off of Bourbon Street. Live music only. I can show you how we used to dance back in my day. I’m sure you’ll be wonderful at it.” 

A smile breaks through the tears as he imagines spinning you under the soften glow of amber lights and the reflection of the moonlight through the windows, the roar of trumpets settling in his chest and the echo of your laugh etched right into his soul. You’d smile at him and his whole world would stop spinning. 

“What do you say, doll?” Bucky sighs, leaning down to kiss the crown of your head. He brushes the hair away from your eyes, sticky and wet with sweat.

But you don’t say anything and suddenly, it’s impossibly silent.  

Bucky stops breathing because he can’t hear the crackle of the fire place or the wind barreling against the cabin walls. He can’t hear the heavy snow as it brushes against the windows. He can’t hear your breaths, can’t feel the pulse as he reaches up to your neck, and that silence begins to feel like a void, like he’s screaming, but it’s all inside his head.  

“Y/n?” he chokes out. There’s no reply, but still, as if to break his own heart a little more, he tries again. “Y/n? Please... don’t do this. Come on. Come back to me.”

Nothing.

“No... no no no... don’t give up on me,” Bucky pleads, tears burning hot in his eyes. “Y/n...”

He barely notices as the cabin door is blown open, as the wind screams outside and snow barrels in through the frame. He can’t focus on much of anything else as he tries to move your lifeless body in his arms, trying to wake you from the edge of a paralyzing darkness. He doesn’t recognize the blur of red and yellow as it crashes into the room.  

“Banner! I need the antidote, now!”

You’re being pulled from his arms and all Bucky wants to do is hold on tighter.  

“Barnes, you need to let go of her.”  

The voice is calmer now, gentle, and Bucky allows himself to meet Tony’s eye. There’s a kindness there he doesn’t expect, an understanding. Tony’s helmet has been discarded and Bucky notices quickly he bares the same redness in the whites of his eyes, the same dark circles beneath. Tony’s hand lays upon your shoulder.  

“Let me save her, Barnes,” Tony tries again as Bruce barrels in through the door in a parka a few sizes too big for his frame. He’s clutching a syringe in his hand, desperately trying to hold up the hood around his head.  

Bucky nods numbly and releases you from his hold. Tony and Bruce lower you carefully down to the ground, laid upon the blankets he slept on less than an hour earlier. Tony presses his hand to your chest and an electrical spark jolts through your body. He tries again, and still, nothing.  

Bruce pulls off the cap of the syringe and without hesitation, plunges it directly into a vein and releases the serum inside. He sits back on his heels and waits.  

It's agonizing. The seconds feel like hours and Bucky is certain he’ll never learn to smile again, until suddenly, the purple veins along the knife wound begin to retract. They crawl along your skin and shrink back to the wound until they’ve disappeared entirely.  

But then, the most beautiful sound.  

You gasp for air, chest rising high off the ground before you sink back against the blankets. FRIDAY reports your pulse, says you’re stable, and Bucky presses his hands over his face to stop the sob before it consumes him whole. It’s made of relief.  

“You did good, Barnes,” Tony says as Bucky lowers his hands.  

He’s suspicious of the praise, but as Tony runs a hand over your hair, soothes it away from your face, Bucky knows he meant what he said.  

“We should get her to the cradle,” Bruce says, shivering as he glances back to the door. “Helen will want to fix that wound up and run some tests to make sure the antidote worked.”

Tony covers you with the blankets as best as he can and gathers you into his arms. Bucky tries to ignore the lurch in his stomach as you press your nose to Tony’s neck, seeking out his warmth. He doesn’t say anything else before he flies out the front door, back to the quinjet.

Bruce starts to make his way to the door when he realizes Bucky isn’t following behind. He pauses and glances back at Bucky over his shoulder.  

“How did you know?” Bucky asks weakly, staring at the empty syringe.  

“A few of the Shield agents came back from the field with the same symptoms,” Bruce explains. He scratches the back of his neck. “We wanted to be prepared if either of you were infected by the poison.”  

Bucky nods. He feels empty.  

“She’s going to be alright, Barnes,” Bruce says and he places a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder. It surprises him but he can feel the tension slip away as Bruce squeezes the muscle tightly. He gestures to the door. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

***

Bucky’s right hand is throbbing. Blood trickles down from the open scars on his knuckles and it smears into the punching bag. Beads of sand embed themselves into the wounds but he presses on because it’s better than the pit in his stomach, of seeing you laid up in the med wing with wires attached you and a monitor displaying the weak rhythm of your pulse.  

It’s been days since you’ve been home, since the antidote was administered and Helen properly stitched up the stab wound in your stomach, and yet you’re still unconscious, barely breathing on your own. Banner can’t make sense of it, but he suspects it’s because the poison was in your system longer than the others.  

Bucky can’t help but wonder that if he never left the field with you, if he had just stayed put and fought off whoever tried to come near, that maybe they could have saved you. Maybe he’s the reason you're still fighting for your life. Maybe if he wasn’t around at all you'd be safer, you'd be alive.

The bag dislodges from the ceiling and slams into the wall in an echoing thud.  

Bucky sighs, slumping his shoulders down as he kicks at the sand streaming from the bag onto the gym floors. He turns to pick up the next bag in the long line leading from the storage closet when he stops dead in his tracks.  

You’re standing in the center of the gym, still dressed the pale blue scrubs from the med wing, holding onto the edge of a weight machine for support. There is a mark in your arm from where the IV line should be, tape residue around your mouth from the tubes. It’s a miracle you’re on your feet at all and all Bucky wants to do is run towards you, wrap you tight into his arms, just to convince himself that you’re real, that you’re standing right there, but instead, he holds his ground. He’s turned to stone.  

“Thought I’d find you here,” you chuckle, your voice raspy and airy, but it has a strength to it again. It sounds like you.  

Bucky grips his hands at his side. “I didn’t... I didn’t know you were awake.”

You shrug. “Don’t think the nurses do either. Helen might be mad at me when she finds an empty bed in my room.”

“You shouldn’t be here, Y/n,” he says, his gaze focused on the floor. He pushes aside the heavy stone sitting in his chest as he starts to walk towards you to usher to towards the med wing. “I should get you back...”

“What else was I supposed to do when I woke up and you weren’t there?”  

You’re smiling, teasing. There’s a laugh in your voice, and still Bucky can’t help the pang in his stomach. It twists and turns and threatens to consume him whole.  

He rolls his eyes. “Maybe not wander around the tower after being in a coma for four days?”

The smile lingers upon your face despite his tone. It doesn’t seem to bother you at all, doesn’t throw you off your game, doesn’t puncture even a crack into the shield of your charm. No – you smile at him.  

“You broke your promise, Barnes,” you say simply. “I’m here to scold you for it. Think you may owe me a few takeout nights before you’re out of the doghouse.”  

Bucky narrows his eyes, daring to challenge your gaze. “What promise?”  

“You left.”

Bucky feels the hitch in his lungs before the flash of guilt sweeps over his gut. You notice it just as quick because the teasing smile falls in an instant. He stumbles back away from you, slipping out from the extent of your outstretched hand.  

“It’s better that way, Y/n,” he mumbles. “I’m the reason you ended up there.”

“Don’t you dare do that,” you snap, enough so that it startles him. 

You struggle to walk the few steps closer to him, your legs wobbling underneath you and he wonders how you even made it across the tower and down five floors to the gym without anyone stopping you. You reach for his hand and because Bucky can’t bear to see you struggle, he offers his support. You balance yourself on the edge of the weight machine beside him, one hand anchored in his left forearm.  

“Y/n,” he starts, taking in a deep breath, but you cut him off quickly.  

“No. There is no room for the Bucky Barnes guilt parade here, okay?” you argue. “You saved my life, Bucky. You can’t possibly stand there and think for a second that you’re somehow to blame for anything less.”

He shakes his head. The guilt and shame that burns deep into his chest is one he knows well. It lives inside of him, festering, waiting for moments like these.  

“If I hadn’t taken you from the field, if I got that blade out sooner, Banner could have given you the antidote hours earlier and you wouldn’t have—”

“I would have bled out before he had the chance,” you press, pulling yourself a little closer. “Those other agents? They had scrapes, Bucky. Nicks. The poison only started to affect me after you removed the knife. Bruce thinks it reacted to the oxygen in the air. Waiting to remove the blade, closing the wound... Bucky, you prolonged it as long as you could have. You gave me more time, gave Bruce and Tony time to find us. You saved me.”  

Your hand squeezes at the solid metal of his forearm and Bucky knows he can't really feel it. He can only register the synapses faintly, as if they were distant, far away; it reads it like data and numbers, but there’s something in the way the pads of your fingertips press into the divots of vibranium that makes his breath hilt. His stare focuses on your thumb as it rubs soothing sweeps along the crevices and it takes him a moment before he dares to meet your eye.

When he does, all that is waiting for him is that same smile that lit up across a battlefield, that pushed through when you were on the brink of an endless darkness, that cast away the shadows and demons that swarmed in his chest just with the wrinkles up by your eyes. He felt lighter. Safer.  

“Now,” you start, sliding your palm down his forearm until you can intertwine your hand in his own. You curl your fingers around his and you don’t seem to be bothered in the slightest by the harsh chill of the metal. You smile at him and for the first time in a while, Bucky finds himself smiling back. “I believe you owe me a dance, Sergeant.”

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[killerbananas]

Pearl

Erwin treats his sweetheart with rough reverence.

🔞 mdni | masterlist | 1,840 wc | afab!reader x Erwin x (light) Levi

Warnings: smut; darker! Dom! Erwin, heavier degradation/humiliation (with a wider variety of mean names than usual perhaps?), come shot/pearl necklace, come play, oral, come swapping, rough sex, throat fucking, public sex, light breeding kink, established relationship, run-on flowery nonsense as usual, mucho predatory lingo.

AN: I headcanon that one should not wear undergarments in the presence of his Lordship. 🙄 This is an old work of mine previously posted on tumblr.

Erwin leaned in the doorway, body naturally elongated in the unassuming space, cutting a figure akin to a jaguar relaxing in the shade. His languid muscles defined his large frame, leaving little excess light escaping from behind him to highlight your visage, as if Apollo eclipsing the sun. His discerning gaze observed hawkishly, gauging your mood by your behavior and choice of adornments. He stretches as you turn for him because it is either the rapid tensing and relaxing of his muscles flexing or he allows himself to fall for the visceral need to breed you then and there. A sharp smirk crests his features as he rights properly to help your searching appendages when they proffer the necklace he bought you last summer.

“Would you help me put this on, please?”

He utilized a delicacy in his hands that few knew him capable of possessing, let alone honing, resting those same spanning palms on your shoulders shortly after to appreciate your decolletage with its inviting valleys and gently sloping peaks. The delicate silver chain complimented your skin, resting tightly along the column of your throat and dangling a small pearl at the center.

“Perfect. Thank you.”

You placed a tender kiss to his hand given its easy proximity, pulling away slowly, seductively. His grip tightens slightly, unintentionally belying the responsiveness he has been trying to reign in for a frustrating amount of time. Yet, Erwin was a man of patience. Indeed, he did feel each instance pry away more of his control, but he preferred to take his dues at the most exacting moment, intending not only a return in balancing, but upheaving the field in his favor altogether, to conquer.

“Ready?”

The atmosphere is calm with delicate placement of each soft light to give patrons enough to see by, but darken the areas strategically to highlight and manipulate the mood. Erwin and you are seated in a booth together across from your friends, laughing and joining in the conversation where you can. You had all been friends to the extent you had stopped counting the years at this point. So, it was not the company dampening the mood, stilting your focus and involvement in witty repartee, or making your thigh twitch under the table. Sometimes you simply found it difficult to keep up with Erwin’s urges and the sheer overwhelming presence and gall of the sexual whirlwind that always trailed his hot hands on your skin.

Seated to your left, his right hand had started out innocently enough, but it was only moments after ordering that his digits were traversing your supple thighs, kneading ever-so-slightly, just starting to border inappropriate, skimming your dressline. A smile just beginning to bloom on your face is overemphasized in a slight frenzy of not-surprise when he finally treks those thick fingers under the airy material. As blinding as his gesture is, you do not dare miss the subtle raising of his thick eyebrow when his fingertips encounter nothing but bare skin and the beginning of dewdrops on your petals. Capitalizing on your friends receiving their dishes and being distracted, he only offers a predatory smile when you raise both your own brows back as if questioning his curiosity of your audacity to be so available.

His response was to slip his middle finger between your slickening folds and silently dare you to keep up the facade as he worked to pluck a punishing orgasm from you. You gripped the tablecloth a little hard as he worked you– hard enough to make someone notice– and wait, no, the next thing you know, the stupid fork is clattering to the ground and when one of your friends–

“I’ve got it. Call the waitress back over.”

It is only by Erwin’s saving grace of interrupting by already lifting the cloth that temporarily absolves you. Though, you were slightly less thankful when his head followed his arm, ducking under the table. A bright plight of lightning strikes up your spine when you feel his breath at your knee and a semi-intentful bite just a touch further in, making your legs jerk apart, baring your cunt, letting Erwin slither his seeking tongue straight to the livewire button he finally spies. It may only be a few strokes, but the sensation paired with your dinnermate’s concern at your knee smashing into the table amplifies the stimulation tenfold. He gave the rest of the table an apologetic smile and feigned concern in your direction when he reemerged.

“I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to land on your foot like that. Are you alright?”

You knew the subtext in his last question.

“I know you have a hard time working into small spaces, ‘Win. No harm, no foul.”

He placed the dirty fork at the edge of the table just before the waitress approached with a new one for you. Erwin directed some bullshit excuse towards your friends that did not register to you, so that you both could go out to the car for some reason. You were so focused on attempting to calm the blush on your face, that you barely realized where he had actually led you.

“Not a scrap of fabric on this cunt. What were you looking for, cock? Attention? Conception? Whatever your answer,” His thick digits spread your legs and yanked your dress up to let your backside kiss air as he pulled a cheek in each hand with the emphasis of his statement. “I am going to own this little pussy. Do you know how worked up you got me in front of our friends? Are you really so depraved that you can’t go this long without driving me mad? Do you know the things I want to do to you? The bites I want to scribe into your skin? If we’ve got any chance at getting through this dinner without you embarrassing us– I’m sorry, honey, but I’m going to need to be a little rough.”

As his words sunk in, you were not quite sure if you were dreaming or not, so heated and outlandishly bold were his proclamations, it truly imparted his dominating presence, which immediately had you squirming as an uncomfortable wetness gathered between your thighs. His invasive appendages honed in on the oasis in which he intended to bathe himself. He barely let you gain your balance as he kicked your legs apart while making you face the wall, a rough material assaulting your hands, but not enough to draw your attention as you were immediately split by the dense girth of your impatient partner. The grunt it pulls is deeply dark, from your pelvis where he slams all of his length into the sheath of your warmth, giving your tender channel no choice but to submit and adjust.

His kindness is in the measurable breaths he takes before he begins thrusting at a selfish pace that leaves no care for anything but seeking every single angle which pleases his prick in the soft plushness he intends to ravage and spoil. The velvet steel brands a hot pain that blisters into a luxurious bliss molten with lust as he batters against your sensitive walls, ramming his swollen cockhead bruisingly into your cervix, overstimulating himself with the sinful softness he wrecks with grinding ruts.

“You know, if you had remembered to wear your underwear, I could have gotten away with unloading into this perfect little hole, but if I did that now, you’d be wearing it on your thighs and everyone in that restaurant would know what slut you were out here. Do you really want that kind of attention?”

He lets the inquiry hang heavily, cloyingly, entrancingly in the air while he gradually reduces the savage pace he had set. A little oxygen reaches your brain and you are able to mutter enough to matter.

“I wanna wear you with my necklace.”

“What if someone saw you back here with your dress hiked up getting that soaked pussy stuffed? Would they think you’re some disgusting whore doing dirty things down an alley?” He gripped your jaw. “Or would they find you irresistible and want to fuck you like you made me do?”

A devious smirk, not unlike the one he had worn earlier while stalking you, blossomed with your response, “Both.”

His grip moves from your jaw to your hair as he treats your throat with the same reverence he had given your cunt, showing little care for how saliva began to escape the corner of your mouth. It was simply what he needed to use at the moment, so he would take what he needed from the proffered fuckhole and then give you the one reward you had requested.

In all his honesty, it was hard for him to avoid losing it right there. The lurid picture you comprised of with your scrambling limbs, tears beading your lashes, hair beginning to become perfectly tousled, invoked a vulnerable wobble to his knees that had him cramming alarmingly down deep, testing the limits of your reflex, and pulling out with as much suctioning fury that the biting whirlwind nearly toppled you. Erwin’s strong stature kept you upright and still by holding your head back tightly by your hair as he stroked himself, heavy shaft eclipsing the sparse lighting that bled down the alley from a distant lamppost.

And though you are truly knee-deep in some questionable debris, you are Aphrodite to him, bathed, adorned in the bliss his own body crafted. Pearlescence blending milky trails down your chest, across a pert nipple, prickling the tender flesh. The only pause was a result of Erwin’s admiring gaze as he witnessed the way he had painted your skin. As soon as he’d had his initial fill, his own mouth slickly followed a drop’s reverse trail back up your chest, harshly seizing the soft protrusion on the way by, then taking a moment to catch your sight before meeting your lips together and basking in the empty mouth you exaltedly brandished in the post-exchange.

You had no mirror and allowed Erwin to help you right yourself before going back inside.

“Did she forget to wear her underwear again?”

“Levi! Not so loud!”

“I’m sorry. I think you being a visually obvious cockdrunk slut is loud enough. What more harm could I do?”

“Why, you little-”

“Ah. Enough, both of you. You know the rules.”

Well, it might draw some attention, but rules were rules for a reason. You shared a gentle kiss with the naturally obstinate man for the agreed moment and let out a soft sigh on the departure. His lithe fingers fixed the edge of your dress as it had crept up your thighs a bit. He ended his observation by swiping a finger into a collarbone hollow and sticking it into your mouth abruptly.

“You missed a spot.”

Dark heat suffused your cheeks as you cleaned the salty appendage and glowered indignantly. A sigh liberated itself without his own explicit permission as Erwin rubbed his temple.

House rule: Arguments must conclude with a three second kiss, a second of simple consideration for each of you within the trio, yourself included.

[whosjunglejim4322]

Warnings: HEAD HEAD U GIVE HIM HEAD, cum swallowing, johnny is obsessed w everything u do teehee, kissing after nutting, softness, dick stroking

Johnny knows you haven't done this before, but it's hard for him to hide the fact that that he's elated-and not just because he's about to get his dick sucked, but because you're the one whose soft, eager hands are pulling his sweats down to his knees.

He chuckles, a warm, melodic sound and your cheeks heat further as he reaches his long arms down to his ankles to pull his bottoms off all the way, slinging them to the floor.

You're sat on your knees, between his legs and you can't will yourself not to look at the tent that has formed in his black briefs. He's so long, you feel an aching need to touch him.

To be honest, you're not sure what to do first. It's like each of your limbs are buzzing with the need to do something- to kiss him first, to stroke his skin.

Your boyfriend reaches out towards you, thumb smoothing the apple of your cheek before he drops his hand to caress the top of your bare thigh. He can tell you're somewhere else, can tell that you're shaky with nerves and other emotions alike.

"You okay honey? You know we don't have t-" You interrupt him, scooting closer to his figure with your hands on his agile hips as your eyes meet. "I want to, I really want to. Jus' wanna make you feel good."

His chocolate eyes soften, hands suddenly encompassing the sides of your face as he leans closer to press your lips together, firmly but with the sweetest of reassurances laced within.

"Anything you do will make me feel good, and I'm here, okay? If you're not feeling it, all you gotta do is look at me and we can stop."

Your cheeks are still held gently in his warm palms, your body-and heart, unable to bear the sickeningly sweet sense of euphoria that courses through you at his words. It's now that you realize, you truly have nothing to be nervous about.

Without warning, your fingers trace the inside of his thigh, his heart shaped lips parting in surprise as your eyes meet again. You nod, softly, and as if to silently assure him that you're ready. His mouth finds yours one last time before he reluctantly pulls away to settle his back against the headboard.

 The sky outside is scattered with hues of purple and violet, the natural light that bleeds through the blinds being the perfect amount you need to not feel like you're being examined, or under a spotlight to be judged.

You know that Johnny wouldn't judge you anyways, that he really would be appreciative of anything you do. It's foreign to feel so admired, his softly hooded eyes following you as your hesitant fingers begin to travel on their own accord.

You barely skim past it, and he twitches. The action doesn't completely take you by surprise, prompting real curiosity as to how he might act when you actually touch him. Your belly swirls with heat, and you feel a little bit of those previous nerves beginninging to fizzle away.

Being with him like this, so intimately, in the quiet of a room with no one but the two of you and your hormones accompanied, it's that thought that leads you to finally grip him through the black material that's restraining him.

You start just above his balls, fingers tracing the contour of the firm member as it veers to the left, tucked securely and bulging out at the tip. You go there next, not even realizing Johnny has stiffened and his ring clad fingers are gripping the comforter beneath him.

You're a bit bolder now, scooting closer by your knees while you use your other hand to slip underneath his white tee shirt, caressing his side before toying with his waistband.

"It's so hard." Are the first words you mutter, truth in your cadence as you start to stroke him, length warm and stiff against your palm. It makes you squeeze your thighs together, skin tingly all of the sudden.

He laughs softly at this, the deep, lust filled timbre of his voice seeming to reverberate through the room, and your body. "It's all cause of you."

At this you look up, the highlights of his eyes staring back at you in the dim light of the space. Even like this, you can read the expression he's wearing, tongue darting out to wet his plump lips.

You don't hesitate now, deciding to remove his underwear all together. Your fingers work deftly, his lithe hips rising slightly as to help you in the process. Once you hear his hard cock slap against the slither of his abdomen that's exposed, you find it nearly impossible to focus on anything else.

Your gasp is audible, as you wrap your hands around him, the skin velvety soft, a new sensation underneath your fingertips. You can see a vein protruding from the side slightly, sunset allowing enough light in order for you to know what exactly it is that you're doing.

"Your hand is so much smaller than mine." He breathes out, your body reacting as if he's touched you physically, everytime he speaks. The way he says it makes you want to whine.

You stroke him gently, satisfied when the smooth tip passes through your fist, his hips bucking. You realize now that you're slick between your thighs, clit throbbing.

"You're just big, you know." You can practically feel his smirk, your free hand carresing his thick thigh as your jaw suddenly tingles with the urge to taste him, precum making his tip slick.

You decide to change your position, shifted to the right with your arm over his leg, elbow on the mattress holding you up- it's easier this way, you think. Johnny seems to think so too, as he eagerly reaches out to adjust your hair sweetly.

He strokes your cheek softly with the back of his knuckles as you place a kiss to the start of his shaft, a breath of surprise passing his lips while he struggles to remain still for you.

You feel powerful like this, yet still incredibly affected by your own arousal as you find yourself getting sloppier the closer you are to having him inside of your mouth.

When you finally encompass him with your lips, he unintentionally lets out a rather lewd groan. Your mouth is so warm, and soft and it's you so of course he's a mess.

You're not as aware as he is, too focused on suckling his tip to register the fact that he's got every muscle flexed. You take more of him, until he touches the back of your throat, and fuck, your small gag shouldn't have him as fucked as he is.

He tastes like you knew he would, not sweet but not unbearably salty. The taste is inherently Johnny and knowing you've got his dick in your mouth has you developing a gentle rythym, desperate to continue.

"That's it, use your hand too baby, I know you can't take it all yet," You do as he instructs, peering up at him through your lashes. "Good girl."

You moan around him, leaving his length with a pop as you catch your breath, suddenly overwhelmed.

Your chin is suddenly being forced between two of his fingers as he pulls you towards his awaiting mouth, the sound sticky and wet. Your hand continues to stroke him, his eyes dark and lids low when he pulls back.

He doesn't mean to get so nasty so fast, but you've always brought out sides of him that otherwise wouldn't have been bold enough to make an appearance.

You're back on him as soon as he relaxes, filled with real and tangible lust that yearns to make him feel good, to satisfy him the way he satisfies you, without even having to doing much of anything.

You try to quicken your pace this time, twisting your fist in time with your head bobbing. The sounds are erotic and lascivious themselves all together, and when you choke for the second time around his dick, the strained expletive that falls from his tongue is a clear indicator of his current preference.

"Doing s'good for me." He tries to hold his eyes open, tries to observe every detail but your mouth is just too good, and it's the way you hum as you suck him-like you're doing it for your own pleasure.

You pull him out and kitten lick the tip, before mouthing at it sweetly, haphazardly. He reaches out to rub your cheek, mesmerized by the half visible sight between his legs. The sun is almost completely gone.

"What'll make you cum fastest? I wanna taste it."

He nearly chokes on his own spit, dick twitching in your palm as his eyes widen in the dark. You're delighted by this, wrapping your lips back around his swollen head and hollowing your cheeks.

"You w-wanna taste...oh- fuck baby, just keep doing it like that, I'm close."

He speaks earnestly, worked up from your salacious question. Your hands are so soft, one gripping his shaft and the other rubbing his taut, smooth abdomen. Your spit dribbles down his cock and he feels heat lurching in his stomach.

It doesn't help that you're enjoying yourself so much, but he adores it so an unhealthy extent, the way you're whimpering around him and swirling your tongue underneath his frenulum. His hips begin bucking into your mouth on their own accord, throat opening to take him as much as you can.

He's too close to face fuck you, and he's not quite sure you can take that yet, already gagging around him but taking his length with no signs of stopping.

"Fuuuuck, just like that-so fuckin' close." You moan as he leaks on your tongue, his muscles tense with the anticipation of his orgasm. It's intoxicating to see and hear and feel him like this, your hand suddenly grasping for his in the dark.

When your fingers intertwine, he feels heat flood through his body, a surge of pleasure making his brain foggy.

"Cummingcummingcumming!"

You see his broad chest rise as he takes in a breath, belly tightening and cock jerking in your mouth as he spills down your throat. His release is saltier than his precum, but something about it being a part of Johnny, has you enjoying the way it lingers in your tongue.

He lets out a breathless, hiccupy moan as you suckle his tip, twitching at the overstimulation. He quickly realizes he needs a moment, immediately, before he becomes even more a mess under your ministrations.

He cups your chin and pulls you off of him gently, your eyes hazy and body more responsive to his touch since it feels as though you've gone ages without it.

He's quick to pull you onto him, lips skimming past yours in the dark before your mouths finally collide. He tastes himself, and groans when you tug at his hair needily, and worked up.

"Did amazing baby, my sweet angel." This moment feels so heartachingly sweet despite the nastiness that just occured, your noses rubbing up against the other, his eyelashes fluttering against your cheek.

"Made you feel good?" You know the answer, feeling him smile into the kiss as he suckles your bottom lip.

"Made me feel so good baby." You feel his fingers tracing circles on the sensitive skin of your thighs, and you deepen the kiss by pressing yourself harder against him, placing your legs on either side of his waist.

Maybe, he won't be the only one to go the bed satisfied.

[15-dogs]

hey lover |s.r.|

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: spencer wants to ask you on a date but his fear of rejection causes him to write you a letter. however, he’s made the miniscule and idiotic mistake of forgetting to sign it. (fluff, mutual pining, and miscommunication!!)

warnings: very light swearing, description of murders/crime scenes (criminal minds level gore/description), food mention

guide: (Y/N) = your name, (Y/L/N) = your last name, (Y/N/N) = your nickname, italics = letter

word count: 3.2K

a/n: asjkdfhkj this is my first spencer fic i hope it turned out ok!!

***

It seemed like a good idea at first. Derek’s ideas always seem good at first. Spencer wasn’t sure why he trusted things would work out without error. Yet there he was, letter in hand and eyes wide at the stupid, miniscule mistake he made while you awaited his answer.

***

You had just begun working at the BAU no more than 3 months ago as the new communications liaison, replacing JJ while she was absent on maternity leave. You were quickly integrated into the carefully woven quilt that was the BAU and, in turn, you had built some very close relationships with your coworkers. 

However, there was one person who you had grown extraordinarily fond of: Spencer Reid. You didn’t want to admit how smitten you were with the doctor, seeing as you were only working at the BAU for so long, but it was an indisputable fact you had fallen for him.

Unbeknownst to you, Spencer felt the exact same way. Your courageous and selfless demeanor struck him as something he hadn’t seen in anyone in quite some time. Not to mention how incredibly beautiful you were. Spencer knew it was impossible for anyone to be perfect but, when you made him feel the way he did, he began to question his thinking.

Spencer was quite terrible at hiding his feelings, finding himself staring at you a second too long when you walked to your office in the morning or bringing you extra breakfast and coffee because the store just happened to have an extra muffin they wanted to get rid of. It was so obvious yet you couldn’t pick it up for the life of you and Spencer really thought he was flirting to the fullest extent of his ability.

One morning you were running late. You had yet to arrive but you called Hotch to let him know you’d be at the office in no more than 30 minutes because the train was down for the time being. You also had texted Spencer, asking him if he wanted something at the small coffee shop around the corner while you waited. So as Spencer gave you his order with one hand, he downed the coffees he had made for you and himself in the other.

“Whoa, kid,” Morgan chuckled, prying the cup from his hand, “slow down. Your toothpick-body can’t take all that caffeine.”

Spencer swatted at Derek in an attempt to get the cup back only to see him lift it to his lips. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Morgan started with mock innocence, “was this for a certain communications liaison that a certain doctor has a crush on?”

Spencer rolled his eyes but felt the back of his neck heat up. “I don’t have a crush on her.” He made his way back to his desk, ignoring Morgan’s eyes boring into him.

“Oh, really? That’s a shame,” he could practically hear the teasing grin in Morgan’s words, “because she likes you.”

Spencer went rigid. He spun slowly on his heel until he saw Morgan’s smirking face, feeling his stomach drop again. He couldn’t believe he fell for that. Spencer retreated to his desk with Derek chasing after him.

“Kid, kid, listen! I know you like her! I was just-”

“Be quiet!” hissed Spencer, his cheeks now coated in a healthy flush.

However, Morgan wasn’t quiet enough. Emily perked up from her desk, rolling her chair over to join the conversation. “What are we talking about?”

Spencer tensed his hands and shook his head, turning to face his work again when Morgan explained, “How pretty boy’s got it bad for (Y/L/N) and won’t do a damn thing about it.”

“What?!” Spencer whipped around, his jaw slack from panic. Morgan and Emily were cackling to themselves at his shock, not even bothering to silence themselves.

“Reid,” Emily began, clutching her stomach from laughter, “it’s okay, I know you like her-”

“What?!”

Spencer’s increasing panic only furthered the pair to laugh even harder. Was he that easy to read? Did everyone know how he felt towards you? Dread began to set into his stomach at the thought of you knowing. His overthinking mind started to wander, assuming you knew how he felt and had led him on to get free breakfast every morning. He quickly scolded himself for thinking that— he’d been hurt too many times before, making that line of thinking second nature. But you weren’t someone who wanted to see people hurt; you were too kind, too caring to do that to anyone.

“Why don’t you just ask her out?” Emily asked. “She obviously likes you, too.”

Spencer’s eyes lit up for a second at the thought of you feeling the same but he caught himself. A moment too late, however. Emily and Morgan teased him, batting their lashes and making kissy faces at him, leading to Spencer throwing his head in hands to hide from their stares.

The two were no later interrupted as Hotch called Emily up to his office to go over a report she had put in, leaving Spencer and Morgan alone. Derek nudged Spencer’s leg, Spencer frowning at him as he met his eyes.

“Listen, kid, Prentiss was right. Why don’t you ask her out?”

If what Derek and Emily had said was true, why couldn’t he? He imagined himself walking up to you and asking you on a date, his heart fluttering at the thought. His fantasy soon turned sour as you snorted at his question, shaking your head vigorously and pushing him out of your office.

“I don’t think I could look her in the eyes if she rejects me.” Spencer’s voice was no more than a whisper as he announced his realization.

Morgan laid a hand on his shoulder, the other reaching around Spencer’s desk to hand him a piece of paper and a pen. “Then we’re going to do this the old fashioned way. Women love it when they get love letters, so write her one.” Spencer’s eyes bulged at Morgan’s words. “Love might be a bit strong, I get it, but you get the sentiment, right? Write her a letter about why you like her, ask her out at the end of the letter, and then slip it under her door.”

Spencer nodded slowly before shooing Morgan away, already hunched over the first draft of the letter. He worked it over and over again, feeling like each copy wasn’t good enough for you until he saw his phone buzz. It was a text from you. You were heading up. Spencer panicked, folding his latest draft and slipping it under the door to your office before settling back at his desk.

You waddled in from the elevators, attempting to balance a carry-out tray of coffees and a bag of croissants in one hand and your work bag in the other. Spencer jumped up from his seat, relieving you of the items belonging to him in an instant.

“Thank you so much, Spence. I was seconds away from dropping my breakfast.” You shouldered him gently in place of a grateful gesture. He nodded, ducking his head in hopes you hadn’t noticed the blush creeping up his cheeks.

Before Spencer could say anything, your phone rang. Sending him an apologetic smile, you managed to slip it out of your pocket and place it on your shoulder, shrugging it up to your ear as you answered. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

Spencer watched you walk off towards your office, taking a short sip from the coffee he definitely didn’t need. You stepped in and flicked the lights on with your elbow before tossing your bag onto your desk, freeing a hand to hold your cell phone. You took another step in before stumbling, your shoes caught on a loose paper by your door.

It was go time.

Spencer hurried back to his desk and pretended he wasn’t looking at you, even though it was extremely obvious he was. You set your breakfast on your desk and bent over to pick up the note, skimming it as you spoke. Your head snapped up and you turned to face the window that exposed the bullpen, Spencer ducking his head down and innocently reading the newspaper on his desk. He chanced a look up only to see you frown and hurriedly shut the blinds.

Spencer thought he was going to be sick. He paled and ran his hands over his face before digging the heel of his palms into his temples, massaging them roughly. You looked upset— disgusted. Why did he think you’d ever like him?

Before he could indulge in his own pity party, you stormed out of your office with a large file in hand. You raised it in the air to gather the attention of the team as you announced, “We have a case!”

The team scurried in after you, everyone finding their places in the conference room as you clicked on your presentation. The pictures of two young couples appeared on the screen as you passed the files around.

“Four victims from Atlantic City have been found dead in their homes.” You clicked to the crime scene photos, wincing at the sight. “The husbands’ C.O.D. being a slice through the carotid and the wives’ a shot through the head execution style. The husbands have also had their...hands removed.”

Hotch looked up from the file, brows furrowed. “This all happened in the span of 3 days so we need to be vigilant. He could be planning his next attack right now. Wheels up in 20.”

***

On the plane ride to New Jersey, the team had finished being briefed by Garcia’s intel quicker than usual and were left to ponder their own thoughts. You sat off by yourself at a table in the back of the jet, opening your bag to sneak out the letter left at your office earlier. You scanned the words and frowned again before being hit with a genius idea.

You stood from your seat and settled next to Spencer on the couch. Oddly, he went rigid at your presence, sitting up straight and avoiding eye contact. You shook it off and continued on with your plan.

“Spence, hey, can I ask you something?” you whispered.

Spencer’s mouth went dry. He knew what you were going to ask about. What else could you be asking about? “S-sure.”

“You’re the guy who’s good at identifying handwriting, right? Like matching it and stuff?”

His eyes flickered up, mouth opening and closing a few times before he settled on a nod. His mind swarmed with questions but none of them came out. He decided it might be best if he were silent, anyway.

“Great. Then can you help me out with” —you pulled the letter from your bag and handed it to Spencer— “this? I think I might have a secret admirer or something. Whoever it was either wanted to stay anonymous on purpose or forgot to sign their name. Either way, could you help me out?”

And that’s when Spencer started to blame Morgan for his terrible idea. Well, it wasn’t exactly his fault but Spencer couldn’t take the blame for something so embarrassing. There his letter was, his handwriting, his words, his admission, and he forgot to sign his name.

Spencer debated the logistics of admitting to his error; he wouldn’t have you pining over a mystery man, but then again he would be asking you out in real time. The whole point of the letter writing was to not see your face and if he told you he wrote it you could reject him straight to his face. He couldn’t deal with the thought of that. So Spencer, fear consuming him, shoved the letter back in your hands with a nonchalant shrug.

“Sorry, (Y/N/N), I don’t recognize the handwriting.”

“Oh,” you muttered, standing up. “That’s okay. Thanks for looking.”

And as you returned to your seat on the other end of the plane, a pit formed in your stomach. You were no profiler but you hoped you could have read Spencer better, seeing if he let on any signs the letter was his, that he liked you. But at that moment you had to push it aside. There was work to be done.

***

After a few days in the case, the team had a breakthrough. They had discovered all the women had been drugged and used a bargaining chip to lead the men back to their homes before getting killed. The unsub had been targeting wealthy couples at casinos and the only way the team could catch him is if he was drawn out of hiding. The whole explanation was a long winded way of Hotch telling you you needed to go undercover as Spencer’s wife.

You begged him to let Emily take your place but Hotch assured she would be better as a lone guest to cover your perimeter. Frowning, you explained you didn’t have any undercover experience but Hotch assured you you’d be fine, that the unsub would fall easily for your charade because of your close identification with the victim pool.

So there you were, in your hotel room sitting in a dress you didn’t care for with a wire far too uncomfortable running up the length of your sleeve. Your body thrummed with nerves so, in an attempt to calm down, you reached for the letter and reread it, practically having it memorized by now.

(Y/N),

I don’t normally do these sorts of things but you deserve these sorts of things— nice things. You deserve the best things. You deserve the things that make you happy, that make you smile, that make you laugh. You deserve all of that and more.

I’ve only known you for some time but I can safely say I’ve completely fallen for you. To be entirely honest, I don’t know how everyone here hasn’t as well. You have this gorgeous smile that makes everyone light up around you. Not to mention your laugh; it’s harmonic and encapsulating, like good music you never want to turn off.

I like you. A lot. And I know you’re too good for me but I can’t help but try. I get scared because people might see right through us— through me— and you’ll realize it, too, that you’re too good for me. 

But now isn’t the time to worry about the future (even though I may have a tendency to do so). I’m sorry for not being the best at words. And I’m sorry for not being able to say this to your face but I like you, (Y/N), and I want to go on a date with you.

You were sure you had the confidence to spur forward with the night.

You left your room, ready to knock on Spencer’s door when you heard hushed whispers coming from inside. From the sound of it, Spencer was trying to opt out of the night while Hotch was trying to convince him to stay.

“You’re the only one on this team that can play some convincing poker, Reid-”

“That’s not the point!” Spencer huffed. “It’s...it’s (Y/N). People might see right through us— through me— and they’ll realize she’s too good for me. They won’t buy it. Not when she looks like herself and I look like, well, me.”

Something about his words hung around in your head. It was disquieting. His words weren’t true, of course. He was everything you could’ve wanted and the sheer fact he didn’t see himself that way broke your heart. But it wasn’t just that, there was something else. Something hidden in his words triggering a memory in you.

You were pulled from your thoughts as Spencer and Hotch walked out of Spencer’s room, giving you curt smiles before leaving towards the undercover van outside.

***

Fortunately, the night went as planned. The unsub was apprehended and you managed to stay cool undercover. Mostly cool. Your head was up in the air for a bit as you tried to recall what exactly Spencer had said that reminded you of something. Spencer had to focus you back in a few times but didn’t think anything of your lack of focus. Or, at least, he didn’t say it.

The jet couldn’t leave until the next morning so the team was stuck overnight at the trashy little motel the bureau had paid for. You tossed and turned in your bed, unease settling in your stomach. You decided it might be best for you to read the letter again, seeing as how it brought you such comfort earlier. But the second you scanned the words, the realization hit you squarely in the face.

Disregarding the late hour and the fact you were in pajamas, you ran out of your room and up to Spencer’s knocking on the door with haste. Spencer also seemed to be awake, answering just as quickly as you knocked.

“(Y/N)?” His voice was gravelly and low, like he had been in and out of sleep. You bit back a grin at the adorable pajamas he wore: plaid flannel bottoms and a t-shirt reading “I LOVE LAS VEGAS!” in bright gold lettering. Spencer tracked your eyes roving over his body before clearing his throat to get your attention again. “What’re you doing up at 3:00-”

“I know you wrote the letter.”

You didn’t mean to blurt it out but you just...did. Spencer coughed awkwardly and avoided your stare, shaking his head.

“I don’t...I don’t know what you’re…”

“Spence,” you began, taking his hand in yours, “I overheard you and Hotch talking earlier, about how people would see right through us. It’s the same thing in the letter— nearly identical.”

Spencer, positive he was completely red in the face, muttered, “Must’ve been a coincidence.”

“But it wasn’t, because I know you, Spencer.” You sucked in a sharp breath, your heart pounding in your chest. “Because I like you, Spencer.”

Spencer cocked his head, a smile tugging at his lips like he didn’t want to believe what you said. “You...you like me?”

You took a step towards the doctor, locking your hands around the back of his neck with a chuckle. “Yeah, Spencer, I like you.”

Spencer reached a careful hand up, brushing your hair out of your eyes and running his knuckles down your cheek with an adoring smile before connecting your lips. The kiss was soft and unsure but worth exploring. As you began to deepen it, you heard a door click open from behind you.

“Nice pajamas, you two,” Rossi teased. Spencer glared at him over your shoulder for disrupting what was the most perfect kiss he ever had. Rossi chuckled, holding his hands up in defense. “I saw nothing!”

Rossi slipped back into his room, laughing to himself about the interruption. You tucked your head against Spencer’s chest, feeling him place a soft kiss against the top of your head while his arms looped around your back, pulling you impossibly tighter towards him.

“You know,” he began, his chest rumbling against your ear in the most comforting way, “I’m beginning to think I should be writing you more letters.”

“A few more couldn’t hurt.”

[shhhlikeme]

Could i ask for a murasakibara hc or whatever inspires you. Where he and his s/o starts go to the kitchen to get some midnight snacks, if you wanna make things heated sure go for it. Maybe he loves how his shirt looks on them or something

A/N: Whew this got hot 🥵, and I aint mad at it...... 

Soft Domestic Smut With Murasakibara Atsushi 🍬 🍽 (NSFW 18+)

so this is inspired by my possessed sleeper hc for Murasakibara | so read that first if you want to understand this !!

As previously mentioned, your new boyfriend Atsushi found the solution to your sleeping all over the place problem: when you’re attached to him like a koala, you don’t move a muscle:

no one knows why this is the only way you’ll sleep soundly but who cares.... it works!

So anyway, your boyfriend couldn’t care less— he’s insanely strong and doesn’t even feel your weight when you’re holding onto him like this

Nothing stops him from getting to the kitchen for his nightly snacks, though, so tonight he gets up slowly with you wrapped around him, yawning 🥱 and moving the splayed hair out of your face nonchalantly

As the Purple Skyscraper slowly walks into the kitchen with his koala a sleeping you, he finds that one of the boxes containing his favourite snacks is empty

Awwww 😒 this sucks, he thinks to himself, and then settles for the other snacks you bought him on your last grocery outing

Deciding to eat in the kitchen, Atsushi turns and leans his butt on the counter, munching away contentedly as you sleep soundly in his arms

After eating, the Purple Skyscraper realizes he’s still craving snacks 😒

But he’s craving them more than usual tonight.....

Rationalizing that it’s just because his favourite snack box was empty, Atsushi raids the cupboards again looking for other snacks

Amazingly, he finds the fruity candy he was looking for at first in the back cupboard, silently thanking you because you knew to stock up.

Mura turns to lean on the counter again, eats again, and then groans again when he finishes the entire box because he still isn’t satisfied

He’s hella confused at this point because usually that fruity candy always satiates his late night sweet tooth so that he can go right back to bed........

“Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.... 😒” Atsushi whines to himself aloud.

Not used to hearing anything while you slept, you yawned

comfortably clinging to your Skyscraper as you slept soundly, the feeling of the voice vibrations coming from his chest on your chest, made you begin to stir a bit in your sleep

Atsushi remembered your presence when you moved then, he quickly quieted himself in a dire attempt to not wake you up.

Holding his breath, he waits for you to find a comfortable position and fall asleep in his arms again

At least, that was the first plan...

But plans changed when your shifting to get comfortable on your boyfriend-tree made your ass softly grind against the tip of his boner

“Shit,” Mura gasped, sucking in a quick breath, the sound consequently making you shift even more.

Your boyfriend resisted a moan as his dick hardened to its maximum capacity.......

Immediately, your slight skimming over his boner allowed Mura to realize why he hadn’t been satisfied by the midnight snacks in the first place tonight:

He wasn’t craving snacks, that is why. Instead.... Tonight, your man was craving sex; he was horny.

Your entire body clinging to him must have blocked the view of Mura’s erection so he didn’t even realize he had been hard

And his mind in the middle of the night is usually hyper focused on snacks, so...... that’s why he missed it mentally

But boy did he realize now.

Especially since you were still shifting on his dick (because usually Mura would be back in bed with you by now, having it usually take him 10 minutes to eat snacks then return to slumber, but he has now been out here with you for over 20 minutes)

Also especially since you were waking and whimpering because you wanted to be back in bed, those small whimpers going straight to your boyfriends cock as it twitched under your ass

Also especially since you must be having a subconscious dream that he was starring in because in-between your whimpers to fight your wake, you began murmuring his name in a sleepy voice that made your boyfriend’s heart race:

“Atsushi.....”

your boyfriend couldn’t take it anymore, he spun the two of the around so that it was now your ass that was barely sitting on the counter.

He was still holding you up, but he used the added support of the counter to slide his hands under your ass in your tiny barely-there sleep shorts, squeezing a bit

Since your legs were already wrapped around him, he leaned both of you back slightly so that he was at the perfect angle to press his throbbing clothed dick to your opening, prodding your entrance agonizingly slowly for him

You were still sleeping, after all 😴

“Ugh, shit...” he whispered, trying to keep his voice down as he rutted against you leisurely.

Mura was the King of teasing himself, so the slow-burn stimulation he was receiving from just this was more than satisfying for now. He buried his face in your neck and breathed heavily, landing slow kisses there

He did everything slowly, but oh so pleasurably

A sigh left your lips in response to the stimulation, still half asleep but loving it nonetheless, you moaned softly

There in that kitchen, Mura rocked his hips slowly, leading the tent in his boxers to form a wet spot due to his precum oozing out the tip

Still clothed, he put a bit more power into his thrusts, barely inserting his dick inside you, groaning when you stirred some more and grinded closer, desiring more penetration even in your slumber

“You don’t have to do anything, baby.. you feel so good even just like this, you can sleep....” Mura let out quietly, landing a lingering kiss on your shoulder.

Atsushi slowed the pace of his thrusting so that you were more relaxed and continued just like that for the next 10 minutes or so 💦

When he felt like he was close from this stimulation, Skyscraper pulled his dick away from you and reached his right hand into his boxers to grip the base of his rock hard cock that hadn’t been touched all night

“Mmmm....” he allowed his eyes to fall shut as he used the hand still on your ass to knead the supple flesh there... ultimately turning himself on even more.

he was so close.

Right when Murasakibara began picking up the pace of his hand job, trembling due to his approaching orgasm—your soft voice stopped him in his tracks.

And it only stopped him because it was your “awake” voice.

“Babe, why’d you stop....?” You inquired.

Mura lifted his head from where it was hidden in your neck to look at you, and what he saw made him almost cum untouched right there.

he saw you looking back at him with half-lidded sleepy eyes that he thought made you look soooo sexy, so sexy that his dick twitched in his hand.

Before he could answer, you spoke again, leaning in to rest your head on his chest encore.

“Inside.......” you hummed. “Bring me back to bed.....and cum inside me.” You finished drowsily, wanting nothing more than sleepy sex with your man.

Atsushi groaned when he heard that, aroused to the highest extent

You didn’t need to tell him twice,!

Removing his hand from his boxers, your boyfriend picked you up with one arm and whisked you away to the bedroom.

.....A lot of firsts occurred that night......

but perhaps the most important of all was that Murasakibara, King of Snacks, finally discovered that the taste of you was way better than any midnight treat he could ever find in the kitchen.

Back to my 2020 KNB Masterlist!

[wither-rose-circus]

*slides into DMs*

Hello there, I would like to hear about your Listener Jimmy ideas

Disclaimer: this got really long I am So Sorry

So I’m not skimming through Jimmy’s entire series to get his full relationship with either entities it’s 100+ episodes long like Jesus fucking Christ but I did skim through a handful of videos to get a basic understanding

And I noticed they did mention Jimmy in the end credits, but I think what’s noteworthy is that they didn’t specifically praise him for anything like the others, only scolding him.

I assume that’s partially why the Listeners chose him.

For context, though, I wanna clarify my general Listener headcanons

• The Listeners are to the Nether what the Watchers are to the End

That is not to say they are from the Nether, but that it is their domain. Both the Nether and the End are (or were, in the Nether’s case) total wastelands. From what I understand, the series hinted at some sort of war between the two factions. That is what I believe caused these two lands to be destroyed. Prior to 1.16, the residents of the Nether were diseased and undead, hinting that some kind of disaster happened (Even now, the achievement for finding a bastion references some war among the Piglins, the End Cities have airships and are decked out with leftover enchanted diamond armor, etc). Now, what in the Nether has to do with the Listeners?

• The Listeners are related to Ghasts

Now I know that sounds weird, but hear me out. The description for the achievement Uneasy Alliance goes as follows: Rescue a ghast from the Nether, bring it safely home to the Overworld... and then kill it. This directly implies that ghasts are not native to the Nether, but to the overworld. Now what are ghasts obviously inspired by? Ghosts. What is the Nether obviously inspired by? Hell. What do you get when you put that together? Ghasts are player souls trapped in the Nether. How does this related to the Listeners? The Listeners had their souls trapped within the Nether in the form of ghasts in an attempt to wipe them out. Only some were eventually able to regain their senses and escape the Nether via players’ portals. But why were they trapped?

• The Listeners oppose the Watchers because they believe the Watchers are taking away players’ autonomy

This is less headcanon and more directly reading into the series. The Listeners tell the evolutionists that they need to take back their freedom, that the Watchers are controlling. My personal interpretation of the Watchers is that they are “Awoken,” which is based on how the credits poem references players awaking from dreams. They are essentially the end goal of that process. When a player passes through the portal in the End, the Watchers judge their soul and decide whether or not to awaken them. This leads to them ascending to the Aether (yes, that Aether), which they believe is the “perfect” version of the game (everyone being in creative and thus unable to fight or be hurt, constantly daytime so no mobs, access to the creative inventory to do whatever they please, etc). Now, how did they know what the Watchers were doing in the first place?

• The Listeners are former Watchers

Due to their similar designs, I believe Listeners are simply rebellious Watchers who believe no one group should have control over a player’s life. After the war, they were subsequently banished to the Nether, which has only recently begun to recover. However, this separation left them stripped of the Watcher’s all seeing eyes. This led them to utilize sound to more discretely convey their messages. They have dedicated themselves to “freeing” players from the Watchers’ grasps and recruiting whatever souls they can still get their hands on. This is where Jimmy finally comes in.

The Evolution server was unique in that the players brought to it were specifically chosen to be tested. It was essentially a recruitment effort. The Watchers state that choosing to take Grian was a difficult decision, likely meaning they assessed each one individually. Due to their dismissal of Jimmy, I take it he was not heavily considered. This negligence is what allowed the Listeners to latch onto Jimmy.

Jimmy arrives in the Evolutionist’s old spawn before any of them arrive. We know it was before because Jimmy placed the enderchests the Listeners gifted the rest of the team and because, upon returning in his next episode, the Listeners’ symbol is replaced with that of the Watchers. However, when the evolutionists show up, he’s nowhere to be found, only making his way back with the signs they left. But Jimmy’s videos imply he never really left the main area, so something happened to him between that cut. This is where I believe Jimmy was “marked” by the Listeners.

So now, tumblr user Harley the Pancake, I am so sorry I’ve rambled for like 3 pages without answering the question, but these are my headcanons for pseudo-Listener Jimmy, specifically in the context of 3rd Life:

• Jimmy has bouts of auditory foresight. They’re not consistent, but tend to happen in relation to bad things. This is why he got so defensive towards the Red Army. He foresaw them, specifically Ren and Martyn, killing Scott. However, these flashes are purely auditory, so he had no context as to how or why they killed Scott. His own paranoid imagination applied the idea of Scott being sacrificed (Ironically, this actually sealed Scott’s fate, as neither of them would’ve been killed the way they were had they joined the Red Army). Jimmy is not fully conscious of this ability and tends to chalk it up to gut feelings.

• Jimmy has Nether traits. This comes from more general evolutionary traits you would expect from having lived in a place like the Nether. Not being very affected by heat, more resilient to lava (yes I know that’s ironic for his first death to be lava but I said resilient, not immune), piglins are less likely to aggro on him, etc.

• Jimmy can understand both Standard Galactic and, to a lesser extent, Piglin. Standard Galactic is something he can read fluently while Piglin is something he can vaguely understand. He can’t speak Piglin because Piglin is a very guttural language and few players have the vocal cords for it. If you asked him how he knows these languages, he wouldn’t have an answer. (I also headcanon Scott to be inhuman in different ways, though, so he also knows Standard Galactic. Jimmy just kinda assumed it must’ve been a normal thing to know.)

• Jimmy vaguely remembers past dreams/lives, most notably sounds. He tends to remember sounds specifically so he gets this intense feeling of deja vu when several server members talk to him.

• Jimmy has incredibly conflicting feelings towards Grian for reasons he can’t explain. On one hand, Jimmy vaguely recognizes Grian as a friend from Evo. On the other, he has this instinctual discomfort due to Grian being a Watcher. He can’t tell Grian is a Watcher, he just gets this strange gut feeling around him. (Grian, on the other hand, is very aware Jimmy is part Listener.)

And that’s all I’ve got for now, sorry for how long this was!

[embyrinitalics]

Miphvali Week 2021 | Day 1

The Beginning first | next

It starts after they’ve all been gathered and given the title of Champion, and the princess has reenacted some overstated ceremony for that ridiculous appointed knight of hers.

He feels surrounded by fools. The princess is a nervous wreck, and her knight is infuriating. The Gerudo is obnoxious, and the Goron leader is an unendurable optimist who takes nothing seriously. The Zora is so quiet it’s almost as if she’s not there at all.

He snatches the Sheikah Slate that evening in the courtyard gazebo. It doesn’t seem as impressive as all that. He drops it into Mipha’s hands when he catches her eyeing it, too timid to just ask to see it like anyone else would.

Urbosa, ever eager to make his life unpleasant, tells her that it can take pictures, and they all end up in an undignified huddle. Daruk is too massive to line up with everyone else, so he towers in the back. Just as the Sheikah goes to capture the image, he shoves everyone together with his grubby hands, sending him and Mipha hurtling towards each other.

Fortunately she’s tiny, and not difficult to catch as they collide. She sputters an apology as they untangle, the pale scales on her cheeks flushing pink as her fins.

Urbosa and Daruk find the entire thing terribly amusing, so he does the reasonable thing to shut them up: suggests a contest to showcase their skills while they wait for the dinner bell. There’s no equipment around for a true tournament, so they make do. Daruk destroys a boulder in the yard with a single punch—and then proceeds to eat half of it, like a buffoon. Urbosa uses ancient Gerudo magic to summon a bolt of lightning, which is admittedly impressive. Not that he’s going to tell her that.

The princess abstains, which isn’t terribly surprising. Her knight is useless without equipment, so there’s not much he can do. No surprise there.

Since he’s without a bow to show off his marksmanship, he settles for a bit of aerial precision. He calls up his eponymous technique, which he’s truly got the hang of now, and rides the currents skyward until the rest of them are specks. He freefalls a bit, then goes into a nosedive and veers sideways to zip through the gazebo between two columns, arcing to do it over and over from other directions at breakneck speed, threading the needle again and again.

When he’s done everyone looks harried, which he’s rather pleased about.

Mipha goes last. She doesn’t have equipment either, and no one has any wounds to heal. He suggests morbidly injuring the knight for demonstrative purposes, and she squeaks, a bit of panic in her eyes, and says she can do something else.

She crosses the courtyard to the waterfall cascading down the tiers. She does a little flip into the water. He tries not to roll his eyes. It’s kind of cute, but if that’s the extent of her abilities, they’re all in worse trouble than he thought.

But then she’s moving through the water, cutting through it like a blade through cloth, and then climbing the waterfall at a speed that defies reason. She’s glistening in the reflection of the sun on the water, moving up the column even faster than the water is falling down. At the top she rockets into the air, arching into a pretty bend, and then she’s falling headlong.

His brow pinches, sure she’ll break her neck if she hits the water moving that fast, even if she is Zora. But then she reaches out, still inverted, her fingertips just skimming the surface of the water she’s plummeting beside, and she uses it like an anchor, flipping herself upright again and planting her flippered feet on the shimmering surface. She rides the waterfall down with a strange grace, and kicks off near the bottom to twirl into a perfect dive.

She hops out of the water, clawed fingers interlocked, her face a mix of uncertainty and shyness, and he makes it a point to look as disinterested as possible, lest someone accuse him of being impressed.

He just hadn’t expected her to be so… magnificent.

It starts when Link is on Mount Lanayru with the princess, and the Champions are waiting near the East Gate in Necluda. The air is thick with their silence, and everyone is staring at their feet.

But when she looks up at Revali, he’s staring at her.

---

Prompt List / @miphvali-week

[jenanigans1207]

so matchablossom hc: yk how cherry can't sleep unless carla plays him a lullaby or smth??? one night carla's battery gets damaged and cherry panics in the dark and calls his latest contact which, surprise surprise, is joe and gets him to sing the lullaby instead. this works, so everytime they travel together, cherry uses this instance as an excuse for joe to sing him lullabies to sleep~

Oh my GOD I love this so much it’s actually painful. I really hope I did the idea justice because it’s so soft and perfect, thank you SO MUCH for this!! ❤️

—

It’s pitch black out when Cherry blinks his eyes open. It takes a long second for reality to filter back in, fought off temporarily by the hazy edges of the dream he’d just been submerged in. He feels warm, comfortable in his bed as he slowly rolls over to look at the clock, 2:03 am.

With a content noise, Cherry settles back into his pillow. He still has a few more hours to sleep. “Carla, play my lullaby.”

Seconds pass, the clock ticks on, but Carla makes no sounds.

“Carla.” Cherry repeats, squinting through the darkness to where he knows Carla is plugged in and charging. There’s no light coming from that corner of the room, no sign that Carla is even there. “Carla?”

Without a response still, Cherry groans and throws the covers off, padding across his bedroom to where he’s absolutely certain he plugged Carla in before bed. Sure enough, she’s exactly where he left her, but she’s not charging. Fumbling through the darkness, Cherry tries to figure out what went wrong.

The cord is plugged into the wall, that’s a good start. He traces the cord with the tips of his fingers— it’s plugged properly into Carla, too. His clock is still on, so he hasn’t lost power. Confused, he reaches for Carla, his fingers closing around her with the intent of picking her up, but the moment his fingers skim her battery, he understands. There’s a sizable dent right underneath his hand.

Of course.

Honestly, he should’ve expected this, should’ve known to check her more closely once he’d gotten home. It had been reckless, rising to Joe’s challenge at S the way he had, but he wasn’t one to back down, especially from Joe. And really, he and Joe had been skating together for years, so it should’ve been fine. It would’ve been fine, too, if Joe had been able to keep that giant mouth of his shut. But he hadn’t— shocking— and Cherry had risen to a reckless level that wasn’t his style, barely avoiding a wicked fall and damaging Carla in the process.

It’s fine, he tells himself as he heads back to his bed. He’ll just go back to sleep and fix Carla in the morning. He can’t see the extent of the damage but it feels like a quick replacement of the battery should be more than enough to get Carla functional again. Easy, he can do that in no time. So all he needs to do is sleep.

Sleep. In his dark room that is eerily quiet.

It’s completely fine, he tells himself. He’s been sleeping in this room for years and hasn’t had a problem yet. There’s no reason to be—

The shadows dancing on the wall across from him look like menacing shapes.

Cherry closes his eyes, reminding himself firmly that the shadows are only shifting because of the trees outside his window. There’s a perfectly logical explanation, no need to let his imagination—

Was that a creak? No, it sounded closer to a groan.

Before he can stop himself, Cherry already has his phone to his ear, the familiar number dialed and ringing.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Joe grouses into the other end of the phone when he picks up and it’s abundantly clear by the sleepy edge to his voice that Cherry just woke him up. “You better be fatally wounded or I’m hanging up.”

“Carla’s battery is damaged.” Cherry says, eyes still pinched shut. But something about the sound of Joe’s voice is still soothing, especially as rough as it is with sleep.

“And?” There’s a muffled sound that makes Cherry think Joe is changing positions. “I know I’m the most brilliant person you know, but I really think problem solving this could’ve waited until morning.”

Despite the fear, despite the fact that Cherry’s heart is racing in his chest as he hears another one of those creaking groans in the distance, he can’t stop the huff that comes out. “For your information, it’s your fault that she’s damaged. I’m certainly not calling you for advice on how to fix her.”

“You took that jump on your own.” Joe dismisses immediately but the tiredness in his voice is replaced with a bit of that smugness that Cherry knows so well. “But why are you calling, then?”

“Carla’s battery is damaged.” Cherry repeats with emphasis, as if that should explain everything. When he gets nothing more than a frustrated sigh and some mumblings about missing out on beauty sleep in response, he elaborates. “She won’t turn on. And I need to sleep.”

“Oh.” Cherry can hear the moment the implication clicks in Joe’s mind. Because Joe knows— Joe is the only one who knows, the only one Cherry has ever told. And yes, Joe had teased him mercilessly about it, but only in a friendly way that was meant to put Cherry at ease about sharing his secret. And it did. “Same one?”

Joe was a lot of things— primarily a muscle-headed, dim-witted gorilla— but he was not cruel. The image he projected to the rest of the world was often times far from the person he actually was, especially when he was alone with Cherry. The Joe that Cherry knew, the one he had spent many late nights with, shared many glasses of wine with— that Joe was tender and caring.

As soon as Cherry had admitted to Joe that he needed a lullaby to soothe his anxiety so he could sleep, Joe had demanded to know which lullaby. Cherry had showed him, expecting nothing more than laughter. But Joe hadn’t laughed, not even once. In fact, he’d gone out of his way to learn the lullaby, to memorize it.

He’d never breathed a word of it to anyone, but a few times back in high school, Cherry had caught him humming it under his breath when he’d thought that Cherry was already asleep.

“Yeah.”

And just like that, Joe launches into humming the lullaby. It’s soft and quiet, but there’s so much feeling behind it. Suddenly, Cherry’s heart is racing for an entirely different reason. Joe’s humming is beautiful, slow and rich, filling his ear. The creaking groans fade out into the background and the menacing shaped shadows are no longer on Cherry’s mind. He settles back into bed, cradling the phone gently against his cheek as he tries to breathe slowly and just listen.

He really ought to thank Joe for this in the morning, but he won’t. They’ll never talk of this moment again— never talk about Cherry choosing Joe in a moment of vulnerability or Joe being there for him with unwavering support.

They’ll never talk about it again, but they’ll both know. They already did know, that’s why Cherry called Joe in the first place. Because he knew that Joe would be there for him, the way he had always been. And Joe— Joe understood that Cherry trusted him unconditionally, even if he never said it. If he didn’t, he would’ve been surprised by Cherry’s request.

As the world fades out around Cherry and coherent thought begins to fade, he grasps on to the idea of how nice this is, and how much more he likes this compared to Carla’s version. Perhaps, he thinks before he falls asleep completely, he should have Carla be nonfunctional more often.

The very last tendrils of wakefulness are starting to recede and Cherry’s almost completely asleep when he hears a faint, “Goodnight, Kaoru. I’m glad you called.”

It’s the first time in awhile that he falls asleep with a smile on his face.