#we rag on it for being messy at the edges because It Is and I wouldn't be writing fanfic if I didn't have some qualms

[greenerteacups]

What do you think of jkr as a writer? I for one has always felt like she didn’t treat her female characters well. It felt strange, being critical of her when she was god queen of the earth, and also being 10

I think most of the problems in her books can be chalked up to genre hopping. Books 1-3 are perfectly good and serviceable children's books — great children's books, even! They have compelling, relatable characters and juicy mystery plots. They have problems, sure, but for the first three books someone's ever written — especially someone with little or no background in creative writing — they're really fucking good. So: there's her flowers.

The last four books pivot sharply into much more emotionally complicated and sociopolitically loaded territory, because they're describing a war. And it's hard to write children's books about war. I would venture you can't really do it, at least without dramatically misrepresenting what war is! And so Rowling makes the executive decision somewhere during the writing of Book 4 that she's not going to flinch away from that, she's going to go for dramatic realism, and she kills Cedric Diggory to let us know. People had died in Harry Potter before, of course — Quirrell gets sent to the fucking shadow realm, for example. But children haven't. (It also gives parents who are reading these books with their children a warning shot: shit is about to get significantly more real, think twice before you buy the next one of these for your 10-year-old.) After that, Rowling starts leaning much more into dramatic realism, and the fast-paced mystery-novel plotting of the first few books is replaced by a slow, simmering political conflict that unfurls over the course of about a million words.

The problem — besides the fact that she's picking one of the hardest things to write about, like, in all of literature, war is really insanely complicated and emotionally intense and hard to portray well — is that she's now trying to use characters, plot points, and technologies she developed for a children's series to enact a sprawling war drama among teenagers and adults. So Hermione, who was a reasonably precocious snobby eleven-year-old, becomes this sort of encyclopedic all-knowing savant of the wizarding world, who somehow remains functional and mostly even-headed despite her identity being the chief target of a prolifically murderous terrorist group. Draco Malfoy, a schoolyard bully whose primary tools included 1. namecalling and 2. telling teacher, JOINS said terrorist group (and admittedly does react reasonably, i.e., has a total crashout and takes to sobbing in a girls' bathroom whenever he gets a free minute). Dumbledore, who starts out as "whimsical friendly winky-wink trustworthy grandfather type", ends up being Magical Winston Churchill in a violent game of spycraft and espionage, eventually revealing he's only been keeping Harry at all these seven years because he wants to KILL him! And like, maybe really good technical writing could smooth out these transitions and make the first-order dramatic choices seem more natural, but Rowling is like, a Fine Writer, technically speaking. meaning she's reasonably consistent in characterization, her plotting is well-paced and believable, she has a clear authorial voice, and her prose is readable. personally, that's not enough to get me to buy into some of the changes that happen in the later books, and because she stuffs these things so full with new elements every installment, a lot of stuff ends up getting glossed over.

And like, I still love the books. I think they're wonderful, and they taught me how to read. but i can say that and also say that Rowling probably did herself a disservice by trying to write four giant war novels as sequels to her first three mystery children's books.

[bradleysass]

The Snare of the Stag Pt 2 - @leeny-leens - word count: 949 - Sorta Starchaser in the making

The silence in the corridor was suffocating. Regulus could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears as James’s grip on his robes tightened. The usually polished Gryffindor golden boy looked entirely unhinged, his breath ragged, his glasses reflecting the flickering light from the torches on the walls.

“You’re pathetic,” Regulus hissed, his voice trembling despite his effort to sound composed. “Obsessing over me because you can’t have Sirius anymore? Is that it? He’s done with you, so now you—”

James’s hand shot up, slamming against the wall beside Regulus’s head. The sound echoed down the corridor, making Regulus flinch.

“Don’t,” James said, his voice low and dangerous, “bring Sirius into this.”

For a fleeting moment, fear flickered in Regulus’s chest, but he forced himself to meet James’s wild gaze. “Why not? Isn’t that what this is about? Living in his shadow, trying to control everyone around you because you can’t control him?”

James’s lips curled into a grin, but there was no humor in it. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Always playing the part of the perfect Black heir, doing what your family wants, pretending you’re not already drowning in it.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But I see you. I see everything.”

Regulus shoved at James’s chest, his wand slipping between them. “Get off me.”

James stepped back, his hands raised in mock surrender. “Relax, Reg. I’m just trying to help you.”

“Help me?” Regulus snapped, his voice sharp. “You’re delusional.”

James tilted his head, studying Regulus as though he were a puzzle to be solved. “Maybe. But you don’t understand yet, do you? What it’s like to be consumed by something? To feel it burning inside you until there’s nothing else left?”

Regulus’s stomach twisted at the intensity in James’s voice. He tightened his grip on his wand, taking a step back. “You need to stay away from me, Potter.”

James smirked, but there was something cold in his expression now, something calculating. “You can tell yourself that all you want, but we both know the truth. You’re just like me. And sooner or later, you’re going to realize it.”

Before Regulus could respond, James turned on his heel and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. Regulus stood frozen, his heart racing, the weight of James’s words pressing down on him like a heavy stone.

The encounter left Regulus rattled, but he refused to let it show. He threw himself into his studies, his Quidditch matches, anything to distract himself from the gnawing unease that had taken root in his mind. But James was always there, lurking at the edges of his vision. In the Great Hall, during Quidditch practices, even in the library where Regulus sought refuge late at night.

It wasn’t always direct. Sometimes it was just a glance across the room, or the feeling of being watched. Other times, James made his presence known in more unsettling ways. A crumpled piece of parchment left on Regulus’s desk in the library, filled with cryptic, rambling notes in James’s messy handwriting:

"You’re hiding something. I’ll find it. I’ll understand you."

Or a Quidditch practice where James collided with him midair, sending them both spiraling to the ground. Regulus had been furious, accusing James of sabotage, but James only grinned and offered him a hand up.

“Just trying to get closer to you,” he’d said, his voice dripping with mock innocence.

Regulus’s paranoia grew with every passing day. He started avoiding empty corridors, refusing to stay out past curfew, but it didn’t matter. James always found him. And the worst part? No one else seemed to notice. To everyone else, James was still the charming, heroic Gryffindor. The idea that he could be anything else was unthinkable.

But Regulus knew the truth.

It happened on a cold, stormy night in December. Regulus was returning from a meeting with the Death Eaters—an initiation task he couldn’t refuse without risking his family’s wrath. His mind was heavy with the weight of his double life, the fear and guilt gnawing at him like a persistent parasite.

He didn’t notice the figure waiting for him in the shadows until it was too late.

“Late night, Reg?” James’s voice drawled, smooth and casual.

Regulus spun around, his wand already in hand. “What the hell are you doing here?”

James stepped out of the shadows, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. But there was nothing casual about the look in his eyes. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“None of your business,” Regulus snapped, his voice sharper than he intended.

James tilted his head, his grin widening. “You’ve been busy lately. Slipping off into the night, keeping secrets. It’s almost like you don’t trust me.”

Regulus glared at him. “Why would I?”

James’s grin faltered, just for a moment, replaced by something darker. He took a step closer, and Regulus instinctively raised his wand.

“Stay back,” Regulus warned.

James stopped, but the intensity in his gaze didn’t waver. “You don’t get it, do you?” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “You think you can keep hiding, keep pretending. But I know you, Regulus. I know what you’re capable of. And you can’t run from it forever.”

Regulus’s grip on his wand tightened. “You’re insane.”

James laughed, a wild, unhinged sound that sent chills down Regulus’s spine. “Maybe. But at least I’m honest about it. Can you say the same?”

Regulus didn’t wait for an answer. He turned and ran, the sound of James’s laughter echoing behind him like a haunting melody.

The game had begun. And Regulus knew, deep down, that it wouldn’t end until one of them broke.

[finnickfan8]

“Thank you”

Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader

Genre: Hurt/comfort and smut

Warnings: smut, mentions of trafficking (very brief)

Your husband never slept well, so when he did you knew not to interrupt his one sense of peace. You loved hearing his soft snores and little noises as he nuzzled against you. Sometimes he would talk in his sleep babbling on about nothing, that’s how you knew Finnick, your Finnick is in a state of serenity.

His skin was velvet despite the scars and callouses that add a nice contrast in texture to the cashmere of his sun-kissed skin. His ambrosial scent was intoxicating and it filled your nose and then your mind with bliss.

The angelic man began to stir, his breath become more ragged and unsynchronized with your own. Finnick’s once somewhat swarthy knuckles became pale as he clutched the sheets near your waists. His nose twitched and his mouth dropped to let out a little ‘no.’ Finnick was in danger you knew it.

You stroked his messy tufts out of his face and shushed him, hoping to lull him back to sleep. To your avail he tosses over before flailing back in to you. You hold him still and start humming lullabies to him. “Shhhhh Finny, it’s me. It’s Y/N. You’re safe and I’m safe.” He starts to wake up and raises his tear stained face from your chest.

“We gotta go, the Jabber Jays, they have your screams. I’m so sorry.” He cries in to you, clutching your shirt. “I’m supposed to be here for you and here your ‘strong’ husband is, whining in your eyes like a child.” His sobs continue, the emasculation furthering as he cries in to you.

“Shhhhh, Finn, you know that’s not true. I love how you comfort me.” you pull his head up to look at you as tears rush from his sea green orbs. “Now it’s my turn to comfort you. What’s wrong, handsome?” He breaks eye contact and sits up.

“I saw them. The people i’ve killed, the people i’ve been sold to, and you. What I had done to them, the terrible, horrible things, was being done to you.” He pulls you up to sit between his legs, stroking his fingers through it, separating strands. “You were alone in the games, Jabber Jays screaming at you as the tributes took their turns taking a go at you in both ways. I stood there unable to do anything.” He shuddered a bit, braiding your hair to try to calm himself down.

“That would never happen, you have always protected me.” You smiled weakly at the love of your life, trying to reassure him but not knowing how. His hands go from your hair to your thighs, running them up and down.

“You’re always here for me and I want to thank you.” He trailed off, playing with the seams of your shorts. “Only if you want me to, because consent is very important.” He smiles down at you, kissing your forehead.

“You don’t have to use your body to thank me, Finnick. I wouldn’t marry you if all I liked was your body.” You were sure this was something he was taught to do in The Capitol, and you didn’t want him to feel like he had to.

“No, please.” He looked at you with glossy eyes. “I want to thank you this way. What do you say, Love?” You nod happily, knowing he did enjoy making you happy. Before you knew it, you were strewn in the middle of the bed and legs on Finnicks shoulders as his tongue took a lap around the inner edge of your labia.

Long strokes of his tongue went around the edge of your cunt as he avoided your clit, teasing you. A strangled moan escaped you as he flicked his tongue against your clit before going back to making zigzags across your pussy with a flat tongue.

His tongue dips in, slightly, just rimming you. His actions were so painfully teasing. “Please Finnick.” you whined, grabbing a fistful of his hair. Finnick obliged, kissing your clit gently. He started to suck and roll his tongue over the small bud. The way he used his mouth drove you crazy, within minutes, your legs were shaking and you were mewling.

“You look so pretty.” Finnick breathed out before kissing your cunt, looking up as you as he inched his long finger in to you. You moaned his name, feeling the stretch of his finger gliding in to your walls. “You’re doing so well.”

He starts to move his finger inside of you, slowly in and out as his thumb circles your clit. his mouth starts to kiss up to your breasts, taking one in his mouth and gently circling the nipple of the other. His thumb on your delicate nipple, flicked it up and down as he desperately sucked your other breast.

He pulls off with a ‘pop’ and adds another finger. Your cunt clenches around him as his nimble fingers find your spongy G spot. Finnick abuses that spot, hitting it over and over until you’re begging him.

“Please Finnick, it’s so good you’re so good. ” You choke out and he grunts in response. He was so focused on making you cum. He switched which hand was in you and moved the other, slightly lubricated one, to your nipple, toying it up and down.

“You’re so perfect baby, come on show me how good I make you feel.” His mouth lands back on to your clit, sending you over the edge.

You moan out, tugging at Finnick’s bronze locks as he relentlessly shoves his fingers in to you at a seemingly supersonic pace. Your orgasm is long and drawn out. For the first time, you squirt and in to Finnick’s mouth at that. He pulls you in to a quiet kiss, showing his love.

“Such a good girl for me my love. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Finnick begins to go get a towel to while you up with when you pull his wrist.

“Nope, your turn.”

[m0r1bund]

Hi. It’s been 3 months. I am still alive, I have just been busy with… stuff… and things… haha… a…

This is not The Thing that i have been busy with, but it is A Thing that i have been using as a siesta from The Thing. You are getting my no-effort warhamster art, because everything else is firing on all cylinders right now. And boy am i more of a no-cylinders kind of gal.

This is Frey and the Oracle of Caeres. They are very messy and also in nemeses with each other. I should probably stop making up gay people who are in nemeses with each other, because the messaging and social commentary about the Empire is suffering. But here we are.

Long image descriptions and essays about made-up gay people under the cut. Read on below or at m0r1bund.com ▶︎

[Image: A sketch page of Frey and the Oracle of Caeres. The Oracle is a rather distinguished-looking individual with a sharp profile, perpetually lidded eyes, and a knowing smile. His lips are painted red, with a single streak running from his lower lip to his chin. Her hair falls past her shoulders in loose curls, while her embroidered galero casts deep shadows over her face that are only vaguely sinister. He wears circle-rimmed glasses that hide his eyes when the light catches them right, and a long, loose cloak that obscures his silhouette. Under it, her double-breasted overcoat is tailored to her svelte frame and broad shoulders. She has no business being as tall as she is, and carries herself completely secure in the knowledge that everyone around her knows this.        

Frey is a severe-looking mechanic who is rough around the edges, and really is quite full of edges in general. She has strong features and a tall nose, and her hair is styled in a messy undercut, with her bangs bleached white. They fall over her eyes in such a way that she looks chronically pissed. She wears her old mechanic’s jacket with its sleeves cut off, the ragged edges framing her strong shoulders and lean, muscled arms. She’s on the smaller side overall, though. The rest of her uniform has seen better days, and in many places has been defaced so that the Imperial cog symbol is broken or obscured. She totes around a revolver with a shiv taped to it, because of course she does.

The two are drawn butting heads over this or that. In one scene, Frey holds up the Oracle at gunpoint, just after executing the poor sap who was sitting at his desk. The blood spray doesn’t faze the Oracle, and neither does the revolver. She seems inconvenienced at best by the thought of getting this all cleaned up later.

In another vignette, Frey is locked behind bars in a dingy little cell (perhaps for sending that man into an early retirement.) Her arms and legs are bound, though she tries to gnaw the ropes off her wrists. Suddenly, a ring of keys comes soaring through the bars and into her lap. She jumps, and looks up. The Oracle gazes down at her through lidded eyes, her expression unreadable. She walks away before Frey realizes that the keys don’t exactly help her current “no hands” predicament, though.

Another scene shows Frey and the Oracle sitting across from one another. The Oracle holds Frey’s wrist in his hand, so that he can daub perfume on it.

He says “It has notes of jasmine and bergamot. I think you’ll find it too delicate for your tastes, though.”

Frey is distraught. She came here to kill him, and this is not how she imagined it would go. She’s probably revisiting the thought in another doodle, where the Oracle leans over her shoulder and gets uncomfortably close to whisper something in her ear.

Finally, there’s a teeny scribble of an even teenier Frey climbing through the Oracle’s arched window with a shiv in hand. She is furious and singular of purpose, even if she does not seem to know what that purpose is. The labels above her head read “Mistaking attraction for rage” and “mistaking rage for attraction,” with arrows pointing to her. The Oracle just sits in the foreground and reads, smiling placidly, apparently oblivious. The label next to her reads “ambiently infatuated,” with an arrow pointing to her.]

◆

Content Warning: Blood, injury, death, messy relationships, abuses of power, typical Empire fuckery.

◆  

The Caeres, Kairos, The Oracle of Caeres, The Sacer Vates, the Oracle, the Seer, whatever. Our mans is all titles and no names that the living can remember.

Mercurial and mysterious, the Caeres creates no “Great Works” of his own, as far as anyone can tell. She commands no armies and governs no territories, and no one alive today remembers who she is, where she came from, or how long she’s been with the Archive. Most people don’t even know what office she occupies, because—like most Archivists—she hardly ever works.

Unlike most Archivists, the Caeres doesn’t spend his free time quibbling with his peers for power. The running joke in the Archive is that “the one person we see less than the God-King Himself is the Oracle of Caeres.” He only makes an appearance when he is needed, though these interventions typically don’t make sense until after the fact.

She is someone who holds many cards but plays very few. When she does, she would rather give others the glory of making history by ‘massaging fate’-- passing on a secret message, a forgotten relic, a key piece of intel, and so on. The annals of the Imperial Archive all have her touch on them somewhere. When Kairos can’t be found, one can only imagine that they are out there, somewhere, watching and waiting while their delicate machinations unfold.

The other Archivists recognize her power, and often consult with her behind one another’s backs on matters of politics, military strategy, and petty blackmail. But the Seer gives no innocent answers– if he gives them at all. Most people come away from their meetings with a poem or a proverb, and no meaningful directions for where to go next.

When he does offer more than pretty words, one can’t help but feel like they’re being used as pawns in a much larger game. The Seer does not lie; he gives counsel that is sound on paper and in practice. He has made kings, moved mountains, and brought empires to their knees. And yet she has ways of turning the sweetest success to ash in the victor’s mouth. Some chase headlong after their ambitions, only to become locked in bitter wars of attrition, while others win pyrrhic victories and lose it all. Others yet will live their whole lives owing their good fortune to the Oracle of Caeres, and only years after their death will anyone realize the significance of his involvement. Most are just left wondering what, exactly, the Oracle has in mind for them…

◆

Frey is the unwilling martyr (can any martyr be said to be willing?) of an industrial hellscape manufactory world. She used to be a mechanic, a forgettable cog in the manufactory’s labor machine. She wasn’t singled out because she was particularly disobedient, nor was she distinguished among her peers as gifted, respectable, or charismatic; she just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Dissent brewed in the manufactory, as it always does, in places where the straw boss can’t see. But by the time the manufactory’s Foreman caught wind of the rebellion, it was too late. He sought out the Oracle of Caeres for advice, desperate to get his colony back under control before the Powers That Be took notice and got him under control.

The Oracle was not interested in resolving petty administrative disputes. She blew him off with a nonsense prophecy: the Foreman could crush the rebellion, but only if he could find its head and cut it off. “You’ll know the false idol by her mark: yea high, dark hair, brown eyes, work-related injury scar on her right shoulder,“ or something like that. He made up a description of a rebel leader that was so specific and yet so statistically average that it should have been impossible to find… Or so he thought.

It came as something of a surprise to Frey, then, when the orderlies dragged her out of the ironworks and brought her before the Foreman. She had every mark the Oracle said she would–everything but the scar. Delirious with fear and frustrated out of his mind, the Foreman decided that if he could not find his figurehead, then he would have to create her.

Frey gained a scar that day, and lost everything. The awful spectacle was like a spark to a powder keg. The works went up in flames, as the factory floor descended on the Foreman.

Frey was not thinking about anything but her own survival when she crawled out of the wreckage, days later. She disappeared. Ironically, the rebellion was crushed, in the end–it lost its figurehead–but perhaps not in the way that the Foreman had imagined.

For her part, Frey isn’t interested in being made into something that she’s not. She left home bitter, lost, and angry with the hand that she was dealt. The Foreman might have been taken care of, but, it seems, there’s still another who hasn’t answered for what they did to her...

◆

[literatureatthebowofnails]

A/N: I love you like Katy loves The Eagles

Created for the 14 Days of Valentines community project, hosted by @muddyorbsblr

Series masterlist

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader

Includes: Smut, fluff

Summary: The morning after

You wake slowly in the unfamiliar bed. An arm hangs protectively across your waist, warmth seeping through the back of your nightgown. Before you're fully conscious, you pull the furs up to your chin, leaning back against the other body. The scent of burnt pine clinging to the covers is so cozy, you don't want to get up.

"Good morning, darling." He gravels, pulling you close. "Did you sleep well?"

You roll to face him, kissing him deeply before you respond, "Very." If you're being honest, you can't remember the last time you slept so well. It wasn't just the soft furs or the contrast of warm tower to the snow outside, it was being next to him that dissipated all anxiety, allowing you to sink through the deepest dregs of slumber.

"Has anyone told you how pretty you are with your hair all messy?"

"Not that I recall," he smirks.

Your hands slide up his cheeks to kiss him again. He groans into it, and you straddle him, brushing your lips down his long neck. You feel him harden as you crawl toward his stomach, leaving damp pecks in your wake. "I want..." your mouth meets his hardened abs "...to know how you taste..." you reach the first curls of pubic hair "...when you cum."

"That is," he purrs, "most unorthodox, darling."

With a tug of his waistband, you smile up at him. "And why is that?" Your tongue flicks against the head of his cock as it bobs to attention.

"Because" his eyes roll back as you take a longer lick. "Ladies should a-always be served first."

"You did serve me," you smile, tongue circling the head. "Quite well in fact." Lips stretch around it, releasing with a pop. "And now it's my turn." You look up, a devious glint in your eyes.

"If you insi-aaahhhh," his thought's cut off as you inch back down around him. Saliva slickens his shaft, your hand gripping its base. With a deep inhale of his heady musk, you push the tip to the edge of your throat. His hand grips your hair, and you press him to your limit before sliding up again.

"Norns," his breaths are ragged. "You're incredible."

His reaction, the salty precum, and sloppy sounds of your mouth spur you on. Your cheeks hollow, head bobbing in time with your fist. He grasps at the sheets, straining not to buck into you. "Darling, I'm going..." you hum your approval, sending him jutting toward your throat as heat floods your mouth.

You struggle to swallow while he shudders, spent beneath you. His breath returns to normal while you use tongue and fingers to collect what seed escaped.

He pulls you up, kissing you fiercely. "I know not what I've done to deserve you, but I'd do it a thousand times over if I could."

"I bet you say that to every girl who sucks you off," you grin.

"Never." He flips you beneath him, peppering kisses over your face. A thundering knock interrupts your giggles.

"Brother!" Thor's voice booms through the door. "There is coffee, and Barton got pastries. Bring your dear lady to join us."

Your hands cover your burning face. "Tell me he didn't..."

"Yes, thank you for the announcement, Brother. We'll be there shortly." Turning back, Loki gives you a vaguely apologetic look. "We're at the end of the hall and his is the next suite down, if that helps?" A grinning kiss meets your lips, his attempt at repentance farcical.

Standing, he promises, "I'll soundproof my chambers before our next rendezvous."

You get up and give him a final peck. "Thank you."

"Now," he looks you up and down. "We ought to dress for breakfast." A glow fills the room, leaving you dressed and ready for the day. Your fingers curl around the long sleeves of a sweater dress, its emerald knit hugging your curves. Thick tights warm your feet and legs, their black a match to Loki's tunic.

☕

"So gracious of you to join us, lovebirds," Stark broadcasts your entrance, sending heat back up your neck. Wanda gives you a wicked grin.

"Thank you for the declaration, Stark, but if you aspire to heraldry, you might learn to announce us by proper titles," Loki responds.

Thor looks up from behind the kitchen island, piling pancakes and bacon precariously on his plate. "You're here," he gives a puppyish grin, reaching for the carafe. "Lady Wanda told me of Richard's theory. While I have yet to meet this Richard, I'm thankful he convinced you to prolong your courtship."

Loki exhales exasperation, a hand spreading across his brow. "Apparently, I didn't explain it very well," the witch confesses.

"You needn't take responsibility for my brother's density, Lady Maximoff. He's been blundering about far longer than you've been alive." Thor misses the jab, having gone to the pantry for Pop-Tarts.

Loki insists you sit, making you a plate and coffee. You settle across from Clint and accept a Danish from the offered plate. "Wanda tells me you're not in New York much?"

"Yea," he explains, "I've got a family out of state. Since our youngest came along, my wife and I are outnumbered, so I tend to stick around the house."

Agent Romanoff scoffs. "He stays home because he's busy tearing the house apart with remodels."

Taglist: @peaches1958, @javagirl328, @loopsisloops, @goblingirlsarah, @buttercupcookies-blog, @lovelysizzlingbluebird , @cakesandtom, @ladymischief11, @km-ffluv, @coldnique

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist.

Next part

Main masterlist

[muse-writings]

Man In White Two

Glancing towards the door you start to tune out the conversation outside the room going back to listening to Minghao telling you a story from his childhood, “My parents are living comfortably in my hometown because of me joining this so-called mafia group, I enjoy working with all the other members, but I do miss my parents a lot as I’m sure Jun does as well.” Humming a response to him watching the muscles in his back relax seeming more comfortable with you already while you were still on edge being around anyone used to being on your own the majority of your life. Standing up grabbing the bowl and dirtied rags putting them into the bowl slightly bowing your head towards the man on the floor you walk out carefully passing the two men coming down the hallway keeping your head bent down to focus on your steps.

Running through the names of the men that you have met in your head this far you had met Minghao, Seung-Chol, Jun, Dino leaving nine members left to meet formally managing to keep out of the way of all of the members the rest of the day as they sit and talk together in the room where they had taken Hoshi you step out to the front of the house seeing the locked gate as the sun had gone down knowing that a few of them could possibly be leaving to go do some missions that their job requires to be done, wandering around the side of the house making your way to a small well taken care of garden with a table and tea set smiling a little before walking further away from the table. Hearing a twig snap on the ground behind you grabbing the first thing in sight which was a well sized rock before spinning around nearly throwing it, feeling a hand grab your wrist stopping you from throwing it looking up and meeting eyes with one of the members you haven’t met yet he chuckles a little while saying, “At least we don’t have to worry about you not being able to throw something, I’m Wonwoo.” Dropping the rock the both of you walk around the yard you turn on him abruptly saying, “Minghao and Seung-Chol weren’t lying about me not being left alone, were they?” He smiles shaking his head keeping his hands clasped behind his back his sword instead of being around his hips was strapped to his back.

Feeling annoyance creep into your head you walk away from him heading back inside searching for an empty room figuring you had slept in Minghao’s room last night and not want to inconvenience him again for another night seeing as you were only a guest of this rag tag mafia finding an empty room towards the back of the house where it was quiet you slip into the room and shut the door opening one of the doors finding a mat rolled up in there along with a pillow and blanket. Carefully rolling the mat out and setting the pillow down before laying the blanket out across the mat you light a candle after making your way over to the mat and sitting down closing your eyes to try and at least meditate to keep the fear and anxiety at bay while knowing that at any point in time they could get rid of you whether that was killing you to make a point or putting you back in your house alone without a promise of watching to keep you safe also, knowing that one day you would have to tell them that one of the king’s officials was your uncle that he had stood by while your parents were massacred as a young child and he did nothing to help you grow up into the person you are today.

Jolting upright noticing that the house is as quiet as death you see the sun is slowly rising questioning when you had fallen asleep that night, making sure that the candle had in fact been put out before leaving the room seeing your favored man in white come out of his own room hair messy as if he had been tossing and turning with worry all night. Sliding back into your room out of his sight as he gets ready to turn to look down the hallway realizing that it doesn’t seem like any of the other members are in the house. Feeling that same annoyance come back just like it had appeared last night when Wonwoo had confirmed by just smiling at you when you had asked him that those two weren’t joking leading to a question, could they know who you are already? Did they have plans to try and get at your uncle for who you were? Being so lost in thought you hadn’t realized that Minghao had shown up in front of you as he says, “We were wondering what room you had gone into Wonwoo wouldn’t tell us the damn snake.” Jumping before looking at him clearly being snapped out of your thoughts he puts his hands on your upper arms keeping you upright with amusement in his eyes.

Looking at him wide eyed before shaking his grip off your arms moving quickly to grab his rushing your words out, “Do you know who I am? Do you know who my uncle is? Are you guys planning on using me to get to him?” He stares at you mouth agape with a confused look on his face as he snaps out of his confusion he softly says, “Hey whoa whoa it’s alright we don’t know who your uncle is, we only know that you were alone, we have no ulterior motive bringing you here besides to protect you. Who is your uncle do we need to be concerned about him?” Letting go of his arms you step back on shaky legs hands clearly shaking before sinking down onto the floor trying to take a few deep breaths you hear footsteps retreating before hearing him and another member come back up the hallway. Keeping your eyes trained on the ground you can barely see a bit of black robes along with Minghao’s white robes as they quietly converse the ringing in your ears too loud to make you look up or acknowledge the conversation. Feeling someone kneel by you before feeling a hand on your wrist someone clearly trained medically as they find your pulse, hearing a soft hiss before the man checking your pulse says, “Hao go get me my medical bag I don’t want to move her to the front of the house the boys will be coming back soon it’ll just add more stress and anxiety on her.” Hearing footsteps run down the hallway you look at the man out of the corner of your eyes.

Watching him move around you trying to coax you back onto the mat without freaking you out further he manages to get you on the mat and laying down before he pulls your attention back to him and out of your mind. Finally looking at his face fully he has a soft smile and a soft voice as he speaks to you, “If you ever need anything medical wise, I’m Jeonghan I can help you Joshua also knows some medical stuff as well just in case I’m ever not here to help.” Nodding a little bit you hearing footsteps rushing back up the hallway before the door slides open Minghao appearing seconds after standing next to Jeonghan messing with his hands worry clear on his face Jeonghan turns to look at him telling him to breathe before signaling him to leave the both of you alone take one last look at you before he leaves shutting the door behind him knowing he would refuse to leave the hallway in front of the door. Jeonghan shakes his head muttering something to himself before turning back to focus on you pulling some items out of his bag handing you a couple of tonics that seemed to help calm you down, he helps you sit up before asking quietly, “What brought this moment of panic and anxiety on?” Sighing crossing your legs before turning to fully face him while quietly saying, “My parents were murdered by the king’s men and my uncle who is one of the kings’ favored officials stood by and watched, he didn’t seem to care what happened to me. I was worried that you guys knew who I was and who my uncle was and that I was going to be used to get something out of him.” He slightly shakes his head reassuring you they didn’t care who you were and who your uncle was is a story for a different time.

Jeonghan watches over you for a little reassuring you that they would talk about your uncle later when you had calmed down enough to be able to form a coherent sentence, hearing a knock at your bedroom door he hums in response letting them know they can come in having noticed two silhouettes at the door it slowly slides open revealing Seung-Chol and Minghao as both men step in an hour an a half having passed since Jeonghan had given you the tonics. They both sit on the floor near your mat as Jeonghan explains what caused the panic attack watching both nod Seung-Chol turns his attention to you saying, “Are you comfortable enough to tell us about your uncle?” Nodding you slowly sit up letting the blanket fall to your waist before taking in a breath, “My uncle is one of the kings’ favored officials he’s the secret royal inspector, the king refuses to let it be a temporary position for my uncle. He stood by as my parents were killed, he thought I had already died since we’ve lived around this area my entire life. He somehow caught word of me still being alive and has sent multiple people to my door to try and kill me so that his misdeeds never got out to the public.” Minghao stares at you in stunned silence as Seung-Chol gets angry hearing your story he gets up storming out of the room not wanting to expose you to more anger than you have already seen in your life.

Jeonghan gets up quickly following him to ensure that he doesn’t go after your uncle outright knowing this is something they would need to plan for especially having to disappear after getting rid of him for everything he has done to you hearing some shouting come from further down the hall you get up as fast as you can. Grabbing onto Minghao’s sleeve after he stands up so that you can both go down the hall to try to resolve the situation stopping in front of the group that had gathered around Seung-Chol you squeeze through them getting in front of him grabbing the collar of his robes forcing him to look at you, “Do not go after him uncle you all have come up with a plan and somewhere for us to go they will come after us until we’re dead.” Watching the rage leave his eyes he takes a deep breath nodding as you let go of his robes. Stepping away you look at the group of men gathered watching as their shoulders slump in relief that you had gotten him to calm down.

[nyf-archive]

i'm doing more of the herbs below so imma do the read more so i don't have to spam the dash. AHEM. HERE WE GO!

nox

Dandelion

You grew up too fast and all you know is the calluses on your fists and the thousand invisible scars that you pretend don't ache. Your anger burns so bright, so hot or maybe not at all, so deep you could never tell it was there. You are yours and you will defend that to the death after so many years of being ripped apart and denied your own agency and maybe you are still facing the bastards who stole your innocence but you will survive because that's the only thing you know how to do without breaking, the only thing you know besides protect, protect, protect, protect, yourself or sometimes those few others you claim as yours. You are a thousand sharp edges but impenetrable, a traumatized child so covered by thorny armor that you promised yourself you're grown now, you're stronger than anyone who has ever hurt you. You're safe. Nothing will ever hurt you again. You're so alone though sometimes, in a world that sees you as too much or too broken or too angry or too hurt, and you want to scream with the too-much of it, prove that you're okay, that you're self-reliant, that you are strong enough to stake your claim on your body, on your mind, on your heart, on your people, and protect it from any who dare take it away from you. You are the sea in tempest, a howling sky, a tsunami in motion, a force of nature, no matter how much you sometimes yearn to be still, to be safe, to be small. You are a dandelion, stubborn and determined to grow in the rockiest of soil, and bloom again in spring.

mollymauk

Oregano

You are home to so many people and yet you're not at home with yourself. Everyone needs something from you and you desperately try to prove that you're enough but you're never enough, never good enough, never even you despite all of that. Your hands shake but only when you're never looking at them and your smile is so ever-present you can't help but wonder if its fake, wonder how much of you is real. You're a caretaker, but are you even good at that, or are you faking yourself out into believing you're something that you wish you could, someone that someone else needed you to be when you were small and so full of need and hope and fragility? Who are you underneath the need to be someone's home? Who are you when you come home to yourself?

tavriel

Cumin

You see yourself so clearly that you can see the gaping hole inside you where you lost a piece long ago. It's there and it's ragged and painful and bleeding and you don't know how no one else can see it when it takes up so much of your awareness. You run from it, fight it, try to find it but nothing bandages up that hungry mawing void inside yourself and when you're tired, uninspired, you swear it grows and grows. You promise yourself you want to be alone, promise yourself that you want to be different, want to be special, love having this hole inside you and point it out in words or song or jokes and stories and take pride in that pain, in your uniqueness in this world of grays and storm clouds. You are 5 am rain on asphalt roads and sputtering street lamps. You are petrichor musings and messy guitar chords and a thousand contradictions wrapped inside a quiet cry, an evening of coffee and jittering hands and a promise that you're okay or that you're fine until you're falling apart in someone's arms or messages and pretend you're alright in the morning. You taste so strongly but sometimes you wonder if all you are is ash.

[itsoutrageouss]

Hey, is it okay if you wrote a story where Elliot fucks the reader in a bathroom while rue and Jules are looking for them? Thank youu❤️❤️

be quiet for me - elliot

pairing: elliot x reader

words: 0,8k

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, slight oral (fem receiving), elliot being a horny mess

—☕️

“Shh baby, gotta be -fuck- quiet for me, m’kay?” Elliot said breathlessly into your ear. He was caging you in as your hands grabbed desperately at the corners of the bathroom wall.

You nodded eagerly, pressing your face into the crook of his neck in an attempt not to make any noise.

Elli couldn’t wait any longer. When you had arrived at Jules’ house for her little birthday get together, you just looked so goddamn fine. His hand was creeping higher and higher on your thigh as all of you were watching a movie and when everyone was distracted with dancing and drinking, he had pulled you aside smoothly.

You were so tight around him now, as he fucked into you over and over again. His thrusts were fast and messy, and you were sure you’d never experienced him this horny ever. He near-whined into your ear, absolutely feral and head over heels for you in this moment.

“Elliot! Fucks sake, y/n! Are you fucking or something? We need you for truth or dare!” Jules and Rue yelled in turns, the sound muffled by the white bathroom door. No one knew you and Elliot had a thing going but he was too horny to be sly tonight.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he moaned your name brokenly. It seemed he was the one that had to be kept quiet, so you placed your hand roughly over his mouth while pushing his head back so he’d look at you. His eyes were watery and pleading, and your hand over his mouth made his eyes roll back and his thrusts impossibly faster. You didn’t reply to the girls as they laughed somewhere downstairs.

Your other hand gripped the edge of the counter he had put you on. His absolute desperateness made you clench around him even tighter, coating his dick is wetness that might even seep onto the tile under you. A thin layer of sweat was glistening on his temple as his hands clawed at your waist, his hips never faulting. “Shit I can’t-“ you whispered, pushing your hips into his now to feel him deeper, faster.

He felt your muscles tighten and his hand flew messily to your wet, puffy clit and rubbed it quickly. Your hand grabbed his wrist and your thighs shook around his hips where his sweats were pushed down. “Fucking cum for me, please,” he ordered, before footsteps where heard outside the door and a loud banging. Horrible timing, because you felt yourself squeeze Elliot’s dick so fucking tight, felt a hot slickness coat him while your heart raced and soft lips were open in a silent moan. You came so fucking hard and Elliot was stunned.

He wanted to reply to Jules’ obnoxious, drunken banging but his hand splayed on the wall instead as he buried his head in your neck, biting down on the apex of your shoulder as he came.

“Two seconds. I- I spilled on my shirt,” you yelled out hastily, breathless and ragged.

“Sure. Just don’t get anything gross on my counter please!” She laughed. “I won’t tell though, I promise”

She smiled to herself before leaving you alone.

Simultaneously you and Elliot breathed out in relief.

“God I’m sick of hiding this,” he muttered from your neck. You pulled his head up by his curls to look at him. When you opened your mouth to ask him what he meant, he pushed his hips flush with yours again, his coarse hair grinding against your oversensitive clit. Your words stuttered over each other into incoherent moaning.

“Fuck I wanna walk back out holding your hand. Please?” He asked softly, breaths still quick and ragged. You felt your heart clench at his request and nodded wordlessly.

“Okay.” You smiled, gasping gently when he pulled out of you. You were about to jump from the counter when you heard the soft of Elliot’s knees hitting the floor.

“So fucking pretty,” he said, voice low and hoarse as his thumb swiped through your wet, slick folds. Your stomach clenched at his words and touch, and he leaned forward to take your clit into his mouth. He sucked carefully while looking up into your eyes, hands on your thighs. You moaned shamelessly this time, not able to look into his intense gaze as your eyes averted to the ceiling.

He gave you a few appreciative kitten licks before getting up and handing you some toilet paper to wiper yourself down. When you had thoroughly cleaned the sink, per Jules’ request, you walked out of the bathroom with Elliot’s warm hand in yours.

[bowiebond]

CW: Edging, frottage, Billy’s being a bratty slut, and honestly, when isn’t he?

“Fuck, Hargrove, slow down.” His fingers are digging into his skin and Billy chuckled, grinding just a tad harder against the outline of his cock in those ratty dark grey sweatpants.

“C’mon on, Byers, you’re supposed to be a freak, right?” Billy said with a shark-like grin. Like his little show was so easy that it didn’t phase him, even if his cock was throbbing, leaking messily in his jeans as he spoke. “Or are you the kind who’s never had enough game to get your dick wet?”

“Shut up.” He groaned, throwing his head back against the pillow as Billy leaned down, pressing the heat of his arousal against Jonathan’s. He moaned lowly at the delicious friction, rutting as he panted softly against his throat, controlling his ragged breathing as much as he could.

“C’mon, I know you want to.” Billy flattened his tongue against the swell of his Adam’s apple and dragged it up to his chin with a raspy laugh. “All you gotta do is beg.” His lips brushed Jonathan’s parted ones but he refused to kiss him. He had to earn it.

“You talk like you didn’t make the first move.” Jonathan sounds annoyed, and the words make Billy’s dick twitch, his cheeks burn hotter. He’s right, Billy did come onto him first, climbed into his lap and rubbed his ass against him until they were like this. But it was his fault, wearing this fucking sweats. It was his fault they were thrumming with arousal, the front of their pants getting stained with precum because Jonathan’s are thin and Billy is just messy in every way possible; he leaks like a bitch who’s begging to be taken.

He kind of is begging, but he’s not gonna admit that. He needs to feel like he’s doing the freak a favour if he’s going to take out his dick and fuck himself on it like he’s craving. He’s so keyed up he might just cum the second he seats himself on that long, curved dick that would fit perfectly on his tongue and in his throat. Would sit so deep inside his ass he would feel it in his stomach. Why did the weird, gangly fucks always have perfect dicks? The universe was laughing at him, he was sure of it.

“That was me doing my charity work of the season.” Billy drawled, biting Jonathan’s bottom lip and tugging on it, just to watch the way those dark eyes get all hazy with awe. Because Billy was hot. He’s on a dangerous scale, hitting inferno levels, and no one could resist Billy. Not even Jonathan Byers. He let go of his lip and licked over it to sooth the bite, noting with a chuckle the way Jonathan’s tongue grazed his when he did it.

“I’ll get you off, but it won’t be as good as fucking a tight hole, Byers, and we both know it.” Jonathan groaned again, eyes squeezing shut at his words. He almost looked pained and Billy grinned, lips falling into a soft ‘o’ when Jonathan gripped his thighs, holding them in place as he rolled his hips up into Billy’s, making his own pace that was slower, more tortuous.

“Fuck.” Billy whispered, almost a gasp as he knocked his forehead against Jonathan’s cheek. The photographer tilted his head ever so slightly, his lips grazing Billy’s ear.

“I’m not fucking you.” Billy had to swallow back a whine, one hand splayed over his ass cheek as Jonathan moved them in tandem. Just those words made him feel physically empty, wanting nothing more than to be filled up with Jonathan trying to play hard to get.

“Not until you have the guts to ask for what you want instead of playing Mister Superior.” God, he sounded pissed and it only made Billy’s pleasure better.

“You want me so bad.” He laughed airily, drunk on the stroke to his ego as it tapered off into a low moan.

“Yeah, but you need me.” Billy’s thighs trembled under his hands, sweat dotting his temple as they rocked together, so close they were breathing each other’s air. It was dizzying.

“Shut up.” Billy whispered, so close to his peak it hurt, the pleasure so intense it turned painful and god, Billy loved this part, because it always followed with the satisfaction of climax.

But Jonathan stopped.

“No!” He slammed his hand against the blanket and groaned, burying his face in his neck. “Fuck, fuck you, shit.” He tried to move his hips, to tip the edge, but Jonathan’s hands were like iron.

God, he was pretty sure he was going to cry because what the actual fuck was this freak doing, stopping him when he was right on the edge?

“You want to cum?” Billy’s thighs were shaking so violently he couldn’t even hide it. He was going to kill him. “Then beg for it.”

Oh fuck him, turning his own words against him. Who did he think he was, huh? He was just some creepy photographer everyone made fun of in the hallways! Billy only intended to come here to do that stupid class project.

Billy’s lips quivered, cock straining against his zipper, jeans sporting a wet spot from his precum alone and it hurt. He needed to fucking cum or he felt he might die, or his dick would fall off. He couldn’t decide which was worse; losing his pride by giving in or losing his dignity by walking out.

“P…” He blinked a few times, lashes wet from where he was hiding his hot face in Jonathan’s neck. “Please.” It was hoarse, barely audible, but Jonathan’s grip eased slowly.

He unbuttoned the button of his jeans and Billy moaned in relief.

“That’ll have to do, now won’t it?” He spoke like he knew that was all he would get out of Billy, hand dipping into his jeans to caress his aching cock.

Billy’s eyes fluttered shut, groaning and fucking his dick into the dry, loose grasp around his length. It was almost too much, too sensitive, but Billy chased his pleasure in that hand until he sobbed out his orgasm, spurting thick white stripes of cum onto Jonathan’s shirt and the waistband of his sweats, the tenting of his hard on still testing the thin fabric.

Billy was too exhausted to even think about getting Jonathan off. Honestly, fuck him, he could do it himself after humiliating him like that.

He collapsed against the brunet, legs finally giving out, and the man let out a small grunt at the weight. His hand was still trapped between them from where he had milked Billy dry.

His other hand found Billy’s hair and if Billy was in his right mind he’d bite him for it, snap at him to quit it. But he’s floating in his afterglow and he’s willing to accept it for however long it’ll last.

Jonathan doesn’t ask him to get him off, he reaches between them himself and fists his cock with the hand sticky from Billy’s own release and moans softly in his ear like he’s not even there, dirtying Billy’s own clothes in revenge with his spunk.

Jonathan panted against his temple, hand still trapped between them and his fingers running through his hair, and Billy found it helped him keep floating longer, which was nice.

Next time, he’d convince him to fuck him. The fucking freak owed him that much after that’s stunt.

Next time. Billy Hargrove didn’t usually do next times. Well, fuck.

[snowywinterevenings]

Whumptober WIP

So this one will be for Day 13: Are you here to break me out?

Featuring a much softer, not quite sithywan and a Cody who is completely over the war. It has also gotten a bit out of control so I’ll be posting it as the first chapter of its own fic and finishing it after whumptober.

“Hello there.”

Cody pauses outside of the cell, trying to make out the shape of the being who spoke to him from the shadows. Pale fingers curl around the bars and Cody can just barely make out the fact that the speaker is a man with messy ginger hair shot through with white and a beard that is just as unruly. He looks like he hasn’t seen the light in years, skin sallow and eyes edged with dark circles. He is too thin, his ragged clothes hanging off of him, and his eyes are the faint gold of the first rays of the morning sun.

He can do nothing but draw his blaster, making the man scramble back in terror, and he holds his hands up placating and soothing, not having thought about how his actions might look. “I’m just going to blow the lock off of the door. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Cody does just as he explained, and the door comes open with a groan as though no one has opened it in years. The man steps out of the cell warily, watching Cody like he might change his mind and decide to attack him and shuffles back a step when Cody holds out his hand. Cody can see more of him now, painfully thin and clearly abused, and he hopes that the Jedi put Dooku in a grave just as Dooku and his army have put so many of Cody’s brothers in the ground.

“Let’s get you out of here. You can get cleaned up, and one of our medics can tend to your injuries. And we can get you a warm meal.”

Cody doesn’t know what they have that isn’t slop or ration bars, but he thinks those options might both be okay with the newly freed prisoner. The man doesn’t respond, instead holding up his hands, likely hoping that Cody will remove the cuffs he wears. His wrists are badly chafed beneath them, some spots raw and possibly infected, and Cody isn’t about to make him wait until they reach the medics to be free of the cuffs. Projecting his intention, he grasps the link between the cuffs and points his blaster down at it, carefully aiming at the floor where it will not hit either of them. The cuffs clatter away, and the man makes a sharp sound and sways into him, narrowly avoiding collapsing to the floor only because Cody gets hands around him.

“You feel like the sun. I haven’t felt the sun in so long.” He whispers the words and then goes limp in Cody’s arms, and Cody hefts him up, wincing at how light he feels for a human of his size.

He hands the man over to the medics when he gets outside, and he doesn’t think much about him while they complete their mission, freeing the few remaining prisoners and defeating Dooku and his droids. He feels satisfaction at the knowledge that Dooku opted against surrender, pleased that he has faced the same fate as so many of Cody’s brothers. There will be far feeer casualties moving forward, and if they are lucky, when the clean up is over, perhaps they will be granted citizenship and freedom.

He is staring out at the stars unable to sleep when the wraith of a man finds him, clad only in a hospital gown and draped in a thin sheet. He is still pale and battered, but he has showered, and his injuries have been tended. Cody wants to usher him back to medical, knows he should probably be hooked to half a dozen IVs, but he leans against the viewport with such a wistful expression, that Cody doesn’t dare to chase him back to bed.

“Thank you for freeing me. My apologies for fainting. It has been awhile since I have felt the Force, and it was a bit overwhelming to feel so much all at once.” Eyes dart to his, blue now instead of gold, and Cody wonders if it is a characteristic of his species or if it was simply a trick of the light.

“You’re a Jedi?”

The man shakes his head. “I was. I don’t know what I am now.” He has a soft, core worlds accent, though it sounds a bit raspy, likely from disuse.

“What do you want to be?” Cody doesn’t know what possesses him to ask the question. He doesn’t even know his name.

“Free,” is his whispered answer, and a tear tracks its way down his cheek, and that is a sentiment Cody understands. He has wanted nothing but freedom for himself and his brothers for months now.

The man sways when he moves to step away from the viewport, and Cody catches him again. He doesn’t protest when he scoops him up, instead tucking his head under his chin. He is asleep by the time Cody delivers him to Triage, and he lingers as they get him reattached to all of their machines. The screen closest to his bed lists his name as Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Cody commits it to his memory.

[cynettic]

Kissing Genshin Characters before you Die

Summary - Kissing the Genshin Characters one last time before you enter the battlefield.

Pairings - Reader x Albedo / Barbara / Bennett / Beidou / Chongyun / Diluc / Eula / Kazuha / Kaeya / Ayaka / Ningguang / Childe / Venti / Xiao / Zhongli

Warnings - Angst, death mentions

Tips - I wrote this listening to ‘Lovely’ and ‘Listen before I go,’ so it might make it better if you listen to both those songs while reading this :’) Both are by Billie Eilish btw, both reverb and slowed down songs for the extra angst

A/N - Im so tired, so so tired of human interaction and having no motivation to talk to people. Its like my social battery simply does not recharge, and I'm stuck writing about interactions I wish I could have, even if it's angst. Burying myself in the delusion that being in a different reality would change everything, burying myself in little imaginations and dreams of a love that doesn't exist.

Also yes, if you did notice the song lyrics playing at first are from "If the World was Ending," used to listen to that song so much. Thought it would fit this :)

“If the world was ending you’d come over right?”

It was absolute chaos, flames crawling up the wooden buildings and spreading smoke through the nation of Teyvat. Everything burned with the scorching heat, children crying, men and woman trying to run from the unescapable flames. Terror etched into citizens faces when encountering the monsters who appeared unaffected by the destruction.

Hilichurls and ruin guards smashing past people, till there was nowhere to run. And it was the mere decision of whether being beaten to death or burnt crisp was a better way to leave this world.

“You’d come over and you’d stay the night.”

But there you were, weapon in hand as you stood up against the blaze. Strong against the unblinking inferno in front of you, unwavering as you stood in front of the monsters that eagerly rushed towards you. Cut and obliterated in seconds, your eyes held nothing but a sickening disgust.

You slowly turned back to your s/o, relief quenching your heart when they were safe in the little location you’d found for them. They were injured, they wouldn't be sitting on the sidelines otherwise. And holding your weapon up again, you claimed the role of protector against the hoard of monsters.

“Would you love me for the hell of it?”

Their voice broke past your focus, a ragged sound that was suffering. It only took you a few strides till you reached them, crouching down to face them fully. Your faces were mere inches away, and you could see the frustration on their face. A deeply rooted feeling that fueled the action as they curled their hand around your head. Pressing your lips against theirs, one last kiss before you assumed the role of predator against the monsters.

“All our fears would be irrelevant.”

Both hands coming to hold their face, you pressed forwards into their kiss. Grasp tight against them, clinging onto them as if they were your lifeline.

“If the world was ending you’d come over right?”

You kissed them as if the world wasn't a aflame, like it was just you both sitting there. Hands grasping for their skin, for their lips, for them. Because without them you couldn't live in this smoldering world, a bright light that cocooned you in its comforting warmth. Nothing like the blazing flames that surrounded the two of you.

You kissed them like they were the only thing that mattered.

“The sky’d be falling and I’d hold you tight.”

But you felt the shake in their hands as they pressed their hand against your back, scared to let you go, scared to lose you. Scared to let this kiss end and have to face the scorching reality.

“And there wouldn't be a reason why.”

You pressed one last kiss to their forehead, basking in their embrace once more between you broke away. The look on your face was confident as you faced them one last time, softened by their teary eyes. Whispering soft words to them, you could only watch as they broke down, a tight feeling in your chest urging you to do the same.

But no, you had to be strong. For them, for yourself, for all of Teyvat. You slowly turned to the flames and monsters, holding up your weapon, screaming one last battle cry as you let your weapon lead your actions. As you let death become your only objective in a flurry to protect your partner.

“We would even have to say goodbye.”

Sobs wretched out of their throat as they watched you crumble, watched you fall the ground and collapse. Till the movement of your chest came to an abrupt stop, and monsters pooled at your sides.

They were forced to watch, unable to move.

“If the world was ending you’d come over right?”

Their cries turned to whimpers, until they couldn't hear the noises that spilled form their lips. Until they didn't care. What they cared about was thrown on their battlefield, beaten and ragged, torn and broken.

Dead.

“You’d come over… right?”

_-_-_-_-_

Albedo

He takes his time, hand on the back of your neck pushing you so hard against him till he’s woozy. Memorizing the feel of your plush lips against his, molding them into memory with every kiss. He’ll break away from your lips, pressing soft pecks up your face, along your nose, to your forehead. Infatuated with the way your hands gently hold his face, careful, delicate. He doesnt want to let you go, and with one final peck right between your eyes, he’ll close his eyes, whispering a goodbye as you leave. He doesnt open them when you die, he doesnt open them when the monsters reach him. No, he dies in your embrace, even if its not real.

Barbara

Desperate, oh so desperate. She doesnt know what to do with you when you press your hands to her face, tearful. You’ll have to be the one to initiate the kiss, muffling her cries with a short lived sweetness between the two of you. She’ll have her hands all over you, unsure of how to hold you, how to press you against her. She wants to stay like this forever, and even if her kisses are sloppy and messy, she’s crying too much to notice. She won’t break away, you’ll have to tug your way out of her grip and press one last kiss to her forehead. Her voice is angelic, even when she cries. You remind yourself that this is what you’re protecting as you enter the battlefield, giving it your all.

Beidou

Oh she knows, knows how this will play out. The kisses shared between the two of you are strong and compassionate, its more intense than any other kiss you’ve both shared before. Because she knows. She knows what’ll become of you and her, that this is the last kiss she’ll share with you, that there's nothing she can do about it. She lets herself indulge in you, her strong hold on you never letting go until you vocally ask her to let you go. You make her promises she knows you can't keep, but simply smiles, telling you to come back to her.

Bennett

Awkward, his hands will grab your shoulders when you approach him, pressing for a kiss immediately. He misses his mark, accidentally pressing his lips to the edge of your lips, noses bumping against each other as he tries to shift his face. You chuckle, holding his face as you adjust the angle, till you can fully reach his lips and press him against you. Like Barbara, he’ll cry, letting himself melt into you. He doesnt resist when you back away, whispering to him. Just sitting there he’ll cry, sob through it all, vision blurry with tears. But its better that way, he can picture you better when everything is fuzzy.

Chongyun

Everything was smoldering hot, too much for Chongyun who has so much yang energy trapped in him. He’s going through one of his rushes when you get to him, eager to tuck you into his arms. His kisses are sporadic, like he’s trying to kiss you but he cant. Like no matter how much his lips meet yours, it isnt enough. He wants more, he wants the promise of your forever embrace ingrained in his head. And when you break away, he’s left empty, the kisses he’d given you the only warmth on his lips. Suddenly everything was cold, so cold, and he only wished for you.

Diluc

Too rough, mashing your lips against his until you couldn't breath. Dizzy with the lack of oxygen, he didn't stop. You were ‘his,' right here right now, no one could take you away from him. You belonged alongside him, crouched in front of him, pressed into his arms where he could keep you safe. He wouldn't let you go, strong arms pulling you to his chest so firmly that you couldn't escape. He wanted to be selfish, he let himself indulge in the promise to himself that you weren't going anywhere. You’ll have to physically break out yourself, pressing back his hands as he tries to make a grab for you, tears brimming.

Eula

You were her everything, and she’ll tell you it through her kisses. She’ll run her hands along the curve of your back, holding you tenderly against her. She doesn't wish for vengeance for all the soft kisses you’ve stolen from her good days long ago, no, she’s willing to forgive you for everything as long as you’ll ‘stay.’ She promises that in all honesty, she loves everything about you, even if she denies it sometimes. And when you leave, she tells you to come back. That its the one and only thing she’ll hold against you if you don't.

Kazuha

Soft, so incredibly sensual with every touch. Kazuha was always filled with words, filled with lovely compositions made for you and only you. But now, he couldn't think of anything, no haiku he’d written in the past that compared to what he felt right now. Metaphors and hidden meanings couldn't compare to the raw pulsing throb he felt in his chest. “I love you,” he whispered, plain and simple. It held so much affection, he was afraid even those words weren't enough to express what he felt, but he settled with it either way. “I love you,” he repeated, brushing your lips against his before he said it again. “I love you.” He said it again, even as you left, entering the battlefield. He didn't stop saying it, not when he saw the monsters take you, not when they approached him with the promise of death. “I love you.”

Kaeya

He doesnt kiss you, because kisses to Kaeya are a sort of affection that brings the sense of normalcy. He likes the way your lips feel against his, but holding you against him is more special. He doesnt depend on kisses to express what he feels, instead pushing your head to his chest, sighing when your own arms come to wrap around him. No kisses, no touches, just you and him. Offering each other your last shreds of hope, because in the end, you only need each other.

Ayaka

“Look at me.” Her hand cups your cheeks just as you do to her. Now you both simply stare into each others eyes, love and adoration filling hers. She loves you, oh she loves you so much. But she understands duty better than anyone, the urge to protect you almost consuming her. When she kisses you, its soft, butterfly kisses. She doesn't rely on the contact to keep her grounded, no holding your face is a gift enough for her. To stare at you, even for one last time, is all she needs. You’ve given her so much, she would follow you to the ends of the world if you asked her to, and that's why it hurts her so much to watch you fall. She closes her eyes, noticing that she’d follow soon after and perhaps see you in the afterlife. No, she would, that's a promise she makes to herself.

Ningguang

Ningguang has delt with loss before, the concept isnt foreign to her. But you… you’re more than the jade chamber, more than any possession she has. You’re precious, like she sold a piece of her heart to you that she could never gain back. You took it from her, and you plan to take it with you to the battlefield. All she can do is press her lips against yours. Kiss you and the world beside you both becomes meaningless, until air becomes a chore instead of a necessity. Because without air she'd kiss you forever.

Childe

Details, in the case that Childe himself cant fight alongside you, he’ll hold you and repeat the details in his head. The way his hand feels on your hair, how soft or rough your lips are against his. How you fit against him, how badass you look out in the battlefield. He won’t stop you from leaving him, because he knows that if this case was reversed, he’d want you to let him go too. So he presses intimate kisses, slow ones that dont consist of a fight for dominance like they usually do. No, he wants to tell you how much he loves you, one last time.

Venti

He doesnt know what to do, pressed against you firmly. He presses soft kisses, but theres no emotion, he doesn't know how to express himself here. He’s lost a lot, lost so much in his existence, but nothing prepared him for this. Only after a kisses will he ask to cry, and when you tell him yes he’ll press his head against your shoulder. He’ll sob, hands gripping the fabric of your shirt as he does so. And then he kisses you while tears stream down his face, mashes your lips against his until his face grows numb. And he’ll continue to feel numb when you leave, when you die, when he dies.

Xiao

He doesn't know what to do, Xiao has never felt so utterly useless when you crouch to him. Form battered and bruised, when you embrace him he feels whole again. You’re his world, he doesn't care about the blazing inferno just beside you, the monsters that threaten all of Teyvat. You are his everything, what he strives to protect and keep safe. Kisses with him are breathless, both of you passionately pulling each other closer. He cant get enough of you, he wants all of you, every single piece. Molded into his embrace until you cant get out. When you break away, he tries to pull you to him, but he finds himself only able to move in the slightest. But Xiao is a protector, he is ‘your’ protector. He follows you as you head to the battlefield, dragging his limp body in a crawl to get closer. He doesn't stop when he sees the monsters overtake you, no, he continues. Just until he reaches your body, grabbing you and holding your corpse into his chest. He numbs out the monsters that attack him, knowing sullenly that he's going to die. But death doesn't seem so bad, not beside you.

Zhongli

As someone who always has control over the situation, Zhongli will be able to adapt quickly. But he doesnt want you to suffer, admiring you for being so strong when everything presses against you. He wishes to relieve the weight if only a little bit with a few kisses. Sensual and intimate, he wants to support you, and if he cant do it on the battlefield he’ll do it right here. Hold you close and promise you that he’ll always be there for you. Only after you die does he allow himself to cry, not wanting to have burdened you with his tears.

[dabisqueen]

Don't Play Me

Dabi x Reader

⇢ rating: 18+

⇢ word count: roughly 3.9K

⇢ plot: Dabi teaches you a lesson when you dare to show up with another man

⇢ warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, orgasm, creampie, alcohol, force, quirk use, fingering, oral (female receiving), prob lots of typos

⇢ NO MINORS ALLOWED!!!

personal note: oh, this was an absolute thirst thought of mine. Yum.

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It was one of those nights that never seemed to end. Customers came in by the hour and the evening dragged itself on. I was just prepping some drinks at the bar when I looked up and noticed a slender man sitting in the far off corner booth. It wasn't a regular and he looked quite sketchy. His messy raven hair was standing in all directions and large patches of seemingly burnt purple skin adorned his body, attached to his healthy skin with crude surgical staples. His most striking feature though were his piercing azure eyes against the backdrop of his jet black hair. They seemed to glow in the dim light of the room, just like the fiery tip of the cigarette when he took a drag. He wore a long black coat with torn edges, a ragged white shirt and some black pants, stitched together just like the rest of his body. How fitting. He looked like the type of guy who liked filthy and kinky one night stands on the corners of the street, in cheap motels, pub bathrooms or anywhere else.

I had never seen him before and he kept studying me while I went about my job, serving ordered drinks. He bore a smug grin on his face, eyes lazily half-lidded, as he watched me approaching.

I stopped in front of the booth and raised an eyebrow, ready to take the order. Taking his time to pull another drag of his cigarette, his look at me was still unmoving, corners of the mouth curled up slightly. I waited a bit but then, impatiently, tapped my foot and his smirk got even wider.

I asked brusquely, “You're gonna order or just keep on staring?"

He chuckled, seemingly pleased with my reaction and finally spoke, low hoarse voice "Whiskey, doll. And I'd like you to join me."

I rolled my eyes and turned around, stomping towards the bar, fuming internally as he let out a quiet whistle behind me. Who does he think he is, I thought as I grabbed the most expensive whiskey and poured him a glass. Sauntering back, I nonchalantly placed it in front of him, ignoring him otherwise.

The evening went on with nothing in particular happening. He sat in the corner, drinking and ordering more of the amber liquid throughout the night. I kept feeling his gaze on me but he never was suggestive again.

Just before closing time, I was cleaning the bar, I noticed the corner being empty. He was gone, just as mysteriously as he had appeared. On his table was enough money to cover three times his bill. At least he wasn't a cheap tipper.

His visits became regular after that night. He would suddenly just show up out of nowhere, ordering whiskey, watching me through half-lidded cerulean eyes the entire night only to vanish again just before closing time, leaving heaps of money. He went by the name Dabi. I started enjoying his presence, not for the money but because of his tantalizing eyes, his flirtatious and sexy ways. The few short dialogues we exchanged each night usually had me genuinely smile at his wit and intellect.

It had almost become a routine, having him there, his snarky flirty comments and a fluttering sensation started tickling my insides every time he appeared. So, I was truly taken aback, even disappointed that one day he stopped showing up.

Life continued on as usual, yet I never forgot about him. One night being out I met a young man named Aaron. He was fun, handsome and a good kisser. Before I knew it we ended up at my place, tearing our clothes off. He stayed with me until the next morning.

It was a few days later at work again, that the door opened and, looking up, my breath hitched as Dabi entered the bar. He sauntered over to his usual place and slumped down in the chair, sporting a toothy grin. As I brought him his usual whiskey he rasped seductively "Did ya miss me, doll?" Still a bit disappointed at his sudden and unexcused long absence, I huffed at him and turned around.

While at the bar my phone let off an alarm, it was Aaron, letting me know he was on the way over. I smiled but looking up, Dabi stared at me with cold blue eyes, grin replaced by a stern expression, watching me more intently now.

It wasn't much longer and Aaron trotted in, giving me the sweetest of smiles as he approached me at the bar. He sat down on a stool and I walked up to him and he leaned in for a kiss on my cheek, placing his hand on the low of my back, leaving it there.

As we exchanged a few words my gaze wandered over his shoulder and I almost froze in place, cold shivers running down my back. Dabi had stood up, his eyes narrowed into slithers, a feral expression on his face as he slowly trudged towards us. It was as if time stood still as I watched him nearing where we were.

My heart pounded uncontrollably as he stopped next to us, hands lazily in his pockets, a bored expression in his face, but his stare cold as murder.

Turning his lazy gaze towards me he mustered me with cold cerulean eyes. "My my, look at that. I'm gone for a while, and you just fuck any random…" he shot Aaron a sharp glance, "...prick walking into this shit bar?"

Aaron met his gaze, asking with a cold voice "Do you have a problem, punk?"

Dabi growled back, "Yes, you, dipshit"

I held up my palms, trying to prevent a scene from happening, “Dabi, stop it, plea-!"

He cut me off with venomous glare "And who gave you the fucking permission to fucking talk?"

His head turned towards Aaron again, "Ok dirtbag, hands off my girl and leave, now," his voice dripping with venom.

I protested, "I'm not your-" his head jolted around as he cut me off again, tutting quietly, "Remember sweetheart - no permission to talk."

By now the entire room had gone silent, all eyes on us as everyone stared at the scene unraveling in front of them.

"Ok, so what's it gonna be?" Dabi addressed Aaron again, tilting his head slightly.

Aaron stood up to step towards Dabi, who didn't seem the least impressed. "She said she's not your girl," he threatened. Dabi looked rather annoyed by now and without a warning his hand shot forward, grabbing him by his throat. An eerie blue light started to emanate from his palm, singing the skin underneath. Aaron's eyes bulged as he tried to scream while the stench of burned flesh wavered through the air, making my stomach churn. I jumped in between them, trying to push Dabi away from him, yelling “Dabi stop it!“

A vicious grin plastered on his face, as he squeezed one last time and then shoved him away. Aaron stumbled backwards, gasping for air as I could see the angry red, blistering imprint of Dabi's hand on his throat. He covered his burned skin, eyes wide with fear as he stood there, trying to catch his breath. I could only watch helplessly, Dabi next to me, gritting his teeth, hissing "Piss off, scumbag".

Aaron's eyes darted between me and Dabi and then he jolted around and stumbled towards the exit, disappearing around the corner.

Dabi, with a pleased smirk on his face, swung his head towards me, "So where were we, doll?"

"Fuck, Dabi, you can't do that!“ I yelled at him, smacking his strong chest with my flat hand.

"Oh, you just watched me do it, didn't ya," he chuckled, cocking his head.

"You're such an ass" I shook my head, anger weaved into my voice.

"Ts ts, watch that potty mouth. Or do you need lessons in good girl behaviour?" he bent down to hiss into my face.

"Oh fuck off, Dabi!" I cussed at him, a burning rage inside me now.

Just as I turned round away from him he grabbed my arm with lightning reflexes, a low voice accentuating, "Ok, lessons it will be then." And he dragged me with him. I tried to pry his hand off, trying to pull away from him and he stopped with an annoyed huff. His gaze turned cold as he smoothly said "You're gonna come with me now, or else I'll turn this place into ashes." His eyes wandered around the room across the people and hot blue flames started dancing in his palms.

I looked at my coworker, my customers and I bit my lip to suppress another objection as I nodded weakly, “Ok,“

“Good girl,“ he cood, smug grin on his face as wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me towards the door. As I looked back I saw shaken faces, some eyes averted, no one stepping up, just helplessly watching us leave.

His car was an old black 1969 Mercury Cougar, parked right in front, halfway across the walkway. He shoved me on the passenger seat and didn't wait for me to get buckled up, revved the engine and sped off with spinning tires.

His driving style was beyond reckless. He drove way too fast, took red lights and kept cutting all others off. I held onto dear life as I sat next to him, squeaking, knuckles white from clenching the door handle too tight. At a red light he suddenly came to a screeching halt, having me fall into the seat belts. My head shot towards him and I let out a furious “Dabi you fucking jerk“ which only earned me an amused chuckle from him. Kicking it as the light turned green we continued the hell drive to his place.

He finally slowed down a bit as he drove into a run down area of town, concrete residential buildings, all smudged with signs of old age and industrial smog. In front of an abandoned warehouse he stopped the car.

"Get out," he rasped and after I did, guided me through a rusty metal door into a room, tall ceilings with windows draped underneath. He flicked the lights on, kicking off his boots and dropping his coat to the floor. There was a small kitchenette and a bathroom. Dim light wavered through the rooms from a few naked light bulbs hanging from the wall. As far as I could see, this used to be some sort of common room turned into an apartment. Through a door to the side I could make out a makeshift bedroom with a king size bed in it, rusty old metal frame. Before I could say or do anything I felt myself being shoved against the wall, as Dabi slammed both arms to the side of me.

His broad lean figure hovered over me, eyes boring down on me, his face so close I could feel his warm breath smelling of cigarettes on me and his intoxicating musky scent drugged my senses. I squirmed, rubbing my thighs against each other to cool down the tingling heat between them and turned my head but he tutted, "Better look at me doll."

Our gazes met and I was taken aback by the piercing cold fire simmering in his eyes, unbridled desire flickering in them.

"Tell me, doll," he purred, eyes seductively half lidded, "how many times did you fuck that scumbag? "

I pressed my lips tight, shaking my head. He inched closer, noses almost touching as he growled “Don't test my patience." I winced and averted my eyes when I stuttered "T- twice."

"Ok, dollface," he sneered, "gonna make you cum at least three times then tonight. Cause you're mine..." and with that he crashed his lips on mine. His tongue forced itself between my lips, prying my mouth open, sliding in, twirling around mine. His hot firm lips tightly pressed against mine, his tongue kept swirling around my mouth, while he cupped my cheek with one of his warm palms. Butterflies exploded in my stomach and I melted right into him, closing my eyes, savoring his expert moves. He let out a low appreciative rumble, as I hesitantly placed my palms on his sides, holding onto him. The kiss grew more passionate, teeth clanking against each other, longing, prodding, until my lips were rubbed raw and swollen. He pressed himself against my body and I slowly slid my hands under his shirt, feeling his hot skin, his staples and the surprisingly silky, scarred skin. My hands moved further below, underneath his belt and around his firm butt cheeks, a longing sigh escaping my lips.

A low chuckle bubbled up in Dabi's chest, his warm palm travelling the length of my body down to my thighs, pushing my work skirt up. We parted, eyes glaring into each other, panting as he slowly slid his hands into my panties, where his fingers found my sensitive nub. I sobbed out a moan as he started rubbing it with slow circles, my eyes rolling back in my head. I grabbed his hips, trying to hold on to something as the world started spinning around me.

"Oh fuck, Dabi-" I muttered, his breath, coarse and husky, rasped into my ear "Told ya doll."

As he increased the speed, I couldn't help shameless moans from falling from my lips. My legs went weak and I lifted my arms to drape them over his shoulders, steadying myself. I felt my core tense up under his relentless movements, jolts of pleasure rolling through my body as a climax raced near, the tension between my legs blowing up with white searing heat. My breath came out in hot ragged pumps as he growled into my ears "Cum for me baby…" His voice sent shivers down my spine and that was all it took for me to come undone. I threw my head back, mouth open, letting out a long deep wail as the coil inside me snapped and I started contracting. Dabi's arm flung around me, the only thing holding me up, as my legs gave in. He sealed my lips with his, sucking up all my sweet moans as I shook in his hold, pleasure rolling through me in waves. He gently helped me through my high, slowing his fingers as he noticed me coming down. Exhausted and delirious, I rested my forehead against his chest, panting, sweat on my forehead as he stroked my hair, snickered with a low growl "That was number one, sweetheart. Ready for number two?"

Slowly coming to, I tangled my fingers into his hair, tugging on strands to pull him closer. Dabi chuckled as I latched my lips onto his in response. He cupped my cheeks to tilt me into a long kiss and I was met with longing and gentleness moulding my lips to his.

His hands slid behind my thighs and with a strong jerk, lifted me up onto his hips. I yelped out as he carried me across the room into the bedroom, while we kept kissing each other, teeth nibbling at each other's lips.

He grinned at me "Ready?" I wiggled underneath him as he placed me gently on the bed, mewling "Geez Dabi, gimme some time…"

But he ignored my pleas, tipped his head to mine once more, lips meeting lips as he slowly pushed my shirt up, helping me get it off. Cold air hit my bare skin and made goosebumps erupt all over it. He leaned down and started peppering my neck with kisses, sliding his hand behind my back to skillfully snap the hook of my bra with two fingers. He slowly pulled me up to slide it off me and, as I laid back on my back, swiftly pulled off my skirt and panties until I lay completely naked before him. His eyes grazed my body and he mumbled "Doll, you're beautiful."

Opium blown eyes met his as he slowly bent down, spreading my legs. I welcomed him more than eagerly, his hot breath tickling my skin while he moved down towards my folds. I gasped, as his tongue darted out over my oversensitive nub. He started licking it and my body reacted on it's own as electric pleasure jolted through me, having me claw into the sheets. I winced, shivers raking my body as he flicked his tongue repeatedly over my swollen clit, one particularly strong lick against my sensitive nub had my sighs keening. It was then when he slipped his fingers in.

I arched my back at his intrusion, his fingers pumping in and out, back and forth, savouring the way my walls clenched around them. He knocked the breath out of my lungs when he latched his lips on my clit, sucking and licking without mercy. One really intense draw of his had me keen as a third finger joined the mess between my thighs.

The coil in my stomach wound tighter, my eyes wide with lust, helpless to the way he kept flicking his tongue over my clit. The sensation of his combined effort had me soon wailing and he continued until my movements became uncontrollable, lost in the mind numbing pleasure. I panted, my fingers frantically clutching at his hair as he relentlessly worked my sex with his fingers and tongue, drawing every spasm and shudder from me that he could.

An earthquake-like tremor ran through my legs and I totally lost it, walls clenching and spasming around him. I keened, shameless moans falling from my mouth as my mind exploded with pleasure. My body buckled under him while continuous waves of pure pleasure washed over me as he worked me through yet another orgasm. Totally spent, my body sank leaden with bliss into the mattress, my vision blurry, lust blown eyes staring at the ceiling. My body was still tingling with the aftermath of the orgasm as I heard Dabi whisper into my ear "That was number two," his voice raspy, heavy with longing. I lay below him, numb, little huffs of air escaping my lips as I was trying to catch my breath.

My mind still fogged over, I hardly noticed the rustle of fabric as he pulled off his shirt. The jingling of his belt being unbuckled had me drift back into reality and I weakly propped myself up on my elbows. Dabi pulled his pants down, his cock springing free and I couldn't help but gasp at the sheer size of it. It was impressive, thick, with prominent veins running along its length. It hung heavy under its own weight and on it's silken red tip were beads of precum.

"Dabi, you're-..." I stuttered but he just let out a hoarse dry laugh, "Ready for number three?"

His gaze kept savoring my spent body, lights reflecting off the little streaks of sweat running down my skin. He leaned forward, hovering over me as he dipped down to lick little beads of sweat off my breasts, sucking and tugging on my sensitive buds. He moved up, kept peppering kisses along my pulse, sucking long enough to leave little red spots, marking me as his. I let him, not only too weak to protest but also appreciating the way he took advantage of me.

His hands moved down to mine, pulled them up to pin them above me, fingers entwined with mine. He dipped his head to capture my lips in another bruising kiss as his body sank onto mine and I could feel his hard length press against me, his tip slipping in. My eyes went wide at the feeling of his massive bulk sliding into me and darted towards his, desperately shaking my head "S'not gonna fit". He hushed me and kept pressing forward, while I wailed out, tears pricking my eyes. The stretch was painfully uncomfortable, the pressure too intense. My inner walls fluttered ecstatically and every hair on my body stood on end. Dabi panted in my neck, pushing himself relentlessly forward until he was buried deep inside of me. I whimpered, tears running down my temples as I felt my wet walls stretch around his girth. He drew his hips back, then filled me up once more and started moving with slow, heavy thrust. Oversensitive as I was from my second orgasm, I keened right away, all my nerves set on fire.

Dabi took up the pace, hitting that one special spot over and over again. Pinned below him, his heavy body on mine, unable to move I could only take his thrusts, molding into him. Loud moans escaped my lips as each rut of his hips shoved me mercilessly towards yet another orgasm. A pressure flared up inside me I had never felt before, my entire body screaming to release it as my walls tensed around him, my core tightening up, building towards a heavenly release.

Dabi kept burying himself deep in my body with steady thrusts, his breathing getting heavy. His head fell forward, sweat rolling down his cheeks while he managed to keep up that relentless pace as the pressure inside became unbearable. With each one of his ruts he pressed out "You're mine. You're mine," while I wailed out "M'yours. M'yours," and finally my mind fogged over, the coil inside my core snapped. The third orgasm exploded with a mind-blinding high. I threw my head back, a loud keen erupting from deep within as I spasmed, a clear liquid gushing out of me, coating our union. It splashed against Dabi's pelvis, abdomen and my thighs as he continued rutting his hips into me.

"Fuck, that's-..." A low groan escaping his lips as I kept coming around him, elated, crying out his name, gooey walls clenching around his length with every heave of his hips. He didn’t hold out long after that, a deep baritone groan escaping his throat as he spilled over, his hips sputtering as thick white loads of his release coated my insides. A few more thrusts and he dropped on top of me, face nuzzled into my neck as I collapsed into the mattress, eyes closed, chest rising and falling heavily. It took us a few minutes to come down from our high. My mind was still fuzzy, the smell of our lust floating around in the air. All I could think about was the taste of his name on my tongue. His head moved up, nose brushing against mine, foreheads resting against each other, lips barely detached from mine while he kept stroking my hair murmuring good girl, done so well…

I felt him getting soft and accompanied by my needy, whiny protests he rolled off me. As our combined releases dribbled on the bed, he wrapped his arm around me and pulled me on top of him, off the soaked and stained sheets. I rested my head on his chest, his silken staples refreshingly cool against my hot sweaty skin as he kept stroking my hair.

"You know you belong to me now," he cood into my hair, inhaling deep to take in my smell. His hand laid flat on my back, his fingers drawing slow circles into my skin.

I looked up at him, his usually piercing turquoise eyes now filled with longing tenderness. My soft lips met his as murmured into our kiss, tutting with a slight giggle "Still need a bit more convincing, babe."

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[citrinesparkles]

welcome home.

jason todd x gender neutral reader. 2,086 words. notes: requested by an incredibly flattering anon as part of my hundred followers celebration! thank you again for the feedback, and for enabling me :) also was subconsciously influenced by this piece. warnings: arguing, discussion of danger, reader gets accidentally threatened, patching up wounds, lots more swearing than my usual (but it's all mild language). angst and comfort, i think. super dialogue heavy. this is so long and a little (lot) messy just. prepare yourself

"man," a robotic voice echoed dangerously through the dark living room, sending chills through you. "did you pick the wrong apartment."

luckily, the voice was familiar. "um, the one i live in?"

he choked out your name, startled, and you flicked on the light switch to find him frozen in place with a gun in his hand.

"right." you said tensely, glancing at it- which made him jerk his hand down, shoving the gun into its holster as though it burned him- and looking back up at the eyes of his helmet. "so, uh, i'll turn a light on next time."

"you shouldn't be home yet," he said stiffly.

"i texted you like, three hours ago to let you know i'd be home a day early."

he swore quietly. "my phone's in the river."

"how did it- you know what, at least that explains the radio silence. you didn't think to have someone else- anyone else- let me know?"

"uh." he paused, tensing almost imperceptibly for a moment. "no. i was, uh, i was busy. i'm sorry."

"busy, huh?" something felt very wrong, and not just the fact that he had nearly shot you. "okay, i'll bite, busy with what?"

"nothing important."

the sinking feeling in your stomach intensified and your eyes narrowed dangerously. "important enough that you forgot to tell me you weren't dead in an alley somewhere, when you knew i'd be texting to check in anyway. leaving me worrying in a hotel room in another city."

"nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to worry about." you were really getting sick of the sound of his modulator, but he continued before you could say anything. "go back to what you were doing, babe."

"yeah... uh, no." you stepped forwards and he flinched back defensively, making you freeze. "seriously, what is up with you tonight?"

"noth-"

"jason, i promise if you say nothing one more time, i'm going to lose my mind."

he shifted his foot back slightly, and you took a deep breath.

"okay," you conceded, raising your hands up in surrender and moving backwards yourself. "respecting your space now. that wasn't my best decis-"

your voice cut out when something under his jacket caught your eye.

something red.

"holy crap, jason, what the hell?"

he winced quietly. "you weren't supposed to be home yet, okay?"

"take that stupid helmet off already, would you?" you snapped, already moving to get the first aid kit.

"i would've gone somewhere else if i'd known, okay?" his voice, now clear and crisp without the filter, followed you down the hall.

"that does not make this better!"

"can you please not yell at me right now?"

you dashed back into the room, shooting a vicious glare at him. "jacket."

he slid it off gingerly, dropping it on the couch next to his helmet.

"can you get the armor, or do i need to help?"

even despite the domino mask he was wearing, you could tell he was rolling his eyes. "if i couldn't do it on my own, why would i have come here if i didn't think you'd be home?"

"hm," you took the piece he handed you and carefully set it on the couch, "maybe because you're a stubborn jackass?"

he grunted, sliding his undershirt off and passing it to you. "i don't wanna stain the couch with that."

"your priorities suck."

"it's the nicest piece of furniture we own!"

"it's still a couch!"

"it was expensive!"

"oh for crying out loud-" you threw your hands up again, this time in frustration. "fine! fine. i'll go put this in the tub and get a soak going. you-" you shoved the kit towards him pointedly- "start washing that off."

"how come you're calling the shots?" he snapped back petulantly.

"because my torso's in one piece."

"i have way more experience with this, i should be making the decisions here."

"oh, of course, my apologies!" your voice was absolutely dripping in sarcasm. "what, pray tell, would you have us do?"

he scowled at you for a moment before reaching for the first aid kit and flicking the lid open. "whatever."

you turned on your heel, stomping into the bathroom.

the shirt got thrown into the tub and the tap got tossed all the way on, and as the water crashed into the gray fabric, you took the opportunity to squeeze your eyes shut and breathe deeply.

you opened your eyes a minute later, finding the water dyed a rusty almost-red from blood.

his blood.

you turned off the tap- gently pushed the handle, this time, the fire in your chest now largely extinguished- and made your way back to the living room to find him running a rag over the space below his ribs.

"may i?" you asked softly, stopping a few feet away and holding a hand out to him.

his jaw clenched and relaxed three times in quick succession, but he finally sighed and dropped his shoulders before holding the rag out. "yeah, c'mere."

you worked in silence, being as gentle as possible. jerking your hand back and mumbling apologies when he hissed.

"s'okay, comes with the territory."

you pressed the alcohol-soaked towel back against him, and he sighed.

"that was stupid, huh."

a small laugh escaped you. "it so was."

"can we..."

"try that again?"

"yeah."

you pulled back, standing up straight to meet his eyes. "only if i can take the dumb mask off of you."

"i thought you liked the mask," he teased, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

"jason."

he chuckled, wincing again when it jostled his wounds. "ouch. uh, yeah, mask. g'head."

you gently pulled it from his face, setting it neatly on his other gear before running your thumbs across the line of adhesive it left on his cheekbones. "hi there."

"hey." he leaned into your touch, vibrant eyes fluttering halfway shut. "so uh, welcome home."

"thanks. could've done without the gun, though."

a choking sound tore from his throat, his eyes flying back open. "holy shit, baby, i almost-" he jerked back from you, no regard for his side. "you almost- shit, shit, are you- i'm so sorry, i didn't-"

"okay, woah, hey-"

"i could have killed you."

it was a whisper, horrified and harsh, and while it was technically true, his tone teetered on the edge of a dark space you had seen before and really didn't want him falling back into.

"yeah."

you desperately searched for the right thing to say, rejecting variations of "but hey, you didn't actually", "maybe you should be more careful about waving a gun at people", and one particularly unhelpful "no shit, sherlock".

finally, you settled on a quiet, calm "but i'm still right here, okay?"

his hand flew up to cover his mouth, doing absolutely nothing to hide the near panic written on his features. "i could have killed you."

"okay, so, in the future, we'll... we'll uh, we'll come up with some kind of system for letting you know when i'm home, or something."

"oh, like a phone?" he asked harshly. "the one i was stupid and sloppy enough to dunk in the harbor?"

"that wasn't- i'm guessing that you had a lot on your plate." you waved the cold, bloody towel in your hand at his wounds. it made him curl in on himself slightly, stepping backwards again until his back hit the arm of the couch.

"no excuses. i could have killed you."

"i-"

"no, i almost shot without saying anything!" he exclaimed, brow furrowed and eyes stormy. "i thought someone had broken in, and i got so- i don't even know, damn territorial or some stupid shit- that i almost put a bullet between your eyes. i could have-"

"jason!"

he screwed his eyes shut and dropped his head, roughly tugging his fingers through his hair. "i almost-"

"but you didn't. okay?" every fiber of your being wanted to hold him, to tug him into you and put his hand against your ribs and show him you were okay and breathing, heart still pumping, but he looked enough like a cornered animal that you half expected him to bite you if you tried. "c'mon, jaybird. a life like yours, can you really afford almosts?"

"life like mine, i can't afford to let anyone close to me. apparently, if the goons and thugs don't kill you, i will."

"that's not-"

"what if i hadn't said something?" he snapped venomously. "what if i'd lost more blood and was loopy from it? what if i'd come home with a concussion- again- and didn't think past 'point and shoot'?"

"jason," you finally interjected. "you think i haven't thought about that?"

his eyes, grim and vicious and so full of emotion that you thought you could drown in them, dropped to the floor.

"because it's not a secret that your life is risky. you're risky. i know that. but you're worth every ounce of danger, okay? i'm choosing this, choosing you, knowing full well what i'm getting into, because you're worth all of it."

"i'm not worth any of it."

"that's not your call to make."

"it-"

"you think i need you to make my choices for me?"

"no, of course not."

"you think im stuck here?"

"do you feel like you are?"

"absolutely not." you inched forward again. "i'm here because i want to be."

"...i just... i don't..."

"don't want me to get hurt?"

he finally looked back up at you, eyes watery and jaw tense. "or worse."

"i know, baby. i know," you sighed. "but that's part of life, right? and if the hurt's inevitable, i want the rest of my time to be as nice as possible, and you make my life better. make me better."

"by putting you in danger?"

"it's gotham, handsome, i'm gonna be in danger either way. at least with you, i know i have someone looking out for me. right?"

"always," he said immediately.

"okay then." you took the last step between the two of you slowly, watching for any resistance. meeting none, you brushed your knuckles against his. "i can't think of anywhere i'd feel safer."

"you know that's crazy, right?"

you hummed quietly. "nah."

"i'm being serious."

"me too."

he studied your face silently. you smiled softly at him.

finally, a sigh escaped him and he scooted his hand forward, wrapping his index finger around your own and squeezing gently. "you're sure you want this? i can set you up with a place downtown for a bit. you'd never have to see me again, never have to worry about... all of this."

"i've never been more sure of anything." you said it firmly, confidently, letting the words hang in the air for a few moments before popping one eyebrow up playfully. "why, need to make room for a side piece?"

a startled choking sound escaped him. "excuse me?"

"i mean, when you were talking about being busy, it felt kinda suspicious."

"what is wrong with you?" he asked, exasperation and laughter coating his voice.

"listen, you were being evasive!" his head fell forwards, resting on your shoulder as he laughed.

"i didn't want you to know i was bleeding all over the place!"

"why, didn't want me to worry?"

"exactly!"

you reached your free hand up, gently resting it on the back of his head and playing with his hair. "then maybe, just maybe, you should have gotten someone to tell me your phone went for a swim."

"fair enough."

you stood quietly for a long time, running your fingers through his hair and enjoying the feeling of his breath against your collar.

"i..." he muttered, pulling back to look in your eyes. "i don't think- um. i don't think i'm..." he groaned, gaze darting to the ceiling. "i love you. but the minute you have enough of- of all of this-"

"i won't."

"but if you do, i'll... i'll understand, okay?"

you squeezed his finger gently. "okay." you inhaled deeply, dropping the bloody towel you were still clutching and slid your hand forward to hold his completely. "can we get a bandage on that and go to bed, now?"

"....yes please."

---

"wait!" you yelled, throwing the first aid kit haphazardly onto the bathroom counter and racing after him into the bedroom, where he whirled around with wide eyes. "i love you too! i never said it back- i love you too."

"don't yell like that- i thought something was wrong!"

"me not saying it back is urgently wrong, jason!"

[aenaxes-moved]

reverie

[crosshair x f!reader] kashyyyk is beautiful at night. crosshair takes advantage of the moment of peace to sneak away. you follow.

warnings: none, just some snoggin’ with cross (you can technically read this as gn!reader if you disregard the petname)

w/c: 2.2k

a/n: NO SPOILERS! this is me coping with the current crosshair situation :’-) i wanted to explore his softer side because dammit he’s got feelings (he might be a little out of character but my house my rules heheh)

“Nice hideout you have going on.”

“Had,” Crosshair corrects without looking up, too focused on carefully wrapping a rag around the scope of his firepuncher laid carefully across his lap.

Had you heard him speak one short year ago, when you were fresh out of GARMC orientation and shunted straight onto the Marauder, you would have certainly taken the sniper’s curtness for frigidity. And you had, for your first few months with Clone Force 99, taken his flat intonation and pointed tone with a timid squeak every time he’d come in for a bacta patch or hypodermic needle.

But things were different, now.

There is no deflated resignation that he’s been discovered, hidden a good few paces away from where Tech sits entranced by the wizened green Jedi master. Nor is there icy snarl curling at the edges of his lips, that you might deign to interrupt his alone time with Darling (nobody got between Crosshair with a microfiber cloth and Darling, not even Wrecker). Instead, he acknowledges you in his cool nonchalance, beckoning in the most backhanded of ways. You grin, seizing your welcome and ducking under a thick loop of vine into the small clearing where he sits perched on a boulder.

“Was Master Yoda talking too much?” you laugh, dropping down onto the balls of your feet as you peer up at Crosshair (who still won’t tear his laser focus from polishing over the dark metal of his rifle). You wrap your arms around your knees and grin when he groans.

“General Yoda is fine; it’s Tech that keeps prattling on with him,” Crosshair mutters, scrubbing a touch more aggressively at the base of the scope.

“Oh, Cross, let him have his fun,” you chide playfully, finally earning you a disdainful glance and a raised brow. “It’s not every day that you get to interrogate one of the oldest sentient beings in the galaxy.”

“Did you just call the general old?” Crosshair snorts, flipping his toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other.

“Crosshair, how dare you accuse me like that!”

“You said it,” he shrugs, and you catch a glimpse of a fleeting smile before he turns his head back down, away, towards his rifle.

You huff, and for a moment after, there’s silence. Mostly because you know that even your best retort would be effortlessly shot down, but in part to just indulge, to look quietly at the ornery sniper you’ve come to call a dear friend, to take in him and all of his tall, confident quietude. You both know that he knows what you’re doing, drinking him in, but he says nothing every time.

It’s in these brief reveries that you catch him in his softest, purest, state, methodically cleaning the firepuncher, disassembling, reassembling, replaying the soothing knowledge and practice that every piece had its rightful place. Things would align. Even with his chin turned down, his features nearly obscured by the shadows of the jungle canopy, there’s just enough light yet to make out the slight upward turn of his lips, a wry smile around his toothpick as he unclips his scope.

“So why are you here?”

The daydream is broken, and you flicker your eyes up to his with an embarrassed cough when you notice he’s been staring back. And if his smug half-smile has anything to say, it’s a triumphant and coy I caught you.

“Well,” you laugh, quietly pushing down the rising heat high in your neck. “I wanted to try to see the night sky on Kashyyyk before we leave, but I’m too scared to go alone.” You plaster on the sickliest of smiles you can, batting your lashes up at Crosshair in the way that would have Wrecker at your beck and call in seconds, but one that you know has no effect on his brother.

“Bullshit.” Crosshair rolls his eyes, but he’s already snapping the scope back onto Darling and sliding down from his perch. “Only things in the galaxy you’re scared of are porgs,” he says as he fastens his rifle into his pack and slings one strap over his shoulder, offering his free hand down to you.

“They—they have weirdly sentient eyes, okay!” you snap a bit hotly. You blame the warmth blooming across your cheeks on the fact that only Crosshair knows about your fear of the terrifying little fellows, not that he’s squeezing your hand and hefting you onto your feet.

“Why not ask Wrecker to take you?” Crosshair asks, letting go of your hand—to your relief and dismay all at once—and brush off whatever undergrowth sits dusted over your shoulders. “He’s sappy.”

“He’s busy making friends with the Wookiees.” And butchering Shyriiwook while he did it.

“And Hunter?”

“He’s also making friends with the Wookiees.” It’s not entirely untrue, if learning how to whittle blades out of branches counted as friendly bonding.

“Echo?”

“Also... making friends... with the Wookiees.”

You both know Echo has probably long since fallen asleep after a dose of painkillers for his fall during a particularly messy bit of the firefight. You could have actually told Crosshair the truth, but a part of you won’t take your chances—depending on Crosshair’s mood, he’d send you back to wake up his newest brother and return to shining up the stock of his rifle. But instead of calling your bluff, Crosshair simply shakes his head and sighs, extending his hand to you.

Mind suddenly and miserably blank, you stare mutely at his outstretched palm, an offering, then up at him.

“Come on, you said you were scared,” Crosshair teases, a lazy, sloping smirk curved over his features. He beckons you with a single flick of his fingers. Smug bastard, you think.

“My hero,” you snark back, but you’re quick to close the distance. Even if it takes bearing a bit of his snide sideswipes, you’re surprised at how easy it is to set aside your headstrong pride and simper for the sniper’s attention (though he’s giving it much more freely than you had anticipated). Palm to palm, the cool fabric of his blacks between you, you secure your grip around him as snug as you can.

Crosshair leads you quietly through the underbrush, going so far as to lift drooping vines and push aside especially tall ferns for you, all the while keeping as secure a grip on your hand as your grip on his.

It’s comforting, even while tamping through the darkness. You trust all of his brothers with your life, but maybe, just maybe, you trust Crosshair just that much more as he leads you deeper into the jungle.

After an short trek, you arrive at another clearing, the ground barren and drier than the damp, brush heavy terrain you had come to know during the Kashyyyk campaign. It’s no bigger than the armory floor spread on the Marauder, but as Crosshair pulls you into the clearing, you realize it’s not the earth beneath your feet that commands your wonder.

Crosshair nods his chin up, and your eyes are quick to follow. It’s the pearlescent glow of the three moons high above the treetops, shining clear and soft down through the canopy skylight.

Two moons float above in the bluish gray darkness of the galaxy, the third moon peeking from behind a few trees, in between them, a delicate freckling of stars, twinkling planets, comets ambling quietly through space. You’re barely aware of the grin spreading across your face as you soak in the night sky. It’s everything you had hoped it would be.

And with Crosshair at your side, it’s just that much more.

“Found it while I was scouting,” Crosshair’s voice comes, soft through the ambient silence of the jungle. Even in your rapture, you can feel his eyes on you, lingering on the green earth and watching your wonder far up in the sky.

“It’s amazing,” you breathe, and you squeeze his hand. You tear your eyes away from the starscape above to meet Crosshair with a smile. “Thank you, Cross.”

The sniper is quiet as you meet his gaze, trained on you with an indiscernible expression, a depth in his dark eyes you have only seen once before when you caught a glimpse of him at the helm, looking quietly into the expanse of space laid out before him.

It’s peace, you decide. A stillness, a calm, the quietest respite in the midst of this war. You gently rub over his knuckles.

“Close your eyes, y/n,” Crosshair finally murmurs, barely above a whisper, his gaze unwavering. And your eyes are already fluttered shut when you hear something hit the underbrush and a crunch of dirt under his boot as he steps forward and loops an arm around your waist. You squeeze your eyes shut a bit tighter as you press up against the battle-worn plastoid of his chestplate and feel his fingers splay over your hip.

Warm, rough fingertips gently pinch your chin and tilt your head up just so. A soft breeze wafts over your cheeks, carrying with it the woody musk and cloying pollen of the forest around you, and it is in that moment that you realize that he had dropped his glove onto the forest floor, had left it there and chosen to hold you in his bare hand, smoothing his thumb over your skin.

“There’s a good girl.”

The only warning you get is a ghost of a breath gently exhaled onto your skin before there is warmth, pulled close and steady and sweet as Crosshair gently tugs on your bottom lip.

He’s soft, you think mindlessly through the blissful haze between your ears. You faintly register the taste of the lavender balm you had bought him planetside on Crucival as he trails his hand up from your hip, over the dip in your back, and up to cup the base of your neck, pulling you closer.

All that teething’ll dry you out you had told him, and he’d scoffed something along the lines of soldiers—especially clones—not needing or wanting luxury goods. And yet you taste the telltale floral notes on his skin. You foggily wonder if he keeps the little tin on his ammunition belt as he kneads firm, steady fingers into your neck. You’ll gloat about it later.

There’s lavender, and then you taste him, just a trace, when he drags his tongue over the plush skin of your lips. At some point, you’ve brought your hands up to curl at the base of his head, threading through neatly cropped silver strands, and you part your lips. Finally, finally you can taste him on your own tongue.

He’s battle weary, laced with the slightest tang of synthetic wood treatment bleached into his toothpicks, anxiety bitten and jaw clenched. But here, now, only the faint residues of that tension remain in his impossibly gentle, unhurried motions. Running his thumb from your chin to the corner of your jaw, he tugs, tilting your head and gently tugging your tongue into his mouth.

Warmth blooms through your chest, steady and soft, a pulsar light glowing through the darkness, and you pull him closer.

He pulls away first, if only by virtue of your fervent wish that this moment might never end, nipping lightly your bottom lip in parting. And when the heat radiating off his skin is no longer close enough to warm you in the cool forest night, you slowly open your eyes, hoping that you won't wake to the durasteel ceiling of your bunk glaring down on you.

It's not a dream, Maker bless.

Crosshair stands before you, barely half an arm's length away and already flicking another toothpick between his lips as he smiles, open and soft in the moonlight. Without his persistent scowl, his piercing gaze, he looks so, so achingly young. And, if only for a moment, free of the burdens of war. Just a simple man bathing in the starlight in the jungles of Kashyyyk.

He's beautiful.

"Hi, Cross," you whisper, voice doing little to hide your lingering daze, and you watch, eyes wide with starry wonder, as Crosshair shakes with quiet laughter, eyes closed and shoulders sloped low.

"Hi, y/n," he chuckles. He fixes you with another unreadable look, this one different from the first. It's softer and mellow, vibrant in thrumming waves of bliss, content.

But before you can decide, he reaches down to pick his glove off of the jungle floor, tapping off the dirt on his hip and then, without hesitation, stuffing it into his ammunition belt. There's a brief flash of purplish metal in the pocket he chooses. The balm. You were right.

He catches your astonishment with a soft huff and clips the pocket shut.

"All that teething does dry me out," he teases, but there is only quiet acknowledgement, gracious and still as he extends his ungloved hand to you in the waning moonlight.

You stare at him, dumbstruck.

"The general probably knows we're gone. Come on," Crosshair's smile shifts, assuming a much more familiar smirk to accompany the sharp, snarky lilt that washes over him. He flicks his fingers at you, rolling his toothpick between his teeth. "Be a good girl for me."

There's the Crosshair you know.

"You're insufferable," you mutter, the heat blazing on the tips of your ears as you duck your head. But you reach for him anyways, reveling in the slow slide of your skin over his palm, your fingers finding home intertwined with his.

"Such a good girl," he chuckles, lifting your knuckles to his lips for the barest of chaste, fleeting touches.

"I will make your next hypoderm hurt like hell," you grumble.

"Oh, I look forward to it."

[starshipsofstarlord]

the age old divine

hela x hecate!reader x agatha harkness / masterlist

summary; the mass of murdered witches draws your attention, shooting down to earth to speculate the scene. two goddesses, and a outcast witch, need i say more? / warnings; death, smut, threesome, biting, blood, threatening, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, squirting

“dead, dead, dead.” the goddess of death herself spoke, as she traipsed through the loitering of witch carcasses. despite her words, her dark eyes showed anything but pity, rather what was bestowed upon her power endorsing pools was amusement. the scene was quite satisfying to her, it was a certainty that she would not be one to complain about the number of bodies.

“say it with a little less stride in your tone, these are my children. they were gifted magic by my hand, and now all that reprise has gone to waste.” you bit verbally at the daughter of odin, looking respectfully down upon the slaughtered. “only one of their own coven could have strung them to her heart so enthrallingly, we have to find the witch.”

“isn’t all this hocus pocus your jurisdiction? there is no we when it comes to reprimanding the order of this nature.” hela responded, brushing her hair back into its tarantula alike webbing. “hurry now, so we can carry on with our reckoning of the realms, earth is rather dirtying my feet with distaste for the humans that loiter pathetically on this planet.”

“oh hush, just because you are your daddy’s number one executioner does not mean that structured by your thoughts, that life is a waste. mortals may not be gifted with long life, nor the representation of elaborate thinking, however there is some beauty to their weak race.” a rustle in the bushes had you snapping your head to the side, focalising on the greenery as a nervous shake prompted the arms.

“there is no beauty to avid weakness.” hela noticed the listener’s location too, though she continued to speak as though it were a regular conversation at one of asgard’s infamous banquets. “nor hiding from those that reign higher in a seam of nature. come out little witch, and show us that digressed face of yours.”

“hela.” thoughtlessly elbowing the executioner, your thoughts drifted to her borderline mistake. the witch could attempt to escape after her whereabouts being called out, though perhaps you should have had more faith in the face of death, for a ragged haired, young woman approached from her hiding spot, seemingly worried for her own safety.

her eyes drifted over the various bodies that she had cast from life, and then they landed on you. instantly she recognised the description that your form visibly upheld, she had heard various tales and stories about you as a child, the mother of the witches.

“agatha harkness.” you knew her name, inside she panicked, it felt as though she were to be punished for her sins. but with one flick of your enchanted wrist, the evidence of her reprisal disappeared, her mother’s corpse turning into nothing more than a wisp drifting through the air. “i suppose it is you that had vanquished your family, may i, the sorceress over all, get an answer to why?”

agatha fumbled her shoulders for a second, as she thought of the best response that she could possibly bestow. she couldn’t say that she had seen the darkhold, nor disobeyed the ways of her coven, that would only make her appear as the villain. “well, are you going to tell me, or am i going to have to take a peak in that chaotic mind of yours?” your tone was harsh, as your demanding eyes bore into her.

from beside you, hela tutted, as she nonchalantly picked at her nails. “aren’t you the one always telling me to have patience?” out of all times, this was when the goddess had to intervene, it seemed as though she herself had no patience to sit there and allow you to carry on. after all, as she had spoken, this was your area, not hers.

“shut it.” the demand provoked the woman that lurched death upon her victims, she was fast to swoon forwards and cast her tough hand upon your jaw. her impending pupils glazed over, washing over with dominance, as her spare hand reached out, shaking her pointer finger at agatha, whom had tried to creep away from the debacle scene.

“not so fast little witch, i want to show you how weak and vulnerable your deity is in my hands. one snap and i could break this pretty neck of hers; and that would be such a shame.” hela hissed, sinking her teeth into your chin, hard enough to cause a puncture mark to render your flesh, with your crimson humanity lightly escaping from the small wound.

the goddess of death threw you upon the ground, as you turned and glared at the witch, who remained frozen at the play that was rolling out before her eyes. hela sunk onto her knees, grasping the crooks of your ankles to pull you closer, straddling you to permit no option of escape.

“i thought that you were smart enough not to talk back to me y/n, but it appears that i, like the ways of my forefathers, was wrong. did all those lessons i introduce you to amount to nothing?” her porcelain hands tore at your white robe, exposing your nudity to the crisp air, that sent ripples of bumps along your immortal skin. “i will bend and break you until you understand. i will rip everything away from you, until you see that your whimsical tricks are nothing in compared to what i am able to do.”

a whine escaped your lips, and agatha’s eyes widened. she shouldn’t be witnessing this, much less standing by as her legendary, tale told idol fumbled beneath a mass of dark seduction, braced to be as barren of clothing as you were the day that you had been birthed as a symbolic presence within the universe.

“get off of me, otherwise i shall inform the hellish mould of the devil’s crown how to defeat you; you and i both know that ragnarok will have you splitting in half like a fallen icicle.” the threat, albeit honest, was half empty, like a cauldron with the incorrect ingredients. hela could only smirk at the predicament that you had adjourned into the compass of.

her suspicious hand slithered down your body like an albino serpent, cradling the mound of your inherited artefact, rubbing her murderous thumb upon your rose, toying cantankerously with the petals, pricking at them like established thorns, drawing a spike in your breath. agatha rubbed her thighs together, trapping her full bottom lip between the jailhouse of her teeth, lightly gnawing upon her own flesh.

“get off of you, or get you off into a climactic example of true ecstasy, that is not accompanied by vengeful curses, nor midnight felines that bring the warning of arising karma?” she asked teasingly, shaking her deviant head as you thrusted your hip against her hand, rubbing the length of your treasure chest upon her thrilling palm.

“don’t be stereotypical hela, otherwise i will make sure you see some entrapment of your own fears; you and i both know that i am well equipped to take a guess at what they are.” hela prowled her top lip up in the stance of a silent snare, quickly disconcerting her attention away from you in your appeasing pose, as she beckoned the bushy haired witness over, grinning contently when the witch silently complied.

“i suppose you’ve never thought that the night would come where you would see your historical figure writhing under the affections of death. touch her, fulfil the one legacy that you bestow upon your enchanted selves, and serve her.” the woman cloaked in a skin of thin armour spoke, glaring frighteningly up at the witch, with a primal infrastructure edging the outside of her feral orbs.

“i, i, what do i do?” agatha wanted to be certain that the thoughts that ceremoniously rushed to her mind. if she were to worship your body with the passion that she had refrained from sharing with any of her coven, then she wanted to be certain that she knew the extents that she was allowed to perform to. a forbade groan sheathed like a revealed dagger from your mouth, as you located your neck in an alternate position so that you could look at your kin.

“eat my cunt harkness, now, before i decide to punish you for your treacherous sins.” within a minute, she scrambled upon the dirt, clawing her way so that she was met with an inspector’s sight. hela untangled herself from her masterful clothing, basking her body in nudity, as she climbed upon her face, sitting on it as you eagerly began to swipe your tongue through her folds, sucking earnestly at her clit.

agatha found that to be her moment, she craned her head down, swiping her fingers through your self accumulated slick, watching with a transparent gaze as your essence coated the pads of her skin. she delved her face closer, inhaling the immoral scent that radiated from your most intimate parts, tracing your lips with her explorative tongue. the witch hummed, as though she had succeeded at a spell, gasping herself as she felt your hand comb down and pull at her messy locks.

hela ground against your face, half suffocating you, just the way that she liked it. you moaned into her pulsating flesh, inserting your primitive tongue inside her, roaming around the dark caves that staved many secrets, feeling how each one perfectly moulded her soul, and made her into the dependant warrior that she was. it was unarguable, she was a difficult person to get along with, but you could feel the impact that her younger years had shaped her; she had been taught to be this version of death.

but ironically, there was much life in her as she made huffs that she often saved for the episodic scenery of the battlefield, huffing her perky chest out as she felt valhalla erupt in her abdomen, urging her to sink onto your tongue, and use you for her own advantage. agatha was admittedly not doing as bad of a job as you had inwardly predicted, she was eager to please, specifically more so, since it were you, hecate that she was intimately tending to.

you moaned up into hela, lurching your bottom half down and further unto agatha’s in inquisitive face, sending ripples of sound up through the raven haired woman’s sly body, stringing more leverage over her, in more ways than one. a shout bellowed from your chest, as you felt tendrils of aura surround the interior of your stomach, poking it to no end, sending you closer to the edge. witches, you’d show this one in particular.

harkness squealed as she felt a heat penetrate her entire being. she was a witch, you were a deity, that was perception enough that there was a range of power between the two of yours abilities. “hecate.” it was the name that her ancestors had taught her, and thus, the woman used it, trying to mush her not so innocent face back into your pussy in attempts to shut her own self up.

it felt as though the bifrost was soaring through her, sending her to another land; hela came onto your face, mumbling incoherent, presumably dominant, words to herself as you used your oral appendage to help clean her up. “by the dead, are you good at that.” it was far from the first time that she had told you that. agatha was on the route to her second orgasm, the bliss that you intuitively blessed her with had rendered her to a first.

she however continued to bring you to the overall whits of your sexual expression, introducing her fingers into your nest, watching euphorically as they entered you, and sunk delightfully through your folds, being swallowed into the spongey abyss. hela dismounted from your face, tracking over to position herself from behind agatha, turning up the ends of her skirt, throwing the supporting material over her ass, grabbing the cheeks as she pressed a bite into one globe.

the goddess sunk her face into the subsequent area that had been indulged in privacy for far too long, stroking up the ways of agatha’s slick cunt, nibbling upon her clit as the maleficent light you bestowed continued working inside of her. shaking your head, a finish line was installed as you raced towards it, surpassing the line as you pushed the simple witch’s face closer to your heat, coating her lips with your personal gold, forcing the pressure within her to explode.

her body shook as a violent flurry, which was surely anything natural, reckoned her body. juices spurted out behind her, coating hela’s torturous tongue as she pulled away, silently comparing her taste to your own. once more, in an instant, hela was robed once more, as she steadied your knees, pulling you up to your trembling feet. “now that is what i would call a divine intervention.” a smirk riddled your lips as you stood, your robe still torn, exposing the curve, and the entirety to your beautiful breasts; agatha felt as though she were in a trance.

you were so perfect, like all the tales had foretold. hela shook her head at your incensed pun, rolling her eyes at your consistent humour. “i liked this one, she was less bold than the others that we have previously visited.” noted the goddess of death, stepping back and dragging you back with her as a beam of light cascaded down through the sky, ripping the pair of you away from your current destination.

once it disappeared, the pair of you were gone; vanished. though evidence of your presence remained, agatha licked her lips, tasting you, as she simultaneously felt the affect that the pair of you had endured upon her between her dampened legs. it was a day that the stray witch would never forget, it was indeed, a memory that would surpass through her mind as she gained control, and thus more power.

[blutopaz15]

Hurt/comfort prompt 13?

So, I definitely feel like this is cheating for hurt/comfort part of this prompt because this is SUPER fluffy...oops! 😅

spicy, mature/explicit rayllum fluff below. cw for some post-sandwich clean up stuff, though not super explicit. 

A little epilogue to close...

#13: "why are you bleeding? what happened?"

hurt/comfort prompts

She wasn't sure how long exactly they'd been lying like this, but it'd been long enough for Callum to calm.

His babbling on and on—asking her if the best feelings she'd ever had had been "okay", like a dummy—had been easier to settle than his nerves had been all night, and Rayla was glad. All it'd taken was the truth—it'd been perfect—for him to fall into still silence with her, which they'd been relaxed and comfortable in ever since. It'd been nice, feeling his breathing slow in that silence, his harsh air growing gentler and gentler against her hair, his chest rising and falling at an easier and easier pace the longer they stayed melted against each other. His heartbeat had been the last thing to mellow, returning back to the steady rhythm she was used to hearing thump in her ear. 

A few things were certainly different than they were used to, though. 

His chest bare under her cheek, for one—not that that was completely unfamiliar. Not like her bare skin against him was, at least, or his lack of pants, or—most notably—her legs still locked around his hips. 

...or the mess between them they'd neglected to take care of.

Eager to get back to the bliss she was about to break, Rayla spoke. "We should clean up," she mumbled, taking in a long, lingering breath of post-coital Callum and pressing a kiss to his slightly sweat-salted chest. "Get up."

"I'm kind of stuck down here." Callum giggled, his fingertips finishing the trail he'd been leaving along her shoulder-blades, mapping out new, naked skin they'd been too eager to take the time for earlier, and ending up poking gently into her sides. "You first."

"Yeah, yeah," With a groan, Rayla sat up, trying to convince herself to give up being so close like they were in the name of washing up. It still felt so good though, and seeing Callum smile so softly at the connection as he ran his hand across her lower belly was just...so heartachingly satisfying, but, regretfully, she climbed off of him, staying a moment at the edge of his bed as her hips adjusted to the slight ache from moving in ways that even she wasn't used to. She'd been about to comment—it was a good ache—but stopped short when she turned back to him, spare cloth in hand. "You know, I never—what's wrong?"

Callum was studying a faintly tinted spot on his sheet and paid his lap the same attention for a moment before looking up at her, brow furrowed.

"Why are you bleeding?" he asked, frowning and watching as she cleaned up the messiness between her legs. "What happened?"

She'd barely call those streaks of blood bleeding, and nothing had hurt enough that she would've guessed she'd bled, but...they hadn't exactly eased into this, either. She'd been pretty eager...

"You happened," she laughed, hoping he'd be reassured by her nonchalance...but Callum followed her across the room to scowl concernedly at the blood-tinged wash cloth in her hand.

He took the soiled rag from her, dropped it in the laundry, and replaced it with his hand in hers to escort her matter-of-factly to her nearby bed, insisting she sit. "I don't get it."

"I'd never done that before," she shrugged to explain, restating the obvious. When he pressed her legs apart, she let him look, bemused by his concern over something so small and normal. 

"Yeah, that's—uh—what I thought, but—" Rayla squinted at him as he got up from kneeling to sit beside her, satisfied apparently with whatever was happening between her legs. Callum gripped at her hands super urgently, like something was wrong—actually wrong. "Did that—Did I—hurt you?"

"What?" she asked, sputtering an incredulous laugh—as if he would ever hurt her—before realizing his apparent ignorance. This was genuine fear—she realized, seeing that there were even tears threatening at the corners of his eyes—not just Callum's typical worrying. Squeezing at his hands even tighter than he had at hers, intentionally kneading out the tension from each finger, she explained. "No, I mean...a little, but that happens, Callum. We probably should've gone a little slower, that's all." 

Callum hummed an acknowledgement of what she'd said, but still glowered. Even her lips on his cheeks didn't lighten him up...so she tucked her head against the crook of his neck, whispering sweetly—flirtatiously. "Mostly you made me feel good." She kissed the hickey she'd given him earlier, then made sure to breathe the next words directly against the shell of his ear. "Very, very good."

Flirting had apparently accidentally become tickling, she realized, as Callum's shoulder lifted up to his ear, blocking her access...but her whispering had had the desired effect either way, she knew by his smile. 

Laughter dampened to a wince as he slipped his arms around her waist, though. "I...don't like that: that that hurt, not even a little bit."

"I should be okay next time." she said, holding him too and hoping that that reassurance would calm his worries. "Don't worry, dummy." 

Comforted enough apparently, Callum's eyes fell to her lips, so she guided his chin into place...

"You wanna make it up to me?" she teased.

Arms tightening around her, he nodded, maintaining the tension of space between their lips while his hung open, gasping in a shuddering breath in preparation. "What can I do?"

She didn't think Callum had even had a chance to close his eyes with how briefly her lips had been on his before she dropped back onto her mattress, out of his arms…

…and spread her legs.

"Kiss it better?"