#the writing might have been ass but at least it had soul

[jade-kyo]

The fact that Restoration actively makes me, a known shisno trilogy hater, want to rewatch the Shisno trilogy says a lot

Shisno trilogy I’m so sorry I ever doubted you (except you season 16, I still don’t like you)

[five-bi-five-mind]

Could you please make a fic of Wanda and reader. Vision kisses Wanda even though they are broken up. Reader punches Vision and Wanda proves to reader she only loves the reader. Smut at the end bd happy ending please

I'm Yours Too

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x fem!Reader

Words: 9.5k+

Genre: Angst & Smut

Summary: Vision doesn't take the sight of you on his ex girlfriend's arm very well. What was supposed to be a night of Wanda proudly showing off her lovely girlfriend turned into a night that almost broke the both of you. But Wanda isn't one to let you get away so easily.

Warnings: Toxic!Wanda, jealous!Wanda, possessive!Wanda, alcohol use, mentions of cheating but not really (it's a misunderstanding), top!Wanda, bottom!Reader, fingering, strap on use (all r receiving), magic strap, also cum strap with a tiny bit of a breeding kink...

A/N: This doesn't 100% follow your prompt, anon, but it's pretty darn close! Also ha... don't know what came over me with the smut oops. I just really love writing toxic Wanda railing reader I guess....

Agreeing to go to this party was a big mistake. At least that’s what you were beginning to believe as the minutes ticked by and you were still sitting alone at the bar, two and a half drinks down when you thought you’d only have one. But then again, you also thought your girlfriend wouldn’t ditch you for so long to go god knows where. 

Crowds weren’t your thing either and Wanda knew that. So when she got invited to Tony’s extravagant party she knew she would have to do some convincing. Luckily for her, she also knew exactly how to get you to agree. Right now, as you sat nervously in a sea of party goers, downing your third drink, you were really regretting how easily you folded.

Your fingers tapped on the bar counter as you considered ordering a fourth since Wanda was still nowhere in sight. The alcohol would calm your nerves hopefully, but the rational side of your brain told you to slow it down. You weren’t drunk, but you definitely weren’t sober either. It might be best to keep yourself as level as you can be while teetering that line between tipsy and drunk. At least until you find Wanda.

It didn’t help that, not only had Wanda ditched you, but the moment you two got there she was preoccupied with whoever was blowing up her phone. You assumed that was why she told you she needed a moment and made her way through the crowd without you. What also added to your frustration was that you couldn’t find a single soul you knew. Natasha had graciously thought to text you to tell you she would be there but was running late. At this point, between waiting for your girlfriend and waiting for your best friend for what you think is about thirty minutes, your patience was wearing thin. 

You decided to give it just five more minutes. If you didn’t see Wanda return to your side or Natasha to swoop in and rescue you, then you’d go hunt down your girlfriend. The only thing was now you couldn’t decide if you wanted to drag her back to the bar and then freely let yourself get drunk with her watchful eye on you as you let go of your anxiety or drag her ass back home and into the comfort and safety of your very cozy bed. You were leaning towards the second option.

No matter how many times you checked your phone, it didn’t change the fact that you had no new notifications. Not from Wanda, not from Nat, not from a single person you thought might be at that party. No, the only notification you got was the warning that your phone battery hit 10%. With a heavy sigh, you decided that was the sign to go find someone you knew. Preferably your missing girlfriend, who you were now quite frustrated with.

Pushing yourself off the bar, your eyes set their sights on the exit to the main hall of the party. You’d scour the entire place if you needed to so you could find your girlfriend and hopefully convince her to get the hell out of here. You’d already been scanning the crowd in the main part of the event and you’d definitely caught at least a glimpse of her red hair through the crowd, but alas she was nowhere insight.

With gusto, you pushed through the crowd until you reached the exit of the crowded room and was just met with a few scattered groups of people here and there in the halls leading up to the main event space. You took a deep breath, you might not have been outside necessarily, but at least you were away from all the excitement and the reduced noise was refreshing to you. Quickly, but still carefully as you scanned your surroundings, you made your way through the rest of the building. Still no Wanda. You were getting farther and farther away from the party and deeper and deeper into the more secluded parts of the convention center. Tony really picked a maze to rent out, you thought as you chose random halls to turn and search through.

All the while, you were checking your phone. You had sent more than a few texts to Wanda, each conveying a little more of your frustration than the last. None of those messages went answered, let alone read. What was worse was there was still no sign of Nat. She promised to text you the moment she arrived and you at least trusted her to keep her word, so you knew you at least wouldn’t run into her in these halls. 

After a few more turns, you realized the sound of the party’s booming music was now nothing more than a dull hum. You were probably on the complete opposite side of the building. Your hopes in finding Wanda were starting to diminish and for a second you seriously contemplated just calling a car to take you home. But as if by some miracle you finally heard her voice echo down the hall. 

Your pace picked up as you followed the sound of her voice. Finally, you could get the hell out of this place. Being left at the party for so long had already made you ready to leave, but having to search through an unfamiliar place for so long meant you weren’t going to budge on that decision. Wanda was going to take you home and there wasn’t going to be any argument about it. 

“Wanda, where did you go?” You said as you caught a glimpse of her when rounding the corner of the hall. “I’ve been looking all over for-“ You cut yourself off when she was fully in view. Only she wasn’t alone. Stopping dead in your tracks the scene before you felt like a gut punch. There she was, Wanda, the woman you love, wrapped in the arms of the man she used to be with. Your world felt like it shattered in two seconds.

Neither heard you, but Vision was the first to see you. He pulled from Wanda’s lips to lock eyes with you. His face was devoid of any emotion when he took in your shocked expression. As if he didn’t realize he was taking away the one person you love most in this world. As if what you caught him doing was nothing to him.  

Wanda’s reaction was the exact opposite of Visions when their kiss broke, but you didn’t notice. Your eyes locked on the man who was currently all over your girlfriend. You couldn’t begin to look at Wanda, but if you did you would’ve noticed the way her body was absolutely ridged in Vision’s embrace. The moment Wanda realized Vision had pulled away, her hands pressed hard to his chest and she gave a powerful shove. His arms fell from her, but when he didn’t even acknowledge her fuming in front of him, she turned to see where he was staring off to. 

And then her heart stopped. The anger Wanda showed towards Vision immediately transformed into concern as her eyes locked onto your face. Wanda knew what this looked like, and it wasn’t good. 

Wanda didn’t have to read your mind to understand exactly what you thought this whole ordeal was, she could see it written all over your face. The problem is, it really wasn’t what it looked like. 

Wanda had been getting bombarded with messages from Vision from the very minute she arrived with you at Tony’s party. He caught a glimpse of her with you on his arm and it sparked something in him to decide tonight was a night to make a stand. After messages flooded in, Wanda’s mood was souring when she was really hoping to enjoy this night and show you off to everyone as hers and hers alone. Only, she couldn’t do that when she was getting increasingly pissed off with Vision and she was growing concerned he’d make a scene. So, she gave in and abandoned you at the bar to go have what was supposed to be a brief chat. She knew you’d be frustrated by this, but she had hoped she’d be back quick enough to make it up to you. Wanda was incredibly wrong. 

Vision and Wanda argued back and forth for well over half an hour. Wanda was clearly standing her ground, but unfortunately so was Vision. When Wanda felt more and more buzzes from her phone as the arguing went on she knew when she returned to your side you’d be pretty angry with her and then there went her evening of parading her girlfriend around proudly for the world to see. So, since the argument with Vision was getting nowhere Wanda tried to cut him off and just walk away. But “tried” is the key word here, because before she knew it he caught her off guard.

Vision was never one to make bold moves. When Wanda was with him, he was always incredibly predictable. It was part of the reason they didn’t work. He was just… boring. There was no spark. But tonight, Vision was a little less predictable than Wanda expected. Before she could turn she found herself pulled back and into his chest and within a blink suddenly she found his cold lips pressed to hers. Immediately, she wanted to retch. The feeling of anyone touching her in any kind of way felt wrong to her, when she found you she knew you were the one she’d been searching for. To even think about being with anyone other than you in any sort of intimate way made her skin crawl, so to have Vision’s lips pressed against hers felt like the most unnatural thing in the world. It made her want to rip his lips off, if she was being totally honest. 

Admittedly, it took her a moment to get over the shock of his bold, but incredibly uncalled for actions, but when she did register exactly what was happening that was when the rage set in. That was also, unfortunately, a moment after you saw the scene as it unfolded. 

So now, here all three of you were. Vision still oblivious to the rage he caused in Wanda. Wanda was looking at you with a mixture of panic and sympathy, knowing exactly what you must be thinking right now. And then there was you, still just standing there utterly frozen.  

Your eyes finally drifted over to where Wanda stood and the look she was giving you made your stomach painfully turn. Wanda’s eyes were glued to you and all you could see in them was extreme guilt. Did she feel guilty she got caught? Did she feel guilty she just witnessed your heart break in front of her? Whatever that guilt was, it suddenly turned your shock into pure anger.  

Your mouth opened and closed, trying to find the right words to respond to the shit show in front of you, but then you realized there were none. You wanted to scream and curse and, honestly, knock Vision’s lights out if you even thought that was possible. However, you knew none of that was productive and you also knew if you started screaming you’d also start crying and you didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of that. You didn’t want to break yet, not in front of Wanda and especially not in front of Vision.

So, you start to turn around. Your current plan: cut and run. This place is so much of a fucking maze, you were sure you could lose Wanda while you waited for a car to come. 

Except, you should’ve known Wanda was faster than you, so when you started to speed walk away she left Vision in the dust to follow right on your heel.

“Wait, fuck, just wait!” Wanda yelled from behind you. You shook your head, there was no way you wanted to hear her out. Your blood was boiling and you could already tell you were two seconds away from losing your cool. You just had to get a fucking car and then you could lose it in the comfort of your own home. “Come on, where are you even going?” 

“Away from you,” You said over your shoulder. It was a miracle you were even able to dodge bumping into anyone as you were struggling to escape Wanda and call an Uber at the same time. There were a lot of factors that were making it way too difficult for you to escape a determined Wanda who was aggressively following you. One of the factors was that your hands were shaking so badly you could barely type what you needed to type in order to pick the right destination to get home and another factor was that your phone somehow ended up going from 10% to 1% in the time it took for you to find Wanda in the first place. Right before you were about to hit the button in the app to order your escape car, your screen went black and you stopped in your tracks. 

“Fuck!” You howled, half tempted to throw your phone across the hall. 

“Let me take you home,” Wanda stopped right behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “We can talk.”

You jerked away from her touch as if it burned and when you spun around, seeing that look of guilt again pissed you off even further. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“(Y/N), just come on, let's go to the car.” Wanda’s voice was level, calm even. She was doing her best to be patient and understanding, because she knew what you must be thinking. She would’ve been furious too if the positions were switched. However, the more calm she sounded the more you thought she was being condescending, even if there was no indication of that in her tone. You were just too hurt and angry to really pay attention to much else at the moment. 

“I’ll find another way,” You spat. “I don’t want to be near you right now. I can’t even fucking look at you.”

That hit a nerve. For a split second you saw frustration towards you flash on Wanda’s features, but then in a blink it was gone and her composure came back. Wanda didn’t want to spend the night screaming at each other, she was going to at least try to avoid that. If she could calm you down she could explain and start making it up to you, but your behavior was quickly testing her. 

“(Y/N), stop it.” Wanda’s voice was more firm as she spoke. “Let’s just go. How are you going to even get home without me? Your phone is dead. What’s your plan?”

“I’ll take her.” The two of you turned to follow the voice and to your relief there came Nat from the other end of the hall.  

Natasha had some great fucking timing. You didn’t want to be near Wanda for another second and now finally your best friend was there to save the day. You didn’t even know how she found you in this place, but you were too thankful to even question it. 

“Come on,” Nat extended a hand towards you. “I’ll take you home.” She nodded at you encouragingly, soft eyes meeting yours. She didn’t know what this was about, but she didn’t need much context to know that somehow Wanda majorly fucked up. Nat knew it was only a matter of time before that happened. She saw how territorial Wanda was with you and for some reason, Nat never trusted it. So, unfortunately for Wanda, Nat became almost as fiercely protective of you as she was. 

“Okay,” You let out a shaky sigh of relief. “Okay, yeah.” You took her hand and that’s when Wanda’s patience was really wearing thin. 

“I can take her home,” Wanda stepped in front of Nat quickly before she could pull you away. “We,” Wanda turned her eyes to look at you, “Need to seriously talk.” 

“She said she didn’t want to, Wanda.” Nat answered for you. The glare she gave Wanda would make anyone else cower in fear, but directed towards Wanda it only angered her more. “I’m taking her home.” 

“And what then?” Wanda challenged. Nat knew exactly what Wanda was implying. As much as you told Nat you reassured Wanda that the thing between you two was platonic, Nat knew Wanda refused to believe you. 

“I’m just dropping her off.” Nat didn’t miss a beat, refusing to back down from Wanda’s attempts to intimidate her.

“Sure you are,” Wanda scoffed. 

“Wanda!” You interrupted. This was ridiculously and you just wanted to go home. Right now really isn't the time to deal with a fight between the two people who care about you most, or at least who you thought did. “You’re not one to talk and I’m leaving right now.”  With that you tugged on Nat’s hand and began to walk in any direction that didn’t lead to Wanda. You’d find your way out of this place somehow, hopefully, but right way or not you didn’t want to look at your girlfriend any longer. “Don’t follow us!” You ordered behind you as you dragged Nat with you.

Wanda stood there and watched you walk away. She wasn’t going to follow you, she already had a better plan. She was going to beat you home. After all, she did have a key to your place. Was it the best plan to corner you and get you to talk? No, Wanda thought this would definitely be a night full of yelling and arguing now, but she didn’t really give a fuck. She wasn’t going to leave Natasha alone with you while you were in this state. No matter what, Wanda just didn’t quite trust Nat with you. Whether Nat realized it herself or not, Wanda knew there was more to her feelings. She watched the way Natasha looked at you, she didn’t need to read her mind to know what her intentions were. 

So as soon as the two of you were out of sight, Wanda rushed to her car. She was going to make sure she got there first. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The car ride with Natasha was silent, but you were incredibly thankful for that. You just sat with your eyes glued to the window. The passing scenery not even registering to you, all you saw was that scene of Vision kissing Wanda replaying over and over again. Natasha didn’t question what happened, she knew if you wanted to talk you would. Instead, she just drove, her eyes flicking over to you every once in a while to make sure you were okay. 

When you both pulled up to your place, you asked Nat if you could sit in the car for a little bit, not quite ready to walk into your empty home and break down. 

“What happened?” Nat tentatively asked, breaking the silence after a few minutes of you just sitting and staring at your front door. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” She quickly added, trying her best not to push you into doing or saying anything you didn’t want to.

“She kissed Vis.” Your voice was barely a whisper, your hands balling into fists on your lap. Natasha just stared at you for a moment. If she already wasn’t pissed with the scene she witnessed at Tony’s party, now she was furious. 

“Whatever you need,” Nat offered, “I’m here.” She knew from your tone you didn’t want to give much more information, so she didn’t press. She just offered you what space she could and waited patiently as you both sat in silence for a few more minutes. 

After some time went by, you finally nodded  to yourself and started to get out of the car. Nat insisted on walking you in. You didn’t protest much, you understood she was concerned about you. Natasha’s intention was just to give you a moment to collect yourself once you sat at home and give you the opportunity to talk more, cry, whatever you needed. She figured you could tell her then if you wanted her to leave or not, but if you wanted her to stay she’d be the shoulder you needed to cry on. 

So she followed you in, but what neither of you noticed was the familiar car parked on the other side of the street .

“I thought she was just going to drop you off.” You heard the voice in the dark the minute you and Nat walked in the door. It startled the hell out of you, but Nat just seemed unphased. She was somewhat expecting this behavior from Wanda. Natasha had hoped you two would make it time, so she could protect you while you did what you needed to heal from whatever pain Wanda caused. Obviously, that wasn’t going to be how the rest of tonight played out. 

Reaching over, you flipped the lights on only to see Wanda sitting on the couch, arms folded over her chest and clear irritation written all over her face. You expected Wanda to chase after you, but you didn’t expect her to let herself into your place or to even beat you to it. Right now, you were really regretting giving her a key. 

“How did you get here before us?” Was the only thing you could think to say as you stared at the one person you really didn’t want to be looking at right now.

“I should be asking you why it took you so long.” Wanda said, clearly still annoyed by Natasha’s presence. Meanwhile, Nat was just standing beside you, her arms folded just like Wanda’s, with a matching annoyed expression on her face. “What were you two doing in the car for so long?” You didn’t miss what Wanda was insinuating and you didn’t like it one bit. 

“We were talking.” Natasha answered for you. “I was comforting her.” Wanda’s lips twitched at that and you knew Nat just hit a nerve. You bit your lip to stop the taunting smirk you wanted to give Wanda. Anything that pissed Wanda off felt a little like a small victory. She was jealous? Good, you thought, now she had the smallest taste of how you were feeling. 

“I’m sure you were,” Wanda gave a tight lipped smile. “But we need to talk so I suggest you leave now.”

“I’m not leaving until she asks me to.” You looked at Nat in awe as she held her ground, not even phased by the brewing rage that showed in Wanda’s eyes. She stood by you, unwavering in her resolve. “I think it’s you who should leave.”

“Oh do you?” Wanda scoffed. “I’m not leaving. She’s my girlfriend, or have you both forgotten?” 

“I think you’re the one that forgot that, Wanda.” You finally speak, fists clenching as you stand practically shaking. How dare she try to be territorial after she did what she did? You weren’t going to stand for this or for the way she was treating Nat. “And I agree with Nat. You should go.”

Wanda’s eyes left Nat’s for a moment and when they reached you, you could almost see them soften. She could tell you were hurting, could tell you were confused. All she wanted to do was clear the air, reassure you that what you saw was a misunderstanding that she doesn’t and would never want Vision in the way she wanted you. If she could just talk to you without Natasha’s frustrating presence then everything would be okay, she was sure of it. It would take some convincing, but you’d understand. She’d make you understand. 

But then, Nat placed her hand on your waist and something inside Wanda snapped. You saw her eyes zero in on the contact Natasha made with you and you didn’t miss the way her eye practically twitched as anger began to rise yet again. “I’m not leaving.” Wanda held her ground. She was sure as hell not going to let you be alone, vulnerable and hurting with someone like Natasha to come prey on your current state. Wanda wasn’t a fool, she could practically picture what would happen. “Not until we talk. Alone.” 

You looked from Wanda to Nat. On the one hand, you really wanted your closest friend to stay by your side, on the other hand you could imagine things would get ugly if Nat were to stay. It was clear, Wanda really wasn’t going to leave until you two talked. Either way, you imagined things would get ugly, but at least you could save yourself a little bit from even more embarrassment by having Natasha avoid the total blow up that you knew was bound to happen.

“It’s okay, Nat.” You heard yourself say before you could really register your decision. “I’ll be okay, why don’t you head home?”

Nat’s jaw clenched as she glared at Wanda for a moment before looking back at you. “Are you sure?” You felt her hand squeeze your waist gently where it rested and all you saw in your friend’s eyes was concern. “I don’t have to-”

“She said she wanted you to head home.” Wanda cut her off, stalking towards the two of you. 

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Nat spit, not even bothering to look over at Wanda as she came closer. “I can stay,” she reassured you.

You shook your head. Wanda was two seconds away from making this even worse than it already was. You weren’t entirely sure what Wanda would do to Nat, and you knew Nat could hold her own, but you also didn’t necessarily want to test any of that. “It’s okay, really.” You placed your hand over the hand Nat still had resting on your shoulder. “If anything happens,” You said in a hushed voice. “I’ll call you.”

“Please do,” Natasha urged. She looked back between you and where Wanda stood. Thankfully Wanda stopped just a few feet from you both, seemingly satisfied for now that Natasha was agreeing to leave. She felt triumphant that clearly, even when upset with her, you knew to choose her in situations like this. If she wasn’t still so concerned with getting through to you, she would be gloating at the fact that you chose her. Of course, she had no doubt that you wouldn’t. You were hers and she knew that you knew that. Then again, she also thought you would never believe so easily that she would just willingly touch and be touched by another, not when you two were so clearly in love. But then, here you both were. 

You gave Natasha one more nod of reassurance and Nat just looked back at you, hesitant to take her eyes off you for even a second, but the tap of Wanda’s foot told her if she didn’t leave things would escalate even further fast. So, with great hesitation, she turned from you, giving you one last concerned look before heading out the door and closing it behind her. 

It was silent for a moment. Your eyes were glued to the door Natasha had just walked out of and Wanda’s were glued to you. Neither of you knew how to start, but you knew if you started you’d just dig in. You were hurting and two seconds away from starting an all out war with Wanda, but you also knew that wouldn’t be productive. If you were being honest, the only thing you wanted to do now that Nat was gone was crawl into bed and sob your eyes out. 

“(Y/N), it wasn’t what it looked like.” Wanda finally broke the silence, taking another step towards you. 

You just scoffed and walked past her to the bedroom, making sure to not-so-gently brush her shoulder as you passed. If you two were going to have this fight you needed a minute. At least you wanted to change out of your party clothes. “That’s a cliche,” You said over your shoulder as you walked into the bedroom. Wanda just stood there stunned for a moment, not used to getting the cold treatment from you. It was quickly beginning to irritate her. 

Turning on her heels, Wanda was right behind you in a matter of moments, following you straight into the bedroom. “It wasn’t,” Wanda insisted, watching as you walked into your closet and began to pull out different clothes.

“I’ve heard this all before,” You called from the closet as you dug for more comfortable clothes. “I know this story. I was just stupid to think…” You stopped and shook your head before gathering your clothes. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to hear it, Wanda. I honestly still want you to leave.” 

“Just let me explain,” Wanda sighed, sitting herself down on your bed while she waited for you to come back out of the closet. With clothes in your hand, your eyebrow quirked as you saw her get comfortable. Something about the image of Wanda in your room, on your bed, after you saw what you saw was making you feel more bitter. It made you think back to the kiss you witnessed and made you wonder how many times Wanda was in his bed since being with you. 

“Get up and turn around.” You commanded as you stood right outside of your closet. 

“What?” Wanda eyed you curiously. “Why?”

“I’m going to change.”

“I’ve seen you naked before,” Wanda deadpanned.

Yes, she certainly has, but the idea of her seeing you like that now made your stomach churn. Being vulnerable like that with her was a privilege you gave to her when you thought she was only being that intimate with you. Now, though, everything has changed. “I don’t care.” Your tone was harsh. “Get Up. Turn Around.”

Wanda stared you down for a moment. You just stared back with exasperation and Wanda realized you wouldn’t budge on this. With a loud and dramatic huff, she got up from where she sat herself on your bed and turned as you began to pull off your party clothes and slip into something more comfortable.

It didn’t sit right with Wanda that you had her turn around. It was one little crack in her hopeful plan to convince you. It was a sign that you were slipping from her and the thought of that sent anxiety creeping up her spine. She tried to tell herself it was just your way of punishing her for the scene you saw. Once you understood it would be okay, she told herself. It had to be okay. 

“You can turn around now.” You said and immediately Wanda jumped at the opportunity to look at you again. She hoped that if you saw the sincerity in her eyes you’d be convinced faster that she wasn’t cheating on you, but when she saw you look at her with nothing but an aloof expression, she was worried it wouldn’t be so easy. Not only that, but she was already struggling to keep her composure with your stubborn attitude. 

“Can we talk now?” Wanda was trying so hard to be gentle about this. She knew she had already lost her cool a few times tonight, especially with Natasha, and that wasn’t going to win her any points but she still really just needed you to hear what happened. 

“Talk.” You muttered, standing in front of Wanda with your arms crossed, trying to appear as closed off from her as possible. Wanda felt that crack in her hopes and composure once more, but she shook it off for a second and took the opportunity you were giving her. 

“Vision kissed me.” Wanda started. “I didn’t kiss him.”

You just rolled your eyes at that. One thing you knew for sure if you were to even consider believing Wanda was that you were going to need more explanation than that to make this all okay. Even then how stupid did Wanda take you for? Vision might have kissed her, but she wasn’t the one to pull back either.

“Mhm, and that still makes it okay how?” 

“I didn’t kiss him!” Wanda exclaimed in frustration. “It wasn’t me who did that!”

“Yeah, but you didn’t stop him either did you?” Wanda’s patience wasn’t the only one’s who was running up. You already didn’t want to hear her excuses tonight and she was doing a horrible job at convincing you of tonight’s fiasco being about anything other than selfish actions by two people to hurt you. 

“I was shocked,” Wanda sighed, knowing that she was sounding less convincing by the second, but still she wasn’t going to let this go. She wasn’t about to lose you. “He caught me off guard and it took me a minute to react. Didn’t you see me shove him away? Didn’t you see how angry I was?”

“Yeah, you only did that after you both realized I got there.” You scoffed. 

“No,” Wanda shook her head adamantly. “No, I didn’t know you were there.” 

“Sure.” You really weren’t buying any of this. Even if it was true that she wasn’t expecting the kiss, that she didn’t want it, there was something still nagging at you. “Why did you even leave me to go see him in the first place?”

“I just wanted a nice night,” Wanda offered. “He wanted to talk, so I agreed and thought after we could get on with our evening.”

“You left me alone for over thirty fucking minutes, Wanda!” All of these excuses Wanda was giving you felt like it was belittling the hurt you felt. You knew you hadn’t really let her talk long but you were already tired of hearing all of it. You were tired of this conversation and you were about done. “Why didn’t you even think to tell me it was him you were going to meet? Do you know how suspicious that looks?”

“I know, I know!” Wanda pleaded. “But there’s nothing going on between us. You have to believe me.”

“How?” You sneered. “How am I supposed to believe you? Obviously, there’s something going on. Otherwise he wouldn’t have kissed you.” 

“(Y/N), there’s not and you know it. You’re just too angry to listen to reason.” Wanda took a step closer to you, trying her best to get through to you with as much patience as she could muster after this trying evening. “You just need to calm down and-”

“Don’t.” You seethed. “Don’t tell me what I need to do. What you need to do, Wanda, is leave. Now. I’m done talking for the night.” That was it, you had it for one evening. Wanda accusing your emotions of skewing your perspective may have been right but it wasn’t what you wanted to hear right now. You didn’t really want to hear anything, you didn’t even want to talk tonight but here you were. On your part, you thought you heard her out way more than she deserved for the night. Especially when you felt like you made it clear you didn’t have much interest in doing this tonight in the first place. 

“I’m not leaving.” Wanda held her ground in front of you. You two just stayed there for a moment, staring. Your expression challenging her to back down, hers daring you to push her further. Your fists clenched and unclenched as you tried to figure out your next move and then it dawned on you. If she wasn’t going to leave you were. And since you were beyond hurt and angry, you knew you leaving her there alone to soak in the mess she made was perfect punishment for the pain she caused you. 

Without a word you turned and started rushing around the room, gathering a few things you’d need for an overnight stay elsewhere. Wanda constantly questioned you as she watched you scurry around the room, but she didn’t stop you just yet. She had hope you’d stop and come to your senses before you got too far. All you did was dodge her questions and keep on moving. You hadn’t exactly figured out where you’d go for the night, but if she wasn’t going to leave you weren’t going to stay and you were pretty sure you’d figure out where to go once you actually got out away from Wanda. With clothes stuffed in your arms and your keys in hand, you thought the only good thing about this situation was the anger and shock had sobered you up very quickly. You had a few drinks at the party, but that isn't affecting you as much anymore. The one thing that might affect your driving was the threat of tears that might spill once you were completely alone. It was a risk worth taking, you told yourself, because one more moment next to Wanda and you were going to break down in front of her. That was still something you wanted to avoid. 

You reached the door, your hands still full as you struggled to turn the knob and open it. In two quick strides Wanda was right behind you, her hand reaching in front of you to slam the door shut the minute you had it barely cracked. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” She hissed through clenched teeth. Obviously, you hadn’t come to your senses in time so she realized she had to step in and stop you before you did something reckless. 

“If you’re not going to leave, then I guess I will.” You turned slowly, trying to glare Wanda down and not show any sort of reaction to the anger burning in her eyes.

“Where will you go then, huh? To Nat’s?” Wanda practically spit Natasha’s name out her mouth as she spoke. “What so Vision kisses me and now you’re going to go fuck your buddy?”

Your eyes widened in shock at that. “What are you even talking about, Wanda?” You had always known Wanda was a jealous person and she was definitely not subtle about her disdain for Natasha, but you didn’t actually think she’d accuse you of that. Then again, you also didn’t think she’d cheat on you with Vision, but here you two were. “There’s nothing between me and Nat, but you’d think that wouldn’t you? Paranoid about us? Makes sense, if you’re seeing Vision behind my back of course you’d be worried I’d be doing the same thing with someone else.”

“I told you,” Wanda said through gritted teeth. “Vision kissed me. I am not with him.”

“Why didn’t you pull back? Why were you in his arms? It didn’t look like that!” You asked again, daring her to give you a better answer. Actually no, you didn’t want to give her another opportunity for a shitty excuse, you just really wanted to leave. It was just hard to actually do that when Wanda still had a firm hand on the door, keeping it shut as she cornered you between her arms. “Well, Wanda, you can go be with Vision. I don’t care! I don’t care who you fuck and you don’t have any right to care if I go out and fuck Natasha.” Not like you would, but at this point you just wanted her to feel the hurt you were feeling. “I’m leaving.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” Wanda’s voice wasn’t a yell anymore. It was low, dangerous, and threatening. You did manage to hurt her, but even worse, you managed to make her absolutely rage too. Wanda’s hands left the door and quickly went to either side of your waist, her nails digging into your skin through your shirt as she not so gently pushed you against the door. “Do I need to remind you that you’re mine?”

Your jaw clenched, your anger has already obviously gotten the better of you, but now it’s gotten the better of Wanda too. She got angry, sure, but she was always careful around you. She had good control of it, at least usually. She knew that if she went off around you it could scare you, and that was the last thing she wanted. So she reined it in for you, but now you were threatening to go be with someone else? She couldn’t have that. All of this started because of Vision and Wanda silently made a promise to herself to take care of him at a later date, but right now she needed you to understand just how badly you fucked up now. And as you watched Wanda seeth in front of you, you were beginning to regret those words.

“Wanda, you don’t just get to own me and go fuck around with Vision.”

“For the last fucking time I am not!” Wanda’s words echoed throughout the room. Her eyes swirled with red magic and you knew that was a sign that Wanda was very quickly losing any ounce of control she had left. The red in her eyes burned like fire as she stared you down. You felt her fingers dig harder into your skin as she held you and you could tell she was trembling at this point too. She was beyond control now as she had you pinned to the door. “And I do own you,” Wanda hissed before pressing herself fully to you.

You grunted at the feeling of her pressing you impossibly close to the door. Your hands went up to her shoulders to shove at them, to try to get her to back off, but it was like she didn’t even notice. Which, that would make sense considering you knew Wanda was much stronger than you. Wanda leaned in so close to you that you felt her breath ghost your lips and in any other moment you would’ve been weak at the knees, but with the way the look in her eyes was completely unhinged, her close proximity only made you gulp. 

 “I have never,” she put as much emphasis on each word as she spoke, “been with Vision since I met you.” Wanda was speaking in a whisper now, but you didn’t miss the way her lips twitched in anger. You also didn’t miss the way you felt Wanda pin you more with her body than her hands and then you realized it was her way of being able to move them freely without the risk of you running.

One of her hands moved up until she was gripping your chin while the other started to snake down your body. With her hold on you, you couldn’t look away even if you wanted to, but that wasn’t your main concern. Your main concern was the feeling of Wanda popping the button of your pants open. “Wanda…” This time all the anger left your voice and the only emotion it had in it was fear. This wasn’t something you wanted to happen with Wanda. She was always loving and gentle with you. You weren’t used to this side of her. Wanda had talked to you about the darker sides of her, but you never imagined you would see it full force, but now here you were. And you were honestly a little bit to blame. You pushed her buttons, you wanted to hurt her and hurt her you did. It should’ve been obvious that Wanda’s response to hurt wouldn’t be the best. 

“You’re mine, (Y/N),” Wanda whispered before turning your chin with her hand, letting your neck be exposed to her. “But don’t worry… I’m yours too.” WIth that you felt Wanda’s teeth sink into your neck and the hands that were once trying to push her away grabbed fist fulls of her shirt. 

“Wanda!” You tried to sound firm but your voice quivered as you spoke, obviously affected by the way Wanda’s teeth dragged down your skin, even if you didn’t want to be right now. You knew, you should probably try harder, but it was also Wanda and her touch always broke your resolve. Except, you were still hurting and not sure how much you believed Wanda even if she said she was yours, even if she said she wasn’t with Vision. You wanted to believe her, which might be why you weren’t exactly trying that hard to protest her touch, but then you felt her hand begin to slip into your panties and you knew you had to shut it down. 

“Wanda, I don’t want this,” your voice was quiet, but firm. And that’s all it took for Wanda to utterly freeze. You both were breathing hard for a moment, Wanda’s body still pinning you to the door as you both stood there. As much as Wanda wanted to prove her point, stake her claim on you, she would never do it against your will. She lost herself and suddenly her blood ran cold as she took in just how badly she lost control. The thought of you being with someone else, that made her blood boil, but you not wanting to be hers anymore? That made her terrified. 

You were the bright light in her life that she was missing for so long. You were someone Wanda was waiting for and she never even knew it. She had tried with Vision, had tried to make things work, but try as she might there was always something missing. That is, until you smiled at her, your eyes filled with nothing but innocent admiration for her. It took just one smile from you and suddenly Wanda’s whole world lit up. The thought of not having that anymore was unfathomable to her. You were the source of her happiness, the air she breathed, all Wanda knew since the moment she met you was, well, you. She couldn’t lose you, but she’d be damned if she ever actually hurt you. And fuck she came so close…

Wanda’s hands immediately moved, but they didn’t let go of you. This time they found their way back to your waist and her head moved back to look you in the eye again. Immediately, you knew you got through to her, but you also knew she was two seconds from breaking too. “I was not with Vision.” Wanda said this more firmly. No more anger in her voice, but still it was filled with utter conviction. “I wasn’t. I’m sorry that I… That I almost- but I wasn’t. I was not with Vision.”

“Okay,” you nodded, swallowing hard. “Okay.” 

“I’m yours, I couldn’t be anyone else’s.” In that moment you really believed her. After all the anger had passed you could finally see it. Just as you couldn’t have fathomed Wanda doing something like that before you saw what you saw, she couldn’t fathom doing something like that to you either. “I. Am. Yours.” 

“I know,” You whispered, your hands finally relaxing on her shoulders. “I believe you.”

Wanda sighed for a moment, but you could tell she was still waiting for something. She still had a tight grip on you and she wasn’t going to be letting go any time soon, but you knew it was out of fear this time and not anger. There were words she wanted to hear, but she had already pushed too much, already made a huge mess of things. The way she almost took what you weren’t willing to give, she couldn’t overstep again or she knew it wouldn’t end well for the both of you, if there still was something between the both of you. 

“I’m yours too.” Wanda’s eyes searched yours as you spoke. She wanted to make sure this wasn’t said out of fear, especially considering how she was acting just moments ago, she wouldn’t be surprised if you were lying to protect yourself. But you weren’t, she could see it in your eyes. You looked sad, yes, but you weren’t scared when you said those words. Wanda didn’t need to read your mind to know that, not that she ever would. She might have lost control, but she would never violate you like that or in any other way, despite how close she had come. She still stopped when you said no, she still resisted the urge to read your thoughts when you were pushing back so hard. 

Wanda took a deep breath. “I can’t lose you,” she said, her voice quiet as she spoke. Her head pressed against yours, unable to look into your eyes as she tried to get out her one request. “Please, don’t go to Natasha’s tonight.”

“I won’t,” You whispered, your hand reaching up to cup her cheek. “I’ll stay, okay?”

Wanda didn’t say anything, you just felt her nod before her lips pressed gently against yours. This kiss was filled with emotion, filled with love and longing. You knew she was trying to show you she wouldn’t hurt you again in the kiss, but you also knew she was struggling to hold back her need to confirm you were really hers. Your hands moved and wove into her hair and you pulled her body closer to yours yet again. You were still trapped between Wanda and the door, but this time you didn’t mind. The hands that had already popped the buttons of your pants open were still at your waist, but as the kiss deepened you felt them begin to drift back to where they once were. Only this time, you were more than happy to let Wanda’s hands roam. 

“I’m so sorry I hurt you,” Wanda whispered against your lips. 

“It’s okay,” You said between kisses. “It’s okay.” Your grip on her hair was tighter as the kiss shared between you two grew more desperate. There was an unspoken understanding of what Wanda needed and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t need it too. She needed to prove to you that you belonged to hers, and you needed her to touch you in a way you knew was only reserved for you.

Wanda’s hands slid straight into your panties and with the way she was kissing you and even the way her teeth marked your neck before, you were already wet for her. When Wanda’s fingers brushed against your clit to collect your wetness, she immediately felt that surge of pride and possession she got from touching you. She knew only she could have this part of you, only she could make you feel this way and touch you in this way. That fact alone had Wanda eager to take all you’d give. 

Wanda’s lips moved to your neck once again and when you felt her teeth drag along your skin you couldn’t stop the quiet whine that left your lips. You were driving Wanda crazy and she already had so much possessive energy she needed to pour into you, so she didn’t waste any time. Without much warning, you feel Wanda slide her fingers down between your folds before two of them dipedp into you. 

Your hands clench impossibly tighter into her hair and she didn’t hesitate to start a steady rhythm. It doesn’t take long for moans to fall from your lips and Wanda thinks they are music to her ears. She’s drunk off your reactions and off the way you clench around her fingers when she hits the spot she knows you love. All of this feels so much more intense after the night you two had, after Wanda almost lost you and after you thought Wanda wasn’t yours. Now you both know, there’s no one who could take you two away from each other. Wanda was yours and by some miracle you were still hers. Not Natasha’s, not anyone’s, only Wanda’s. 

The thought of that spurred Wanda’s movements more, pumping her fingers harder into you. Your hands left her hair to steady yourself on her shoulders, your nails digging into her skin. It was getting difficult for you to stand up straight, what with the way Wanda was pressing her hips into yours with every pump of her fingers and how your pants and panties had both somehow fallen down your legs enough to give Wanda more ease in fucking you.

If Wanda was drunk off your reactions, you were absolutely lost in her touch. The way her fingers felt inside you, the way her tongue felt on your skin. You didn’t even mind that in the morning your neck would be covered with visible marks, the sting of her teeth sinking into your neck too tantalizing to care about much else in the moment. You felt that tight pull in the pit of your stomach that indicated you were fast approaching the edge, but Wanda wasn’t quite done yet. 

“I want to feel you cum around my cock,” Wanda growled against your neck, her fingers pulling out without warning. 

You were already too lost in your own pleasure to really realize anything she was saying but the minute you lost contact your confusion overtook you. “Wanda what? What do you- Fuck!” Wanda didn’t waste any time, magicking her pants away and a strap between her legs. It took her two seconds to line it up with your entrance and replace her fingers with it. 

The back of your head hit the door the moment you felt her sheath it inside you. Eyes rolling to the back of your head as she ground herself into you to get herself as deep as possible. And then she hoisted up one of your legs, hooking it over her waist so her cock could go ever deeper inside you. The whole time, her iron grip and unwavering strength held you steady as she just pressed herself into you, enjoying the feeling of reaching deeper than she ever had before, deeper than you think you’ve ever taken anyone before. Wanda did that for a moment, enjoying the way your walls squeezed her cock. But then it wasn’t enough and with a growl she pulled out and started fucking you with abandon. You two had tried using a strap-on before, but this was definitely a new one. Wanda couldn’t help the pride she felt at your ease in taking all of her despite the size and the aggression in the way she was pumping herself inside you.

You didn’t think she’s ever fucked you like this. No, you knew this was new. She was always gentle, always making sure her touch was controlled and loving. This wasn’t the same, her touch was more possessive than it ever had been, all consuming. You had hit a nerve, you had threatened to not be hers, and now she needed to prove to you that you belonged to her, heart, mind, and especially body. 

The sounds of your hips hitting the door with each time Wanda pushed her own into yours sounded all throughout the room. With each moment Wanda pushed into you she let out a groan and you understood that her magic somehow allowed her to feel everything she was doing. Her nails dug into the thigh that was hooked to her waist and her other flew to your throat, pressing down just enough to drive you wild but not enough to bring fear. 

You, for the most part, were just trying to take Wanda’s cock in the best way you could, moaning her name, chanting fuck when she began to speed up. It was all overwhelming in the best way and you knew Wanda could feel your thighs shake as she drew you closer to the edge.

“Fuck, you feel good.” Wanda grunted in your ear as she continued to pump her cock into you. “So fucking good. Fuck fuck!” Wanda’s pace became erratic and the hand that was pressed to your throat flexed as she avoided temptation to press down harder. 

All you could do was moan as your hands grabbed at Wanda to keep yourself upright. You could tell by the force of Wanda’s hips pushing into yours that you’d have bruises, but you couldn’t begin to care with how good it felt to have Wanda’s cock buried in you. 

“I’m going to cum,” Wanda groaned. “Fuck, I want to fill you with my cum.” Wanda’s cock slammed into you and you could tell by her trembling body that she was incredibly close. “I’m going to cum inside you.” 

As Wanda kept fucking herself inside you came out of your haze just slightly to question what she meant. Curious if it was something said at the heat of the moment or something Wanda actually meant. “Wanda what do you mean- oh fuck.” And suddenly you got your answer. Wanda cried out and you felt hot spurts of Wanda’s cum fill you from the inside. As her faux cock still moved inside you, you felt her continue to fuck her cum deeper inside you and the sensation was too much for you to take, you yourself falling apart on her cock just seconds after. 

Wanda slumped forward, her forehead pressed to yours as you both tried to catch your breath. You felt her cum drip down your thigh when Wanda finally let your leg fall from her waist, but you weren’t recovered enough to move from the door and clean yourself up yet.

“You’re mine,” Wanda whispered before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Don’t ever forget that.”

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[anna-does-a-fandom-thing]

nothing serious.

professor! anakin skywalker.

a/n: hiii! so, @fuckmyskywalker came up with the idea for this concept, and I've decided to write my own fic on it! LOVEE me some starwars boy. But put him in a SUIT?? drool worthyyy.

tw!: smut. lots of smut. ahem. p in v sex, sort of breeding kink? it's small but it's there. use of the name pet!! unprotected sex! do not attempt! dumification kink? also miniscule but there. big big sir kink. Anakin loves asserting the fact that he's the top here.

Disclaimer: 18+ only please! I'm not responsible for the media you consume as an adolescent!

description: Attending the most sought after university definitely was the best decision you'd made regarding your college career, but one perverted professor almost makes you want drop out entirely. Anakin Skywalker, was in no short terms, egotistical and a hard-ass. At least that's what you knew, so why is he asking to see you after class?

Ah, Corscuscant University. One of the most popular STEM universities in the country. The same STEM university you attended. Being a biology major, it was a no brainer for you come here. When you arrived as a freshman Corscuscant felt like your dream school, but like every dream, reality had set in. Your painful reality was Anakin Skywalker; your math professor. Professor Skywalker was one of, if not the most attractive man you had ever seen. He knew he was good looking, too. Almost every person in school had a crush on him, one of those people being you. That's not to say you didn't find him annoying as hell, but you could appreciate a good complexion when you saw one. Despite his good looks, it didn't change the fact that Anakin Skywalker was an egotistical hard ass, whose courses were next to impossible.

It was easy to ignore his big mouth and jabs at any poor soul unfortunate enough to get a question wrong in the beginning, focusing on your studies and logarithmic equations. However, as the class began to get more difficult, your counselor started suggesting attending his after school lessons. Something you couldn't be bribed to attend. But alas, hell hath no fury like a college counselor.

The good thing about Anakin's tutoring is that it's only on Fridays. The bad thing, is that it's a ghost town most days. if he's lucky, Anakin might get 2 or 3 students. So by the second semester, it became just you and him.

Anakin Skywalker was now aware of your existence. He was aware you sucked at math, and he was probably aware of your attraction to college professors who made even Pythagoras hate math. So now here the two of you were.

Just earlier that morning, you'd been notified that the tutoring had been canceled, so your plans for the evening were to go home and sleep. But, before you can walk out of the classroom, Professor Skywalker calls your name. Leaning against his chair, he looks at you piercingly. "Come to my office as soon as possible. We need to discuss your grade in my class."

"Yes professor. " You stuttered, sending a questioning glance to your friend. You walked towards Anakin's office, knowing he'd already be in the room. You hesitated to enter, dreading whatever miserable information he had to bestow upon you, in private. You noticed while peering into the room that he's got a paper in his hand. 'please don't be mine,' you pray.

Once you entered, you moved to stand in front of his desk. "Are you free to stay awhile? I have some questions about your last exam." He says, seeming relaxed. You DID have plans, no, you were not free. Ugh. You guess you can't deny your teacher, so you nod politely. "Great to hear." He says, motioning for you to walk around the desk.

Anakin rolls out his seat, and moves to stand. Now standing in his personal bubble, per his suggestion, you fidget with your hands. "So, what about my exam? Did I fail it, sir?" You start to get worried. "No, no, nothing like that. You actually made top of the class once I graded it." Anakin praised. "I'd actually like to offer you some extra credit."

Anakin motioned for you to take a seat on top of his desk. "What kind of credit?" You asked, now level eye level with his chin. "Just some extra course work and a few more sessions in the week." Anakin shrugged, almost distracted. You hesitated, "I suppose I can, uhm, do that." Anakin smiled at your stutter. He placed his hand under your chin and lifted it to meet his eyes. "You're certainly obedient. I like that." You felt your brain screech to a halt. "Excuse me, what?"

Is Professor Skywalker hitting on you? This has to be a dream. You look up at him, and lo and behold, he's staring right back. He looks hungry, like you're a delicious piece of meat. "You behave when and how i tell you to. Has anyone ever told you that's attractive?" Anakin clarifies, placing both of his hands on desk, trapping you under him. You bristle at his statement. "Sir! that's inappropriate!" Anakin just laughs, and leans in. He says, quietly, "That's alright, pet. It's only inappropriate if someone finds out. I don't intend on telling a soul."

You feel your nose subconsciously scrunch up in confusion. "Pet?" Where did that come from? "You're my little teacher's pet, aren't you? It'll be our little secret." Anakin places one hand on your thigh, the other further along the desk to prop himself up. You can feel his hand wander to your hip, and you're not sure you want to stop him. You didn't know someone's hands could feel that good, with his feather like movements. You're about to let him continue, until you remind yourself that you didn't lock his door. Anyone could walk in.

"Wait, not here. Someone will see." You try to push Anakin away, but he grabs your wrist to restrain you, gently. "Yes here. I can't stop myself." Anakin ducks his head below your chin, and places butterfly kisses along your throat. You hold it in, but you want to moan at his touch. Anakin pulls away, "I'm going to give you your first extra credit assignment. Answer these 3 questions."

You try to focus on his words and not the pooling heat between your legs. "Yes sir." You're pretty sure Anakin noticed you squeezing your thighs together like no tomorrow, and he's just saying these things to rile you up. He quietly moans at your obedience. "Good girl, keeping doing that." You look at him, "What, calling you sir?"

Anakin nods, giving your hip a squeeze. "Yeah, baby. It means you know who's in charge here."

Clearing his throat, Anakin begins. "Now, question one. are you aware of how tempting your body has been to me?" You can feel your cheeks lighting on fire. He's certainly been bold. "N-no sir."

"That's okay, beauty, I'll show you. Question two: will you let me kiss you?"

Oh fuck. You knew that was coming. Oh well, you only live once. "Yes sir." As soon as the words left your lips, Anakin had cupped your cheek, pulling you into a passionate kiss. Anakin was a good kisser. You'd figured that was probably true a while ago, but now? To feel him? It was overwhelming. He pushed against your mouth, using one hand to lift your leg against his hip. Using the new angle, Anakin deepened the kiss causing you both to moan against each other.

You can feel Anakin get more and more aggressive in the kiss, to the point he's pushing the desk a little. You pull away from him for a moment, causing him to chase your lips. "Anakin.." You start, but he cuts you off with a growl. "Who, pet?" You should've expected that one. "You, sir. You're pushing the desk apart." You correct yourself quietly, murmuring your concerns into his ear. Anakin frowns in thought before donning a sultry grin. "I've got a better place for us to continue, dear pet." Before you can question him, Anakin wraps your legs around his waist and takes your mouth in a kiss. He lifts you from the desk before walking towards the couch in the corner of his office.

You yelp as Anakin gently throws you onto it, and you're once again locking lips.

"Mm, sir.." You moaned into his mouth, feeling him crawl on top of you. Anakin smiles, looking down at such a pretty sight. "Such a good girl, pet. You gonna spread f'me?" Anakin tapped your thighs, and you pulled them apart at his request. Anakin settled himself between your legs. "For the last question, pet," Anakin pulls up your skirt and hooks his fingers into the hem of your underwear. "How badly do you want me to fuck you?" Feeling your heart speed up, you replied shaking, "So badly, sir. Please."

"Good girl. you've earned yourself an A+." He rasps, sitting up and undoing his belt. Craning your head, you watch as Anakin unzips his trousers. You almost gasp when he pulls out his dick. You're not even sure you can take him, with how large he is. "It's alright, pet, no need to look scared." Anakin cooed, kissing your jaw. He lifted up your skirt, and pulled on the hem of your underwear. Discarding them, you were now bare for his eyes to see. "We'll go slow, baby." Anakin reassured you, lining himself up with your entrance. Gently as Anakin could be, he pushed into you. Whimpering, you felt tears well up in your eyes. It was both painful and overwhelming, and you instinctually pushed at his chest. "Relax, little pet, relax." Anakin grunted, already being squeezed like a balloon waiting to be popped. Anakin finally bottomed out, after what felt like forever. It felt so good. "Tell me when, darling." Anakin refused to move until you gave him a sign. Taking several deep breaths, you nodded. "No, pet. give me words. Use them, baby."

"Please, sir."

"Please what, my girl?"

You knew Anakin was getting impatient, but you were so overwhelmed with pleasure it was hard to form words. You him growl in your ear. Feeling his hand touch your soft flesh, Anakin gripped your waist and moved without warning, "I'm not going to wait anymore, little pet." You couldn't help but let out a guttural moan. Holy shit. He was so big, and you've never felt so filled in your life. "Sir..!" You cried, pulling him down and kissing him. Anakin begins to kiss you passionately, pressing you into the sofa. His mouth meets yours in a loving and desperate kiss as he starts to move faster, causing your loud whining to be muffled. If you weren't blissed out, you'd die of embarrassment at the lewd noises the two of you created. Anakin, on the other hand, loved it. Feeling him speed up, you pulled away from his mouth and almost screamed. You knew you were close, and you told him so. "Sir, please! Close, close, please.. mm," You were practically crying from how good he felt. "I know pet, I know." Anakin replied, grunting when he felt you squeeze him harder. "God, keep squeezing and I'm gonna burst, baby, fuck."

Hooking his hands under your thighs, Anakin lifted them onto his shoulders, pressing you in half. The new angle made your insides burst with pleasure, making you scream. "C'mon pet, you can do it." Anakin encouraged, hitting all the right spots harder. "Cum for me baby, cum all over my dick, yeah?" His words sent shivers through your spine, and your eyes rolled. It was too much. The coil in your tummy snapped, and you finished with a moan.

However, Anakin didn't stop. Despite your release, Anakin moved even faster. "No, no, sir! I can't!" You cried, already overstimulated to high heaven. "Don't be selfish pet, i know you can do it," Tightening his grip on your thighs, Anakin grunted over, and over, and over with every thrust. "Don't want my cum, baby? huh? Don't want your teacher to fill you up till you're full?"

Too fucked out to use your brain to respond, you squeezed around him again. It was too much for you, and now, the last straw for him. Letting out an animalistic growl, Anakin buried himself as far in you as he could, bottoming out fully. Your tummy felt so warm, being painted with his load for what felt like forever to you.

He collapses on top of you, panting softly. "Such a good girl f'me, baby. M'so proud of you." He coos at you, still out of breath from the intensity of the moment. After a few seconds, Anakin lifts his head and chuckles. "Poor thing, too dumb to respond to me?" He gives your thigh a gentle squeeze. You whine at his teasing, pouting at him. He leans to your ear and whispers, "Don't be shy, baby. You did so good f'me."

[addicted-to-dc]

Jekyll/Hyde Part 2 - Taskforce 141 x Reader

Tags for those who encouraged me to write this. Thank you!!! @greeniegreengreen @aeilani @poetslastdeath 

Link to Part 1

Content Warnings: Typical CoD violence, ptsd, reader is going to be unhinged (even more so in the next chapters).

The computer does all the work for you nowadays. Honestly, you expected this to be your time to think things over. ‘Meditate’ as Laswell calls it. Rumination sits better on your tongue. How in the world can you ruminate in conditions like these? The overhead lights are buzzing, a high-pitched constant ringing that’s giving you a migraine. It feels like an ice pick was shoved through your eye socket, the cold metal turning warm as it disturbs thousands of nerves.

The seclusion you needed has fucking left the building, leaving you alone with a team of walking dead men. Laswell didn’t tell them why you had so many deaths. One would assume that the common denominator (i.e. YOU) are the reason why families mourn their loved ones. With every step you take you can hear the jingle of all those tags, so many souls gone because you couldn’t stop digging for the truth.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to drag yourself out of your exhaustion. Your efforts only reward you with a sharp pain in your skull. Checking the time, you internally groan. Less than an hour until your dogs are here. Fuck, you miss them.

There’s a flick of a lighter, the scent of leather and wood assaulting your nose. Then tobacco invades your senses. “What’s on your mind?”

Captain Price, the man who started it all. He’s a survivor. He might stand a chance at what’s coming next. It’s been a while since you’ve interacted with a man this intense. He’s a smart one. The cigar erases the mustiness of the room. Smells like home. You can feel your body relax, albeit slightly. Maybe you just need a smoke.

“The only family I have left,” you reply, yanking out your cigarettes. Your only photo lies folded in the nearly empty pack. You flick it to Price, your aim true as it rolls to the edge of the table. “Three dogs. Sir, Bear, and Ruse.”

Ghost shifts slightly in his chair, dark eyes on the photo as soon as Price uncrumples it. “Cerberus?”

You can see recognition flash in Price’s eyes. In all of theirs. At least they don’t try to hide it. Sunshine leans forward, his eyes reevaluating you. “You’re The Huntress.”

It’s not a question. He knows. They all do. Price hands the photo to Mr. Mohawk. You shake your head, “I haven’t been called that in a long time.”

“Fuckin’ unstoppable is what you should be called,” Mr. Mohawk chuckles, looking up from the photo. “I’ve seen yer work. Thorough, precise, efficient, and batshit crazy.”

“They say you’re a sniper hunter,” Ghost states, eyes blazing with intrigue. “That true?”

You nod, your index finger running over the scar on your chin. Mr. Mohawk’s bright ass blue eyes bore into your own. “Why the name change?”

Your muscles tense, feeling the weight of hundreds of hands pulling you down, down, down… Broken nails tear at your flesh, opening old wounds that never fully healed right. The screams ring in your ears, curses that taint your very soul to this day. “A story for another day.”

“Is this your original taskforce?” Price asks, pulling your attention away from his sergeant.

“Yes, it is,” you reply, lighting up your last cigarette. “Picked every single one of them myself. Two Polish battering rams, Maryna and Urszula Kowalski. They were always at each other’s throats, but they were the devil and angel on my shoulder.”

You take a long drag. They were the first ones to die.

The frequent migraines and metal plate in your skull are because of them, cracking your skull open before you could even walk off the transport. Their deaths were too quick, but watching the Semtex burst in the sisters’ faces was cathartic. Liars always fail to earn mercy from you. Traitorous ones at least. You exhale, releasing the tension. They don’t deserve to weigh down your conscience.

“August Lindemann, a German tech genius. Spoiled us with all the newest gadgets on the field.” You chuckle, dark eyes meeting Price’s. “I always said they’d make us lose our edge.”

For all the brains he had, they didn’t look so special splattered across the wall. You fought through the entire base to get to him. Cowering like the leach he was until he was the only one left. It didn’t even take cutting off his precious fingers to find out who organized all of this: General Sheperd. You know this leads deeper into the abyss, merely scratching the surface of this conspiracy.

“The last one is American; best shot I’ve ever seen and an even better medic. Dane Reid was a serious man, but he always kept everyone together.”

His ring lies against your chest, right next to yours. You scratch your right ear, digging your nails into what’s left of your upper cartilage. He was the best shot, but your dogs were loyal to no one except you. Even your husband. Using yourself as a decoy was risky, but Sir, Bear, and Ruse tearing him apart made the sacrifice worth it. And the bullet you put into his heart? Even more so.

You can’t wait to see them again.

“You and the dogs are the only ones left?” Sunshine asks, gently taking the photo from Price. “How did Laswell find you?”

“Wandering the Russian forest with stolen data,” you reply, picking at your broken nail. “She found me and the dogs months later.”

“An’ yer team?” Mr. Mohawk questions. “Wha’ about them?”

“I killed them all,” you answer, putting out the cig. You’ll save it for later, death usually ruins the taste. “They tried to sabotage the op. I only got one name when all of it was said and done, and you want to know who it was?”

You scan over every single one of them. The truth always hurts to tell, but you need them to live. You can’t lose anymore, not when Laswell holds these men to the highest regard. What did she say to them? Oh, yes, you need a team to survive with you. There’s too much death permeating the air. The smell of burnt flesh burns your nose.

“General Herschel Sheperd,” you snarl, the rage of Hyde breaking past Jekyll’s walls. “Laswell says you’re looking for him, and I want my pound of flesh.”

You’re sure they can see the insanity in your eyes, the ferality that consumed you in the forests of Russia and nestled its way into your very soul. Split into two beings, one desperate for peace and the other salivating for revenge. You’re not a Captain anymore. You’re nothing. Just a revenant walking amongst the living until your duty is fulfilled. Peace was never an option for you in life, only in death. You accepted that the day you lost your team, your only family. One gaze bears the most weight.

Your eyes catch Ghost’s. Dark eyes penetrate your soul, reading the scripture of your heart. Loyalty broken, trusted allies and friends betraying old bonds. Killing them. Broken, a living being inhabited by the scraps of its own psyche. Two peas in a fucked-up pod. Your phone vibrates on the table, one singular message popping up on your screen: They’re here.

“Thank fuck,” you mumble, pocketing your phone. “They’re here.” You’re itching to leave, to run to the last semblance of family you have.

Clearly, you’re too easy to read. Price stands, the others following suit. “Let’s go meet them then.”

Sunshine barely has the door open when you slip through, quickly maneuvering through the shitty corporate layout of the building until you reach the side lot. You can see them. Tears threaten to cloud your vision as you see Sir chase Ruse around the grass. Bear lays in the shade. Laswell notices your approach, giving you a small nod. You whistle loudly, their playtime immediately put on halt. It takes a second for the noise to bounce around their brains, immediately whining once it finally clicked. Sir, the eldest German Sheperd, is the first one to make it to you, whining and jumping in your arms. His love is always overwhelming, but it’s welcome.

Sir manages to hold onto your shoulders, forcing you to catch him to regain your balance. Only for Ruse, the younger Shepherd, to knock you to the ground. It startles a laugh out of you, a smile following soon after. God, it’s been too long since you’ve seen them. Bear in all her glory runs up and sits at your feet. Your smart girl. A Rottweiler mix, probably shepherd, but her fur pattern always draws you in. You coo, using whatever body part you can to pet all three of them. “Yeah, I missed you, too.”

You sneak them treats, whispering sweet nothings to each of them as you try to make up for lost time. Six months away from them has been torture. Then again, you thought you’d never see them again. Every op feels like the last.

“Forgive them, it’s been half a year since we’ve seen each other,” you turn to the group, sputtering when Ruse licks into your mouth. “CERBERUS!”

They fall in line perfectly, ears perked and waiting for orders. A hand pops into view, and you take it. Sunshine pulls you up, chuckling at the slobber left behind. He tilts his head, eyes catching something on your chest.

Frowning, you look down. Your rings are exposed. Tearing off the necklace, you shove it into your pocket. You’re allowed to have your secrets.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

Next part ->

[utilitycaster]

So far in campaign 3, 5 of the party have died and been resurrected and 2 have died permanently, with only Imogen, Dorian, and (presumably) Braius not dying ever. In campaign 2, again 5 of the party died and got resurrected over the whole thing with Beau, Yasha, and Kingsley surviving, and Molly permanently dying. BUT, in Vox Machina, everyone except Tary died at least once with the twins dying FOUR TIMES EACH and only Vax permanently dying. What do you think changed after the first campaign? Is it that Matt got “better” at scaling encounters, the players got better at staying alive, a group decision to take resurrection more seriously, or is it a total coincidence?

It’s just something I noticed all of a sudden tonight and I’m not sure if I’m just seeing something where there is nothing or if other people have noticed this too and have thoughts on why it is.

Hi anon,

I started to write up a massive and lengthy analysis this morning and realized it was not very good and that I had to leave for work in 20 minutes. Anyway I think it's mostly the players getting better at staying alive, mostly through party comp:

Vox Machina unexpectedly, for "Ashley got cast on a TV show that filmed in NYC" and "Tiberius's player sucks" reasons found themselves abruptly down not only a healer (most of the time) but an arcane caster, leaving Scanlan and Keyleth doing double and triple duty. Vex did a pretty impressive amount of healing for a ranger, actually, but only had touch heals and limited spell slots for them. Add the fact that Keyleth couldn't heal while in Wildshape until pretty much the endgame and Scanlan was absent for an arc, replaced by Tary, who could heal but was not a full caster, and that explains a lot.

Vox Machina also had two characters with relatively low HP/terrible con saves to go with it (the twins) and only one true, full-time tank (Grog). Vex and Percy were often out of healing range but could get hit by an AOE attack. Also, dragons are particularly lethal for AOE reasons and four of those deaths are Raishan, two from when they tried to get Raishan immediately after the Thordak fight.

Of Vox Machina's deaths, two of Vax's, one of Vex's, Keyleth's, and one of Grog's are all out of combat and primarily due to player choice. They got way better at not doing this (well, Vax's are kind of unavoidable, but we only had one in C2 of this nature with Veth and the Power Word Kill trap, and none in C3).

One VM death (two if you count the wedding one-shot) was a direct assassination vs. one in the Nein and none for Bells Hells.

Now consider:

The Mighty Nein and Bells Hells each have at least two tanks; Bells Hells has three. The Nein have two full clerics (*extremely tired voice* Jester actually is a very good healer, Caduceus is just exceptionally support-focused) even without Fjord and Yasha's healing. Bells Hells had one full time cleric, and now they have a full bard and a bard-paladin.

No one dumps CON anymore. If only I could get them to start dumping WIS again and stop dumping INT, but I digress.

People are getting better at checking for traps and not selling their souls to cursed items.

Otohan Thull's build is in fact, I must admit, pretty good and cool, her lack of any personality traits not withstanding, but her lethal nature is specifically because she exclusively faced a super tapped party in a situation where they couldn't get out of there. She is responsible for all 5 deaths that weren't a Bertrand Bell Clear Setup situation; I think if Bells Hells hadn't been trapped and tapped things might have gone differently, whereas Vox Machina often was like "rests are for SUCKERS" and got their asses beat in avoidable manners.

My other caveat is of course not to count your chickens before they're slaughtered, namely, while none of Vox Machina died in the final Vecna fight unless you count Vax, which I don't, Vecna did kill two of them earlier on, though; Vax permanently (the Raven Queen just let him hang out a bit longer). The Somnovem/Lucien hybrid killed two of the Mighty Nein in the final battle. Ludinus or Predathos could fucking level the party. Otohan could have gone much worse in episode 91 without many changes; that was the first time I've ever heard Matt talk like a TPK was potentially imminent. Some of this is also luck, and some of this with Bells Hells is that *Myst voice* the ending has not yet been written.

[stevie-petey]

oh also,,, whenever you wanna write. chap 6 steve & robin pov blurb because i am so sure steve would be going on and on about bug once she left so my soul needs that thank you <3

im kicking myself idk why i didnt include this scene in the chapter like its PERFECT for what i have planned later but ,,, for now all i can do is make it a blurb n tell people to read it lmao

enjoy <3

"it didnt matter that you were an ass. i was still... obsessed with you." robins confession hangs in the air. her back is pressed against steves as they lay on the floor, bound together. his eye stings and his nose is numb and crusted with dried blood. he isnt sure why shes telling him this.

"even though all of us losers pretend to be above it all, we still just wanna be popular. accepted. normal."

the rope around steves wrists tense. he clenches his fists and bites the inside of his swollen cheek. acceptance. he thought he had that, once. when he was sixteen with a crowd of people who wouldve done anything for his attention.

now hes eighteen and the crowds bruises still tinge his body.

"if it makes you feel any better, having those things isnt all that great. seriously." it took him a long time to learn that. to recognize that his acceptance was merely a precedence. it wasnt real friendship. he wouldnt learn this until he met you, until you taught it to him. "it just baffles me. everything that people tell you is important, everything that people say you should care about, its all just... bullshit."

bullshit. nancy taught him that, too.

"its all just bullshit, it was so obviously bullshit. i was an idiot for not realizing it sooner," steve bites the inside of is cheek again. somehow, his lips remained untouched when he was being beaten by the russians. your lips still linger on his. "you know, the only person who saw through my bullshit was y/n. one day, before we knew about monsters and russian lairs, she said that she knew i wasnt a bad person. it... it stuck with me. here she was, y/n henderson, telling me i wasnt so bad."

"and then...?" robin is almost too afraid to press him further. shes never seen him like this, vulnerable and open. she didnt know that his history with you went beyond just a summer fling.

steve nudges his head back and sighs. "i messed up. i... i hurt people. people she cared about."

robin frowns. you wouldnt forgive someone so easily for that. theres more to what steve is saying, she just cant figure out what. "she must really love you, then. if she forgave you."

"i dont know if she loves me, but i know that she believes in me. sees someone worth putting up with." he huffs, he cant believe he will never see you again. he hates that he will never be able to thank you for seeing a version of him that no one else could. "it wasnt until i messed up that i realized she saw something in me. its ironic, isnt it? but i guess you gotta mess up to figure things out, right?"

he had to mess up to realize that he loved you, too.

"i hope so. i feel like my whole life has been one big error." robin admits. its the least she could do, offer steve a piece of herself in return for what hes offered her.

an unattractive snort escapes steve. he laughs, and his shoulders shake against robins. he understands exactly what she means. "yup."

"god, i wonder how y/n does it."

"does what?"

robin pauses, worries that she might reveal too much. but its steve. if theyre going to die together, he deserves to know. he has to know. "shes always able to see the error in people and love them anyways."

steve is quiet. he lets what she said settle over him. its what he loves the most about you. how youve always managed to see the good in people, even in someone as cruel as billy. he hadnt known that robin noticed this kindness in you, too.

she seems to understand you in a way only he and jonathan do.

"you know, i wish id known you in clicks class." its a peace offering. an extension of himself to robin for caring about you the way he does. no one really seems to be able, despite how easy steve finds it to be.

"yeah?"

"really, i do. maybe you couldve helped me pass the class." he breathes out, the thought of all he couldve done differently will always haunt him. king steve is dead, but the persona is a ghost he will never be able to get rid of. "maybe instead of being here, id be with y/n on some romantic getaway. maybe you wouldve given me the courage to do what i shouldve done sooner."

robin doesnt say anything. she turns her face away, presses her cheek against the concrete surface.

"robin?"

she swallows. "yeah. yeah, maybe. you wouldnt have been stuck slinging ice cream with me like some smuck."

steve shakes his head. hes worried hes said the wrong thing. "hey, dont get me wrong. i enjoyed being your smuck. it was fun while it lasted."

bittersweetness creeps upon robins face. she smiles, though its a sad one. shes going to die with the understanding of why youve fallen so hard for steve harrington. "yeah. it was."

then the doors burst open and the russian find them.

[alinaastarkov]

i'm not a shipper, but i think it's blatantly obvious that grmm has something big n impactful for jonrya. we're talking about two main characters, created to complement each other from the beginning. if she were a little older, i think ppl would be more willing to at least try to analyze the text. and i suspect that, deep down... fans noticed, but prefer to pretend they didn't. like at some point, you have to ask yourself why grrm felt it necessary to revisit old ideas n make jon live a semi-triangle through his perspective that also maximizes so many emotions. jon is a v passionate young boy when it comes to arya. while the other stark children think fondly of each other, they have all this intense stuff involving soul n heart. ultimately he chose arya. his heart is his sister and his sister is his heart. and the heart is all that matters. how ridiculously obvious is that? lol we already know that he and arya are outsiders, that they are each other's favorite person. it's redundant to keep hammering the reader like that. plus using the love vs duty card at this point in the story implies that if the theme comes back, it won't have the same narrative impact bc that alternative has already been used, just like if he died again for someone else it wouldn't have the same impact either. grrm isn't exactly a subtle writer, when he feels inspired, he just writes. as he wrote: each other's memories prevent them from giving themselves completely to organizations that demand detachment from the past. jon thinks that arya's home is with him. he was tormented over her. why do their stories need to be so intertwined in affc and adwd? what implications could his dying thought associated her will bring after the resurrection? how will their already close relationship be reconfigured? could they save each other after they meet again and connect with their true selves? these are questions that many fans don't seem ready to discuss. although, if that's part of grrm's plan. it will happen eventually. he might just take the platonic route with undertones. easy as hell. in a series full of incest, a brother ends up being accused of stealing a bride and apparently nothing rings in the heads of fans who are always so dedicated to looking for the smallest details to validate dumb ass theories looool. it's bc they simply don't want to see. the crazy parallels with rhaegar (black heart/stark maiden) are also not subtle either. as i said, i don't even consider myself a shipper, i prefer jon/val and i like arya/gendry. however, these pairings obviously don't carry the same emotional weight as jonarya and weren't even set up as endgame initially, ppl liking it or not. and grrm has already confirmed that he's going for the endings he's had in mind since 1991, so these two will inevitably be more important in their respective endings than secondary characters created later. and frankly, everyone knows that they choose each other before any possible love interests. be fucking realist. it's grmm's story. there's definitely something planned for them and has put a lot of attention on their relationship for a reason. jonrya foreshadowing is so thick that i cannot see how ppl can ignore them

you are absolutely right, anon. george at no point has scrapped his ideas for these two, and in fact made it more prevalent. they've been bonded since childhood, both outsiders, honourable, listened the most to ned's lessons, stubborn, kind, have a shared journey of losing identity (something all the key 5 go through actually which can be added to the list of reasons they are still the key 5), george even made them unique in looking alike. i could go on. he wrote them both with the other in mind.

forgive me if i'm getting the numbers wrong but i think jon thinks of arya something like 47 times? and that's in 42 chapters. on average he thinks about her at least once a chapter. crazy work. arya in turn thinks about jon around 42 times across her 34 chapters. frankly, arguments that george isn't going that way, isn't highlighting their bond especially or for a particular reason, are being purposefully obtuse. and they absolutely have noticed, lol. this is why every jonsa theory rests on jonrya material, quotes about arya, arya's storyline and themes or jon's love for arya. jon and arya's entire relationship is apparently just a red herring. they simultaneously insist there's nothing romantic and that we're gross, but also take "what do you know of my heart, priestess?" and pretend it's about sansa because deep down they know it's the most romantic thing ever. it's why they insist sansa will be the girl in grey or that sansa replaced arya in the original outline's love triangle despite no evidence of this. suddenly we're supposed to believe jon-arya-tyrion became jon-sansa-tyrion despite jon never thinking of sansa, and jon spending adwd fighting imaginary duels with ramsay for arya's honour. the outline also makes clear arya's in love with jon not tyrion, so who's to say it wasn't always meant to be a love triangle from jon's perspective only, lol?

i would absolutely agree that it's becoming redunant with how often he hammers it home if the fandom wasn't like this. as it is, most of the fandom still isn't getting in. he needs to be more insane about them actually. and the constant assertion that the girl in grey, or jon's betrayal for love will happen again shows such a misreading of the text. they've recognised the devotion jon has for arya, but because they don't like her that can only be platonic, and that devotion will be transferred onto whoever they like best and this time it will be romantic, duh. as if he's gonna repeat storylines exactly just with a different character this time.

and yeah, this doesn't have to lead to anything more than a deep, platonic bond and endgame where they at least won't be apart from each other. but to insist jon and arya are platonic and "not that deep", "he loves his whole family," etc. and then literally replace arya in the story with x character is unbelievably stupid and annoying.

[crusty-chronicles]

sorry if this is a bad time to request and feel free to put this off till whenever or even delete it if you're sick of airheaded stronk s/o asks

I was wondering, could you do short headcanons about how hiei and/or kurama with a stronk/airhead s/o would react to someone random or even a minor antagonist actively being rude their s/o while they're in earshot

[for a more specfic example maybe that eyeball at the gate of betrayal calls their attempted sacrifice foolish or the pretty boy purple guy from the dark tournment says smth like "it's a shame such a pretty face is wasted on such a brainless oaf" which has the added bonus(?) of sounding underhandedly flirtatious.]

again no pressure to write this quickly or at all. i just figured i'd throw it in your ask box incase it interested you at all.

Also entirley seperate question but would you be willing to cover roroanora zoro in your stronk/airhead s/o series?

BONUS AIRHEADED S/O DRABBLES: How they react to someone insulting their S/O

An: Of course I don't mind! Never be afraid to request things, it just might take me a little bit to get to them but really I enjoy doing them!

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

Kurama:

More than likely it would be a comment from Yomi or Kaito that would make him lose his cool. For this instance though, we'll go with the latter.

🦊🦊🦊🦊

It was a little after Botan got her soul stolen that Kaito decided to run his mouth. You having been kidnapped with Yusuke because where one went, the other followed. Much to Kurama's dismay.

"You've got me curious, playing house with a human I'd figure would be so far below you. Do you find them amusing? Maybe think of them as some sort of plaything? A way to keep yourself entertained?"

The taunt was an attempt to make the fox demon slip up. And it seemed to be working judging by his glare and increase in spirit energy.

"Did I strike a nerve? Don't tell me the great Yoko Kurama is actually infatuated with a human. And not a very bright one at that." There was a smirk on his face that only grew seeing Kurama manipulate the plants around him. Knowing he couldn't physically hurt him at the moment.

"You should have seen them. Getting all worked up over Urameshi being immobilized, only to fall for the exact same trap. It was almost too easy. Even when being told moving was useless, they still struggled. Yelling out curses and promises to...what was it? Oh yes, 'kick out asses' I believe. I never would have pegged you as the type to go after a stupid brute."

His cackling was soon disrupted by the sound of Kurama's voice. Speaking up at last with a tone so cruel, it temporarily frightened Kaito.

"You should hope I don't find a loophole around your no violence rule. Because if I do, you'll regret every last word." Eyes glowing an eerie golden.

When he finally bested the snarky human, he half thought to just crush his soul. No only because he put his friends in harm's way, but he also insulted you.

Insulted his relationship with you.

Buuuut, Kurama wasn't exactly allowed to end a human's life. And he refused to stoop that low anyways.

No, he'd just leave Kaito the way he was and focus instead on getting you and Yusuke back safely.

Overall he's petty about it, but not angry enough to lash out. He'll let it go for now....But if it happens again all bets are off.

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

Hiei:

For Hiei it is most definitely Shishi that gets to him. I feel like maze castle is a little too early for him to get mad at someone making fun of you. Maybe a comment of 'A foolish sacrifice and yet you're the one who's dead'. But if it's during the dark tournament on the other hand 👀👀👀

⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️

Kuwabara had just gotten teleported to who knows where. Leaving you, Hiei, and Kurama left to fight. It was just your luck that the die landed on your name. The other once again on Shishi's.

"Oh great, another bumbling idiot. At least this one is easier on the eyes." The demon commented as you made your way onto the arena.

Already Hiei could feel his blood start to boil. Disliking the way Shishi seemed to look you up and down.

"Perhaps defeating you will boost my popularity. Just don't die so quickly. I want to be able to entertain my fans."

You were already getting tired of this guy yapping. And it didn't help that he made your best friend vanish into thin air.

"I wouldn't be so sure about you beating me."

But at your comment, he only grew angry and snapped.

"Are you delusional or just that stupid? You think I would let a mere human beat me? Especially one as klutzy as you."

You were not a fighter to be underestimated. Hiei knew that firsthand. Yet you continued to let that cretin berate you as you fought.

For some reason that made him furious. Wanting to both put him in his place and let you teach that bastard a lesson. He took a step forward. Already deciding that if you did indeed lose this fight, he'd be the one to beat that egotistical demon.

A firm grip on his wrist stopped him from taking another step forward.

"Refrain from doing anything foolish. I know you care for them, but you'd only be damaging their pride more by stepping in." Kurama scolded.

The words temporarily snapping Hiei out of his protective thoughts.

"Tch, I don't care for them."

Hiei is absolutely ready to throw hands on your behalf. Yes you're foolish, but you're his foolish human. The only one allowed to insult you is him.

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

MASTERLIST

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 32

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 31 🟣 Part 33

A reverse harem vampire AU ft. Mikey, Marshall, August, Sherlock, Charles, Melot and Napoleon

Series summary: Somehow, you've managed to live with your boyfriend and his roommates for months before finding out they're vampires, but the real shock first comes when they find out you have a special quality. A quality the guys would love to make use of...

Warnings: ongoing vampire shenanigans, Melot's ongoing identity crisis, purple (or at the very least lavender) prose, angst, mentions of: child marriage, cheating, (internalized) homophobia, religious trauma, abuse, SA. Mentions of grey sweatpants, inappropriate anger at the inventor of jeans, Awkward Virgin trope, blood, biting, bruising, praise kink, the untimely demise of a shirt, awkward groping, (awkward everything), handjob, blowjob, premature-ish ejaculation, wasting water by taking a shower that later proves to have been absolutely fucking useless, Frotting/rubbing/dry humping (not sure what to call this, tbh. A butt-job?), rimming (eating ass, analingus, pick your fave), light D/s dynamic, light brat behavior, hair pulling, more praise (possibly slight feminisation? Depending on how youd define that?), masturbation, deepthroating, throatfucking, oral creampie, cumswapping/cumkissing, elements of subspace + subdrop, aftercare.

Word count: 14.004 (Yes. 14k. You read that correctly.)

A/N: Well, well, well, what here we have? It started with this sweet ask from @geralts-yenn, and... what can I say? Things got out of hand? (Understatement.)

It quickly became clear to me that there was a lot more to unpack than I had originally counted on, and then the boys turned out to be... well, dirty little whores. So...

I considered making this a bonus-chapter because this is written from Melot's POV, but since it slots into the timeline, I decided against that. I will, however be changing the tense and POV (from past tense to present, and from 2nd person to 1st person POV) from here on out, because over time I've simply come to prefer writing that way. I'll also be writing more chapters from the boys' perspectives—I'm working on one from Leon's POV that isn't too far off in the future (storyline-wise... actual real-life time-wise, one can never know.)

Also: I'm literally begging everyone to come into my comments (or DMs, or asks) to talk about these boys because... Well, I just love them so much. I already did, but it's literally so much worse now, lol.

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @ellethespaceunicorn @summersong69 @mis-lil-red

@sillyrabbit81 @livisss @itsrubberbisquit @ktficworld @proud-aroace-beastie

@plaidcat4815 @wa-ni @lovemusicpart2 @lizzystuffsthings @manysecrets2020

@sarcasmoverlordxo @mysweetlittledesire

I’m afraid to open my eyes, knowing that if I do, I’ll be staring right back into the reflection of my own soul.

There’s no hiding from him—not that I want to. At least, I think I don’t.

I sit still, counting the seconds as they tick away on the clock in the living room. I’m the only one who can hear it from anywhere in the house—anywhere on the property, even. If I try hard enough, that is.

The sound has been my anchor for centuries. Sometimes, it feels more familiar to me than the beating of my own heart. Unsurprisingly, I might add. How could it not be, when everything about me exists for the sole purpose of looking outward.

Oftentimes, my visions have prevented me from gaining a more intimate knowledge of myself, and they continue to do so to this day. It’s been this way throughout my entire existence.

Fourteen hundred years. Fourteen centuries.

My senses are honed to perfection. Beyond it, even—although many would argue the impossibility of the proposition, but it’s exactly what a millennium and a half will do to you.

I know that better than anyone. How could anyone know better? For all we know, I might very well be the oldest vampire on the planet.

The scoff I attempt to choke back finds its way to freedom as a nigh imperceptible faltering in my otherwise steady breathing.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he whispers softly. I feel his fingertips creep closer to mine before they actually do, yet I am startled by the sensation of him touching me.

I resist the urge to pull my hand back, just as I’ve been resisting the urge to flee the room and never return. A part of me, I am most unwilling to admit, even wants to attack.

He wouldn’t stand a chance.

He’d be dead before he even realized I’d moved.

Oh, to become something you’ve been taught to fear—and to think this is hardly my first battle of the sort. I’d give up the hope that they ever get easier, if I hadn’t known for a fact they don’t for the longest time.

‘You like boys.’

These words have haunted my dreams for the past two days. Left me alone for nary a second since the moment they fell freely and innocently from Mike’s beautiful lips.

Spoken with no ill intent, they wrapped themselves around every inch of every branch of my consciousness, constricting it more and more with every last breath I took, their truth so immediately undeniable that I was forced to admit to it.

And that means there is no way back for me now.

When Mike told me that I’d have time for an identity crisis later, I don’t think he realized just how right he was, and I can’t blame him for his ignorance. I don’t doubt for a second that it was completely unintentional.

As much as he hates it when we say it, he is just a baby, born into a fairly secular household in the sixties, but more importantly; involved in all kinds of generally more accepting subcultures from a relatively young age…

He’s had his struggles, of course. But as strange as it is to say, because one has to admit they were significant, they are irrelevant at this current time.

On the other side, we have… well, me.

Forced into a political marriage at fourteen in early medieval Cornwall, to a girl even younger than I was, our wedding night consisting of nothing but a tear-filled pact made between two terrified children under the cover of darkness, to forego the consummation of our marriage.

Instilled in me, a fierce loyalty and the staunch belief that a man lay with no one but his own wife, and a wife with no other person than her husband, I devoted myself to her as best I could, given our circumstances.

That there was no love between us mattered not, for we had been united before God.

Not unlike today, however, inappropriately crude and explicit conversations with my peers had made me far more knowledgeable on the subject of reproduction than I otherwise would have been, given my lacking experience.

For years, I slept by her side, riddled with guilt over our failure to fulfil our marital duties toward one another, praying every waking minute for the ability to be a better husband.

I shed my tears over her betrayal in private as I prepared to welcome a child into my life—a child I knew couldn’t possibly be mine.

Every day of my life, I am grateful for the existence of specialized historical trauma psychologists: They were of indescribable and immeasurable value when I was struggling to unite the unpleasant aspects of my upbringing and ‘early’ non-human life—the first thousand years, give or take—with the modern world I somehow found myself in rather more suddenly than I had ever expected.

The past certainly has a way of sneaking up on you, but I wouldn’t dream of underestimating the present in that particular respect.

Alas, as helpful as my therapists have been, their efforts feel wasted in this moment, because Mike dragged me onto a new road of self-discovery that appears to contain several unexpected challenges.

Challenges I am afraid of.

Challenges I am ashamed of.

As mentioned before: for the second time in my fourteen hundred years, I have become something I was taught to fear, and despite my convictions that I had overcome my prejudices, that I had moved past this darkness of fear and hatred, it seems to be the case that nothing could be further from the truth.

A shocking revelation. Truly.

I find no solace in the fact that I was never taught to hate, though it is true. One is almost never directly taught to hate, for the simple reason that it is far easier to teach fear than hatred.

But fear breeds hatred.

I learned to fear the sin, which led me to hate the sinner, and there is no excuse for that.

This, I have always known.

Over time—more time than I care to admit—my hatred disappeared, and I took pride in that, for I had shown growth, and an ability to learn and adapt.

I had evolved.

How upsetting it is, then, to be forced to come to the realization that somewhere along the line, I seem to have come to the conclusion that to cease fearing for others’ condemnation would suffice in terms of accepting them.

In other words: If they want to go to hell, let them!

And now that it’s me, I find that I suffer still from that very same fear of a god I have long since stopped believing in.

The line between truly knowing that something isn’t sinful, and simply not caring when others sin, is remarkably thin.

And I am standing right on top of it.

“It wouldn’t help,” Mike whispers, just as my desire to ask him what I want surges, threatening to wash me away.

Two lonely tears escape my still closed eyes, allowing me to focus on their path down my cheeks as they fight the resistance my skin provides.

I thank them silently.

“Why not?” There is no point in trying to keep the defeat from shining through in my voice.

“Because you want it all,” he replies. I expect to hear pity in his voice, and its absence surprises me nearly as much as his answer. No matter how much I want to ask him, my voice refuses to lend me its cooperation.

Not that it matters. After all, Mike knows.

“There is no ‘one desire’, Melot,” he continues, making me shiver as he drags a single finger down the back of my hand. “In the past thirty seconds alone, you’ve cycled through ‘fight, flight, freeze’ more times than I can count. You want to jump me—either to kiss me or kill me. You want to run, hide, talk, think, cry, scream, punch something—not me, please. You want answers, and to desperately not need answers because you want there to not be a question that needs answering to begin with.”

“I never wanted to kill you,” I mumble, the characteristic heat of embarrassment creeping up to my cheeks in a staggering tempo.

Mike chuckles. I’m not proud of what the sound does to me, but good Lord it feels amazing. “That’s the thing, Melmel,” he muses quietly, “the fact that I felt it, means it was a genuine desire. Granted, it didn’t last long, but it was there. And I get it.”

“I was never going—” More tears tread in their predecessors’ footsteps, their heat blending in nicely with the scorching glow of embarrassment that plagues my skin.

“I know,” he reassures me. “You have a whole rational brain I don’t have access to—that’s Marshall’s territory, not mine. My point is: you can’t ‘sorta’ want something. Okay, you can, in the sense that there’s a scale to how much you want something—a range from ‘want’ to ‘need’—but there’s no such thing as a half-desire. A desire is a desire.”

I wince at the implication of his words as guilt washes over me like a tidal wave, while Mike continues: “Your tiny little—but genuine—want to brutally murder me was immediately overshadowed by a very strong need for me to be… not dead.”

“Was there anything useful in the entire list?” I’m surprised by my ability to squeeze out an entire sentence, if I’m being honest.

Mike chuckles again, and my whole body feels like it’s made of carbonated liquid. “The desire to call your therapist is probably a good one,”—he pauses for a moment, letting out a cheeky chuckle—“and I would selfishly vote in favor of any of the many more eh… carnal ones.”

I scoff. He speaks in jest, at least partially, and I refuse to dignify his nonsense with a response, so I move on. “Which is the most, eh… potent?”

“That’s a great way to phrase it, yeah,” Mike confirms. “And it’s definitely your overwhelming—and permanent, by the way—desire to be held by someone.”

I finally open my eyes, staring at Mike wide-eyed in nothing short of pure horror. How disappointing that the floor doesn’t melt away from under me right this second to spare me the mortification…

“Get your priorities straight, Melmel,” Mike admonishes me, a sweet smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You should be way more embarrassed about wanting to kill me than wanting to snuggle up to someone.” He scooches closer to me, quickly adjusting the mountain of pillows as he moves, and puts an arm around my shoulders. “Especially since we share that particular need.”

We sit in silence for a while, Mikey’s head on my shoulder, his arm around me. It triggers my visions, which isn’t at all surprising. In them, I feel none of the shame and guilt I do now—or did, moments ago—which is very reassuring, but as much as I would like to luxuriate in that feeling after my meltdown, Mikey’s much stronger reaction forces me to let them pass, acknowledged but without much further investigation.

He struggles to keep his fingers still, and I am facing similar difficulties in strangling whatever sound I feel I can’t afford to make freely.

“What do you need from me?” I practically have to force the words out of my mouth. “In this… courtship?”

Mike laughs. “As far as definitions go, that’s fair, but do you know a twenty-first-century word?”

“To describe you?” I elbow him in the ribs and roll my eyes. “I know several, and I doubt you’d be happy with any of them.”

“Jerk,” he huffs.

“That was one of them, yes.” I struggle not to laugh when Mike pouts and nudges me, failing miserably, and before I know it, I’m on my back with him hovering over me. My gaze is pulled towards his lips through no fault of my own. In my fourteen hundred years, I have never known anyone who scowls as adorably as Mikey does, and every corner of my thoughts occupied by the sight of his bottom lip sticking out slightly.

Completely involuntarily, my eyes follow the contours of that lip, and my mind gravitates towards images of us. Together.

I—

I bite back the moan that threatens to escape, and fight to regain control of my teeth. “We should talk first,” I manage, my words punctuated by labored breaths.

Mike nods, dropping onto his side next to me and propping himself up on one elbow. “It’s really simple,” he says plainly. Clearly, the past thirty seconds have been less taxing on his self-restraint than they were on mine… “We can take this as slowly as you need, obviously. But I need you to know the difference between what you’re ready for now, and what you know you’ll be ready for in the future.”

I nod. That’s the easy part of the equation.

Unfortunately, Mike may be a clown at times, but he wasn’t born yesterday. “And I need you to stick with the now-boundaries.”

I nod again, much less sure of myself this time, but I promise him to give it my very best effort.

“Of course, I’ll help. If necessary,” he continues. “But I refuse to rely on my gift to guard your limits. I need to know you feel comfortable, and safe, and confident enough to communicate your needs, okay?”

His concern for my safety and wellbeing is almost enough to bring me to tears all over again. If I’ve learned anything in my life, it’s that time does, in fact, not heal all wounds, and although I have come a long way, I cannot deny the lasting—possibly permanent—damage inflicted upon me by the coldest, darkest days of my past.

The times without love.

The times when I had no one but myself to care about me.

I sob my agreement to his terms, rather than say it. The sound of my breaking voice draws his brows together in a pitiful frown.

He bites his lower lip as he contemplates his next words, and I struggle to keep my head clear as his lips once again draw my attention away from the conversation, while the sorrow in his expression has me teetering on the edge of panic.

His expression hardens as he breathes in deeply before looking at me very directly. His eyes are cold, and my heart rate quickens at the sight.

“And,” he says softly but with unmistakable determination, “I’m not doing this behind closed doors.” He looks down, fidgeting with the duvet covers as he continues: “I’m not saying you have to come out to the entire world tomorrow—or explicitly to anyone at all, unless you want to, of course—”

“I wouldn’t even know what to come out as,” I admit almost reluctantly. At this point, I haven’t even begun to think about labels and definitions and whatnot.

“I mean… If we’re going to be dating, then one label that definitely applies is ‘the guy who’s dating Mikey’,” he says matter-of-factly. I have to admit he has a point. “I’m kinda big on PDA—I promise I won’t suck your face off in public, but hugs, or a kiss here and there… Like, I’m not going to let some guy who can’t even hold my hand at the movies, dick me down when we get home.”

He laughs at my expression, and I can’t blame him. I, myself, imagine it to be quite the sight; wide-eyed, mouth opening and closing like a fish on dry land while my entire vocabulary seems to have vacated the premises…

“I’m sorry,” he snickers, “I didn’t mean to scare you. My point is: If you can’t love me in public, you don’t get to love me in private, that’s all.”

“Mikey…” I hesitate, attempting at the same time to swallow away the lump in my throat. It doesn’t work. “I promise—swear, even—that I will try, but I might need some time.”

“Progress, not perfection, Melmel,” Mike says as he leans forward to rest his forehead against mine for a moment. “I just want you to make an effort, okay?”

I nod furiously. Of course, I never truly expected him to toss me aside because I can’t adjust to all of this in a matter of days, but it’s a relief, nonetheless.

Now that my fears have been taken away, more visions come to me. The doom scenarios are entirely of my own making—I learned to tell the difference several centuries ago, but I can’t say that that knowledge has been in any way facilitative to my ability to disregard them.

However, I cannot deny that it is comforting that the majority of them are overwhelmingly positive, setting my body alight with a warm, soothing glow.

It makes me calm.

Happy.

It also makes me…

“For someone who’s struggling to come to terms with all of this,”—Mike’s voice is strained, the sound of it more of a moan than regular speech—“you are incredibly horny.”

My lips tremble as his hand cups the side of my face, his thumb gently trailing over my cheekbone.

I have to swallow before I can even speak. “I’m coming off a fourteen-hundred-year dry spell, Mikey.”

Mike’s eyes go wide with shock, perhaps even terror. “Fourt— w-what?” He looks adorable, his mouth slightly open, brows drawn together in disbelief. “Two days ago… That wasn’t your first kiss, right?”

I chuckle, but not from the heart. “It was certainly the first one I was a willing participant in,” I admit bitterly. The realization bites, digging its filthy, razor-sharp claws deep into my soul. “Not that the collection of instances of the other sort is by any means impressive.”

“Every last one of those is one too many, Melot,” Mike sighs.

I can’t stand to see the pity in his eyes, so I close mine again, focusing on his scent instead.

Every member of my coven—past or present—has an odor so unique to their person that I would happily wager that I’d be able to identify them from a mile away.

With everyone else, smell certainly serves as quite the handy tool when it comes to ascertaining their intentions—hostility, for instance, reveals itself quite readily by means of a distinct and exceptionally foul sour note—or their species—vampires in this day and age always smell faintly of blood and garlic, and however cliché one might deem it, werewolves reek perpetually of wet dog.

And then there’s my own family, blood and garlic aside.

I may have known Sherlock the longest, but I know Charles the best, which is why I can say with absolute confidence that I’d recognize the dark, brooding combination of leather and smoke in my sleep. It’s luxurious and alluring, its complex sophistication undeniable, but at the same time, it’s cold, distant and uninviting. It used to be different, but what little remains of the welcoming seduction of the past, is now dull and faded.

Sherlock, on the other hand—although every bit as strong and refined—smells warm, approachable and comforting, with a very pronounced overtone of sweet vanilla—which Mike, should I ever decide to discuss this particular subject with him, would probably find very typical and likely even funny. At some point in my life, I developed the strange habit of sitting outside Sherlock’s bedroom door when I miss him, just so his scent can comfort me—he has a way of showing up whenever I do.

August and Leon share the dark, bold and spicy edge to their scents. They’re matched for sensual promiscuity, but Leon leans further into the direction of exotic rebelliousness and playful deviance. August smells… calmer. More grounded.

Marshall smells remarkably similar to Sherlock, in a way. Only he trades the sweetness for something crisper and fresher, reminiscent of pine and fresh herbs. It feels almost strangely grounded and familiar, with a quiet strength and weight to it that borders on intimidating.

And then there’s Mike. It should surprise no one that he’s the odd one out, and although I wouldn’t describe the scent as that of bubblegum and jellybeans, I wouldn’t necessarily not describe it as such. It’s a rather untidy fragrance, that has an energetic flamboyance to its almost cacophonous complexity. Touches of woods and herbs ground the otherwise discordant bouquet of lush, tropical fruits and crisp, fresh citrus, combined with a selection of floral aromas that expresses something of a delicate… femininity. It’s youthful, vibrant, playful and mischievous, and more importantly, it’s the best damned thing I’ve ever had the pleasure to smell.

 Unthinkingly, I pull Mike closer, the tip of my nose tracing a gentle path up the side of his neck as I inhale deeply, savoring not only the scent, but also his warmth, pulse, and the feeling of his skin against mine as it transitions from the smoothness down by his shoulder to the scratchy stubble of the five o’ clock shadow on his jaw I’m embarrassed to admit I find quite attractive.

My senses are so thoroughly occupied with the attempt to soak up every crumb of these new, delightful experiences that I completely forget to care even the slightest bit about the quiet moan that slips past my lips.

Mike whines impatiently in reply, and when he suddenly moves, I struggle to keep up with the innumerable sensations that wash over me in rapid succession.

His breath on my ear, the delectable feeling of his weight on top of me, the tangling of our legs, his hand at the back of my neck, and its long, slender fingers traveling over my scalp… But much more pressing—and more annoying, I might add—is my acute and absolutely insufferable awareness of the suddenly too thick, coarse and rigid denim of my jeans as it moves over my skin in all the wrong ways while we adjust our position on the bed.

Not to mention that these godforsaken trousers, which fit me perfectly and comfortably less than half an hour ago, suddenly seem too tight—an experience that wouldn’t be unique to my person in the least, if Mike wasn’t very likely completely unbothered by such atrocities sensations due to the fact that he is wearing sweatpants.

Sweatpants which, much to my dismay, contribute to my own discomfort far more than I care to admit.

That is not to say Mike is unaffected by this situation. In fact, the evidence heavily favors the contrary, and the fact that I can feel his pulse… there, in combination with the thought that that means he can probably feel mine in approximately the same location, keeps distracting me from mentally drafting the letter of complaint I wish I had sent to Levi Strauss & Co. back in the 1870s.

I have never wanted out of a pair of trousers—or any other type of garment, for that matter—this badly in my entire existence. And for all the wrong reasons, too, for crying out loud!

A displeased whimper hits my ear, and by the time it dawns on me that I was the one who made it because Mikey suddenly disappeared, an unidentifiable pile of dark grey fabric lands on my stomach.

The person who put it there is standing next to the bed, towering over me with his arms folded across his chest. It would have been intimidating, if not for the hint of a smile that peeks through the stern mask on his face.

Mike points to the bathroom. “They’re sweatpants,” he says impatiently, “go put them on. Now. Please.”

My brain cycles through countless motives and explanations, but I’m so hopelessly behind on processing the events of the past minute, that it comes up completely empty.

I must look at least half as confused as I feel, because Mike can no longer fight back his smile. “Hey, normally I’d tell you to just take the jeans off, but I don’t want us to get ahead of ourselves,” he chuckles. “If this is what it takes to keep you from violently longing to invent time travel so you can smack Jacob W. Davis and Levi Strauss over the head with a comically large wooden mallet, then…”

He makes a series of vague, impatient gestures at me, the sweatpants and in the general direction of the bathroom, all accompanied by an equally impatient and exquisitely adorable whine.

When I laugh, after deciding against telling him how cute he looks, Mike frowns, and his eyes narrow. “Mel, please,” he whines, “I really, really, really want to kiss you.”

Nervous as that makes me, I can’t deny that it’s exactly what I want too, and despite my legs feeling exceptionally uncooperative, I manage to make it to the bathroom in one piece.

I lean my shoulders against the wall, steadying myself as I attempt to regain control over myself, my chest heaving with every new breath.

The cold of the tile creeps through the fabric of my shirt with ease, grounding me.

Soothing me.

My thoughts, which are normally fairly organized, are a mess—an un-unravelable heap of pure chaos.

It’s anarchy!

Mike somehow manages to match the energy of an eight-week-old puppy attempting to herd sheep, with the exact same, very predictable and equally—if not more so—undesirable result.

And I’m the sheep.

I clamp my teeth down on my bottom lip with force until I taste blood, but the visions keep coming.

My fingers—are they mine? If they were, one would assume I would know how to get them to fucking work, correct? When I put these jeans on this morning, this wasn’t the world’s most challenging button, so why won’t it open, for God’s sake?

I swear under my breath, screwing my eyes shut as if to squeeze the last bit of focus out of my brain that way. I must, however, come to the unfortunate conclusion that I am not a tube of toothpaste.

“You’re impossible.” Mike’s voice is hoarse, his chest moves rapidly in time with his equally erratic breathing, and his long fingers close effortlessly around my wrists with punishing force. “Get these hands out of the damn way and let me help you with that.”

Apparently, his wish is my command. Or perhaps, his command is my command. Either way, my hands are out of his way in a flash.

Barely a second later, the button and zipper of this treacherous denim contraption are no longer an obstacle, and I struggle to breathe as Mike leans his forehead against mine, dipping his fingertips tentatively into the now-loosened waistband of my trousers.

He holds me firmly in place as he steps closer, grinding his hips into mine. Out of reflex, I bite down on my lip again, piercing my skin, which lures a soft whine from my throat.

Before I can do anything, Mike passes his tongue over the wound before sucking my bottom lip into his mouth, and I seem to have suddenly forgotten how to breathe altogether.

“Now,” Mike says—‘growls’ would be a more apt description, perhaps, “take these off, put the sweatpants on—or don’t. Strip completely bare-ass naked for all I care, but get in my damn bed, please.”

 Hearing my own desperate need echoed in his voice makes my heart stutter—the cruel cold or Mikey’s sudden absence makes me restless.

I rid myself of my jeans as quickly as I can, and as I exchange them for the much more comfortable sweatpants, I can’t resist the urge to squeeze my throbbing erection through the fabric, desperately attempting to fight the thought of how much I need that hand to be his instead of mine.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Mikey snarls, his voice close to my ear and the scorching heat of his body comforting me once again. “I should drag you to bed by your balls, you little tease. Why are you out here wanting all these things, when we can be doing them in there?”

I want to say something, but even if my voice were cooperating, my vocabulary certainly wouldn’t be. In the end, nothing but a pathetic whine escapes me, making Mike chuckle.

He hooks two fingers in the waistband of the sweatpants, no doubt with the intention to tug me along towards the bed, but one catches behind the band of my underwear as well, putting more of me on display than I anticipated. I know Mike well enough to expect him to take a peek—and the urgency with which he does so immediately—and I find myself thoroughly enjoying the look of utter desperation and pure carnal need on his face as he fails to fight off a crooked smile, dragging his tongue along his upper lip.

I struggle to identify the feeling that washes over me, wringing out my insides as Mike’s playful smile widens, his gaze still locked on my groin. There is a strange sense of pride to it. At the same time, waves of anticipation struggle for power against nervousness.

The longer I look at his face, the stronger the anticipation becomes. He’s cute, with his mischievous smile, fangs out as he fights off the ragged corners of the desires he knows would likely push me a tad too far at this time.

But Mike can think of six things either simultaneously or in awe-inspiringly quick succession.

“Why does it happen? The fangs?” he asks quietly, amusement poorly concealed in his tone.

My laughter rings involuntarily, the sound bouncing off the tiles, echoing in my own mind as it once again struggles to keep up with everything that’s happening. “You’ve clearly never lived in a large coven,” I chuckle. “One so powerful that hiding your nature—and teeth—becomes completely unnecessary. Our natural instinct is to have them out. Even after centuries, one must have his wits about him in order to control them, and I don’t know about yours, but mine are halfway to Argentina by now.”

Mike’s grin widens as he takes a step back, finally guiding me back to his bedroom.

When the back of my legs meet the edge of the bed, his eyes darken. “I really want to do some dirty things to you, Melmel,” he whispers. The high-pitched whine that meets my ear must be mine, and unthinkingly I chase the pathetic sound away with a scornful chuckle which, most unfortunately, is followed by a sharp gasp as Mike pulls me closer by my hips until my body is flush against his. “Will you let me?”

The art of speech eludes me still, so I nod.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Mike says as he gently places a hand on either side of my face.

To be overcome with desire does not mean what I thought it did until now in the slightest. As soon as Mike’s lips touch mine, true desperate need comes crashing down on me, drowning out everything else.

His mouth is soft, but firm. His hands gentle as they move from my face, down my chest and stomach, to the sides of my hips, until they reach the back of my thighs. He picks me up effortlessly, of course, wrapping my legs around him before laying me down in the middle of the mattress.

Our moans effortlessly overshadow everything else that attempts to occupy my thoughts, only leaving room to experience pleasure. It’s all-consuming.

Powerful.

Cathartic, even.

Mike’s tongue licks gently at the seam of my lips, which part as if by magic to grant him entrance.

His enthusiasm is infectious, and I greedily reciprocate until…

“Fuck!” Mike pulls back, still laughing when he sticks out his tongue. It’s bleeding. “I forgot you have spare teeth.”

“I’m sorry.” I can’t bear to look at him as guilt washes over me, drowning out all the wonderful feelings from before.

“Don’t be,” he says softly, giving me a reassuring peck on the tip of my nose. “You can poke as many holes in me as you want, this just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

He presses his lips to mine again, this time with significantly more restraint—to start with, that is. Every time he rolls his hips, grinding them into mine, he loses a bit of that control.

I could say the same does not apply to me, but it would be such a blatant lie that it would be laughable at best.

When he bites my lip, he is careful not to break the skin, but the force is still enough to bruise me.

Whatever mark he leaves on me, with very few exceptions, will be gone before we’re even done here. Why does that strike me as such a tragedy?

The last remnants of Mikey’s gentle touch have disappeared now, as his fingertips dig into my shoulders, my hips, my thighs, with brutal force. It would certainly be enough to cause serious harm to someone less sturdy than either of us…

“God, I haven’t done this with another vampire in years,” Mike groans. The sound, deep, dark and dripping with lust, vibrates throughout my entire body.

I know he’s been with nymphs, shifters—were- or otherwise—and demons, and I don’t doubt that there have been many more rendezvous with many more species I haven’t the faintest clue about, but that knowledge proves to be of surprisingly little impact on this moment. “Tell me if I’m too rough with you, Mel. Please.”

Not at all, I wish to scream. I’ll take everything he’s willing to give me and more. So much more.

But I can’t seem to find my voice. Instead, I slide my hands into his shirt on a whim, dragging my nails down his back, reveling in the sense of pride and sensuality I feel as he arches to my… well, ‘touch’ would be quite the understatement, I suppose.

“Guess not, then,” he says with a devious grin as he grabs the hem of the t-shirt I just decided to ignore and pulls it over his head.

I’ve seen him without a shirt, of course. Goodness, I’ve seen him damn near naked on several occasions, but this time…

As he sits there, straddling my thighs, towering over me, my eyes wander down, taking in his broad shoulders, chest and abs. He’s lean, toned, but I wouldn’t describe him as particularly muscular. His pale skin is smooth all the way down to his navel, where my attention is captured by the thin line of dark hair that leads… down.

My hands make their way up his thighs until they rest on his hips, and without realizing, I speak. “You are so beautiful.”

I realize my error instantly, an overpowering sense of confusion surging through me as I watch Mike’s face light up.

“Yeah?” he asks excitedly as I continue my attempt to grasp why he sounds so pleased. My confusion must be apparent, because Mike laughs sweetly. “It’s okay, baby, you can call me beautiful all day, every day. Can I see if you’re pretty too?”

It clicks as soon as the word ‘pretty’ leaves his mouth, and I am suddenly overcome with the fear that he won’t see me that way while Mike fusses with the top button of my shirt.

He groans out of frustration. “Do you have any emotional attachment to this thing?” he growls almost aggressively as he grabs me by the collar of my shirt. I shake my head, once again unable to speak. “Good.”

The fabric tears almost too easily, and several buttons—four, to be exact—find their way onto the floor.

A long, desperate whine meets my ear as Mike rakes his fingers over my chest, down to my stomach, where he traces the faint line of hair with a single finger, all the way down to the waistband of my trousers, while I dig my fingers into his hips with more force than I intended. It makes Mike’s cock twitch, causing it to bump against my thumb, which lures a sharp gasp from me.

Mike reacts to it and the expression that has appeared on my face in the meantime without my knowledge, and certainly without my consent.

“Okay,” he taunts, “my pretty boy wants to play in the big leagues then?”

Despite my nerves, I find myself nodding in reply to his question, attempting once again to swallow the tightness in my throat away.

Mike kisses me, softly but enthusiastically—and most importantly: repeatedly—as he lies down next to me. Heat rises to my cheeks as he flashes me that goofy smile of his.

I was always under the impression that I found that smile particularly annoying. I guess I was wrong.

The one hand that is still on his hip relentlessly attempts to capture my attention, begging me to acknowledge its proximity to the part of Mike that currently has my imagination spinning completely out of control, but I can’t allow myself to comply with its demands just yet. Lord knows I’ll be swiftly rid of any ability to speak, which would be… unfortunate, to say the least.

Not that that particular ability isn’t greatly impaired to begin with, but we needn’t tempt fate further, I would say.

“I’ll be happy to tell you anything you want to know, Melot,” Mike whispers softly as he moves closer to me. It’s the strange fish-on-dry-land-esque performance attached to it that makes me laugh—and much louder than I had intended, too. In fact, I had no intention to laugh at all…

I snap my mouth shut and look away. Surely, my cheeks must be so red they are in fact aglow right now, mustn’t they?

Mike groans loudly, which twists the uncomfortable knot in my stomach, greatly worsening the unwelcome tightness I was already feeling.

To say I am in no way prepared for his words, would be an understatement.

“Mel, dude, Melmel, babe, Melly, my good sir,” he sighs, “where were you when they sent out the memo that this”—he gestures wildly at the both of us—“all of this, like… sex, is supposed to be fun?”

“Well, I—” Just hearing him describe what we’re doing as ‘sex’ brings forward a host of emotions I can either not identify or desperately wish I couldn’t, and it certainly helps my nerves in no imaginable way.

“Like, babygirl, I get it,” he continues, as I try to prevent having to invent a new shade of red to describe the color my cheeks will turn after this one, “you’re nervous. You’ve never done this. You’ve been told not to do this, with… well, pretty much anyone but definitely not another dude—which I’m sure will come back to bite you in that sweet little butt of yours, and we’ll deal with that fall-out together. But if we’re doing this, I need you to lighten up, okay?”

“But… How?” In my entire existence, I have never struggled to speak two simple words the way I did just now.

“For starters, there are two people here who I’m going to need you to not take too seriously,” he says matter-of-factly. “The first one is me, which is already true for… most scenarios outside of this one, I’d say. And the second one is you. You’re allowed to laugh, okay?”

The way he nips at the tip of my nose makes it impossible not to laugh. “Good boy,” Mike muses as I struggle to figure out why it feels so good to hear him say those words.

Without thinking about it, mostly for fear of discouraging myself, I wrap my free arm around him, pulling him tightly against me as I kiss him.

The added pressure of my arm against the small of his back is not enough to satisfy my need, so I boldly and unthinkingly lower my hand until it cups half of Mike’s backside.

Despite my lacking intentions to lose control of myself like this, I find myself feverishly grasping him, pulling him even closer as I dig my fingers into the flesh of his rear.

It’s surprisingly soft, yet surprisingly firm, and I find myself surprisingly eager to explore it further—the whole situation would best be described as, well… surprising, really, and Mike’s ardent whimpering tells me that he is not at all inclined to put an end to my endeavors.

Due to my sudden preoccupation with Mikey’s lovely behind, I am almost robbed of awareness of the fantastic experience of Mike, gently but greedily sliding his hands into my pants as he gently sucks my bottom lip into his mouth.

My grip around his waist slacks as he pulls his face back, still holding my lip firmly between his teeth, and he cocks an eyebrow at me, giving me the courage to mimic his movements.

For a moment, I am surprised to find that Mike is not wearing underwear, and then I remember who I’m in bed with. I’m not saying I should have expected this, but to pretend it’s in any way uncharacteristic, would be a lie.

His skin is smooth and warm, and the salacious moan he lets out catches in his throat, where it morphs into a gasp as my lips seek out his neck.

The urge to bite is strong, and I already know he wouldn’t mind, so…

“Fuck, Mel,” he moans sweetly as I bite down, effortlessly piercing his skin again and again, until his neck and shoulders are littered with marks.

Mike reaches behind his back, grabbing my wrist in order to drag my hand away from his ass, and towards the front of his sweatpants, where his erection strains against the fabric.

He presses my palm against the sizeable bulge while he begs me to bite him again, and I find myself more than happy to oblige.

A chuckle rolls off my tongue as soon as my teeth connect with his skin, and I softly squeeze his twitching cock, which draws the sweetest whimpers from Mike’s gorgeous lips.

“Mel, please,” he whispers, barely managing to squeeze the words out in between soft swearing and labored breaths as he puts his hand over mine and slowly slides it down his hip, into the front of his sweatpants. “I… I need you to…”

 My voice is barely more than a breath as I stammer my concerns about my nerves, lack of experience and the fact that I haven’t a clue what to do.

“Doesn’t matter,” Mikey whispers in reply, “just touch me. Please.”

 Heat rises to my cheeks again as I desperately attempt to resist the urge to pull my hand back and flee the room. “I-I really don’t know what… how…”

Mike lets out a whine that is a mix between impatience and complete and utter frustration. “What do you mean you don’t know? You have one of these, what do you do with that one?”

Lying to him now would probably not be in my best interest, so I ignore the ever-increasing temperature of my face when I tell him: “I, eh… I don’t really, ehh…”

“Mas-tur-bate,” Mike says with a smile. “Jack off. Jerk off. Beat your meat. Tickle your pickle. Flog your log. I can come up with dozens of these, but I think you got the point. But, like… ever?”

I shrug, fighting the resistance of Mike’s hand against my shoulder as I try to hide my face from him. “Not never, but…”

 “We can stop, if you want?” Mike says carefully, even though we both know that’s the very last thing I desire right now. “Or take a little step back?”

I shake my head surprisingly decisively. “I want to try,” I whisper. “I want to make you feel good.”

Mike leans closer to me, bringing his lips up to my ear. “Try again,” he says, the amusement in his voice clear as day, because once again he knows as well as I do that I’m not voicing my true desire.

In truth, I’m burning with violent need, and I am utterly bewildered that it’s even possible to feel nervous enough to overshadow that feeling. Yet here we are…

A low growl escapes me completely involuntarily. “I want to hear you moan and feel you squirm in my arms,” I snarl with more vigor than I originally intended. “And I want it to be because of me.”

His sweet moan, right in my ear, makes me tingle all over, and I barely manage to choke back a whimper of my own.

“Mel, please,” Mikey pleads with me again, “stop overthinking and just grab my d—”

He’s forced to end his sentence with a strangled, high-pitched noise that makes me chuckle as I wrap my fingers around his length.

He presses his forehead against mine as I cup the side of his face with my free hand, trailing my thumb lightly over his cheekbone.

The softest whimper stumbles past his slightly parted lips, and I gladly give in to the urge to touch them as well, savoring the feeling of Mikey’s hot breath against my fingertip.

When his tongue darts out, I take my own lip between my teeth, biting down as he sensually sucks my thumb into his mouth. I admire his confidence as he stares straight into my eyes—into my soul—as he does so.

Slowly, he rolls his hips, thrusting carefully into my hand.

His jaw tightens, and every sound he makes, escapes from behind gritted teeth—the way he’s grinding them almost makes more noise than he does, which I have to admit I find quite bothersome.

“Why are you holding back?” I ask quietly, as I attempt to silence the part of my mind that tells me I must be doing something wrong.

“Because I still can,” he admits reluctantly.

So I am doing s—

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” he says, smiling devilishly as he shimmies out of his sweatpants a bit further. “But truth be told, it’s missing something, eh…”

I patiently wait for him to continue, listening to the whiny noises he makes in protest as I don’t do him the courtesy of pausing the apparently good-but-missing-something handjob I was giving him. Mike is adorable when he gets flustered, and I am more than happy to be responsible for the rosy color on his cheeks.

“Fine,” he grumbles, giving in to his desires at last. “Top drawer of the nightstand. There’s a bottle, you really can’t miss it.”

I venture to retrieve the bottle. It’s… A chuckle escapes without warning as I read the label. “Mikey, why do you own cotton candy flavored lubricant?”

“Because it doesn’t come in jelly bean flavor,” Mike says casually before bringing my attention back to the—pardon me—task at hand. “Don’t be stingy with the stuff, I like it wet.”

Rather than simply not being quite sure what to do—or how much lubricant is an appropriate amount, since I’ve never used anything like it before—I am suddenly overcome with anxiety over the fact that I am now forced to look what I’m doing.

Slowly, I lower my gaze, taking in all of Mike’s body I can along the way. I barely notice how my fangs pierce my lip again when I bite down as my eyes reach their destination.

Mike snatches the bottle from my hand and kindly helps me out by pouring some of the liquid in my hand. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I bring my hand to my mouth, quickly dipping my tongue in the small pool of fluid in my palm.

Unsurprisingly, it’s extremely sweet.

Mike spends this time glaring at me, impatiently squirming and making his displeasure known through a series of whimpers, not stopping until I wrap my hand around his cock again.

As soon as I do, a serene smile spreads across his face, and he sighs while I proceed to coat his member with the slippery substance on my hand.

“Better?” I ask him.

He nods, resting his forehead against mine again. “Fuck yes.”

Apparently, the only thing Mike thinks will stop him from becoming excessively loud now, is crushing his mouth to mine and kissing me like his life depends on it.

His hips move erratically as he thrusts almost frantically into my hand while moans, grunts and desperate whimpers stumble from his mouth into mine.

After some time, I feel his hand close around mine, guiding my grip and the rhythm of my strokes while the fingers of his other hand dig into my back nearly hard enough to draw blood.

He swears, softly at first, but becoming louder as he loses more and more of his restraint.

Even with a vision providing me with advance knowledge of what is going to happen—which is technically so predictable that I should have been able to come up with it myself—I am unprepared for the moment his orgasm arrives.

In hindsight, aiming might have been a good idea, but I honestly couldn’t think of a better place for his release than my stomach.

“Sorry for the mess,” Mike pants against my lips. I can feel the lazy smile on his face in the way his mouth moves against my skin. “Can I help you clean that up?”

The implication in the devilish question sends a jolt of electricity down my spine, and before I can answer, Mike has pressed his lips to my neck, marking the beginning of a slow, teasing descent downward with a playful bite.

As he moves down my body, he turns me onto my back, leaving me helplessly mesmerized by the sight of this gorgeous man making his way down my chest, licking and sucking at my skin every chance he gets.

The feeling is absolutely unmatched by anything I have ever felt before in my life, and I can’t hold back any of the sounds that well up in my throat of their own volition.

The enthusiasm with which Mike licks his own semen off my abdomen is almost awe inspiring, and I watch him closely, barely aware of the fact that my mouth hangs open, which I’m sure must make me look like a complete and utter fool.

When he finishes his task, he shoots a glance up at me in which lies a burning question, and without thinking, I nod in reply.

Eager hands drag down my trousers and pants until my cock springs free, and for a moment, panic takes hold of me. With some effort, I remember the look on Mike’s face when he was ‘accidentally’—if one chooses to believe it was an accident, which I can’t bring myself to do—presented with an opportunity to look at my erection.

The image manages to calm me down fairly effectively.

My reaction when Mike carefully drags the tip of his tongue along the full length of my cock is admittedly quite embarrassing, but I try not to dwell on that thought, electing instead to enjoy the incredible new sensations brought to me by Mike’s mouth.

“So sensitive,” he muses quietly, trailing a teasing finger lightly down the same trajectory as his tongue. “And so pretty.”

I barely manage to resist the urge to cry out in frustration as Mike abandons my member and instead kisses my stomach, hips and thighs, putting his lips absolutely everywhere but where I so desperately want them.

His hands tease me: playful, eager fingers travel up and down my sides with the lightest touch, threatening to drive me completely beside myself with lustful yearning.

“Please!” The word barely makes it out, my voice so strangled I momentarily wonder if Mike even understood me—his devious chuckle confirming that he did.

In the pit of my stomach, pressure simmers. A pressure I probably should have familiarized myself with a lot more over the past fourteen centuries, but it’s recognizable enough as is.

There is no doubt in my mind that Mikey would succeed in bringing me to orgasm without laying another finger—or any other part of his body—directly on my cock.

Shame heats up my cheeks once again as I am forced to admit that, quite frankly, I’m about to burst.

And it is precisely this moment in which Mike decides that the best course of action is to swallow my whole length down to the root.

It's the hideously arrogant raising of that miserable eyebrow of his that ends up dragging me over the edge, and without any warning, I spill my seed into his mouth.

If dying of embarrassment was a possibility, I would have done it dozens, if not hundreds of times over the course of my existence, but none of those instances could hold a candle to what I’m feeling in this moment.

I could positively die of shame.

Mike, however, seems to be completely unfazed by the circumstances. It’s typical, of course, but it’s also infuriating.

“Hey,” he whispers softly, smoothing a hand over my hair. “Don’t feel bad. Come on…”

The next moment, he’s next to the bed, holding out a hand.

“Shower time, Melmel,” he muses happily.

I follow him in silence. Even as he strips me of the pants I put back on before making my way over to the bathroom, or when he ushers me into the shower stall, or when he sweetly and gently caresses me all over to rinse off the remnants of our relations, I remain quiet.

Until we are back in the room, and Mike dives under the covers, leaving me standing there…

“I… Mike, I think I should g—”

“Yeah, that is, like, so not happening,” Mike says, rushing towards me with alarming speed. “You are staying, and that’s an order. Besides, we’re just getting to my favorite part.”

“Didn’t we just do your favorite part?” I ask, my voice thick with bewilderment.

“Ask our girl,” Mike chuckles. “I’m a little cuddle monster.”

He takes both of my hands in his and gently attempts to pull me along. “Back to bed, now.”

I can’t seem to move, other than the involuntary shiver that travels through my body when Mike suddenly appears behind me, pressing his smiling lips to my neck and grabbing my behind. “Are you going to listen to me, or do I have to spank my pretty boy?”

I’m not proud of the way his words bring my cock back to life, but I can’t bring myself to be embarrassed about it, either, even when Mike chuckles devilishly in my ear.

“Was it ‘pretty boy’ or ‘spank’ that’s making this happen?” he asks as he gently palms my stiffening cock.

“Both,” I admit surprisingly willingly. “And ‘my’ might have had something to do with it as well.”

“Do you want to go another round?” Mike asks carefully, no doubt to attempt to hide the heady edge to his voice, as if his growing desire isn’t literally poking me in the back right now.

“I thought you wanted to cuddle,” I whisper, gritting my teeth so as not to moan loudly as my erection pushes more and more firmly against Mike’s hand. Thank God, he’s keeping it still, otherwise I would be completely lost.

 “I do,” he whines. “But look what you did to me!” He grinds his cock against my ass. It feels heavenly, as does the feeling of Mike’s breath on my neck as he chuckles when my cock twitches against his palm.

This time, I allow him to push me towards the bed again, and when we reach it, I don’t protest when he bends me over—at first.

Panic briefly washes over me as I think about what he might do to me, but I trust him. I know he would never attempt anything beyond my boundaries, so I relax again, leaning into his touch as his fingers close around my length again.

He strokes me in time with the movement of his hips against my ass as he thrusts slowly between my cheeks, pushing his cock down with his other hand.

When Mike disappears, I whine at the loss, and I try to right myself to see where he’s gone, but his hand, firmly pressing down on the small of my back, stops me. The drawer of the bedside table opens and closes, and the top of a bottle clicks. Moments later, Mikey’s hand, now slick with lubricant, closes around my cock again.

His other hand—now also quite sticky—hooks around my thigh, pulling me back a few steps to give him more space to work with, and I moan in delight as I feel my ass hit his hips again.

Mike gently shushes me, squeezing my ass in a strangely reassuring way when the feeling of his hands running down between my cheeks has me worried for a second. “Don’t worry,” he says calmly. “Just wanted a little less friction.”

I must admit, it feels even better this way. For him, too, if the higher speed of his thrusts and increasing volume of his moans are any indication.

When Mike plants a firm kiss on my spine, between my shoulder blades, I can’t fight back a loud moan as I relish the feeling of his weight on top of me. At the same time, I am terribly disappointed when he stops moving his hips.

“I want to try something, okay?” Mike says. His hand stops moving too, and much to my displeasure, it disappears altogether barely a second later. The only redeeming aspect to this unwelcome behavior, is the trail of sloppy, wet kisses Mike leaves down my back.

I resist the urge to swat him in the head when he sinks his teeth into my rear, and I heal the wound immediately in protest.

Mike, in all his silly, playful Mike-ness, retaliates by making another mark, which I treat in the same manner.

We go back and forth like that for a minute, until Mike growls in frustration. “You’re so fucking lucky you’re cute, Melmel.”

I can hear the pout in his voice, and a grin appears on my face as I spread my legs for Mike without thinking when he moves to grab my cock again, this time by reaching between my legs.

His arm hooks around my hips, holding me in place, and I barely get a second to wonder why.

Mike was more than right to hold me down, because when the tip of his warm, wet tongue touches the tight ring of muscle—

“Mike!” I hiss angrily while I squirm against his solid grasp. That… place has been an exit only for fourteen hundred years, and if he thinks—

A soft kiss on my bottom eases my surging anger. “Put down the pitchfork,” Mike muses, “I just want to touch you. Well… eat you. Give it an honest chance, please? If you don’t like it, you don’t like it, but I think you should try it.”

Mike certainly has a way of inciting one’s curiosity… I take a deep breath before nodding decisively, accompanying the gesture—which Mike can’t see—with an affirmative hum.

Mike continues to stroke me while his tongue gently laps at my puckered hole.

When Mike made his plea, I never pictured a scenario in which I would enjoy this, but to my shame, I must admit that the sensation is quite pleasant. Perhaps a bit more than ‘quite’.

Alright, it feels nothing short of absolutely heavenly! That doesn’t mean I am quite ready to admit that, thank you very much.

Unfortunately, Mike seems to get plenty of confirmation from the way my hips involuntarily move in time with his tongue, rather than his hand.

In fact, after a while, he abandons stroking my cock altogether, using both hands to spread my ass cheeks so he can gain better access to my hole.

I occupy my own hands by pressing a pillow firmly against my face, while crying a continues stream of moans and the occasional expletive into it, and when Mike tentatively passes a fingertip over the tight ring of muscle, I find myself begging him to continue.

“Is this something you want now, or something you know you’ll want in the future?” His tone lets me know there is only one answer he will accept, and it’s not the one I think I want it to be now.

I desperately cry out into the pillow, wanting to voice my protest but finding no words, and I turn onto my back rather dramatically while Mike skillfully dodges my legs.

He remains where he is, raising himself up on his knees so he can lay his head on my hip. The sweet smile on his face as he looks up at me annoys me greatly, and I put the pillow over my face again and scream, before glaring down at him as I prop myself up on my elbows.

“If you’re not going to do to me what you know I think I want you to do to me but don’t yet, then at the very least do to me what we both know I’m incredibly amenable to you doing to me,” I growl.

Mike chuckles. “That almost sounds like you’re asking me to blow you,” he teases.

On a whim, I sit up. With the fingers of one hand twisted into his curls, I pull his head off my thigh.

Mike’s swallows audibly, his eyes wide as he stares up at me. My jaw tightens as he bites his lip, and I cock an eyebrow at him, silently asking my question.

He responds by nodding furiously, and when I attempt to pull my hand back, he grabs my wrist.

With unwavering enthusiasm, he pours some more lubricant on me before getting to work, coating my whole length using both of his hands.

It feels divine, and without thinking I ball my hands into fists to prevent myself from swearing.

Mike lets out a long, sweet moan, leaning into my touch as I unintentionally pull his hair, the noise making me all the more disinclined to relax my grip.

He looks up at me, that godforsaken eyebrow taunting me, and the rest of his face guilty of the exact same thing. He’s clearly testing my patience—and to my surprise, I find that I quite like that.

Stil, no matter how much I enjoy his defiance, my annoyance is real and intense enough to be a leading factor in my behavior.

“You know what I want,” I groan, putting pressure on the back of Mikey’s head, urging his mouth closer to its desired location.

His eyes narrow, and his lips pull into an insufferable smirk as he continues to work my length with both hands, and I attempt to keep my composure while the urge to smack that grin off his face surges to previously undiscovered heights.

 Mike’s reaction has me staring at him in shock, his yearnful moan dying down as soon as he sees my face, and his expression morphing into something completely different that has his ears and cheeks turning red in a staggering tempo. It’s…

“So sweet,” I mutter as I loosen my grip on his hair and run my fingers over his scalp in circles. “Be good for me, my love. Let me feel that beautiful mouth.”

When he looks up at me again after pressing a sweet, brief kiss to the underside of my tip, the color on his cheeks has deepened.

I am unsure of the reasons behind the effect it has on me, and right now, I could frankly not care even a hair less.

He’s still challenging me, but the shy approach makes it endearing rather than infuriating. I can’t even convince myself fully that he’s putting on an act: He’s never been particularly good at hiding his true feelings.

Before we started this—all of it, from the very first kiss onward—I never would have imagined that I’d see myself in control of any of this. I pictured myself, completely at the mercy of Mike and his fickle whims. No vision I had could have prepared me for this.

For this sense of agency, and of… dominance.

For the overwhelming sense of pride, and the much more intense yearning for this sweet, eager boy between my knees than I had ever imagined possible.

“Sweet, precious Mikey,” I sigh as he delivers the smallest lick to the tip of my cock. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I watch him squirm beneath me. My best guess is that I’m not the only one who enjoys being called sweet things.

Where I find the words, and how on Earth I suddenly manage to not only use my voice but also seem to accurately remember fourteen centuries worth of English—though it would be remiss not to acknowledge that I never really caught on to the last two centuries or so—is beyond me, but the fact of the matter is that I do.

Words of encouragement flow freely from my lips as I gently nudge Mike’s head forward. “Wrap those pretty lips around me, sweetheart. I know you want to,” I say softly. “I’ll be so proud of you.” Mike whines, staring up at me with big, innocent eyes. “Be a good boy for me, Mikey. You’d make me so happy.”

Strangely, though the only thing missing from my words are the ones that would make this an outright plea, I don’t feel like I’m begging whatsoever, nor do I feel like I’m somehow pressuring Mike into doing something he doesn’t want to do.

Due to my lacking experience, I should be lacking every shred of confidence I feel, shouldn’t I? I shouldn’t feel so at peace with this, I—

My doubts die a swift, magnificent death the second Mike wraps his lips around my throbbing erection, and I soon find myself completely bewitched by the sight of him as he works more of my length into his mouth.

He’s dropped one hand into his own lap, and the other soon moves to my thigh, where his fingers dig into my flesh every time he goes down. With every stroke, he takes me deeper, until I’m fully seated in his mouth.

When his throat tightens around me briefly, it startles me, and I involuntarily move my hips, forcing Mike to withdraw, sputtering and struggling to breathe.

I, in turn, gasp for air when he spits on my cock. There’s something wildly erotic to it, and to the thin thread of saliva that runs from my tip to the center of his bottom lip.

“Keep going, beautiful,” I gasp. In no way am I too proud to admit that I’m positively aching to feel his lips around me again. “You’re doing so well. You’re such a good boy.”

Mike whimpers, briefly moving the hand with which he’s pleasuring himself quicker, before leaning forward again.

Emboldened by his enthusiasm, I put light pressure on the back of his head and gently thrust my hips forward.

His eyes open wide, and he moans desperately. The vibration created by the sound feels heavenly around my cock, and I push my hips forward again, luring another moan from Mike’s throat.

“Do you… like that?” I ask hesitantly. Surely, it’s better to be safe than sorry in these situations?

Mike hums a vigorous confirmation, his brows drawing together in a deep frown when I ask him—superfluously, apparently—if he wants me to stop.

On instinct, I move closer to the edge of the bed, tightening my grip on Mike’s hair as I thrust forward again—and again… and again.

Soon, there are tears in Mikey’s eyes, and instead of being overwhelmed by guilt, I simply can’t stop thinking about how beautiful he looks—and how incredibly impressed I am with his achievements.

Now, I am hardly under the impression that I have a particularly intimidating manhood where size is concerned, but I would happily place myself somewhat above average without adding any inches for vanity, and on top of that, I’m hardly being as gentle with Mike as I probably should be, thus, I consider my amazement justified.

Mike announces his approaching climax through a series of delectable moans and an increase in the pace at which he sucks me off, his movements stopping exactly when I’m teetering on the edge of orgasm myself.

He pulls back, until the tip of my cock rests on his tongue, and with a few strokes, he seals the deal.

I bite down on my lip while I watch as several thick ropes of my release coat his tongue, the visual so wildly arousing that I briefly worry I will never find anything else even remotely enticing ever again.

“Show me.” I mouth the words, unable to find my voice, as I trail my thumb lightly along Mike’s bottom lip. Audible or not, my words seem to light a devious little fire under him, and after heeding my request, he promptly raises himself up, supporting himself with his hands on my thighs.

My breath catches in my throat, and I swallow hard as Mike leans forward, pressing his lips to mine with vigor.

I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to be disgusted with myself and my behavior later, but right now I want nothing more than to taste myself on Mike’s tongue—I get slightly more than I bargained for when I open my mouth and feel my thick salty seed flow from Mike’s mouth into mine.

At first, I can’t bring myself to swallow, resisting the urge to spit until an idea takes root in my brain.

I can see the apology on Mike’s lips, but before he speaks, I put him on his back on the mattress, taking a moment to rake my eyes over his chest and abs.

Without wasting any time, I lick the evidence of his orgasm off his stomach, and straddle his hips, bringing my nose to his.

There’s no need for further provocation: Mike opens his mouth, sticking out his tongue so I can deliver on my silent promise.

This should feel disgusting. By pretty much any standard, but most of all mine—or rather; the ones that have been pounded into me over the years, either figuratively or, if I was particularly unfortunate, literally.

Instead, a serenity that borders on a sense of heavenly bliss washes over me while Mike and I go back and forth spitting a combination of our semen and saliva into each other’s mouths…

I—

Mike chuckles and falls back to the mattress, taking a moment to catch his breath before pulling me down on top of him. “If I came in while you were trying to watch a movie and I randomly spit a fat load of cum in your mouth, you probably wouldn’t appreciate that,” he says. His words seem so out of place that at first, I struggle to wrap my head around them, until I realize I must have looked… I couldn’t tell you how I looked, exactly, but my face must have expressed my thoughts in a way that prompted Mikey to launch into an explanation. “Welcome to your first ‘it seemed like a good idea at the time’-moment. It won’t be the last.”

“That doesn’t dispute the accusation that it was, in fact, disgusting. At all,” I mutter against the skin of his neck, hiding my scorching—and therefore probably beet-red—face from him.

Mike sits up again, wrapping his arms around my waist as he does, pulling me even closer. “Melmel… Sex is kinda disgusting. And embarrassing.” He punctuates his words with small kisses to my shoulder and neck. “And sticky, and sweaty, and messy.”

“You might want to put a positive spin on this,” I grumble. “Soon.”

“The point is,” he replies, pulling my head off his shoulder and holding it in both hands so that I’m forced to look at him. “When you’re with the right people, none of that matters.”

One look into his eyes, and I know…

“Well, I’m glad I’m with the right people then,” I murmur, leaning in for another kiss.

When Mike breaks away, he suggests we take another shower, and I’m hardly inclined to decline the offer. He wasn’t exactly lying about ‘sticky’ and ‘sweaty’ in his list of less-than-ideal side effects to sexual relations.

This time, Mike is the one that goes strangely quiet while we clean ourselves—and, both notably and regrettably, not each other—up.

“Mikey?” I ask carefully. “What’s wrong?”

My heart breaks when Mike drops to the floor, suddenly sobbing uncontrollably, crawling back into the corner and sitting there with his arms locked around his knees, vigorously shaking his head in reply to my question.

“Mike,” I say sternly as my attempts to pluck him off the floor fail miserably. I do, however, manage to pull him off the wall just far enough that I can sit down behind him, and when I lock my legs around him, he knows he won’t be going anywhere, so he gives in to my touch. “You will talk to me.”

When he moves again, I let him, both knowing that he might be a fool, but not such a big one that he expects to be able to run from me, and knowing—vision-wise—he won’t try. He simply wants to turn the shower head our way because he’s cold.

He sits down in my lap, and I wrap my arms tightly around him, waiting patiently until he feels ready to speak about what’s going on with him.

Another deep, shaky breath, and he starts talking: “This just took a turn… And you’re so new to all of this, I never thought… I should have… But I couldn’t have known, so… And everything was going well, and it was all good, and I was teasing you and so stoked to be showing you all these new, wonderful things and… And then things got turned around, somehow… and suddenly you were… you… And I… I…”

I let him cry for a while, just holding him, tucking him tightly against my chest as I smooth my hands over his back and sides, repeating the phrase ‘shh, it’s okay’ more times than I care to admit because I simply can’t come up with anything else.

After a while, his breathing steadies, and the sobbing comes to an end. “I’m sorry,” he says, clearing his throat. “Not in a ‘I have something to apologize for’ kind of way, but more like… ‘I feel bad for dumping this on you all of a sudden’ kind of way.”

“That’s alright,” I reply truthfully. “All I want is to take care of you and to make you feel better.”

Mike laughs through the last of his tears. “That’s great,” he says, “because you’re going to have to.”

“Just tell me how,” I say. “And, if at all possible, try to explain why?”

“Right,” Mike says on a slightly embarrassed chuckle. “First off, I shouldn’t have let this happen. Like…” He throws his head back and lets out a frustrated cry. “Okay. During that blowjob just now—I don’t blame you if you didn’t even notice, but…”

“I remember suddenly feeling far more… in charge?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

Mike nods almost enthusiastically. “I really wouldn’t have blamed you—you looked pretty overstimulated—but, damn, I’m glad you noticed. Eh, long story short, you ended up Domming me—dominating, I mean, like… the kinky kind. And you were really good at it, too! So no worries about that, okay? But I should have stopped you, because I know I’m quick to slip into subspace—I’ll explain that later—and it was stupid… well, a little naïve, I guess, of me to think it wouldn’t happen, and…” He takes a moment to catch his breath, and I rub his back while he does.

“A little longer,” I say calmly when he tries to continue his story. My visions are exceptionally helpful in this type of situation, and I don’t want Mike to start hyperventilating.

“Thanks,” he says sincerely after a few more deep breaths. “The… I just… I freaked out because I need someone to take care of me—you, to be specific—but I should be the one taking care of you after your first time… Things just got a little messy.”

“Is there any reason we can’t be taking care of each other?” I ask, taking a moment to think about my own needs at this time. The very first one is for Mikey to feel better. “I think that, after this shower, I would like to watch a movie in bed, and stay very, very close to you.”

“Yeah,” Mike sighs happily. “That works for me.”

When we finish our shower, I dry myself off quickly, only to find Mike still standing next to me, soaking wet, when I’m done. He hesitantly holds his towel out to me.

“Please take care of me,” he mumbles, his voice small and soft. He’s avoiding eye contact, biting his lip and constantly shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“I never want you to be afraid to ask me that, Mike,” I say slowly, enunciating every word carefully as I take the towel from him.

There’s something wonderful about this. I dry every part of Mike’s gorgeous body with extreme care. When I first resist the urge to press my lips to his skin, Mike laughs.

“You can still kiss me, Melot,” he muses. “Actually, I’d really like it if you did.”

At that moment, things finally connect in my head. “You need to feel loved.”

“Yeah,” Mike says, nodding slowly. “Put bluntly, I need to know you see me as more than the piece of meat you throatfucked back there.”

Before I can respond, he continues: “I know you don’t see me that way! I mean, maybe you did when you—”

“I was mostly very impressed with your skills,” I admit reluctantly. It’s my turn to blush once again. At least we’re both suffering that terrible affliction this time.

“Thanks,” he says with a smile. “Decades of practice.”

“I think you have put in more hours than most people your age,” I joke before nipping at the tip of his nose.

Mike glares at me. “Well, apparently I have put in more hours than some people your age, so…”

“Hey!” I stick my tongue out at him. “Stop bullying me, or I will—”

“Whatever you say next,” Mike interjects quickly, “never threaten to skip aftercare. Just… little PSA, I guess.”

“Oh, I was simply going to suggest we put on an episode of Downton Abbey and I point out all the historical inaccuracies,” I say plainly.

Mike shudders. “That would actually be worse…”

Mere seconds after we finally get settled in bed, there’s a knock on the door—of course, a few seconds after that, there’s an actual knock on the door. One that isn’t a figment of my… Well, I suppose both ‘figment’ and ‘imagination’ would be inaccurate.

Still, Mike and I look at each other, neither of us in any way inclined to actually see whose unfortunate timing we’re dealing with.

“Melot, can I see you for a second?” It’s Marshall.

Even though I’m wearing pants, I scramble to find the nearest pair of sweatpants and put them on—after Mike gives it a quick inspection. Quick thinking on his part, I must admit.

When I open the door, I open it wide enough to speak to Marshall, but not so wide that he can look into the room.

It makes him chuckle. “I’ve seen him in much worse states than simply naked,” he muses, but doesn’t otherwise protest the minimal state of ajar-ness of the door. “August and I thought you could use this.” He holds out a tray. One side is loaded with snacks—cheese, fruit, crackers… the lack of jellybeans might disappoint Mike—while the other side holds two bottles of water, glasses, and a pitcher of strawberry lemonade—Mike’s favorite. “Keep him warm and hydrated. And see if he wants to eat something. He’ll say he’s not hungry, but… Take care of him, okay?”

“I will,” I promise as I let go of the door to take the tray from Marshall. As soon as I do, someone—must be Mike—yanks the door open. He narrowly misses me as he practically jumps into Marshall’s arms.

“Thank you,” Mike mutters as Marshall hugs him tight to his chest, indeed  not caring that Mike is still very much completely nude. “I love you.”

“I know,” Marshall replies with a somber smile. “I love you too. Always have, always will. Go be with your… boyfriend?”

“Official status TBD,” Mike chuckles as he releases Marshall from his grasp. “But at the very least I think we can say we’re hooking up.”

“Well, whatever the case, take care of each other. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He disappears before either of us can say another word, so we take the food inside and close the door behind us again, making sure to lock it as well.

“What happened between you two?” I ask carefully as we get comfortable under the covers.

Mike shrugs. “Nothing happened. It’s like… We’re as close as we’ve always been, just in a different way. We could never be in a monogamous relationship with each other, that would be weird, for some reason, but with Sweetcheeks in the mix, some old stuff has been coming back, and we’re figuring that out. Not in a very proactive way, I have to admit.” He picks a cube of cheese off the plate.

“So I might have to share you with another person, then?” I ask, jokingly poking at his ribs. The thought should devastate me. Shred my insides like a swarm of angry wasps is wreaking havoc on them.

Instead, I feel completely calm.

“I’m a bottomless pit of love,” Mike says with his mouth already full—yet he stuffs three more cubes of cheese and a few slices of cured sausage in there.

“You know, there’s fruits and vegetables on this plate, right?” I say when he swallows the obscene amount of food—which I’m sure he considered ‘a bite’.

“Fine, you have discovered the limits of my affection,” he jokes. “Hey!”

The first grape I chuck at his face bounces off his forehead, and I catch it before it hits the plate again. On the second try, Mike catches it in his mouth.

The third lands directly in his lap—I can’t seem to come to an agreement with myself as to whether or not that happened on purpose, but I happily put the situation to good use by retrieving the rogue fruit with my mouth, not neglecting to press a teasing kiss to Mikey’s soft cock.

“No,” he warns me, drawing out the ‘o’ as he shakes his head. “I mean… Yes! But no.”

For a moment—one of the kind that sets your soul alight and seems to last forever—we just smile at each other as we stare into each other’s eyes.

In my entire existence, I have never felt as safe as I do now.

Or as loved.

Or as at home.

Or as at peace.

“You were right,” I whisper after a while, as I let go of my fears, and my doubts, and my past.

Just for now.

And for him.

Only for him.

“I’m entirely unsurprised,” he chuckles. “But, eh… what about?”

I swallow hard before looking him right in the eye.

“I like boys.”

[aucatgirl]

I'd like to hear your complaints about mha please. I think rei should've rolled her ex husband off a cliff.

SIGH. Here is my official diatribe against MHA’s ending. This is definitely not my first rodeo with a series I love and had hope for having a bad ending but wow this one stings harder than usual

What’s craziest about all this is how much I defended this manga up until the last ten chapters. I loved this manga so much and had such high hopes for it. My own MHA social circle was nothing but huge fans that also had high hopes, some criticisms about things but willing to give the benefit of the doubt… But then 420 happened and I snapped out of it (and then my mutuals also snapped out of it, one by one, lol). It was so rushed and baffling that it actually ruined my day when it released, lmao. Deku regaining his arms via Eri ripping off her horn via child mutilation was only the beginning and I was not prepared for the everything else that would happen

The biggest issue starts and ends with Deku, who apparently got a secret lobotomy during the dark Deku arc and has not been written the same since. He completely loses his ability to be introspective in any capacity. “I’ve been having these thoughts about Tenko too” where?? Where is it??? Where is literally any of your real thoughts on Tenko or losing OFA or anything??? This manga used to have such an interesting insight into Deku’s mind. And it’s just, gone. A big issue with Shigaraki’s death goes back to that. Where’s the reflection?? “Show don’t tell” doesn’t work that well with a protagonist that barely shows any emotion at all!!

When it comes to the saving Shigaraki plot, I saw some mutuals suggest that Horikoshi changed his mind on the ending at some point between the togachako fight and 423. I reread those chapters and disagreed. Deku being unable to save Shigaraki is a plot twist and it’s a BAD one. All of the build up leading to 423 is that Deku would save Shigaraki, not just his soul, full stop. Unless it really was a last minute change or pushed by editors/SJ, I cannot imagine that this ending was not planned the way it was, so I will criticize Horikoshi as such. The twist was ass. And now we’re left with an ending of “well we can try to prevent villains, but if they’re already villains, beat ‘em up!” which is just.. AUGH!!! Completely throws Twice’s death down the drain!!! I can’t believe we were left with “we’ll do better next time” when the whole point was that the next generation would do better than the previous… Deku’s generation was supposed to be that one!! Not to mention that All Might seemingly forgot about his personal connection to Shigaraki…

It’s also wild that the togachako plot was the best written tragedy while also being the most offensive of all of them. I don’t care how many people Toga killed 😭 she was explicitly queer. At least izuocha didn’t happen, that would’ve made things so bad I don’t think I would’ve been able to interact with the series anymore. It was a one-off line but Toga’s death had the most direct impact on improving society, however, it was a ONE-OFF LINE, there is zero indication that Uravity is as prominent of a hero as this line makes you believe, which sucks. Also, the fact that the cameras got retconned is ridiculous, just another knife twist of completely gutting the theme of rehabilitation and societal changes on how people view villains

And… that’s not even mentioning what the fuck happened with 3baka. I understand the rush. Horikoshi has health issues, there are time limits for endings. I would’ve been okay with just the rush. But the writing decisions that were made… why the fuck did Kurogiri die like that?? In the most baffling, inconsequential way possible? Aizawa wasn’t shown, Mic didn’t react, it’s never brought up again except for a tiny, tiny panel of Shirakumo’s grave. I guess the whole plot with nomu and how they’ve slowly been humanized was just completely scrapped, because Kurogiri’s death was more inconsequential than Hood’s. If you’re going to kill Kurogiri, make him die by AFO’s hands. It would’ve worked a lot better as a tragedy rather than random and unnecessary Bakugo moment

This is honest to god one of the worst pages in the entire series:

Finally okay I honestly don’t care for the Todorokis so I don’t really have any strong thoughts on their ending. The ending Dabi got is actually better than I expected after Shigaraki died lol. Though I do agree that Rei pushing around Endeavor in his wheelchair is a hilariously bad look and I don’t know why Horikoshi thought it was a good idea

Here is one thing I will say, though. One final word:

Foster brothers Shigaraki and Kurogiri never got debunked!! Can’t have your theories be wrong if you get no information about a character!

[headcanons-n-shit]

Hi! I love love love you writing! (I've been here all morning, my chores are not getting done lol) Can we get the boys (tm) reacting to/taking care of a WoL who's sick? Like something that requires them to stay in bed and actually rest, something I imagine most WoL's aren't very good at lol maybe a lost, scratchy voice or something too pls <3

Look at these boys, taking care of their poor little meow meow lmao

ff14 boys (tm) taking care of a sick WoL:

Thancred needles you gleefully, but it's playful. What isn't playful is the way he's handling you. Damn but you always forget how strong he is. Easily lifting you off your staggering feet and into bed, from your bed to a bath and back. propping you up with one arm to tip medicine down your throat. A strong, weathered hand checking your temperature, patting your cheek, brushing your hair back so he can lay a cool cloth across your forehead.

In that hazy space between sleep and awake, you think you might even hear him singing to you, low and sweet. It's. Probably just the fever though.

Urianger isn't going to say that he warned you, but. Well. He did kind of warn you.

He doesn't rub it in, either. No, instead he's almost infuriatingly patient with you. When he's easing you into taking foul-tasting medicines, when he's bundling you up in blankets, when he's feeding you soups without letting you so much as lift a finger. He even reads to you-- mostly just dry historical texts that have you dozing off within minutes. It's the best rest you've ever had in your life, and you wake up feeling more alive than ever.

And THEN he will tell you that he warned you :)

G'raha seems like the kind of person who might panic and run around like a chicken with his head cut off. And he might have been, at one point. But he's an older soul now, with experience with a much tougher patient than you: a young Lyna.

He's kind, and gentle, but firm. Yes, you do need to stay in bed. No, you cannot get up. No, he is not going to bring your paperwork or needlework to your bed for you, but he will happily fetch a book for you to read, the new Heavensward memoir perhaps? Yes, you have to take the medicine, but yes you can also have a hot cocoa to chase the taste away.

Estinien stares at you where you're leaning on your lance. You stare at him. He raises an eyebrow. You look away. You can't even give a good excuse-- your voice went out about an hour ago, and you don't have the energy to croak words out around the frog in your throat.

He sighs, scoops you up despite your largely-mute protests, and carries your sorry ass back to the Forgotten Knight. He's no healer, but he remembers the very basics: a roaring fire, hot soup, soothing tea, and rest. It's hard for him, too, he'll freely admit. It feels like there's so much to do, and resting feels like a waste of time.

But if you keep working a damaged muscle, you'll just hurt it further, he reminds you, and helps you with your first few bites of soup. You have to rest, so that, at least if you don't come out the other side stronger, you come out the other side alive.

Aymeric seems calm and composed, but he is 100% internally a screaming chicken. He's already called on the best chirurgeons who would answer, gotten you the best of the medicines they recommended, helped his cooks prepare your favorite meal. All that is left is to wait, and. Aymeric is a strategist, he's good at the long game, but.

He lingers in the door to your room. In your comfy bed, all bundled up in warm blankets, you look so. small. Not the Warrior of Light, not his stalwart friend, but just. A person. Who gets sick. Who he might lose. And that. Scares him. More than a little.

You lift your head and blearily blink at him, and then your chapped mouth pulls into a smile. You pat the edge of your bed next to you for him to sit.

"Tell me about your day?" you croak.

And he takes your hand, and he does.

Haurchefant shakes his head fondly as he moves to help you off the floor where you've fallen.

There was a short period of time when he was really, truly worried for you. When you had just woken up into the new reality of your life, your blank eyes staring at the space where you arm had once been. It's hard, he understands, for a warrior to lose so much of what had once defined them.

But you've still got your fire, to his relief and his chagrin, spitting and cursing and wiggling as he settles you back into bed and flops his entire not-insignificant weight on top of you.

"Hush, now," he says, his mouth right next to your ear, one hand coming up to curl, warm and heavy, around the back of your neck. You're still running a fever, he notes idly, but it's certainly better than it was before. "I think we've earned a spell of rest, don't you?"

Sidurgu freezes at the first cough that rattles through your chest. The memories rise horrifying and unbidden, of coughs that echo in armor, of shaking hands and failing strength and nights hungry, trembling, curled around each other in a desperate bid of warmth, terrified of falling asleep because he doesn't want to wake up to a frozen corpse next to him. And Fray lived, sure, but the cold in their bones never did leave them, not until the day they--

But this is now, he reminds himself, and you are not Fray. There is gil for medicine AND for food, and even for a warm place to sleep. There is Rielle, diligently studying her conjury and happy for a real, live patient to practice on, falling asleep against your chest not because she exhausted herself, but because the hour grew late and she, bored.

How terrifying it is for a Dark Knight to know peace, he thinks as he carefully repositions her so that she is not putting so much weight on your sick lungs. As he brushes your hair from your forehead and places a single kiss there before replacing the cold compress.

How terrifying, and how wonderful.

BONUS

Erenville has this way about him that is undeniably guilt-inducing. The kind of demeanor that reminds you of clucking mothers and worried-looking fathers, all with his hands on his hips and a single eyebrow raised, and you don't even have the voice to argue with him as he takes you by the hand and half-drags you back to his room.

In a city full of scholars, doctors, and healers, he gripes, and you couldn't find your way to any of them? What if you had gotten hurt? or accidentally gotten someone else sick? or spread something to the delicate denizens of labyrinthos?

But you can sense the very real concern for you, beneath his scathing tone. In the way he keeps one hand on your chest to feel your breathing, the other on your wrist to monitor your pulse. The way he takes you to his home-- not the shoddy room the forum gives to any gleaner, but to the one he's build in the Golmorean section of labyrinthos-- and keeps you there until you get better.

[whumpsday]

Petrichor

Writing Masterlist

content: vampire whumpee, buried alive, begging, rescue, asphyxiation, religious whump, death wish, starvation, claustrophobia, sensory deprivation, touch starvation, comfort, harming self for vampire feeding purposes, possible historical inaccuracies

Whumpmas in July Day 15: Buried Two Weeks of Whump Day 14: Coffin

this is vampire whump, but it does NOT take place in the K&J universe! i wanted to play around with some vampire mythology that i chose not to incorporate into K&J lore.

thank you to @lost-in-labradorite-halls for beta-reading and helping my clueless jewish ass with the christian bits and generally inspiring this piece via the wonderful vampire torture you regularly concoct!!

also have a song:

-

Petrichor's endless, airless torment was punctuated once again by the sound of a shovel entering the earth.

It was worth noting strictly because anything was worth noting down here. The digging wasn't out of the ordinary: it was a cemetery, of course.

This time, it sounded close. Every time it sounded near, Petrichor dared let himself hope it might reach him, though he knew such a thing was absolutely ridiculous. People dug graves to bury bodies, not exhume them.

It was utterly maddening. Someone was so close, another soul- a soul, rather, given he did not possess one any longer- and he was unable to make even the slightest peep to alert them to his distress, all oxygen having vacated his tiny box what must have been decades ago, if not centuries. At least he didn't require air anymore.

A tear rolled down his cheek at the thought, his body unable to conjure up more than that. He could not even raise an arm to tap on the wood of the coffin, the weakness having deprived him so effectively. Petrichor listened to the digging longingly, laid still and silent in his grave, the corpse he was.

I'm here. I'm still here, after all this time. Please, it can't be like this forever. I care not whether I'm rescued or slain, but please, someone put an end to it. Dear Lord, I know I'm not one of Your creatures any longer, but please help me.

As if answering his prayer, the digging slowly grew closer as the hours passed. It was odd: usually there would be a bustle of people around, and only one grave would be dug. But he could hear nothing but the digging, and it almost sounded like multiple graves. Perhaps some tragedy had befallen the family owning the plot next to his.

It was disappointing, in a way. The voices, though he could hardly make them out from under the earth, were the only human connection he had left in his horrible fate. Sometimes, he could even make out bits and pieces of the priest's sermon, which never failed to make him cry. He could not even utter a prayer aloud in his wretched state, if the Lord would even have him as he now was. And clearly, He wouldn't.

Petrichor's melancholy thoughts were swiftly interrupted when the sound of digging grew yet closer. Much closer.

As if it were right above him.

Oh dear Lord, please. This could finally be it, couldn't it? If his grave were to be exhumed, for some odd reason?

The shovel knocked against wood. Petrichor could feel it reverberate through the coffin, the first physical sensation interrupting the suffocating stillness in longer than he could know.

He wanted to weep for joy. It was finally happening, it was over. His prayers had finally been answered!

Someone opened the coffin, trading the wooden finish he'd stared at for so long for a starry sky.

Petrichor gasped for breath, his first in what may as well have been lifetimes, smelling of freshly-turned earth. It was nearly impossible to move, his muscles stiff and dry, but he was able to breathe through his nose, and open his mouth just a small amount. It was more than enough: he had air, his lungs no longer drowning.

"Holy fucking shit!" His rescuer tried to jump back, but they were inside his grave with him, and space was sparse.

It was difficult to move his eyes, but he managed it, fixing them on the first person he'd seen since his funeral. They looked young, around his age when he'd been buried or perhaps younger, dressed in an androgynous black cloak. Their clothes and face all ranged from speckled with dirt to absolutely caked in it.

Petrichor stared at them with wild, desperate eyes, and with fresh air in his lungs, made what little sound he could manage: a strangled, pleading cry.

"Oh my god. Oh my fucking god." His rescuer continued to take the Lord's name in vain and spew profanities, but Petrichor couldn't bring himself much to care. All that mattered was getting out of his coffin, the end of his suffering. But he was unable to move.

His rescuer seemed to recognize this as well, their string of expletives tapering off as they tilted their head, staring back.

They glanced up at his gravestone. "Here lies Petrichor Adams," they read out. "1797 to 1820."

They looked back down at him, squinting. "What the hell are you?"

Petrichor whined again, a tear making its way down his face once more.

His rescuer leaned in, their initial shock having given way to a surprising lack of fear. They knelt beside him, peering at his face. "You sure got some chompers in there, huh? What, like...?" They looked out over the edge of the hole, like someone would come out and announce it was all a trick, but no one did.

Petrichor could do nothing but stare pleadingly.

His rescuer tapped him on the cheek. The first touch he'd felt in forever, it almost tingled. They tilted his head to the side, exposing the scars he supposed must still mark his neck: the fangs that had condemned him to this fate.

"You supposed to be a vampire or something?" they asked, incredulous. Having picked up that he could not reply, they continued on. "Well, fuck. What, you need blood or something, is that it? Oh, no no no. I've seen the movies, I've played the video games, alright? I am not fucking with this." They produced a small rectangular object from their pocket, angling it at him in various positions and tapping it oddly before replacing it in their cloak.

The soaring hope in Petrichor's long-dead heart crashed against the rocks. He could not understand some of what the digger said, but the sentiment was clear: he would receive no help.

He would remain locked in his prison.

Petrichor's chest quaked with dry sobs. He trained his eyes upward, thankful that his wretched body could not produce tears very quickly, as his vision remained unblurred when he took in the stars. The sight of something beautiful, one last time.

The digger sighed, glancing at his headstone once more.

"Well. It does say you were beloved," they remarked. "Beloved son. They wouldn't've put that there if you were some bloodsuckin' serial killer, huh?"

Petrichor made no further attempt to look away from the stars, but allowed himself to hope again. Perhaps he would be allowed out, if the digger would take pity on him.

His rescuer shook their head. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

They produced a small blade, rolled up their sleeve, and sliced themself across the back of the arm. They positioned the wound just above his mouth, allowing their blood to drain across his tongue.

Petrichor had never tasted blood before- not posthumously, that was. He had been buried shortly after his death, without time to fall prey to his new, monstrous nature. It was nothing like blood had been as a human: the coppery taste when he'd split his lip roughhousing as a child. This, this was everything. It was the sweetest honey, it was the finest glass of red wine, it was the flavorful broth of his mother's pot roast, it was life itself flowing into his veins.

Slowly, the muscles in his body lost their stiffness, and he could move once more. He raised his head up toward the source of the lifeblood, but his savior placed their boot firmly on his chest, keeping him pinned to the floor of his coffin.

"Think that's enough for now. Don't wanna get woozy." They tore a piece of cloth from their cloak, wrapping the wound. "Cat still got your tongue, buddy?"

"P-please," Petrichor rasped, his voice weak from disuse, "Kind... sir? I cannot go on like this. Whatever fate you'd bestow upon me, I care not, so long as I'm not forced to remain inside this box. I am a vampire, it's true, but I had never consumed even a drop of blood before tonight. I mean no harm. Please allow me to leave this coffin." His voice broke, his words coming out squeaky. "I was human once, too."

Desperate begging. He'd never thought his life would come to this, but he supposed it never had. His life had ended long ago.

The boot was removed from his chest.

"Alright, Petrichor Adams, take it easy," his rescuer said. "I'm not gonna leave you down here no matter what you are. That'd be crazy fucked up." They extended a hand. "Robin."

Petrichor took their hand, his own shaking. "Thank you so very, very much. You've saved me from an unbearable fate."

Robin pulled him up to standing, his bones creaking with the unfamiliarity of movement. "Huh. It's almost like you time traveled or something. Says you died when you were 23, that's like, practically my age. Guess the 200 years in between don't really count."

Petrichor wasn't sure what came over him, but he burst into tears instantly. His body had no trouble with it now, two centuries' worth of crying flowing forth all at once as he bawled.

"They count!" he wept. "I was down there, I- I was down there the entire time! I did not sleep!"

"Alright!" Robin agreed with haste. "Okay, grandpa, you're 226 then, whatever's good. Jeez, c'mon, you don't gotta cry. It's gonna be okay."

They rubbed their thumb over his hand, and he gasped from the sensation. After so long, every touch felt one thousand times stronger than it was.

Petrichor attempted to pull himself together. "Yes, yes of- of course."

"And listen, you gotta be quieter. We're reeeeally not supposed to be out here right now." Robin hopped up, pulling Petrichor up with them.

A knapsack laid at the foot of his grave, varied pieces of jewelry and a few golden teeth visible from the top.

His rescuer was a graverobber and a thief. But Petrichor knew his situation was desperate, and chose to say nothing. He was no better, given what he was now.

Robin noticed the direction of his gaze nonetheless, offering him a mischievous smirk. "Yeah, Graverobbin' Robin, that's what they call me. And by they I mean me, 'cause no one knows I do this." They began shoveling dirt back into his grave. "Good thing I do, though. Never thought I'd save a vampire on my side hustle, but life throws you curveballs, I guess. You know baseball?"

"I do not, I'm afraid," Petrichor replied, watching mesmerized as his coffin became entombed once more.

"Bro, how are you gonna die in Boston and not know baseball? I gotta take you to a game sometime. Literally first order of business, now that I've got money for tix!"

None of it felt real. He was finally out, but two hundred years had passed. Everyone he'd ever known and loved was long-dead.

He turned, looking to his family plot, but his eyes instantly caught a horrible burning sensation. A headstone in the shape of a cross.

Petrichor averted his gaze. Of course: he'd almost forgotten. He was no longer one of The Lord's creatures.

Robin finished, slung their pack over their shoulder, and motioned him to follow. "You can crash at my apartment while you figure your shit out. I'll grab you some more blood from the butcher's once the T starts running. That's like the subway. Uh, I mean- never mind, not important. Hope pig's blood's enough for you, 'cause I can't do that every day."

At the very least, he had Robin.

"That sounds lovely."

-

this was originally gonna be a one-shot but i think i might write more? oh god, am i really starting another vampire series? THIS ONE WILL BE SHORTER. A MINISERIES.

if you liked this but want something a more hurt/no-comfort flavored i recommend Our Man Flint by @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night!!

tune in on tuesday for some kane & jim!

everything taglist:

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@t0rture-me

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

@whumpshaped

@pigeonwhumps

@the-scrapegoat

one-shots taglist (this is only gonna have 3-4 chapters max so im lumping it in with the one-shots):

@icyheart-and-friends

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast

@whuarri

@whumpycries

@reborrowing

event: @whumpmasinjuly @promptsforyourwhumpfic

[daddyyy88]

“Please come back to me” | Lo’ak x human!y/n

if you’d like you can reblog my original work, but please don’t post it without credit. if you take inspiration from my ideas please tag me, I’d like to see how someone else would write it

word count: 2.1k

warnings: sort of mentions death, implied death of reader, Lo’ak is scared to lose reader, ?

summary: Lo’ak does not want y/n to transfer her consciousness because he doesn’t want to risk losing you

anything in bold like this in the middle of a sentence means it’s either Na’vi or meant to be in Na’vi but I don’t trust the translation websites so I just use the few words I know and make do with it💀

“Baby! Baby!” You say, running through the forest to find him. He smiles as he sees you, adorable and tiny as hell as your small legs run with speed to get to him. You looked so beautiful, your freshly braided hair blowing in the wind and the woven dress Neytiri made for you accentuating your curves even more.

Once you got caught up to him he quickly scooped you up and pressed a kiss to your cheek. You giggled and he said “what’s got you so happy today, my little love?” “My avatar is ready. I’m gonna test it out in a few hours, Lo’ak, are you ready? I’m gonna be just as tall as you, you won’t have to carry me anymore!” You said and his eyes widened, chuckling a little.

He kept moving as he said “that’s amazing, sweetheart, I’m happy for you” He was, truly. It’s just that he knows what’s coming and he knows it’s coming so much sooner now. Having an avatar is fine, but he knows you prayed to Eywa every night when you were younger begging her to make a Na’vi instead of a stupid tawtute. One day, very very soon, you were going to want to transfer your consciousness to your avatar body.

He was terrified for that day to come. He was worried that even after your deep connection with the great mother despite your lack of a kuru still wouldn’t be enough and you would not pass through the eye of Eywa. Mo’at had told you and him numerous times that was unlikely, but he didn’t believe it. He would rather die than even think about doing something that might take you away from him.

When you entered your avatar body for the first time he was busy hunting and Kiri, Mo’at and Neytiri guided you instead. He hadn’t seen your avatar body at all that day, or even the days after that. It was like he was avoiding you. It made you feel a little insecure, you’d been so excited about this and you thought Lo’ak would be too.

Less than a week later your ceremony came. You knew the ways of the people since you were just a baby, you only had to get used to using your avatar body. Once you were Na’vi, you’d be able to connect with the great mother, complete your iknimaya, and become a woman in the eyes of the clan, and mate with Lo’ak. Everything you’ve ever wanted.

“Lo’ak! Are you going to bring the avatar to the tree of souls for me?” You said, a bright smile on your face as your little legs tried to keep up with him. He sighed and said “um…I thought you were gonna have my mother do it”

You and Neteyam were so close as he was the one that originally found you. You were only a couple months old, your mom had just died and your dad had already died before you were born. The scientists at the lab must’ve gotten tired of you crying, at least that’s what you thought because they had kind of just thrown you out in the forest. You crawled around for a while, eventually crying your ass off for probably days until Neteyam found you.

Neteyam has since told you you were really skinny, and he could tell you just missed your mom. He brought you to his mom and dad and refused to let them do anything but let him take care of you. Of course Neytiri and Jake did a lot of work, but Neteyam took you everywhere.

He would take you with him while hunting, training, cooking, anything. He made a baby wrap so he could still have you with him while you slept and spent so long caring for you. You’d sleep cuddled up with Neytiri a lot, even though Neteyam took care of you. He says it’s because you saw her like another mother.

If it weren’t for him, you might not even be here. So it was kind of assumed that Neteyam would carry you to the tree of souls to transfer your body. Lo’ak was relieved, he didn’t know if he could do it. He almost wished he didn’t have to be there. It's like giving away your soul to the great mother himself.

“Well…I mean your mother is very important in my life but so are you. You’re going to be the father of my children one day” you said and he blushed at that. He chuckled and said “no, you’ll change your mind” he replied, he always insisted you didn’t actually love him and just didn’t know how to say no.

“So…are you?” “I um…I don’t know if I can” he said and you furrowed your little eyebrows. God you were so cute. He sighed and said “I don- I-I don’t even want to be there if I'm being honest. I don’t want to give your soul away to the great mother, y/n” “What? Lo’ak, I thought you said you were okay with it. You gave me your blessing!” You said and shook your head.

You started to get anxious now, did he really think you weren’t worthy? That you would pass through the eye of Eywa. “I just want you to be happy. But I’m scared, oeyä ‘eve. You’re everything to me, I can’t lose you” he said and tears filled your eyes.

You sighed and said “I am not worthy? Do you really think that?” “No, no it’s not that- I shouldn’t have said anything. Just, go get ready. The sun's starting to set” he said and you scoffed. He walked off you and you shook your head.

You didn’t go get ready, instead you hid in your hut which you rarely used because you slept at the Sully home so often. No one would think to look there for a while. You looked in your mirror that you had and more tears filled your eyes. Lo’ak was right. How could the great mother willingly accept a disgusting vrrtep?

Your chin trembled, you knew things were too good to be true. Did Lo’ak think less of you because you were human? Was he beginning to not love you? He promised he always would. Maybe that is why he didn’t see you yet. You were too different.

“Baby! We’ve been looking all over for you” he said as he came into your hut, crouching down next to you. You shook your head and said “it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to do it anymore” “what? Why? Is it because of earlier? Y/n-”

“No, you were right! I am not worthy. The great mother would never accept me, I’ll never be more than a vrrtep. I’m not good enough, not for the great mother and certainly not for you” you said, refusing to look at him.

He rubbed your back and said “baby, that’s not what I meant. I just…I’m just so scared. The great mother is ready to welcome you as one of her children, everyone knows that. But god, I’m so terrified to lose you. It’s my worst fear, baby. If I lost you I- Eywa, I don’t know what I’d do”

“But what if you’re right?” You said, finally looking up at him. He sighed and said “I guess we’ll just have to find out. Please…don’t let me ruin this for you. I’m so sorry, I should’ve been nicer. This should’ve been so exciting, and I ruined it”

You shook your head and said “it’s- it’s fine. I’ll go” “if you’re not ready anymore we can wait” he said and you stood up, walking away. The feast was already prepped and the whole clan was anticipating this. You couldn’t let them down.

Lo’ak came in and smiled at you, as beautiful as the day he truly fell in love with you. You smiled at him just barely. He caressed your hair and said “are you ready? I’m going to take you. Neteyam will bring the avatar”

“Lo’ak-” “shh! I want to. Come,” he said, bending down. You walked over, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He scooped you up and noticed you were shaking, something you did when you were…damn it he couldn’t remember the word. Started with an a maybe?

“Y/n…you know you’re gonna be fine right?” He said and you shook your head. He let out a shaky breath, he felt terrible for scaring you and he was trying to convince himself you’d be fine but he couldn’t.

He whispered a prayer over you as he walked, making you shake less. “You’re going to be just fine,” he said, gently setting you down. You looked up at him, reaching up to touch his face one last time. He caught your hand and kissed it, holding it tight.

Tears filled his eyes as he gently lifted off the mask and kissed you gently, but longingly. “Please come back to me,” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours as he stopped kissing you. He whimpered and you smiled slightly. “I-I promise. I I-I swe-ear” you said, struggling to breathe.

He smiled, kissing your cheek gently before he stood next to his mother, father, brother and grandmother. “You don’t come back and we kill you, girl” Neytiri said, a sad smile on her face as she cried.

She felt like she was giving up her child to the great mother, she was so scared. She didn’t feel this way with Jake, she convinced herself the great mother wouldn’t dare take him away from her and well, she was right. But would the great mother bless her so greatly twice in one lifetime?

You closed your eyes, your heart rate slowing and beginning the ritual. You relaxed, trusting that whatever happened was meant to be in your last moments in the human body. Lo’ak was shaking with fear, every prayer he called to the great mother wobbly and choked out. He was begging her, begging her to give you back to him. He made countless promises to the great mother, intending to fulfill every single one should his prayers be answered.

Mo’at called for everyone to stop and many of the clan members' ears perked up, tails swaying nervously as they watched. Lo’ak whimpered, running over to your avatar body as he called a prayer over you once more.

“Y/n…don’t…don’t do this. You promised me. You said you’d come back,” he said weakly, his entire body shaking. Mo’at bent down, whispering a prayer as her hands ghosted over your bodies.

“Just…wait,” she said, singing a prayer by herself. Lo’ak cupped your cheeks, sighing softly, giving up on hope. Just then, you opened your eyes and took a deep breath.

The clan gasped with joy, all whooping and yipping as they all cheered for you. Lo’ak’s body racked with sobs, Mo’at began to cry too. Neytiri and Jake ran over to you, hugging you tight as you sat up.

“Oh, sweet child. Thank you great mother, thank you!” She cried, the biggest smile on her face. You chuckled, looking up at Lo’ak. The truth was, he hasn’t looked into your avatar’s eyes not one time.

“Oel ngati kameie” he said, shocking you and himself. You blushed and tears spilled from both of your eyes rapidly. “Oel ngati kameie, sayríp”

Neteyam ran over and hugged you tightly. You looked around at the clan, looking behind you at your human body. You then looked up at Lo’ak with tears in your eyes as you whispered “I told you I’d come back” he scooped you up in his arms, standing up and shouting out at the clan.

He was so happy you came back to him. He should’ve known you would, your soul too pure for Eywa to withhold from the clan. He set you down and almost blushed when, despite being several feet taller than before, you still had to look up at him.

You threw your fist up, howling with the clan. You jumped down, hugging the children and the elders who also raised you your entire life. You’d never felt so loved. You felt like you belonged.

Kiri shoved him as she said “of course his skxawng ass scared her into thinking she wouldn’t come back” Neteyam laughed and so did Jake and Neytiri. Lo’ak shook his head and said “shut up! You wouldn’t get it cause nobody wants to mate with you” “Lo’ak! Be nice” Mo’at said and Kiri giggled.

Taglist: @laylasbunbunny @goddesslilithmoriarty

As of now l'm writing for

Eddie Munson

Lo’ak

Neteyam

Sebastian Stan

Bucky Barnes

CW!Bucky Barnes

Chris Evans

Geralt of Rivia

Henry Cavill

Chris Sturniolo

So just comment the taglist you want to be added to and l'll add you :)

[rosslovesspn]

alright so i wrote kind of a lil teaser for my crobby fic, it’s just a first draft drabble to get my creative juices flowing but feel free to read if you think it might be something you could be interested in!

fic synopsis: after dean & sam burn bobby’s flask, bobby’s soul gets sent to hell. lucky for him though, a certain demon ensures his stay is nice and comfortable! *spoilers for supernatural seasons 1 - 8 and probably more i haven’t decided when i wanna diverge from the og story yet*

~

Bobby had been expecting it to hurt. He had been readying himself for the feeling of being burned alive, had been expecting to scream in agony just like all the other ghosts he and other hunters put to rest did. 

He had been expecting pain. 

Excruciating pain, and then just… oblivion, or whatever the hell happens when a ghost dies. He had been trying to avoid thinking that far ahead. 

And yet, all he felt was a faint sensation of warmth, like coming back home to a roaring hearth after a day hunting, and as he closed his eyes (the image of Sam and Dean’s remorseful faces burning into his eyelids) all he felt was… comfort. Relief, even. 

Then the feeling faded, but instead of the complete absence of anything like he’d been expecting, he was met with the much more puzzling result of being set on fire that was…. Absolutely nothing. 

And not the kind of nothing atheists believed in, either. Literally nothing felt different. He couldn’t hear the screams of the damned in the background, nor the celestial harmonies of the angels, and as far as he could tell, he was still the same old Bobby Singer. 

Confused, he opened his eyes, and unfortunately that only made him even more perplexed. 

He was in an office of some kind; All silver metal and black leather, like the kind of thing that fucker Roman would like, except a bit more ‘class’ and less ‘evil corporate douchebag’ (at the thought of the Leviathan, Bobby’s anger flared up again, but it was easier to squash down when he wasn’t a vengeance-crazed spectre. He knew the boys could handle Earth’s little Levi infestation, despite the urge to assist them burying itself in his stomach like a goddamned mole). Slowly, as if afraid that by making any sudden movements he would be dragged back to the mortal plane, Bobby lifted his arm and inspected it carefully. He seemed to have been reverted to the exact same way he was before his death – No pale skin, no flickery features and no murderous intentions (at least, no more than usual). So then what am I doing in this uppity place? 

“Boo.” Suddenly an accented, horribly familiar, incredibly unwelcome voice startled Bobby out of his examination. He whirled around, years of getting his ass beat by monsters kicking in as his body immediately set itself into fight mode. When he lay eyes on the well-dressed, well-damned demon standing just a few feet away from Bobby, wearing an expression like his shit don’t stink, the pieces started to fall into place within his mind. 

“Oh, balls.” 

~

hope you enjoyed this little tidbit of things to come! it’ll be posted on my ao3 as well where i'll post the full chapters if i write them so check my account out username roelovesspn if this tickled your fancy :3 if anyone has any questions regarding this fic just hmu on my inbox too (this is definitely not a way to get asks whatever do you mean-)

also special @ for @kermit-the-fag-uwu for giving me the push i needed to start writing this xD YOU HAVE GIVEN ME THE CROBBY FEVER ONCE MORE, THEY HAVE CONSUMED MY EVERY WAKING & SLEEPING THOUGHTS!!!

[kaija-rayne-author]

DA 4 Veilguard predictions

Okay so I wanted to get a whole ass post about what I think is likely to happen in DA 4 done before the reveals but I haven’t had the time between work and life.

There are MASSIVE spoilers for every Dragon Age game, book, comic, and most internet theories in this post. Proceed with caution.

Also I swear like the truckers I grew up around. So CW on language.

First and foremost, I’m going to warn you all that I’m a die-hard Solavellan. If you don’t like that? Don’t bother reading this. And for gods’ sake don’t bother arguing with me about it. Depending on my mood, I’ll either first roast your face off and then eat it with bbq sauce or if I’m feeling generous, I’ll just block your ass. You like what you like about games. I’ll like what I like. I don’t shit in your porridge, I ask you to not do it to me. As I’m writing this, I’m 47 years old and I’ve been gaming since I was 9. Which means I’ve been gaming longer than a lot of you have been alive. Stop yucking on people’s yum. There’s far too little joy in this world. Go find your own.

So, this is just a partial post (albeit, in true to me fashion, an incredibly LONG one XD). It will cover stuff I think we might see revealed in things this weekend at either SGF or Xbox whatever (I have no idea why they’d bother with the Xbox thing since they hold such a small share of the gaming market these days but whatever.) We’re seeing something between Friday and Monday. Hopefully, enough to give hope to the masses.

Depending on how much time I have before I have to serve dinner I might add some more of my theories.

It’s a bit silly of me to be so obsessed about this game because my computer definitely won’t be able to handle it, and because I’m a disabled, neurodivergent author with a family to support… well… the likelihood of me being able to buy both a computer able to handle it and the game itself any time in the near future isn’t good. So, I won’t be able to play it. I am going to add my links and a go fund me to the bottom of this post (which has taken me hours to research and write so if you would like to donate to the cause I would be so deeply appreciative. Dragon Age is one of my AuDHD special interests, and it’s killing part of my soul to know I can’t participate when it comes out. I promise I’ll write all sorts of interesting stuff about it!)

But I can’t help myself. Letting my research-oriented, lore-obsessed brain noodle about Dragon Age is one of my very favourite special interests. So, without further ado… here goes!

CLASSES

I think we have a good chance of seeing some of these as playable classes.

Knight-Templar ❌

Lord of Fortune ✅

Antivan Crow ✅

Mortalitasi (Nevarran necromancer) ✅

Grey Warden ✅

Shadow Dragon ✅

Shaper/Carta/Kal-Sharok/Sha-Brytol Dwarf ❌

Veil Jumper ✅

Fen’harel Fanatic (not his usual people, the fanatical ones detailed in Tevinter Nights) ❌

Companions

A lot of these ideas come from the supplementary material that I’ve read at least three times each. I’m obsessed. What can I say?

Qunari: ✅ Tal-Vashoth Sarrebas, maybe Qwydion? ❌

Rivani Lord of Fortune: ✅ ‘Hollix’ maybe? That would be fun, plus they are canonically non-binary! Please please please? With sugar on top? ❌

Tevinter Mage/Magister: ✅ Maevaris Tilani ❌ would be so cool, but I’d be equally as happy to see Neve Gallus. ✅ Honestly, they both have benefits for me. Mae is trans and Neve has a prosthetic leg. Alternatively, I liked Myrion ❌ well enough that he’d be a cool companion too. And he’s canonically bisexual from what I read between the lines.

Grey Warden: ✅ Please let it be Antoine! ❌ (Antoine absolutely has ADHD and I would love to see more of that rep in a AAA game.) Evke ❌ could be fun too.

Templar Knight-Commander: Rana Savras ❌

Spirit Companion: I really hope it’s not Audric. 1. He’s not really a spirit, he’s a higher undead, which is a Zombie by any other term. And all the poor guy wants is to organize his library. I’ll be quite disappointed with the writers if they go this route.

So, we’ve had Faith/Wynn, Justice/Anders, and Compassion/Cole. There are two other widely known benevolent spirits in Dragon Age canon. Valor and Hope. Given what I think is gonna happen in DA4, my money is on a Hope spirit. ❓

Antivan Crow: ✅ Illario Dellamorte. ❌ (I really really hope it’s not Lucanis Dellamorte. 💩 He’s so damned annoying and gods that is NOT how an assassin operates. Here's my professional editorial opinion of why Lucanis is an absolutely terrible character.

Veil Jumper/Dalish/City Elf: ✅ Strife. ❌ Please please please? He’d be so awesome as a companion character. He’s not young! I want an older companion character. (And it would let them get away with the white hair on a darker skinned character without it being racist as fuck.) I just really hope he looks better than he did in the comics. The art style in those was just fucking terrible.

I am hoping that we can somehow romance Lace Harding. ✅ But I just don’t see how she could fit in with the reported likely classes and things I’ve personally considered.

That gives me 8 even though reports say we only get 7. But did you notice in this picture that there are 8? So either we’re gonna get a ‘secret’ companion like Loghain Mac Tir. (Three guesses who that will be and the first two don’t count.) Or they have a surprise for us. Or the art is off.

I could also see Kieren ❌ as a companion. (Morrigan’s son) He’d be just about old enough if we get the time jump reports are saying we will. He was roughly 12 in DAI. + 2 for Trespasser puts him at 14. Ten years minimum between Trespasser and DA4 puts him at 24. So, it’s possible. I could also see Vaea as a companion. But I’m not exactly sure how she would fit with classes.

Potential Advisors

Some of these I’ve got as potential companions as well because I could see them fitting either.

Dorian Pavus for Tevinter Magisters (I think this is very likely given Tevinter Nights.)

Maevaris Tilani (Same as above.)

Charter (I think we’ll see Charter stepping into Leliana’s place as Spymaster given what we saw in Trespasser and Tevinter Nights.)

Myrna/Audric (Mortalitasi)

Ramesh (Grey Wardens)

Genetivi (Scholar) (given what happened in Tevinter Nights I have a feeling we’ll be seeing him again under a new name)

Viago De Riva (Antivan Crows)

Andarateia Cantori (Antivan Crows) I’d love to see Zevran again but considering what he was up to in DAI I think it’s unlikely. Although something did happen in Tevinter Nights that might make it possible.

Lavellan: With how the story in DAI ended and what we saw in the end scene of Trespasser, I think they’ll be important in some way.

Fenris: (Wandering Warrior)

Cameos we might see:

Fenris

Isabela

Arishok Sten

Antaam Rassan

Kieren (Morrigan’s son)

Zevran

Vaea

Sebastian Vael

Viago De Riva

Andarateia Cantori

Lavellan

People I don’t think we’ll see or if we do it won’t be for long.

Cassandra (thank gods)

Morrigan

Leliana (sads)

Most of the cast of DAI and the previous games.

Bosses we’re likely to fight.

Solas. He’ll be a mini-boss and maybe one you can talk out of a fight.

FleMythal

Elgar’nan ✅️

Ghilan'nain ✅️

Andruil. She and Ghilan’nain often go together.

Critters/bad guys we’re likely to see.

Bone creatures from the necropolis.

Changed darkspawn/humans from Ghilan'nain’s labs. ✅️

Tentacley sea creatures from Minrathous and other ‘experimented upon by mages’ monsters.

Werewolves may make a comeback.

Antaam.

Venatori. ✅

Fen’harel Fanatics (these are different from Fen’harel agents).

Whatever or whoever the people across the sea are.

Carta dwarves

Titans

Sha-Brytol dwarves

Antaam Rassan

Antaam

Things I think we’re likely to see.

We’re going to see trans/non-binary rep. ✅ I deeply believe this is happening. I will be so sad if I’m wrong.

Sad as I am to say it. Varric is gonna die. The writing has been on the wall in drippy red marker since they fired his writer. I hate this, personally. I grew up listening to Brian Bloom (Varric’s VA) and he’s just one of my absolute favourites. But I don’t think Varric is gonna make it.

The how? I think, narratively, they’ll do it in a way that hurts Solas a very great deal. In DAI, Varric is one of the few people that Solas listens to. Apologizes to and actually talks to with a sense of respect in his tone that he rarely does with anyone else. Given events in the comic The Missing where Solas saves Varric several times… yeah. ✅️

If I were writing it? It would be an angsty as fuck scene where either something Solas does accidentally kills Varric in a friendly fire isn’t friendly sort of situation or that Solas can’t get there in time to save one of the few people he actually probably considers a friend.

So, the pain of Varric’s death will be what in the writing/editing trade we call a pinch-point for Solas’s character arc. How the player decides what happens will likely be one of those crucial choices matters points that will turn Solas down a darker path or possibly toward a redemption arc.

Flemythal isn’t dead. I’ve talked before about how she is not the happy fluffy bunny version of a mother goddess. Sure, she might be a mother goddess. But she’s the type that reminds us that mother nature is often more red in tooth and claw than nurturing.

And the lady is bent. Bent on revenge. Bent on using people to get her revenge. Just… if she ever was the good and kind person that Solas remembers? She definitely isn’t anymore.

I have a feeling given one of the stories in Tevinter Nights that FleMythal has infected Solas (vs sharing her power in a simple power up to help him save people move) with the dragon soul. Which could have been part of Mythal's soul even before the dragon had it, if some theories are correct. There’s been a lot of imagery and description of a dreadwolf like creature that is half lupine, half dragon. So, something is going on there.

And honestly, I think that’s going to be Solas’s breaking point with mommy dearest. (Please, please don’t let them have been lovers, that will squick me out so fucking bad.)

“Betrayal is always worse.” Is one of Solas’s really heartfelt lines in DAI. If I’m right, and FleMythal somehow manipulated that dragon soul she got from Kieren (talk about fucked up action right there) so that it’s gonna change Solas into a half dragon half wolf demon thing… welp.

I think FleMythal will find that Solas has a bit more backbone than he ever had in the past. He’s not alone now. He knows he’s not alone. He’s got friends. He’s got someone who deeply loves him in a romanced Solavellan playthrough. I don’t think Solas is going to be very happy with his dearest ‘best of them’ Mythal.

Best of them? Yeah. It doesn’t mean she was actually good.

So Mythal isn’t dead. I think she’s likely to be one of if not the BBEG along with whoever that voice was at the end of the teaser. My money is on Troy Baker ❌️for the VA and I’m really curious if I’m right. I’m thinking that’s probably Elgar’nan. God of Vengeance. Perhaps Mythal and Elgar’nan patch up whatever divine argument they’ve been having via celestial couples therapy or something. Who knows.

I think we’re going to see a split path depending on the choices of the player for Solas. Depending on our choices, he could go really dark, or he could have a redemption arc. Patrick Weekes tweeted to me that ‘there’s a possibility of a happy ending for Solavellan’ so I still have hope. I trust Weekes to write a satisfying conclusion to the Solavellan Romance. (I just don’t trust Bioware as far as I can throw them.) Weekes was the lead writer on this game, so I think it’s a good possibility that that’s how it’s going to be structured.

I think the game will very possibly be a multi-act structure like DAI. The first act is possibly going to be like the Hinterlands leading up to Coryphyfish blowing the hell out of Haven. I think the veil coming down is going to either be what starts off the game ✅ (like the explosion of the conclave in DAI) or will be the final ending situation of Act 1. Again. Player choices will likely affect this to some extent.

But y’all? That veil is coming down. ✅ And yes. I’m aware of that silly new name for the game. I don’t like it. (That ‘the’ was a mistake. Veilguard by itself would’ve been much better linguistically.) But if you’ve been following my ramblings about Dragon Age for a while, y’all will know I have issues with their linguistic usage and editing already.

Dumped Drunk and Dalishious did a fantastic piece on her blog about the veil. It’s here if you haven’t read it. Firstly, the veil was never meant to exist in THEDAS in the first place. If you deep dive the lore (and trust me, I really have. A LOT.) It’s obvious that the veil has been the cause of more problems than it has fixed. It’s been slowly killing magic in THEDAS since its creation. It has to come down. It’s also as holey a granny’s doilies anyway. Solas taking it down in a controlled fashion is very likely going to prevent far more deaths than if it keeps just falling apart piecemeal like it’s been doing forever. It’s unfixable and it really really needs to go. ✅

So once that veil drops… I don’t think it’s going to be as horrific as everyone has been bellyaching about forever. Solas’s often misquoted and wildly overblown lines from Trespasser (seriously do y’all even know what the word genocide means? You make me doubt.) are very likely a red herring at best. People are being willingly misled. ✅ I can’t really blame y’all.

Weekes is an absolute Master at playing people’s expectations and assumptions off of their preconceived notions, then throwing a bomb of ‘oops you were all wrong and it was right in front of you the entire time’. They’ve even said they really love to write things like that. I want to write as well as Weekes does when I grow up.

Humans existed before the veil. Why wouldn’t they afterward? Given some of the lore, Qunari also existed before the veil. Why wouldn’t they continue to? Will there be chaos? Yup. ✅ But change is often painful. And if anything needs change it’s the world of THEDAS. (Both for story reasons and for gameplay reasons.)

One of the changes I think we’re likely to see is the implosion of the Chantry. (I am absolutely hoping for this. I’m not a fan of organized religion on a grand scale like that and the Chantry has soooooo damned many skeletons in its closets and atrocities under its belt that I will absolutely celebrate when it burns to the ground.)

Which will happen if it comes out that Solas put up the veil in the first place and took it down too. The Chantry either outright claims or strongly insinuates that the maker put up the veil. It’s the cornerstone of their entire faith. Also, in the story Genetivi Dies in the End in Tevinter Nights, Genetivi is absolutely wrecked by the discovery that everything he’s ever written as a travelling Chantry Scholar has been a lie. The Chantry is going down.

So, there’s gonna be some chaos there. And that’s not going to be Solas’s fault because that veil is coming down anyway.

And can you imagine the absolutely hilarious chaos that’s gonna happen when word leaks that an elven god-mage was the one who is technically the ‘maker’ by Chantry doctrine? With all the horrific racism and sheer awfulness the Chantry has done to elves over the centuries? I’m popping popcorn.

I think we’re gonna see Felassan again. ✅️ Cause that elf isn’t dead. And no, Solas didn’t kill him. Please trust me, I’ve combed through all the lore, I’ve read The Masked Empire where it supposedly happened several times, and there is not a shred of actual proof that Solas was the one who did the deed. It’s a Weekes misdirection again. They've got the nickname Tricksy Weekes for a reason.

The actual facts about the 'murder'.

It was someone Felassan worked for.

Someone he knew.

Someone who he knew wouldn't listen to his reasoning. (Solas has been shown to actually listen to his friends and let them change his mind.)

Someone who could very likely have been female because Felassan likens the murderer to Brialla.

It was someone who could fade-walk or move in the fade.

Mythal can do that.

A Somniari/Dreamer can also fade-walk.

Probably most of the still extant Elvhenan can do it (which there were quite a few of in Mythal’s temple).

And we know from DA2 that at least one modern born Somniari/Dreamer exists in the world.

Point being, there’s no actual ‘Solas killed Felassan’ spelled out anywhere. No, not even in Cole's lines in Trespasser. Those lines only indicate that Solas knows about Felassan’s ‘death’ and that he’s sad about it. Cole talks in riddles and references to modern TV shows all the time. I have no idea why people take him even remotely literally.

I have a few theories about this.

IF Felassan’s spirit actually was killed in the fade (possible) his body wasn’t. His body would’ve been just lying there in the woods breathing like any other Somniari. Possibly made tranquil (which we know can be reversed).

What if Solas lost his original body in putting up the Veil?

What if he had a deal with Felassan or maybe came to Felassan to help him get back to his body after the attack and Felassan decided he was done and wanted to move on?

They're said to be friends. Never said to be employer/employee.

If Solas was awake and in the fade and sensed an attack on Felassan, he'd certainly have gone to help.

What if he gave his body to Solas?

Felassan's 'death' chronologically lines up to when Solas 'woke up'.

Felassan has purple eyes. So does Solas.

Felassan has fade-green magic. So does Solas.

Felassan is incredibly powerful. Stares at Solas.

Felassan knows far more about Fen'harel than even a scholar would.

Felassan knew far more about Eluvians, ancient Elvhenan, and The Forgotten Ones (Imshael is a Forgotten One) than anyone would reasonably expect any elf to know.

Felassan let Imshael see into his head about what was coming in the future. Which Imshael almost got off on. Imshael loves destruction and chaos.

I can make a list as long as my arm on similarities there. So, either Solas didn’t kill Felassan and the old? Felassan will be in the game once the veil falls, or it will be revealed that Solas has actually been wearing a (voluntary because a soul cannot take a body involuntarily) Felassan suit the entire time.

Probably blew some minds there, huh?

So given that Weekes has said that if Felassan was a popular enough character they would consider bringing him back… I think it’s likely we’ll see something to do with him again.

Also? The sheer hilarity factor of elves who do not want magic (Fenris anyone?) getting magic returned to them is going to be sweet.

I think we’ll see blood magic as a much bigger mechanic than in previous games. (And I hope they did some work on it to make it make more sense this time.) The game is going to have a lot of Tevinter content. Blood magic is a big deal there. Ergo… it’s likely.

Given some of the things that happened in Tevinter Nights, which honestly really feels like a teaser book to DA4 (I really hate the Veilguard name) I think it’s likely that we’ll see the Templars again. They’ve been in every game and book so far. I doubt they’d get rid of the useless bastards in this one.

Given some of the things in Tevinter Nights, I think it’s possible we’ll see just as many puzzles as we did in DAI, if not more. I’m hoping for more. I do love puzzles in these kinds of games.

I believe it’s highly possible that whoever drank from the Well is going to be completely fucked. Especially, if they follow a ‘kill Solas’ route. Remember who the well binds you to in Trespasser? Bingo.

I think it’s very likely that someone close to the main character is going to be a dual agent of Fen’harel. And it will not be someone we expect. We’re all gonna be side eyeing the mages after the last three games. But what if it’s a warrior or rogue who hides their magic? There was at least one character that completely hid their magic in Tevinter Nights.

We’re going to see more of the Evanuris and The Nameless/Forgotten ones. I base that on Imshael being in DAI and in Masked Empire and some of the dialogue between Felassan and Imshael.

Titans. We’re going to see the titans waking up and being royally pissed off. This is going to cause so much chaos for the dwarves. Who will also regain magic and a kinda creepy hive-mind thing, too. Again. That’s not going to be Solas’s fault.

We’ll have at least one Gala event. Very possibly in Minrathous or Vyrantium. Hopefully with better clothing.

Finally, for things I think likely… The Grand Necropolis in Nevarra is gonna burn. People seem to forget that Solas doesn’t just fight for the freedom of the Elves. He fights for the freedom of spirits too.

In case you haven’t read it… the Nevarrans imprison spirits in the corpses of their dead using mages called the Mortalitasi. I really don’t think that is going to sit well with Solas. In fact, I know it doesn’t. It’s spelled out in Tevinter Nights.

I think it’s probably going to be a quest line for the main character to go and save the necropolis or let it burn to free the spirits. This, of course, will be one of the choices that matter and likely another pinch point on whether Solas goes dark or gets a redemption arc. It will also deeply affect Nevarran politics and the way the country is run. The Mortalitasi basically rule the monarchs of Nevarra sooooo. It’s gonna cause chaos there too.

We’ll obviously see a lot of chaos with the Qunari. Their culture is splintering already. The Antaam have decided to go off the rails and attack anything and everything. Maybe the Ben-Hassrath will be able to rein that in. Maybe not. I don’t have very many predictions on the Qunari to be honest. They’re at war with Tevinter at the end of Tevinter Nights so that war will figure heavily in the game, most likely. But how that’s going to play out I haven’t a clue.

Some mechanics I think we might see.

Fade-touched weaponry that can stop mages.

Elemental interactions. (IE: Magic lightning x water = lots of zap)

Magically treated arrows. ✅️

More magical bombs and poison effects. (I might be just wishfully dreaming there because one of the things I miss from DAO is the poisons and traps mechanics. They felt like an afterthought in DA2 and DAI. I want to be able to make cool traps and set up ambushes again.) But there was that story with Dorian in Tevinter Nights where several of those things were used, so maybe? It would be cool.

I think it’s likely that we’ll see the Despair Demon from Tevinter Nights. And I’m still so mad that they fired the writer of that story. It’s one of my favourites.

Some things that are very possible? But I’m not sure of and could just be wishful thinking.

I think we might see Abelas again. (Abelas romance? Pretty please? ❌😭) His story does have one of those endings that kills him so it’s possibly just wishful thinking. But they brought Leliana back for DAI, so I don’t see why they couldn’t with Abelas too. And also, I have a voice kink and love his VA Matthew Gravelle.

We might see non-linear storytelling. I kind of hope we do because I love non-linear storytelling. Perhaps one storyline will be Arlathan (through dreams or time travel perhaps?) and the fall of it so we finally get some answers to all of this lore. (Please let us get some answers!)

We may see some problems from a rather irrational faction of people who say they’re working for Solas but are using methods he would never approve of. They may be sort of like the Venatori in the last game. Though I do think it’s likely we might have to fight a few more of the Venatori too. ✅ They’re still out there having really messed up rituals and stuff to destroy things.

I think it’s possible given a few clues in the lore and in Tevinter Nights that we’re either going to see not just a double blight (regular darkspawn and red lyrium darkspawn) but a triple blight with the green/yellow lyrium found in Ghilan'nain’s labs. Remember that Ramesh only destroyed one of them. There are eleven more. I think that’s going to very possibly be a big part of this game.

Settings/Levels/Areas I think likely.

So, we already know that the game will be taking place in the north of THEDAS. That’s a no brainer after the map reveal in the teaser.

But where exactly will they take us?

In Tevinter, I think it’s very possible we’ll see Minrathous ✅ and Vyrantium. We may see the Black Divine’s/Archon’s palace.

We’ll see Arlathan Forest. ✅ That I’m almost certain of. We’ll probably also see ancient Arlathan somehow. (Dreams or barely used time-travel mechanic from DAI?)

We’re going to be spending a lot of time in the deep roads and even farther below the deep roads. And dear developers please let me have some answers to all this lore.

We may spend some time inside a Titan again.

Pre-veil drop, we may spend some time in the fade. I actually hope that with the veil dropping we get to rescue whoever got left behind in DAI. That would make my heart so happy.

We’re likely to see the crossroads at least a little bit.

Antiva! Gods I’m looking forward to seeing Antiva.

Anderfels/Weisshaupt. We have no idea at the end of DAI or Tevinter Nights or Last Flight what the hell is going on up there, so I think we’ll have to find out in the game. Also… more chaos that is most definitely not Solas’s fault.

Rivain?

I think we’ll see the Golden City. And the Black City. Which is likely the same place.

And I don’t think it’s up in the sky. I think it’s deep underground below the deep roads.

Ships! I think we’re going to see some more ships. That’s based on a story in Tevinter nights and some of the splash art. But gods I really want more ships. Especially in a place like Minrathous or Antiva for fuck’s sake!

I think we might see some underwater levels for various reasons. And I hope we do.

These next things are honestly my hopes and dreams that would make me so happy, but I have little to back them up with as far as lore or books/comics and supplementary materials.

Polyamory options. PLEASE give me polyam romance options. BG3 did it. It’s 2024 and only 30% of dating people are monogamous. Get with the times! ❌️

I want CC body sliders so bad. ✅ Give me the ability to make a fat player character please! Not just because a lot of gamers tend to be on the heavier side but honestly? Because a fat adventurer is going to be able to go farther than any skinny twig. Real strong men/women/enbies do not look like gym bunnies and models. They have a good layer of fat over that muscle for stability. Guess what fat is? It’s energy storage. A fat adventurer is going to be able to survive longer than a twig. I could go on… but come on Bioware. Be brave. Let me have a fat adventurer. ✅️

Decent. Fucking. Hair. ✅ Please let the CC have decent hair options. LONG hair options! Let me have my long haired elfy prince dude!

Isabela cameo. She’s one of my favourite DA2 characters and some of the early splash art makes me hopeful we’ll see her again. ✅️

I’m hoping for DAO origin style stories for the Main Player Character. But ideally? We’d have something like BG3 where we could play one of a number of origin stories or make our own blank slate character. ❌ Given the gossip going around the gaming community I’m thinking this is unlikely, but damn do I want it.

Useful. Mounts. Please let us have actually useful mounts. And GRIFFONS. ✅ Give me flying mounts you cowards!

Prosthetic using characters. ✅ Bioware has the worst track record when it comes to ableism, but gods please. They’ve got it set up perfectly with Inky losing their arm. There’s a prosthetic leg user in Tevinter Nights. PLEASE LET ME HAVE PROSTHETIC USING CHARACTERS.

Better Crafting Options. The crafting was okay in DAI. Especially if you mod it in so you can buy the stuff to do so easier (I really hate killing dragons but it’s the best crafting material!). But it also often felt more like an afterthought?

Better. Clothes. Seriously. Give me some razzle dazzle with the clothing. ESPECIALLY since we’re going to Tevinter where how you dress is absolutely important!

I know this is sniffing the genie smoke here, but could we have actually attractive armour options? With BRIGHT colours? Research shows that a lot of historical armour was 1. Gorgeous and well fitting. 2. Brightly painted! Let me have bright colours! (And please not the yellow plaid. Ugh.)

I hope for more gardening options in whatever base we end up using. I loved the gardening options in DAI, but they weren’t big enough for my plant loving heart.

I really want to see Solas in flying Wolfie form. We see him like that in Tevinter Nights. So, I really hope we get to see him like that in game.

Finally… and I know I’m high on my own hopes here… I really hope we get the gifting options back. Completely unattached to approval is fine. I just want to be able to find the perfect gift for my companions like I do in real life with my friends. It brings me so much joy.

Things they’re likely to fuck up.

Sadly, I think there’s some things Bioware is very likely to fuck up. This could just be me being too pessimistic, but they’ve screwed these things up throughout the entire series and to my knowledge they didn’t hire any diversity consultants in the making of DA4 sooooo…

Ableism. Bioware has a terrible record when it comes to ableism. ✅ (the demon design is going to cause visual strain and possibly bad effects for epileptic gamers).

White-washing. The North of THEDAS is like the South of Earth. If they make most of the people there have light skin I will probably boycott the fuck out of Bioware for the rest of my life. ✅️

No fat character ability in CC.

Really fucked up hair options. Seriously Bioware. It’s bad.

And I think they’re going to be in trouble when it comes to the Lords of Fortune. Look. I love the idea of the class and I even love how a lot of them are described in the books. But it’s absolutely glomming onto the stereotype of the Romani, and I don’t think that’s going to go over well at all. It won’t for me with my Romani heritage, and it really shouldn’t for anyone. Cause you know what that stereotypical usage is? It’s Racism. Bioware also doesn’t have the best track record regarding racism either.

As more thoughts come to me I’ll either append stuff to this post or do others (probably the latter.)

And here are my links if you want to toss me a buck or two as a tip. I'm recovering from a pulmonary embolism (do not recommend) and every penny helps because I'm the sole income for my family.

And if you're in Canada like me you can use Interac. Kaija.rayne.author@gmail.com.

As always, thanks for reading my rambles!

[limey-self-inserts]

Badsansuary Entry 3

Prompts: 15. Glow in the Dark & 20. Jacket

A/N: Killer takes the lead in this one! take warning for some uncomfortable content of apathy & inappropriate Soul handling. you can check out the full Badsansuary prompts list here

word-count: 2.2k

writing tag-list: @lavenoon @mikealys-ael @kissingarthurclaus @bugsband @avenships @faerie-circle-ships @textreasures-rbs

-

The grocery store bell jingled as the door swung open. Behind the main counter, a humanoid cat entity with an exhausted expression briefly looked up from his phone, eyeing the pair that were walking in surrounded by an air of one-sided bickering, before immediately looking down and away with a disinterested sigh.

“- and if it hadn’t been for that stupid electric trap-” Aspen grabbed a couple of energy bars off a shelf, pausing to look back to Killer. Underneath his hood, an uncommon pair of pale eyelights stared back. When he didn’t respond to the energy bar, Aspen replaced one and started shuffling along the snacks for other options. 

“I’m just saying, that Blue guy sure can be an asshole, and I am not looking forward to the talk with Nightmare,” they continued. “Stupid magic and stupid shortcut limits and stupid fucking public transport.”

At least this grocery store was completely empty, otherwise Aspen might have had second thoughts about being so vocally grouchy. But it was empty, and they were tired, and Killer had to be exhausted given he’d near drained himself to shortcut the pair away from the Dream Team. And now they were here, rummaging through crisp packets with a silent skeleton. Seeing that he’d paused a few steps back, Aspen retreated to his side, gently taking his jacket sleeve between their fingers.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just bone tired.” When Aspen’s expression didn’t shift from their concern, he tilted his head to the side. “What? Not humerus enough?”

That earned a crack in the frown, a brief flicker and a snort as Aspen shook their head, almost disappointed in him for cracking puns in this state and at themselves for laughing at him.

“Look, it’s not the good monster food, but you are going to need to eat something.”

“No.”

Aspen’s head drooped. They weren’t Axe, they couldn’t push a sandwich into Killer’s hands and glower expectantly until the skeleton took a bite. They weren’t Dust, who…well, he tended to be more likely to toss a cereal bar at Killer and levy him with a threat of Nightmare dropping on his head to get him to eat. Cross simply didn’t bother - those two were constantly circling between hackles raised and peacefully sharing a space together. And Aspen wasn’t any of those three, and certainly not Nightmare. 

One of the strip lights overhead flickered and began to buzz, a distant irritating sound. 

“If you don’t at least choose something and put it in your pocket, I’m going to tell Axe and then he’s going to be the one on your ass,” Aspen grouched.

“Not going to snitch to the big boss?” Killer’s head tilted, eye sockets narrowing even if his grin didn’t fade all the way.

“I’m not that mean. C’mon. Pick something.”

A couple more minutes stretched out between the pair. The strip light flickered again. Killer’s eyelights faded out for just a few seconds, before the glowing gaze wandered over to the shelves. Reaching up, he grabbed a bag of snack biscuits and shoved it in his pocket.

Well, it counted.

Aspen headed across to the grocery counter, digging in their pocket for whatever loose change they kept around for ‘stuff in an AU’ emergencies. 

“One Go-Go energy bar, and one bag of Snack Lite Grillby biscuits,” they told the clerk, who barely raised a bored look from his phone to tally up the total. Which was…more than what Aspen had in their hand. Their mouth opened, closed, then quietly deposited their fistful of coins into the payment bowl. Slowly the clerk looked from his phone to the coins, then up to Aspen.

“That’s not gonna be enough.”

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Just put it all back where you found it. Both of you.” He glanced past Aspen’s shoulder over to Killer, who waved a hand and put the snack bag back on the shelf.

All the wind in Aspen’s sails began to deflate out, shoulders sagging. Collecting their pile of useless change and their own snack bar, they put it back where they’d found it, beckoning for Killer to follow to the front door, a soft chime echoing behind them as they stepped back outside.

The rain that had been leaving foreboding droplets as the pair had entered the store was now coming down in full pelt. Aspen grimaced, yelping as it immediately started to soak into their jumper and down the back of their neck. They hot-footed across the pavement to the nearby bus stop, Killer sauntering lazily behind them.

Nighttime clung to the city, with dark roads and simmering street lamps. Even the bus timetable on the side of the shelter barely cast a glow as Aspen ran their eyes over it.

“...Fuck’s sake.” With nothing better to do, they gave the corner of the shelter a good little kick, grumbling at the metal and plastic. Another half an hour still. Half a damn hour of waiting in the cold and dark.

“Kinda rude to be kicking something that’s keeping you dry,” Killer chimed with a vague sound of laughter. “Here, you’re not you when you’re hungry.” 

In his open palm, held out to Aspen, was a Go-Go energy bar. 

“Did you steal that?!” Aspen hissed, eyes wide with alarm.

“Of course I did.” He nudged the hand forward insistently. “You gonna eat it or am I gonna have to tell Axe you didn’t have a post-Encounter snack?”

Silent fuming as Aspen watched their own threat turned on their face. Grumbling softly, they took the energy bar, stepping over to the narrow bench and flopping themselves down. With a vague air of content, Killer plopped down just barely an arm’s reach away from them.

The rain continued to drum out staccato beats on the bus stop shelter. Wrapping their arms around themselves, Aspen sunk back to rest their back against the plastic. All that was visible from in here was the dark and the puddles that rippled with neon orange across the other side of the street. 

A heavy soft thing dropped over the top of their head. Fumbling and muttering, they pulled it free, finding fleece and leather and Killer’s jacket in their arms. The skeleton plopped down beside them, pulling his hoodie up over his head.

“You’ll get cold,” Aspen blurted out. “With your magic like this-”

“Just take the stupid jacket.”

Their tongue lodged in the back of their throat, Aspen pulled the jacket on over their own hoodie. It was cool, as if no-one had been wearing it before, but quickly began to warm up from Aspen’s own body heat. They took another side glance at Killer. Right now, the way he hunched over with hands in his pockets, it’d be easy to mistake him a more classic Sans. The only giveaway was the red target over his chest that the hoodie managed to drape across when viewed from the sides. 

It rippled, even now. Like the puddles out on the street. It glowed softly in the dark, casting red light across Killer’s chest and the underside of his skull. His eyelights weren’t visible now, leaving him with an empty stare that stretched out across the road and into somewhere beyond.

The rain drummed and scattered. The air held heavy and silent under the bus shelter.

“...Does it feel scary? Having your Soul out in the open?” God, what a choice of light-hearted conversation to go with. Aspen immediately turned away from Killer, fumbling for their energy bar as they muttered, “Actually, no, forget I said that-”

“Don’t be a coward.” 

Killer’s head had turned towards them, the empty gaze now hooked onto Aspen. He waited, expectant, as they swallowed the mouthful of food they’d taken.

“Does it ever feel scary with your Soul exposed? Especially, y’know…Encounters usually have monsters focusing on each others Souls. It’s how magic works, from what I’ve been told,” Aspen picked through the words uncomfortably, only able to meet Killer’s look in brief glances.

“Oh yeah. Absolutely.” Killer hummed, tilting his head to the side. “It’s a part of me, after all. It’s not supposed to be so…vulnerable.”

“Is there, uh….any way to fix-”

“No.”

Aspen sighed softly, curling up further into Killer’s jacket. For a couple of minutes, the silence returned between them.

“You’ve never seen your Soul, haven’t you?”

“I have, only a couple of times. Usually when Cross or Dust wanted to-” Aspen’s words constricted. The rest of their sentence died in their throat as they felt a painful yanking motion in their chest, watching as their Soul manifested in the air between them and Killer. His fingers curled and the heart-shaped object drifted closer to him, tugging Aspen an inch along the way.

It was a soft lush green colour. Kindness, Aspen had read that green Souls had the strongest correlation to that trait. But this green Soul looked like it had rotten parts to it, patches of darker green akin to bruises or weak points. Woven across those sections were threads of purple, bordering on magenta with the strength of their hue. The lack of light under the bus shelter left it glowing just as strong as Killer’s target, but the purple threads shone with a greater glow than the green Soul itself.

“Hmm.” Killer tilted his head with the soft noise of curiosity as he leaned over, as if he was inspecting a trinket he’d just picked off the ground. A black droplet of Determination rolled over the edge of an eye socket. “Cute.”

“C-Cute?” This wasn’t the same as when Aspen had to go through a gravity attack during training, when it just felt like a handful of heavy books had been dropped on their chest. This felt like someone was actively rooting around inside their chest, tugging at the insides, cradling their heart.

“Yeah. You’re so Kind, it’s nearly gotten you in all kinds of shit. Some folks really took advantage of that, and you paid the price.” Killer ran a thumb through the air, like he was caressing Aspen’s Soul. A pulse of heat followed a ripple of cold inside their lungs. Their hand gripped the edge of their seat, sweat beading across the palm and their forehead.

“But you had a secret, that’s been keeping you together this whole time. You’ve got Perseverance by the bucketload, but you’re only willing to use it to hold your Kindness together,” Killer continued. “No wonder Nightmare figured you’d manage to make it if he dragged your hide along with us. You’re just that bit harder to off in a bad situation. Stubborn to stay alive, meek to take orders. Cross would be jealous.”

More black ‘tears’ were actively dripping from Killer’s eye sockets now. Red, purple and green lighting coated his skull in a kaleidoscope, the shadows thick and sticking to the back of his skull and the edges of his hoodie. Similarly, Aspen’s face was bathed in colour, only more purple and green than red. It gleamed in their eyes, glittered across their skin in the crystal beads of sweat. 

In this dark space, there was soft, tender light.

“Does it hurt?”

“Mm?”

“When I hold it like this?”

“Ah - n-no, not really. ‘S uncomfy though.”

“Come a lil closer. Breathe slower.”

Aspen was practically in Killer’s space at this point, their knees bumping against his. His thumb traced the air across their Soul once more, sending another pulse of sensation into their chest.

“It doesn’t usually feel like this,” they admitted, voice shallower than they would’ve liked.

“Probably ‘cause Cross and Dust never actually held your Soul. Tethered with magic is different business to this.” Leaning forward, he tilted his head back to the other side, looking right up into Aspen. “You wanna do the same?”

The red target seemed to shimmer. The edges rippling. Bracing, expectantly.

“No. I don’t,” Aspen replied.

Killer stared back, as if surprised. Or disappointed. His expression remained blank however, while his fingers twitched and uncurled. Aspen’s Soul drifted back into their chest, the green and purple glow vanishing from the air between them. A sharp breath was drawn, hurriedly filling lungs that’d felt constricted and taut. But now the rest of them felt lax - a cord had been severed, muscles could relax once more. Closing their eyes for a moment, Aspen pulled the edges of Killer’s jacket closer around them, feeling a shiver that was more than the cold air passing through them.

Off to the side, they could hear a bag rustling, and the sound of biscuits being crunched.

The rain continued to pour.

Aspen’s head sagged backwards, resting against the wall of the bus shelter. The nighttime, the constant droning, the chilled air, the uncanny sensation of fatigue from a source deep inside them - it mixed in and around them, pulling at their eyes.

“When’s the bus gonna be here?” they mumbled, glancing up from under the jacket hood to peer at the timetable screen.

“Not for ‘nother ten minutes,” Killer replied. “We’ll be fine though.” His hand landed on Aspen’s shoulder, giving them a light shake. “Wakey wakey, you can sleep when we’re back at Nightmare’s place. C’mon - I know a shortcut.”

Behind them, the grocery store clerk finished locking up his shop for the night, pulling heavy metal shutters down and locking them in place. Grimacing at the sky, he hurried to the empty bus stop, and waited for the bus to arrive.