#must it not be enough to conjure an image in my head and have it become reality

[whatareyoudoingwithamaserati]

The only annoying thing about making my patch pants is that I have to make them

[jinxs-gf]

chuck’s favorite regular

jinx x bartender!reader

summary: it’s your first night working at The Last Drop. the stories of jinx being an…interesting customer are true

content, warnings: bar & drinks? jinx calls r ‘toots’, idk how much I like this writing style (bear with me now)

word count: 1.1k

a.n. this was requested but the ask disappeared 😭

It was your first night bartending at the Last Drop. Silco's bar. He owns a lot of them, close to owning all in the Undercity. This one just so happens to be special. Previously the Hound of the Underground's place. Now Silco proudly resides inside it.

Your future bartending partner, Thieram warned you about your boss's daughter. How she was a wild card and if you happened to get caught in her wrath there was no escaping until she decided to let you out. Not unlike a spider's web, you could only hope she'd let go and not eat you alive. To have mercy.

Though he insists Jinx has none.

He's...kind of right you decide. She's not done anything crazy yet. But she gives off this certain energy, one that screams be careful, to not turn your back on her.

She looks fairly innocent at the moment, at least compared to the bar that's in full rage. Loud music, dangerous games, dancing bodies...who could believe this is the girl that torments Thieram on the daily? Maybe she won't be so bad...

You’re contradicting yourself you realize. It's only your first time meeting, you shouldn't set your opinions on her just yet

She sits on the bar table, kicking her legs and looking at you expectantly.

You gulp, "Can I uh...help you?"

"Yeah you can, toots. Mind getting me my drink?"

Dammit Thieram. He didn't tell you what she orders. He spent so much time warning you about her yet he couldn't simply give you what she drinks?! What if she gets upset that you don't know and unleashes her-

"Earth to toots! Yoohoooo" her hand is shaking aggressively in your face, snapping a few times.

You stand in your spot, completely dumbfounded, eyes wide and pulse jumping.

"Uh...what is your drink?" Your voice is meek and careful (and a bit shaky), you felt as if you were poking a bear with a stick. Stupid stupid stupid.

Jinx cackles suddenly and very loudly.

"You crack me up, toots. It's only blood in a bottle."

She drinks blood?! Thieram! How could he not mention-

You try to be as nonchalant as possible despite your own blood running cold.

"So you're like a...vampire? Or-"

She laughs in your face once more, "Oh you poor thing," it's said quite mockingly, "it's a joke! You were totally convinced!"

You blink your eyes once, twice, and shake your head. As if it'll erase the image of a blood sucking Jinx. Your blood...from your neck. A very graphic image your mind unfortunately conjured up.

As if she wasn't intimidating enough, knowing she's loaded with guns and bombs at all times. Imagine if she was a vampire?! You'd be doomed.

However, you were curious now, what if she did have fangs? Maybe you could get a peek-

"My drink is the bottom cabinet in front of you. It gets a special place for Chuck's favorite customer."

Chuck?

You squat down in search for her drink, reach for the lone bottle, "Oh um, who?"

"Oh you've got to know Chuck! He's hilarious! A friend of mine, not my best friend of course. He's a little weird—you can tell him I said that."

You nod along, terrified of the blue eyed menace (one of the many nicknames given by Thieram, you agree. Though even thinking it worries you, what if she can hear your thoughts?). Speaking of Thieram—oh! That’s who she’s talking about.

"You two must get on well," if the man in question's stories were anything to go by, you'd say they didn't get on well. He doesn't enjoy her company, but she certainly enjoys his. By tormenting him.

You only hope you don't land in the same boat as him.

"Oh we definitely do, toots. Who’da thought a girl like me could befriend a scaredy-cat like him? I'd say we'd make good friends too someday. Maybe tomorrow!”

"What's that supposed to mean?" Because to you it sounds like a threat. If you become a good "friend" to her like Thieram is, does that mean you'll get the same treatment? And as soon as tomorrow?! You've barely worked at this place for a few hours and she's already planning on tormenting you by tomorrow!

She doesn't answer your question, instead pointing to (what you assume is) her cup. If the colorful scribbles were anything to go by. And a straw lying right next to it. At least you didn't have to go searching for those.

You nod, gulping. You're hoping to please her, not get on her bad side.

Jinx brings her feet up the counter, crossing and holding them with her hands, rocking playfully back and forth.

She’s dangerously close to the edge, one miscalculated move and she’ll go splat onto the sticky floors.

Maybe it’ll knock some sense into her? Okay that’s rude.

You quietly hand her the drink, plopping the straw in.

Jinx jumps down the counter to sit on the stool, hunched over the bar table to sip. She dramatically smacks her lips, as if taste testing. You’ll admit you were a bit nervous, what if you forgot something in her drink? What if you poured it in wrong the wrong way? Would she get upset over that?

After a few seconds she smiles and nods manically, “10 out of 10! You pour a good cup o’ juice, toots.”

You breathe out relieved, deciding to play along, a little humor could ease your anxiety surely, “Thanks, am I already better than Th- Chuck?”

"You're certainly prettier than he is."

"Oh."

You blank, unsure of what to do with that information. Be flattered? Terrified? Or is she being sarcastic? You continue to play along,

"Flattery will get you nowhere," you joke and only hope it lands.

"It'll get me a free drink," she wriggles her eyebrows.

"Don't you automatically get free drinks? I heard the last guy that asked you to pay mysteriously disappeared."

"You heard right, toots."

You gulp for the—how many times have you done that tonight? She's great at making one sweat.

“It was great getting to know ya toots, but I’m a busy girl. Gotta bounce—think you’ll be okay? Ya know what? You seem like you can hold your own, here—just in case!”

Jinx goes in for a rough hug, and it’s over before you process it at all.

But wait—what was that noise behind you? That sudden weight on your back…

Uh oh.

And explosion goes off on you, and for a second you think it’s over.

But no, it’s simply a colorful, glitter bomb. The damage is done though, you’re sweating at your hairline. And your poor heart, it’s practically begging to run out of your chest.

There’s a note left on the counter, is it too hopeful to think it’s a ‘sorry for the bomb I just planted on your back’?

Nope. It’s simply a winky face in purple ink.

And you can't help but wonder...is she flirting with you?

How sick and twisted.

first time meeting and already down bad for each other? hmm

the request:

Reader is a newly hired bartender that Silco hired. One night it's the usual busyness. Loud music, shimmer people, etc etc. Similarly to "chuck" Jinx enjoys fucking around with them. Little powder bombs and stuff like that.

[vagabond-umlaut]

every rose and its 'twin prickles'

Or: you and the two fearsome monsters, your knightly husband must wage a war against everyday, for the sake of a glimpse of you.

▸ dad!gojo satoru x mom!reader; 1.45 wc; fluff, fluff, gallons and gallons of fluff; a pair of cute, possessive and too-wise-for-their-age babies who love their mama wayyy too much; poor miserable deprived 'toru; sprinkles of humor too added in there; implied no curses!au

▸ i dump the blame of this on @afortoru's shoulders. A, look what you made me do ▸ writing this genre for the 1st time! characters, image or divider used aren't mine. please don't plagiarize or translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

Do you know what’s the best thing about work? 

Every evening it ends early. 

Do you know what’s the best thing about home? 

Every evening you’re there.   

Walking into the barely-lit flat, a soft smile lights up the expanse of Satoru’s face as the quiet sounds of snoring float over from the bedroom. Dumping the bag on the sofa and shrugging off the coat, the man moves silently further into the apartment – weary mind conjuring images of you in an oversized black tee [of his], curled into yourself in the king-sized bed, the cutest little pout on your lips as you babble in your sleep – then pauses, a hand on the doorknob.  

Two pairs of blue eyes sparkle at him from the almost-darkness of the room.  

Satoru closes the door behind and slumps against it.  

Two matching grins aim at his heart from the human blanket over your form. 

Sharp. Shrewd. Cruel. 

You wrap an arm round each of those two monkeys – the latter back here from their grandparents', two days before schedule.  

Ten years ago, were anyone to tell Satoru there would be a day in the future when he would have to fight for you, only to taste defeat, again and again and again, the man would have emptied his glass of champagne on their clothes, then kicked them out of the reception party. 

Yet, now... as he trudges closer to the door and extends a hand to brush a few wily wisps of hair away from your forehead – only to have it slapped away harshly by a little palm – he can’t help but wonder what sin he committed in his previous birth, to have received an angel like you as his wife, but two demons like them for his children.  

Sachiko, the older of the twins, glares up at her father. “Papa, no!! Mama’s sleeping,” She whisper-yells, eyes darting from him to you than back to him, lips tugged down in a scowl, the likes of which he has only seen in a mirror. On your other side, a mop of white hair nods, albeit not without a tiny yawn – Sachiro’s definitely inherited your sleepiness in a rainy weather.  

Satoru lifts an eyebrow in return. “I can see that, you two. Now go, play with your toys or something. I wanna cuddle with my wife.” 

“But we too wanna cuddle with Mama,” Sachiko retorts as she slips out from under your arm and sits up on the bed. The tiny ponytail on her white head stays in a complete disarray; your husband watches your daughter tug at it a couple of times, frowning, before she gives up, returning her glower to him as she continues, “So, you can’t cuddle with her. Mama is ours now.” 

Your son again gives a small “yes” at her words, followed by a yawn – a reaction which Sachiko doesn’t deem to be enough, apparently, given how she throws a glare his way next. “Hey, whose team are you on, dumbo? Mine or Papa’s?” 

The answer arrives in an instant, in the most matter-of-factly voice possible from a five-year-old. “Yours, obviously. I don’t want Papa to steal Mama away. She’s ours.” 

The smug grin directed his way next makes Satoru want to flick two foreheads pretty hard – but he doesn’t. Any rash or impulsive action can only do him more harm now, driving him further away from his goal.  

So, cogs whirring in his brain, he crouches down to his kids’ eye level and smiles.  

“What do you think of a compromise, kids? Why don’t you make a deal with me?”  

Two pairs of blue clash with the original pair of blue for a while, suspicion in one, suspicious curiosity in the other, while challenge swirls in the last; before a huff breaks the staring contest and your daughter folds her arms across her chest. Exchanging a glance and a nod with her, your son too sits up and announces, “Okay, we’re interested. What’s the deal?” 

Your husband lets out an internal whoop of victory. 

“Belgian chocolates in exchange for a cuddling session with my wife.” 

“Bleh!” Sachiko makes a disgusted face – something which takes him back to his younger days when Suguru and Shoko used to imitate his expressions – and whines, “They are so bitter, yuck! Suggest something better.” 

“A doll house for you and a car for Sachiro, if that’s the case.” 

The latter is the one to turn down this time. Tone brimmed with disappointment – something he can only ever learn from you – he says, “But you just bought us one last month, Papa! Mama always asks you to save money... why don’t you ever listen to her?” 

A knife of guilt lodges itself into his heart and twists. Satoru sighs. “I do... I try to, always, but you two make it so difficult for me to! Why are you like this? Is it so unfair to want to spend some time with her? She is as much my wife as much she’s your mom.” 

“We know,” The addressed two answer in unison with sage little nods of their head. The girl continues with a grave expression matching her brother’s, “But we can also ask you the same, Papa. She is as much our mom as she’s your wife. Is it so unfair to want to spend some time with her?”  

“Besides, you spent five extra years with her, before we were born. We just want to make up for the time lost,” Sachiro chimes in with a pout. “Tell us, Papa,” The two again speak in a heart-wrenching chorus, “Is it so unfair to want to spend some time with her?” 

“The kids are right, y’know?” A mumble pops the gravity of the situation at hand, and Satoru looks down to find you awake, cracking an amused smile at them. He huffs, rising from the floor and plopping on the bed next to you, arms folded against chest.

“Can’t believe I am so unloved and unwanted in this world. My kids don’t love me. They don’t listen to me. My wife too doesn’t love me. She never supports me. Welp, got to be the unluckiest to be in my shoes right now, I guess.” 

Your husband pauses, giving a small break for the words to sink into everyone, before you let out a long exhale and send him a minor twitch of your lips. Sachiko moves to pat his head, the same moment Sachiro reaches over to clasp his small arms around his neck. You too rise and embrace him from behind, placing a small kiss in between his shoulder blades.  

“Y’know, it’s not like that,” You say, placing your ear on his back, “Just ’cause the kids love me more doesn’t mean they don’t love you. And it’s not even your fault – my personality is so awesome, everyone can’t help but adore me the moment they see me – isn't that right, babies?” 

“Right, Mama,” A pair of wonderstruck voices ring out in reply to your jocular question – you continue in the same note, with another kiss, this time on the nape of his neck.

“And because your awesome Mama’s asking you now, will you two be good babies and let Papa too sleep here with us? Look at him: he’s so tired and sad. You don’t want your dearest Papa to be sad and tired, right? You will let him cuddle with us, won't you?” 

Satoru watches the twins look at each other for a second, then the younger acquiesce, “Papa can cuddle with us. That’s okay, maybe.” The two then proceed to shoot a particularly sharp look at him; one he responds to with a cheeky smirk, which disappears into a soft smile when he feels you manoeuvre his face towards yourself, a light grasp on his chin.  

“See, the kids agreed. Now, are you feeling loved and wanted?” 

“Infinitely more,” He replies with a peck on your lips – however, before he can deepen the kiss a tad more, you bring him into a sleeping posture beside you, the kids immediately piling on top of the two of you. You offer him something between a cute pout and a sorry smile, which earns a wink from your husband. 

Turning to one side, Satoru drags you, Sachiko lying on top of you and Sachiro lying in between him and you, into himself, letting him be lulled to sleep by the melody of your laughs and your kids’ half-hearted harrumphs.

  

Do you know what’s the best thing about life? 

Every tiniest bit of it he gets to spend beside you, the light of his life, and the two imps, your and his love brought into this world – even if he knows he’s going to get kicked out of bed the very microsecond you fall asleep again. 

▸ masterlist

[guiltyasdave]

hold on to this lullaby

chapter 4 • series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: An injured Joel and Ellie stumble into your home in the middle of the night. Against your better judgement, you decide to help them.

word count: ~2k

tags/warnings: post outbreak, slow burn, found family, age gap (sorry not sorry), able-bodied reader, angst, reader has a sad sad backstory and ptsd, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut, nightmares, implied death of a character, the angst is once again angsting, reader's thoughts have suicidal undertones sometimes

a/n: girlie is once again going through it. i know that we're moving at a very slow pace but the chemistry is growing, slowly but steadily :)

shoutout to @toomanytookas who left the most thoughtful analysis on the last chapter, and noticed how the doors being open or closed works as a metaphor for the state of their relationship. looking back, that is very true, but truth be told, it wasn't a conscious writing choice on my part lol. i love it so much though and am now using it very purposefully, so thank you for bringing that to my attention and just for being so incredibly kind <3

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

You’re running through the woods, running, running. Searching for something, someone, that you know you won’t find. 

Keep them safe. Promise me. We’ll be there soon. 

No one’s safe. No one’s coming. No one’s there. Your hands are wet, dripping with red, leaving a trail behind you. You trip, falling down to your knees, hands sinking into the earth. There’s nowhere to go, nothing to find. 

Still, you have to keep running. Running running running, searching searching searching. Keep them safe. Promise me. 

You’re used to it. 

Eyes flying open to suffocating, disorienting darkness, gasping for breath in the stale air of your room, the blanket much too heavy on your body. The images that your subconscious conjured up, still playing behind your eyelids. Your heart racing, your mind struggling to find its way back to reality. Lying alone in the darkness, only gradually able to discern your dream from your real life, the horrors blending into one another too intricately, too smilar to be separated. 

You’re still gasping, tears burning hot in your eyes and leaving wet tracks on your face. But it’s not dark, this time. And you’re not alone. The blurry shape of Joel slowly comes into focus, illuminated by the soft glow from the lamp on your nightstand. The weight of his hand is still resting on your shoulder, anchoring you to the present, and you realize that he must have shaken you awake. That you must have been loud.

You’ve wondered before, if you’re making noises, if the sobs that wrack through your body in your dreams follow you into reality. There’s never been a way to find out, before, but now it seems like they do, loud enough to travel through the closed door and wake Joel up. 

Heat blooms on your face, fueled by shame and guilt, both for disturbing his sleep and for your behavior earlier.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice stumbling over the words, thick with sleep and more tears. 

“Hey, no,” he replies softly, soothingly, his voice a deep rumble, his touch still firm on your shoulder. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

You shrug, too exhausted to argue. His other arm twitches at his side, reaching towards you before he stops himself, sitting back on his haunches, groaning quietly at the movement. 

“You wanna–” he clears his throat, shifting slightly, “you wanna talk about it? Or is there anything else I can do?” 

You quickly shake your head, eyes trained on your hands that are clasped in your lap. He waits for another beat, before he hums, his knees creaking as he stands back up. 

You miss the feeling of his hand on you as soon as it disappears, but you can’t possibly bring yourself to ask for that, so you swallow against the lump in your throat, watching his retreating silhouette in your doorway.

“Joel?” Your hushed voice travels through the dimly lit room. He halts at once, turning back around to face you, the lines on his face somehow softer than you know them. “Could you— keep the door open? Just a little?” 

You’re awake for a long time after he leaves, at first listening to the fall of his quiet footsteps retreating to the other room, the faint rustle of his sheets as he gets back into bed, Ellie’s hushed voice and his responding grumble, but you can’t make out the words. When it’s quiet again, you retreat into the swirling mess inside your head. Unable to turn the light off, unable to close your eyes, terrified of the darkness and the images it might bring back.

You’ve tried not to think about it too hard, afraid of jinxing yourself, but you’ve noticed that you’ve slept better since Ellie and Joel have arrived. Their presence, the change they’ve brought to your life, is enough to keep your mind occupied, like a safety blanket has been draped over you, keeping the worst of it away from you. But yesterday must have ripped holes into it, must have brought the past and its pain to the forefront again. 

You drift back off eventually, nothingness engulfing your tired mind and pulling you into a dreamless sleep that you’re thankful for. 

You’re roused by the sounds from outside the door, the movements of someone being up filtering through the gap that Joel left open last night. It takes a while until you get your bearings, until the memories all come back to you. The familiar fear, the panic. The unfamiliar presence of someone beside you, of a touch on your shoulder.

Following the sounds, you find Joel in the kitchen, preparing breakfast, something that you usually do. You watch him for a second, taking in his messy morning hair, the specks of gray, the furrow of concentration in his brow as he’s stirring oatmeal. The steaming cup in his other hand, dwarfed by his large fingers, that you know must contain coffee. 

His eyes widen for a second when he notices you leaning against the doorframe, scrutinizing your face, gauging the state you’re in. You try a tentative smile, taking a step towards him, nodding towards the pot on the stove. 

“Thought breakfast was my job.” You’re pleased with how normal your voice sounds, nothing like the mess from last night. 

Joel shrugs, the expression on his face just a smidge too innocent, too casual. 

“You’re doing more than enough for us. Thought I’d let you sleep in.” 

You don’t have it in you to start a discussion about it, and you wouldn’t know how to explain this to him anyway. How you don’t want him to do things for you, don’t want to know what it’s like to have someone else care for you. Don’t want to feel how nice it is, even in such small doses. How you’re overly conscious of the fact that it will get taken away again before you know it, that you’d do well not to get used to it. How you’re not sure if you’ll be able to survive having something good ripped away from you yet again. 

So you smile, mutter a thank you, Joel, and when he suggests that you take a shower, that he’ll be finished by the time you’re ready, you agree. Suddenly, you’re aware of the night’s sweat that has dried on your skin, clinging to you and making you feel sticky. Desperate to wash it off your skin, to leave the last night behind you and not look back.

With the stream of warm water raining down on you, the stiffness in your neck eases a bit and your breath’s coming more freely again, pieces of the tension that’s been coursing through you since last night slowly melting away. Still, you keep shivering, no matter how much you’re trying to open your body up to the warmth surrounding you, to let it drive out the coldness that’s emanating from your chest. 

Move on, your own voice echoes in your head. Keep living. The promise you’ve made to yourself, that you’re trying to keep, even though some days, you don't know why. 

Your arms are wrapped tightly around yourself when you enter the living area again. You’ve pulled on one of your warmest sweaters, one that you’ve knitted yourself, over the course of several long, lonely days, with nothing else to keep your hands and mind occupied. Still, you feel cold. 

Ellie is up now, sitting on the couch, a bowl of oatmeal all but forgotten in her lap and her nose buried in one of the comics you gave her, the artwork on the cover all too familiar to you. She jumps when she sees you, hastily stuffing the book in between her thigh and the cushion beside her, a guilty expression in her eyes as she looks at you. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles before you can say anything, her hands clasped in her lap. It breaks your heart to see her like this, to know that she heard you last night too. How much your behavior must have scared her. That she probably feels responsible, even though your mind was already in a bad state long before you’ve even met her. 

It does hurt, seeing those drawings of galactic adventures that you’ve seen a million times before, with another pair of eyes glued to the pages. Another child excitedly recounting the stories to you over and over, until you basically knew them by heart and listened to them time and time again anyway, because his happiness made you happy. 

The pain of it weighs heavy on you, but not as heavy as the urge to protect her from being hurt, to wipe that guilt off her face. 

“The pages are gonna crumple like that,” you say, softly, hoping to convey with your eyes what you don’t have the words for. 

She slowly pulls it back out, shooting you careful glances. “Are you sure?” She sounds so young right now, so unsure of herself, and yet she’s trying to look out for you, trying not to hurt you, when she really shouldn’t have to. 

You’re nodding, convincing the both of you, that it’s fine, that you’re fine. 

“Yeah,” you smile. “That one’s good, enjoy it.”

You duck into the kitchen, mumbling about urgently needing a cup of coffee. You’re certain that Joel has heard your conversation, and that he sees how glassy your eyes are, but he doesn’t comment on it, just quietly hands you a cup, his fingertips faintly grazing yours.

It’s a subdued kind of day. Both Ellie and Joel are trying hard to act casual around you, but you feel the lingering glances, notice the looks exchanged behind your back, the cloud of worry that’s surrounding both of them. It makes you nervous, weirdly conscious of your every movement. And you’re still cold.

You end up watching another cheap action movie that evening, Ellie curled up on the armchair while you and Joel are occupying the couch. Your chin is resting on your knees, arms wrapped around your legs, eyes fixed on the small TV. But your mind is wandering, barely taking in the scenes playing out on the screen.

Your thoughts keep going back to how Joel touched you last night, how his hand had rested on your shoulder. How good it had felt, how you have the inexplicable need to feel it happening again. How warm his hand had been. You wonder if his touch might be able to finally stop you from feeling like you’re slowly freezing from the inside.

Another involuntary shiver runs through you. Joel’s gaze slides from the screen to you beside him. He doesn’t ask if you’re cold, being familiar enough with you by now to know that you’d deny it. Even as another wave of coldness passes through you, causing your shoulders to tremble slightly.

His brow is creased with worry as he wordlessly leans over to you, spreading the blanket that had been folded over the armrest that he’s leaning against over your shoulders. Your lips tip up in a grateful smile, the long lost feeling of someone caring for you engulfing you in more warmth than the blanket could ever provide. You allow yourself to get lost in it, just for a little while. 

The blanket faintly smells like him, you realize as you pull it tighter around yourself and up to your chin, inhaling deeply. A different kind of warmth is creeping up your cheeks and you turn your face towards the TV once more, oblivious to the way Joel keeps watching you from the corner of his eye. 

When you go to bed later that evening, you leave your bedroom door ajar once again.

thank you for reading <3 comments, reblogs and asks are love and make my day every single time!

[krispykollection]

Peanut Butter

Part 1: Anjay

"Seriously Anjay you're eating more of that stuff? Look at yourself, do you really think you need more? You're practically bursting out of your skin already."

Gosh, I almost can't even believe how we got here. If you had asked me if I'd be standing backstage at a local bodybuilding show with a hulked out and glistening version of my best friend Anjay, I'd have for sure thought I were hallucinating off some bad lunch… Funny how close to truth that would end up to be.

It all started 3 days ago when an unannounced package appeared on our doorstep addressed to Anjay. Not only was he not expecting anything, the contents were even stranger. Pulling off the packing paper revealed contents not immediately familiar to two skinny young men like us.

To the left a shimmery pile of purple blueish fabric. Anjay held it up cautiously as it unfurled. The garment presented itself as a bikini, the sight of it filling both of us with an awkward embarrassment of being in possession of such an obscene object.

Anjay quickly dropped it on the table before turning his attention back to the box. I had to lean in closer to make out the next object of mystery. A brown bottle of… tanning oil? "What kind of crazed sex fetish shit is this, David?" Anjay turned to me and questioned.

I didn't know what to say, so I just looked back down at what's left. The remaining item, while on the one hand familiar, only served to confuse further. It was a container of plain old peanut butter. At least something normal, but what on earth did it have to do with any of this? As I picked it up to examine it closer a final item was revealed underneath, and with it an explanation.

"Ohhh" we remarked in unison with the kind of trailing off that makes it clear we're still skeptical. It was a pass for what appeared to be a local bodybuilding show and not just any kind of pass, one for a competitor. That well explained the first two items, not a bikini, but a pair of posers, and not just any tanning oil, the kind used to cake a fake shimmering bronze sheen onto huge muscle heads so they can show off their freakish masses onstage.

The peanut butter could be reasoned to be just a backstage snack for a lunk like the probable intended recipient, but that's where the last mystery comes into play. The name on the badge, it was Anjay's. Realizing the same, he flipped the top flap of the box back to check the address on the shipping label, sure enough it was ours. "Hmph…" he said defeatedly.

In an effort to put a quick and tidy end to the strange past few minutes we had found ourselves in, I offered up a solution. "I guess there must be some other Anjay Bajwa in the area, the show probably just got the wrong address."

Anjay tacitly agreed. I'm sure we both knew the obvious holes in that explanation, our town isn't all that big, and being solidly in the midwest of the united states, Anjay Bajwa was not exactly a common name.

"This guy probably wants this… stuff, right? Should we, uh, try to find him?" Anjay weakly questioned.

I conjured up the image of the intended recipient. Some roided out freak standing wider than a doorway with arms bigger than my head ready to crush someone like me in a single moment. A rush of fear ran down my spine. With a similar picture playing out in Anjay's head, we turned to face each other and in unison uttered "Nah…"

Anjay put the items back in the box and loosely closed the flaps. He tossed it in the corner of the room to hopefully forget about, at least for a awhile.

I wish I could say the strangeness ended there, in fact that was almost true, all the way up to this morning.

I woke up before Anjay. The apartment was bare so I decided to head out early, grab a coffee and a bite, and run some errands. When I got back in the late morning I could sense something was off even before I opened our front door.

Through the opening door I spotted not Anjay, but a nearly naked yoked out freak. I stood frozen for a moment. He was thankfully facing away from me admiring himself in the small mirror hanging on the wall. I spied something familiar, the colorful posers. That's when it hit me, this must be the other Anjay looking for his package. A rush of fear shot down my spine, what if he's pissed we had it? Just look at those fucking arms, that back, he could pulverize me without breaking a sweat.

I stood there long enough for the creature to take notice. As he turned to face me, my fear took it's place as a side dish, with a main course of bewilderment. It was Anjay, my Anjay, from neck up at least, or what's left of it. Finally I broke my silence exclaiming "What the hell, man?!"

"Dave! I'm soo glad you're home! Bro, drop that stuff but hold onto your keys, we gotta hurry!" I instinctively stepped out of the way as he came powering towards me. In another second he was out the door, a gust of wind cast from his wide torso the only remnant by the time I had spun around. He was halfway down the hallway by the time I made it out the door. I was astonished he could move so fast with how big his legs had gotten, they clashed with every step yet he was practically sprinting to the parking lot. Still he was clad in nothing but those posers, but passerby's opted to say nothing, either terrified by the sight in front of them or insanely aroused.

Thankfully I hadn't locked my car doors, otherwise Anjay might have ripped the door clear off the hinges. The shocks of my late model sub compact protested as he slammed his weight into my passenger seat. Jeez, how much does he, does Anjay weigh now? Following his lead, I quickly hopped into the car myself. As I got in though, I slammed into what felt like cement, but turned out to be Anjay's arm.

"Huh, sorry bro, not used to my new width." Did he always say bro so much?

"Where exactly are we going in such a hurry?" I ask. That's when he pulled out another familiar item, the badge, pointing at it and exclaiming "Remember this? The expo center!"

"You've got to be kidding me!" too much had happened, too much had changed, it's all I could blurt out. "Look at me Dave, I'm gonna clean up bro!" Okay, that's a bro every sentence. "C'mon, we're gonna be late!" I took a second to sit and process as he sat by anxiously… "Okay, fine we'll go, but you gotta tell me what the hell happened to you."

Anjay was more than happy to tell the story of his morning. He started before I could even shift into reverse.

"Bro! oh my god bro, you won't believe it! So I woke up and there was like nothing in the house, but then I remembered that peanut butter from the other day. I grabbed a big ol' spoonful and plopped my ass on the couch."

As he spoke I found it hard to pay attention to the road, he was so animated, only exaggerated by his newly huge muscles, they were bulging everywhere at the slightest movement.

"A few minutes later, I started feeling this fuzzy feeling, I didn't know what it was, but it felt good. Bro that's when I noticed something else, my body was moving under my clothes, I lifted up my shirt and I had abs, abs bro!"

He took the opportunity to point at his obvious abs, flexing as he did.

"Once I connected the dots I practically ran back to the tub and dug back in… and before I knew it I looked and it was half gone! I knew I had fucked up, so I ran to the bathroom to check out the damage."

"My clothes were pulling apart at the seams, huge fucking peaks ripping through the arms, pecs busting out the front." He flexed each muscle group as he called it out. "Fuckin' delts, abs, quads, lats, traps, my god bro, you have no idea how good it felt, how good I feel!"

I recognized some of those words as he said them, using his obvious context clues for the ones I didn't. I had no idea Anjay was so knowledgeable about muscle.

"I didn't want to completely freak you out." Mission decidedly not accomplished. "So I tried to find something to wear, but the only thing that would fit were those posers… when I slipped them on bro oh shit, they felt so good, I looked so good, but then something else happened. My mind started filling with all this new knowledge… muscle groups, workout routines, diets, supplements, cycles, poses! Before I knew it I was a champion bodybuilder, through and through!"

"Yeah, you can say that again…" I said acknowledging the physical embodiment of his statement. "I'm worried those posers might of sucked some knowledge out of you Anjay, since when do you use bro as a punctuation mark?"

"Haha, don't be silly bro, I've always talked like this… and call me AJ."

AJ? I sat there just wishing for my friend Anjay back, not this beefed up bro'd out version of him. Hesitantly I continued, "Ok… AJ, I just didn't know you were so into muscle?"

"I wasn't…" he paused "at least I think I wasn't, but I mean look at me bro, who wouldn't want this?" With that he raised both of his arms up to flex. As he did his lats? flared out and brushed my shoulder. "Shit, I didn't even know you could even have muscles there."

"Bro I got muscles everywhere and then some. Look at the class on my badge, super heavyweight… damn right! Fuck, I'm so pumped, I'm gonna crush it!"

Anjay… I mean AJ, had his bare foot on the ground before I had even come to a full stop upon arriving. Again I followed in tow. Unlike at the apartment, the sight of a muscleman clothed only in a shiny pair of posers was of shock to no one inside. It's what they're all here to see, what I was here to see I guess?

He led us straight backstage, scattered around were other men and their own companions all getting ready for their time onstage. Looking around I was shocked to realize that AJ was the biggest of any of them.

"Bro, take this," he handed me the bottle of tanning oil "you gotta help me tan up."

I was taken aback "I uhh… well I mean, I don't uhh." I looked around, elsewhere many men were doing the same, but I couldn't I mean, we're friends, but I.

"Fine," he grabbed the bottle back "I'll get started."

He dotted the bronze tan across his chest and started rubbing it in, following it up with his legs and arms. If you thought he looked insane before, with the shimmery coat of tan his new freakish form really popped. Halfway through, I heard his gut grumble, he turned back to grab something else, the peanut butter.

---

"Seriously Anjay you're eating more of that stuff? Look at yourself, do you really think you need more? You're practically bursting out of your skin already."

"I told you bro, call me AJ. Anjay sounds so… formal. As for this," he says as he gulps down a spoonful "I'm lickin' this baby clean…" "Now, I've done as much as I can, I need your help buddy, I can't reach my back." He contorts his arms up and over or behind and up showing just how far he is from reaching.

"I guess there's one downside to all those shiny new muscles," I quip.

"I wouldn't call it a downside, not when I have a bro like you…" with that he made a little pouty face unbecoming of his brutal form. I relent and swallow my awkwardness. "Hand me the bottle." His eyes light up.

I walk around AJ, and I mean around, and find myself staring at the contrasted light patch of his wide back. Man, I really wish I had gloves for this, I lament as I squirt a dollop into my palm. Distributing it between my hands I took a deep breath… here goes nothing.

I feel a jolt of electricity run though me as I make contact. Something's changed, something's flipped. I watch myself as I spread the bronze coating. The back in front of me is the same, but the interpretation has changed. It's not shocking, nor disgusting, it's a thing of beauty. I zoom out in my head, my god, the whole thing is, he is, AJ is. I feel my hands gliding over the many ridges of his back, turning perfection into more perfection. That's when I notice something else, the effects from the latest bite of peanut butter… he's growing. I can see his flesh expanding between my fingers, I can feel it press ever so slightly more against my hands. I've never felt so connected to AJ and I know he can feel it too. The world around us taking a backseat to our own shared reality.

I reapply and venture my hands further down south ensuring that his colossal glutes get the attention they deserve. I pull down his posers, ensuring every inch gets covered. Before I know it my fingers found themselves deep inside as I gently tease his hole. Electricity shoots through me again as I watch him squirm.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a figure coming in hot to our left. Fuck, we're busted, I think, followed up quickly by a different thought, wait, what the fuck am I doing?

The figure comes into focus, it's a frantic respectfully beefed up man in an official looking polo.

"There you are!" he yells out to us as I casually snap AJ's poser back into place. "You missed check-in, you better come with me right now if you don't wanna get DQ'd."

Not allowing for any protest he grabs AJ's hand to lead him away, muttering under his breath as he does, "These lunks, the big ones can't hold a thought in their head outside of their next rep…"

AJ grabs the peanut butter as he stumbles, then walks away. In between bites he shouts back "Grab a seat bro, I'll be lookin' for ya!"

With nowhere else to go I follow his instructions and find a seat in the amphitheater. In the relative calm I have a moment to process the events of the past few hours. Here I am, sitting at a bodybuilding competition waiting for my best friend to walk onstage and show off his insane muscles. I thought about how I feel about that, I have a vague recollection of being scared and confused, but now it seems clear. AJ's got muscles, he's a bodybuilder, of course we're at a bodybuilding competition. The only thing I feel now is anticipation.

I flash back to backstage as I sit and wait. I can't get the image out of my head. His muscles… so big, so hot, muscles are hot, AJ is hot, fuck! AJ is hot! I can't wait to see him again, to touch, I shiver. Almost on command the lights in the amphitheater lower to signal the start of the show.

Competitors start marching onstage, they all have nothing on AJ, I think, only confirming more as they continue to appear. The stage slowly fills as each hits their mark. Still no sign of AJ. I briefly worry something happened to him.

But then, the backlights of the stage are snubbed out by a hulking figure. It steps out under the stage lights. It's unlike any other man up onstage, it's hard to believe it's man at all. It's AJ.

A hush washes over the amphitheater. You couldn't just see, but you could feel his movements, you could hear him coming. The thuds of his footsteps, the stretch of his posers trying to hold back the mass he's become.

He hasn't even flexed a muscle yet but all eyes were on him. I had no idea a man could be so beautiful. He is absolutely bursting with muscle. Every limb, every surface stacked with veiny glistening meat. I find myself getting hard. I stroke my cock through my shorts and make note of many other men in the audience doing the same.

AJ is wearing a cocky smile confirming that he is aware of all our gazes. He coyly takes his place in the lineup, pretending that there's any possible way the show will go on as planned now that everyone has seen him.

To their credit, they did attempt to run though a few poses, but even those onstage found it hard to hold form when their attention was quickly snapping back to their muscled colleague. Noticing this, AJ steps forward to give everyone what they wanted, his juicy up body, up close and personal.

AJ goes through an entire routine like he's spent ages perfecting every pose. His front double bi threatens to encase his head in delt and bicep meat. His ab and thigh positively does. And those thighs, wide sweeping drops of muscle, transforming into carved marble columns as he stomps down.

He turns around to face the other competitors, winking at their astonished faces as he does. It's time to give everyone else the a view of what they've been seeing. His lat spread seems to just go wider and wider without any sign of stopping. And his glutes, my god, they're absolutely planetary.

Spinning back around, AJ playfully takes a customary bow indicating the end of the show. It was indeed the end of the show and he needn't move from that spot on center stage. Not wanting to keep the godlike figure waiting, officials rush out and crown him champion.

There's no lineup. Second, third, who cares, everyone else is a blur. He's first, second, and third both in size and perfection. Medals in hand, AJ turns and leaves the stage, leaving the crowd to reflect on what they just witnessed.

I find AJ backstage, swarmed by all types, attendees, officials, media, competitors, they all couldn't get enough of him, couldn't get close enough to him. He sees me and pushes his wide body through the crowd like it's nothing. He doesn't even skip a beat as he scoops me up and carries me out of the room.

I can tell I weigh nothing to him. I'm a warmup weight. Even without being terribly stressed, his muscles were putting on a show for me. I watch his biceps and pecs bulge to hold me, just taking in the sensation of being cradled by muscle. We lock eyes and smile knowingly.

AJ whisks us away into a side room away from the crowd and gently sets me down in front of him. The room is bare aside from us and the plastic taped on walls and floor for tan smearing muscle beasts like AJ. Not exactly what you'd call ambiance, but it didn't matter. We have all we need.

Without saying a word I step forward and place my hands on his chest. He flexes in approval. I feel a jolt run though me as I feel his pecs shift from beautiful pillows to striated boulders. I lean down and press my cheek against his cobblestone abs. I linger just feeling the motion of his gut contracting and expanding with every breath.

I bring my hands down to his posers and slip them down, his dick pleasingly flops out already semi-hard. As he comes to full mast I realize it's larger than I remember. It didn't grow as much as everything else, but it's still impressive. A stiff golden rod setting itself out from his dark bronzed quads.

I wrap my lips briefly around just the tip before taking it in deep with a skill like I had done this hundreds of times before. I'm in ecstasy as I feel AJ fill me so completely, as I hear him moan with pleasure while I hit all the right spots, as I watch his quads twitch up close and personal with every suck. His movements and breaths become sharply staccato as I take him to climax.

AJ grunts with gorilla-like intensity as he rockets three hot, huge, loads down my throat. I stand up and wipe my lips as AJ comes back down to earth. Once he does, he chooses to finally break the silence with, "It's your turn now, bro." His voice booms deeper than I remember, the statement hitting me like a ton of bricks. He turns around and fully drops his posers, struggling briefly against his quad meat as he does.

My already erect member twitches even harder at the sight of his uncovered ass. Even more so when he leans forward and his massive cheeks split. I hastily drop my pants and am practically pulled in like a vortex. I place my soft hands on AJ's granite glutes before inserting my cock into his waiting hole. I'm glad I went in so deep with the tan earlier, it serving as rudimentary lube.

As I begin to thrust, I watch the dancing mountainous landscape of AJ's back in front of me. His ass is magnificent, so firm and tight. Every few strokes he squeezes his mighty glutes ever so little sending pleasure rocketing through me and also reminding me that he could crush my dick to smithereens in a single flex if he wanted to, this only serving to rile me even more. Regardless, it's clear who is in control in this moment, he wants this just as bad as I do.

I collapse forward onto AJ's back as I cum. We both stay in this position for a few seconds while we catch our breath. Standing back up, we make ourselves as decent as we can. AJ pulling his skimpy poser back into place and me pulling my pants back up and trying and failing to wipe the stripes of bronzer now all over my skin and clothes.

I laugh as I look up at AJ. "What?" he asks.

"Sorry, I wore a spot out on your tan, haha."

AJ chuckles to himself as he turns to face me. "Oh shit bro, but look at you" I'm practically covered in splotches of bronzer. "Honestly, doesn't look to bad on ya, have you ever considered bodybuilding?" AJ heartily boasts. We both chuckle with the silly question serving to encapsulate the wild ride we both have been on.

"Something tells me there's a lot more of this to come, but first… this tank bro" AJ slaps his bloated muscle gut, "she's gonna need a lot more than peanut butter to fill 'er up."

With that we head back out together in search of what I assume is an ungodly amount of food to fill up my hulking best friend… boyfriend? possibly.

We're a total mess, anyone looking at us would have no trouble putting together what we just did. We hold our heads high regardless, because who gives a fuck, like you wouldn't if you could. But you can't, so might as well flaunt what's mine. Besides in reality no one is giving me a second glance next to him.

---

In that first stroll together as an item out in the world, AJ and David find themselves in a place of pure joy and contentment, ecstatic about their budding new reality and relationship. Little did they know what was coming next.

Waiting innocently on their doorstep… another package… Wonder who it's addressed to?

[partycatty]

kenshi > read my mind

sitting across the table from your boyfriend at sun do's royal dinner, filling his mind with terrible images...

warnings: ur a horndog, exhibitionism ig, SWITCH KENSHI NATION RISE UP!

notes: this was inspired by @crimsonbubble 's post about kenshi's telepathy... absolute genius... also please pretend he's got sento here or something idfk just bear with me please i'm in heat LMAO. funny side note i had to rewrite this after finishing it to tweak some details, namely that i forgot kenshi CANNOT FUCKING SEE.

[ masterlist ]

• there was a mutual agreement between you and kenshi, no funny business in outworld lest the entirety of earthrealm be damned to your reputation. this was a doable task, you and kenshi were disciplined and well-mannered, like two cute little peas in a very stoic pod.

• however, when you're sat at the long table, syzoth on your left and johnny on your right as you tear apart a roasted bird, you find yourself salivating at the sight of kenshi swirl a glass of red wine with interest. how is it that everything he does is so effortlessly sexy? your chewing slows and you swallow thickly.

• kenshi must have felt your burning gaze, considering his familiarity with it, and his head flicks up to meet yours.

• you look really hot tonight, you try to think as coherently as you can but your mind wanders faster than you can control, and you're envisioning kenshi throwing that roasted bird and glassware to the floor as he fucks you stupid there and then, using your hole as his personal stress relief as he pins you hard to the table. kenshi chokes on his wine, fists clenching as his head tilts downward to avoid staring at you and spiraling his own mind any further.

• the illuminated figures of his friends surrounding kenshi don't seem to pick up on his flushed state, too entranced in their meals to properly notice anything off.

• what's the matter? you toy with him innocently, leaning over the table to tear the leg from the bird and let your breasts spill out and settle atop the table. how he wishes he could see the flush of your skin, the way your outfit compliments your figure so well. don't get too heated, someone will notice.

• you stick your finger in your mouth, sucking away the flavor of the food as you look directly at him with low lids. you had to commit to this, whatever your goal was it surely couldn't have ended well for you.

• there was so much room under the table, a dark part of you snickers as you envision crawling under the table and freeing his surely solid cock, swirling your tongue around his tip and digging your nails into his thigh, reminding him to keep quiet.

• "stop," kenshi mouths at you, shoulders tense as the spirits probe your mind and fill him with evil thoughts. you reach your foot underneath the tablecloth and confirm what you suspected when your sole pressed into his bulge, making him gasp before covering his mouth.

• seems like you don't want me to, you coo into his mind, applying just enough pressure to make him jump. you're all hard and needy for me, aren't you? wish you could just fuck my pretty pussy until i'm nothing more than a drooling mess?

• syzoth is startled by kenshi's thighs bumping the table, brows knitting as he eyes down kenshi's shivery state. "are you alright?" he inquires, tilting his head.

• "no need to worry, syzoth," you insist, while simultaneously conjuring up images of kenshi stuffing his inked fingers so deep in your cunt you cream over them. "kenshi is just a little under the weather as of late."

• your strained grin seems to convince him well enough to drop the subject, turning back to his plate of bugs. your head turns, now grinning at your extremely flustered boyfriend.

• "stop it," he mouths again, squeezing your foot between his thighs. that does nothing, of course, as he immediately is flooded once again with your thoughts of settling between his thighs, squishing your cheek on one while pumping his length with a hand. his throat clears, maybe a bit louder than intended.

• i want you so bad, your lashes flutter, your food a forgotten part of the process. you make me so wet, kenshi, it's so hard to focus when i just want you to use me.

• you giggle to yourself. kenshi's cock is so strained against his dress pants he wondered if he might just pass out or break his zipper. the thoughts of him splitting you open make your own thighs clench, rubbing together to release any tension you'd built. your panties undoubtedly damp, clit throbbing and needy, all of which you project into his head with a sly grin.

• fuck me open on this table, you halfheartedly propose. split me and make everyone know what a whore i am for that dick, pretty boy. i'll ride you so fucking good you won't even remember your own name, is that what you want? you want my thighs around your head when you eat me out? you make me cum so hard, kenshi, you and only you gets me so horny like this, i can barely contain it.

• simultaneously dirty talking through your minds and creating images and scenes that no doubt will send you to hell was far too much for kenshi, especially in public. he stands harshly, his chair screeching against the floor which thankfully draws enough attention away from him to allow him to adjust himself quickly in his pants, tugging his top down further in hopes that somehow, someway his massive cock could be hidden enough.

• "please excuse me," kenshi mutters, bowing deeply. "i believe i am unwell."

• "could we offer you anything?" kitana stands with him, eyes wide with concern. "tea, perhaps—?"

• kenshi bows his head, shaking it slightly. "that won't be necessary princess, though i appreciate it."

• after everyone finishes exchanging funny looks, nobody seems to really notice the sly glint in your eye as your head follows his movements. he walks around the table, having to pass you in the process. his hands sweep behind your hair and cup the back of your neck gently as he leans down to mumble something in your ear. nobody thinks to question the gesture, as it is common knowledge you two were together. what he says though, is so heinous you hope outworld abilities don't include superhearing.

• "you're fucking done for," he mutters, nails digging into the sides of your neck ever so slightly. "you're paying for making me this hard later."

• he pulls away before you could even consider replying, walking off as the click of his dress shoes lessen in volume. the dinner resumes, though johnny leans into your other ear.

• "what's his problem?" johnny asks obliviously, watching kenshi exit. "he's always got a stick up his ass... no offense."

• "none taken," you reply sweetly, turning to face him. "i believe he's just feeling a little sickly."

• "outworld germs?" johnny chuckles, leaning back in his chair. you shrug, looking at the bird again.

• "maybe it was the food."

[thevoidscreams]

Hi, I am the previous anon and this my idea:

Dilfy Lion being a dilf

Do what you'll want with this.

He's got cubs now. Gonna be a continuation of the last Lion story.

Day 29 Year 2: Warnings: Sexual desire, the lion being a huge dilf, he wants more kids. Word count: 1202

Lion hummed, content as he finally tucked in his last squirming progeny into her bed. Her giggles twittered up at him as he pressed his finger into her tender side. "Stay put now. This is the last time I am tucking you in."

He leaned down to kiss her forehead and she reached up with tiny arms to embrace him. He sighed, a rare warm smile on his lips. "Sleep well my sweet girl." She yawned but didn't turn over to sleep.

"Daddy? Will you sing me the song?"

Lion sighed, but just as it was with you, his beloved wife, he was incapable of denying your smaller carbon copy anything either. His sons were already deep into sleep and he didn't want to wake them.

"Alright my little one." He murmured to her. "But after this you must sleep." She smiled and pulled her hand sewn kitten into her arms hugging the not so gracefully crafted plush animal close. The Lion had many skills, but hand making stuffed animals was unfortunately not one of them.

The deep thrum of his voice filled the space as his words carried the story of a knight and his horse questing over the lands.

His daughter's eyes drooped and she fought valiantly to keep them open long enough to hear the rest of the song. It did not work, and by the second refrain the child was fast asleep. Lion let the song fade as he finished the verse and made sure she was properly covered, kissing her forehead once more and standing.

He went to her brothers and checked on them as well, placing a tender kiss on their heads as well.

He looked over the room, scanning it for monsters in the dark. Nothing, just the stillness of the night.

There was plenty of room in their chambers and his mind immediately conjured the mental image of another bed. Another tiny form sleeping soundly. 

He took a deep breath and made his way back down the hall to your shared bedroom. You set aside the book you'd been reading and gazed up at your husband. "Our little ones sleeping my Lion?" "Yes. Marian did not want to sleep but she fell asleep to her favorite song." He pressed a kiss to your cheek. "Like someone else I know." He chuckled and you turned to plant a kiss on his cheek in return. He disrobed, setting his casual dress aside and leaving him exposed. "Did I tell you what Leofric asked for on his next birthday?" You asked as your husband slid into the bed next to you. "You have not." His hand brushed over your nightgown, cupping your hips. "He asked for another little brother or sister." You leaned into his touch as his hand traveled down further, touching just the edge of your gown. above your thigh. "We will not be able to provide that to him by his next birthday, but perhaps he will accept a belated gift." You snorted softly, as he slid the dress up and your bodies came together with the practiced ease that was only acquired after many years of lovemaking. He pulled you a top his body, hands on your hips as you shrugged out of the cloth prison that was your gown and he lined up the head of his cock with your entrance. The start was slow, your chest pressed to his as he helped you roll your hips down into his. "I want more." He growled softly to you. "More what?" You gasped as his cock nudged your cervix. "Children." He clarified. He loved everything about it, seeing you grow with the life inside you, the changes that came as a result. The filling of your hips, the rounding of your belly. Even your smell became sweeter and more feminine somehow. He massaged one of your breasts softly and lowered his lips to the nipple, sucking it with practiced tenderness.

He loved when they were full and heavy with milk, he could drink from them all day if you let him, and if there were no other duties to attend to. But most of all he loved you, and he loved your children. Caring for them had brought a new light to his life he never expected, and giving them the love and safety he had not had at that stage of his life was the most gratifying. "I believe that that can be managed, my Love." You moaned as he returned his hand to you hip to fuck you on his cock with more enthusiasm. Riding him was never so much riding him as it was him controlling the pace and pressure. He groaned and you hugged him around the neck. "Does it feel good my Lion?" You pant softly and he nods, pressing his forehead to yours. "Very, you always feel amazing, my beautiful wife." His eyes may have been closed with the pleasure he felt, but his words drip with utter sincerity.

You hugged him tighter. Just basking in the warmth of his love.

"A boy or girl?" You asked breathlessly. He huffed a soft sound of confusion and opened his eyes. "What do you mean?" "Our next child, do you want a boy or girl?" You beamed up at him. He met your eyes and replied. "Yes." It sent a thrill through you. The idea of him breeding you again multiple times to have at least one more of each. He moved to hold you around the middle of your body and rolled, pressing you under him.

Your hips and back adjusted for the move automatically and he nuzzled the top of your head, whispering his love to you and he rutted harder. Fucking you with greater enthusiasm.You came with a gasp of his name. Clamping around his cock and he followed a minute after. Burying his cock deep within to ensure all of his cum ended up where he wanted it to be.

Tired and satisfied you pulled the gown back on as Lion pulled on a light pair of pants and you fell into his chest nearly asleep but not quite. You patted his chest plaintively and he sighed. "Very well." He adjusted your position so you were spooned against his chest. And he held you there as he sang again.

The bed jostled as tiny bodies bounded up onto it. A chorus of "Mom!" and "Dad!" Greeting you both as you roused, and sat up to hug your children. They were up early, but that had been a trend recently. Lion grabbed them each and planted a kiss on the top of their heads. "My little cubs." He smiled wide and your daughter fell into his hands as he picked her up and she squealed with unrestrained delight.

You watched the scene as your oldest, who was only four, flopped down at your side and fell back asleep. While your second oldest begged for a turn to be picked up.

It was such a perfect scene you couldn't imagine a happier life. Your hand went to your belly and Lion met your gaze with a knowing look. But there was always room for more love.

[samstree]

In New Light

post-canon obikin, 4k words, rated G. AO3 link here

The cat stares at Obi-Wan, blinking slowly with curious eyes.

“Well. Hello, there.”

Obi-Wan greets the creature at his door, staring back. The cat has sleek, black fur all over, except for the white streak on the side of his face. He is much smaller than a Loth-cat, with much shorter fur too. Possibly a less common sub-species of the tooka. He has blue eyes instead of yellow like most black cats, and oh—he’s missing a front leg.

A pang of sympathy swells in Obi-Wan chest. The poor thing. Where has he come from? Who is his owner? Did he wander all the way from the lower levels of Coruscant and into the Temple? Did he get injured because he’s a stray?

The cat sits on his tail, looking straight up as Obi-Wan crouches down before him.

“Hello, dear,” he greets the small creature again, this time in a much gentler tone. “Now, how have you wandered to my door?”

The cat meows, tilting his head, studying Obi-Wan for a moment before jumping right into his lap, making him let out a surprised sound. The missing leg does not hinder the little creature’s mobility, and he seems to have comfortably curled up against Obi-Wan’s stomach.

“Alright,” Obi-Wan says. When the cat meows in return, he answers, “I know, dear. I know.”

-

The cat follows him for the entire day.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay here at the creche? The younglings will love you. I’m sure they already do.”

The small, dark creature hisses as a Togruta child attempts to pet him on the head, the rejection clear as day.

“Hmm.”

Obi-Wan cannot help but remember an equally grumpy padawan in the same situation. Anakin was fifteen when he was put on creche duty for the first time, and the boy all but jumped when the small children tried to hug him. The storm cloud remained on his face for a week despite the shower of affection from the younglings.

A smile comes to Obi-Wan’s face at the memory of Anakin’s teenage years, before it falls flat at the corners of his mouth.

There is no use thinking about it now.

Anakin already left.

He could never stay, not after what was revealed at the end of the war—Palpatine fooled everyone, and especially Anakin. The hurt ran too deep and too intertwined with the Order. It was a good thing that Anakin chose to resign after the Sith was destroyed, finding his independence, figuring out who he is outside of being a Jedi. He needed the distance, and it’s good he never looked back.

It’s a good thing, Obi-Wan tells himself again.

The cat has jumped to the top of Obi-Wan’s shoulder with a displeased sound, right before burrowing into his neck and rubbing his face against Obi-Wan’s skin. The motion makes it look like the small creature is trying to soothe him, which is ridiculous. It’s not like Obi-Wan is sad.

“Come on,” he says, petting the cat on the head and getting another quiet meow in answer. “You are not staying, are you? Well, then. Let’s get going.”

-

He dreams of Anakin that night. Again.

“Oh, dear heart. I’m so sorry,” Obi-Wan apologizes to the image of Anakin conjured up by his mind. “It must be from those thoughts of you during the day.”

Dream-Anakin sits cross-legged on what used to be his favorite futon, a bright, ethereal aura shimmering around him. That’s how Obi-Wan knows he’s dreaming.

It’s how he always knows.

The Anakin in his dreams always looks the same. With tousled hair and youthful features, a slight tightness around his eyes, worn down by war and grief. He also wears the same clothes every time, the dark Jedi robes that has become his staple, but singed at the hem from battle. He didn’t stay long enough at the Temple to change out of them after defeating the Sith.

It’s what Anakin looked like when they said goodbye for the last time. At the hangar bay, Obi-Wan watched this version of Anakin close the door of his shuttle.

He stayed there for hours afterwards.

“Why are you apologizing?” Anakin frowns.

Strange. Obi-Wan has never seen him frown in a dream.

Anakin has also never looked different. He seems…older, the lines of his face sharpened with maturity, those familiar curls cut short and parted to the other way. He is still the same man, but it’s almost like the years they spent apart are showing on his face.

Oh, how these dreams torment him.

“For this dream, of course,” Obi-Wan explains patiently, despite the well of sadness overflowing in his heart. He’ll always have patience for his former padawan, even when it’s only a figment of his imagination. “It’s a clear sign of attachment. Attachment I should have acknowledged and let go when you left.”

“When I left, of course,” Anakin murmurs, looking away. “A perfect Jedi like you must have gotten over it immediately. What was I thinking?”

Anakin’s voice trails into a quiet tremble, a crestfallen look written all over his face. It suddenly makes Obi-Wan unsure of himself—he never wants to make Anakin sad.

“No, Anakin… I—” Obi-Wan starts, “I merely meant that—I should have let go. It was… it would have been the right thing to do.”

“Was it really?”

Tears trail down Anakin’s cheek, glistening in the bright light of the dream.

When Obi-Wan wakes up to the shimmering morning light, he wipes away the wetness on his face. There is no peace to be found in the Force, so Obi-Wan gets up and pads towards the living room.

The cat is sound asleep, curled into a perfect ball on Anakin’s futon.

-

“Do you have an owner?”

Obi-Wan is mostly thinking out loud as the cat licks at the blue milk, pouring another serving into the plate when a whine prompts him.

“Possibly, but there is no collar.” He touches his beard, humming absently. “I still don’t understand how you got here. There’s a long way from the lower levels to my quarters.”

The cat stretches contently when he’s done eating, soon beginning to find anything and everything in Obi-Wan’s room to be the most interesting thing.

“Hey, not those drawers. That’s where Anakin kept his tools.”

He really should have cleared those out, but alas. A ball of electrical cords has become the cat’s new favorite toy.

“No, not the spanner—that’s too heavy for you! Stars, don’t leave a mess everywhere!”

Heedless of Obi-Wan’s warnings, the creature has spilled out all of Anakin’s old things across the floor and is having the time of his life. Obi-Wan can only sigh while cleaning after him. It is only when the cat starts to push his tea collection off the kitchen counter when he has to intervene.

“No, not those! Leave an old man with his favorite tea, will you?” From the scowl on the cat’s face, the little guy doesn’t seem to care. “You’re as frustrating as a certain padawan of mine, my new friend.”

With that, the cat stops in his tracks, jumps off the kitchen counter nimbly, and looks up at Obi-Wan with those big, rounded eyes.

“Perhaps I should name you Padawan, with the way you are behaving,” Obi-Wan huffs, but there is no real anger in his voice.

In truth, he doesn’t mind the little mess. His quarters have been immaculately clean for years, but it never looks right. The disarray somehow fills a part inside his chest that he didn’t know was missing.

“You think I’m jesting, but I assure you I am not,” Obi-Wan continues sternly, holding himself like the Jedi master he is. “It’s not like that role will be filled any time soon. You will do just fine.”

He doesn’t want to think about the perpetual void left in his life. Obi-Wan will never have another padawan again, not after the way he failed Anakin. He has made his peace with it.

He really has. He just needs to breathe through the ache that creeps into every fiber of his being on every lonely night.

A sad meow, as if in sympathy. Obi-Wan bends down to pick up the cat and sits himself on the floor by the window, letting the sunbeam warm the both of them.

“No, I won’t call you Padawan, then. I don’t think…” he swallows, smiling tightly at the creature as he gets comfortable. “I don’t think I can bear it.”

Those big blue feline eyes are so round, the irises are nearly disappearing. Somehow, the unusual blue eyes of the cat bring him a sense of unnamed reassurance. He would have found it disturbing, if they were yellow.

“Well then, I guess I’ll be the one to take care of you. Not as a master, but a friend. It’s a dangerous world out there if you’re alone. There is no one protecting you.” Obi-Wan strokes the sleek, black fur as the cat falls asleep in his lap. The creature doesn’t shy away when he touches the stump where the front leg should be. “Is that how you got hurt? Because you were out there by yourself?”

All the answer he gets is a gentle rub against his stomach.

“I wish I was there with you,” he murmurs to himself, the numb emptiness in his chest tinging with regret. “I wish I could have protected you.”

Obi-Wan falls asleep with the cat curled against his chest, the purring guiding him into a peaceful dream land.

-

Dream-Anakin sits by the window with the sunlight on his back, his expression inexplicably sad.

“Why won’t you take another padawan, master?”

They are so close together, the sun lining the tips of Anakin’s lashes gold. Obi-Wan could easily reach out and touch him. So he does.

It’s a dream, after all. There is no point in shaming himself for wanting.

The short curls feel good between Obi-Wan’s fingers, but he’s still getting used to the new look. He is spotting all the minute differences about this version of Anakin—the mature steadfastness, the lightness in his eyes, the stubble grown under his chin.

“I’m still not sure about the hair,” Obi-Wan tries to change the subject. If it’s his dream, he gets to be cheeky, he reckons. “Will you consider showing up in the long hair next time? Just for your old master’s sake.”

“Obi-Wan.”

A sigh, and Obi-Wan tries to retract his hand, but Anakin catches him gently. The warmth of his flesh hand is as real as the Force humming in the air.

“Why would they trust me with another small child?” Obi-Wan finally says. “I wouldn’t trust myself.”

The offence on Anakin’s face is palpable. “You are the best master out there. Anyone would be lucky to have you!”

Obi-Wan laughs self-deprecatingly. “I’m sure you’d disagree.”

“Well, I’m right here, and I say you’re perfect!”

It’s ironic that the Anakin from his subconscious would defend him so, when the real Anakin knows more than anyone of Obi-Wan’s failure.

“I lost you, Anakin,” he simply says.

It ends the argument. Anakin closes his mouth, the sadness returning to his blue eyes.

-

It isn’t too bad, having a feline friend in Obi-Wan’s life.

His quarters seem less empty with a cat in it, along with everything he has added to make his new friend comfortable. The toys are now laid out, along with a new shelf for climbing. The cat bed is placed by the window, but rarely used when the little guy prefers to sleep on either Anakin’s old futon or by the foot of Obi-Wan’s bed. His habit of making a mess quieted down after a period of adjustment, and now Obi-Wan has learned to leave his expensive teas in the cupboard.

The cat loves the house plants, though. Obi-Wan is not sure if he’s imagining it, but his plants have never looked better, growing lusher and greener by the day. He has never been the best at taking care of them. It was Anakin who had a stronger connection to the Living Force.

When the ferns start to droop, the dark fluffy creature would fall asleep under their shade. When he wakes up, the leaves seem to gain new life again.

Obi-Wan also talks to the cat more and more these days.

The dreams persist. Every time he closes his eyes, there is Anakin. Sitting in their living room, or cooking in the kitchen, sometimes even curled up against Obi-Wan’s side in his bed.

Those dreams are the hardest. Obi-Wan’s mind is cruel to let him look at Anakin so closely, only to wake up alone in the quiet dark. The only consolation is the gentle, inquisitive meows of his cat friend.

He lets the furry thing bury his face against his neck to soothe the heartbreak. The pain lets up enough at some point, and he can breathe again. And then, Obi-Wan begins to talk.

He misses Anakin so much that the ache fills all the space inside his chest. If he doesn’t tell someone about it, he fears he will burst from it, and a cat is a good enough listener.

He lets his tongue run freely, trusting his memories to lead them from one story to another, jumping between the years they shared together. The pain and regret have been laying on his heart so heavily that Obi-Wan has nearly forgotten the joy that came with Anakin’s name.

His laughter, his passion, his unrelenting curiosity.

Anakin was his sun, but now, he has no one to share that warmth but a small cat.

“Did you know he cried when I took him to see rain for the first time?” Obi-Wan chuckles at the memory. “He was trying to catch all the raindrops, and when he couldn’t, he started to panic about wasting the water. Poor boy… I should have thought of that and not chosen the rainforest for our first mission.”

Obi-Wan lets out all the love he has kept inside. With only a small creature knowing his worst secret, he has never loved Anakin more freely.

“Do you think he could be in trouble? Knowing Anakin, he must have gotten himself into some sort of conundrum. More than once over the years, I assume. I worry for him too much, I know,” he whispers, letting the cat perch around his shoulders. “He’s too headstrong, too stubborn, much to his own detriment. He always tries to protect everyone, and never learned that he needed protecting too. I… I would have, had he let me.”

He drifts off again, worrying, wondering.

The dream is so warm that Obi-Wan never wishes to leave. He curls around the weight of Anakin’s body, wraps an arm around his waist to pull him even closer.

It feels good to steal these moments, basking in Anakin’s presence, just so he can keep on going in the land of the walking.

“What if I really am in trouble?” Anakin asks with mirth in his eyes. “It’s a big galaxy. I could run into someone dangerous. Say… a witch! Like in those fairytales on the holonet. She cursed me to be trapped in the body of a small animal, and the only way to lift the curse—”

He stops himself, the implication hanging in the air.

Obi-Wan finishes the thought for him, knowing this ridiculous boy and his romantic tendencies.

“True love, is it? The only way to lift the curse,” Obi-Wan says, rubbing their noses together. “I’ll find you, save you from the curse, and we’ll get to live happily ever after.”

Anakin blushes, his lashes cast down. “Yes, just like that. It’s really simple, master.”

Hope shines in Anakin’s eyes, bright and sweet, but Obi-Wan’s heart sinks.

“If only it was, dear heart.”

-

“Can you believe them? Denied!”

Obi-Wan huffs, chest rising and falling from anger. He lets the datapad fall to the sofa. On the screen is his application to take leave from the Temple, big red letters showing Application Denied at the top.

“I’m not even asking for long. It’ll take two—alright, maybe three—months at most! I’m a war general, for Force’s sake. I infiltrated the separatist headquarters! How long is it going to take me to find one person? Just one!”

Artoo’s light flickers, letting out a quiet beep in answer. He doesn’t dare move his dome due to the dark, fluffy creature perched on top of him, tail tucked away cozily. Both droid and cat blink at Obi-Wan as his rant comes to a stop.

It’s almost disturbing how well they are getting along. Obi-Wan has not seen Artoo take a liking to someone, or something, this quickly since Anakin left.

“I just want to see him.” Obi-Wan’s shoulders slump, all the fight leaving his body with resignation. "They are right about me—it’s... it's a sign of attachment. I just…”

A lump forms in his throat, and Obi-Wan turns his head away. It would be embarrassing to cry in front of a droid and a cat, but it’s hard to care when the loneliness overwhelms him like a tide.

Obi-Wan may have been slowly drowning all this time. He’s only realizing now.

-

That night, Obi-Wan silently opens his blanket in silent invitation. Soon enough, a dark lump of fluff enters his bed.

It’s unbefitting of a Jedi of his age and experience to need the comfort of a creature as small and fragile, but when the warmth of the cat curls around his chest, Obi-Wan finds it a little easier to breathe.

When fitful sleep claims him, his fingers are still buried in soft fur, his nose pressed against a fluffy head. His breath hitches from time to time, but a gentle, careful nudge always soothes him.

Dream-Anakin appears from under Obi-Wan’s covers, those dark curls sticking out everywhere as if someone has been ruffling his hair.

“Oh, master… Hey, come here. What’s wrong?”

Anakin’s voice is full of concern. His flesh hand reaches out to cup Obi-Wan’s chin, a thumb running small circles as if he has been preparing to comfort Obi-Wan, and now he finally has the chance.

Wouldn’t that be a nice reality? Anakin being there, always, ready to defend Obi-Wan from the sadness within him.

“They won’t let me come to you,” is Obi-Wan’s answer.

“Oh?”

Their bodies tangle up under the bedcover, fitting into each other like puzzle pieces. The warmth of Anakin gives Obi-Wan strength, so he lets out all the frustration.

“I thought I could see you, just this once. Just to make sure you’re alright. And I know, Anakin, when you left, you wanted nothing to do with the Order. With…” He lets the ache linger, lets Anakin see his hurt. “You wanted nothing to do with me.”

“Not you. Never you.”

A protest, so quiet it’s almost not there.

“Still, I was being selfish,” Obi-Wan continues. “I should not try to bother you again. Not after everything that happened. You must loathe to see an old man from your past, reminding you of all that hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” Anakin insists, desperate. He pulls their bodies impossibly close, rubbing his forehead against Obi-Wan’s temple. “You were the kindest thing in my life. I just couldn’t see it until I left, and I—I never thought you’d still want to find me again, not after all this time.”

“How could I not? The thought of you being out there by yourself—” Obi-Wan’s voice shakes. “I thought I could bear it, Anakin, give it to the Force. I’m failing even that.”

It’s more than Obi-Wan has ever been willing to admit even to himself, alone in the quiet dark. Grief and foolishness have made him brave.

Anakin observes him with meaning in his eyes, remaining silent for a moment longer as if gathering courage himself. When he speaks next, his words are steady and patient.

“If you could see me now—the real me, right here with you, would you want to?”

Something about Anakin is different, beyond the shorter hair and the lines of his face. The warmth around him intensifies, the bright aura hums with anticipation. There is hope, so much hope rising from the ashes of the lost years between them, and Obi-Wan will not fail that again.

“I do. I want more than anything to be with you again, you must know,” he answers honestly.

“And why is that?”

“Because… I…”

“Say it, Obi-Wan. I just need you to say it.” A smile curls at Anakin’s lips. “I just need you.”

Oh, and how can Obi-Wan ever refuse that? He wasn’t there when Anakin needed him most, and it was already the biggest mistake of his life, but now…

Anakin is asking him of something again, and it’s something so simple. Only Obi-Wan himself, laying his heart bare.

He gives away his heart. Easily.

“It’s because I love you,” Obi-Wan says, plain and true. “I love you, Anakin.”

Light and warmth fills the dream, but nothing is brighter than the smile on Anakin’s face, his happiness almost from a fairytale.

-

Obi-Wan nearly chokes on a mess of curls when consciousness returns to him.

Long limbs tangle around him, weighing heavily in the small bed. Naked skin presses against his torse, the warmth bursting like a sun. The morning light slips through the curtains, casting layers of silver in the room.

The body around him stirs, taking in a long breath. The dark curls lift up, and then, blue eyes are meeting Obi-Wan’s gaze, blinking slowly.

Obi-Wan went to bed with a small cat curled against his chest, but wakes up with a full-sized, naked Anakin right between his arms.

“Oh,” he says dumbly. “Was that you this whole time?”

He hardly cares about the answer when Anakin stares at him for a beat, and then bursts out laughing. It’s so beautiful that the experience of hearing it for the first time in years nearly steals all the breath out of Obi-Wan’s lungs.

“Anakin.”

With a flip of his body, Anakin has straddled across Obi-Wan’s hips, pinning him down. He managed that too easily—how has he gotten so much stronger? What happened to Anakin when Obi-Wan is not there?

When Obi-Wan looks up, he’s now seeing Anakin in a new light. He looks the same as in those dreams, the hair still tragically short, but dream could never compare to the sight before Obi-Wan’s eyes. The years have only made Anakin more beautiful, adding sharp angles to his jaw, elegant lines at the corners of his eyes.

Obi-Wan reaches out to touch, and lets out a breath of relief when skin connects with skin.

This is real. Anakin has come back to him.

“Did you mean it?”

Anakin can barely hide the smile with Obi-Wan cradling his cheek, tracing the lines of his chin. He turns to rub against Obi-Wan’s palm, tickling his skin. It seems something remains the same, even when he’s no longer trapped in a cat’s body.

“Between us, you are the believer of fairytales,” Obi-Wan answers, patiently. “The curse wouldn’t have broken otherwise. But you know I did, Anakin. How could I not? Though I have a question for you too.”

There will be no more lost years, Obi-Wan vows to himself. He’d fight another war before he lets himself lose Anakin again. They have all the time ahead to grow closer again, to share stories. To heal.

“I love you too,” Anakin answers cheekily, “if that’s your question. Of course I do, and it didn’t take being cursed into a blasted cat for me to realize.”

The insolence on Anakin’s face looks exactly the same as old memories, with a pout on his lips and defiance in his eyes. Obi-Wan can’t help his own laughter.

His fingers tug at the short curls at Anakin’s nape, schooling his expression back to something resembling displeasure.

“I meant to ask if you will grow the hair out again, dear heart.”

And from the looks of it, his request will be fulfilled easily enough. They have all the time in the world, after all, in their own happily ever after.

[the-indigo-symphony]

"But isn't plurality weird?"

I am a poet. I am flesh powered by electricity and the breaking down of certain materials through heat and acid and other processes. I am a delicious buffet to mosquitoes. I am a strange, ginormous creature to my tiny pets. I, an animal, keep other, smaller animals inside a pen so that I may enjoy their company. I am also unable to touch these smaller animals or spend too much time around them, or my throat, eyes, and nose will start revolting against me, and breathing will become difficult. This is a common problem that runs in my family, and yet we keep these smaller animals anyway.

I did not sleep yesterday night; I did not lie down in the dark and quiet for several hours as a slab of meat in a cage in my head periodically conjured up nonsensical visions. It's suspected I have a condition in which, at random points during this period of lying down in the dark and quiet for several hours, my lungs stop doing their job, and the slab of meat in the cage in my head has to wake me up so they get back on the clock and my temporary rest does not become a permanent one. I do not always remember this when it happens, just like I do not always remember the nonsensical visions I see at night. Or day. Or whenever I rest in this manner. Yesterday I did not rest in this manner and instead watched as an indigo-black sky became gray and then blue.

I once used fine fibers from plants – strung through metal smithed and sharpened – to repair a soft visage of a creature from the masses of saltwater that cover most of our planet. I pride myself on my ability to do this well, and to leave little evidence behind that any repairs were needed in the first place. And yet, when it comes to taking that same metal and simply stabbing it in a certain point on a canvas of fabric held in place, so that my fine rope of fibers may slowly create an image to be admired, I struggle. I struggle like I struggle to remember if I have given my flesh prison the sustenance and nutrients it needs to work and move. I struggle like I struggle to lie down in the dark and quiet for several hours.

Perhaps later today I will slather goo on the remaining evidence that I am but a buffet for mosquitoes, in order to not be slowly tortured by them and my body's revolt against me (because of course, revolting against me due to being in the presence of smaller animals for too long is not enough – no, my flesh prison must also be especially weak to the spit these bloodsuckers leave behind when they are finished feasting). If I do, I will do it while talking to the beings who share my life, flesh prison, and slab of meat in the cage in my head, all as we struggle to remember whether or not we have given our flesh prison its daily vitamins.

Of course plurality is weird. Everything is weird! Isn't that wonderful?! You can turn everything into a poem and be filled with wonder just by thinking about the everyday things you don't question!! The world is weird!! Life is weird!! To live in this world is to be weird!! And we all get to be weird living here in this world together! Hello, world! Hello, life! Hello, world and life that are stranger than fiction!! I'm glad I get to be weird and plural in a strange world such as this!!

[websterss]

A PIVOTAL FATE — LOKI LAUFEYSON

SUMMARY: Just as Frigga tried, you attempted to talk to Loki to try and reassure him about the damage done on Midgard. You and his mother were the only ones who saw the greater good in him when everyone else declared him a monster.  

WARNING(S): Angst, mentions of dying  

WORD COUNT: 1,697

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x fem!Reader  

A/N: I hope you enjoy it! While I work on requests, enjoy some of my own works I wanted to put out there! Feedback is always welcomed!

MASTERLIST

They say love in its truest form, only happens in fairytales, stories told by dreamers, stories conjured up from hopeful thinking and wishing. The type of love that is too good to be true because it is...

The type of love people warn the ones falling in love about. Trying to save them the hassle of getting their hearts torn in two. Yet that person falls or the person they shouldn’t, and it becomes either the best thing ever or their biggest downfall.

Yeah...well, they forgot to mention that would become your reality. A typical tragic love story in the making. One that the TVA made sure would happen and continue to let happen because, to them, it was the flow of time.

It was your glorious destiny, and it was utter bullshit, to Loki at least.

“I thought I told Mother I wanted no visitors.”

“I think you can make an exception for me.” You entered past the barrier surrounding his cell. Your eyes roamed around the space finding that the things you and his mother requested to be brought to him were in use. You hummed quietly to yourself as you stepped closer to the table of stacked books and found the one you wanted him to read. He was reading it. The giveaway away...the bent corner of a page. “I hope you have found everything to your liking.” You set the book down and clasped your hands behind your back. Walking towards Loki who refused to meet your gaze. 

“Are you real?” His head shifted up only the slightest. He was hopeful. 

“You know better than to question it, my love. I cannot project myself like your mother.”

“Are you real?” He asked again. He needed that reassurance. He needed you to be physically present before him rather than a projected image of yourself. 

You simply smiled fondly, bringing an arm out from behind you. Making a grabbing motion towards him. Loki’s eyes met your stretched-out hand and felt a pull. His own body moved before him and before he knew it his palm smoothed onto yours. You carefully watched his hard demeanor change. The once brooding hard stare he had was replaced with sudden relief. His hand slid up your palm, to your wrist, to hold onto your upper arms, to finally caress the side of your face. 

“I’m real. I’m here.” Loki simply nodded. Though it wasn’t nearly enough to bring his guard down.

“How long?”

“Not long.” You closed your eyes, wanting to relish in the touch and presence of your husband. “Your father adores me enough to appease any wishes I may have, but he is the king after all. No amount of time he gave will suffice as enough.” You frowned, uneasy.

“Then let us not waste any more of it. Here.” Loki brought his other arm around you, gently pressing your head on his shoulder. Holding you close. 

“I’ve missed you dearly.” You breathed in his scent. Basking in his embrace that you felt was absent.

“We vowed till the end of time. Now that I spend time thinking about it. It does sound a bit absurd. There are about an infinite amount of worlds. Universes even!” Your eyes grew. “There’s a balance. One cannot simply live forever.” You shook your head. “I’d be a prune by then!”

“I’d love you even then.” Loki dwelled in the moment of your happiness.

His heart swelled when your eyes flashed, unsettled, weary. Breaking the trance you both in.

"It is not fair. Why must I be punished, I understand their precaution but I simply cannot do without you. Your father has offered me one visitation per every full moon. He wishes for you not to gain a big head. By limiting our time with one another, you'll learn to realize how you are to answer for your actions...I am with child!" You gasp, not feeling strong enough to hold it in. After the King announced your one day per the moon to visit him, you couldn't bear the idea of keeping it from him.

"You...what?" Loki glanced down at your stomach.

"We are to be parents..." You mustered a quick laugh as tears began to fill your eyes. "We have been blessed!" You brought his hands up to place them upon your dress. You tilted your head in hopes of gathering a reaction from him. "Please say something..."

"If I'd known...I wouldn't have gone to such lengths."

"Yes you would have...you were angry. But I'd eventually would have worked to grant you forgiveness. Just as now." You were torn from the inside, thinking of the days ahead of you, the moons that would pass, the various days, minus the one where you would be without him, where he wouldn't stand by your side and care for you as he'd done so before. The bedridden sickly days didn't sound so appealing knowing you'd go about them alone. "Perhaps if I tell the King, he'd grant us more days. Surely he would, yes? He wouldn't be so cruel to keep apart parents in waiting. Surely not my Loki, yes?" Your chest began to rise and fall heavily. You were panicking, and he was solely broken by the heart.

"I don't think he would, my love." He cupped the back of your hair and laid you against his chest. Your head was positioned over his heart.

"I couldn't keep such news to myself. I found out during your sentencing."

"Who else knows?"

"Your mother, your brother..." You trail off, feeling him stiffen underneath you on his bed. "I did not feel like keeping him unaware. He is my family as well." You remind him. "They are it, and us."

"I fear my mother may bring the news to my father. To sway him."

"I would never beg for something more than your releasement."

"Don't strain yourself, my love. I will be living well, and situated here for a while, I'm afraid."

"I will murder the King if you are not by my side the day of the birth." His chest rumbles with laughter upon your declaration. "I do not jest."

"Settle yourself...I would rather die than miss it." He peers down at you. "I am pleased you told me."

"I am well now, knowing that you know of it." You lean upward and peck his lips. Your lips clashed sweetly and slowly. Time was never granted for you both, that's how it always was in your younger years. One would be pulled away, one would be occupied, one had princeling duties, while the other helped her mother in the markets. You both were constantly on limited time and always would be.

You pulled apart when a rasp against the walls appeared. Thor. He sought to be the one to look over your visitations. You had thanked him for it. The King allowed you mere minutes with your beloved. Thor granted you double the amount. He knew he and Loki butted heads on occasion, but he knew his brother's love for you ran eternally.

"I do not wish to part." Your lips tremble.

"We have the next full moon, remember." You nodded solemnly at him.

"The days will drag, they will feel never-ending." You pout.

"Think of them as one day closer to being here with him." He leans in to kiss your temple.

"Til the next full moon..." You reach forward to cup his face for another kiss.

"We will have it always..." Loki pulls away. Allowing you to stand and collect yourself. But before you go you reach upwards your neck and unclasp your flower necklace. He begins to protest as you place the item he gifted you in his palm.

"So the days won't drag on for you. A happy reminder."

"You always are in my heart. I don't need a token to remind me of it."

"It'll be our trade then. A game of such. I want it back next full moon with a paraphrase of your latest book. Something for us to look forward to."

"I deem it only fair to do the same then." He unclasped his bracelet you had gifted him one solstice. "So the days won't drag my love." He pecked you one last time and sent you on your way.

"I love you my Loki."

"I love adore and love you both." The notion of mentioning you and your unborn child warmed your heart. You left him that night, content and with a smile on your face.

One he'd never see again.

-

"I love you, my Loki.""I love you, my Loki.""I love you, my Loki.""I love you, my Loki.""I love you, my Loki."

Mobius held his nose as the video replayed again and again. He hadn't known how many times Loki replayed that phrase, but it didn't change the fact that he was still in denial of your death.

You had been with his child, and now you were simply gone.

"Loki-" Mobius interjected his inner turmoil.

"She can't be gone..."

"She is Loki, and in every universe. She suffers the same fate and the same ending. That will never change."

"Why not!"

"It's a pivotal event in the timeline. If she hadn't died that day then it would have caused a branch out in the timeline. We must allow the timeline to flow in its designated and orderly manner. Any slightest change in the timeline, something as small as someone deciding to go left instead of right, will create a catastrophic disaster."

"Why wife's death is not pivotal, nor should it have been!" Loki could no longer hold his anger. "She was good, pure, and held the kindest heart. She was my other half, and now you say that's all she'll forever be. A pivotal event in a timeline!"

"You can't change her fate, Loki. I'm sorry." Mobius sympathized with the variant.

Loki pressed his back against a wall and slid down. Placing his head in between his legs. Lost in the thought of your laughter, your smile. Things he'd never experience again. He broke as the first sob rumbled in his chest.

[sungjinhos]

THEN I WILL BLOSSOM FOR YOU

Seokmin can't really explain why, sure you both are attractive, you guys make a cute couple, and you guys have chemistry, but none of that explains why Seokmin feels so fucking curious, it doesn't explain why he feels like he is trained to watch you two from afar.

✦ LEE SEOKMIN, YOON JEONGHAN - f!reader ✦ genre: smut (minors don't interact) ✦ word count: 5.2k ✦ title inspired by Carly Ra Jepsen - No drug like me

✦ Thea note: My mind is a vast place and sometimes conjures images that I think oh nice everybody needs to hear about this! and you guys can argue, and can make a 3 pages letter but in my head seokmin is jeonghan's favorite - and jeonghan knows that love is sharing so 🫶also @userelv hope you enjoy this

✦ Content warning: threesome, slight degradation (?), please everyone be safe and sound use condoms!!!, cum eating, penis in vagina sex, I feel like we need a warning like Jeonghan is crazy kind of thing, also mention of hell (i was raised catholic we see a wrongdoing we think of hell), also there is little seokmin x jeonghan action so there is that, also seokmin is horny for them both so just to make that clear, so yeah homoerotic action and subtext just to make it clear

Seokmin is a nice guy.

Seokmin is known for being a nice guy. And Seokmin likes being a nice guy, he actually thrives at being nice. The nicest. 

He likes being well-loved, nicely treated, being told he is the nicest person ever. He loves it, and he works himself to be even nicer.

So when Jeonghan shows up with a girlfriend, Seokmin does what he is best known for: he is nice, the fucking nicest person ever.

But why he feels so fucked up in the head when he is just being nice?

Seokmin feels fucked up in the head every time you go near him, and it is even worse when Jeonghan is right there at your side. Seokmin feels fucked up when you guys go to a nice club, nice enough for idols to go and not have pics all over the internet. And thanks god for that because half of the night Jeonghan's hands are under your skirt, and his lips are on your neck. And Seokmin feels fucked up because somehow he can't take his eyes off you both. Seokmin watches the way Jeonghan's hands are on your hips, or hiding beneath your clothes. Seokmin watches the way you claw onto Jeonghan's arms, and he also watches when you get a little tipsy and it's your lips on Jeonghan's jaw, leaving an open-mouthed kiss on it, tugging Jeonghan's hair and making your boyfriend give you more.

Seokmin feels fucked up in the head because you and Jeonghan are in a two years relationship, and his eyes still are glued to you two when you both are together. Seokmin can't really explain why, sure you both are attractive, you guys make a cute couple, and you guys have chemistry, but none of that explains why Seokmin feels so fucking curious, it doesn't explain why he feels like he is trained to watch you two from afar.

So when Jeonghan calls Seokmin and asks if he wants to come over eat something and watch a movie Seokmin does what he does best; he is a fucking nice guy and he says yes, dreading his answer when Jeonghan hangs up. And when time comes Seokmin does what he also has been doing so diligently, he watches how you both lay on the couch, you between Jeonghan's legs, how Jeonghan hands don't stop caressing you for a minute, and how you whine softly, Seokmin's ears almost not catching the sound.

And Seokmin thinks Jeonghan knows. To Jeonghan, Seokmin has always been an open book, a transparent vase, easy to read, easy to decode. Jeonghan must know, right? But if Jeonghan knows why Seokmin is the only one always invited? Why Jeonghan keeps calling him and asking if he is free? Why the hell Jeonghan calls Seokmin and ask if he wants to go to the beach? Why the hell would Jeonghan ask if Seokmin want to joy in a villa with them? That seems like the nicest trip to a couple - beaches, bikinis, cocktails, and a nice hotel bed, and none of that should include Seokmin. 

So when Seokmin says "Sure hyung" he doesn't think he is fucked up in the head, he knows that he is clinically and undoubtedly fucked up in the head. Being a nice guy fucked him up.

When Seokmin sits in the backseat he knows for a fact that he is dumb and he almost opens the door and throws himself in ongoing traffic when he remembers that you guys planned a four days trip.

"It's going to be so fun!" You say excitedly and turning to give Seokmin a big smile, and he can see how Jeonghan's hand rest on your thigh, and he can see how you are already using a bikini because he can see the way it's tied around your neck.

"Sure," Seokmin tries to match your excitement because he can't really say how this is the worst idea ever "I hope it doesn't rain."

"It won't we checked the weather," Jeonghan says looking at Seokmin through the rearview mirror.

Seokmin thinks that trip is exactly what his personal hell looks like. Hell crafted just for him, like a special present handed by Satan. Because he always feels Jeonghan searching for him in the rearview mirror, and Seokmin feels like he can get caught.

He can actually feel Jeonghan's eyes on him every time Seokmin looks at his hand on your leg. And Seokmin doesn't really know why, but he thinks he is obsessed. Every time Jeonghan caresses your skin Seokmin feels a tug in his chest. And in a way, Seokmin can't make himself look out the car window and enjoy the scenery. He can't bring himself to pick up his phone and just find something to keep him entertained.

It's not like he didn't question himself in the begging. He did, but he still didn't know why. He asked if it was jealousy, he asked himself if it was curiosity. He asked himself if it was because of you, or because of Jeonghan. Seokmin was about to check the boxes with the option all of the above.

Seokmin even spent an entire night thinking about if he was jealous of the relationship, of the idea of it. But he ended up jerking off because he replayed every single intricate memory that was stored in his brain. And Seokmin could feel them on the tip of his tongue, every time he replayed a touch, a soft spoken word, a smile or a glance.

He can't pinpoint really. When he realizes he is knee-deep in the water and he continues to enter the sea even tho the waves get stronger and stronger.

The car ride itself is not that awful. In Seokmin's mind, it was worse, like him popping a boner in the backseat every time Jeonghan and you touched, but it's not that bad, and he thinks that's because you sleep 30 minutes in. Seokmin thinks he knows Jeonghan enough, he knows that Jeonghan is mischievous, and he knows Jeonghan likes to banter. But Seokmin also knows Jeonghan enough to know that Jeonghan gives exactly what you can take, not a single drop more of what you can handle. And Seokmin knows that's why Jeonghan just enjoys the music and focuses on the drive, because if you are sleeping that's no fun - Jeonghan needs someone who can actually squirm and put up a fight, even tho everyone knows Jeonghan will win at the end.

And that's why Seokmin is sure that Jeonghan must know.

When Seokmin opens up the door to his room he realizes he can actually breathe and relax. The villa is cozy, with a nice private pool, and houses that look like little bungalows, and is so close to the beach that Seokmin can actually smell the sea. 

But Seokmin's peace and quiet don't actually last that much, with Jeonghan knocking on the door and urging him to change clothes and go to the pool. Jeonghan excitedly said to Seokmin that he basically ordered the whole drinks menu.

Seokmin thinks he is in the bad place. Everything is beautiful, and amazing actually, but the only thing he can think of is that he is sure he is going to hell. He is going to spend eternity in the flames. He is going to see the devil face to face because the way he can see your nipples on the fabric of that excuse you call a bikini makes his mouth water and his dick hard really. 

If that wasn't enough for him to earn a ticket to hell the fact that your boyfriend is right there seated on Seokmin's side with a drink in his hand seals the deal.

That makes Seokmin feels fucked up in the head, makes Seokmin feels dirty and filthy because even if Jeonghan is right there, Seokmin's eyes are on your body every step you take until you seat right there - arms reach but on Jeonghan's side.

"The water is pretty good you guys should give it a go." You say twisting your hair in the hope the droplets don't get everywhere before picking up a drink, and Seokmin can actually see the water droplets travel on your skin.

"I'm okay enjoy the view really," Jeonghan says voice lewd, and Jesus Seokmin is going to hell for sure.

"Jeonghan-" You scold giving your boyfriend a little shove and the only thing Seokmin can focus on is how Jeonghan's smile opens up and how his hands rest on your waist, pushing your body against his.

"What? Didn't even say anything" Jeonghan replies.

"Anyway, we should ignore him," you say to Seokmin, and he thinks his life would be easier if he could ignore the way that Jeonghan's hand is resting on your hips, against your bikini bottom. "Come on, you should have fun with me and leave him alone, he would probably die in five minutes"

And Seokmin knows that's not what you mean. You are talking about the pool, he is sure of it, but Seokmin's mind is big and vast, and he can think of every possibility of what having fun mean. And the way you say it, the way your voice rings against Seokmin's ear doesn't help Seokmin's states really.

"Don't be mean," Jeonghan says giving your shoulder a kiss but eyes focused on Seokmin, "Seokmin is having a hard time already."

And it's all so fucked up really that Seokmin don't even feel entitled to feel mad, to get angry, to answer Jeonghan and say that playing with his feeling like that Is wrong. Because to be honest, Seokmin is in no position to do so. Seokmin is always there, of course, because they invite him to be there, but again he could've said no. Every time they go out Seokmin is like the third piece of the puzzle. Seokmin is always too close when hands wander, or when lips crash, he lost count of it really. 

And when Jeonghan says things like that Seokmin can't really go against it, because yes he is having a hard time, he is always going against his urge to get dick hard when the topic is his friend and his girlfriend. So yeah, Seokmin is having a hard time because every time he sees Jeonghan's hand against your skin he doesn't actually feel the need to break that contact, to tear you two apart, but he feels the urge to put his hand on top - to be in this together. 

This is even more fucked up because Seokmin knows that maybe the voyeur experience is allowed, but to take part in it is another whole story.

So when Jeonghan is by his side after taking a shower and fixing himself up for dinner Seokmin feels like he is one step away from having convulsions, two steps of just dying right there. 

"What?" He asks as if he didn't hear, or didn't understand, but in reality, he heard Jeonghan just fine, but his mouth is dry and his heart skipped a beat.

"I mean," Jeonghan blocked his phone and gave Seokmin his full attention. "I think I am not wrong right? You are into my girlfriend or am I reading all wrong?"

"Hyung," Seokmin tries to start already feeling like he fucked up everything. Head falling and hand gripping the nearest furniture, grip so strong his digits are white. "It's not really-"

"I mean," Jeonghan cuts him and Seokmin doesn't even feel angry, he feels relieved really because what the fuck he was going to say? "for us it's not a problem really, I am not the jealous type, and if you actually say that you are not into her and I have to delivery that news to her she is probably gonna cry." 

"What?" Is the only thing Seokmin can say really. Because the words leaving Jeonghan's mouth are altering Seokmin's brain. And he thinks for a second Jeonghan is trying to mess with him, because that would be something that Jeonghan could do, but when Seokmin thinks and ponders he doesn't see Jeonghan as a mean person. Scratch that, Seokmin doesn't see Jeonghan as downright sadistic.

"Yeah, I'm telling you, why aren't you believing in me? Did I have lied to you?" Jeonghan says, voice still low and taking a step to get closer, and the only thing Seokmin can think is how he wants to just run away. "Oh wait. yeah probably, but like not in a serious setting involving you fucking my girlfriend so-" Jeonghan continues but Seokmin is so on his own head, in a way he feels so aware of everything, the way he finds weird how his eyes are blinking, or how he is aware of his own breathing rhythm - in a way he never actually cared about breathing outside the stage or studio. "what I mean is I heard about how hot you are for what feels like a decade."

"I-" Seokmin tries to answer but even his mouth feels weird, his tongue dry, his brain not forming words in the same way he is used to. His mind is just a blank space, and Seokmin thinks that Jeonghan finally won, Jeonghan broke his brain.

"Look this is weird, I know I am begging you to fuck my girlfriend but you need to step up," Jeonghan says, having the audacity to give Seokmin's back a little tap of encouragement. "Do you want me to join? Do you have any things you won't do? I mean I can totally watch in the side even tho cuckolding is not really my thing but what can I do? I am a man in love I do anything to make my girl happy"

"What the fu-" Seokmin says voice small

"Hey are you guys ready? I think the uber is arriving" You say like Jeonghan was not talking about Seokmin fucking you, you say like the three of you are just having a funny vacation on a villa, a few days to distress, to re-energize. Seokmin tho feels like he just lost a whole year, actually, five years, his longevity will be fucked up after this trip.

"Oh? Already?" Jeonghan answers putting his hand on the small of your back. "I was just having a great chat with Seok here."

And Seokmin is aware of everything.

He did suspect that Jeonghan knew. The thoughts always plagued his mind. But now that he knows that Jeonghan knows about everything just unlock another dimension on Seokmin's brain, and the fact that Jeonghan's words left him hyper-aware of everything doesn't help.

Everything just seems like Jeonghan is trying to break Seokmin's mind. 

He suspects when the three of you hop in the backseat of the uber, you in the middle with Jeonghan manspreading, Seokmin thinks it's intentional the way that Jeonghan makes you shift to Seokmins side, the way that Jeonghan arm just rests against the backseat so near Seokmin's nape. Seokmin thinks it's intentional every time the uber does a sharp turn you lean on his leg, hand hot against his thigh and he was insane enough to just wear shorts.

Seokmin thinks it's intentional when Jeonghan chooses a table that is almost hidden, in a dark corner of the restaurant, near the beach. Seokmin thinks it's intentional the way Jeonghan always leans to whisper something in your ear but his eyes not leaving Seokmin, the way that you hold Jeonghan's jaw so delicately makes Seokmin melt against his chair. The way that Seokmin can't make himself look away makes him question his own sanity.

Seokmin knows it's intentional when Jeonghan just keeps reordering wine for you and Seokmin's favorite soju. Seokmin knows it's intentional when every time Jeonghan mouths brush against your ear you look at Seokmin, both your and Seokmin's face red. 

Seokmin knows it's intentional when you hold his hand, it's a silly gesture really, just two of your fingers intertwined with Seokmin's when they back to the villa. And Seokmin knows it's intentional when you don't let go of his hand even tho Jeonghan is kissing you, body pressed against the door.

And again Seokmin can't bring himself to look away, can't bring himself to distance himself, so when Jeonghan leaves your mouth and trails kisses to your jaw and neck and you tug Seokmin's hands he just gives in.

Seokmin knows that he never really had a chance or the strength to say no.

Because in the next second you are kissing him, position weird enough because Jeonghan is right there, and Seokmin thinks he is crazy but the way he can feel the whisky and wine mixed together on your tongue, the faint trace of Jeonghan makes his whole world spin. 

"Do we-" You finally say when your mouth leaves Seokmin's but hand still holding him, fingers hot against his wrist. "Hannie" You say trying to get Jeonghan's attention and Seokmin realizes how your boyfriend is still on your neck, hands against your hips, almost rutting against you. "don't we need to talk about it?" 

And Seokmin again feels his mouth dry, his tongue weird on his mouth. Seokmin knows that everything about this is wrong, he just kissed his friend's girlfriend. He can feel how hot it is, how his clothes cling to his skin, how he can feel the warmth radiating from you and Jeonghan, how your hand doesn't leave his arm. And for the first time in a while, Seokmin just give up on being nice, and he just kiss you again, feeling the urge to just act for once and leave his head. 

And your hand finally leaves his arms, but just to grip on Seokmin's nape and he feels like you and him are just hanging for dear life, one step wrong and you both could fall. 

Because the way Jeonghan feels against your body, the way his mouth feels against your skin feels amplified when Seokmin's mouth is against yours. 

And in a way, it just feels too much already. The feeling of two bodies against yours, the way Seokmin feels against you - totally different of the way Jeonghan does. The way that the unknown feels in Seokmin's touch and the familiar feeling of Jeonghan by your side makes it hard to grasp. 

"fuck-" Jeonghan's voice rings against the silence making your mouth and Seokmin's disconnect. "you two are so hot together but really I think the bedroom is a better place."

So that's how Seokmin is pulled to the bedroom by you, hands-on Seokmin's biceps and Seokmin feels grateful he is hitting the gym regularly, but Seokmin also is so aware that he can feel your need to touch him, hand squeezing his muscle and almost leaving an imprint on it.

Seokmin thinks the whole world is enhanced. Like his touch and his vision just increased, like he has a new set of senses and he is just discovering now. Because when you tug on his clothes the sensation of it against his skin feels new to him. Because when his eyes land on Jeonghan's fingers opening up your dress, feels new to him. And when you speak your voice feels foreign, because he never heard you like that, panting and begging.

"Can you take this off?" You ask so prettily that Seokmin almost sinks on his knee but in contrast to that Jeonghan just giggles.

"Since when are you polite during sex?" Jeonghan asks still laughing but not stopping opening your buttons and Seokmin can see your boobs peeking through the fabrics.

"Jeonghan" You complain.

"Just because we have visits she is behaving nicely" Seokmin feels fucked up in the head because it's a level of intimacy he never actually saw, a whole new experience that he never actually taped into. And in a way, Seokmin feels so close to his personal hell he can actually feel the flames burning his skin - the funny thing is he doesn't actually care anymore. 

Seokmin actually hears your pained whimper when he takes a step away to take his shirt off, but that's what needs to be done really, and because Seokmin is so fucking eager to please he just get his short off but then he feels your hand splayed against his stomach. 

"God you are so hot" You say before giving him a kiss and Seokmin's head starts spinning because one second all his focus is on how you lick his mouth but then your hands are on his boxers, and then he hears Jeoghan.

"Seokmin is pretty right? Go on praise him." And the thought that Seokmin thought he knew Jeonghan flickers in Seokmin's mind because that Jeonghan too is a new version Seokmin never experienced, a Jeonghan he never saw.

"Can I suck you off?" You ask, already palming Seokmin's dick, hand inside his boxes, with Jeonghan glued on your back, kissing your shoulder, and working on your bra strap. 

Seokmin is not a difficult guy really when a pretty girl asks to suck his dick he goes haywire, mind fucked up and body limp, so when you give him a little push he just melts, his knee gives away and he just sits on the bed because really that's the only reaction he can do.

Seokmin feels like his brain is almost leaking out of his ears because the image of you on your knees between his leg is almost enough to make him cum. Just the fact that you, his friend's girlfriend is sitting so pretty between his leg is so fucked up Seokmin need to close his hand against the base of his dick trying to not cum right there.

"Fuck" You start to nuźzle his thigh. Hands still on the floor, mouth open, tongue tracing Seokmin's thigh. "God I love your thighs they are so big." You say giving Seokmin's thigh a little kiss.

"Come on baby, you can do better than that," Jeonghan says kneeling behind you, and now Seokmin knows he is going to hell or going crazy. Jeonghan grabs your boobs - the bra still acting like an obstacle in Seokmin's view, and the need to actually see Jeonghan's skin against yours makes Seokmin crazy.

Seokmin feels your teeth graze against his skin he can feel himself leaking, dick so fucking hard it almost hurts, head already gone - he can't even think about what is right and what is wrong anymore. 

"You can praise Seok a little better or at least say thanks to him because he is fulfilling your crazy fantasy" Jeonghan says fingers thigh against your stomach, while the other is still grabbing your boob. And oh god Seokmin is jealous, he is jealous of Jeonghan touching you like that, he is jealous of you being so at ease moaning head against Jeonghan's shoulder, he is jealous of you two and the relationship you both build. And Seokmin thinks he is the worst person ever.

"Oh god baby you are already this dumb? You want Seokmin so much you are already in this state? He didn't even fucked you properly." The way Jeonghan speaks makes you and Seokmin whimper in unison, both failing to hide the neediness.

"Come on, open up." And Jeonghan's digits tap against your lips, and his other hand guides your head in Seokmin's direction. And when you lap on his dick Seokmin almost cries. Because you are so fucking beautiful, hair held by Jeonghan, lips swollen, and you look so fucked up. And that should be enough for Seokmin really, but then Jeonghan starts again;

"That's it, baby, take Seokmin's pretty cock in your mouth I know you can do it," He says eyes glued on your mouth enveloping Seokmin. "You talked so much about how he must have a nice cock right? Now that you have the opportunity you need to choke on Seokmin's dick right? So fucking big-" 

And Seokmin goes crazy every time Jeonghan says his name, and every time he feels your lips rubbing against his cockhead Seokmin he feels really close to insanity. And when you actually gag a little because Seokmin's hips twitched, Seokmin thinks he has nothing to lose.

"God you are drooling you really wanted that dick in your mouth, right babe?" Jeonghan continues, but now Seokmin can see the way his hand disappears between your legs, your panty hanging between your thighs. "Poor you," Jeonghan coos, and Seokmin can feel the way you just swallow and hums against his dick. "Did Seokmin was too hard for you to get? But now he is here, baby go on, choke on his dick." And Jeonghan's hand leaves your hair to caress your cheek, and the juxtaposition of Seokmin's hard dick against your mouth and Jeonghan's acts make everything so wrong.

When Seokmin hips buckle he knows he is so close to cumming that he can almost taste it, he closes his eyes and waits but his orgasm is ruined it never arrives, and when he looks down Jeonghan's hand is on his shaft, fingers tight against his base. "You can't cum now, she likes when we cum inside her."

"God," Seokmin says, hand tugging his own hair. "this is fucked up"

"How do you want her?" Jeonghan asks like he is talking about furniture or about Seokmin's laundry.

"Shouldn't you be asking her that?" Seokmin asks because really he is taking what he can get, he isn't picky. But you look almost so out of it really Seokmin almost laughs in disbelief because you and Jeonghan are always bickering - but now your body is so pliant against Jeonghan, his hand still going between your legs.

"Not really I know she will enjoy it in any way but-" Jeonghan hands stop and Seokmin can hear you whine, and Seokmin's eyes don't blink when Jeonghan helps you to get on your feet. "She can ride you, I mean this way is better for me to watch."

Jeonghan says patting Seokmin's thigh so Seokmin can lie on the bed, and when Seokmin's back hit the mattress Seokmin feels your mouth against his, and he can actually taste himself on your tongue. And the way you kiss him, almost lazily makes his hand claw at your waist. And when Seokmin feels your legs caging him in, thighs against his hips he just wants to enjoy what he is feeling. And when you whimper against Seokmin's mouth because his dick is finally against your folds Seokmin just gives up.

When you actually sink into his dick Seokmin can almost taste his downfall.

"Fuck-" Jeonghan says tugging at his own dick. When did Jeonghan get naked? Seokmin has no fucking idea. He just grabs your legs and focuses on the way that you feel, your body against him, because if he thinks too much about how your mouth is hanging open at the sight of Jeonghan's dick he may malfunction. "You are so pretty together, gonna keep this going, you guys can fuck anytime if you let me watch it." 

"Hanie" you moan and the fact that Seokmin dicks on you but you are moaning another name makes his head spin - he is a nice guy, he has nice guy bones, he is a nice guy down to his core and he has nice guy cells why the fuck he is partaking in this situation?

It just feels so fucking wrong. 

It feels wrong the way you call Jeonghan and the way Seokmin can feel your pussy clench when you and Jeonghan kiss. It feels wrong the way your hands grab Seokmin's pecs when Jeonghan kisses your jaw. 

"You can cum on her, she likes it messy."

It feels wrong the way every word that leaves Jeonghan's mouth makes you and Seokmin twitch at the same time, hips buckling. And Seokmin feels like he is so close to hell, but when Jeonghan actually uses his body to help you keep your body straight he knows he is lost for eternity really, Seokmin knows he never gonna experience anything close to that. When Jeonghan's hand travels on your body, digits lazily on your clit Seokmin just lets everything goes.

Because everything is so fucked up he can't actually take it, the way you keep chasing even after Seokmin is done, and the way that Jeonghan keeps coaching you until you cum makes Seokmin's mind spin. 

The way Jeonghan just laughs when he helps you chase positions, body spent is so fucking crazy to Seokmin he can't wrap his mind around it. And when you chase Seokmin's mouth to give him a kiss when your back hit the mattress doesn't help Seokmin's state of mind.

"Come on princess, my turn now," Jeonghan says, again doing what he wants to your body, and opening your legs so he can put himself in between. Seokmin can't wrap his head around this either, he never actually thought about how Jeonghan could manhandle you. "Gonna fill you up too don't worry." 

The way that you touch Seokmin's body when Jeonghan enters you make Seokmin swallow nothing. Seokmin never really saw himself as a voyeur, even tho he was always watching, but the way Jeonghan fucks you so slowly and the way Seokmin can hear you whimper just make him crazy all over again. The way you actually hold Seokmin's hand for dear life, the way that Seokmin can touch you while watching takes everything to a new level. And when Seokmin can actually tell you are close he thinks he can't get even more fucked up.

Seokmin feels like the world just stopped for a second or two after Jeonghan cums, everything gets so silent and so still that Seokmin starts to question what is real.

"Come on baby," Jeonghan says and Seokmin looks even tho he thinks Jeonghan is talking to you, but to his surprise, Jeonghan is talking to him, because Jeonghan's free hands are turned to him. 

So Seokmin does what a fucking nice guys does, he complies.

Seokmin gets closer, and Seokmin thinks he can cum again, untouched, because your pussy is so fucking messy, cum dripping out of your hole and dripping on Jeonghan's fingers, and Jeonghan gives Seokmin a little smile and fuck the cum back to you, you squirming because you are so fucking sensitive. "Come on Seok you need to clean up the mess we made." 

And Seokmin feels like he is about to collapse and drop dead because he is so spent how is he feeling horny again? But he does what Jeonghan says, he licks your pussy, cleaning and fucking his tongue on your hole trying to put everything back. "please I-" you say but Seokmins ignores it, continuing his job, cleaning up the mess that he and Jeonghan did. 

"Oh, baby is sensitive?" Jeonghan coos. "Maybe next time you think about wanting two cocks baby. Or maybe next time Seokmin may stretch your ass to give this pussy a rest." Jeonghan says and Seokmin puts his mouth against your clit, lapping at it, because just to think about a next time is enough to make him actually cry "Fuck, you are such a whore," Jeonghan laughs "Do you want to come in Seokmin's mouth thinking about his dick on your ass?" And Seokmin can see you two kissing when he still eating you out. "God look at him, he keeps going."

"You guys are perverts," Jeonghan says like he was not involved in the whole scheme. Laying on the bed, spent, Seokmin keeps going until you cum against his tongue.

[justcallmefox89]

Gale and the Gith: Chapter Eight - Eavesdropping Part II

X'aa'nath finally shows Gale how he feels.

“It seems that we’ve lost our audience, my dear,” Astarion murmurs, running the brush through my hair one last time.

I shrug, trying to appear unbothered, as if I’m not hyperaware of Gale’s movements every time he is near me, as if seeing him smile is not the brightest part of my day.

What sentimental drivel.  How far I have fallen…

“Normally I don’t advocate for such things, but have you considered just talking to Gale?”

I glance over my shoulder at the vampire, confused.  “About what?”

“Oh by the hells,” Astarion sighs.  “Anything?  Everything?  Whatever it is that has the two of you so discombobulated?”

I hunch my shoulders, curling in on myself.  “Purification is our only goal.  After that Lae’zel and I will reunite with our kin.  The wizard is a distraction.”

“I’d find that a lot easier to believe if you didn’t look so miserable while you say it,” he says, languidly reclining back onto his bedroll.

“I am not… That is, I don’t…” I take a deep breath, picking at a loose thread on my trousers in an attempt to settle my nerves.  “I do not have experience in matters like this.  I don’t understand how to do… this.  Whatever this is.”

“Oh.”  Astarion sits up slowly.  “Oh dear.”

*Later that evening*

I’m beginning to think that Khou’zal left out some of the finer points of my education.

My earlier conversation with Astarion has at least filled in a few of the blanks concerning humans and their mating rituals, but it leaves me no closer to knowing what to do in regard to the wizard.  I grunt in frustration and scrub my hands over my face.

The first person to ever stir my blood is a human.  Of course it is.  Not a fellow gith, or a dragonborn, not even an elf.  But a human.  Between the tadpole and this Vlaakith must be testing me.

Without thinking I raise my head and search the camp for the reason for my inner turmoil. 

Gale stands outside his tent casting a spell, uniting tendrils of Weave together to form the likeness of a woman.  Cursing myself for my curiosity I creep closer to observe, wrinkling my nose in distaste when I recognize the subject of his spell.

“That’s that deity you wizards adore.  Mystra, right?”

Gale twitches and the image of the goddess fades away.  “Oh!  My, you startled me.  I… I was miles away.”

“Care to tell me why you were conjuring an image of the goddess?” I ask, eyeing him curiously.

“Just pondering what I lost.  Mystra commands all magic.  Salvation, if such a thing exists is hers to bestow or withhold.”

She doesn’t command my magic.

I conjure a miniature ball of lighting to reassure myself, silently thanking Vlaakith that I was chosen by the storm.  Something I’ve done more often since meeting Gale and learning of the limitations of wizards and their goddess.

“And yet, even now, more than I fear losing my own self and soul, I fear losing my command of her art,” Gale continues.  “Magic is… my life.  I’ve been in touch with the Weave for as long as I can remember.  There’s nothing like it.  It’s like music, poetry, physical beauty all rolled into one and given expression through the senses.  Is it the same for you?”

I tilt my head to one side, considering.  “The elements of the storm live within me.  I am magic.  While talented, you still had to be taught the command of magic.  It is like music.  While you need it written down, I can play it by ear.”

“Fair enough – though in the end we’re still playing the same composition.”

“One of us is playing it slightly better though,” I mumble.

“What’s that?” Gale asks, raising one eyebrow in question.

“Nothing!”

He smirks at me knowingly.  “Perhaps I can show you what I mean by reaching into the Weave together.”

“By all means.”

“Then follow my lead,” Gale mumurs, moving closer to me.

His proximity and the tone of his voice send a small thrill down my spine, and I have to force myself to focus on his next words.

Gale makes a series of hands gestures, Weave sparking between his fingertips, then nods to me.  “Now you.”

I glance over at him skeptically, then imitate the gestures with ease, the Weave obeying me as easily at it did Gale.  As familiar feeling – like a kind word and a kind touch at the same time – washes over me.  It’s warm and comfortable.

“Excellent!”  Gale nods in approval.  Now repeat after me: Ah-Thran Mystra-Ryl Kantrach-Ao.

“Ah-Thran Mystra-Ryl Kantrach-Ao,” I whisper.  The sudden scent of rosewater fills my nostrils as a general sense of well-being settles over me.

“Very good,” the wizard murmurs.  “Now I want you to picture in your mind the concept of harmony.  As true as you can.”

My body shudders traitorously at Gale’s praise, and I close my eyes in an effort to force myself to concentrate on his instructions.  I focus on one of my most treasured memories; the first time Khou’zal and I journeyed to Tu’narath, the feelings that coursed through me as, for the very first time, I beheld that great city built on the bones of a fallen god.  The Weave courses through the night in bright waves, and I feel Mystra’s unmistakable presence all around us. 

“You did it!”  Gale laughs in delight.  "You’re channeling the Weave.  How does it feel?”

I smile over at him.  “Incredible.  Though of course, I could have managed it all by myself…”

“You’re hard to please aren’t you?” he teases playfully.

The Weave connects us.  Joins us together in a way far different from the ghaik’s tadpole.  The moment feels intimate.  I grasp onto the feeling, knowing it will be my only chance to feel this kind of closeness with Gale.  Belatedly I realize the Weave has slipped between my mental defenses, that Gale is now witness to all my innermost desires.  Lost in the sensual haze of the Weave I picture kissing Gale, gently at first, then with increasing passion as my hands explore the soft skin beneath his wizard’s robes.  I imagine kissing the delicate skin behind his ear, burying my hands in his hair and tugging his head back, biting and licking the exposed column of his throat and then further down onto his chest, marking him, tasting him, possessing him…

“I… I didn’t think…”

Quick gusts of embarrassment and trepidation that are not my own pull me out of my fantasy and I open my eyes to see Gale staring down at me, red-faced and wide eyed.  I quickly sever our connection before anymore of Gale’s emotions break through, cursing myself for my stupidity.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter, turning to dart away, already planning to throw myself off nearest cliff and put an end to this madness the wizard has cursed me with.

“X’aa’nath.”  Gale catches my hand, tugging me closer to him, still flushed but slightly more composed.  “I wasn’t expecting… but it is a pleasant image to be sure.  Most pleasant, in fact.  Most welcome.”

I freeze the moment his skin touches mine, the small motion of his thumb gently stroking over my knuckles causing my heart to thump unsteadily in my chest.  The Weave slowly evaporates around us, and as it does so, the night feels suddenly cold and lonesome. 

“There it goes,” Gale whispers, still holding onto my hand.  “How easily things slip away from us, no matter how hard they were in the obtaining.  Stay with me a moment.  Please.”

I nod wordlessly, my eyes fixed on our interlocked hands.

As long as you will have me by your side, I’ll be here.

[blackjackkent]

(Continued from previous post)

"Look at it." Orin's slow smile is caustic and cruel as she looks Rakha up and down with mocking disdain. "Father's favorite, all lost and wandering. Have you forgotten the way home?"

She steps forward, close enough that Rakha can almost feel her breath. Orin smells of blood and viscera; Rakha's head aches and the beast growls viciously inside her skull.

"Should I set your lapdog to screaming? That could help you find the way."

Every sinew of Rakha's body feels drawn tight like a bowstring ready to snap free. Her head aches, a line of fire along the scar where Orin's knife once carved into her brain. And with that pain comes instinctual terror, the desire to flee, to run far away from the shapechanger's reach, to some impossible place where she will never be found.

Orin's presence tears at her like nothing else in the world, for Orin was the one who attacked her, and Orin stands at her side as the other offspring of the dark god that haunts her blood.

But she can't flee. Their battles have not changed. Wyll's city is still in danger. And something far more immediate as well, which makes her spine tingle with rage that is for once all her and none of the beast.

"What have you done with Lae'zel?" she growls, very deep and low in her throat.

Orin's eyes widen dramatically and she smiles with gleeful madness. "Nothing! No, not a thing... still gasping and gagging on the foul airs of Bhaal's temple..." She draws a giggling breath inwards. "I will save her for you. We can peel her corpse together, once the Baneite is dead."

Rakha shudders violently at the image these words conjure, a combination of horror and ecstasy. Orin's smile widens.

"Gortash betrays us, blood-kin," she purrs. "He sets a leash to our slaughter, uses us to drive the herd towards his tin men's oppression." She steps closer again, draws her fingertips along Rakha's jaw. "You must kill the tyrant, smear him across his rock-rotten halls, and pluck the Netherstones from his carcass."

Surely she knows the effect these words have. She is laying them like a trap for the beast in Rakha's head, drawing it out of hiding; it growls hungrily. Yes... yes... we would kill him and split him and smear him and swallow him whole...

Orin's fingertips drift down Rakha's jaw to instead trace over the long artery beneath it, right where her pulse is thumping. "And then we duel, sweet slaughter-kin," she hisses, her eyes bright with eagerness. "The winner claims the stones - Bhaal's true Chosen. THe loser rots on his altar."

Her nails drag ever-so-gently over Rakha's skin, and then her hand drops. "Agree, and I will bring my assassins to heel," she says. "They watch you always, longing to spray the crimson from your veins." Her smile hardens suddenly into a monstrous scowl. "Refuse me... and you'll learn what happens to those who defy Bhaal's doctrine. So will your friend."

Narrator: So this was Orin's intention. A combat against a fellow scion of Bhaal, witnessed by the Lord of Murder himself. Accept, and you must kill Gortash. Refuse, and your companion's life may be forfeit. As might your own - Orin's assassins will hunt you like prey for slaughter.

Perhaps, in another scenario, she might consider this deal. Whatever pact she swore with Gortash, it was not with the intent of keeping it. (Deep in the back of her mind, part of her still craves that welcome he gave to all of her, even the bloody parts, but Jaheira has made it clear this alliance can only be temporary. The Emperor agreed that it need not be honored. Wyll has made it clear Gortash needs to die. She cannot let that part of her win.)

And perhaps, in another scenario, she might give in to her fear of facing Orin head-on. She does not want to be Bhaal's chosen, does not want to surrender to the taint in her blood or battle for supremacy in his cult. And Orin has already destroyed her once before, ripped apart her mind and left her a broken thing to be tortured and mutilated.

But any of those considerations pale beside the immediate and inescapable fact that Orin has taken Lae'zel. The first person Rakha can remember being close to, the first person who helped her, the person whose guidance has directed her right from the beginning.

Her friend.

Attack with purpose, and savor your kills, Lae'zel told her, so many weeks ago, and Rakha cannot think of a greater purpose than this.

"Why wait?" she rasps. Her eyes glint with that same half-mad brightness and for a moment any onlooker could see the horrifying resemblance between the two women - not as clear as it was with Z'rell, but striking all the same. "Let's kill each other right now."

You took my friend. I will rip out your throat and tear you apart.

Orin laughs disdainfully. "You forget how Father's blood clots our veins!" she crows. "It must be returned to him, seeped straight into his grimborn jaws. But first-- first you must make gutspill of the tyrant."

She clenches both fists at her sides in rage at the thought of Gortash. "Do not underestimate his Steel Watch. Seek their cradle in the Lower City and skewer their skull meat. Make them rust and blood. Then you can gore the lordling again and again and again..."

She begins to laugh, a maniacal giggle that snaps to an abrupt halt as she reaches out and grabs Rakha by her collar. "But listen. Listen close, Bone-killer," she growls. "Come to my temple before you turn Gortash to carrion, and I will ready your friend's corpse to greet you."

Again, that slow, icy smile. "Bhaal is waiting, slaughter-kin. Do not disappoint him."

With a roar, Rakha lashes out with both hands, reaching for the changeling's throat, but her palms pass through empty air and then she hits the barn wall beyond with a grunt. Orin is gone.

------

Slowly the ache in Rakha's head starts to dissipate, and she leans forward until her hairline is resting against the wood of the wall.

"Stlarning shapeshifter," Jaheira mutters hoarsely. "She has taken Lae'zel, and would have killed the girl besides..." She looks down at Yenna, who is still crouched behind her, eyes wide with terror. "We must increase our guard. This cannot be allowed to happen again..."

Silence. Wyll has been standing nearby, wide-eyed, watching all of this unfold, and he now steps forward and cautiously rests a hand against Rakha's back; her muscles twitch, and then relax, recognizing the familiar touch. "Are you all right?" he asks softly.

Rakha doesn't answer for a long time. When she does, her voice is so low that it's almost inaudible. "She has Lae'zel," she mutters.

Wyll looks over his shoulder uncertainly at Jaheira, and at Minthara who has approached as well and is leaning one shoulder against the barn's doorframe with knitted brows.

"You have heard Orin's promise to us," the drow says flatly. "Should we pursue her while Gortash lives, she will send assassins for us. She will kill her prisoner."

"Let her assassins come," Rakha rasps. "We will destroy them. And she cannot kill Lae'zel if we kill her first."

Minthara smiles slowly. "Well spoken. I can think of no greater cause than to make Orin the Red suffer."

Wyll clears his throat. "You're certain of this?" he asks.

Rakha shrugs. "We have no choice."

Jaheira draws a breath and lets it out in a long hiss between her teeth. "You have a choice," she says steadily to the back of Rakha's head. "And what matters is your reasons for it. Do you simply wish to see blood spilled? There are easier ways." Her voice is deliberately noncommittal; Rakha cannot tell which decision she approves of.

Rakha's fist presses slowly against the wall's rotten wood until it bends under the pressure. Certainly there are easier ways for the beast to drink its fill here. They could indeed turn on Gortash, rip out his throat, follow Orin's plan to the letter.

But this isn't about the beast. This isn't about Bhaal. This is about her.

"Lae'zel is my friend," she whispers. "And I'm going to get her back."

Jaheira nods slowly and a slight smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "Then the plan is made," she says.

[winterwakesthewolf]

Wolves They Both Must Be

Jon Snow x Sansa Stark

Summary: “Did you bend the knee to save the North, or because you love her?”

Jon snaps his head up at Sansa’s question. Her eyes are brimming and hot and he can suddenly see this is not the argument he thought they were having. This is something else. Something deeper and much more intimate.

OR

The missing scene we deserved in 8x01

Author's Note: Part Two! I wrote this second part a few years ago and I really think I've grown as a writer since then. Since this part has never been published, I had the opportunity to edit it, but I read through it and honestly I'm too tired to do that so if there are any glaring issues, please let me know.

I first published the first part of this as a one shot on AO3 in 2019 and then a few years later I wrote a sequel that just sat in my google docs collecting digital dust. This is that second part. I may turn it into a series if there's enough interest so please let me know by liking, commenting, and reblogging if you want more.

Disclaimer: 18+, smut, (I'm serious, if you're not over 18 then scram), cousin incest, presumed half-sibling incest. Please let me know if I missed anything.

Word Count: 2K

part one - part two

Sansa wakes in his arms, bare skin against skin. It is still night. Or perhaps early morning. The fire has nearly extinguished, leaving them mostly in the dark but for a faint flickering of illumination that casts the room in a soft, warm glow. She glances up at him, sound asleep and looking more peaceful than she has ever seen him look. His arm strewn lazily across her back. And his heart, that he had said was only hers, steadily beating beneath her ear. 

She lifts her head to peek at the scar there and she runs her fingers along the ridges of the severed flesh - a long, vertical line, curved at the top and still red in the center. Similarly to the scars that marr his abdomen, they look to not be fully healed. Sansa wonders if they may never be. Her heart aches at the thought that his own had once stopped beating.

Gazing at his resting face in awe and bewilderment at the magic it took to bring him back to life, and to her, she sheds a tear for all that could have been lost, and all that will.

His raven curls, unbound and tangled, lay atop her pillow. Her belly coils with heat at the memory of her hands pulling at the leather strap that tied them back, at the image she conjures of him raised above her, glowing from the light of the roaring fire, and the look in his eyes as he buried himself inside of her, their flesh fusing in forbidden, long-awaited bliss. Her cheeks bloom with both shame and pleasure at the thought of their union. At her insistence that he spill inside of her and stay there long after both of their pleasures were drawn out, knowing in the morning she would brew a cup of moon tea that she had hidden away from the time before. 

The gods had been cruel to make her love her half-brother. They had been kind enough to make him love her back. 

In her solar he had confessed that he loved her, and only her. And how loathed he was to leave her for Dragonstone. That when he declared, in the presence of their bannermen, that the North was a part of him and that he’d never stop fighting for it, what he had meant in his heart was that she was his North. He admitted that every moment they were apart, she never once left his thoughts. And that everything he had done in the effort to return home truly was to save the North. To save her. His whispered words had sent shivers through her. Both the declaration of his love, and the thought of what kinds of things he had to do to return home to her.

She doesn’t want to think of what all that had entailed. Or what had transpired in the dark between him and the dragon to make her believe he truly bent the knee, and that he loved her. But Sansa wants to trust him and believe the words he told her in the quiet of her bed as he entwined his hand in hers. As he gently stroked his calloused fingers over her bare skin, leaving gooseprickles in their wake.

“I had to make her believe in the ruse, Sansa. I’m not proud of it,” he had rasped, eyes averted from Sansa’s gaze until she reached for him, turning his face so that she could look upon him. He released a shaky breath and croaked, “I’d beg for your forgiveness if you’re willing to give it. But I understand if it’s too much to ask. I wouldn’t blame ye. But I must confess, I thought of you. Every second.”

Jon had fought battles for Sansa, had fought Ramsey knowing the odds were against him. He fought the Others, and survived to come back to her. He had lied, manipulated, and kept the secret hidden away so convincingly, so deep, that even Sansa had not seen it. 

(Her feelings for Jon surely clouded her judgment, causing her to doubt his loyalty).

She doesn’t want to think of what he may have to continue to do to keep up the ruse, or what they both may need to sacrifice. But Sansa knows that whatever it may be, she will do whatever she can to protect him, as he has done for her.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she whispered. And she had meant it. 

Lying in the dark beside him she knows she will always mean it, no matter how much the thought of it stings. No matter the ache that blooms at the unbidden image of Jon with her. He had not truly been Sansa’s to lose then, but now… what were they to each other now? Now that they had crossed the point of no return.

Their love could never be known to any other. This secret they will always have to hide. If they were discovered it could lead to ruin and damnation. Northerners do not accept a union between siblings, no matter that they don’t share a mother. They were no Lannisters, nor Targaryens, and yet their illicit love seemed to prove otherwise. After all that she had learned, had worked so hard to not become, had she turned into Cersei after all? The thought makes her shiver and recoil. 

Perhaps she need not fret over any of it, for the Others are marching upon them. The threat looming, heavier with each passing moment. They may very well take this secret to a grave that lies just beyond the horizon. Lost to each other forever. And yet the thought of that terrifies her more than any possibility of their secret love being sussed out.

Jon stirs beneath her and flutters his eyes open, blinking to adjust to the dim light, and then he lowers his chin toward Sansa. His eyes soften as they land on her and he gives her a smile, sweet and tender, reaching his hand to gently tuck her tangled hair behind her ear.

“We fell asleep,” he says with a voice gruff and tender as he absentmindedly traces patterns on the small of her back.

“We did.”

“I’d better sneak off to my chambers before anyone realizes where I am.”

Sansa didn’t want this night to end. What had been their first union could very well be their last. 

As he moves to get up, Sansa gently pushes him back down to press her body and her lips as close to his as possible. The kiss, at first soft and slow, builds with passion, and desperation to stop time. Before long Jon has rolled Sansa onto her back and hovers over her just as before, looking down on her in wonderment and adoration. The look behind his eyes like an arrow of fire in her belly, and a need coils itself deep inside, begging to be met.

“Jon,” she pleads wantonly, reaching up to grasp his face in her hands, digging her fingers into his beard, weaving them in his hair. A frantic, desperate plea. He obliges, first by trailing kisses down her neck and to her breasts, spending time filling his mouth with them and driving that coil deeper and hotter inside of her, making her ache with need. And then he abruptly stops, pushes the furs farther off of the bed, until he is sitting at her feet, smiling with hooded eyes. The look she gives him of confused anticipation makes him chuckle.

“Why are you laughing?” Sansa sounds a bit wounded, but smiles all the same. 

“I’m not laughin’ at ye, Sansa. I swear,” he raises his palms as if in surrender. “But I want to try something if you let me.” Jon tenderly places his hands upon her knees, “Do you trust me?”

Sansa nods apprehensively, curiously, and watches as he spreads her legs apart and lowers his head, all while keeping his eyes locked onto hers. Kissing her knees and thighs in turn, he slowly travels higher and higher until his hands are gripping the flesh of her hips and his mouth is on her, licking the wetness between her thighs. It takes everything in Sansa not to cry out. Her heavy sighs alone are nearly loud enough for anyone outside of her door to hear. Jon’s tongue swirls and flicks at the most sensitive part and she has never felt a pleasure so intense. It rivals the pleasure she felt just hours ago when he touched her there as he spent inside of her. This was different and new and thrilling. She climbs higher and higher as his tongue works its magic, pushing her to the brink. And just as she is about to fall off the edge, Jon reaches up to take her breast in hand, his thumb grazing and teasing until she plunges off of the precipice and buries her face in the furs to muffle her cries. 

When the throbbing and the panting subsides, she glances at Jon, a very smug look upon his face, “Did ye like that?” 

Sansa smiles and nods lazily, still catching her breath, and she reaches for him with arms outstretched. He climbs up and kisses her deep and long, the taste of her still on his lips, and she can feel his need for her lined up at the spot his tongue had just deliciously ravaged. And suddenly she can feel the need inside her return in earnest. Those glorious flutters assault her belly as she wraps her legs around his waist and backside, pulling him close, inviting him in again. 

When he buries himself inside her once more, he keeps his eyes focused on hers, whispers a thousand I love yous that she returns in earnest, savoring the feeling of him so close to her as they find a slow and deliberate rhythm. 

Both of them know this might be their last and neither of them are quick to chase the pleasure out, but are intent on committing these precious few moments to memory. Tears stream down Sansa’s temples, sprung from somewhere deep and buried. Jon gently kisses them away.

“I am yours, Sansa. Only yours.” He touches his forehead to hers, “And you are mine.” It is half a question, half a command.

“Always,” she whispers and repeats again and again as she falls from the edge and he spills inside of her once more. 

The dawn arrives, creeping in through the window, as Jon dresses as quietly as he can. And once he has pulled his boots on he crosses back to the bed where Sansa is sitting, holding her knees and the furs close. She is cold without his warmth. He must sense it because he leans over to pull her close, bringing the furs with her, to the edge of the bed. He gently takes her face in his hands as she memorizes the look in his eyes. Kissing her sweetly, with such care and reverence, then envelops her in his arms for a long embrace. 

Sansa buries her face in his neck, breathing in the scent of him, heavy with leather and steel and woodsmoke. She curls herself into his chest. And as she listens to the beating of his heart beneath her ear once again, she doesn’t even attempt to hold back the tears anymore. Releasing the ache of the joy, and the tragedy, of it all. 

“Never forget, Sansa. Whatever happens, know that I love you,” he whispers in her ear, holding her close, running his fingers through her copper waves.

And before dawn can unearth their secret, he moves to kiss her forehead with a desperation and reverence that burns long after he reluctantly pulls away. He stalks toward the door, and then looks back at her with a smile full of hope and fear before slipping into the cover of darkness. 

Alone and cold without him, Sansa weeps upon the furs that warmed them through the winter night. Tears that she has denied for so long finally tumble free and flow without ceasing. They pour out uncontrollably, as though Jon had unlocked a deeply buried chest within her, filled to the brim with love she had for so long confined to the darkest parts of her, and fear of losing what has only briefly been hers. 

She finds that once unlocked she may never again find the key.

~

Taglist: @thaisthedreamer @bluedaffodil21 @ilargizuri

[vigilant-cleric]

@infernalmechanic

___

He could have taken a wild guess that he would perhaps encounter a familiar face when he was told that there was a blacksmith accompanying so many tieflings in the grove, but in truth, Ashen's Elturian past felt like another lifetime, distant but still vivid enough in his memory to bruise him.

Therefore, recognising the kind features of the tiefling blacksmith at work with what little tools he had in the druids' grove came as a surprise to him, one that made him speak louder than expected over the peaceful chatter of the refugees:

"The Watcher blesses me this day! Elturel's best blacksmith, here of all places!"

He rose his arms in the air in genuine delight, a large smile on his face. When Ashen was a young Hellrider, Dammon had been the first blacksmith to repair his weapons and refurbish the metal fittings he used for the horse he rode back then. A fond memory that soon turned to a sadder one.

"Dammon. I thought you may have..."

Died. So many had. The devils of Avernus had attacked soldiers and civilians alike, and the cleric had watched so many of them perish under their spears or under crumbling building walls, after long and exhausting minutes of trying to pull them to safety without success. But he did not want to conjure the image in Dammon's mind, nor did he want to remind himself of the shortcomings that had haunted him over half his life.

"...Well! You haven't aged a day, old boy. What's your secret?"

Finally, he moved onto the topic of the reason for his visit. He removed his helmet, quickly brushed a hand over his head to attempt correcting his disheveled hair, and presented his mace and shield to the blacksmith.

"Say, it's quite embarrassing, but... I woke up not far away from here with no memories of how I got there. I have no idea what happened to me, but I must be sure I can still defend myself. Can you please take a look at my weapons and armour? I fear they might have been altered by whatever pulled me from Baldur's Gate."

[beerecordings]

Look we all know Mr. Higgins is the real star of the new comics. Here is a fic about him adopting Marvin, all while Marvin finds himself struggling desperately against the memory control of the Magic Circle. Written after Altrverse #0, extrapolations are probably not canon to anything. Thanks for reading, let me know if you enjoy!

.

The excitement of a new book always fills him with verve enough to keep him up late into the night. His shop is warm, a green fire burning without wood or fuel along the back wall, and his scalp tingles with every new sigil passing through his vision.

The fact that it's an extremely illegal book to own only makes it more exciting for Marvin.

He's almost laid out over the counter, bent low over the pages, his free hand wrapped around a third mug of hot mint tea – got to have something to go with the book, after all – when the door to the shop jingles. He'd meant to lock up for the night, but he hadn't managed to tear himself away. “Come in!” he calls distractedly, pressing his hand over a complex sigil shaped like a pair of antlers.

No footsteps sound. Marvin looks up quickly, his mind conjuring images of the twins in full regalia in his doorway, ready to strip him of his power for the transgression of his black magic book, but no one's there.

He can't decide if that's worse or better.

“Hello?” he calls, voice sharpening. He can handle most magicians, and certainly any civilians. But if this is the Magic Circle trying games with him, he won't be playing. “Reveal yourself.”

Something shifts by the bookshelf closest to the door. Marvin gets to his feet, book forgotten, and fixes his mask back over his face. He'll address this head on. He summons a spell and transports the four feet to be on the other side of his bookshelf, purple light gleaming for a second in his wake, alighting on his hand markings.

“Meow?” says a little grey and white cat.

Marvin stops short, mouth falling open in delight. The tension rushes out of him so fast his face feels cold. He claps his hands together and falls to his knees. “Hello, there, darling, aren't you a pretty sight? I wouldn't have thought a cat could get through that door, or you wouldn't have set me so on alert, you know! You must have really wanted in.”

He glances up at the door. Really, how did a cat push through that? The cat mewls at him again.

“Oh, come here, poor thing.”

He scratches his fingers against the carpet. The cat looks at him with interest, sitting down beside his shelves. It has remarkably clear eyes, blinking languidly at him, tail flicking. It's so calm Marvin just approaches it, putting a hand on its head and stroking down its grey back. It closes its eyes and purrs minutely, completely unhurried.

“Yes, there's a good little creature,” Marvin laughs. He pulls his hand away at a tacky sensation and finds his palm coated in dirt and dust. He sits petting the cat for several minutes, until the creature flops onto its side and exposes its belly to him. It's a male cat, purring loudly at him now, those cute paws folded in the air. Marvin laughs.

“You are a sight for sore eyes. But I can't have you tearing up the carpet or peeing on my books, kitten. Tell you what, I'll get you something to eat from upstairs and set it outside for you. Okay? Be right back.”

He heads upstairs to his flat and gets into the fridge, setting several strips of deli meat onto a plate for the cat. Maybe he'll take some pictures of the little guy as he eats. It would be nice to have a cat coming around every now and then. He had cats as a kid, in his family home, before he had to... well, before everything that happened. He loved them enough to shape his mask after them, but he's never had the free time for a pet. At this point, he's not even sure he has the safety for a pet. If the Circle finds out...

Well. Seeing as he himself isn't even aware of what he's doing half the time, he's hoping the chances of being discovered are slim.

Marvin sighs and heads back downstairs, clicking his tongue at the cat as he walks to the door and opens it. He sets the dish on the ground, but the cat hasn't moved, just looking at him from the carpet inside.

“Oh, you're comfy there, are you?” Marvin chuckles. “I understand. But you better have something to eat. Come here, then.”

The cat doesn't get up. Marvin sighs again, stepping over to him. “Sorry, my darling, but you can't stay in here.”

He leans down to pick the cat up. He doesn't struggle at all – well-behaved little thing – but as Marvin sets a foot outside, he sees a droplet of dark grey appear on the pavement beside it.

He frowns and looks up. A drop of water strikes his cheek.

“Really, right now?”

He's used to UK rain, but it's only a moment or two later that a full torrential downpour is pushing him back inside the shop. He curses and grabs the deli meat, pulling the dish inside. The cat leans down and delicately begins eating.

“Oh, lucky bugger,” Marvin says, shaking his head. “You're sure you're not a magic spy cat or something? A man disguised as a cat to trick me?”

The cat finishes the turkey and leans down to begin licking his anus.

“Alright, yeah, not a spy.”

Marvin looks out at the rain, coming down aggressively onto the awning and beating a cold rhythm through the shop. The cat polishes himself up politely at Marvin's feet. Poor dirty thing. Maybe he has an owner who's looking for him.

“Alright, then,” Marvin says, leaning down to pick the cat up once more. “You can stay just for tonight, while I figure out what to do with you.”

The cat pushes its head into his chin and purrs.

.

"Why do you have this? Where did you get it?"

"Would you just look?"

Sunday chooses to look up at him instead, something between astonishment and dismay arguing on his face. "Marvin..."

Marvin sighs out and taps the front of the book. "I have some contacts from my old mentor. They found this for me."

"Marvin, Ramesses wasn't exactly the kind of magician the Circle would approve of."

"You think I don't know that?"

Sunday sighs and rubs at the ear of his mask - a pretty cute form of self-soothing, really. After a moment, he flicks open the pages of the book.

"How's your memory today?" Marvin asks, trying not to sound too strained.

"What do you mean, my memory?"

"Do you remember that the Circle has been wiping things from our heads?" Marvin insists, clutching at the table.

Sunday's eyes flicker. "Right. That's... why we're looking at things like this."

"Right," Marvin agrees, relieved. "That's why we need help from magicians like Ramesses. Ones who know what's really going on. We need to find a way to keep them out of our heads."

It's dangerous stuff, but he and Sunday have had that discussion. Marvin has to trust that he's going to stay on board even as both of their memories ebb and flow. He desperately needs someone to help him remember. It's infuriating, knowing that the people who are supposed to be helping magicians are just taking control of them instead. Marvin won't be their puppet.

"This is the spell you're looking at?" asks Sunday.

"Yes. To protect someone from mind magic."

"You can't cast that alone."

"Help me, then!"

"We can't cast this alone," Sunday corrects. "You would need a huge group or an artifact."

"I have some magical artifacts."

"Not ones with enough power."

"Sunday, please."

"Marvin." His friend looks up at him sharply. "I know how deep we are in over our heads, but that's why we must be careful. You don't even know if this spell will work. It could harm you, change you, burn you out. Start with some of the smaller ones... look, this can imbue an object with the magic to see things for you. A looking glass of its own. And I'm sure you've been scrying."

Marvin grits his teeth. Yes, he's been scrying. All he sees is black wisps and red eyes through the darkness. Something is coming, and he can't stop it without knowing his mind is secure. He needs to expel the twins from the Magic Circle, needs to have a group of magicians he can trust, needs to -

"Marvin," says Sunday again. "You're working yourself up."

His sigils are glowing. He turns away bitterly, clutching his hands into fists.

"We're going to figure it out," Sunday says wearily. "You have to believe that. But you can't hurt yourself."

He sets the book down. "I need to get going. Not all of us get to run our own bookstores. I'll text you tomorrow after work, okay?"

"Fine," says Marvin. "Fine."

"Whoa, wait, is this yours?"

Marvin looks over to see the stray cat coming out of his bedroom, sitting down beside Sunday to regard him warily. It meows at him loudly enough that Sunday chuckles.

"No, I just took him in for a couple nights," Marvin sighs. "Trying to find his owner."

"And if he doesn't have one?"

"I don't know." He really doesn't. The cat's super cute, but Marvin has a lot going on. "I don't think I've got time for a cat. I get a little focused on one thing at a time."

Sunday gives him a look of disbelief. "A little?"

"Oh, shut it."

Sunday rubs the cat's head for a moment before standing. "We'll figure this out," he repeats. "Don't lose hope."

"I need you to give me some," Marvin says wearily.

Sunday touches his shoulder and grins at him, just as tired, but there's nothing more he can say. Once he's gone, Marvin sinks onto the couch, sighing deep. The cat jumps up beside him.

"You want to switch places?" Marvin asks, reaching out to scratch his chin. "I'll sleep and eat all day and you can go back to a place where you know you'll be brainwashed every time they call for you. You don't know how sick it makes me... but then, of course, I forget, and I'm theirs again."

He almost sinks in on himself, then, just wanting to melt into the couch. But the cat gets into his lap and meows at him, and the stink of his breath makes him laugh and pull back, and he sits up and pets him for a while instead of crumpling into his own dismay.

.

“Well, he's not got fleas or ticks or anything.”

The vet runs her hands professionally over the disgruntled cat, looking through his fur and petting his head. He turns to Marvin like he's expecting him to come help, and Marvin stifles a laugh. He's an expressive cat, really. Must have been good at begging for scraps.

“Really, none?”

“No," says the vet. "Why, did you see some?”

“No, it's just, I figured a stray cat would have one. You sure he's not chipped either?”

“No chip,” the vet confirms, running her hands over the cat. “How long have you had him?”

“Five days now. I called the animal shelter and posted online in case anyone is looking for him.”

“You can check our board in case someone's posted that he's lost.”

“Alright, will do.”

“But he's neutered and all, so you don't have to worry about that.”

“Good,” says Marvin emphatically. “I've never met such a headstrong cat. I don't think he'd let anybody get down there with scissors.”

“Oh, but he's such a well-mannered little boy,” coos the vet, petting the cat's head. The cat purrs.

“Yeah, now,” Marvin laughs. “But if you do something he doesn't like, he will let you know. I think he's capable of revenge.”

They have a laugh about it and the vet gets ready to give him some shots. When she gets out a syringe, the cat raises his butt like he's ready to bolt, but Marvin grabs his scruff sharply and leans down to chide him.

“Everybody has to get shots, Higgins,” he says. “You behave. You can't come home if you're not healthy.”

“Oh, no, you've named him,” smiles the vet.

Marvin puffs out a sigh. “I have, haven't I? I didn't mean to. But doesn't he look just like a little Mr. Higgins? Who's the prettiest boy?”

Mr. Higgins shoots him a disgruntled look, but he allows the vet to pin him down gently and give him his shots. Soon as they're done, he nips Marvin's thumb with his teeth.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” says Marvin, pushing him back into the carrier. “We'll check the board and then get you home.”

He's still not sure he wants a cat, but Higgins keeps trying to sleep in his bed, so Marvin figured he'd be responsible and get him checked over before they both get fleas. "You might not get to stick around forever," he tells the cat. "But I'll take care of you while you do."

But as he gets out to the reception of the vet's clinic, looking at their board of announcements and missing pet posters, he realizes he doesn't mind having the cat around. And this is how people get cats, right? They just take one in for a night, and then the cat adopts you. It's not like there's much going on for him right now, anyone. Things are good at the shop and with the Magic Circle. Everything's -

Higgins lets out a meow so loud other people turn to look at him, and so does Marvin, surprised. He's reminded of Higgins meowing at Sunday, who was over at his place to - to what?

To look at that black magic book...

Which he got because... because... why? Why is he looking at magic like that?

Higgins meows again, a little strangled. Marvin looks into his big, languid cat's eyes. Because...

The Circle is fucking with his head.

The realization hits him like a baseball in the chest, but even as it does, he knows this isn't the first time he's realized it. They keep making him forget - forget - forget.

He's a fucking puppet.

Marvin pushes himself out of the vet's office, vision blurry with frustrated tears.

"It keeps happening," he says to Higgins, voice tight. "I can't make them stop."

Higgins looks up at him from his carrier. The cat's quiet now, not struggling or meowing. Just looking at him.

"Yeah, you might not want me for an owner," sighs Marvin. "Fucked up head and a fucked up mess I can't seem to get myself out of."

Higgins lets out one little meow. Okay. That's pretty cute too. Marvin tries to get over himself. The self-pity won't help. Maybe, when he gets home, he can focus on getting Higgins a treat instead, since he was such a little gentleman at the vet.

.

Knowing that Sunday is right about the spell he wants to try doesn't it make it any easier to resist.

In fact, he thinks it makes it harder. Who is Sunday to tell Marvin what he's capable of?

He's always had that proud streak, and he knows it. Wanting to be the best at everything has served Marvin well in some parts of his life, but he's also been called cocky, overzealous, and, on one occasion, "basically a rat going to town on a Cheeto when it comes to magic," and all for good reason.

Higgins has hopped up on the kitchen counter, sitting beside the black magic book. Everytime Marvin looks over at it, he meows pointedly. If he didn't know better, he'd say the little miscreant was trying to warn him away too.

"It's just a spell," Marvin tells him, pacing around his living room. "I've never died trying stupid spells before. And I have tried some damn powerful spells."

He's good at powerful spells. He's a powerful fucking sorceror. It's why he was picked for this, mentored so intensely, sculpted to be better, better, better. The Magic Circle has its rules, but it should never have become a means to control him or restrain him. They can't take his own mind for him. He won't allow it!

"No one else is doing anything about it," he says to Higgins. "Sunday's the only one who's been able to hear me out and not forget everything the very next day. And even him, I have to remind again and again, and he has to remind me."

Higgins says "mrrp."

"Well, it's not like I can just leave the Magic Circle! All magical authority comes from them, and the twins - well. I have a lot to learn from the twins. Things the outsiders will never have access to. No, I need to be the one to take this all down from the inside. I'll cleanse it with fire if I have to! Or else - or else what will happen? We'll all be their slaves forever."

No. No. He won't be their tool. He grabs the black book. Higgins yowls.

"There is food for you in your bowl," Marvin chides him, heading towards the stairs. "Stay up here!"

Higgins tries to follow him down to the shop, and Marvin has to push him away with his foot, closing the door on him. Higgins makes a noise that can't be anything other than annoyed.

"Needy thing," Marvin chides, heading down the stairs, but it's soon gone from his mind. He's really going to try a new spell, one that might exorcise the twins's control over him. There's no rush like this, he loves it. New books, new spells, new magic. This is what he was born and trained for.

"Sunday doesn't know what I can do," Marvin says, putting his book down on his desk. This time, he makes sure the door to the shop is locked. "And neither do the fucking twins."

Mensprotego, not the original name of the spell, to be sure. It's Romanian in origin and the name is just some Latin combination of phrases given to it to lend it a feeling of power. But Marvin knows the real power of it as he traces the words over the spell. He draws his sigils with precision - he should have known when he was practicing the unfamiliar ones that he would always end up trying this alone - and sticks a mandrake leaf against the roof of his mouth, as the spell instructs. For extra energy, he'll use Ramesses's old staff.

It's good to grip it in his hands again. Even after all this time, he still thinks he can feel his mentor with him every time he holds it. Sometimes, he even gets the nostalgic smell of fire and the Vaseline he would smear over his scarring.

"Help me once again," he asks, pulling the staff over to his counter.

The power rushes up over him like a wave of water as he starts to speak. It's a strange sort of spell, the way it coasts over him, like it's sending sparks into him, a mini electrification that keeps repeating across his body - and keeps getting stronger. He wets his lips and keeps going. He's more used to magic that makes you feel tired as you use too much, but this! This is invigorating. His heart starts to pound. He can feel it against his chest. The electricity feeling makes him cramp, his fingers squeezing at the staff, and then his tongue sticks to his mouth. Wow. It kind of makes it hard to move. Kind of hurts.

Another wave of it grips him, and he pauses, breathing out and giving himself the chance to stop.

But then what will happen? Nothing. Things will keep going as they are. He can't take it. He has to keep going. To keep trying something new.

"I will not be yours," he whispers, and, clearing his throat, speaks the last words of the spell.

Everything explodes with light, blinding him, and a hot, raw pain bursts across him, his whole body lit up with purple markings, his eyes aglow, though he cannot see through them. He gasps and his body tries to crumple, but another wave of it crosses over him, shocking him stiff, unable to even collapse. Still, he clings to the spell, to the magic, vying hard for protection. If he can just get free, nothing else matters. He'll recover later, won't he? If he can just protect himself -

Something sharp clenches down on his ankle and he yells. The different kind of pain snaps him out of everything, and he drops Ramesses's staff, falling to his knees, still blind to all but his own light.

The electricity stops, but he thinks his brain might have short-circuited with it. He feels himself start to shake - maybe even to seize - he drops to the ground -

He loses consciousness to the sound of something scraping at his sigils with its claws.

.

Marvin wakes to the heavy smell of blood in his nose, and his fingers come up towards it instinctively, shaky and unsure.

"Ungh," he groans, shifting against the cold wood of his shop's backroom. He spits out a mandrake leaf, smacking his tongue at the odorous taste.

Marvin tries to push his glasses back into place, only to find the right temple snapped off its hinge, the glass cracked at the side. He pulls them off his face and sits up.

It makes his head rush painfully. Owch. There's blood all the way from his nose to his chin.

Okay, okay. Fine. He went way too far. Sunday's right, he's pushing too hard. Worse, he's not sure what would have happened if he didn't have that sharp pain.

He pulls his ankle up to himself as he sits down. Wait - that is distinctly a cat bite.

Setting his leg down, he lets his head thump back in surprise. Higgins saved him. Did he know he was in distress, or just get scared by the light and shaking?

"Higgs?" he calls. "You here?"

No little feet come padding towards him. He drags himself onto his feet - his poor head, owch - and stumbles towards the bathroom, washing his face off and swishing water around his mouth to clear out the copper taste.

"Maybe I don't tell Sunday about this," he mutters. He's made himself sick for certain. He won't feel well in the morning either. What's he going to do? Just -- with all of it, what is he doing?

The tears prick up against his will and he scowls at himself in the mirror, brushing at his eyes with the un-bloodied side of a washcloth. He strikes the flat of his palm against the bathroom counter and breathes. He can't let the twins or the council keep misusing their magic. He promised Ramesses he'd find a way.

But honestly, he just really wants to sleep for about twelve years or so. Feels like that would fix everything. Why does all this have to be on his shoulders alone?

"Not crying, we are not crying about this," he announces to himself, tossing the washcloth in the sink and stepping back into his living room. He crashes onto his couch and his head swims again from the movement. He covers his face from the light and breathes out slowly.

"Meow."

It's a very professional little meow, no wailing or pleading involved. Marvin pulls his arm away from his eyes and blinks towards the floor, where Higgins looks up at him carefully.

"Meow," he repeats.

"You want up here?" asks Marvin. He pats the little space beside his stomach. "You can come on."

Higgins doesn't move, peering up at him. He has eyes like a little man sometimes. Marvin prefers him playing, when his pupils get dilated huge and he just looks like the cute dumbass he's supposed to be.

"Yes, alright, I went too far," Marvin sighs. "What, are you angry? I'm sorry."

Higgins wraps his tail daintily around himself, blinking. Marvin sits up with a sigh and reaches for him.

Higgins say "mrrp" a little irritably, but he lets Marvin pull him onto his stomach and set him down there, stroking his head. After a few quiet minutes, Higgins settles and starts to purr gently.

"What a good boy," Marvin murmurs, scratching his ears as he lies back. "Did you know I needed help?"

Higgins looks at him with slitted eyes, rumbling.

"You got me out of that," Marvin continues. "You've never bit me like that before. Did I scare you? I'm sorry."

Higgins gets up slightly and Marvin mourns the loss of the warmth. But his cat doesn't hop off the couch. He just clambers higher up Marvin and pushes his soft head into his neck.

Marvin's face creases and the tears burn his eyes again. He blinks rapidly and wraps his arms around the hot little body of his cat.

"There's my good boy," Marvin rasps, holding him close. "My hero, aren't you? What a good cat."

He hugs Higgins close to him, closing his eyes, and for several minutes interrupted only by steady purring, he does cry. Maybe it's okay. No one's here to see him, and he'll feel better afterwards. Higgins licks the salt from his beard.

"Thank you, lovey," Marvin purrs back to him, scratching his back. "I know someone's got my back, don't I?"

Higgins meows loudly at him and Marvin laughs, wiping his face.

"Yuck, cat breath. You must be hungry. I'll fill your bowl, okay? And I better get something for me, too. Maybe a treat tonight. You think there are delivery places open twenty-four seven?"

Apparently it's not abnormal for someone to want pad see-ew at two in the morning, because his food comes less than fifteen minutes later. It hurts his head to go down the stairs, but it's euphoric to crash on his couch with several hot boxes of takeout arrayed on his coffee table. He puts on a Ghibli flick and spaces out hard, kept in the moment just by the sweet noodles and broccoli, the flashing colors of a movie he's seen a hundred times, and his cat, who jumps right back onto his lap and tries to get his head into the takeout box. Marvin lets him have a little too much chicken, but he's such a good boy, he deserves it. It's nice, really. It's nice to have this cat, purring on his chest as he sinks towards a deep sleep.

He thinks Higgins is asleep too.

.

Marvin wakes up feeling sick.

"Oh, my darling," he groans, feeling Higgins move as he does. "What did I do last night?"

He sits up slowly, glancing around his living room. He got take-out? He's usually so strict about eating at home. Did he drink?

"Well, I must have," he breathes, standing. He goes to his kitchen, but there's nothing out, no empty bottles or discarded lids. There's nothing in the trash out of the ordinary either. He didn't go out, right? He checks his phone, but he hasn't talked to anyone since yesterday. He wasn't out with friends, and he's sure he had no one over.

He's still trying to figure out what happened as he heads towards the bathroom, but the bloody washcloth in the sink stops him short. Marvin shakes his head, bewildered, and a little worried too, now. What is going on?

Higgins meows at him. He glances down at his cat. Higgins moves between his legs and then, apropos of nothing, puts his little teeth in Marvin's heel.

"Ow! Higgins! You - you bit me..."

He was trying that spell last night. He made himself sick with overuse. Higgins bit his ankle.

"Oh, oh," he whimpers, trying not to spiral. "They have such a grip on my memory I even forgot my own endeavors. They're in my house. In my head. I can't... I can't, I..."

He sinks down to his knees, shaking. His fingers press against the cold tile floor, and he sucks in shaking breaths, the fury and the terror passing over and through him like a great wave of heat.

"No more," he snarls, striking his hand against the floor. "No more of this. I will remember anything they take from me. Again and again, as much as I lose, I will get it back no matter what. I'll remember. And then I'll fight."

He turns his head and presses his hand against his cat's head. Higgins looks up at him with those sharp eyes, his fur soft against the palm of his hand.

"And you're going to help me, aren't you, my darling?"

He really does think that he sees that cat nod in that moment. The oddest part is, it doesn't even really surprise him.

"Right, then," Marvin breathes, his panic clearing. "Right. Back on your feet, Marvin, and no more sulking. Anyway, you got to get the cat fed."

Higgins' eyes dilate and his tail stands straight up. Marvin finds himself laughing despite everything.

"Okay, okay. One thing at a time."

He kisses his cat on the head, and goes to get him his breakfast. The rest will come - and he'll be ready.