#tempus x reader

[mackjlee9]

Tempus HQ&VG [NSFW Headcanons]

Warning; implied male reader, 2nd person narration. The way they moan and their favourite sex position.

Author's note; I wasn't sure about adding Magni and Vesper, but... I might add them later idk.

Masterlist.

VTubers Holostars EN/ Tempus

Their moans;

Altare| soft and quiet but high-pitched. gets very breathy when he's too overwhelmed and about to cum. he's able to let out small mewls of your name, muttering a barely audible, "cumming..."

Axel| grunting and gasping. he refuses to moan out loud when you're having sex. and he will try his hardest to not be loud. however, there are times when keeping quiet is the hardest task for him.

Bettel| whining, whimpering, crying... he's very, VERY vocal which embarrasses him a lot. even more so when he realizes you do things a certain way just to hear him get louder.

Hakka| mumbly. he mumbles and babbles a lot. a mixture of sounds and words come out of him when you're being intimate. he just feels so good that he can no longer understand words.

Shinri| grunts and deep, growly hums. as someone who is naturally quieter, his moans have turned into low, deep and growly hums, which are... pretty sexy.

Flayon| high-pitched, whiny and loud. he doesn't give a damn if he's being "too loud". he loves the way you fuck him and he's gonna be vocal about it too.

Favourite Position;

Altare| a doggy-style kinda guy. there's something about it that just does something to him... maybe it's the feeling of your chest pressed up against his back while you moan on his ear, telling him how tight he feels around your cock and how he's such a good boy for taking you so well.

Axel| reverse cowgirl. he enjoys the feeling of control this position gives him, as if he could do anything he wants to you and there would be nothing you could do... completely ignoring the fact that your hands, holding onto his hips, are the reason he's bouncing on your cock like that. (he also likes it because he gets to hide his face from you)

Bettel| against the wall. babygirl likes being picked up and thrown around. he gets turned on at how easy you seem to be able to just carry him whenever you want and he's had a hard time controlling himself whenever you do. his reactions and thoughts about this are obvious, he is like an open book so... enjoy.

Hakka| missionary. babyboy likes a rough missionary. getting to see your face as you fuck into him is the cause of his mind turning into mush, leaving an incoherent Hakka lying on his back, too fucked dumb to be able to think.

Shinri| missionary or doggy. he's good with either, and chooses one or the other depending on his mood, whether he wants it slow or rough, however, he goes with what you want most of the time. (a little hesitant to try cowgirl just yet)

Flayon| mating press... you saw it coming. he just loves having his body practically folded under your weight as you pound his throbbing insides and call him a "dirty whore", or your "sweet puppy", whichever you say, always gets the same reaction out of him. his whines get louder, and you watch as his eyes roll back, hearing him cry your name while holding onto your arms, agreeing to your words while he moans and gasps. even more so when you call him your "slutty princess."

[skubean]

May i request a short reader hc with any of the holotempus boys?

thanks for the request <3 ! i really liked this idea bcs im sort of short as well (5'2) *sobs* anyways, i decided to go with altare, axel, bettel and hakka since i'm not confident in writing for all of them yet (sorry!!) but i hope you liked this!

holotempus boys with a short! gn reader

characters: regis altare, axel syrios, gavis bettel, banzoin hakka

warnings: gender neutral reader, ooc, mentions of pet names (baby, babe, love), mild cursing, mentions of insecurity, nothing else just mostly teasing and fluff! (i did not proofread this (my bad) but lmk in case of errors.

regis altare

let's be real. the guy definitely feels a sense of pride knowing that there's someone shorter than him sksksks (since he's the shortest in hq)

he is the definition of a devil in disguise (affectionate) bcs mans will mess with you at any moment he gets despite having that soft smile on his face

he loves knowing that you rely on him esp if there's stuff you can't reach.

"what're you doing, babe? can't reach?". towers over you from behind to get whatever you're tryna reach.

if you're insecure with your height, altare would probably not mess with you as much bcs he wants you to be happy! for him, height doesn't really matter as long as the both of you are happy.

if you're just a little gremlin, expect having small silly banters with him that ends up becoming happy cuddles at the end of the day. let's just say teasing each other is your love language.

jokes aside, i think altare is the best person to be around with, mainly bcs he's attentive and focuses on your wellbeing most of the time.

imagine being in a crowd and separated from him, he would still be able to find you, ofc he would, he's just that good.

overall, altare's just being silly but definitely thinks you're cute to tease, and he uses that to his advantage.

axel syrios

menace. absolute menace.

he likes the feeling of being reliable, so he'd definitely purposely with full on intention place stuff on the highest spot so that you would have to come to him for help.

imagine his smug face when you come to him asking to get the plates placed on the highest shelf and as soon as you turn around, he silently fistbumps as a sign of victory. (he's goofy i just know it)

definitely extra protective of you, thinks you're really precious and he's like a bodyguard for some reason.

the type to always have his hand around your waist ueueueue.

if you're a little self conscious with your height, i expect axel to be really good with reassurance. he's playful, yeah, but he definitely cares more about you.

"no, baby! i think you're absolutely adorable and perfect the way you are!!", he would say this while cupping both your cheeks so you'd look him straight in the eye.

he's a hugger, so expect cuddle sessions almost 25/8.

he could be gaming and would suddenly ask you to sit on his lap or something bcs he just likes the warmth.

again, height isn't an issue for him, in fact, he finds it endearing with the height difference.

as long as you love him and he loves you, he would protect you at all costs (with a lot of teasing).

gavis bettel

pretty similar to axel, bettel definitely is big on teasing.

but his teasing are quick to follow with affection afterwards. definitely the type who jokes and then says sorry afterwards.

one time, he saw you sitting on his gaming chair while he went to grab some water and he noticed how your legs dangle slightly from how high he had his chair on. never told you this but that image of you is always on his mind, and he may or may not have snapped a picture, saved it in his phone, probably under an album filled with other pictures of you.

phantom reminds him so much of you bcs of how small he is, in a good way ofc. definitely pesters phantom abt it too.

if you're the type who would react to his antics (like get mad at him (jokingly) when he messes around), bettel sees that as an encouragement for him to mess around more.

rests-arm-on-your head typa beat

big spoon in bed for sure. the type that intertwines his legs with yours under the cover so that you're pretty much trapped under his larger build.

i headcannon that bettel is shy with pda but does stuff that indicates he wants touches!

for example: you're both sitting on the couch, and he would scooch closer to you when he sees you hella focused on whatever show is on the tv and if he thinks you noticed, he would stop. but then, he'd do it again and again until you get the hint and just lay your head on his shoulder. (mission accomplished, he thinks)

he probably doesn't realise this, but he's considerate of you. the type who would bend slightly when he kisses you without thinking bcs it's just something that happens.

definitely adorable.

banzoin hakka

hakka is a sweetheart. i just know so. in fact, i'm sure of it.

probably the opposite of the other three. jokes around but doesn't really do it much.

the type who would place stuff at a level that's reachable for you. (and for him lmfao)

probably doesn't mind about height because he's short too (his words, not mine).

still likes being the bigger spoon. one time, he was the small spoon and it was too much for him, he couldn't handle it. (weak to receiving affection).

definitely a giver. gives plenty of affection to you throughout the day that when you reward him with a little peck on the cheek, he gets all flustered and stumbles on his words (nerd.)

he's your protector. the type that would cover your head when you bend down to grab something, or would walk on the side of the road.

hakka heard you complaining abt your height one time and went full on nagging mode skksksks. doesn't like hearing you fret about your height because he thinks you're perfect!

"love, height shouldn't even be an issue because it's just height. i'd rather have you as you are bcs you're my y/n". he's so cute i can't.

lowkey feels like he would pat your butt sometimes, idk why this just popped up in my head but he does it whenever you start mumbling abt being short.

overall, he's very sweet. never lets height become an issue bcs fuck being tall!!! short is the new trend!! /j

a/n: sorry, this didn't come out as good as i was hoping bcs i ran out of ideas T.T i actually initially was planning on writing it longer but my brain is poof :( anyways, i hope this is fine huhuhu i'll try my best in the future! SORRY I SUCK i've been on tumblr for years but have never actually wrote anything so i'm a little stupid sksksksk. ok that's all, thank you !! -beanz

[shus-armpit]

ahahwsjjejd,,,,im thinking about bettel and hakka w muzzles and chastity cages on,, <3 just them being soso desperate for you to touch them because the chastity cages are driving them crazy. dumb little pups.

-🤡

bettel and hakka have similar tastes in women.. toxic girls who can also take care of you and then beat you senseless..

( sounds like me. LMAO )

hakka is so upset he can’t kiss you, thrashing around and bucking his hips. whining, looking up at you with pretty eyes, hoping you’ll give into this cute, but caged bird. pretty metal gleaming as you step on his hips to hold him down, making blood rush down as much as he can’t get hard. step on his cock next? <3

hakka would be a bit of a bratty puppy, but just so you can punish him more.. <3 trying so hard to aggravate you until you push him down, unlock his cage and make him regret ever wanting his dick freed.

bettel gets embarrassed, but his true nature shows when he starts to beg. stuttering into your neck as plush thighs wrap around your waist.. pretty back arching as he’s desperately humping against you in a pathetic attempt to feel good.

bettel would be prideful, but it’s easy to break by embarrassing him.. grasping at the leash you tug him at, crying and shy.. begging cutely just for a chance at release. reprimanding you for being so mean.. but you both know that you two enjoy this game.

[shiesan]

I don’t know what to title

An Axel Syrios X Reader fic.

Kinda nsfw near the end but only if u squint

I think it’s afab? HAHAHA I wrote the first half a few months ago and just finished it today whoops. Not proof read but I still hope you like it 

“Oi! I said I was sorry!”

You couldn’t hear him. Well, more of you didn’t want to listen. It was all the same old same old. “She’s just a friend.” “I don’t care about her, I care about you.” It’s not like you didn’t want to believe him. You did. Oh with your whole being, you’d want to believe him. And maybe, just maybe, deep in your heart you actually do. Though right now as you’re hurriedly running away from him that small part of you that wants to believe is nowhere to be seen.

Faster. Faster. Faster.

This is the only word that runs through your mind as you try to run away from Axel. Try. You knew sooner or later he’d be able to catch up but you were hoping that in his “dumb” head he’d think to leave you alone, that you’d need time.

A strong hand desperately grasps your arm, forcing you to a halt. Two grown figures standing on the sidewalk as the sun sets behind them, both breathing heavily from running.

“Y/n, please you gotta listen to me…She”

“I’m sorry, Axel. But I’m tired of listening to you.” You take a deep breath. “Let’s talk when we get home okay? I’m sorry for running away. Let’s just.. Just go home for now.”

You angrily yank your arm away from him. Eyes on the road in front of you and no words were spoken as you guys made the train back home. Just a silence that was filled with so much anxiety it physically took a toll on you. You felt weak. Your head was spinning at the thought of things taking turns for the worst. But at long last, you’ve arrived at your destination. 

Both of you place your shoes near the entrance, taking small and calm steps you made it to the living room. Before sitting down you took a deep breath and tried to focus on your breathing, trying to reassure yourself everything was going to be okay. 

“Okay,” you start off. “What do you have to say now?” as you finish your sentence you slowly turn to look at a disheveled Axel.

“Listen, I know you’re getting tired of this. Again and again, you see me with another girl and later I beg for forgiveness. Nothing ever happens though, please believe me.” The boy says. And it’s true. Axel is the type of man that believes one can be friends with the opposite gender. Well, you are as well but the thing is the girls that Axel hangs out with don’t think that. Multiple times have you had threats from other girls saying that they’ll steal him away from you.

Maybe, just a little bit, the fault lies on you for not telling him. But how could you? He’s such an extroverted person. He loves being in the presence of other people. In his eyes, the time he spends with the other girls is just friendly dates. You’d dread having to tell him that you don’t want to see him hanging out with xxx person. He’s so dense. He doesn’t see how others look at him with such glimmer in their eyes. Axel doesn’t know the disgusted looks people give you when they see you both together. Heck, he didn’t even know you liked him at first. You needed to plain out and tell him that you had feelings for him. Even then the man was confused “What feelings? Ha?”. But still. You’d hope he’d take a hint that it makes you uncomfortable seeing your boyfriend with other girls.

“Babe, please. Altare was there. We weren’t the only two people there. He was just in the bathroom taking a shit. See, look at this, we even have a picture of us three together.” He said desperately trying to show you the picture. Sure enough, Altare was there. More tears flood your eyes.

I’m wrong. I caused such a scene. What the fuck am I even doing?  You wonder to yourself. Your face gets hot as tears uncontrollably leave your eyes. 

*sniffles* “I, I’m so sawwy aksel. Yu dident chu anything wrong and I- “ you could barely finish your sentence. Or could you even call it one?

“Shh, my love it’s okay.” He pulls you into a hug and wipes away your tears. You look up at him and see his face as red as yours with tears falling from it as well. Axel was never a cryer. All these years of being together and he rarely cried. Somehow every time that he did cry it was about something related to you. Your anniversary, a gift you gave him on his birthday, you making him the best damn meal he had his whole life, a surprise date. He was a crybaby when it came to you. 

He cups your face and wipes away more of your tears with his thumb. “Don’t cry anymore baby, okay? I know you feel guilty and all but I know it’s partially my fault as well. It was really just me and Altare today but she happened to be in the same restaurant by herself so we invited her over. And…. I know I’ve been an asshole of a boyfriend as well.”

You felt confused.

“Babe, you’ve been nothing but the best. Why would-”

“Let me finish yo. The whole reason why I was with Altare was that I wanted to get some advice on being a better boyfriend you know? We’ve been getting into a bit more fights recently and as per Altare it’s because ‘I am a dense motherfucker who doesn’t know that people are hitting on him’. “ He pauses. And you take that pause to thank the heavens for whoever was responsible for putting Regis Altare on the planet. 

“After he pointed out shit I realized he was right. And that you were probably too scared to tell me.” He looks you in the eye expecting a response. You shyly nod. 

“I’m so sorry for being ignorant, babe. It’s been causing you a lot of pain and here I was thinking everything was okay. I’ll be better from now on okay? I’ll be more cautious of people’s advances toward me.” He smiles and hugs you closer.

You hug him tighter. “And I’ll do my best to ward them off. Hehehe. They don’t know I’m the jealous type.” You say with a joking tone at the end. 

Axel pulls away a bit and raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Is this jealousy the one you show more in the bedro-” He got cut off by you putting a hand over his mouth. Gently, he pulls your hand away from his mouth, chuckling as he does. “Just joking. A little bit of hehehaha won’t hurt anyone. Anyways, you’re right you can just ward them off!! If you see them making heart eyes at me just pull me closer and grab my ass like this.” He suddenly grabs your butt and you almost hit him in the head because of shock. 

You laugh to yourself as the man in front of you has the cheekiest smile with a little bit of blush on his face. 

“I love you.” You tell him as one of your hands gently cups half of his face. Axel turns his face a little to the side, nuzzling into your hand, and kisses it gently. 

“I love you more.” He smiles, “So about that jealousy in the bedroom do you wanna give a demonstration or?” 

“Oh shut up.” You say as you drag him into the bedroom.

_____________________________________________________

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA i dont know the proper tags for this but i hoped you enjoyed cause i certainly did :3c 

Love u always,

Shie-san.

[braveclementine]

Day 20~ 9:40 A.M.

Warnings: None, Readers under 18 can read this book.

Copyright: My OCs are Coach Yonce, Emma, Ila, Tempus, and Itty Bitty. I own these characters. I do not condone any copying of this.

Downey came pounding on the door this morning. I was still asleep and grouched as I rolled out of bed. I stumbled down the stairs and opened the door, barely getting 'good-morning' through my lips before he was pushing past me.

"Well I have good news." Downey proclaimed, "A lot of it actually."

He was already dressed in a navy blue suit, his hair perfectly styled in that annoying way. His tinted glasses were on his face as well. He made a beeline straight for the kitchen, starting up the coffee maker and pulling food out of the refrigerator to make eggs.

"What, you didn't eat before you came here?" I grouched, slumping into the kitchen chair, rubbing my eyes.

"No. This is for you." Downey said in a perfectly uncaring manner. "After you go upstairs, shave, shower, and get dressed. You'll want to. We're going out."

I could've argued with him. As it was, I asked if he was my nanny and he told me someone had to take care of me because I obviously wasn't doing it. I wondered why he didn't ask where Margarita was. Maybe he already knew I'd broken things off with her.

I didn't argue, going upstairs and taking a fairly long shower. I shaved and soaped up. I kind've liked the long hair thing I was doing for Bucky Barnes. Y/N had liked it too. Maybe that's why I hadn't cut it yet.

Marvel productions had been stopped. Fans were worrying that it would be the last Marvel movie ever. I figured it wouldn't. Stan Lee didn't think it was the last one either. But I did know I wouldn't be playing Bucky Barnes.

I should probably look into selling this house. I had money stocked away, but this was the sort of house millionaires could afford. I doubted whatever job I got after this wasn't going to be paying half as well.

I got dressed in a simple polo shirt and jeans. I headed downstairs, pulling my hair into a slight man bun.

The eggs were done and tasted fairly good. I was surprised Downey could cook.

"Alright, what's the good news Robert?" I asked as I ate.

"First off, Christina Bobb, that's the lawyer that's going to represent you, she's already uncovered confidential emails, not only between both Anthony and Joe, but also between several other millionaires and celebrities. There was a lot of money put into this. She's also discovered- with the help of a few other lawyers- that it was never meant to be a Marvel Movie."

"I think that was pretty obvious." I grunted out.

"It was some sort of psychology project that was being funded by some of the Middle Eastern Governments and also one of the South American and one European Government. I don't know all of the psychological terms or what they meant, but in the short run, it sounds like it was to see how kids could react under different types of pressure. How one feels being singled out, how another feels if they're underlooked or given more attention. How they'll react if given advantages and disadvantages. It's disgusting really."

I just nodded. I knew that if I said something about having been there, about seeing it in reality, I was going to get that sympathetic look.

And the talk about seeing a therapist.

I didn't need a bloody therapist. I needed confirmation that Y/N had made it back alright. Anywhere in the United States, but I just needed to know she was safe, with her family.

"Is there any more news?" I asked.

"Mrs. Bobb is ninety-nine percent certain that we'll win the case. There were a lot of arrests made when the police swept through that facility. They've also got the man who almost raped Y/N, thought you'd want to know that. You can see him if you want. I've already prepared to pay a small bribe for them to turn their head so you can punch him across the face if you want. Just kidding, I barely had to pay anything. He's scum and they hate him."

"Well that does make me feel a bit better. If you'd told me that in the beginning, I would've worn a suit." I responded.

"We also get our checks even though the movie was never made." Robert said, pulling out an envelope and tossing it on my table. "$345 Mil."

I looked at him. "What?"

"Yep. They divided up the funds. Don't worry, Y/N and all of the other one-hundred and twenty other families already got their money. Not that it probably does anything for them. Y/N's mother already said she'd trade the money for her daughter. I don't blame her. If my daughter or son went missing I'd give everything I had for them back." Robert said.

"Yeah, me too." I murmured. I had no kids, but I thought it might be the same with wives. Or at least lovers.

Not that I could really call Y/N my lover.

"Oh yeah." Robert added as an afterthought. "And they found Y/N."

I choked on my next mouthful of eggs. "YOU TELL ME THAT PART LAST?! YOU BASTARD! WHERE IS SHE? WE NEED TO LEAVE NOW! OH MY GOD IS SHE OKAY? IS SHE HURT? WERE HER FRIENDS WITH HER? WHERE DID THEY FIND HER? HOW LONG AGO WAS SHE FOUND?"

"This is exactly why I didn't tell you right away. Wanted to give you a chance to eat and get cleaned up. She's in a hospital in Pahrump, Nevada. The other three girls are with them. Their families are already being flown out there. Evans and Hiddleston are already waiting on the jet as we speak. Benedict said he wanted to join us, I hope that's alright with you."

"Yeah, sure, let's go." I said, getting up from the table.

Robert said nothing, getting up and leading me out of the house. We drove in silence to the airport, and then no one said much of anything on the jet either.

I was going to see her. I wondered if she would even want to see me. My stomach felt like it was rolling in turmoil and I cursed Robert for making me eat.

"She's safe at least." Chris said next to me. He was being unusually serious and quiet. "That's something if anything else."

I nodded. "I know. I'm thankful for just that."

It was much to soon, and yet, not soon enough before the plane was landing in Nevada.

⬅️➡️

[spiced-koi-friend]

Leap of Faith

Werewolf!Shinri x Witch!F!Reader | TW: death, religion, witchcraft, attempted execution Words: 2062 | Rating: PG-13

You watch in horror from the front of the crowd as they bring out all of the accused to be placed upon the pyre for their execution. Your eyes lock onto Shinri as he’s brought out, spotting you but avoiding making eye contact. It takes all of your self restraint to not run to him or call out as he’s held in place by two guards. You were there when they came and took him, watching the fight drain from his eyes as they forced some plant down his throat. Even now he still looks a bit out of it. He should’ve fought back. You know he would have. And apparently they did too.

Once all the prisoners are brought out, a priest follows with his own entourage of guards. He’s the reason for all of this, trying to “cleanse the town of the unclean”, which to him means anyone that may not be human. You’ve been able to hide your own witch nature so far, but you fear that it may not be for all that longer. They throw him on the pyre, tying his limbs down as the priest holds the torch down towards the base of the pile of logs.

“Brothers and sisters of the church, today we cleanse our town of the unclean, of those sent by the underworld to corrupt us into darkness. This man has been hunting our kind in the forest, and was caught standing over the body of one of my own clergymen, soaked in blood. He will pay for the murder of our dear brother with his own life.”

That’s a fucking lie, he was taken from a picnic the two of you were on near the pond. There were no bodies. And the only reason he went along with anything is that they had held you at gunpoint and threatened to kill you if he didn’t cooperate. Anger burned in you brighter than the flame on the torch, having to hide the sparks of magic falling from your fingers.

“Does anyone have any evidence of this man’s innocence? Any at all?”

The priest grins out on the crowd, growing unnaturally wide when he meets your eye. You blink and swear for a moment that his eyes flash yellow. His gaze moves on but you mutter under your breath, a simple revealing spell. A flash of purple explodes where the priest stands, revealing a devil in priest robes. The crowd gasps in horror, screaming and moving in to capture him. They move around you, and you get an idea.

“He’s been killing innocents to send them to hell! He’s been manipulating us the whole time!”

The crowd cheers in agreement as the devil starts cowering back, getting poked at with pitchforks and knives. You quickly move to Shinri, untying his hands with help of some of the younger boys, as you try to move him off the pyre.

“What- what’s going on…?”

He’s still in a drugged out state, and it takes a considerable amount of help to lift him off. With assistance, you get him onto the back of your horse, riding off into the woods to your cabin, in hopes that you’ll have escaped before they know you’re gone.

“Hey, we’re okay, you’re okay. Just hold on tight, okay? Shinri, I need you to stay awake for me.”

“I don’t… think I can…”

You feel him slump behind you and you stop your horse, having to re-secure him to the saddle before continuing with greater speed. Trees speed past you as you carry off into the night, only sighing with relief at the sight of the lantern that hangs outside of your door. Dismounting your horse, you slam open the door and throw together a cot for him, slowly hauling him in while trying to be cautious of any injuries you may accidentally cause.

Once he’s laid out on the cot, you try to wake him again. His breathing is shallow, and they’re slowing down at that. Panic sets in, flipping through your spell book for a diagnostic spell. His lips are turning blue, as well as his fingers. A silhouette of purple hovers around something inside him, leaching out into his veins. Poison. Self-sacrificing motherfucker either willingly took poison, or they forced it upon him. Either way, you have to stop it.

A bell jingles and you see your hourglass flip, and your heart drops. He’s dying, and he doesn’t have much time left. You try to think of any antidote, but without any indication of what it is, you won’t be able to cure him in time unless you get extremely lucky. Time for plan B.

Down at the base of a mountain is a cave rumored to be the entrance to the underworld. Mayhaps you can convince him to wake up if you make it in time. You send a crow to one of the girls in your coven, and hop on your horse. There’s no time to waste when everything is on the line. You make a beeline for the mountain, bobbing and weaving through the foliage and towering trees. The cave comes into sight, a soft blue light emanating from further within. But as you get close, you pull on the reins, having to halt your horse before you both go catapulting off a cliff. Your breathing is heavy, looking across the chasm with tears in your eyes.

You can’t let this stop you.

Your boots hit the ground as you dismount, sending your horse off home as you stand, wind catching your cloak as it bellows from below. Your eyes don’t leave the cave mouth for a second, backing up and digging your heels into the dirt. You close your eyes, ducking your head as you whisper a prayer to the heavens. As if they’re moving on their own, your feet move you into a full sprint towards the edge, determination to make it across filling your heart as your feet lift the ground. You feel the weight of the emptiness beneath you as you’re flung across the chasm, gripping onto the ledge on the other side as you make contact. Clawing your way up, you blow the hair out of your face before moving into the cave.

Mushrooms light the way where your magic cannot, moving deeper within with every step. You come across a river, glowing blue and illuminating the cavern. Across it, a figure stands, slowly becoming more solid. It takes you a moment to realize it’s Shinri.

“Shinri! You have to come back!”

He spins around, shocked to see you as his hand holds a small bouquet of flowers.

“You’re, not supposed to be here…”

“And neither are you. You don’t have to die, Shinri. I revealed the priest, he won’t hurt anyone anymore. Please, come back to me.”

“I can’t, if they find out I’m alive, they’ll kill both of us.”

All you can manage is an exasperated laugh, running your fingers through your hair.

“I didn’t just launch myself across a chasm for you to tell me what I can and can’t do with my life. Your body is dying in my cabin and I had to think of any way to make sure I didn’t lose you. I can’t lose you, Shinri…”

“Sweetheart…”

You both reach the banks of your sides of the river, standing just outside of reach. Your hand reaches out to him, pleading for him to come across.

“Please, love. Please come back to me. Please make all my effort worth it, to keep my love alive.”

He stands there for a moment, looking down at the water and the flowers in his hand. Shinri watches as they float down and touch the water’s surface, shriveling up upon contact. There’s more thought, before stepping back, making distance between him and the edge. He gets a running start, jumping across the river and into you, knocking you both down. But he made it, and you couldn’t be more elated.

“We have to get you out of here, we can reattach your soul once we get the poison out.”

“Poison?”

Well at least he’s not that stupid.

“Later. We need to get out, now.”

You take his hand, and the two of you begin running out of the cave. It begins shaking around you, apparently the gods aren’t used to witches trying to save their boyfriends from a wrongful death. Shinri notices the cave trying to collapse around you, shifting into his wolf form and scooping you onto his back. All you can do is dig your fingers into his fur and hold on. Rocks crumble and break apart, squashing the mushrooms and covering the two of you in bioluminescent goo. He skids to a stop outside of the cave, large stones falling in front of the cave mouth.

“Holy shit.”

The two of you stare at the cave, catching your breath. He leans over, kissing your cheek before getting on the move again. He leaps across far easier than you did over the chasm, racing back to your cabin. Nearing up on it, you spot your horse alongside a few others, thankfully that you recognize as the horses of your coven mates. Shinri lets you off his back, stopping in the doorway as you both enter.

“Woah, it’s weird seeing your own dead body…”

“I’d say you get used to it, but I think all of us pray you don’t.”

Your coven mate gets a giggle out of you and a chuckle out of him, Shinri hovering over your shoulder as you move to try and purge the poison from his system. You grab your spell book as a hand grabs your wrist, your coven head.

“You need to sit, you’re white as a sheet.”

“I’m fine, I-“

“No, you’re not. Anyone who enters the land of the dead leaves something behind, sit down.”

Your face twists into a frown, moving to sit on your bed. Shinri shifts again, resting his head in your lap. You realize quickly that there was truth to your coven head’s words, not realizing how tired you felt until now, perhaps the adrenaline masking it. She brings you some broth from the fire, assisting your shaky hands.

“We’ll take care of you two, don’t you worry. There’s already protective sigils outside, the devil will not catch you here.”

“Thank you, mother.”

She nods to you, going back to her work. Waiting feels like forever, only able to watch the hourglass continue to tick down. Shinri tries to distract you, but even his form begins to fade. You panic at first, until you see his body breathing again. The candles go out as his eyes open, glowing white. The feeling of him around you fades as words are chanted around you, just watching in suspense.

The flames catch again and light fills the cabin, tension hanging thickly in the air as you all wait to see what happens.

“Shinri? Shinri, are you okay?”

You shakily stand, moving to his side, kneeling on the ground. Your hand cups his cheek, almost laying your torso on him as you try to hold him. Silence fills the room as you start to tear up, thinking it all failed as you don’t feel him breathing anymore. A hand rests on your shoulder, trying to be a comfort.

…

Shinri gasps awake beneath you, air filling his lungs again. You jolt up, cupping his face and smiling as he meets your eyes.

“It worked…”

“It did. You did it, sweetheart.”

He sits up, pulling you into his lap to hold you tight. Breathing a sigh of fresh air, before letting out your remaining tears into his chest.

“We will keep the sigils up, the town is barely not up in flames. Luckily that devil got a harsher punishment than anything he served to those innocent people.”

“Thank you, mother. For all of it.”

“Never would have gotten here if you had not revealed that devil. Not only did you probably save the town, but our coven as well.”

“Anything to save my boy.”

You move your hands behind his ears, scratching them and making him growl.

“We’ll leave you two be.”

Your coven leaves, and Shinri has not stopped growling.

“Your boy, huh?”

“Shush. I’m just happy you’re alive.”

He chuckles, kissing your temple.

“I am too.”

[odue-sp]

An idea so I ran with with.

Josuiji Shinri x Coffee Obsessed Male Reader

If Shinri could force you to put down the pit of coffee in your hand he would, but he remembers the last time someone tries. Their guild leader had tried once and failed, Altare didn't often have good habit but knew that drink way too much coffee was even unhealthy for his taste.

Shinri thought it was a joke, it could've been but when he saw you drinking straight from the pot when he first met you— concerned. He began to hand you cups of water when he could, sometimes even diluting the coffee but you could always tell.

Sometimes you would take it sweet, bittersweet, or straight black. He grew even more worried when you found out about espresso.

Tssst!

The guild was silent as you made yourself your 6th double shot of the day. "Maybe we should throw it out?" Flayon asked looking at Altare who shook his head slowly and held a finger to his lips- silently shushing the smallest. "Nope. It's not happening."

Shinri walked into the kitchen, you looked happy... But something was wrong. Your hands shook as you tried to pour another shot. Shinri had enough. "Darling," his voice rumbled through your head though you felt it much more than usual. Probably the coffee. His hand carefully pushing the shots away as he carefully herded you away from the machine. "Maybe you should slow down."

You stared. Slowly growing irritated by the suggestion, you knew your limits, why does he have to slow down? You opened your mouth before he leaned down and kissed you. It slowly grew deeper until you couldn't hold yourself up anymore and he had to hold you up.

You shook as he brushed your hair out of your face. "You taste so bitter. Maybe drink some water, okay babe?" You stared in shock before slowly nodding. "Good boy."

"Shinri," he stares confused at the sudden weakened state you were in. "Yes, M/n?" You felt yourself slowly become weak, probably from the coffee but you refused to admit it. You blame Shinri. "Catch me- hngh..."

A loud thud was heard.

"Shinri! You killed him!"

"M/n?!"

[beewritesstuff]

Yoooooo did Gaster and Roman ever

You know

(I get a feeling)

Oh absolutely

[kingcheckm]

sure would be cool if there were searchable tags for tempus fics that are not x reader fics as trying to stay out of main tags on tumblr makes things literally unfindable lol.

[astralnymphh]

copy that, romeo

— ellie williams was supposed to be your supervisor, not your object of infatuation ~ ♡

⋆❝ this is cordero tower, calling in.❞⋆

CHAPTER ONE: SUMMERTIME INTERLUDE . NEXT CHAPTER > ♡. pair; firewatcher!ellie x recruit!reader

♡. summary; it's 1995, and the angel crater national park welcomes you; a retrograde lookout all to yourself, a space nerd for a supervisor, and a whole summertime job spent in hues of sepia and juniper, waiting for the first sign of smoke. ninety–three days. you don't know her face, you share no breath— but by walkie–talkie, you know her voice.

♡. a/n; READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. CLICK HERE. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. ALSO THIS.

♡. content; EVENTUAL SMUT, narrator present, silly fourth wall breaking, a dash of comedy, slowburn (somewhat), living alone, long–distance pining, reader/characters are similar ages(mid–late 20s), depression, heavy metaphor usage, complicated poetry styles, mentions of organs, mentions of weaponry, metaphorical death, grim humor, drinking alcohol, drunk!ellie, drunken flirting (vaguely and bluntly), ellie jumpscare, uh-oh sassy masc apocalypse, she's corny and cheesy too (a dork), awkwardness, humiliation, lighthearted bickering, nicknames used. [lmk if i missed anything] . SERIES PLAYLIST .

WC; 6.1k+ ✮ thank you @trackinglessons for your sexy brain and beautiful ideas + custom art ✮ masterlist ✮ series masterlist ✮ ellie ref sheet

Summertime is the interlude between misery and Mondays.

  May was a rough patch for you. A coagulated chapter within the spring world, a shunned ponder, red jello in the gradience of passage. Tempus, time. Early months hence were just as pessimizing, doubt is an arid reservoir in you. But, as a maypole sits a svelte giant in the sweet Beltane soil, braving an invisible smile whilst little ones— little laughters, spun prances and wraps of dainty satin to an ensnare on its long body, it weeped for its delicate capture. You; flesh coarse like timber, relate to the log standing, ensnared. Sunk in that gelatinous texture, unmoving as pressures collided with the surface outward, ripples everywhere yet incapable of sprinkling through you. Something would have to delve itself to drag you out.

  Chapters; cusp of autumn to April, every single month, wound ‘round you. They each had separating colors, and spared turns to soundly fold your limbs and bulge your skin in ribbons. It snipped your circulation, shriveled the ripe breath in your skull and traded it for a pressure. A throb. Weight upon the cranium, you felt the narrowing cradle inside wilt from thought, drain from consciousness, and soften your stiff eyes locked on drywall. Hour to hour.

  But those weren't the only things taunting you with a dance— expectations danced faster. Expectators, paired minds heaping expectations; yourself and the selves blackjacking their wants expressed as worries onto you. Stressful creatures, they are. Bosses, co–workers, energy vampires disguised as lover boys prowling about your workspace, general creatures of the retail world. God, they're like ravenous wolves snarling hunger through their teeth, slobber moonlight–bright of that dire carnality for variety meats. Depression just took the first serving before they could.

  Even the domesticated places are a wilderness untamed.

  Stress drained you of life. It softened your desire to even try. Gods are dulling, blamed you, on another dull morning where the trickling sound of coffee pouring drilled irk into your ears, rather than simply a trickle. Caffeine, a roast so void–black was brewed to un–drain you. Yet, it fuckin didn't.

  Impugning was your everything, until it could no longer purify; Elaine. Emptiness. Hmm, you gave this state of vacuum–headed hollowness a name, keenly because it deserved so by its dismantling of your autonomy. You don't want it. It's not you. It's Elaine. A some–angel fallen out of grace, weary of its wander upon a washed up cove, beige toned and swept shivering–cold. Interested by the warmth your sundry organs pushed into its light silhouette. 

  And perhaps, if the bird was never freed from its heavenly cage, it would be powerless to pester you, to poke the meat inside with the pointy end of plumage.

  Elaine was an organized assault on your wellbeing, moreso against the pulpy, pinkish-gray blob sitting ugly above your throat. Believe it, or assume it. A paralysis, moving shoulders from bed sheets proved farcical, running bristles over your teeth twice a day rhymes with nonsense, and midnight ink born to swirl and curtsy to convey thoughts gone rancid, goes unused atop the white flutter between your journal hardcovers. You have a morbid case of the seasonal blues, except this time, the season is beyond its blue hues. Spring, a fuckin’ kaleidoscope embellished. Blotches of big fuck you greens so vibrant you'd long to die from your tears, and an abstract spit of smell me reds thorny as your stomach brought to a scream for something. Anything.

It was a slow, banal descent into the jello.

  January, floating atop the sweet delicacy, atop your bed.

  February, the solidity gave out beneath you, goo subtly etching around your ankles, calves, elbows, unforgivingly cold when it first hit. When in reality, the bed was heating from your lay.

  March, marrow goes heavy, your limbs at this time could not lift, your efforts waned, and satiating the rumble in you with sustenance was forgotten, as that rumble got so, so.. quiet. 

  April, the jello had stuffed your nose, your sockets, and lullabied your ligaments. You let it happen.

May.

  You let yourself sink. Let yourself decompose and go mush in the head. Like a zombie.

  The descent doesn't taste of sweet delight, but it also fails to churn your lips with a heavy saccharinity. Neutral, your hopeful side did say. Nothing, rationality slapped past your lips.

Five months, either a misery, or a Monday.

  Yes Eve, a bite out of the Apocrypha will indeed fill this human abysm in me. Forbidden knowledge is my craving. Contraband of truth, bite to bite, I envy that I could not cope with its coating of my empty gut earlier.

  Innocence is so dull. You are depressed, not a fucking saint for staying indoors, starving your rage.

  But on came a crisp bouquet of biker–boy newspapers; ‘Hiring’, and a few scans further; ‘Do you harness a great love for the evergreen?’

  A honed section in Missoula's local print— jobs. A publisher boldens and compresses enthusiasm sporadically; writing–on–the–wall hollers speckle themselves meticulously on the newsprint that strike a sense of obligation into the susceptible and soft–of–heart chunk of the population. A pert voice read with persuasion between your ears, gritty in tone and stereotypical of a middle aged ranger, vocals fried by cigarettes but as booming as a cannon.

“Do you care for the animals inhabiting our national sanctuaries?”

  Abutting small paragraphs, the sagging belly of a black bear, tender caramel snout and snoopy–faced, fitted on its head a mustard yellow campaign hat labeled, ‘Smokey’. Its burly, blundering frame on all fours stood out over a comic–style vista of the Montana rockies, paws obscured by blocks of thickset text reading ‘Only you’.

  Huh, a realistic depiction of Smokey Bear— over a not–so–realistic background, avant–garde. 

  Tree greens sprawly that didn't shout ‘Fuck you’ on your poor, sunken eyes searing for sleep and a twilight darkness. Sagey lichens that didn't draw out the spasms above your own bones, calling your regard to bring pin–sized problems and blemishes sprawling your own flesh out of the bliss of ignorance. Brunette muds with only a fleck of sun, a slice of earth dull, humble and unprocessed enough from benevolence to leave you unconsumed, unsunken. A mere slop and pudge in the future and wake of your walk. Nothing obnoxiously grand, nothing sanctimonious. Nature is by birth— righteous, regardless.

  “Before we can be proud of our nation, our nation must be proud of us!”

  The advertisement gropes for a summertime made free. A cyclopean sinkhole in the becoming of time. Recruits–in–waiting are called to bargain normalcy and the bustling cities plump with lumbering limbs of sheen–tight pantyhose shaded under short shapes of plaid skirts for boot–cuts n’ backpacks hefty with gear that could either save you the trouble of mountaineering by path, or trouble your time with a faulty snapping of two things. Rope and neck.

Too grim?

  A months’–long moment of tension snapped at the pressure joint— Summertime the snapper.  You'd be devoting ninety–three suns, ninety–two moons, and some two–million breaths of fir laden air up in Angel Crater National Park, northwest of here. Pupils flickering the double-page setup, you continue: A pictographic, old–fashioned lookout taller than the timber spires surrounding would be your station, your core of operations, for those three young and sunny months. Boxed provisions and supplies are guaranteed to ship every other week, and testimonies encourage even the anxious, balmy buzzes of your brain to sigh in solace learning that the weald creatures there— are mostly harmless, if you aren't bred an imbecile. Alongside, an appointed supervisor, whose name was never disclosed duly except for a scratch of text gingerly clasped in quotations reading, “E.R.W” trailing the mention of said supervisor. What’s required of you was delivered plain written and patent on that shoddy newspaper, held thick in your intrigued thumbs; Keep the forest from catching wild fire.

  You fiddled the idea. Should I? Or should I wallow the summer away? Fiddled it anxiously, fiddled it needily, bumped the clumped rim of the newsprint on your cupid's bow in bending rumination, steadied it cause newspaper smells oddly good— but next to minutes racing hours upon musing, a conclusion had to knock your static looping of gloomdom in the butt.

  One phone call, and the bird would be barred again. Pesterer, Elaine the Terrible, would be cast back where eyes can't roll over the cottony clouds. Just a couple fucking prods to your number–pad, might genuinely un–drain you.

  Luckily, you aren't an idiot reared to take bullshit longer than meritted.

You took the job.

May 30th, 1995, 7:28 PM.

  What does any clever pedestrian traipsing capricious terrain store in their pack to avoid total gangly–branch–grips–of–nature butchery?

Item one; Black nylons— scratch that, you aren't getting paid to snag at every kink and curl of the forest, tighties of gossamery fabrics are a no–go. Citywear stays citywear. Double scratch on those sweet, blackberry Mary Janes too prized and polished to muck up in shit of the earth. Immolating the rigid underside of some chunky hiking boots to the unruly woodlands is the adrenaline pinnacle of out–worlding, come on. It proves you've got a hardy backbone and the right row of teeth to chew what you've bitten off, sullying boots ‘till the color is forevermore stained. Backup boots are tradition, so that's item number two. Best get used to cargo, ankle–length overalls and miscellaneous graphic tees, cause the rockies’ fashion gurus can't get enough of ‘em!

Clothing, check.

  Swathes of ropes twined pumpkiny orange and plenty of clanging anchors to bolt them in, goddesses and gods forbid you be tight on anchors. Medical kits— duh, did you trudge all from yonder just to die out here? This country is dicey, at the cuddly claw of a bear, or not. Hair ties, scrunchies you hoarded as a teenager in the eighties, disposable camera to suit your flaky memories, and an eclectic dump of nutty and fruity cereal bars galore. Unless you're allergic. Substitute.

Accessories and essentials, check.

  Ah, and a spare pistol and switchblade in replacement of newcomer paranoia! Keep that hush–hush though. No matches or lighters, obviously.

True American, illegal weaponry, check.

  All this paraphernalia bangs and clangs heavily on the polyester holding of your backpack, straining your scruff uncomfortably as you tiptoe, scarcely tumble, and tread lightly across a log. It creaks, it groans, it wobbles slightly over the blaring white rush of a stream, suctioning your heart–to–stomach when it grinds a wee bit louder than you thought it should.

  “Shit!” you crimp your torso in and dart wary hands on the timber beam at your feet, assuming a gawky newborn–bambi–pose in hesitation, shuddering in cracked tones, “This can't be the right way..” 

  Hoping on an evaporated sun, you frazzlingly testify in repetitive thought that the map mailed by the rangers a week prior led you on this perilous and incorrect path.. for the last two days. Winding and wounding, literally— your bruises are measureless and on top of that ache your skin to want no more of this. But, you have to. A boulevard of brown, short and stout, wrung unyielding from one gray side to the greener other, a shortcut. Assumed to be a shortcut, based on the route drawn by utter confusion.

Oh yeah, and remember the advertisement stating the park was twenty-five miles out?

Nothing about that hot-press, black-cat inked newspaper accounted for the extra eight weighing your ankles down and your motivation dead low. Twenty-five only stretched out unto the ranger parking lot. The entrance, for fuck's sake.

  Shaky flit of your digits, they float gently off the carve–veined surface of the wood, unfolding your spine as you rise. “Wrong way—” you utter to your chest, oven–warm as it puffs, “—gotta be the wrong..” 

  Tentative–ism is normal here, right? Like, no way you're cautious and sweating at the brow for nothing. Right? 

  One foot— creeakkk— in front of the prudent other, two sailing lunges, three hurried hops and a matched thud soft as marshmallows plants your shoes to hallowed ground. Blades of verdant whiskers so innocent crush under, and it feels fucking— demeaning, actually. All that gulping and pausing.. for nothing.

  You tuck a shoulder–glance to the makeshift ricket of a bridge, and blankface, “Didn't feel like killing me today?”

The tree bears no reply.

  “Hmph, surprising. Seeing as someone killed you,” a sigh parts, fading into the whip and straightening of your head, “figured the pursuit of revenge doesn't stop at ghosts.” and the hoist of your boot up, carrying onward.

  Sundown paints, crescent layers repose approaching moonlight and dying sunlight sprawls psychedelic limbs above you. Balance ambling in tiny bops only made the swirling grasp of those gradient rays more trippy on your eyes and coercive of daydreams, rot–nip for the brain. You spot nutbrown brick— a fireplace in your mind, fevered heat roasting on the inside wall of your forehead too. It was Christmas before the storm, a subzero December. And it was, in fact, colder than the unreachable heaven. Dad was hunkered down in front of that innocuous amber crackle, his right leg slack to the ground and his left arched in the neck of an acoustic guitar, arms plaiting its hollow curve into his chest. 1971, when the veil through and within was thin, and love–vomit poured so easily through. A time of justified ignorance; Childhood. 

  Stood you adjacently, legs short and posolutely not stout, dimpled in the knees. Aged two years, and mushy as ambrosia, contorting your mouth jubilant as you're told for the camera, contrary to your father with his expression drooping to his strumming fingers. Sickly sweets, adult–you unpurposefully neglects to twirl lips at, your extraordinary grins now turned ordinary flat–lines. Holiday memoirs, those spoiled ripe quick after adulthood bolted itself in the slabs of your tender spine and instilled an artificial love for labor and country, displacing nostalgia from ever being seen as a flesh existence. 

“Say cheese!”

  America is sub–human, and sub–humans created America, the imperfect cycle. Families tear, eagles outcry, friends drink their death, and the days continue to unfold without a trace of acknowledgement. Days exist where you soak festivities and stave off the pointer–finger poking at so called slack you relish, and some twenty dwindling years ahead the slowly deadening oak grove road, carousals will be criminally known as layabout–makers.

Joy is a luxury now.

  A blockage prevents your foot from winching clean forward, meeting the bone–hard kiss of a boulder to sore your toes. “Fuck!” you brand your throat walls to a shout, pissed at the rock rather than your woolgather that lead you to said rock, “Fucking fuckhead rock!”

  Woolgather means daydreams, by the way. Funner to use words that don't make a split of sense. Yay for English.

 The sunset clouds dripped with a mania of fascination and had strung your brain to its hypnotic whims, like a siren had soloed a trance, drifting your mind somewhere utopian and phantasmagorical. It sounds silly, but, blanking out seems so often out of grasp from your control, you usually could never flag what caused it, when it started, and why. Nothing practical surfaces. Fuck, your head is so tangled upon memories, you haven't even noticed the progression of scenery twelve o’clock from you. 

  Ponderosa boughs band together where your eyes brush shapes and forage for a clue of what scene wants to greet you ahead. The sequestering silence of rustles indicates a clearing, possibly. Possible as it could be, you fully expected this cruel footslog to wallop your ass into a minefield, so you bet cards and course carefully beneath the crowns of pine, completely bent to the chance of another obstacle threatening your tender ankles. Leafy whispers above strum your ears brimmed with its sotto voce song, and then— colors it silently behind.

“Holy shit.”

  Presence crumbles above you, and opens before you. The lookout. Wood shafts slant in opposing directions, up and up along four brawny beams in three consecutive layers, like a blocky cone. The face closest to you overlaps the backing rest, giving the illusion of tufted wooden legs sketched under all lackadaisical. Endgame daylight spies from behind this one–roomed cyclops, gushing final spurts of citrus rays as if it truly was an orange squeezed to pulp. So, the flank and forehead of that towering, mountainscaping lookout rolling a cold shoulder to the sun, paves in a tattered tapestry of garnet smokiness instead. Shadow of sundown. From where you sow feet, a football field apart, petty details are difficult to squint into clarity, but the window panes appear tawny, too.

  An intimidation, “So much for a tiny room.” A beaute intimidation, “And no actual bathroom.” it makes you feel like a genuine insect compared.

  A sort of stairwell serpent faintly chokes the foot, the calves, the thighs, and punctures kindly a mouth leading up to the skirting balcony hedged in many gaunt teeth. Tamping gravel closer, subtleties and fine points fade as the tower's plank–lined and flat underbelly turns to you. Larger and larger, it dips darkly from miniscule masquerade.

  Bringing your decently aching foot to the first step, you press into the curb and meander your cruder aching— thanks to a random boulder— foot weirdly on the outer ridge of your boot. Making it up the stairs to fund yourself a fucking break was a palpable mockery in itself. Like, ‘Hey! Climb this long–ass stairwell for a teensy break before doing it all over again the next day!’. 

Un–fucking–believable. 

  Fifty years of history and past rangers grate in your walk, the floorboards thump with their stories, thump into your skin— verse you a wordless eulogy. Each step is a sentence, and every sentence branches into a whole tree of genealogy, lives. Lifestyles you can't understand now, but will.

  Really redundant of me to highlight the generations alive in those floorboards. The walk up there isn’t that exciting.

  After the last step, you're met eye–to–frame with a scratched door, pygmy window centered and paper–screened from within, and the stories predating your stay inspire a comical theory, “Jeez— bears make it up here?” you half–suppress a snort, palming a fist on the doorknob coldly before rotating and giving sympathetic pressure to the door.. jammed. 

  “C’mon..” knuckles pulse into the knobs plate, gradually upping the force you pushed, “.. losing light out here..” eventually adding your other hand to sweeten the push.

  Sure, a whole year has gone by since it homed somebody, and it's retro, but come on.

  Breaking splinters into the door was your last intention, so you try so–so carefully— to some extent, “Please..” now butting the tip of your boot on the rim to ease it— ease, and finally pry, a clapback of wind blowing dusty, nightfall air past your crescent cheeks following the snap of the fallow door.

  Thank goodness for your grace and balance, some days, avoiding a timely trip face–first to a floor so powdered in light dust, any kid would mistake it for a good time sweeping snow angels. 

  Not so good for the respiratory system though.

  Muggy space filtering your lungs tightly, you cough out, “Gah— fuck!” nothing higher than the level of a guttural wheeze, your chest punching into your throat. Gaping out the last flock of butterflies clumped at your collarbones, the tickle inside calms, and you find your sights taking in a dark box. A dim orb of lily silver glow rests in the middle of the pall room, raising the natural, “Where's the ligh— ah, big clunky thing—” 

  Flicking the off–white and stubby nub attached to an impractically sized lightswitch, which frankly resembles an electric box externally, an essence of Apollo ladens the room. Lemony–gold light, passably bright off the redwood ceiling, and murmuring a low buzz through one ear, and out the other, your pupils caper along the contrasting shades awakened.

  “Definitely retro, but.. no roommates.” spoke you, gingerly content with the colors piecing this camper pad together. You observe.

  Forget–me–nots bled the cotton bedsheets baby blue, leavening the mattress with a tidy emotion as it's tucked, folded at the top and draped in a complimentary quilt— benevolent blues, hues your lids soften on. The bed beelined from the doorway, a corner counter fawn–brown as the wood extends adjacent to it, covering the northeastern angle of the room. Magpied brands of canned food clutter shelves, spines spanning thick books of epic poetry to sci–fi comics create a ribcage of literature along a compact bookcase perching that countertop, and sunken in the east side of it, a steel sink. It shimmered sunflower bands of light as you moved, a rainbow–arched faucet brightened completely.

  Step by step, you draw near a circular table in the middle. Strange rods and gadgets stuck out of the borders, inlaid glass protecting a local map so sleek you could see a phantom of your face in it, and a black bar looming the width, so it rings with tangible importance. Of which you'll gauge about later. Truthfully, the journey by foot here? Dead–beating, your knees bloated, throbbed flesh hot, and almost buckled; fatigues infamous way of scolding you to sit the fuck—

“Sup Maple lake, you there?” 

  A pang hammers to your heart, and a crawlish wave of startled blood pales from your face and drops to your jaw, “Jesus!” sweat hitting you a blink after, every normal function just— flunked. That voice, more like a ruptured stereo sizzling, caught you the fuck off guard. Now you dither, dumbassery taking your eyes through a new loop of figuring out where–why–how and what the robotic intruder wants.

  But pre–realizing, your ears perk to a more coherent, and outstretched string of static, “C'mon, know you're checked in.” and post–realization tugs your eyes to a mustardy n’ black cased device; a walkie–talkie.

  Okay, way to creep recruits out. Whoever, for whatever reason— at the nick of night too, gimme’ a break. You wry, knitting raisin crinkles above your nose, trying to discern your palette of options; pick up the walkie, tap in and feign politeness in the shortest and sluggiest scraps of small talk to be done with the day, or rant off the bat— highlight how fucking late it is, and how taxing a double–goddamned–day hike made your head and patience feel. And right now, the second response route feels arguably more tempting than—

  “This is Cordero Tower, calling in. Can see ya’ standing by the Osborne, by the way.” 

  Its staticy feedback has waned completely, densening a thick husk and tilting towards a honeyed undertone. Relaxed sounding or not, what the fuck.

  You react predictably, flicking your chin west, then east only for you to meet the dead of night— thanks mountains— stalking perfectly in every single window. So, useless to check. Answering it was a yes–go, it would be sickenly awkward to thrust it under the rug now. Your knees pull forward, eyes calligraphing the power buttons tinted in cherry light, palm drawing to meet your focal point.

  The case is ribbon gentle under your fingertips’ graze, fresh and in store–new condition. Maybe the only thing hot from the pot of newfangled technology. Plastic intricacies roll under until you settle on a swollen button, denting the plush of your finger as you press, hold, and speak. A crisp crackle activates your line, tuning you in.

    Breath hesitates between your chords, “Maple.. lake.. speaking,” off–the–tongue words manifesting on–the–spot, “you can see me?”

  “Yeah.” the walkie chuckles, sugary curl pitching up and through their tone, “Look out ur’ north window, you'll see her.”

Her?

  Nooking your nose north, you only widen pupils on that same, starless coast of darkness nosing the rim of your window sills. What do they mean to—

  “Nh–no,” You literally said north, “get closer to the window, n’ look up.” What, are you a fucking sparkling, rasp–voiced eagle?

  “Fuck are you talking about,” mouthed you void of voice, stumped on what this person was getting at. Wedging your knuckles below the meshy underside of your backpacks right strap, you wrangle it down your arm as you glide rubbery sole along croaking oak, tossing that bag so cumbersome atop a lily white pillow— looking fresher than a daisy, and clamber the mattress pliantly dented to your knees to grasp a broader panorama. 

  And with that window hood washed over, a convoy of fireflies focus a tiny constellation in the murked glass. Little pinholes of light, dots in the distance. They rough–hew a blur, but the excess seconds taken to brood squints and balance the blurry blotches, an outline crops up. Another fire lookout, sprouting from rock and rise of a berg. Offspring of the distant cordillera that gives this whole park its sense of a cradled–woodland, but either way thought, a lookout hosts it home on top.

  “You can see me from all the way out there?” you wondered, truly. I mean— at minimum, a sore sprawl of miles bridges you both.

  “Mhm..” a pause loiters that fluid hum, then some really throaty syllables, “Binoculars~” you could almost envision— nah, feel the stare of those binocs, undoubtedly taking note of every contort in your body right now.

  “Oh thats, totally.. not,” you blunt your tone, shying a few inches from the glass, “.. creepy.” awkwardly. “Uh, who are you anyways— are you like, uh, another recruit?” as you engage small talk, grumpy frown pouting, the habit of kissing your wrist to your jaw as you would a piglet–tailed telephone overruns your burnt out focus, having to wince the walkie away when your eardrums nearly burst.

Ouch.

  “For one, I'm actually your supervisor. I know, I don't sound like a typical smoker–lunged, middle–aged white dude.” their tone gruffs and deepens to impersonate, finger air quotes practically radiating from the other end, “And two, my name is Ellie— Ellie Miller–Williams, if you care.”

  “Don't.” you heave out the pain stretching your head, aching each time you simply thunk.

  “Straightforward,” her timbre ups in approval, seemingly, “I like it. I like you, recruit I dunno’ the name of.” and a bubble hics her throat, quite audibly.

  “Not single.” Wrong, just uninterested. Hooking two fingers in the fabric handle of your bag and craning it to the ground, with scattered grates of plastic buckles skating the floor.

“What?”

  Oh, shit she wasn't— oops, ‘course she meant that platonically, heads so damn muggy,  “Uh, it's—my name.. sorry I’m just a bit out of the loop—” Dumbass, unscramble your brain alphabet soup, will you?

  “That’s a long ass name, what were your parents thinking? Haha.” Her duo–beat chuckle flares your humiliation, and then proceeds to pinch its swollen parts into total inflammation, “Where does it originate from?”  

  Cheesy bitch, “Can you not— I like, pfhh..” you temper yourself with a moon–cool blow to chap your lips and inflate your cheeks, ending up with a draw of an even more loosened tongue sour as it complains, “Did a whole two–day hike through the most torturous terrain just to get here, I really don't—”

Please.

  And if gripes trudged through teeth aren't persuasive enough, you recess your bone–ache bod avidly in the springy haven of your bed which chirped at your weights shifting motions, collarbones packing down on your vocal chords. You shouldn't sound up to chat whatsoever. Instead, vehemently drained, “I just wanna get some shut eye, talk me over n’ the mornin’.” your thumb lying a button away from disconnecting. 

  “Hey, hey—” Ellie ushered, her slurry breath fogging up the mic. Lips squeak softly into it, smacking before an intone, “Can't I be a little curious?”

  You synchronized in noise, sucking teeth behind heart–pursed lips, “Do you think somebody this exhausted has the appetite to entertain you?” stilling your thumb–pad on the power off key.

  “If I keep bothering you,” that alone ticked you, her blatant drive to carry on when your brain rejected its substance, “.. yeah. Maybe you'll be nicer then too.. huph!” a heartier peep hicced up on the speaker, and right then that noise jogged a discovery.

“Are you drunk?” has to be.

  Of course, she ignores the naked and sorely obvious, “Did your boyfriend break ur’ heart or something— an’ that's why you're out here?” bottle sloshing in the background of her mumble.

  Dumbstruck, you furrow a miffy expression, “W–what, boyfriend?” 

  “Said you weren’t single.” she recalls, warmly unspinning the fuddle that knit your brows, “Think I forget so easily?” drawled like a sultry retort, baking your ears.

You a hundred percent forgot though.

  Gosh, short–term memory sucks, or it's just your energy drought making you woozy. Blame it on lethargy, “No no, that was just.. tired talk. I thought you were hitting on me.” 

  “Oh? That's cute.” her choosing to say that latter statement unfolded discordantly, you seriously couldn’t gauge if that was a flirt, or another paper daisy— mock honey, a platonic notion. Even so, it sounded so damn smooth, lace to the ears. “But no, I wasn't— m'not like gay or ‘whutever.” stammered her, light snort fanning.

  A stifled chuckle hops from your chest, mixing with hers, “Uhuh, cool.” halfway uncaring and halfway amused, bafflement working your facial muscles. 

  “Yeah, um, but seriously..” her voice drifts into a ponderous rasp, the faint rustles of flimsy paper licking page to page subtler than her speech, “what's got you out here, newbie?”

“Newbie. Really?” A brow pricks.

  “I mean, you're new— new to the lookout, new to the job, in need of my phenomenal supervision and my wide range of knowledge. Yeah, a newbie.” 

  Then your brow mellows, tension held in your face dropping dead on backhanded flattery, “You are funnily agonizing.”

  “Aw.” her scratchily suave coo has your jaw set like stone, “That's so sweet.” but her short–lived song has your heartstrings soaked in ripe honeycomb, touched to the core by sweetness nebulose and an assortment of some foreign threads. Thickened heart, tighter ribs, a churn to weaken your stomach, a maverick of things unfamiliar to you.

  Momentaries, but still noticeable even if your senses were twisted backwards.

  Chewing over how you'll begin to explain, a few letters sift through your chords, until you hook on a sigh, “Ah, well, I'm out here for a fuck ton of reasons—”

“Reasons, or— huhp, problems?” Ellie blurt–hics, nosy.

“..”

  A brief gulp and exhale wheezes from her, “Sorry, it's the bourbons’— super good. Continue.” 

 You loosely split your mouth, gasping to exchange a gale for words pressing out, “A series of reasons, and problems, that I don't bother to lay on a grand platter, so you'll get a summary tossed on an appetizer plate.” you preface. Allow an elliptical gap to cut through, rousing her hum to let you know her ears are as intent–peaked as a Chihuahua’s, “Contact with my parents’ has gone cold, my last job made me want to hurl into a pack of crocodiles— and the city became too loud and too heavy–handed. Saw this job on the local paper, and got the hell out of dodge.”

An omissive summary, you meant. 

  There’s more that eats the heart. People can’t just.. drop the burden of knowledge wantonly on randos like they’re idling under fertile treetops waiting for the apples to plummet, biting into a pulpy biography. She’s just a girl, not a therapist.

  A discomforted purr lengthens into her reply, “Mmmmh, ever try a drink or two?” her intoxicated reply.

  “Oh, see,” you flap your hand and slap it to your denim clad thigh, “you are drunk.” as if she could even see your gesture.

  “No, I’m Ellie, hmhm~” comes with a giggle, and you consider her state of insobriety to be— wavering, but it’s stimulating to hear her fluctuate between groaned jokes and extra raspy comments, “Still haven’t told me your name though.”

  Some moments during this whole ‘Who are you?’ seminar made you concerned for your future here— if you’ll make it out psyche intact, but some moments found by winnowing through the illogical backtalk touched you with inbound camaraderie.

  Invisible touches that inhabit your neck with a leak of your name so— sincerely. It transforms into a fairer sound on your ears when she repeats it, affirming it. Nobody else's teeth clutches your name so welcome as she.

  “Hmm, ‘name kinda fits your voice.” odd commentary, but since composed with her already peculiar and drunken tongue, the shoe fits.

  That said, crabby confusion seems easier to articulate, “Thanks, weirdo.” but lips rebellious, they press an inevitable grin together. 

“No problem, sleepyhead.”

So many nicknames.

  Recognizing that downtick in hubbubs and breaths on the walkie, checking out for the night posed as a passionate option the burden weighing your eyelids couldn't or shouldn't veto. So you haul your torso up, kick and poke your toes over ankles to butt your boots off prior planting your heels, whisking toward the lightswitch and committing your lookout to swell with the outside's dark fresco. 

Stygian tones.

  “Speaking of sleepy heads..” you taper off speech, leaving the rest to her— touch wood— wide enough, hopefully–not–drunk–enough imagination to fathom as you slide and slip desperately beneath woolen blankets, sleepy worries, and sentences sailed to rest.

  “Aw man.” Ellie bums so, so stupidly, for comical value.

“Yeah, man.”

  “Mpht—” wetness smacks, “wanted to bore a pretty girl to death with recruit regulations and syllabi..”

How would you know?

  In reality, Ellie was reaching a transcendent caliber of wasted, drinking up your atmospherics and drunken to her gutly core. Woods hatch forlorn people; forlorn people get thirsty, “But, mhh, heads’ nearly falling off, whoof.” she expresses a soaring of vowels, but it parallels a gruff howl more. 

  Drowsy, buzzy jubilancy, plucking her flirty strums. You sugarcoat the flare in your chest hearing ‘pretty girl’, ears clicking to the swallow convincing your heart that Ellie was not flirting. As established; She’s under the influence, and not gay. Your brain repeats that, over and over, repeat, repeat, she isn’t flirting. 

  “Hey, here's a tip..” you inch the walkie a penny away from your flopped head, clefting your lip open, “Don't get drunk on the job. They didn't hire you to decoct your brain the day before chaperoning a recruit in the literal wilderness. So, stash that shit, n’ let's both get some shut eye, yeah?” and saying all that, may have just cashed in your last dose of breath and brain cells for the night.

  Ellie being Ellie— well, what you suspect is a ‘her’ thing after these few speckled minutes, dopily laughs at you. And dammit if she wasn't glamoring a dopey smirk in accord, you’ll have gleaned wrong.

  A voice, “Who’s the boss again?” her witty and cruel wisecrack, “They didn't pay you to boss the— hup, boss around.” 

  They will pay you to confront and reflect your spectrum of limits if this girl brushes their seams, that's for certain. Or, play God and lambast her, tender as milk.

  There's even a stroke of a chance, that your crooked lips poached her dopey grin instead, “Kay, well, maybe they'll reimburse me for your poor services.” 

  “My services are not poor. You'll see, tomorrow.” the volume of her melts away, going muted under liquid swills clanging on glass.

  “Please tell me that's the sound of you putting the bottle away.”

  “Mhm!” came out plugged, the bottle confining her garble, then popping clean as a cork, “Fuck— okay,” she siphons air in, pure little clink tinting the end of her sharp–edged sniffle, “Make sleeping in earlier worth it t’morrow, wanna drive you nuts with my questions.” she nasals, drawing near the mic again.

  Such a magpie, “Cause you're lonely?” and weird.

  “Shut up,” she shushes you, a satin whisper light–hearted and quick on beat, “M’not lonely anymore, right?” The type of softly spoken outcry that would balloon your cheeks with soreness if you were face–to–face with the throat that conducts it. Involuntary smiles plague you everywhere. But there is no mouth, no larynx, no throat that you view the swallow of. Just a walkie, so you settle in stoicism.

  You tug your upper–lip and pivot your eyes, drumming up something clever to combat, “In a sense. Not like we’re bunkmates, thank goodness.”

  “Fuck you,” Ellie breaks into a cuss spout so serenely, she sounded small and harmless, “just go to bed.” reduced to birch in winter shed of its brittle autumn arguments.

“Don’t gotta tell me once.”

  By the first full and emphatic giggle she cast just now that wasn’t suppressed nor achieved by humble pie, you take it that Ellie found you funnily harrowing just as her, two peas in an outstretched pod. Fault be with her, for getting wasted. Otherwise, you might have pried her skull open with questions dolled up as a pruner, clipping the forelimbs that are foliated in a messy breadth of first glance leaflets and attitudes until you piece it prettily, in a way that thralls you to never shrink your eyes back into their sockets. Drunk people are like prone beehives though, so you don't prod them.

Tomorrow, you can paint her portrait, or vice versa.

“Whatever you say, newbie.”

And with the whirry crunch of the walkie shutting off, Monday, came to a close.

if you enjoyed this chapter, please lmk what you thought!! i love getting asks about my content ♡

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[mackjlee9]

May I request some Bratty!Gavis Bettel x Reader smut? The details are up to you but I feel like he would enjoy rilling up the reader during a meeting or something at the guild before meeting up with them behind closed doors if that's comfy with you

*intense fantasizing*

Okay, so I might've... Given this too much plot ehe 😅 I still hope you enjoy this!!

(I kept imagining taller!reader during this whole thing so it was hard to keep it neutral lol)

Gavis Bettel x Top!Male!Reader [Fluff&Smut]

Warning; thigh fucking, brat taming, dacryphilia, overstimulation.

Masterlist.

VTuber Holostars EN/Tempus Vanguard

This sight was an usual thing. Everyone in Guild Tempus had become accustomed to seeing the lively jester, Bettel, dragging around a male everywhere he went, even going as far as having him during their guild meetings, which has led to them getting to know this mysterious (h/c) haired male.

They had a soft spot for him, especially because he had to put up with Bettel twenty-four hours of the day, taking care of him and putting up with his antics and mischief. This kind, quiet, lovely man was called (M/n), and he didn't really mind being dragged around as much as he used to, why? Well, the answer is simple.

He was in love.

(M/n) didn't care how much he got dragged and pushed around by the jester, he was still happy being by his side. And Bettel grew attached to (M/n) as well, mainly because he was the only one that would always sincerely laugh at his jokes and would help him improve his comedic skills.

And with time, they had become so used to each other that feelings inevitably started blooming, slowly but surely, Bettel had found himself awake at night, trying to figure out why his heart was restlessly pounding inside his chest, and why he felt goosebumps whenever the image of (M/n)'s gentle smile flashed across his mind.

At first, he thought of ignoring these things occurring to him, maybe he was getting sick or something, and eventually, it'll go away, that was his thought process, but it became a hassle soon enough. He couldn't focus on anything other than (M/n), he was the only thing on his mind, which made him mad so, like the airhead he is, Bettel decided to confront the person causing this behavior in him, (M/n) himself.

A few days prior he had been testing out his reactions and feelings to the other guild members, but no one caused such a reaction in him as (M/n) did, so he must've been messing with him, (M/n) was doing something to him, wasn't he?!

His heels clicked on the tile floor, echoing off the empty halls as he made his way where he assumed (M/n) would be. He was walking out of his room, quietly minding his own business when he got pushed back into his room by an external force pressing against his chest.

As soon as recovered from that, he realized that the external force was Bettel, who had now closed his door and locked it, turning to look at him with a frown and pretty blush on his pale skin. He seemed mad but also flustered which made (M/n) wonder what had happened to make him behave like this all of a sudden.

"You good, Betsy?" The sound of his voice made shivers run down Bettel's spine, which made his mad exterior waver slightly, but he was gonna go through with this and find out what (M/n) had done to him.

"Tell me," he started saying, looking straight into (M/n)'s eyes, "Tell me what you did to me, right now," slowly blinking as the words connected in his brain, (M/n) stared at Bettel confused, frowning slightly as he tried to understand what he meant by that.

"Tell you...?" He mumbled slowly, racking his brain to find something that could maybe make him give Bettel the answer he was looking for, but nothing came to mind.

"Yes! Tell me what you did, right now!" And that only made (M/n) even more confused, was he supposed to know what he did? He hadn't done anything as far as he could remember.

"What did I do, exactly?" Bettel couldn't take it, to him (M/n) was mocking him when in reality he was getting concerned about him. His face turned redder with anger and he just yelled everything.

"You make me feel nervous, and giddy all the time! I can't stop thinking about you and how much I wanna be with you all day every day!" (M/n)'s eyes opened wide at the words he was hearing, feeling goosebumps cover his skin as he felt his heart flutter and his stomach tingling, "You're a fucking sorcerer you can easily do something like this! Now fix it!"

Before getting too ahead of himself, (M/n) took a deep breath and took a step closer to Bettel, who was still frowning at him.

"So, you're telling me that I've caused this?" Bettel groaned and nodded, trying to maintain his angry expression at having (M/n) in such close proximity, "Does this happen with anyone else?"

"No, it doesn't, why does that matter?" (M/n) took a deep breath and gulped, taking another step closer and forcing Bettel to back himself to the locked door, his frown disappeared from his face, looking at (M/n) with wide eyes, a nervous look in them

"What are you feeling right now, Bettel?" Flustered and nervous, Bettel looked away for a moment, but (M/n)'s hand gently held his chin, making him look into his eyes, which were seemingly looking into the deepest part of his soul.

"I'm... My heart is beating really fast, and... I feel very hot right now," (M/n) nodded at his answer, but he needed something more than just that.

"Anything else?" Having Bettel now pinned to the door, he observed up close how the red of face became flustered blush instead of anger, his mismatched eyes looking into his (e/c) ones, shining bright under the ceiling light.

"I want to..." He trailed on, his sight lowering to look at (M/n)'s lips for a few seconds, unconsciously licking his lips too.

Getting bolder, (M/n) leaned closer to Bettel's face, their breathing mixing as they were unable to tear their eyes away from each other's lips.

"You want to kiss me, don't you?" Gulping, Bettel nodded in complete silence, his gloved hands reaching to hold onto a piece of (M/n)'s clothing.

"Please... Kiss me," (M/n) felt Bettel's grip on his clothes getting tighter as he pulled him closer, and he just couldn't resist the dreamy look in Bettel's bright eyes.

Holding Bettel's face in his hands, (M/n) leaned closer as he felt the jester trembling under his hold, the warmth of his face against his palms, his glossy lips opening slightly as he inched closer and closer.

Shivers ran down their body the instant their lips graced, unable to contain themselves any longer they held each other's bodies tightly, releasing quiet moans and groans as they melted in their kiss. But it was short-lived due to the lack of air, so they pulled away and gasped for air for a few seconds, staring into each other's eyes.

Bettel looked at (M/n) with embarrassment, and he was about to gently push him away from him so he could leave, but the (h/c) haired male wasn't gonna let him go so quickly.

Wrapping his arms around Bettel's waist, he held the man and kissed him again, lifting his smaller body up, and pressing him against the door. Whimpers and whines left past Bettel's lips, only to be muffled against (M/n)'s, his arms wrapped around (M/n)'s neck, his gloved fingers playing with his hair, pulling on it when he felt how (M/n) pressed their hips together, letting him know that he was feeling just like he was.

A little bit... Happy.

So they had to do something about it, didn't they?

//////

It was a normal day at the Guild Hall, just like any other...

Well, if it wasn't because of how uneasy and squirmy (M/n) was. Of course, no one knew that it was because Bettel has been behaving like a brat all day, and now during the guild meeting he was doing the same thing.

This time (M/n) wondered why Bettel sat in front of him instead of next to him like he usually did, now he knows why. It started subtle, so subtle that (M/n) thought it was by accident, but the longer it passed it became more obvious that it was on purpose.

Bettel had placed his foot between (M/n)'s thighs, slowly applying pressure on his dick, gracing the heel of his shoe against it and he could barely hold himself back from just putting Bettel in his place after behaving like a brat all day.

He had gone quiet as he imagined how he was gonna make Bettel cry and beg for forgiveness later in his room, when he felt someone touching his shoulder. He jumped in place and turned to look at who it was.

Axel was looking at (M/n) expectantly in silence, as if he was waiting for him to say something back. He blinked cleared his throat and shifted around on his chair as he felt Bettel momentarily stop his teasing.

"You okay, dude? I've been calling you for a while now," (M/n) tried to smile at the blond, but it felt too forced so he decided to drop it.

"Y-yeah, I just... I haven't been sleeping well lately," he replied as vaguely as usual, he didn't want to make others worry or find out what was actually happening to him.

And it worked, 'cause Axel just chuckled and patted his back maybe a little too hard as he told him something along the lines of 'taking care of himself' which he half-heartedly agreed to.

The rest of the meet went slower than ever, with his jaw clenched (M/n) tried his hardest to contain himself, whether by snapping at Bettel and fucking him right then, or to prevent any kind of noise to leave past his lips, that wouldn't be good so he was really, really trying his best.

But thankfully, the moment the meeting ended, he fixed his clothes and stood up, rushing to hold Bettel's wrists and dragging him out of the meeting room, the jester was release mischievous chuckles as he was dragged by the (h/c) haired male, waving farewell to his guildmates on their way out.

As if in the blink of an eye, (M/n) reached his room, he opened the door and dragged Bettel inside, kicking the door closed with his foot and cornering Bettel to the bed, pinning him down to it.

"Oh? You're quite eager, aren't ya?" Bettel had a cheeky grin plastered on his face, making (M/n) frown, but without uttering a single word, he leaned down and kissed him. His hands roamed everywhere on Bettel's body, holding tightly onto his waist as he grinded their hips together.

Bettel moaned as his back arched off the bed, his hands holding onto the collar of (M/n)'s clothes, occasional giggles leaving him at (M/n)'s eagerness.

He observed how (M/n) backed away for a little bit, undoing the belt that was holding his pants up. Bettel bit his bottom lip and tried to spread his legs open, but (M/n) had another plan, he held his legs together, separated enough to put his twitching dick between his thighs, exposing more of his pale skin as he moved the short's fabric up more.

(M/n) knew that just doing this wasn't gonna be nearly enough for both of them, but he wanted to rile Bettel up, just like he had done all day, and this was the best way he could think up at the moment while also getting off himself.

Groaning at the smooth feeling of Bettel's thighs, (M/n) gripped his hips tightly, probably leaving marks that would become visible a few hours later. He wasn't paying attention to Bettel's reactions or noises, he just wanted to cum, he had been pent up all day thanks to his adorable yet bratty boyfriend.

Gritting his teeth, (M/n) held in his moans as his dick throbbed, hot cum dripping onto Bettel's shorts, staining them white. He took a few deep breaths and fixed his underwear, standing up from the bed, about to fix his pants to leave.

"You better not-" his eyes landed on Bettel, whose body was trembling, a wet stain on his shorts where you could see the cum seeping through it, his breath was ragged and loud, and there was some drool dripping down the corner of his mouth and he was covering his eyes with his forearm, "Betsy?" He called him with a gentle voice.

Maybe he should've handled the situation better, maybe...

Bettel lowered his arm slightly, now covering his mouth. His mismatched eyes were filled with tears and some of them had managed to fall and wet his blushing face.

"Ar-are you... W-why are you l-leaving~?" He whimpered while trying to sit up, more tears running down his red cheeks, "D-don't leave, please~ I'll be good!"

(M/n) watched how Bettel moved around on the bed until he was kneeling, his thighs trembling a bit as he did, his hands holding onto the hem of (M/n)'s shirt.

"Will you, now?" Bettel nodded frantically, trying to pull (M/n) closer to him, nuzzling against his stomach.

"I will, I promise," slowly looking up, Bettel released a quiet whine, "I want you to fuck me, (M/n)."

Well, how could he resist such a cute face and such a pretty voice?

++++

It's been so long since I've written something lol but hopefully this turned out good enough hehe

[skubean]

not a req but you’re literally carrying the tempus fandom on ur back thank you sm for the fics im eating them up

dude this means sm to me bcs i for sure want more tempus fics!!!! i crave for them, i yearn for them, i need them. im so glad you're enjoying them, and ill try to write more for my beloved tempus-starved readers out there.

with that being said homies, come and request tempus fics to me wink

[adaptacy]

A Found Flame

Pairing: Mentor!Gale Dekarios x Apprentice!GN!Reader

(Next Chapter) ➔ (AO3) {Spotify Playlist}

Synopsis: Gale guides you through casting a fire bolt, but in your search to find a warmth to channel, you revisit a late night with him that stirs up an unfamiliar feeling within you.

A/N: Completely SFW! Just cute romantic stuff while I continue crackin' away at this fine ass dork I've been presented with. I might turn this into a much longer story, because the dynamic of Mentor!Gale falling for his apprentice has so much potential, from fluff to angst to sexual tension, etc... but for now, here's this :) and with a side of the ever-lovely Tara!

Song rec.: Witchcraft - Vian Izak (X)

Word Count: 2k

“Now, right foot further… further…” A hand comes to rest on your hip, and you feel a tap against your right ankle, guiding your movements. You glance down, distracted from your target, and your mentor lets out a soft chuckle, his free hand moving under your arm. Two fingers push up on your chin, realigning your head. Doing your best to follow his directions, your right foot shifts forward, inching awkwardly across the ground until you no longer feel his shoe against your calf. 

“Should I aim for the head?”

“The head?” He laughs, his fingers pulling away from your chin, his arm outstretching to be parallel with yours, showing you where to position your own. “No, Tempus, let’s keep it simple,” he teases, pointing a finger at the torso of a hay-stuffed target, elderly chainmail armor lazily draped over its shoulders. “Eyes on the torso. And, please, do refrain from igniting my tower in a fiery blaze. These shelves took far too long to fill.” 

“I know, I know, I’ve got it,” you assure, earning a mewl of disbelief from a tabby Tressym resting a few feet away from the target, her tail and front paws hanging off of an empty space on the aforementioned bookshelves. 

“Mr. Dekarios, are you sure this is the safest we can be?” Tara purrs, her right wing twitching, likely anxious that you were bound to do exactly as he asked you not to and burn the whole tower down.

“I trust them, Tara. After all, books can only get one so far. Hands-on practice is far more valuable!” He encourages, leaning down slightly, enough that you can hear his breathing beside your ear. “Now. Steady. Focus… and picture it. A small flame, mostly harmless. Landing square on the torso, created from your very–”

“Ignis!” You shout, and Tara shoots up from where she was laying, bouncing away from the target and landing on a pile of books. Despite her reaction, there was no flame, though you swore you could’ve spotted a spark from your fingertip.

Gale lowers his arm, giving you a little more space, and he removes his hand from your hip, even taking a step back, perhaps a little too aware of the vicinity between your bodies. “Again. The pronunciation was exquisite, I must avow. Reach into your mind, no matter how far you must travel. Hear her whispers, channel the inferno within. Whether it be rage, passion, optimism – you must grasp the element, and feel the heat,” he explains, earning a small nod from you. Your eyes close, and you seek out the embers he spoke of. 

Your mind wanders– it has to, if you truly want to tame the element, no part of your mind should be off limits. Though it travels to unexpected places. You most certainly find warmth, it just wasn’t the warmth you expected. It wasn’t a burn, yet it was a heat. One that hovered around your body, brought on by closeness to another, breathing figure. You could see books, and the moon, hanging high outside, the room coated with a gentle blue glow. It was strange, like you were inspecting a faded picture rather than experiencing a dream. 

Hardening your focus, you grit your teeth. There was a purring, quiet, under the desk. Yes! You sat at the desk, seated on a small velvet stool, stationed next to a figure cloaked in purple. His arm, carefully positioned to allow you to gaze at and read along with the book he studied, brushing lightly against your shoulder. It couldn’t have been more than two weeks ago, during one of your late-night mentoring sessions, when he’d caught you sneaking around in the library, looking for something to keep your sleepless mind occupied. 

Reminding yourself of the mission at hand, you search for inspiration, and find a lone lit candle towards the back of the desk, the glow encapsulating the two of you and casting light on the material you read. With a deep breath, you do your best to channel that candle. As small as it was, it seemed the most helpful component in finding the blaze Gale directed, and you exhaled. 

“Ignis!” 

Your eyes open, feeling a half-second surge of heat in your fingertips, and much to your surprise, a tiny flame shot out from your index finger, though it fell to the floor and sizzled out before it made it halfway to your target. 

Still, it was enough to earn a chuckle and a series of short claps from your mentor, pleased with your performance even with as amateur as it was. “See, Tara? Hardly a threat to the books!” 

The tressym’s wings stretch, and her body follows, leaning back on her haunches as she yawns. With a flick of her tail, she muses “Hardly a threat to anyone, for that matter! I’m quite sure a crocked kobold could muster up a drink stronger than that.” 

“Oh, be patient, Tara. Everyone must start somewhere.” You spot Gale’s shadow waving his hand dismissively, before that shadow approaches yours, and you feel a hand on each of your shoulders. “I presume you found your root. Return, and study it. Learn it. Conform to it. Again.”

You inhale, and once more close your eyes, returning to the moonlit scene. The candle seemed dimmer, now, and you wonder if you’d somehow extracted the power from a memory. You’ve heard – well, read – about plenty of curious happenings related to the power and influence of the weave, but it was quite a different experience to feel those effects. You knew that you had focused quite closely on the candle, and yet it bore disappointing results. And now, that flame burned weaker.

It may be best to turn to other means of fuel. Your eyes scan the memory, contemplating the moon, before deciding it was far too tame, and far too distant to harness. The temperate coziness you felt in the moment pulses through you again, soothing your nerves, easing the racing of your heart. Warmth. 

It doesn’t take you long to realize just where the heat originates from. Though neither of you were aware in that moment, or perhaps you merely glossed over the fact, you sat close; in order to read the contents of the book, you had to be near to him. And near, you were. 

The time aided you, your fatigue stronger than your dignity, and allowed you to rest your head against his shoulder as you hardly managed to keep up with the lines of text, let alone truly process the material you were attempting to soak up. It was warm, despite the winter that hadn’t yet faded. He was warm. You’d been close with him before, though it was always fleeting. Accidentally bumping into him as you gathered materials around his study, or the second-long contact of your hands when you answered his fetch requests. Occasionally, when he guided your hand to some place in particular, over the ridges of a carved staff or the spines of books on his shelves. Even once, just once, that he’d allowed you to press your palm against his chest, his purple robe displaced just enough to expose the stain of the Netherese orb, which had produced an alarming heat from beneath his skin, and he’d felt inclined to share it with you. 

But here, this memory, this occurrence, was hardly fleeting. He must have been willed by weary exhaustion just as well, because he didn’t shy away from the close contact. Instead, Gale rested his jaw against the top of your head, continuing to idly review the book he’d read countless times. You were sure that, if he had fewer things to concern himself with, he very well could have recited the lectures on dead gods from memory. 

You hear a distant ‘mrrow’ of boredom and you recount your steps, regaining sight of your mission once more. You relax your body, only maintaining enough control to keep yourself standing, and your arm aimed. As you burn this sight, this time with him, and these feelings into your memory – should you ever need to recall the sight again, perhaps in future lessons, you want to be prepared – there is an airiness that wraps your body. Although you are planted firmly on a surface, both in the real world and in this vision, it feels as though you’ve been granted feather falling and have leapt from the balcony, becoming one with the breeze. And yet there is no chill, there is no bite from the rush of air, merely a dazing high. 

His breathing is all you hear. Mellow and stable. You focus on the patterned flow, the delicate and inviting tepidity, the velvety brush of his clothes against your face. 

“Love?”

Your eyes open, head swiveling around to face him, and he seems taken aback by your response. You aren’t sure you heard him right, and he isn’t sure you heard him right either, so he points behind you, head tilting slightly. Following his attention, you find that the target now displays a moderately-sized searing hole in the torso, near the right shoulder. You don’t recall announcing the spell, but it’s quite possible that you were too wrapped up in channeling the fire bolt to realize you’d casted it. 

When your attention clings to the training dummy for too long, Gale steps into your peripherals, and you turn to face him once more. Again, he motions towards your successful delivery. “Flames and Fatalities, volume one, chapter four.”

“Red for rage, orange for survival, white for hope, pink for love,” you recite, easily recalling the information provided in one of the spellbooks Gale had you study several times over.

“Precisely. Your flame contained a pink hue,” he elaborates, and your gaze flicks over to the training dummy, and then back at Gale. 

A familiar warmth brushes against your ankle, and you look down, finding a sassy winged creature at your feet. “At least someone in this tower seeks romantic companionship. Mr. Dekarios may very well have something to learn himself,” Tara purrs, and Gale releases a short sigh at her taunt, running a hand through his loose brown hair. “You used to be such a romantic. Though you seem much more of the hopeless kind these days.”

“Well, Tara, I don’t possess an acropolis of free time, I fear. Romantic pursuits do not fit into my schedule,” Gale attempts to defend, though Tara merely tilts her chin up and turns her head away from him, tail stiffening with antipathy. When you look up from the feline-like familiar, you find Gale eyeing you, splitting his sight away the moment your eyes meet, rendering you incapable of registering whatever strange emotion you thought you caught a glimpse of in his eyes. 

You don’t like the taste of the unforeseen tightness in the air, so you clear your throat, looking around the study. “Hells, I forgot to tend to the garden yesterday. Does that sum up my teachings today?” You ask, looking back at Gale. He stares at the mannequin for a few moments more, and for a second, you fear that you’d damaged it too much, but then he releases a gentle laugh, dipping his head.

“Indeed. You performed marvelously. Go on, I’ve got artifacts to busy myself with. If you’re not back by the time I finish, I’ll put together a meal.” Gale motions for the main doors, and steps past you, approaching a mid-sized woven basket containing a staff, an enchanted dagger, and a pair of leather gloves shining a faint orange hue. You watch him, and he pauses as he lifts the basket, glancing at you from over his shoulder, his smile aged, though it held a certain pride in the catenary of his lips. “May I ask?”

Confused, you narrow your eyes. “Ask what?”

“Where did you find your flame?”

Allowing yourself a moment to think, you made sure to keep your eyes on him, and then you provide a nonchalant shrug. “I thought of my parents.” 

Gale is still, his reaction a delayed one, before he widens his smile in a quick chuckle. “Charming. Hold onto that. It’s a solid base.”

You nod, and then finally turn around as Gale resumes moving the basket from the floor to his desk. You grab an empty basket of your own on the way out, disappearing and leaving him to his artifacts. 

[mynameistocool]

~When in Rome~

Part 1

Pairing: Mobius M Mobius x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None

*translated lines

~

You’d seen magic before, of course you have, it was the very being of your spirit. It was your purpose. So just as those two bodies stepped out of that orange glowing door, you knew it was finally your time to fulfil your destiny. The reason you were brought onto this very earth by your mother and father, the reason you harboured so many hardships and so much turmoil.

Looking at the pair as they whispered and bickered between each other, you stood still waiting for your chance to approach and just as your foot left the ground, the black hair god stood forward his long legs jumping on a cart and freeing a cart full of goats before shouting in a foreign language.

“Mihi nomen est Loki. Praefectus consilii ad tempus mutandem. Atque adfero acerbum nuntium ad vos omnes!” *My name is Loki. The commander of time. And I bring bitter news to you all!* he shouted to the unnerving crowd, but the more he spoke, the more you walked, covering your head more and more with your scarf, trying to be unnoticed by all. 

The god's words started to be mixed about speaking in that foreign tongue once more to his… you didn’t know who he was. 

You could hear the rumbling in the background growing larger and larger. An old tail telling that it was the gods speaking to us and reminding us of the offerings, but you knew it was a lie. It was a warning of some sort, something which spiralled wickedly and cruel.

You checked around seeing if anyone also saw the pair, but to your acknowledgment it was only you who could see them. You’ve been chosen… by him. 

You turned the corner and there he stood, the figure you had been giving your whole to. He was the reason you went hungry, the reason you cried and laughed, he was everything you loved and breathed. 

His tall stance and broad shoulders were met with his dark locks and brooding blue eyes. A mischievous glint in his eyes as his hands twitched, a green vapour surrounding them. You looked at his odd choice of clothing, but who were you to judge, he was after all a God. Your God. Your deity. 

“O potens Mercurie, tibi gratias ago quod me praesentia tua benedixeris, quid meruisse tanto honore possum ?”*Oh mighty Mercury, thank you for blessing me with your presence. What can I have done to deserve such honour ?* you fell to your knees, scrambling forward as you whispered small prays holding your necklace tightly, your eyes shining bright with adoration and joy.

Finally, you thought to yourself, finally your talents and your ruthless loyalty have paid off. You were finally being seen for all you’ve done.

“Who is this Loki ?” The grey - hair man beside him spoke, but you ignored the gibberish that came out his mouth, understanding none of it. 

“I’m not exactly certain.” Your god spoke back, but you couldn’t understand him. Why couldn’t you understand his sacred words. You looked up between the two, a pleading look in your eyes. “Mercurous oro, ver- nacula loquor” *Mercury I plead you speak in my mother tongue*

“Loki, what is she saying ?” Mobius muttered under his breath. “She’s speaking Latin, I think ?” Loki answered, looking down at you. “Uhh Salve… Humanum”*uhhh hello… Human* the god muttered, “O Mercurius te intellexi ! Tibi gratias ago tibi vere intellego ... Oportet te cito venire debes” * Oh Mercury, I understand you ! I understand you thank you truly... you must come quickly you must come* you pry at his legs as you rush to your feet, your body griping into his “mi Mercurius” *My dear Mercury,* you smiled at him, tears welling your eyes as you began to drag the man, but he quickly stopped in his tracks making your turn around to face him. 

Was he not here for you ? 

“Ohhh mihi paenitemus o magna una tibi Nymphe, ut venias nimis” *my apologies' oh Great one your Nymph may come too* you bowed your head in the direction of the grey - hair confused nymph and your God began to laugh “what did she say ?” He stepped forward toward the black haired God, “she… thinks you’re my nymph.” He laughed some more. 

“Nymph ?” He looked between the two of you “look I’m not a nymph, my name is Mobius.” he explained to you exaggerating certain words “M-Mobius est valde pulchra nomen.”*M-Mobius is such a pretty name* You give him a short, tight-lipped smile, in which he nodded. 

“What is she saying now ?” He asked Loki looking between the pair of you waiting for translation, “she said your name is very pretty.” Loki shook his head, looking down to his feet waiting for his coworker response, but he heard nothing and instead saw the small glint of awe in his eyes before he cleared his throat, “okay.” Mobius nodded. “Okay ?” Loki repeated his response, “okay.” Mobius nodded again. 

“What happened to the full fear of not changing the timeline, Mobius ?” Loki looked at the man beside him, quirking his brow at his change of morals, “yeah, well she clearly confused, so it doesn’t really matter.” He challenges his own words while saying them.

“Mercuries et Mobius.” *Mercury and Mobius * you smiled and quickly nodded, grabbing the men’s hands tightly, and silver smoke began to swallow around you.

The three of you stood there still in the temple. Your home. You quickly dragged the black haired man and began to show him the shrine dedicated to him. It was decorated in snakes and gold with green and red fabrics draping all the way across the large stone. 

“omnes enim vos”*All for you* you bowed a gleaming smile on your face as you watched the god move in scouring over the shrine focusing on the name engraved on the front. “Mercuries”*Mercury* he muttered before looking to you “Mercuries”*Mercury* his eye widened at the loud sounding rumbling.

“Loki, what is this ?” Mobius came forward, pulling on Loki's lapels, dragging his forward. He must have been tricked and betrayed once again by the God of mischief. “nolite tangere” *Don’t touch him.* You flicked your wrist upward, silver smoke emerging and sending the man back. 

“No, no” Loki muttered, smiling, grabbing your hands and placing them down. “Mobius I have no idea what this possibly could be.” He spoke “tell her… to stop doing that” he groaned as he got up from the cold, hard floor. 

There it was the final rumble, the explosion. “What I do know is we have to go now.” Loki grabbed Mobius hand helping him up, patting him on the back signalling him to hurry up with the temped.

“Mercuries ?” *Mercury ?* You quickly stood in the way of the two  “Non sum qui me putas non sum deus tuus sum Loki deus mali sed Mercuries non sum” *I’m not who you think I am. I’m not your god. I am Loki god of mischief. I am not Mercury* 

“Quid ?”*What ?* you asked, your smile slowly fading. “Mobius hurry we have to go now this volcano is about to erupt.” Loki shouted at his grey haired partner, “I am trying.” He fiddled with the buttons of the tempad.

No. No. No. You won’t be left here. You won’t be left to die. You won’t be left alone, not again you refuse. Not after all you have done, all you have sacrificed, all you have given. You give your life. Your life.

“Vale”*Goodbye* Loki smiled, waving before stepping through the large orange door. You stood up, your hands weak and frail.

The grey haired man turned to look at you. A saddened expression filled his face, he opened his mouth but closed it once more before looking to the floor and heading through the door. 

You looked at the orange glowing door that stayed open for a few moments. This wasn’t meant to happen. It stayed open, the glowing portal called your name like the sun called Icarus.  You inched forward, your hands delving into the orb… it didn’t hurt, you were left unharmed as you pushed your full body through the door. 

Quick noise and fast chattering was all you heard as you appeared on the other side, of bright, blinding lights and a surge of… belonging.

“Mobius ?” Loki tapped his concentrated partner, looking straight at you. “What ?” He turned around to look at his friend worrying concern only to be greeted with you. 

~

[braveclementine]

Day 15~ 9:00 A.M.

Warnings: None, Readers under 18 can read this book.

Copyright: My OCs are Coach Yonce, Emma, Ila, Tempus, and Itty Bitty. I own these characters. I do not condone any copying of this.

There were about twenty of us left. More boys than girl, but that was expected as there were more boys than girls to start with.

Itty, Jaguar, and I were standing with each other, as we were all lined up in a sort of line formation. I knew that Sebastian was somewhere behind me. Ila was off to the side, her eyes crossed over her chest. Her nose was crooked, her eyes dark under the circles, her face bruised, but she was standing and alive.

The lady stood in front of us, her black hair pulled back into a bun. She was wearing a black and white outfit, complete with a trench coat and she had her hands in her pockets. I was sure there was yet another plot twist and I was ready for anything.

"Congratulations." She said with a huge smile. "You've survived, you get to go home."

My eyes darted up high in the places I couldn't see well. I knew shadows were moving up there, and I wasn't sure what they were doing.

I shifted closer to put a hand on Itty's shoulder, ready to throw her behind me the minute they started shooting or to throw myself on top of her whatever would happen.

The other kids seemed excited. Some of them were crying, tears tracks down their cheeks. Some of them ripped off props from their backs, celebrating. I stayed still. So did Itty and Ila, though Jaguar was smiling widely.

I let out a shaky breath, waiting. I knew I wasn't paranoid. I knew something else was going to happen.

Suddenly, I heard two doors burst open at the end of the hallway, and when everyones heads went spinning in that direction, that was when the gunfire started. I felt something tear through my shoulder.

I immediately pulled Itty down, with one arm and as I went down, I kicked my leg out, knocking Jaguar off her feet. I wish I could have reached Otter, but she was already hitting the floor, her arms over her head like that would help.

I could smell the blood now and I turned my head slightly to see that blood was pooling out of bodies which had landed in every direction as the other kids had tried to scatter.

I could hear sounds of fighting, but when I looked up, I was met with a great shock.

For a moment, I thought I must still be dreaming, because the sight in front of me was something as bizarre as one of my dreams.

The people 'punching' the bad guys in the face were. . . the Avengers?

I blinked again. What in the world? Yes, they were the Avengers. But in the way that everyone on the movie set must see them. Robert Downey Jr. with all sorts of dots on his body and clothes, his hands out as though he was shooting blasters. And Chris Evans had a shield in his hand, though it didn't return to him.

I suddenly spun my head to where Sebastian, my guard, was standing. He was looking at me, a sheepish smile on his face.

I couldn't look at him anymore. It wasn't just a random guy named Sebastian. It was Sebastian Stan.

Soldier.

Soldat.

The green arm because that was the green screen for his metal arm.

Bucky Barnes.

I hadn't watched the Captain America movies yet. I had only seen Stan with the short hair, not the long hair. And how was I to expect that a famous movie actor was helping kill children?

'We didn't know it was real.'

They thought it was a movie. They still thought it was a movie, obviously. They would never have risked these famous actors and actresses lives if they thought it was real.

'She thinks of you as the main character.'

Because I was, unknowingly, the main character.

'Not everything is as it seems.'

Of course. The way he avoided talking about the after this place. Because there was no after, not for me and him. He had a girlfriend or probably even a wife outside of the movies. I had been played.

All of these kids. . . I knew they were dead. I had helped kill them, I had felt the affects myself. I was missing my left pinky for crying out loud.

"AND CUT!" Someone shouted.

Everyone stopped moving on the set and the famous actors who played the main Avengers were relaxing, turning to talk to each other. The dead kids were quickly being dragged off set, the blood being washed away through a drain with a large bucket of water. I felt the water touch my clothes.

I met eyes with Itty, then Jaguar, then Ila. We had started with one hundred and twenty kids. Itty, Jaguar, and I were the only ones left out of that. Ila was just an extra.

Itty and I had the same look. So did Jaguar, Otter was a bit slower on the uptake but I wasn't sure she really knew who most of the actors in front of us were. She wasn't a big Marvel fan.

"Its' fake." Itty and Jaguar whispered at the same time.

Suddenly, a large hand grabbed my upper arm, jerking me up on my feet.

"Oi." Sebastian said, narrowing his eyes, walking forwards.

I kicked the man in the knee as hard as I could, furious. I yanked the gun out of his belt. It was a pistol, a light weight in my hands, but heavy at the same time.

"Alright, that's enough, we're not in scene." The lady said, walking forwards, towards me. She was smirking. I lifted the gun in both hands, pointing it at her head. The other Actors turned to see what was going on.

"What are you doing? We're off scene right now?" Evans asked.

"Chris, shut up." Sebastian warned. "Y/N-"

"No." I snapped at him. "You do not get to say my name. Not after all of that."

"You won't shoot me." The lady smirked, reaching into her trench coat.

I didn't give her a chance.

I pulled the trigger.

She was still smiling as she hit the floor. One of the actresses screamed.

Sebastian started towards me and I turned the gun on him. Tears streamed down my face. "Stay the hell away from me."

Sebastian stopped in his tracks, looking distraught.

"What?" I asked coldly. "It was still all fake to you, wasn't it? Was my finger not real enough? Was the knee not real enough? This was all a fucking movie to all of you? Children died! I almost died! And you fucking played with my feelings!"

Sebastian just shook his head, turning to the other actors. "We were lied to. Where are the Russo brothers?"

"We're right here Sebastian." The two directors came through a door, pausing at the sight in hand. The dead lady on the floor- I still never knew her name. Me and the other three, my gun pointed at Sebastian's head.

The taller one sighed, looking at the body. "Well that's a pity. We'll have to get our money the hard way now."

"You knew." Sebastian stated angrily. "You knew what was happening here."

"Of course, we helped set it up. The realistic aspects of it were quite favorable and we didn't even have to hire any actors and actresses for it."

"Because we would all be dead." I spat, turning my gun towards him. He didn't even flinch.

"Wait." Downey said, crossing his arms, "What are we talking about?"

"Children died." Sebastian spat at them. "You let children be kidnapped and killed for a movie!? Are you insane?"

I looked over at Jaguar, Itty, and Ila and mouthed, 'Start moving.'

They started to slowly back away from the entire group. In this room, there was an exit door. Maybe we'd all die when we exited it, but then I'd be away from this crap.

"Y/N-" Sebastian said but I shook my head.

"You don't get to call me that." I spat.

"Where do you think you're going?" The shorter Russo brother asked.

"Away from here." I snarled, turning the gun on him instead. I knew I was outnumbered, but my top priority was getting the other three out.

"You'll die out there."

"Well at least I won't be with any of you monsters." I said. "Do us a favor and stay the hell away from us."

The other three broke into a run towards the exit doors, opening it and bright sunlight streamed through the the door.

I took one more look at Sebastian.

I remembered every moment where I thought he was saving me. He had to have known about everything ahead of time, that's why everything had perfect timing. Every time I thought I was confiding in someone, every time that I kissed him, it wasn't real.

None of it was real to him.

"It was real to me." I whispered. I threw the gun down so it clattered near his feet. "Fuck you Stan."

I turned and followed the others into the bright sunlight.

⬅️➡️

[spiced-koi-friend]

Tomorrow

Merman!Josuiji Shinri x GN!Reader | TW: none Words: 1085 | Rating: PG

Walking along the river, you start to hear a low humming from somewhere nearby. The soft melody holds your attention, bringing you closer to a bridge a little bit further down the bank. With no one around when you reach the center of the bridge, yet the humming the loudest it has been thus far, you peek down to look underneath. The water is clear, and you can see koi fish happily swimming around beneath the lily pads. A fish food dispenser is attached to one of the posts of the bridge, and you exchange a coin for a small handful. You toss it out and it causes soft ripples in the water as the fish swim eagerly to the surface. 

“Puniko! Look! Go get some, buddy!”

The humming stops, and you hear the man chuckle. Still out of sight, you look around more. Out from under the bridge swims a larger koi, about three times the size as the other ones. He moves sluggishly, somehow looking exhausted despite being a fish. You get another handful of fish food, walking across the bridge to go down to the edge of the water. Wading through the tall grass, you get to the edge of the water as the fish start coming up to you. They seem rather friendly, used to being around humans. The one you assume to be Puniko swims right up to you, letting you pat his head in exchange for a bit of food. Out of the corner of your eye, you see someone hiding amongst the rocks under the bridge. You turn your head to look, but they duck out of sight before you get a good look at them.

“It’s alright, I know you’re over there. I mean you no harm, I just wanted to compliment your singing…” You hear nothing back, but see a pair of eyes peek over the rocks to look at you. They’re an almost electric light blue, sparkling like the waters surrounding you. He chuckles, pulling himself up to rest his head on his arms. His hair is long, slicked back with the weight of the water. He seems to be admiring you, watching how you feed the kois. Most of his body is still hidden, but you can see a blue and orange tattoo covering his left arm. He’s pretty, especially when he smiles at you when he realizes you’re staring.

“I appreciate it. Normally people don’t come out this far, just Puniko, myself, and the rest of the kois.” “You say that like you’re a koi yourself.” “Well…”

He bites his cheek, shrugging before ducking back behind the rocks. You hear a quiet splash, and the kois move around what seems to be a much larger fish. It gets closer, before he resurfaces, throwing his hair back out of his face. A strand still falls back in front, not agreeing with him as he tries to tuck it back. He leans against a rock, bending his tail so you can see his tail, shimmering iridescence over a pattern of white, orange, and black. It’s beautiful, and you can’t help but be in awe of it. His torso is rather muscular, well defined arms most likely from a life of swimming. “Wow…”

He blushes, hiding behind his hand as he tucks his tail back beneath the water. You sit down on the sand, lowering yourself down to his same level. Puniko approaches him, nudging itself under his arm before he pulls it into a hug, laughing to himself.

“Alright, it’s sleepy time. C’mere.” It’s adorable to watch, especially as the sun starts to go down and the sunset begins to turn the sky a mixture of soft pink and brilliant orange. He looks up at the sky as soon as he realizes you’re watching it, before turning his gaze back to you. “Normally people aren’t as… respectful as you are when they find me. That’s why I usually stay pretty far out from the village. I've had a few people try to capture Puniko and me in order to show us off. Luckily I’m pretty strong, otherwise I’m pretty sure we’d be in some sort of fish market or store front aquarium. But you seem alright, Puniko seems to like you. Although Puniko likes anyone who has food.”

His laugh is brighter each time, and you catch a glimpse of some fangs and subtle scales on his cheeks as they catch in the light. He adjusts his grip on Puniko, the sleepy koi fish now thoroughly out of it. 

“Josuiji Shinri, protector of the river and all the koi inside. I’d… like it if you’d come back. You seem nice. Maybe I can show you the koi pond at some point.” Your heart flutters as he offers to show you the pond, and apparently your excitement was visible enough that he smiles at you.

“I’d love to come back. Are you always here at the bridge?” “Not always, but I usually am in the evening. I try to make my rounds through the river, checking in on all the fish. They all have names, Puniko is just the one that sticks with me.” “Maybe tomorrow you can start teaching me everyone’s names. I’d love to know who I’m taking out to dinner.”

Your joke doesn’t come out as intended, leaving both of you blushing into your hands for a couple minutes until the awkward silence becomes a little bit too much. 

“Well, I can assure you I don’t eat fish food.” “I could… bring us some sushi tomorrow? Have a little riverside picnic while you teach me their names?” “Is that a date?” You glance away, not meeting his eye. “It can be…” “Then I look forward to it.” Shinri smiles at you, reaching beneath the water for something. He tears off a blade of grass, threading it through something. In the low evening light you can’t make it out, but as he ties it around your wrist, you see that he’s made you a bracelet from a pearl and long piece of grass. “So you don’t forget us out here. I do hope you come back.”

He waves to you before disappearing beneath the water with Puniko, leaving you to walk back to the village by the light of the lanterns as they start to turn on. You wonder to yourself what kind of sushi a merman would like, and how you managed to secure a date with one.

Guess you’ll find out tomorrow.