#so did beta reader...

[votejinx]

Push, little dove.

||Logan Howlett x GN!Reader||

"Everything'll be okay."

You were sleeping soundly when all of a sudden your fiancée woke you up in a rush.

"It's time." Logan said, with a semi grimace on his face. You shot up in surprise.

"Already?!" You said.

He nodded.

"Bags already packed, cars all set, we're good to go." He pecked your cheek as you rushed to get somewhat ready. You were all set and decided to go check on the love of your life.

"All set, my love?" You looked at him worriedly. He cradled his stomach.

"They're feisty." He smiled and then winced in pain. You rushed to his side.

"I think this means it's time to go." He nodded in agreement and you both walked--or waddled--over to the car.

Once you arrived to maternity ward, you were quickly redirected to an open room.

"All set, bubby?" You stroked his arm lovingly.

He sighed and nodded. "I goddamn hope so." You playfully swatted him.

"You're not gonna be using that kind of language around our little howletts, are you?"

He rolled his eyes and then leaned in for a kiss.

SCREAMING.

It filled your ears like no other sound. Logan's death grip on your hand only got tighter. You tried to keep a soothing tone, but it was kind of difficult when your hand was being simultaneously broken and stabbed by his claws.

"Everything'll be okay." You winced out. He didn't seem to notice through all the pain.

Only two out of the four howletts had been born, whilst the other two were being a little more...tricky.

You tuned out Logan's sailor mouth whilst the nurse hurriedly rushed out of the room with Tim. You looked on nervously, hoping nothing bad was happening.

You were soon distracted once more when the Doctor exclaimed, "It's a girl!"

You looked at Logan, smiling. "Guess we can name her Anna Marie." He attempted a smile and then quickly shouted in pain once more.

The final baby was making its way into the world. The doctor picked it up and proclaimed, "Why is it lowkey nonbinary?"

You looked at Logan confused.

He shrugged. "At least it's out of me."

"What should we name them?" You asked. He thought for a moment.

"Eiden Ven Howlett." His eyes sparkled as he said the name.

Suddenly, the nurse rushed in.

"Are you Y/N?" You turned quickly and stood up.

"What's wrong?" You said, remembering her rushing out with little Timmy.

"He's..." She glanced at Logan.

"Well, spit it out already!" He said, anger taking over.

She nodded. "He's not breathing. Doctors are doing everything they can but..."

Your face dropped at the words. Logan tried getting up but you turned and him pushed onto the bed as gently as you could.

"I'll handle it, little dove." He looked at you, eyes full of tears.

You walked out of the hospital room, where Logan Jr., Anna Marie, and Eiden slept soundly.

While Tim's slumber was eternal.

[callieisto]

HAPPY (LATE!) BIRTHDAY RO MY LOVE!!! Have some of the softest birthday sex with Sam I could cook up <33 @ivysangel

⊹˚₊‧꒰ა𓆩✧𓆪໒꒱ ‧₊˚⊹

Usually, Hunters didn’t have partners. Hunters didn’t live long enough or safe enough to love someone properly, maintain anything the way a relationship needed to be maintained.

Clearly, Sam never got the memo.

“Missed you,” Sam said breathlessly, kissing you as soon as you opened the door to your apartment. Long distance was hell, especially when he was away for your birthday. It just made him feel like the shittiest boyfriend ever, just the worst. He could save you from a stalker vampire, but he couldn’t convince Dean to leave him in a town the week of your birthday.

To be fair to Sam- in many, many ways, dealing with a stalker vampire was much easier than dealing with his brother.

But Sam would find his way to you if the world was ending, if the sky was spitting fire and the seas turned to lava. He would crawl over broken glass to see you smile. He loved you more than he loved the idea of saving the world.

He pulled away to study your face, to just soak you in. God, you were the most beautiful woman in the world. He leaned in again to nuzzle against your nose, the smile on his face infectious.

“You got your hair done,” he whispered, taking one of the braids between his fingers and twisting it slightly. “It looks good. You look good. God, I missed you.”

He kisses you again, crowding you back into your apartment, cradling your face in his hands. To say he’s desperate would be an understatement. He’s starving for you, he’s been going through withdrawals, and the simple feeling of your mouth on his feels like coming home.

He always wanted a normal life. And meeting you had been just the most amazing thing in the world. Falling into bed with you the first time had felt like… god, like something had clicked in his brain. Like the universe had finally righted itself. He’d been so lost, been living outside his body since uprooting his entire life, and you brought him right back.

Right now, though, he needed you so bad it hurt.

Curling over you- god, you’re so small in comparison to him, so beautiful- he smiles that crooked little smile down at you, hands moving from your face to your hips.

“Let me make it up to you,” he begs plainly, because Sam Winchester is not above begging for the woman he loves. “Please?”

“Okay,” you giggle, and he nearly cries with relief because god, he just loves you so much.

He picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist, his hands supporting your thighs, and carries you down the hall to your bedroom. It’s cute, it’s so you, and he can’t help but remember the first night he ended up tangled in your sheets. You had just moved in, and there were boxes everywhere, and you had been so scared when the brothers broke your door down and basically camped out in your living room until that scummy vampire had showed his face.

Dean, who had apparently met another girl in the same city, decided to spend the night with her. Which left Sam without a car, and, well…

It was history.

He crawled over you when he softly dropped you on the bed, trailing his hands up and down and up and down- just feeling you, because it’s been so long, because he loves you, because he wants to be close to you in a way he never wants to be close with anyone else again.

“Happy late birthday, baby.” He whispered, kissing down your throat. Your giggle makes him smile, makes his cheeks flush. God, he’s so whipped for you it’s embarrassing.

Pretty soon, you’re naked. And he’s naked too, but he’s using your thighs as earmuffs as he presses sweet kisses to your clit.

“Missed this pretty pussy,” he murmured like a prayer, licking a stripe up your folds. He moans, trying not to rut his cock against the bed like a loser. He sucks on your clit, pulling you further down on the bed and laughing when you squeak out in surprise.

“Sam!” You chide breathlessly, propping yourself up on your elbows with an affectionate look on your face.

He just smiles, and shrugs, and goes back to eating you out like it’s the last thing he’s ever going to do.

“C’mon baby,” he murmurs against you, hitching your legs higher so he can tongue fuck you deeper, can slurp at you like you’re a fucking soup, his nose bumping against your clit all the while. “You’re so fucking pretty, taste so good, lemme have it, give it to me please…”

When your legs tremble around his head and you buck your hips into his mouth, cumming with a little cry of his name, he swears he’s never tasted anything sweeter. He could spend hours between your legs, and has, but the way you’re squirming makes him think that maybe, just maybe, you missed him just as much as he missed you.

So he leans back once you’re limp on the bed, kissing his way up your body until he reaches your mouth. “You’re so perfect.” He said, his voice tight. “God, you’re so perfect baby, I missed you so much.”

He kissed you slow, soft, big hand cupping your breast in his hand, tweaking the nipple just to hear you squeak.

He pulls back, a string of spit connecting his tongue to yours. He lets go of your boob, reaching for the bedside table to dig around for a condom. He found one, sitting back on his haunches to tear the little foil packing open with his teeth.

It is unfairly sexy, especially considering how you’re pretty sure you look like a mess. He rolls the condom on, running two fingers through your wetness to lube up his cock a little bit. He leans back over you, carefully, kissing your forehead.

“God, you’re so pretty.” He whispered, notching his tip at your entrance very carefully. “I missed you so much, baby, god… love you, love you s’much…”

He groans when he pushes in almost annoyingly carefully, like you might break, like he’s been away for so long that you might have forgotten what he feels like inside you.

He leaned down, resting his forehead against yours when his hips are flush with yours. “Hi pretty girl.” He crooned, peppering your face with kisses. “Oh, you look so pretty, all full of me. Good god.”

You squirm under his careful kisses, whining impatiently. “Sam,” you whimper, trying to kick at him to knock him out of the little lovey dovey haze he’s in. “Sam, move! Mnh-”

The little sound you make drives him crazy, and he starts moving, slowly, carefully. He picks up the pace when you let little moans slip out, because that has got to be his favorite sound in the world. The little whimpers, the way your eyes flutter, the way your lips part sweetly.

His hand snakes down your body to rub at your clit, because when you seize up with a cry of his name and soak his cock, he wants to cry because he’s so happy.

He keeps working at it, thrusts getting faster and harder as you squeal out a little “Sam, sensitive!”

“Just one more,” he croons down at you, his voice tight. “Just give me one more, sweetheart, one more, please, ‘s your birthday present, gonna make you cum at least one more time…”

And, true to his words, he makes you cum again. You cling to his bicep, manicured nails digging into his skin, crying out weakly as tears of pleasure smudge your makeup and trail down your cheeks. He groans as his hips stutter to a stop, the condom filling as he leaned over her, panting weakly.

He kissed your tears from your face, smiling softly. “Hey, pretty girl. You did so good. You made me feel so good, baby, god, I missed you.”

The two of you lie like that for a while, sweaty and sated. After a few minutes of gentle kisses and sweet praise, he pulled out, chuckling when you whimper at the empty feeling. He took the condom off, tying it before he tossed it into the trashcan by your bedside table. He grabbed his boxers, hiking them back up before crawling into bed with you.

“I missed you.” He whispered again, while you busied yourself settling against his chest. “I’m in town for the week. What do you say we go out and get you some birthday presents tomorrow?”

Your hum makes him smile. He kisses your forehead, gets comfortable, and the two of you fall asleep tangled in your sheets.

[purplebehittindifferent]

Hope y’all have got some kromer or this call might be pretty short.

masterpost

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(a quick thanks to my beta reader @prunpplee)

[north-noire]

As William drives out of state to seek help from the guilt that's been eating him up, meanwhile Michael struggles with going to school without a friend by his side.

Hidden Hands Chapter 5 is out! AO3 Fic Link Here Previous Chapter Beginning Chapter

Hey, I would appreciate it if you reblog this post! I try my hardest for this AU fic, so reblogging it and being able to share it goes a long way!

[fumifooms]

"Marchil? I guess I can see it on Chilchuck’s end, but what about Marcille’s? What makes you think she could develop feelings for him?" I’m glad you asked!

The first thing to note is that she does think highly of him

In the page on the right, literally defending his virtues and literally comparing him to Dalclan. And oh…

She does love a brooding mysterious guy who closes himself to love. But surely, Chilchuck isn’t her type at all, right? He’s not princely or knightly at all. In apperances certainly not, both looks wise and demeanor wise, but then that’s why she seeks to know him on a deeper level, to not only look shallowly.

And hmm. Chilchuck really is quite selfless isn’t he? Always looking out for others, and saving specifically her often, always making sure himself and, staying in or even running towards danger for her sometimes. Modesty is often considered heroic…

And can we talk about that drowning one… You can definitely frame the special attention as him knowing she tends to hesitate or be clumsy, and then his insistance on pulling her out of danger that she’s the healer aka the most important to keep alive, but. From the one who says that he just keeps his ass out of fights and won’t help this is a lot of risk to take, and he does die trying to pull her to safety in the dungeon rabbits chapter. And the drowning bit??? That’s when the dungeon collapses. The only reason they DON’T die of drowning here is that the water then gives way to outside. There was NO hope of pulling her to safety here and resurrections would likely not work either, he truly preferred to die with her than try to survive himself.

Sit your ass back DOWN you are in no state, self-sacrifical hero much damn

And Marcille definitely noticed this imo, after all she loves learning all she can about him, remembering things like how he hates waiting on people too. She pays attention to him and what he does and what he says. This to say that it’s notable, whatever reason for it you may think (though we know by this point at least she was already aware he was an adult though it wasn’t internalized), out of everyone it’s Chilchuck’s bed that she wants to sleep in during the Golden Kingdom stay. He’s safe and comforting to her: dependable, the defining trait in her view of him as is shown by the relationship chart in the Adventurer’s Bible.

^ Lending handkerchiefs is a romance trope btw and handkerchiefs have irl history of being used for courting. Especially in old English literature and plays like Shakespeare’s Othello, and personally I do see a lot of Shakespeare in Dalclan (nobility political drama with some romance). There’s how his cowl is a dearly beloved souvenir from his family too, there’s a lot of aesthetic tropes you can apply to him.

All this to say you can 100% romanticize Chilchuck into a princely noble guy if you try and that’s exactly what Marcille does with the wife roleplay. She doesn’t need much in the first place, she latches onto crumbs and makes aesthetic narratives out of details, give her an inch she’ll take a mile.

But what’s interesting about the shift throughout the arc of her and his relationship is that she starts out idealizing him into a little angel of a kid (shapeshifter), and she ends it idealizing him as a virtuous husband and family man instead.

And what’s doubly interesting is that in the former, she’s actively warping who he is personality and demeanor wise to fit the aesthetic, he doesn’t have that bitter pride of not asking for help and the edges have been smoothened. But what she does during the wife roleplay is something else, she acknowledges the flaws and just… Accepts them, rolls with them. She’s aware of his flaws and implements them into the narrative, but the reason why his wife left doesn’t capitalize on them even, rather Chil is chilblivious and his wife loves him very much still, she’s just testing him after having had a night of feeling out of place at his side.

And this is what separates the idealization vs romanticization, she’s not twisting him into someone else she’s just uplifting what he is and focusing on the good sides.

Marcille: "he has a shitty personality sometimes but if he was my husband I’d still cherish him" "If I were your wife I’d be overjoyed to go out with you and would get myself prettied up while you complain about me taking a long time, your friends would tell me that I’m nice and that’d make me happy, but I’d also be sad because you wouldn’t tell me that you love me enough"

He’s angry and his wife left him, he’s *flawed*, but he’s still worth hyping up, still worth having his own romance story, still has a shot of winning back his beloved. She sees him for what he is, human and real and not a carefully scripted character that fits an aesthetic, and she thinks it’s still worthy of love and admiration and fighting for

And what’s funny too is that you might expect her to cool down on him once she learns more about him but actually she only gets increasingly into his business. You tell her your age and next thing you know you promise to introduce her to your family. Give her an inch she takes a mile. And too the thing is, Senshi is equally mysterious but she doesn’t pester him like at all, asks him ONCE about his succubus and he doesn’t even answer and that’s like… It. With Chilchuck it starts off innocently enough with her wanting to know his age, hometown, the stuff she mentions having asked pre-canon. But it just keeps and keeps going and escalating. Think she’ll be satisfied now knowing you have a wife and kids, maybe she’s disillusioned now? Wrong! She wants to know their names and ages and occupations and hey how did you propose to your wife? Do you think she’ll stop after meeting them? What’s next? What will she want to know next????

She’s… Like it’s not a reach that Marcille is all over him. Like it doesn’t mean it’s romantic but she just is. She is not normal about him idk. Can you not ask him about what tongue technique he used when first kissing his wife, give the man breathing room

Marcille could literally go "if I was Chilchuck’s wife" having deeply pondered and thought out the hypothetical and people would still ask where anyone sees any romantic potential between them. Oh wait

There’s a platonic explanation for everything (almost?) in Dungeon Meshi don’t say I’m saying otherwise, but it’s definitely not like there’s nothing here to read into lol

Going off a bit more under read bc it’s my fave topic

Marcille has a whole theme with the charming prince trope with her idealization and storybook motif and Chil is kinda the "Well someone perfect like that isn’t very realistic and romance is usually more complex and that’s ok and good and flawed people can still be ✨virtuous✨" catalyst

Do you see do you see she starts canon thinking the most romantic thing is a prince charming but her arc in the end has her romanticizing an average, flawed, real and realistic family man, who’s on the poorer side and is on the verge of divorce. And that’s what he needed, too, seeing the positive of himself and the situation instead of focusing on the negative is explicitly what inspires him to hope that he might be able to reconcile with his wife, gives him the courage and self-esteem to shoot his shot.

He IS a prince figure instead that now it’s not about idealizing the grand and overt it’s about romanticizing the small things in real life!! About finding joy and beauty in things that seem normal or mundane and uplifting them to make the world feel kinder!!!!

He’s the devoted virtuous man that she wantsss not the storybook prince that’s unrealistic and could crumble like a script at any time. He’s the perfect example of a flawed realistic but virtuous & devoted & loving man. Far from a prince charming, but not fully detached from it either. Something worth fighting for despite the flawed cracks. Like literally, flawed romance being worth fighting for is literally the finale of Chilchuck and Marcille’s arc on the matter, where their separate arcs and issues intersect at the most crucial moment.

Marcille is important to Chil’s arc not only because of her optimism, but also because of her interest and knowledge in romance & matters of the heart, and that’s what he needs to both open his heart up to hope and to try to reconcile with his wife, like idk sounds gay

Their arc together is literally learning to 1) see each other for how they are and not undermining their qualities capacities etc etc while still not leaving flaws unchecked either and 2) opening up to people. Marcille LITERALLY makes Chil open his heart up to hope like idk man. What do you want from me. He’s literally the guy helping her through deconstructing novels and fantasy and rose tinted glasses and like. Deconstructing the prince charming figure into something more real but still romantically beautiful like KUI KUI STOOOOP STOP I’M ALREADY HOOKED I’M ALREADY-

 Ok fine that’s me reading into the tropes too much forgive me for being storybook brained but like. Speaking his heart out to a lone woman on a balcony, Romeo and Juliette shit, asking if she, too, doesn’t want to meet his family, madly blushing. And like she’s learned with Chilchuck it’s all in the little things, all the implications he cannot speak aloud. She does reciprocate, does blush madly back, and the first thing she does is shower him in flowers and jewelry and what in her heart is coded as romantic gifts

A lady, stashed away in a high tower by her lonesome, waiting for someone to call out to her from below… Romeo courting type shit with an offer, a heartfelt spiel, implicit confession from underneath her balcony. Offering him flowers because he succeeded in calling out to her heart…….. And they have to climb to her too…. Crazy

Doesn’t it sound like a proposal. One that’s both so storybook-like and not, contrastedly real and grounded, all about the implications rather than in your face grand gestures, "Don’t you want to meet my family?". They literally have an arc about the topic of romance and this is the climax/pinnacle of it like god?? This is @ the woman who said "Chilchuck is a shy/bashful man so I know he wouldn’t tell me he loves me, but…" btw

To quote a friend, truly the shiny secret unlockable dating sim capture target : THE DUNGEON LORD BIT WAS SO FUNNY BECAUSE HE KNEW SHE'D TAKE IT HOOK LINE AND SINKER HES THE ONE WHO GOT HER TO TURN AROUND COMPLETELY SHES LIKE. WIDE EYED FLAG RAISED???? FLAG RAISED WITH CHILCHUCK 👀👀👀‼️👀👀‼️👀

And the way that this is the culmination of their arc together… Like people are not ready for the ‘Chil calling out to dunlord Marcille on the balcony has Romeo and Juliette romance novels imagery’ take. Or the ‘their arc is about growing to see beauty even in the non-idealized, in the flawed and in the real’ take which makes it so so perfect if she were to lower her ideal from a charming elven prince to a virtuous halfling man (which she does end up romanticizing)

So there, you got to witness in real time what happens when I think about marchil for longer than 2 minutes, there are so many layers it’s a deranged rabbithole. I saw the necronomicon of subtext and it’s driving me to madness with forbidden knowledge that no one else sees

……. Like what if I told you she implicitly picked Chilchuck over a "unrealistic prince charming who’s actually disingenuous" much earlier in the story already. If she was given the choice to think through going with a guy that seems perfect and chivalrous like her succubus she’d pick Chilchuck over the other actually. If I sound insane rn tune in for my full analysis on them coming this month hopefully thank youu. Interwoven arcs of fantasy vs reality and idealization vs pessimism I love youuu

So now you know the general thesis of my planned analysis about the importance of the prince charming figure in Marcille and Chilchuck’s arc, where she romanticizes things to a sometimes worrying degree or idealize people into something easy and digestible and poetic (like Chil being a kid, and then him being a virtuous ✨✨✨husband), and how she needs to value aesthetics less and actual acts and facts more, be more grounded (like seeing people for what they are flaws and all, and accepting that people need money and not pulling through on principles of honor or unity shouldn’t get Namari shamed) and a part of that is accepting that Chilchuck is BOTH flawed and virtuous, a loving husband that still has shitty moods and fumbled his marriage so bad etc etc. So it’s like, her image of perfect prince charming that will whisk you away on an ethereal romance -> realistic flawed middle aged dad with personality issues and a failing marriage but he still is worthy of love and having his cute grand romance story and his happy ending. Ik I keep repeating the same point through this but I need it to be burned into everyone’s brains it has its grip on me I can’t do this. They are so special……

[razrogue]

Let's Make a Deal (Rafayel)

Rafayel x Reader/You

Words: 1.5k+

Tags: mutual masturbation, smut

Notes: Thick thighs, soft tummy, and all that are mentioned. No beta, no edit, we ball (please be kind lol) 😂

Read on AO3

“Let's make a deal, cutie.”

He casually mentions as the two of you sit naked on his massive bed facing each other.

His hand slowly trails along the inside of your soft thigh, sending small sparks of pleasure down your legs with each swipe.

Your hand grips at his knee when his fingers lightly brush against you.

“A deal?” You ask him as your own hand slid along his outer thigh, resting at his hip while you wait for him to respond.

“Whoever comes first…”

Rafayel looks up at you, a hint of mischief in his eyes, and a sly grin on his lips.

You gaze at him, curious as to where he's going with this proposal, when his hand suddenly cups your breast and your breath hitches.

He rolls your nipple gently between his fingers before giving it a light pinch, eliciting a surprised squeak from you before you playfully swatted his hand away.

“Get to it, little fishy. What are you up to?”

Raf spreads your legs a little more, giving the both of you a better view of each other as he scoots a little closer.

“...has to do what the winner says for an entire day.”

Your eyes narrowed at him as he continued his leisurely rub along your thigh. When he reaches you again, his finger runs up and down your slit, swiping a little bit of you each time. With each pass over your clit, your back arches you forward into his touch.

He moves his hand back to your thigh as he waits for your response.

Your mind finally comes back to his proposition and you ready yourself to take him on.

With your hand resting on his thigh, you tighten your grip and confidently proclaim, “Sunset to sunrise and you're on.”

Rafayel leans in, “Kiss on it?”

Your lips meet his in a passionate embrace. Nipping and sucking each other, your tongues wrestle for a few minutes before you pull back slightly breathless. He knows you love kissing him and he knows what it does to you. You fell for it but try to regain your composure and focus.

He grins at you before reaching back for the lube from his nightstand and tossing it between your legs.

You pop the top and dribble a little bit onto his swollen head as you grab hold of him. The lube runs down his length and over your waiting fingers as you slowly begin to pump your hand.

He whimpers under his breath as your tempo remains slow and steady, making sure you're both covered. Your fingers graze over his slick shiny head, swiping at the clear fluid beading at the tip.

You smile at the way he's responding to your touch. He throws his head back as your hand moves up and down his shaft at a steady pace. Squeezing just beneath his hand each time you reach the top, delighted when he leans forward into your hand and you hear him moan your name. You're confident that you just might win as he starts to pump his hips a little faster into your hand, until you remember that he hasn't begun to touch you yet.

When Rafayel finally takes a deep breath and remembers the two of you are competing, he focuses with an intensity you weren't ready for.

His fingers spread your juicy lips, exposing your already wet cunt to the cool ocean air that's drifting in through his open patio doors. The tip of his finger enters you, circling around, making you clench, desperate to feel more of him but he denies you. He keeps teasing you, switching back and forth between circling your entrance and rubbing your clit. You're so wet from just his teasing that you forget the mutual part of the deal.

“You look so beautiful coming undone for me,” he remarks as his other hand grazes over your nipple, “but you're going to lose if you keep this up, cutie,” he teases as you notice you've let go of him and are holding on to his shoulders with both hands.

“Damnit Raf,” you hiss between shallow breaths. You reach for him again, determined not to let him best you since you were already developing plans for his loss.

You had tricks of your own and knew his body as much as he knew yours. You drag your finger over his head and down the bottom of his shaft and take hold of his balls. His teasing stops for a moment as he waits to see what you do. For the moment, you have him right where you want him and give him a small tug before squeezing them in your palm. Rafayel gasps and leans forward, resting his forehead against yours as he catches his breath.

“Oh you're mean,” he whispers between gritted teeth, shifting slightly as your hand continues massaging him.

You gently nudge his nose, “I don't know what you're talking about.”

He huffs and kisses your nose as he slips his fingers between your folds again. A slender finger slides in, watching your expression as he curls his finger and grazes that spot that makes your toes curl. Your stomach flutters as he goes in and out, each pass sending small jolts of electricity from your core to your toes and back again. Rafayel leans back and you catch a quick glimpse of a grin before he grabs hold of your thick thigh and slides a second finger into you. His thumb finds its place against your clit but just before he can find his rhythm again, you close your thighs around his arm in a desperate bid to stop him.

He bites his lower lip before he mouths the word NOPE to you as he scoots closer between your legs, freeing himself from your grip and concentrating fully on you now. You try but fail to keep your thighs closed, your body parting for him like your pride wasn't on the line. You resign yourself to your fate, hoping he doesn't have too much on his mind for you, and throw your legs wide open. Rafayel hums low in agreement, his fingers working again, slipping in and out of you. Your belly jiggles with each moan and whimper as you lose yourself to the motions of his hand. His fingers curl and that damn bundle of nerves makes your body quiver and shake for him but damn if it didn't feel good. The pressure in your core builds as he adds his touch back to your neglected swollen clit.

“Look at you, cutie. A wonderful mess all over my hand. Let me see you in all your beauty.”

Rafayel's hand begins moving faster, your walls clench around his fingers as you feel yourself losing more and more control until it finally breaks.

“Raf……….” You throw your head back and moan his name into the air as you grab hold of his arm. He holds onto you as you buck against him and roll through your orgasm, his fingers still in place, feeling every clench and getting covered with every drop of you.

Little by little as you come down from your euphoric high, he eases his grip on your hip as he reluctantly slides out of you. He held you so tightly to keep you from getting away from him that he left indents in your supple flesh. As you lay back on his pillows, pouting about your loss, you watch Rafayel lick you off his fingers before lying down on his stomach between your legs. His head rests on your thigh, observing the utter mess he made of you. You shiver as he breathes softly against your glistening folds. His hands run up and down your leg, caressing your soft skin.

“I can't believe I lost.”

Rafayel chuckles softly before turning his head to kiss your inner thigh, “That's ok, princess. You'll have another chance some day.”

He nips at your skin and soothes the spot before continuing, “Besides you wouldn't have beaten me today anyway.”

You raise your head a little as you push at his head to get him to look up at you.

“Hey, what do you mean by that?”

He realizes he's said too much and tries to distract you with a kiss to your clit but you shift yourself away from him at the last second.

He huffs aloud before he spills the details, “Fine! I had a little help today that kept me afloat so to speak.”

You prop up on your elbows to look at him. He gives you sad puppy dog eyes but you won't let him off this time.

“So you cheated???”

His cheeks begin to flush as he sticks his bottom lip out and avoids your gaze.

“You little shit,” you exclaim as you ruffle his hair, demanding his attention.

Rafayel looks at you, still trying but failing miserably to deter you.

“I will have my payback, little fishy. You can bet on it.”

Rafayel grins as his eyes widen in surprise before soften under your touch as you massage his scalp.

“I look forward to it.” He nodded in agreement before sliding a little further up between your legs.

“Now, sunset will be here soon and I have some delightful plans for you, cutie.”

[the-broken-pen]

Hello! Heard you were open for writing request? Had this idea in mind about a villain who's Russian and a hero who's falling for villain's accent? Maybe a bit of flirty banter as they fight 👀 your choice tho! Have a fun spring break ☀

The hero was pretty sure the villain was actually trying to kill them this time.

“Hey, don’t aim for the face, okay? It’s the money maker.”

The villain raised one eyebrow–and aimed for the hero’s face.

“Oh come on,” the hero groaned. “That’s just uncalled for.”

“Really? Is it now?”

If the hero had better judgment, they would have said something snarky back, or attempted to get the upper hand. Instead, in a move uncoordinated and wrought with embarrassment, they tripped over their own feet and blushed.

The hero was used to pretty. They were used to gorgeous.

But they had never expected to be attracted to someone’s accent of all things, and it was driving them mad.

“Yep, pretty sure it is,” they managed. They had to dodge halfway up the wall to avoid the villain’s next blow.

“You’re awfully chatty today,” the villain said, and the hero was going to lose their mind–

“Is this affection?” The hero blurted, and contemplated throwing themself off the building to spare both of them. “Because it feels like affection.”

“I don’t know,” the villain shrugged. Their mouth tipped up slightly, gone in a flash between one second and the next. “Do you want it to be?”

The hero froze. “You–I–” and found themself blinking up at the sky, the villain’s hand around their wrist. “Did you just judo flip me?” They wheezed, and the villain grinned.

“You’re blushing.”

“Yeah, because you just knocked the wind out of me. Excuse me for going red with oxygen loss–” the hero cut themself off with a cough, lungs protesting every word, and tugged the villain down to crash into the pavement beside them.

“Let me rephrase; You’ve been blushing this entire time.”

“It’s cold.”

“It’s July.”

“A very cold July.”

“If you’re going to lie,” the villain said, and truly, the hero was lucky they hadn’t had a knife pulled on them yet, “Do it well.”

The hero buckled the villain’s knees. Petty? Yes.

Satisfying? A good reprieve to try and get the blush that flared every time the villain spoke to subside? Also yes.

“Real smooth,” the villain rolled their eyes, pushing themself to their feet. “So, what is it.”

“Was that a question, or–”

“My winning personality?”

The villain was studying them with far too much care.

“Aren’t you supposed to be robbing a bank or something?” They said half-desperately.

“Smile? Laugh?” The villain paused for a moment, catching the hero’s punch as if it was nothing more than a mosquito–which was insulting, to say the least–before their face cleared of any confusion.

“Ah,” the villain said, and oh the hero was so screwed, because they knew that look. That look appeared regularly in their dreams. It was the villain’s signature ‘I figured something out and I’m going to use it to do nefarious things’ look. Their ‘I’m smarter than you and I’m about to prove it in an effortlessly ruthless maneuver’ look.

The hero saw it far too often.

“‘Ah’ what.”

The villain, damn them, grinned, releasing the hero’s hand.

“Accent.”

Any air that the hero had managed to regain after the judo flip escaped from them like they were a sinking ship.

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“No,” the hero said, cursing every single moment of their life that had led up to this one. Maybe they really should have become a lawyer– “I’m just flabbergasted by how dumb that sentence was.”

Flabbergasted. Flabbergasted. Who the hell says flabbergasted?!

“This is cute,” the villain remarked as they drew a knife. They gestured with it towards the hero’s undoubtedly fire engine red face. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this flustered.”

“I’m not flustered, I’m–”

“Flabbergasted?” The villain suggested wryly, and truly, the fact that this situation was funny in a hopeless and pathetic way was not helping. The accent absolutely was not helping either.

The hero truly had nothing to say to that, staring at the villain, the two of them impromptu statues.

“You like me,” the villain teased. “And my accent.”

The hero was not proud of what they did next.

Considering their life, it wasn’t the worst thing they had ever done out of embarrassment.

A close second, though.

The villain smirked, and in a move far more elegant than they had ever thought themself possible, the hero slid under the villain’s arm, snagging the knife from the villain’s hand as they went—and planted it into the villain’s side.

The villain blinked, hand going to their side. The hero blushed—

Finally, in the single coherent thought they had managed in seemingly their entire life, they did something not embarrassingly pathetic.

The hero bolted away, into side streets and alleys, to the sound of the villain’s pained and endlessly amused laughter.

“Real smooth,” the villain called after them, voice echoing between the buildings. “You’re handling this quite well.”

The villain was never going to let them live this down.

[littleplantfreak]

Currently Seeking: A Soul Connection

Grim Reaper Hiragi x Reader Cw: mentions of death and...stomach issues? that's pretty much it Word Count: 800ish Hiragi's having a tough time getting your soul, but in the end neither of you really mind that. Kinda based on the game A Date with Death because I kept thinking about Ragi's halloween costume.

“We can’t keep doing this.” The voice grumbles from inside the bathroom. You’re sitting back against the door as you listen to him writhe in anxious agony. The pills you always give him work, just not immediately. 

“I keep winning fair and square,” and the smile in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed by him. Sweat drips down his brow as he wonders how you could’ve won a game he rigged against you in the first place, though this certainly isn’t the first time you’ve sweet talked your way into him letting you play for your life. “I even let you choose the game this time, Toma!”

He doesn’t really have a choice, does he? Your ability to keep yourself alive is inherent and nebulous, marring his perfect track record as a grim reaper. It hurts both his stomach and his pride that you’re still on earth and not where your soul should be, at least according to the paperwork. 

“As much as I enjoy our chats, please shut up. You aren’t helping my nerves.”

“You like my voice,” and he hears that little amused scoff you do sometimes. “In fact, I bet you’re totally soothed listening to me right now.”

“Yeah, every time I think you’re done talking it does tend to get better.”

“Rude bastards don’t get the porridge I’m cooking on the stove,” you call back, getting up to check on it. The only reason you make it is because he can’t stomach anything else when he gets like this, though why you’re going along with him and playing friends is beyond you. He grumbles and complains about how much he’d prefer you just give your soul up, but in about two minutes he’ll be out of the bathroom and sitting on your couch while you cue up whatever’s next in your watchlist on the TV. 

Maybe it’s because he cares without saying it, or maybe you’re just lonely and this is the easiest relationship you’ve ever had to put effort into, but regardless you’re really starting to enjoy him being here. 

Sometimes you’ll fall asleep watching a movie with him only to find yourself in your bed, no recollection of being carried. Other times when his stomach is at its worst, you’ll be swaddled on the couch, your favorite stuffed animal sitting next to you as if to comfort you in your now quiet house. 

“Why don’t you just…take it?” You asked the question one day, curious since as far as you know he can just reap you whenever he wants.

“You’re not willing to give it up. It’d be worse for your soul in the long run if it was taken against your will. It’d be different if your body died, but to just take it as you are now could tear it in a way that’d make you unable to pass on, or worse.” His matter of fact tone recited it as if it’d been ingrained in him from birth, which according to him it has. 

Now, the bathroom door opens, Toma’s face slightly less pale. His bowl sits on the side table with extra pills on a napkin next to it and a glass of water that he never asked for but takes gratefully. He’d never say it out loud, but maybe he’s not as bothered as he should be that you’re still alive, despite the constant stomach issues the stress brings.

The movie nights, the way you stretch your legs over his lap while you tell him about your day and the shitty people at work…even the way you tease him for slacking on the job after he loses yet another round of checkers or when the car that was supposed to hit you ends up braking right at the last minute. Even those moments seem to fill him with feelings he’s not used to. Bewilderment, slight concern, and something else that someone who wasn’t in his position would describe as fondness end up bubbling to the surface of his chest. 

Your soul needs to move on eventually, but for now he’ll secretly enjoy these small respites where you both forget that fact. No one but him knows about the small smile that makes its way to his face when your head slumps on his shoulder yet again. Your warmth soaks into his skin reminding him of the warmth of the porridge from earlier. 

It’s only polite for him to make sure you get to your bed. In fact, he could go so far as to say it’s necessary for the eventual completion of collecting your soul. Not because he’s concerned about your sore muscles, and definitely not because he loves the way your cheek rubs against his chest when he’s carrying you. 

Of course not. 

Later he’ll put in an extension on the paperwork for collecting you, citing various vague reasons for the delay and then he’ll wonder what’s going to happen on the next episode of Succession. He can only guess at how you’ll try to psychoanalyze the characters and how you’ll react to the spoiler he read on his phone earlier. Until then he sits on the edge of your bed while your cat kneads against his thigh, your soft breaths filling the room with a kind of warmth only you can bring.

[jamtoro]

Just a drabble in large part inspired by the first Challengers fic I read by @cybersunnie Content warning for masturbation but this is mostly just mutual pining

- Of course you knew who Art Donaldson was, because, really, who didn't? So why wouldn't you be surprised when he approached you, offering to be your hitting partner for the night?

- You hesitated on your response, a mixture of embarrassment (you were practicing for a mandatory athletics class and were far from being even decent) and confusion (why would he ask you? What did he gain from it?).

- But, still, you agreed. Practicing tennis with Art, the Art Donaldson, was not an opportunity afforded to many beginners (at least you imagined). And despite the preemptive embarrassment, it beat hitting a ball against a wall.

- So, you begin with a backhand warm up before advancing to a rally.

- You miss volleys left and right, and even fall on your ass at some point. But with the cool spring night breeze on your sweat-slick skin and a lack of the pressure you thought you'd feel when sparring with Art, that 10 AM lecture class you have tomorrow feels light years away.

- When you've both had enough (well, you're sick of running after missed balls and you feel bad for making Art watch you flounder) you thank him, trying not to fall into realm of gratuitous gratitude. "I know it's not what you're used to, and it felt like torture at times, but thank you. I had a lot of fun losing to you."

- "You're not terrible," Art says, looking at you. Really looking at you, a soft smile on his face. You open your mouth to protest, but he tilts his head back a certain way as if to say Are you really going to debate me on that? Me? And you avoid breaking into a gigantic grin, but your giddiness is evident.

- You felt drunk on luck. First he offers to be your partner for the night, then he complements you. Well, sort of, but it's enough to make your heart stammer in your chest.

- You'd be lying if you said Art didn't look beautiful under the florescent light of the tennis court, a light sweat above his brow. And the scent of his musk, it could grow addicting.

- and you'd be lying if you said Art wasn't the reason why you continued to practice tennis on late nights. Some nights you saw him practicing with someone, sometimes he was alone, sometimes he showed up after you, but most nights you practiced alone. But lighting can strike twice, you told yourself.

- It took until the night of your last final, but thankfully eventually Art approached you.

- "Most people leave as soon as their last final's over, but you're still here," He says. "Summer classes," is all you manage in return. You force a barely there smile with pressed lips. You're wrought with tension.

- "There's a two week bre--" "Can you teach me tennis?" You cut Art off, the words basically stumbling out of your mouth. "I can pay you whatever, and I won't whine, and I know you have your own practices, but I just want you. I want to play tennis with you."

- It's bold and you know you're asking for a lot. You hold your breath as you wait for an answer.

- Art pauses in consideration, turning your words over in his mind. And your heart twists like a wrung towel as you watch a faint smile tug on one side of his mouth. "If you can win against me, I'll coach you."

- Your mind goes into hyperdrive with inquiries. Why would he say that? Does he really believe I could beat him? What happens when I lose? Does he have to be this cruel? Am I too desperate? Is it obvious? And before you could even begin to verbalize such a question, you see Art setting down his tennis bags on the far end of the court.

- "Are you gonna go easy on me?" You yell from the other side as you stretch your upper body.

- "How could I assess your abilities as your coach without seeing how far you'll go?" Art asks when he finishes a set of side lunges.

- yeah, you're gonna lose.

- And at least it's not a humiliating loss. You've definitely improved since the first time you and Art played, even managing a point here and there (but deep down you feel like Art let you have those). And even though you've lost two of three games, you're laughing, you're joking, you're having fun. Even though you approached Art so seriously, so desperately, you can't take yourself seriously, not in earnest, even when playing for something as coveted as a Summer with Art. And you can't even hate yourself for it because you feel so free.

- "I won't torture you with the idea of a rematch, so thank you for playing with me." You say, hand extended as you walk towards the net. "I'll still see you around, right?"

- But Art doesn't respond when he shakes your hand. He kind of just stands there for a moment, shaking your hand in a trance.

- Within Art, something shifted, or clicked, rather.

- No stranger to desperation, he recognized it in you, saw himself reflected in your curious eyes. And though he expected himself to be more repulsed by your desperation, each volley blunted the edges of such an emotion.

- And it helped he saw what Tashi loved about tennis within you.

- Maybe you could've been great if you had more than a casual interest in the sport, or if you had started in the single digits like the rest of the college athletes, or if you stopped blowing rasberies and laughing everytime you hit the ball into the net. But you didn't care about greatness. And to Art, it almost seemed like you didn't care about winning him as a coach, not for lack of trying, but because you became someone else on the court. You found a liberation that Art could only dream of. A liberation that could only be afforded to someone who's highest aspiration is the intermural leagues. Your relationship with tennis, with your opponent was more self-serving. This was less of a relationship and more so voyeurism.

- And that appealed to Art in some capacity.

- "I mean, you played pretty well, considering," Art finally says, returning to himself. "Do Tuesdays work for you?"

- It scratches an itch to be wanted. Even if it isn't by the person you want.

- Art reminded himself of this, like a mantra, on the first night he cums to the thought of you. A late night tennis session turned mildly risqué with an absent minded question ("Do you think some people use rackets sexually?" You asked before the stream of laugh that followed due to Art's flusted expression) was all Art really needed to follow through on what was a burgeoning feeling.

- On one hand, Art struggled to remember why he's keeping himself from you. He's already this close. You never shy from his touch when he corrects your grip on the racket. You don't seem to mind sharing towels or water. And he feels the way you watch him, even when his back is turned.

- On the other, he's kicking himself. Even though he's only your senior by a year and he's not an official coach by any standard, it feels wrong. Especially when he's the catalyst in Tashi and Patrick's teetering relationship. You were meant to be a scapegoat if Patrick and Tashi got messy and Art's culpiblity was revealed. You were not supposed to stay.

- But being wanted is like a drug. And the thought of your mouth on his, along his body, around him, is irresistible.

- He knew, as he watched his cum thin out and disperse in the shower stream, that this wouldn't be the only time he came to the thought of you.

- (Should he feel ashamed that he's wrapped around your finger, too, even though you're the one who wants him so obviously?)

- Art leaves the locker room without looking in the mirror.

[iwriteiguessandiloveit]

LUI (Loving Under the Influence)

Beetlejuice x Reader

TW: alcohol, unwanted advancements at first but he doesn't push it.

LUI (Loving Under the Influence)

You didn't even get to take off your shoes before Beetlejuice practically tackled you down onto the couch, an arm sloppily trying to pull your shirt over your head. ‘Beetlejuice!’ You swatted his hand away, shoving him off you. 

It’s not like you two had never ‘done it’ before. It was a relatively common occurrence, actually. Feeling some type of way your hands alone can’t satisfy? You know who to call. 

Today though? This was weird, even for him. He at least made sure the door was closed before trying to take your clothes off. 

             Beej pouted and reluctantly slid off of you, though still keeping a hand on your thigh. ‘Thats *hic* unfair, babes. You know I *hic* hate it when you’re *hic* at work~’ 

 …Hiccups? Dead people don't-Ohh. ‘You’re drunk as hell, aren't you.’ 

A strange, almost guilty giggle escaped him, the deepness of his voice contrasting against his near schoolgirl-like playfulness.

Sighing heavily and jogging to the kitchen to open up the pantry to confirm what you already knew-Beetlejuice had gotten into your cooking wine. And guzzled all 4 bottles. ‘Really, Beetlejuice?’ You said, frustrated. ‘I forgot how *hic* strong livin’ world liquor is.’ He runs his fingers through his already disheveled hair with a sheepish smile. 

'Well we're not going to do… that while you can’t even think straight. Go to Dante's Inferno or something, blow off your steam in the Netherworld. Okay, Beetl-’ 

           He grabbed your shoulder and covered your mouth with his filthy hand, making you sputter. 

‘Don’ wanna go *hic* back home.’ He slurred. ‘I wan'na be… *hic* with ya. Babes… Please.’ Your eyes widened in surprise, then softened a bit once you saw the strangely open look he had. The hand that was on your right arm slowly slid down your side to your hips. ‘I wantcha here.’ He repeats. 

The alcohol on his breath was heady and nearly made you a bit tipsy yourself. But the thing that was really messing with your head was his sudden switch. Instead of the usual hair pulling and scratches, his touch was gentle. Tracing lazy spirals on your back with his fingers, holding you against him like if he let go you’d run away. It wasn't unpleasant-not at all. A small sigh escaped your lips at his soft touch.

Something seemed to stir in him at your noise; Because he took a step back from you and extended out his hand, a softness in his eyes you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. ‘C’mon, Doll…’ with a snap an ornate record player appeared on the table a few feet from you. ‘Join the *hic* dead guy for a *hic* dance?’ Looking at him with his eyebrows raised and a sappy smile made whatever anger at him you had left inside you melt away. 

You take his hand and out of some ghostly power-who really knows-your feet leave the ground and a tune that sounds like it’s from the 1960s starts, slow and sweet. Then it’s almost as if the entire world disappears, leaving just you and Beetlejuice in the air, spinning and stepping and twirling to the beat of an old love song you can’t quite name and honestly if you could just freeze this moment right here-and live in if forever; Dancing with this ghost, pervert,  annoyance, you could die happy. 

Your foot somehow slips midair and Beej’s hand grabs your back, dipping you. ‘Careful there, Doll, don’t fall.’

 Much to your dismay the song’s last notes echoed through the room, and with BJ’s arms around you ,you floated back to the ground, to reality. With one final spin, he pulled you down onto the corner couch cushion with him, wrapping his arms around your middle. His face was buried in your shoulder, taking deep breaths you knew he didn't need to smell your hair. Wriggling a bit only made him hold you tighter. 

He grinned sleepily, eyes fluttering shut and head dropping onto your chest. Then he says something so quietly, so softly that you wonder if maybe you just imagined it; ‘...I love you.’ Your mouth drops open, and you’re about to laugh in disbelief but the large snores rumbling through him tell you he wouldn't hear it anyway. 

The next morning… 

Suddenly the snoring stopped. Groaning, Beetlejuice kicked off the blanket you had draped over him. ‘T-too bright…’ With a flick of his wrist, the lamp turned off. ‘Wha-what… Doll?’ 

          You were peering over him with a shit-eating grin on your face. You’d been waiting for him to wake up for hours now. 

‘You sure had fun yesterday, huh?’ 

His face drained even whiter than normal, If it was even possible. 

“Babes-look-I can explain about last ni-’ 

He was interrupted by you grabbing his face and kissing him. He made a gargled noise in the back of his throat, jerking his head back as you pulled away. ‘I love you too.’ 

The stunned look on his face was almost comical. Then slowly, he chuckled and his usual cocky grin returned. ‘Wasn't’ expecting' that… Should I close the blinds so we can express this… less clothed?’

 ‘You are disgusting, Beetlejuice!’

 ‘All for you, Babes.’ 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

YESSSSSSS IT'S OUT!!! I DID IT! This goes out to @selfshipping-shapeshifter, as this was the fic for their ask :DDDD

Thank you all for waiting so long and i'm sorry if the quality isn't as good as usual, I was doing my best and just trying to get it out after struggling with it so long. I did have a lot of fun writing it though, I always do with my asks 😃

-Rea ❤

[avidya-musings]

Struck Too Far

Scaramouche (pre-3.3 Archon Quest) x reader

In which you, a lower-ranking Fatui, sacrifice yourself to save your lover, Scaramouche.

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

cw - angst . character death (reader) . Scaramouche is still Fatui and goes by his Fatui aliases . no comfort . TW; mentions of being shot

Banner art is by Sirwicca on TikTok!

A/N: please note there may be mixed lines between 3rd and 1st person since I had to do a lot of edits (because this was originally a story with an OC in the place of the reader), so forgive me for that, I don’t think I was able to fix it all 😭

It wasn’t supposed to have come to this. That much, Scaramouche was painfully aware of.

You shouldn’t be on the floor, bleeding to death in front of him — and he shouldn’t have even been attacked. You shouldn’t have jumped in the way of the arrow meant to hit him. And yet, with a smile; innocent expression, you had gladly taken the attack in his place.

“You idiot..!” Why did he feel something wet on his face? He wasn’t crying. He never cried. “Why.. why did you..” but he can’t bear to finish his sentence. If he did, then that would mean this was real. 

He would never let it be real.  He couldn’t.

Not for his sake, but for the sake of the bloodstained person laying in front of him.. you, his lover. His light. A hand on his cheek snaps him out of his thoughts. He meets your soft eyes with his own cold, anguished expression. “Better me than you,” you tell him, “the others need you, Scara. But they don’t need me.” “You’re wrong!” His voice was strained, on the edge of a hurt scream mixed with a sob. “You’re wrong, y/n, they- I-“

“‘Kuzushi.” 

Scaramouche froze. 

You never use that name with him, not unless you absolutely have to.  And it was then that it dawned on him, all too late, that there wouldn’t be any possible way to save you - why else were you calling him by his true name now?

“Kuzushi. You always told me that I should prove myself.. earn respect in a way that only I can. And for me.. it’s showing my loyalty. That’s how I’ve reached the point I’m at. By proving my loyalty.” You smile weakly, squeezing Scaramouche’s hand. “But.. I’m nothing more than a pawn in the Tsaritsa’s plan - while you are a vital asset.”

Scaramouche wanted to argue against that statement, so badly. But he also knew you were right. His life played a huge role in the Tsaritsa’s plans.  And the plain, ugly truth was that while his life was valuable to the Cryo Archon, your own life meant next to nothing to the Tsaritsa.

So instead of arguing, or yelling, he let himself sit there, numb, as he holds you in his arms while you speak - praying that there would be more time.. that he could have more time with you. It was selfish, but it was all he wanted, now, in this moment. Oh, how he regretted all the times he had pushed you away when he was in his moods. 

Time was cruel, and death was, too. 

You take in a breath, struggling now, “So, if me giving up my life means you.. you can continue to carve your legacy, then.. I don’t think I mind.” “You’re a fool, y/n.. you’re such a fool!” Scaramouche wants to yell at you so badly, call you an idiot for taking the attack meant for him, but he knows it won’t matter. 

You had always been stubborn since the day the both of you met.

“That makes you a bigger fool, then, my Balladeer..” you chuckle weakly, your life ebbing away from you, “you knew it would be this way. I always told you.. that I would give my own life to see yours through, if it came to that..” “Stop it-“ “You know I can’t..” even now, you have that soft, innocent look in your gaze. How could you act like everything would be fine when you were dying? 

He breathes in sharply, “just stop, y/n, please- just STOP!” He hates feeling that he is showing weakness, and he hates feeling vulnerable, but knowing that he is losing his partner is something he hates even more. “Please.. we have time-“

You only shake your head, “no, Kuzushi.. it hurts..”

Scaramouche lowers his head, his breath hitching in his throat. Why you? Why not some useless agent or a dispensable mage - not his lover. Not you. Not now, not when he had so much more he’d left unsaid. Again, he feels your hand on his cheek, and he looks down, his eyes softening. Something they only did for you, and you alone. “I.. I love you so much, Kuzushi-“ you cough, smiling again. That smile that Scaramouche knows he won’t see again once you’re gone. The thought makes his stomach turn. Again, he wishes his denial could be the truth, and at the same time he knows it never will be. 

The painful thing about denial is that it seldom ever becomes truth. Shaking his mind clear for the moment, he touches his forehead to yours, exhaling slowly, “I love you too, amaimono.. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel otherwise.. and I’m sorry I can’t save you-“ 

You silence him with a gentle hand gripping his - your strength is fading, and he knows it’s only a matter of moments before you, his partner, will leave his side in the mortal realm. 

Scaramouche wants to tell you everything he never could bring himself to before. That your smile always made him feel safe and wanted; that your touch always brightened even his darkest days. But there wasn’t time left.

“You never did. I knew you well enough to k-know you never meant anything harsh you m-may have said..” you smile again.

And Archons, how Scaramouche hates himself, for never finding the time to apologize properly for the times he’d lashed out; to thank you for staying by his side, even when he’d take his anger out on you or hurt you with his words. He finally breaks down; the wetness on his face could only be tears and nothing else. And he lets them fall. He could care less if an agent saw him, or if another Harbinger were to berate him; fuck it all, he doesn’t care anymore. 

You are the only thing that matters now, and he continues to tell himself this - to keep talking to you before he can’t anymore, lest he regret it if he doesn’t.

“Y/n, please, I-“ he sighs, a ragged, shuddering breath as his tears still fall, even now, “I can’t do this without you.” “You did it once, my love, even when I wasn’t there..” you whisper, pulling Scaramouche’s head closer to your own with your quickly fading strength.

Your lips then ghost against Scaramouche’s, faint, desperate, but unsure.

“I’ve always had faith in you, my storm, b-because I know you’ll do amazing.. even w-without me..” your words are barely a whisper, chest heaving - you’re tired, and you’re too far gone.  Your body falls limp before you can even take another breath, and Scaramouche turns away, his eyes screwed shut. You’re gone. Y/n, his y/n, isn’t with him anymore. 

It stings, an eerie feeling; though loss was something Scaramouche knew well, now he is sure he wouldn’t forget how it felt. First had come the three betrayals, and though he knows that it was beyond your control, that you were only mortal, he still feels as though your death was yet another one. Death truly is the cruelest master, Scaramouche thinks to himself as he finally lets down his guard, sobbing over your still body. 

If only it could’ve taken him instead.

[sircantus]

Hi! Do you have a beta for your fics? Or do you just release them into the wild without outside feedback first?

Oh yeahh no i just straight up post my chapters with only myself as my own proofreader. No beta i die like cwilbur. A while back i think?? I used to ask for people to look over my writing? Like as i was still making the chapters i would tweet “would anyone like to look over this i cant tell if its good” and if they said yet i instantly sent them a google doc. But im really impatient and i have to usually post my things the second they are done so thats why i didnt always bother with the feedback as i made it

Technically im now on a posting schedule so i could theoretically get a proper beta reader now but like. I fear being perceived in the proximity of my google doc

[rindomness]

In honor of me finishing the first draft of the Phanshuffle fic, here's the updated Thief designs for them all. I'm saving real-world redesigns for the Strikers fic that has, somehow, inexplicably, sprouted up in my wips.

Please please feel free to ask me any questions about them. I'm obsessed with this AU. It is my baby. There's strikers stuff now in case you missed that at the top and I really want to talk about it.

[thatonefandomjumper]

My fanfic A Lifetime from the Hunt is officially completed!

I have been posting these drawings one-by-one as the arcs came out but now that the fic is done might as well slap them all in one post!

It'd mean a lot if any Leo Valdez fan checked out the fic. I put a lot into it. And if anyone is reading this after completing the fic, thank you for sticking around! It really is appreciated :)))

[blkkizzat]

What happens when I try to get my well adjusted non-tumblr friends to beta read my JJK smut:

(This is for my Toji x Reader - The Nursery fic btw)

LOL even worse when they start clocking tea 😭

Lmfao this is what I go through y’all 😩😩

[stunie]

cleared my schedule for the umemiya fic.

AAAAA please nonnie i love you so much 😭 this made me smile so hard hsjsmmm

aaa tbh (rambling): i’ve never been this nervous to post writing though ?! is it because it’s umemiya ?! my first long wind breaker post ?! IDK AAAAAAAAA I KEEP READING IT IM LOSING MY MIND I FEEL LIKE I HAVE THE WHOLE THING MEMORIZED