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webism · 11 months ago

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‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎HOT ROD !

After getting hooked on your taste, pornstar!satoru invites you and your pornstar boyfriend to shoot a threesome in the countryside.

pornstar!suguru x pornstar!satoru x fem!reader | part one, two

cw; ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she/her pronouns used for reader, unprotected sex, creampies, oral (m and f receiving), anal (m receiving), mmf threesome, voyeurism.

The sun has barely risen, the typical tangelo orange of a morning sky is yet to develop—instead, you watch a dull pink canvas the sky, turned more of a rose colour through the car's windshield. Suguru Geto, your lover and costar alike, keeps his hand on your thigh as he drives. Occasionally, he'll tap his fingers against your exposed flesh along to the beat of the old niche rock song blaring through the radio. You have the volume up too high—which isn't good for your ears, but is great for the soul—and the windows rolled all the way down. The wind is in your hair, which aids the setting heat of Summer in Japan. It's quite pleasant out here. You're filming at a location you can only reach through an open road that goes right past some very scenic hills, and you're having a lovely time just enjoying your lover's company. Nothing but the two of you.

That being said—something sits at the forefront of Suguru's mind. You can tell his thoughts are preoccupied, having been with him so long gets you a sweet look into that pretty mind of his. So, when the strings of an electric guitar die out, you turn the radio down and shift in your seat to face him better.

“Cold feet?” You ask.

His hair is up and out of his face, save for a stand that falls over his eyes, though it’s pushed back by the wind regardless. He glances at you, smiles, and looks away.

“I don’t get cold feet," he says flatly, looking at you for half a second before his focus returns to the road. “I'm just interested to see if he'll fuck as good with me there, of if the poor guy will get performance anxiety."

Ah, jealousy it is. The flat kind, because your sweet-boned lover never gets openly jealous. You have to settle for half-bitten quips. You smile, "he didn't seem like the type to get performance anxiety."

Suguru hums in a noncommittal way, his lips pulling inwards. He squeezes the fat of your thigh and taps a finger against your skin. Your skin heats under his touch, it always does. You might earn your living through the most sensual of touches, but none of them quite set you alight like Sugurus does.

Well, except for Satoru. You try to avoid closing your eyes, in fear of being met with the memory of his cock sinking into you rather than the darkness of your closed eyelids. You feel half-guilty, despite Suguru's obvious itch to see you laid out for Satoru Gojo of all people. You know him, you wouldn't be driving forty minutes through the countryside if Suguru wasn't at least a little bit obsessed with the fantasy.

Satoru Gojo, a known name in the porn industry, got to fuck you stupid only a week ago. He had asked you out for drinks after, and though you rejected him verbally, you’re starting to fear that your mind didn’t reject him in the same regard. You had come home that night to your sweet Suguru, and told him all about being hit on by your co-star, to which he laughed.

And oh the irony, that your Suguru was balls-deep inside of you that night when the two of you got an email from Satoru’s agent– an offer, an expensive one. One shoot, a week from then, a threesome between his new favourite love birds and, of course, him.

Suguru remembers Satoru like he was the season prior, like the winter that bled into you, the spring. They did a few films together, Satoru got a little too stuck in Sugurus mind and then, once their contracts were up, they never spoke again.

The rising sun makes him squint against the road— he almost misses the turn off to the countryside estate you had been told to meet at. The place is nice, big, and you’re starting to wonder just how widely distributed this porno will be if the producer is shelling out so much money just for an estate to rent out for half a day.

��With how much they’re paying us, I half expected the budget for location to allow for a crack den at most,” Suguru snorts as he pulls in through the large paved driveway.

“No kidding,” you hum. With this paycheck, you’d just be greedy looking for work in the next few months.

Suguru parks and undoes his seatbelt with a sideways glance in your direction. “We’re a bit early,” he notes. “But it never hurts to get a feel for the place, talk to our co-star for a minute or two.”

You smile. “Mhm, talk.”

“Ready to get fucked for cash?” Suguru snorts, and opens his door to get out of the car. You follow suit, rolling your eyes at his crude words when your feet hit the ground and you’re closing your door behind you.

You walk around the car to meet your boyfriend, and he greets you with a pinch to your ass and a kiss to your temple. You’d recognise something poetic in the contrast of his actions if your mind wasn’t so preoccupied with thoughts of performing for him in only a few moments.

Despite both being pornstars, you rarely take scenes together. Threesomes aren’t a frequent venture— this is something relatively untapped for the both of you. And though you’re sure it would never jeopardise your relationship at all, you can’t help but entertain the worries that creep in. Will Suguru really not mind sharing?

You aren’t sure what’s worse— the thought of him getting overly jealous of Satoru and cutting the scene short, or the thought of Suguru not minding in the slightest as you get fucked stupid by another man. A little possession never goes unappreciated on your end.

“Hey,” Suguru’s silken voice brings you back to the now. “You okay? We can turn around and speed off into the sunrise if you want to leave.”

You grin. “I’m good. Excited, even.”

Your boyfriend nods and leads the way to the estate's front door. It’s closed, which is a little odd considering the production crew will be coming in and out with equipment and the such. You furrow your eyebrows and realise your car is the only one here—maybe you’re earlier than you realised.

“You checked the shoot time, right?” you ask.

“Yes, love,” Suguru makes it to the front door and tries the handle only to find it locked. “Fuck, maybe I should have triple checked.”

He presses a thick finger to the doorbell button and glances to you as the sound of an overly upbeat chime echoes through the estate. Maybe it’s the wrong place, too lavish to be true. Maybe it’s the wrong date, even. Maybe—

The door swings open, and standing to greet you with a knowing grin is Satoru Gojo.

His eyes meet yours first, and then drop to take in the rest of you. Something soft flashes over his face. Lust, perhaps, or appreciation, maybe both. His arms cross over his chest, leaning his body weight on the doorframe as he flits his gaze to your boyfriend, and his eyes return.

“Long time no see, lovebirds. Just on time," he chirps, stepping aside to let you in. "Excuse the mess, I just moved in."

It takes a moment for your brain to register his words, and Suguru is right behind you in thought. "This is your place?" he asks, appraising the foyer as he walks in.

“Mhm,” Gojo replies, and though you expect his lilt to be more cocky, he speaks smooth like silk. “The city is too… busy for me. Plus.. saves a dollar on renting out a house to film in, right?”

You can’t help the smile that pulls at your lips: from the looks of his home you doubt he’d blink an eye at paying rent for a night of filming. Still, you don’t know if he’s just trying to show off, or if he really wants his home to play backdrop for the shoot. But whatever the case, he definitely thinks it’s clever on his behalf to lead the both of you here. It worked, you give it to him, but damn.

You look around, taking in everything that catches your eye – the sleek furnishings, a wide kitchen to the left, and an elegant living room straight ahead. All of it feels clean and welcoming. You wonder, idly, what it's like for Gojo to live in a space like this all alone – if he is alone, that is. The question remains unanswered as Gojo leads the two of you down the hall until you reach another door and slip inside.

The bedroom you end up in is stunning; a double bed dominates the centre of the room with fluffy duvets thrown haphazardly over top, whilst the walls are painted a warm, calming shade of grey. The carpet is plush and dark brown in colour, the curtains hanging at either side of the grand windows allow for plenty of natural light to flood the room. There's a tripod set up with a very expensive looking camera pointed directly at the bed: Satoru points to it and grins at you and Suguru, "our camera crew."

You furrow your eyebrows, but Suguru speaks up before you can. "It's just us?"

Satoru nods, crossing his corded arms and he flits his gaze between the two of you. "Yes. I did specify it was a private shoot, lovebirds."

Your boyfriend settles in closer beside you than before, you can feel the heat from his body as he crosses his own arms, a mirror of the white haired man in front of you. "I figured it was a private production shoot," he speaks cautiously. "The email I got was from an agent, not you directly."

Satoru looks unperturbed. "'Course," he says languidly. "She handles all my correspondence."

Gojo turns to the dresser and, from the top drawer, pulls out two white envelopes. Your eyes linger a little too long on his slender fingers as he hands them over to you, one each. As you peek into the envelope handed to you, you find an obscene amount of cash neatly sat inside.

"As agreed, plus... a little extra for the commute," Gojo shrugs. "You can take it and go, if this isn't what you want. If it is, well..." He gestures to the bed. "I'm kinda dying here."

You glance down at his insinuation and find that he's beyond hard. His pants are tight and tented, making his arousal painfully evident. You have to force your gaze elsewhere – to Suguru, who is staring almost shamelessly at Gojo, his brows creased in the middle as he thinks.

The silence is deafening, you can feel the tension rising between the three of you, vibrating off the surface of your skin and permeating the air itself. Suguru seems to have made his mind up, because he turns to you with an awfully familiar look on his face: desire.

"Thoughts, darling?" he asks, and your stomach flips.

There's no point in pretending that there aren't things wrong with how your mind still reels after Satoru's touch. This entire thing has been confusing and disorientating; you're confused about everything – your feelings, your career, your sexual desires – and now, in your current situation, you’re downright torn. And yet, despite that, despite all the questions swirling around in your mind, as soon as your eyes land on Satoru's again – you know you'd die without another taste of his pink glossed lips. That feeling, the desire, the forethought of how he'd pant and whine after you've fucked him senseless – you'll do anything to achieve it.

This doesn’t feel like work anymore, not with the way these two men are looking at you. The camera isn’t even rolling yet, and yet you find yourself ready to fuck them both to the brink of oblivion.

So, without so much as a second of hesitation you pull away from your train of thought and turn to press your lips to Suguru's in a searing kiss. The action, so swift, causes Gojo's breath to hitch in his throat at the sight. Suguru kisses you back, of course, the hand that isn't holding his envelope quickly makes its way to your waistline and pulls you flush against him, leaving nothing but your clothes between the both of you. You wrap your arms loosely around his neck as Gojo watches the two of you intently, gaze burning into the meeting of your lips. You can feel him watching you, his spectatorship dizzying, and you bite Suguru's bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the moan bubbling up your throat.

“Jeez, didn’t know this was a cuckolding shoot,” Satoru sounds whiney, threadbare with lust. “Though I wouldn’t mind that… another time maybe.”

You place a hand on the planes of Suguru’s chest as you disconnect your lips and turn your head to the white-haired pervert with heart-shaped pupils. Your grin is sweet, sultry - "another time, huh?"

You pull apart from Suguru and move past Gojo, making a point not to glance in his direction, until you're crawling onto the bed and turning to rest with your elbows propping you up. Both Suguru and Satoru standing, your observers - admirers, is a sight for sore eyes. The camera sits between them, propped up and set on you. In spite of it, you feel oddly at home. The same sweet excitement builds within you that you normally feel when it’s just you and Suguru at home. You didn't know the air could weigh so intimately in front of a camera.

It takes a moment of staring at you, jaw slack, for Satoru to finally spring into thought. He steps towards the camera, makes sure everything is looking good, and then clears his throat as he presses record. He almost looks nervous, and if he weren't so cocky in his usual demeanour you'd think he's getting cold feet. But you remember the way his eyes glossed when he pushed into you, how that confidence of his melted into carnal need in just one thrust. You know what you do to him, and god does it seem amplified tenfold with Suguru here.

And your black-haired lover must know it too, because the second Satoru makes a move to speak, Suguru cuts him off with a step towards him and a burning kiss pressed to his lips. Satoru's sound of alarm at Suguru's lips on his is almost enough to send you dizzy, but the true aphrodisiac is the sight of your lover taking charge with him; lips locked onto one another, the lewd noises they make as Suguru cups Satoru's face with one hand and scratches into the back of his hair with the other. Satoru's moans become louder and more desperate, as Suguru's tongue explores the recesses of his mouth, sucking hungrily upon the flesh of his lower lip. When the two break apart they're both breathing heavily, panting as they catch their breath. An undoubted look of longing is etched into every last one of their handsome features.

You feel your stomach roil with anticipation as you watch them, realising the camera is only pointed at you, capturing your wanton expression. But then, it snaps, and suddenly your lovers are pulling apart to instead lay their gaze on you, resting back on Satoru's wildly comfortable bed sheets with a lust-driven smile pulling at your lips.

“You’re a fucking lucky man, Suguru,” Satoru coos, blue eyes raking over you in appreciation. You’re hardly undressed, and yet you feel naked under his gaze. “Don’t know how you can do porn when you’ve got such a pretty thing waiting for you at home. It’d ruin my performance.”

“I know,” Suguru says plainly, truly. "You've never been good at multitasking, have you Satoru?"

"Harsh words," Satoru pouts, giving his best imitation of an overly dramatic frown. "I can multitask just fine, do you need me to prove it?"

Without a word further, he plucks the camera from its tripod and points it at Suguru. "For example," he sing-songs, "I can fuck and film at the same time."

“Can’t do it dressed,” you point out, to which both men turn to find you already stripping yourself of your clothes. Satoru turns the camera onto you, finding it a sin to not capture you revealing yourself with such delicate fingers. You look into the lens, eyes sultry as you’re known for doing, and wonder just how many people are going to slip their hands under their waistbands at the sight of you.

Once you’ve laid yourself bare, your naked skin feels static with the tension in the air, you reach your hands out and make grabby-hands at Satoru. “Pass the camera,” you hum. “It’s your turn.”

A glance between themselves, and then Satoru is leaning over the bed to slot the camera in your hands. It’s heavier than you’d thought it would be, but feels nice and cooling against your otherwise sweaty palm. Satoru’s fingers brush over yours as he hands it over, something electric stills the room for a moment, and then he pulls away with a cough.

He hadn’t realised that Suguru had fallen into place behind him, because when he steps backwards and his back hits your boyfriend's chest, Satoru gasps. You capture the pink blush that speckles at his cheeks, and the beautiful way in which Sugurus hands snake around his body to caress down his chest.

Suguru has always been gifted in the way of sparking intimacy. It’s why the porn he shoots is usually so artistic, he’s sensual. And Satoru, not for the first time, is falling victim to his seductive ways. The gentle traces of his fingers down Satoru’s chest is testament enough to just how narcotic Suguru’s touch is. When he reaches the hem of his shirt and starts lifting upwards, unwrapping his next meal, Satoru can’t help but lift his arms and help move the process along — he’s feeling beyond restless.

Now exposed, Satoru’s chest and torso are now at the mercy of Suguru’s searing touch. Each trail of his fingers down the white-haired man’s chest, each tweak over his surprisingly sensitive nipples, each rough kiss against the column of his neck, they all elicit the most pornographic moans from Satoru Gojo’s throat. You study them both through the camera’s screen, and watch as Suguru presses his lips against Satoru’s ear.

He speaks in hushed tones, enough so that you know the camera isn’t going to pick up on his words. You can hear them though, only just, they're low and sensual and entirely full of sin. "You're lucky I'm letting you fuck my girlfriend for a second time," he purrs. "You know, she hasn’t stopped thinking about your last shoot. We watched it together the other night, I matched your rhythm, let her pretend it was you. She’s obsessed."

You're almost embarrassed by the confession, a burn sheens your skin, but the way Satoru's eyes darken impossibly further calms you. Suguru grins, catching your gaze from over Satoru's shoulder, and presses a kiss to his earlobe. "It brought me back, too," he says. "To when I got you to myself. You remember our films, hm? You're just like she is."

Satoru nods, the tips of his ears turning redder. His breathing is shallow, ragged, needy; and in a split second he's turning around and returning his lips to Suguru's. Desperate hands lift at your boyfriend's own shirt, exposing his tattoo-laden skin underneath. His jeans soon follow, and then so do Satoru's pants.

For a moment it's just the two of them, all clothes bar their boxers discarded to the floor and hands exploring bare skin. The warmth of Satoru's fingers digging into his chest, his ribs, his hips, the hard planes of his body, their bodies pressed together as if to become one. Their lips connect again, hungrily, their teeth knocking together with every brush of tongues. Satoru takes Suguru's lower lip between his teeth and bites hard enough to elicit a choked groan from the back of Suguru's throat.

And when they part, it's obvious just how much heavier the air has gotten. Suguru turns your white-haired tryst and pushes him towards where you sit on the bed. "Move your ass before I fuck that too," he deadpans.

Satoru doesn't blush like you expected he would. Instead, he grins. "That would be a big change from last time, don't you think?" he sing-songs, eyebrows raised as he steps further towards the bed. "Or maybe you don't remember crying from how well I stretched you out, I sure do, all pretty and—"

This time Suguru does flush crimson, and you laugh out loud at this revelation. "I didn't know you bottomed for him," you shake the camera a little with your laughter, capturing the way Suguru glares at Satoru from beneath long eyelashes, "that's something I've got to see."

"Hah," Suguru climbs onto the bed and snatches the camera from you, settling on his knees as he points it down at your form. There, his fingers graze lightly against your bare skin, making you arch your back in anticipation. "Tough luck, pretty."

His black boxers are beyond tented, and he slips them off easily enough, allowing his cock to spring free, perfectly poised and ready for your hand. The sound of Suguru's moan as your fingers wrap around his length is paired with the shuffle of Satoru climbing onto the bed too. He hovers above you for a moment, watching you stroke Suguru through the camera, before taking it from him with a grin.

Satoru returns the camera to its stand and checks its positioning before climbing back onto the bed and settling himself just behind you. You turn to smile at him, and then gasp as his hands tentatively find your shoulders. He peers over you, to the sight of Suguru’s drooling cock in your hand, and presses a kiss to the skin just under your ear.

“You know I’m fucking obsessed with you, right?” He purrs, glancing down to your boyfriend's cock before pressing another kiss to your shoulder. “Haven’t stopped thinking about you. I dreamt of breaking you and your boyfriend up until I found out it was Sugu, here. Wanted you all to myself, pretty thing, but I think I’m happy enough to share now, because god do I want to see your lips wrapped around his cock.”

“Mm,” you hum, turning your head to meet his gaze. “You haven’t even kissed me yet, and you’re making demands?”

Satoru smiles, his lips glossy and so perfect you could cry. “I want to taste him on you.”

His words light a fire in your core that licks through your body, ravenous. You can't help but oblige at his words, returning your gaze to sweet Suguru before dipping your head down and pressing a chaste kiss to the weeping tip of his cock. Suguru and Satoru both inhale sharply when you do so. You wet your lips with your tongue and then meet his cock again, drawing lazy circles across his tip before closing your lips slowly, reverently around the shaft of Suguru's cock.

Satoru's hand pushes down a little on your shoulder, and you're forced forward onto your lover's length. Your moan betrays you and sends narcotic vibrations down his shaft, making Suguru grunt and buck his hips forward a little. Satoru, who remains behind you, gently takes hold of your hips and manoeuvres you into more of a doggy-style position — your fingers splayed over Suguru's thighs to try and find purchase as Satoru leans over you.

Gojo's chest presses against your back, skin-to-skin intimacy broken by the feverish kisses he presses to the back of your neck, down to your shoulder blades, your spine, His kisses become hotter, wetter, open-mouthed as he moves down to your waist, large hands playing with the flesh of your ass as he kisses a path down. You moan and shift against his grip, moving your hips in an effort to push yourself back against his boxer-clad erection, but Satoru only snaps you forward, and you choke a little as you're forced to take Suguru's cock even deeper down your throat.

"Fuck," Suguru hisses, pretty purple eyes meeting yours as you look up. Drool glosses his length, slick and hot and heavy against your tongue when he finally gives you a moment to breathe.

Your mouth immediately goes back to work again once your breathing steadies, hollowing out your cheeks and dragging him down, deeper, faster, more desperately. The receipt of pleasure etched into Suguru's tight-wound face is enough to spur on your own needs, but you nearly choke when Satoru Gojo bites into the fat of your ass. Your body arches up and you squirm and whine, but Satoru is relentless, licking over the indentations left behind as Suguru snaps his hips into your open mouth over and over again.

You barely have room to move before Satoru is pushing your knees apart with a strong hand, the heel of his palm firm against your ass as he spreads you open. He takes a moment, heavy breaths fan against your exposed slick, and you’re suddenly all too aware of yourself. You’d protest, tell him not to stare if your mouth wasn’t full with your heavy-lidded lover's cock. You don’t even know why you’re embarrassed — you’re a pornstar, your job is to lie subject to the most intimate of ogling.

Your thoughts melt into the bedsheets, however, when Satoru groans and connects his lips to your pussy. Stupid off the taste of you alone, he whines against your slick heat, enamoured. His tongue flicks over you, circling your clit repeatedly and making your insides burn. You moan, and it comes out muffled and breathless around Suguru's dick.

"You taste so fucking good," Satoru speaks against your cunt. One hand slips between your legs, running two fingers through your folds in collection of your arousal, whilst his other hand tugs down at his own boxers, pulling his cock free and growling against your pussy as he starts to stroke at himself. "Fuuuuuckkk..." He pushes two fingers into you, easy with just how wet you are, and curls them in tandem with each pump of his cock.

Each thrust of his fingers pushes you just that little bit further onto Suguru's length. And you're thanking god that he's there, because without his muscled thighs to hold onto, you fear you’d be fucked too dizzy to keep yourself upright. You figure you must look a mess now, hair mussed and eyes bleary and drool rolling down your chin and all over Suguru's pulsing cock.

You feel pathetic with how quickly your orgasm crests. Satoru must feel it too, how you clench around your fingers, the subtle tremor in your thighs, because his tongue only speeds up in its assault. He's still stroking himself, keeping you open and willing as he sucks your clit harshly. Once you're right at the brink, teetering off the edge of ecstasy, Suguru pulls out of your mouth and leans down to crash his lips against yours.

"Come," he orders into your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue. "Come for us, darling, come on now."

You're overwhelmed by Suguru's rakish lips over yours, and Satoru's relentless tongue over your sex. Before you can even try to present yourself for the cameras, you're cumming, hard. You writhe against Suguru, and your nails scrape across his thighs until you can hardly draw breath. The world slows down around you, leaving nothing but pleasure to consume.

"Holy shit," Satoru’s breath comes out in a hitched sort of laughter as he pulls back, not bothering to wipe away the sheen of your lust that coats his mouth and chin. “My head’s spinning, I think I’m in heaven. Do I still have a pulse?”

He makes a show of checking his pulse, despite the way you roll your eyes. You’re still coming down from your climax as Suguru peppers feather-light kisses over your face. Satoru, feeling more hungry than doting, brings his two fingers to his own mouth, licking them clean. Suguru catches sight of the action and gently pulls back from you, something knowing in his eyes.

You assume he’s going to redirect your head back to his cock, let you finish your job, but instead he tuts and nods his head to your shared tryst, who is still diligently working at tasting you some more on his fingers.

“Think someone’s a little pussydrunk,” Suguru grins, and you do too at the sight of Satoru Gojo so blatantly desperate for more. Your eyes drift down to his cock, long and hard and weeping with precum.

Though, you don’t want to neglect Suguru, so you turn back to him — “you didn’t finish,” you make a move to reach for his cock, still rock hard and achy-looking, but your lover shakes his head gently.

“Got other plans,” he nods subtly to Gojo. “How about we show our stalker here just how much better the real thing is?”

You grin, catching onto his drift, and watch over your shoulder as Satoru rolls his pretty blue eyes. “You know, I’ve had the real thing, from both of you.”

“You haven’t had both of us,” Suguru shrugs. “And I know you’ve fucked your fist to the thought of it. Don’t lie, or you won’t enjoy this as much as you could.”

Satoru’s loaded remark gets stuck in his throat as Suguru pulls away from you entirely, though not without a gentle kiss to your forehead first. He stands by the bed, rolls his shoulders and nods to Satoru — “go on,” he gestures to you, still on your hands and knees. “Taste me on her lips.”

Satoru would probably blush if he weren’t so dedicated to the promise of a taste, because he’s got a hand under your stomach and is flipping you onto your back with ease in only half a second. You sigh at the reprieve of the strain on your hands and knees, and revel in how soft Satoru’s mattress is, when he’s collapsing on top of you with a strangled growl and his lips are meeting yours.

It’s a strange thing, to taste both Satoru, yourself, and Suguru at the same time. You taste Satoru in the way he kisses, hungry and listless, with knocking teeth and exploratory tongues. You taste Suguru in the remnants of his cock in your mouth, the precum that has coated your tongue, mixed with your saliva that now mixes with Gojo’s. And you taste yourself glossed on Satoru’s lips; your climax, the buildup of pleasure he had gifted you with both his mouth and fingers.

A strange mix, maybe, but a perfect one nonetheless. You have to close your eyes to stop yourself from growing too dizzy, and also partly to stop yourself from worrying too hard — how were you meant to enjoy anything to its full potential now that you know how this tastes?

Satoru’s cock presses against the inside of your thigh; you can feel the gentle thrum of its pulse — a testament to his aching need. His arms box you in on either side, settled comfortably between your still-shaky legs. When he pulls back, a string of saliva connects your lips to his, and his eyes are darker than you remember.

“I need to be inside of you, need. You’re fuckin’... god I can’t think.”

As if by instinct, your legs part further, allowing him the access he so craves. It’s a fluid movement, the way he moves one hand down to direct his cock to your slick folds. He rubs himself against you, his tip kissing your clit teasingly. You suck in a shaky breath between parted lips, and when he doesn’t hurry up despite his desperation, you feel like you could cry.

Though, before a complaint can leave your lips, you're watching as Suguru joins you two on the bed, kneeling behind Satoru and running his long fingers gently down the white-haired man's bare back. Satoru's head falls forward at the touch, and as your boyfriends hand runs lower and lower on his back, you realise exactly where this is going.

"You're gonna fuck her good," Suguru purrs, graceful in his touch. "Because I'm going to help you -- that okay?" He reaches back up, brushing his knuckles from between his shoulder blades, down the curve of his spine until he reaches his tailbone.

Satoru's eyes are locked on yours as he answers your lover. "Yes," his exhale is beyond needy. "Please, god. Yes."

And from there, things move with practised ease. It feels normal to submit yourself, your body, to Satoru. As Suguru takes hold of either side of his waist and guides him into you, the stretch is searing. You remember just how hard it was to adjust to his size the first time, having to try and keep your face melted neutral for the cameras. You don't feel that same pressure now, despite Satoru still filming, and your nose scrunches up at the feeling of Satoru inside of you.

"You're..." you try, words stuck in your throat as Suguru pushes Satoru's hips into yours a little more. "Please."

Satoru takes control of the pace, his breath hot and heavy on your cheek, his body moving in sync. You moan as he starts thrusting slowly in and out, stretching every muscle in your body as you get used to the feeling. With every thrust, you feel him getting harder and deeper within you, and his mouth dips down to trail along the sensitive skin on your neck.

It's a narcotic, the way he fills you. He's longer than Suguru, though not quite as thick, but he reaches depths that aren't typical for you. As he sheathes himself deeper and deeper inside of you, with the help of Suguru's hands on his waist, You slowly become spineless; relaxing into the pleasure of his sweet push and pull.

Sweat beads at your skin as Satoru quickens the pace, pulling out and plunging back in again with unbridled whimpers as Suguru works on taking his fill. Your boyfriend, domineering though still gentle, starts working your tryst open with one of his fingers.

"Ah- fuck," Satoru's words are heady with need, the initial discomfort of Suguru's fingers pushing into his ass are quickly forgotten, replaced with a deep yearning for more sensation. It sends his hips snapping into yours, bottoming out inside of you at such depths you can't help but cry out. It's a symphony of wetness and gasps of air, each syllable punctuated by Satoru's frantic movements. Your body grows tighter and tighter around Satoru with every pass as he gets worked open so beautifully by Suguru.

Your mind is clouded by everything Satoru has done to you and by the sheer force of him filling you with his cock and all that comes with it. You're completely and utterly lost in the moment, consumed by Satoru, who is consumed by Suguru, who is consumed in the pleasure of serving you both in turn.

"More," Satoru is barely able to get the word out as he slams deeper and deeper inside of you. "Fuck, more."

And Suguru isn't one to deny a pretty thing like Satoru such pleasures; he's pulling his fingers out of him in seconds and replacing them with the head of his cock at his ass. Suguru is gentle, but unrelenting as he thrusts himself into Satoru in one fluid motion. The pressure is enough to prick tears at Satoru's pretty blue eyes, which you reach up and wipe away from underneath him.

A moment is shared, a chance for Satoru to breathe the best he can, before he's testing the waters and pushing back a little, onto Suguru's cock, before thrusting his hips forward, into you.

This is ecstasy incarnate. The two men seem to merge together, their bodies melting as they meet. Suguru fucks you through Satoru, each thrust into him is a thrust into you, into the both of you. It almost hurts, you'd wager, the way your whole body throbs in synchronization with theirs, the way Satoru moans as Suguru drives you both to insanity. It's a weird way to connect with your lover, but one that works nonetheless, the both of you seem to share an awful yearning for the man sandwiched between you, fucked mindless.

And then he's driving your entire being towards the edge, and you feel the orgasm coming on, the rush of blood to your head, your muscles tightening around Satoru. It's a strange feeling of being connected to something bigger than yourself, a system working in tandem with each other to chase climax, but it's a feeling you're quickly growing addicted to. It's warm, it's comforting, and most importantly, it's yours. This man right here, his body pressed tight between yours and Sugurus, is yours. Even if only for the early morning.

"Gonna cum," you whine, lips ghosting against Satoru's. He nods, eyes locked onto yours.

"M—fuck—me too, baby. God, you have to let me come inside of you, doll, can't deny me, please. You—"

"You better," Suguru cuts in, his voice biting from behind Satoru. He thrusts sharply into Satoru, sending him keening forward into you, pressing right into your sensitive g-spot as Suguru hits his prostate in a mirrored pleasure. "Wanna watch you claim her," he bears down, "gonna fill you up, you fill her — watch her face, Satoru. Watch what you do to her."

You gasp as Satoru's fingers dip down to rub frantic circles over your clit, pushing you closer and closer to orgasm with each knock of his hips into your, of Suguru's into his. the room is filled with a chorus of moans and whines and desperate pleas for more and more and more. You know you'll never recover from this level of arousal if you don't come soon, but before you can find purchase in your body and begin your descent into bliss, Suguru is first to come undone.

His hips snap forward into Satoru, head craning into his neck, biting down on the muscle of his shoulders for some sort of physical gag — ever the one to stifle those beautiful noises of his. And the feeling of being filled in such ravaging volumes must be enough to send Satoru over the edge, too, because he's knitting his eyebrows together and cumming ropes into you in only moments.

"Fuck," he whines, once again tears prick at his eyes, overwhelmed by the duality of his pleasure, of you and Suguru, so close to you but also never close enough. He wants to be one with you, a complete unit, bound by sex and soul and the sweet sounds of the most powerful orgasm he's ever had in his life.

You come in tandem with him, it's completely blinding. Your legs fall apart as you cry out, nails scraping across Satoru's bicep as the world melts away and the sensations start swirling about in your mind's eye and the last thing you register is Satoru collapsing forward, breathing raggedly into your ear.

You catch the salty flavour of him as you suck in a lungful of air and smile in response, fucked stupid and blissful and never ready to give this feeling up. Never ready to give anyone else this feeling- god, you already despise whoever gets to taste Satoru Gojo next.

Suguru has to pull out of Satoru slowly, and you wipe at his face with the pad of your thumb when it scrunches up in protest of the loss of Suguru’s stretch. Before he can truly call the scene over, though, Satoru leans down and presses the most gentle of kisses to your lips. A myriad of ‘thankyouthankyouthankyou’s spill from his tongue as he does so, each word cut by a kiss to the expanse of your face.

And when he pulls out of you a sickening gush of his cum follows. It spills from your aching pussy and onto the bed sheets beneath you, though Satoru doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. He swipes his finger through the mess he’s made of your sex, smiling when you hiss at just how sensitive you are, and brings his cum-coated finger back to his mouth, eyes never leaving yours.

Your stomach flips at the sight. Great, he’s gone and fucked you lovestruck.

“Satoru,” a clean voice cuts in. Your head constricts in your fucked out daze when you turn to see Suguru standing by the tripod, his eyebrows raised and pretty purple eyes beyond amused. “It’s not even fucking recording.”

Instead of being confused, Satoru looks sheepish. He flops down onto the bed next to you, eyes glossy and cheeks blushed pink. “I…. can explain? I think I’d rather die than share the two of you with the world. But I’d really die if I didn’t get my hands on you both.”

You meet your boyfriend's gaze. Something passes between you, something knowing. In a weird, probably unhealthy way, you both feel the exact same. This was never a scene for the cameras, anyway— not when such strong… feelings are involved.

“I’m not proposing marriage here,” Satoru huffs when he catches onto your shared gaze. “I just, you enjoyed it, right?”

You giggle from beside him, your sweat-soaked skin cool against the air. Suguru chimes in with his laughter, melodic and beautiful. He folds his arms and watches the two of you laid across the bed.

“Let’s get you both cleaned up, then,” Suguru hums. “I’m not fucking either of you again until we’ve shared a shower.

TAGLIST: @sugurubabe @fullbelieverheart @starrysho @meowforluv @ch3rryistheg @miizuzu @okayiamkassandra @inconcise @sexcults @hotgirlgoob @mistalli @ourfinalisation @graceloveslanadelrey @blessed-princesa @plinkuro @pe4rl-diver @sugojosgf @beachaddict48 @chimmysoftpaws @blendingcaramal @dongh9e @caramelised-onions @kyluskaye @sammywo @4evrglow @hiraethwa @stinkinstuffie @tomiokasecretlover @ser0t0nln @yuzu-ku @lagataprrr @dear-fifi @hel-lhound @kensqueent @sserafin @dabisdolly @zoroisminty @angelkazusstuff @reinam00n @kaeyakaikai @bunny416 @littletittygothgirl @glitterbitch1 @saccharine-nectarine

cont in comments !

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nintendoduo · 1 year ago

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Nintendo Announces That The Switch's Successor Will Be The Wii U Again

Putting an end to months of intense anticipation and speculation, Nintendo announced today that the Nintendo Switch's successor console will have the exact same name as its predecessor, the Nintendo Wii U. It will also have the exact same technical specs and game library, and Nintendo projects the exact same lackluster sales.

In a press conference at the company's Kyoto headquarters, senior executive officer Yoshiaki Koizumi explained the reasoning behind the move: "We decided to release Wii U again because it's pretty good. It rules, actually. I love it."

Nintendo President Shuntaro Furukawa further elaborated: "Nintendo Land was my shit. Game & Wario was so underrated. So was Kirby and the Rainbow Curse. So was Star Fox Zero. So was Animal Crossing amiibo Festival. So was Sonic Boom: Rise of Lyric." Furukawa went on to list every single Wii U exclusive game over the next minute and a half, as Koizumi cheered and applauded.

Also present at the press conference was legendary developer Shigeru Miyamoto, who mostly talked about how much he misses Miiverse. "I'm so nostalgic for Miiverse. When I look back on my life, I realize that without exception, my most cherished memories and friendships all happened within Miiverse. In fact, it was in the Meme Run community that I met my current wife and children."

"Splatoon 1 is the best Splatoon," Furukawa continued. "Mario Maker 1 is the best Mario Maker. Hyrule Warriors 1 is the best Hyrule Warriors. Mario Kart 8 non-Deluxe is the best Mario Kart 8."

"Yooooo, the battle mode with the racing tracks was so much fun!!!" Koizumi exclaimed, as Miyamoto vigorously nodded in agreement. "Underrated," Furukawa repeated. "So underrated."

The press conference concluded with all three agreeing that the Nintendo Switch "sucks" and "ain't shit," deciding on the spot that they would deactivate its online servers in order to reconnect the Wii U ones as soon as possible. "If you like Switch better, I'm very sorry, but it's inferior and we're shutting it down."

"I'm not sorry," Miyamoto said, addressing Nintendo Switch fans directly. "Fuck you. I wish I could shut you down, too."

#nintendo #wii u #nintendo switch #nintendo news #real gaming news that actually happened

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the-shedevil-writes · 2 months ago

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Warm (Bob Reynolds x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: Every night, Bob holds you until you fall asleep… and every night, he slips away, afraid the Void might get too close. But when an injury leaves you needing him more than ever, you ask him to stay. Just this once. Just until morning. WORD COUNT: 2.4k WARNINGS: Injury. Hurt/comfort. Lots of fluff and... a kinda sexy massage? NOTES: This is my first Bob Reynolds fic so uhhhh... be nice please MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3!

They had the same routine almost every night for the first six months of their relationship. The only exception would be if she were out of the country for a mission. And even then, sometimes they’d FaceTime until they fell asleep. After the Thunderbolts had become a public team and moved into the Watchtower, Y/n and Bob were drawn to each other. They were like a pair of stray cats who stuck together through anything and everything. Each with their own baggage, they were able to lean on each other to help lighten the load. Things moved forward pretty quickly, and they started dating. It wasn’t a said ‘You’re my boyfriend now.’ They just sort of… knew. They knew that they belonged to each other.

Their nighttime routine consisted of brushing their teeth together after team dinners. (If they didn’t do it right away, they’d forget and wake up with dry mouths.) They’d go into her room and turn off all the lights except for the lamp on her bedside table, giving the room a cozy, warm glow. And after they climbed into the covers, they’d hold onto each other throughout the night. They’d talk and laugh while telling stories they had never told anyone else before. Sometimes they’d turn on a movie and let themselves get distracted by each other’s touch.

But it always ended with her fast asleep on his chest, and Bob still awake. He’d gently move her off of him, doing his very best not to wake her. Then he’d trudge down to his own room and sleep. He had developed a fear of his darker half getting to her. He didn’t trust himself enough to know that the Void wouldn’t seep into her while they were asleep. No matter how exhausted he was. No matter how much he just wanted to fall asleep with her arms wrapped around him, he couldn’t do it. The thought of her having to relive her worst memories ate at him. It gnawed at his chest and sent him spiraling. So he’d always get up and make the walk.

She always complained about waking up cold and tried to reassure him that it’d be okay. It got to a point where even if she had to go through the repressed memories again… it honestly would be worth it just to wake up in his warmth. But he always shook his head nervously at the prospect.

It got harder to keep this up after she got injured during a mission in Sokovia. After a decently hard hit from a rifle against her lower back, she was left with nerve damage. It wasn’t something she couldn’t work through. She could still walk and train and complete missions. But she was grumpier lately, and Bob noticed. He always noticed. It was hard not to when she rolled around in bed, struggling to find a position that both included Bob and relieved the shooting pain down her right leg.

He’d try to leave once her breath steadied like usual, but now instead of staying asleep, she’d whine and cling to him, silently begging him to stay. To stay in the one spot that didn’t hurt. This was the same woman who could easily take on any threat that came her way. The same woman who could knock opponents off their feet and swiftly snap their necks. Yet half asleep, she’d murmur “Don’t go” over and over. How could he? It would take another hour for her to be knocked out enough for him to properly leave.

It was also impossible not to notice when she walked into the kitchen one morning with a slight limp. She tried to cover it up and walk normally, but it was obvious.

“Morning.” He said, his voice raspy as he sat at the counter with a bowl of cereal in front of him. “You’re limping. Maybe you should tell Valentina that you need a few days off.”

She shook her head insistently. She was too stubborn, and it was the one thing that Bob struggled with. He wished so badly that she would just listen to him when he told her to rest and not train to the point that her feet bled and her fingers swelled. But he also understood that this was her way of coping. Whether it was good or bad, training took her mind off things.

“No. No, I’m fine. I need to get to the gym.” She said, rubbing her tired eyes. It had taken much longer than usual for her to fall asleep, so Bob hadn’t been able to leave until early in the morning. But he didn’t mind.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He asked gently, standing up and walking over to her.

She shook her head again as he wrapped his arms around her. A tired sigh escaped her lungs. She looked up at his kind eyes and brushed some of his messy hair out of his face. “No. I’m all good.”

That night, she didn’t go to the team dinner, and it felt strange for Bob not to have her by his side. It felt a little emptier without her making fun of Walker or laughing so hard with Alexei that the table shook.

“Where’s the rest of you?” Walker asked, gesturing to the empty seat, after swallowing some chicken.

Bob shrugged, cutting into his food. “She’s been dealing with some pain since the last mission.” He nodded awkwardly.

Bucky cut in. “She’s got a herniated disc. Took a stock to the back pretty hard. She’ll be fine in a few weeks, but she’s been training like a madwoman.”

He nodded, confirming what Bucky said to Walker.

Walker went in to grab another piece of chicken, but Yelena slapped his hand away. “Save some for her. She’s already hurt, and you’re gonna make her starve.” She threatened with a raised brow. She turned to Bob. “Take some to her.” “I already planned on it.” He nodded.

Bob walked to her room straight after dinner with a plate of chicken, rice, and vegetables in his hand. A stock of her favorite chocolate in his pockets that he had to remember to take out before they melted.

He knocked, and there was no answer. “Y/n? You in there?”

A small groan could be heard, and he took that as an answer. He walked in and shut the door behind him to find her stiffly sprawled in bed with a large heating pad wrapped around her waist.

“Bob…” She cried, looking over at him. And she felt pathetic, but she couldn’t help it when it felt like someone was running a dagger down from her pelvis to her calf.

The sound of her voice made his heart break. “I got your dinner.” He said, slowly walking over and sitting on the side of the bed. “Oh! Before I forget, I also got your chocolates from the cabinet.” He said, digging in his pockets and putting the wrapped chocolate on the bedside table.

“I’m not hungry.” She said softly.

He sighed and reached over, brushing her hair out of her face. “But you’ve been training all day.” He pointed out.

She nodded with hazy eyes. “My leg hurts.” She said softly.

He leaned over and kissed her forehead, worried about shifting the bed too much. “I know. I’m sorry, sweetheart…”

Reaching out her arms, he took that as permission to place the plate on the bedside table and climb onto the bed next to her. She quickly took the heating pad off. Between the two of them, that would’ve been unbearable. Especially considering Bob ran hot and acted as her own personal heater most nights anyway.

He lay on his back, and she winced as she threw her leg over his waist, wrapping her arms around him.

“Where does it hurt?” He whispered.

She took his hand and led it to the back of her thigh, right above the back of her knee. “It hurts in my lower back, but this is where it hurts the most.” She nodded against his chest.

He gently pressed, and she let out a groan and gripped onto his sweater. He quickly retreated, but she shook her head, returning his hand back to where it was.

“No, no- please do. It helps it feel better.” She said softly, looking up at him and his worried blue eyes, “Please.”

He nodded and gently rubbed circles against that part of her leg, and she cried out, but sighed in relief when he stopped a few seconds later. He did it again, and the tension in her shoulders dissipated.

It made sense now, and he gently moved his hand up to her back. “Right here?” He asked, and she shook her head. His hand was just a little too high. He lowered it and pressed again, and she gasped into his chest as the spot ignited a fire through her nerves. “There it is.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I know. I know. I’m sorry.” He whispered softly into the crown of her hair.

After a few more places of massage, he moved his hand away, not wanting to hurt her too much. He instead just held onto her thigh and rubbed his thumb back and forth.

“Bob… will you stay tonight?” She asked, looking up at him, and she immediately saw the fear and hesitation cross his face. “Please. I’m not scared.”

“I am.” He replied. “I don’t want to hurt you.” She shook her head. “You won’t. We’ve escaped the Void before, and we can do it again.” She reached up and placed a hand on his cheek. “It might not even happen in the first place.”

He knew that. But looking down at her, she was already so vulnerable. He worried about what could happen.

“But what if it does?”

She smiled up at him, and it was like all his tensions melted away for a moment. “We figure out how to wake up, and we go back to sleep.” She reached behind his head and scratched the back of his long brown locks. He groaned at the sensation.

“You’re making this really hard.” He let out a nervous chuckle.

“Then make it easy.” She whispered before pulling him in for a kiss.

They had been dating already for over six months, and yet, every time she kissed him, it felt like the first time. The electricity she sent through him was borderline supernatural, yet she had no powers. Somehow, this human girl made this super soldier completely weak in the knees.

After pulling away, he pulled her close to his chest. “Okay. Okay, I’ll try.” He said, resting his chin on the top of his head.

Eventually, he was able to get her to eat, and they did their typical routine. Brush teeth. Cozy lamp on. Holding onto each other. Winnie the Pooh played on the TV, and the bear's soft voice was lulling them both to sleep. It had been a long day for her, and Bob hadn’t exactly been getting the best sleep lately.

Out of habit, he started forcing himself awake. When he’d nod off, his head would jolt up, paying attention to the movie again. She looked up at him and chuckled. The movie was a purposeful play on her part. The most relaxing choice possible, and she gently started tracing his chest through his sweater.

“You can sleep, baby.” She said softly, her eyes half-lidded herself. “You’ll be okay.”

He chuckled, exhausted, and rubbed his eye with the edge of his palm. “You know it’s not me I’m worried about.”

She nodded. “I’ll be okay. We’re gonna be just fine.” She reassured, nuzzling her head against his chest. Her leg hurt, but he had his firm hand wrapped around the back of her thigh. The comforting feeling of it distracted her just enough to relax.

He slowly nodded and finally let his eyes flutter closed. She took the time to watch him. It was rare to get to watch him sleep while they held each other. It felt like months of built-up begging and asking had finally succumbed. She smiled to herself victoriously and closed her eyes. Letting the sounds of Winnie the Pooh and Bob’s deep breathing lull her to sleep.

He didn’t mean to wake up slightly startled. His head jolted as if he had nodded off in class, or if he had fallen asleep somewhere he wasn’t supposed to. But Y/n’s small groan made him remember where he was. And as the sun streamed through peeks in the curtains, he sighed in relief. No Void. No shame rooms.

“Morning, baby.” She groaned, not even opening her eyes.

He chuckled and rubbed her back. “Sorry about that.” He murmured, and she shook her head.

“It’s so nice.” She hummed with her cheek pressed up against his chest, smushing her face. “I’m so happy.”

A smile appeared on his face. She had been so upset and in so much pain lately. To see her smile made him feel like he had achieved something. Even if it took facing his anxiety, he was proud to have stuck it out just for her.

“How’s your leg?” He asked.

“Still bad. But… I think I’m gonna sleep in today.” She said with a small knowing smirk on her face.

Y/n? Skip training? Unheard of. But this was the first time that Bob had stuck through the night. She wasn’t gonna let him go anywhere.

He looked at her with widened eyes. “You’re… gonna miss training?” He asked. It didn’t even feel right to ask.

She nodded against his chest. “Mmhmmm.”

He lay back, completely relaxed now. There was nothing to worry about. She was right there in his arms, finally getting the rest she needed.

“So if I send a text to the group chat with Valentina saying you’re recovering…”

She smiled, now fluttering her eyes open just to close again. “I’ll be sleeping right here on your chest.”

He shrugged sleepily and reached for his phone.

BOB: Hey, Y/n’s back is still messed up from the mission. She’s skipping training today.

VALENTINA: Sounds good.

BUCKY: Finally.

And it was as simple as that. He carefully reached to put his phone back on the nightstand and leaned his head back. Her breathing was already steadying as she drifted off again. Closing his eyes, he had a much more confirmed feeling that everything was gonna be okay if he fell asleep.

#bob reynolds #robert reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x you #thunderbolts #the thunderbolts #the new avengers #thunderbolts fanfic #bob reynolds fic #bob reynolds fanfic #lewis pullman #lewis pullman fic #sentry #new avengers #thunderbolts mcu #mcu #marvel

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eyelessfaces · 3 months ago

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if anything

bob reynolds x reader

summary: no one wants to talk about how close you came to dying, everyone walking on eggshells until bob finds out what really happened and asks why no one trusted him enough to tell the truth; you both know the reason involves your mutual feelings.

tags: some angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, idiots in love, yearning, light descriptions of violence, reader is held at gunpoint during a mission, mentions of wounds and bruises, tiny bleed, shame room, everyone in the watchtower knows you and bob are in love, bob has a cat (he gets her in this one shot that absolutely does not require to be read to enjoy this!)

word count: 2k

masterlist | taglist | ao3 | @eyelessupdates

buy me a coffee ♡

It’s unusually quiet when you step in and join the room, so quiet that you would have first guessed no one is actually here, so it comes as a shock when you hear the faint sizzling of the pan over the stove and see Walker and Ava cooking in a peaceful, unusual, almost unsettling silence considering they usually can’t stop bickering and picking at each other.

Yelena is sitting at the table lazily filing her nails, Bob is tucked away in his reading nook, and you glance around but Bucky and Alexei are nowhere to be seen, so you assume they’re down at the training floor.

You pull a chair and sit across from Yelena, making her glance up at you with a compassionate, gentle smile before she resumes her business. “You okay?” she asks simply, polishing her nails back and forth.

You hum softly and nod, repressing anything more. The truth is you’re exhausted and your limbs ache more than the painkillers can handle, and you’ve developed an awful headache from the pressure of it all, but you would rather leave today behind.

You know the reason everyone is so uptight and quiet, you know why the air feels so heavy. You’re painfully aware of the tension you have brought into the group after what happened during the mission, and you know how everyone feels despite no one really talking about it or letting it seep through except for that cold, weighing silence and the gentle motion as if everyone is afraid it will break the space around you.

The overwhelming quiet after the storm.

“I filed the report and got it sent to Valentina” you announce in a mutter.

Yelena’s eyes are back on you in a second. “Did you make it true to what happened?”

You nervously play with your fingers, picking at the skin around your nails, giving her a shake of the head. You can see Walker and Ava closely listening from the corner of your eye, exchanging a look before they resume their task when you look in their direction.

You sink back into your chair, wincing in discomfort when the shift in position painfully jabs at your side and steals your breath. “We didn’t tell Bob,” Yelena declares, setting her nail file down. “We figured we would save him the worry. We know how much he cares about you” she says, prompting you to look over your shoulder at Bob reading, earbuds in, blissfully unaware of the heavy atmosphere of the room.

Your heart tightens inside your ribcage but you are convinced it doesn’t have anything to do with the nagging pain of your wounded body. “Yeah, we should move on” you agree, turning back to Yelena. “Let’s not talk about that again,” you offer.

“We got to thank you one last time though” she grins with a slight tilt of her head. “You really put yourself out there for us. I doubt we would have made it if you didn’t offer yourself and put your life on the line for us. As stupid as it was”

You chuckle softly. “Come on, what’s a few broken ribs and a bet that could have easily gotten me killed?” you joke with a grin, the ache at your temple strangely familiar and similar to the feeling of the gun barrel pointed at it hours ago.

Despite the joke, you try to shake the feeling and memory away, grounding yourself with the thought that you’re here, you’re home, you’re safe, and there will only be bad dreams to catch up on you, nothing real.

You turn and lightly clear your throat when you hear Bob shift across the room, removing his wired earbuds, Yelena quietly quickly dismissing the conversation by not adding onto it, looking at you with a knowing glance.

“Bob, buddy, train your cat not to jump over the fucking counter when we’re cooking” Ava points at the evidence, the black cat meowing in response.

“Sorry, I’ll work on that” Bob says with an apologetic quirk of his lips as he gets Missy off the kitchen counter and puts her down on the floor. “She’s just hungry, it’s feeding time. C’mon Missy,” Bob calls, and the cat follows his every step as he grabs the box containing her food, needing to push her head aside when she already has it in the bowl even before he gets to pour her food.

“You can also work on those fangs of hers,” Walker remarks. “She bit me this morning.”

“Oh I’m sure you deserved it” Yelena casually mutters. Bob tilts his head in silent agreement, a small smirk threatening to grow on his face, and you can’t help but silently snort, the tension finally beginning to lift.

You feel safe here. It all feels warmer.

—

Missy is curled onto your bed, slowly blinking her sleepy yellowish eyes at you, not moving even as much as a millimeter when you sit down at the edge, not far from her.

A painful sigh escapes you, hand instinctively coming to clutch onto your badly wounded side in naive hope that the heat of your hand would make the pain subside just for a moment, but even the rising and falling of your chest as you breathe makes it hurt.

Your hand leaves your side and you try to compose yourself when you hear a soft knock at the door, Bob’s head peeking in the slight opening. “Hi– just checking in, have you seen– oh” he pinches his lips into a smile when you lean to the side – painfully, but you try your best for it not to show – and reveal Missy sleeping behind you.

“I didn’t close the door all the way so she made her way in,” you turn to look at the cat now peacefully sleeping.

“Sorry for that–”

“What are you apologizing for? I don’t mind. At all” you shrug.

Bob pinches a smile again, repressing another apology like you all have been teaching him, having been working on making him stop apologizing for everything and anything.

“Okay, I’ll–” he starts to back away, but suddenly stops, a worried frown forming over his face as he points a finger at you. “You– You’re bleeding”

You look down at yourself and see the spot of blood seeping through your shirt, a curse escaping under your breath. Bob quickly comes to your side, sitting down next to you.

Then, the second his hand rests over your arm, you’re sucked in.

Back there.

Your breath falls short again as you're standing in front of yourself, the version of yourself a few hours ago, gun kissing your temple. You watch as the civilian you willingly replaced breaks down in sobs, two other people clutching his side, leading him away from the scene.

When you turn around, the whole team is in front of you, just the way they were earlier, only this time, Bob is also there.

That's when you get it. His touch triggered this.

The scene unfolds, excruciatingly slowly for the second time today, and Bob watches intently, mouth slightly agape as Walker points his gun, as Yelena tries to reason with the man holding the gun to your head, as Alexei gets ready to charge onto him at any opening that could be offered.

You and Bob both remain silent as it goes on, flinching when the man threatening you readjusts and grips harder onto his gun, but you both know for a reason he eventually won’t go through with it.

Bucky steps forward and offers the man a deal, and everything seems to accelerate again as the man eventually gives up and kicks a knee onto your side before he violently drops you to the ground like a marionette with cut strings, your body crashing onto the same side you have been kicked. The man runs away while you groan and clutch the ground in pain, Alexei and Bucky rushing to you while the rest of them go after the man, Ava shifting through to stop him in his run and Walker giving him a hit of his folded shield, knocking him out.

Then, like you just blinked, you’re back in your bedroom, sitting next to Bob. Your eyes widen over him like you have seen a ghost, and he seems equally distraught, if not more.

“I’m sorry– You know I can’t control it” he pulls away, visibly shaken by what just happened.

“I know.”

You swallow, hard. The room remains heavy with silence until Bob speaks. “Why didn’t you tell me? Any of you?”

You sigh, rubbing a hand over your eyes. “It was easier that way”

He nods and hums. “So much for trying to make me feel included” he smiles bitterly, hurt.

You close your eyes for a second, suddenly aware of how wrong it sounded. “Bob” you reach for him and pull him back when he tries to leave. This time, you remain here, and your hand stays over his arm. “I didn’t mean it that way” you nod seriously. He readjusts his position over the bed. “We decided to just put it under the rug and not talk about it anymore. I even lied in the report. Valentina won’t hear about that but it wasn’t meant for the same reasons as you”

He frowns softly, listening intently. His gaze is focused on you, like your face could speak hidden facts directly.

“If we decided not to tell you it’s not because we don’t trust you or something” you explain with a small shake of your head, looking at him earnestly. “It was probably wrong that we tried to hide something like this from you, but we just didn’t want you to worry.” you nod. Your throat feels tight from the pressure, invisible hands grasping at you, suffocating you. “Because we know you care.”

“You’re damn right I do” he mutters, his dark blue eyes slightly flickering.

You can't exactly read his expression; it sits between frustration and something else that translates into the softness of his gaze but that you couldn't really pinpoint.

But you don't ask yourself any more questions. You have grown tired of it, and today might as well have been the last straw, so you do this the exact same way you did on the mission; you rush into it.

You rush into taking his face into your hands, pressing your lips against his without even questioning yourself.

A soft sound escapes his mouth as you do, but before you can even begin to wonder if you’ve startled him, he reaches for you with hesitant hands, as if he’s afraid to touch you, before they eventually come to rest at your neck for good.

When you pull back, your foreheads are still pressed together, his lips still lightly grazing yours before a contented smile lights up his face, his knuckles brushing against your face with more confidence he suspected he could have.

It feels like behind pulled back to the surface when you hear Missy’s high pitched meowing, making you both turn in her direction, making her desire for attention obvious when she sits right in the tight space between the both of you; it’s tricky, but she still manages to adopt a strange position that makes it fit.

Bob huffs out a laugh, petting her back, looking back up at you and watching the amused smile over your face when Missy stretches her lithe body under his scratches, asking for more.

You hiss softly when a fresh shot of pain courses through you, reminding you of the current state of your body, and Bob’s expression instantly shifts into a more serious one. “You gotta let me help,”

“That’s fine” you dismiss, trying to convince yourself that not giving importance to your pain will make it lessen; everything would be so much easier if it worked that way.

Bob’s head tilts slightly. “Trust me,” he mutters. “I know a thing or two about bruises”

You give him a bittersweet, compassionate smile before eventually surrendering, letting him take a look, assessing the situation before he takes it as his personal mission to look after you the way he wished he could have been looked after when he needed it.

—

any and every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated and helps more than you think!!

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thunderbolts taglist: @majestic-jazmin @eternallymaroon

#bob reynolds #robert reynolds #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts #sentry #the void #lewis pullman #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x reader #sentry x reader #the void x reader #marvel #bob reynolds fluff #bob thunderbolts #bob thunderbolts x reader #bob x reader #mcu

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kxsagi · 4 months ago

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aged up blue lock men of your choice where they already perfected their skills in every aspect with their girlfriend who wants to try soccer for the first time so the blue lock men jokingly tried to show off their signature move and then reader thinking he might be asking her to replicate it, did exactly that except they didn't expected their gf to execute it perfectly (it took them years, it took her a glance)

“𝐰𝐚��𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐫”

a/n: the header is everything

ft. itoshi rin, itoshi sae, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, bachira meguru, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, karasu tabito, mikage reo, niko ikki

itoshi rin

he was just trying to be funny, okay?

you'd asked him to teach you how to play, and he just... showed off a bit. a simple top-corner shot – full sprint, perfect form, sharp angle. you clapped.

“so you want me to do that?”

he snorted. “no, not unless you’re secretly a prodigy or something.”

but then you jog up. barely even take a second to aim. and the ball swerves – a perfect curve into the same damn top corner.

he just stands there. arms crossed. blinking.

“… did you google my entire playstyle last night?”

you: “no?”

rin: “are you possessed?”

he’s so irrationally offended, but also stunned and a little in love because what do you MEAN you just felt like it???

itoshi sae

you ask for help and he stretches dramatically like he’s being forced to tutor a child.

“fine. observe a prodigy.”

he lines up, slow-walks to the ball like a diva, and hits one of those cheeky no-look chips into the goal. smirks.

“okay, now you.”

you mimic everything – down to the posture, the lazy half-step, and then bam, the same result. ball lands in the net with that same crisp curve.

“… huh.”

he walks up to you and pokes you in the forehead.

“how did that come from you?”

you stick your tongue out. “you said observe a prodigy, right?”

he’s lowkey smiling the entire time and won’t admit it.

“okay, whatever, prodigy #2. try dribbling next, i bet you suck at that.” (he’s bluffing. he knows you’re about to humble him again.)

isagi yoichi

you just wanted a basic lesson. but your sweet boyfriend enters meta vision.

“okay, okay, watch this. it’s my direct shot. this took me years, okay?”

he explains angles. timing. leg strength. strategy. he’s so passionate you almost feel bad.

until you try it.

and the ball flies – same angle, same power, right into the net.

he’s speechless. like, “did you just… wait what???”

you: “was that it?”

him: “was that it?? LOVE, THAT TOOK ME YEARS OF DEVASTATION AND CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT.”

he's so happy and offended all at once, like this is not how shonen arcs work 😭

but he also makes you recreate it ten more times while filming it for proof. his screensaver is now you landing a direct shot.

nagi seishiro

this man literally yawns before showing you his “signature” trap-and-volley. it’s so clean it looks fake.

“alright, try it. but it’s kinda hard.”

you look at him. “you mean like this?”

and you trap it mid-air and volley it in one fluid motion.

he blinks.

“whoa.”

you: “was that right?”

him: “um, i think you just stole my whole flow.”

nagi’s not mad tho. he’s excited. now he has someone to do lazy genius duos with.

he immediately suggests skipping the rest of practice and just going pro together.

bachira meguru

he’s full of sparkles and spins the ball on his finger before juggling it in a zig-zag pattern across the field like a circus act.

“okay cutie, your turn, but don’t stress if it’s messy the first ten years.”

you blink. “you want me to do that?”

him: “LOL nooo… unless???”

you try it. and by some miracle or muscle memory from dance or gymnastics or whatever divine chaos lives in your body, you nail the dribble.

he screeches.

like full volume. picks you up and spins you like a helicopter.

“you’re possessed by a soccer god!!! teach me!!!”

he’s immediately calling you his monster twin and demands matching cleats and jersey numbers.

training is now just the two of you goofing around and inventing new flashy combos.

kaiser michael

he was only demonstrating. not asking you to compete.

“watch and learn, liebling,” he says, tossing you a wink.

then he pulls off his signature kaiser impact like it’s casual.

you clap. “so… you want me to do that?”

“obviously not. unless you want to destroy your feet.”

you attempt it anyway.

and somehow, your shot is smoother. it hits the net harder. and you land with zero effort.

kaiser’s jaw is on the floor.

“did you… did you just out-kaiser me?”

you blink innocently. “i thought i was just copying?”

he is in his villain arc. he stares off dramatically and mutters “she’s my greatest rival” under his breath.

but he’s also holding your hand the entire walk home like you just saved his life.

shidou ryusei

“alright baby, this one’s hot.”

he launches himself into a wild, mid-air scissor kick like an absolute maniac.

lands on his feet, smirks, and flexes.

“that was sexy, right?”

you raise an eyebrow. “i can try.”

he laughs. laughs. “what are you gonna do, cartwheel and break your nose?”

and then you scissor kick it perfectly.

not only that, you somehow make it look graceful.

he’s silent.

then bursts into laughter and tackles you into the grass.

“BROOOO you’re cracked!!! marry me again!!!”

he now insists on being your hype man every single time you breathe near a soccer ball.

“watch out, my girl’s got hops and precision. she’s a menace.”

karasu tabito

karasu, the king of cool, casually rolls the ball up with his foot and does one of his famous elastic cuts followed by a no-look assist shot.

“kinda difficult. probably too fast to pick up on first try,” he smirks.

you try. you nail it.

first try. no hesitation.

the ball glides into the net like you’ve been doing it since birth.

karasu slowly removes his imaginary sunglasses.

“… are you a government experiment?”

you: “is that your way of saying good job?”

he’s lowkey impressed and also mildly panicked that he might not be the slickest one in the relationship anymore.

but he gets over it quick and says, “cool. we should do duo trick shots and make money.”

mikage reo

reo is SO dramatic about teaching you.

he plans a whole lesson, brings cones, makes a playlist.

“this is gonna be our bonding day, babe! you’ll learn from the best.”

you: “okay, show me something fancy.”

reo: “say less.”

he dribbles between cones with lightning footwork and ends with a clean nutmeg-shot combo.

then turns and bows.

“good luck topping that–”

you do it. all of it. smoother. faster. even add a little spin at the end.

reo’s soul leaves his body.

“HOW???”

you shrug. “i just… watched?”

he is clapping like a proud stage mom but also spiraling a little.

“okay, but i still look better doing it, right? right???”

he makes you wear matching jerseys and calls you his "soccer power couple" for a week straight.

niko ikki

you ask him for soccer tips and he gets all shy but serious.

“o-okay… just, uh, follow my lead.”

he does this intense, stealthy feint he’s known for, disappearing around your blind spot and curving it in.

he’s proud. it’s his baby move.

then you do it. perfectly. with the same footwork, the same angle, the same curve. first try.

he stares at you in disbelief.

“was that… did you just read my blind spot?”

you: “i mean… yeah? it made sense.”

he looks at the ground.

“am i… obsolete?”

you immediately shower him with praise, telling him you learned it because he made it look so cool.

he softens.

“… okay. just don’t start covering your forehead, too. we can’t both be mysterious.”

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fishofthewoods · 1 year ago

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I see a lot of people clowning on the people of Pelican Town for not repairing the community center themselves or clowning on Lewis for embezzling and. like. Those criticisms aren't entirely unfair. But I think instead of coming at it from a perspective of "why can't the townspeople do this" we should be asking "why and how can the farmer do this?"

Like. Think about it. The farmer arrives in Stardew Valley on the first day of spring. By the first day they're obviously different. By day five the spirits of the forest who haven't been seen by the townsfolk in years or generations are speaking to them. By the second week they've developed a rapport with the wizard that lives outside town.

In the spring they go foraging and find more than even Linus, who's spent so many years learning the ways of the valley. Maybe he knows, when he sees them walking back home. Maybe he looks at them and understands that they're different, chosen somehow.

In the summer they fish in the lakes and the ocean for hours on end, catching fish that even Willy's only ever heard of, fish that he thought were the stuff of legend. They pull up giants from the deep and mutated monstrosities from the sewers.

In the fall, their crops grow incredibly immense; pumpkins twice as tall as a person, big enough that someone could live inside. The farmer cuts it down with an axe without even batting an eye. Does Lewis wonder, when he checks the collection bin that night and finds it full to the brim with pumpkin flesh? What does he think? Does he even leave the money? Does he have the funds to pay the farmer millions of dollars for the massive amounts of wine they sell? Or is it someone--something--else entirely?

In the winter, the farmer delves into the mines. No one in Pelican Town has been down there in decades. No one in living memory has been to the bottom. The farmer gets there within the season. They return to the surface with stories of dwarven ruins and shadow people, stories they only tell to Vincent and Jas, whose retellings will be dismissed by the adults as flights of fancy. People walking by the entrance to the mines sometimes hear the farmer in there, speaking in a language no one can understand. Something speaks back.

The farmer speaks to the the wizard. They speak to the spirit of a bear inside a centuries-old stone. They speak to the shadow people and the dwarves, ancient enemies, and they try to mend the rift. They speak to the Junimos, ancient spirits of the forest and the river and the mountain. They taste the nectar of the stardrops and speak to the valley itself. They change Pelican Town, and they change the valley. Things are waking up.

And what does Evelyn think? She's the oldest person in the valley; she was here when the farmer's grandfather was young. (How old *is* she, anyway? She never seems to age. She doesn't remember the year she was born.) Does she see the farmer and think of their grandfather? Does she try to remember if he was like this too, strange and wild and given the gifts of the forest?

And does their grandfather haunt the valley? He haunts the farm, still there even after his death; his body died somewhere else, but his spirit could never stay away for long. Does Abigail, using her ouija board on a stormy night, almost drop the planchette when she realizes it's moving on its own? Does Shane, walking to work long before anyone else leaves their house, catch glimpses of a wispy figure floating through the town? Does the farmer know their grandfather came back to the place they both love so much?

Mr. Qi takes interest in the farmer. He's different, too; in a different way, maybe, but the principles are the same. They're both exceptional, and no matter what Qi says about it being hard work and dedication, they both know the truth: the world bends around the both of them, changing to fit their needs. Most people aren't visited by fairies or witches. Most people don't have meteorites crash in their yard. Most people couldn't chop down trees all day without a break or speak to bears and mice and frogs.

The farmer is different. The rules of the world don't work for them the way they work for everyone else. The farmer goes fishing and finds the stuff of fairy tales. The farmer goes mining and fights shadow beasts and flying snakes. The farmer looks at paths the townspeople walk every day and finds buried in the dirt relics of lost civilizations.

The farmer is a violent, irrepressible miracle, chosen by the valley and destined to return to it someday. Even if they'd never received the letter, they would've come home.

They always come home eventually.

#lich says shit #stardew valley #sorry for the stardew valley meta i'm just so obsessed with how FREAKY the farmer is. Like it's so fun #gonna write another long ass post about the farmer's bloodline specifically and. like.#why did their grandpa leave the valley?? why did their parents never go back??#stardew valley farmer #sdv

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euphoria-looney · 6 months ago

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Who Said Money Can't Buy Happiness?

"I want that new money. Crisp money, Straight-from-the-mint money. Fresh money. Young money. Push against the tide~" New Money from the Great Gatsby.

Yan?Batfam x Neglected!F!Reader

Pt. 1

Divider Creds: @selysie and @anitalenia

This plot was inspired by @niwaart, @mimiiiiiiiiisstuff, and esp @coldilikeit

You know I've never pegged myself as the type to be too careless and get hit by a truck, because I'm not, that truck rammed into me and I was on the sidewalk, so, if I wake up, I'm suing.

That's what I thought would happen if I woke up in my world. newsflash, and spoilers, I seemed to wake up in this cliche bat family story as the neglected girl. This is actually the story "I Stole the Loving Family of the Villainess."

We follow around a girl named Serena, a cute name, by the way. It fits her as the female lead. She has blond hair and blue eyes, and multiple love interests, from Connor Kent to Wally West, and so on. She is adopted by the royal family, the Waynes.

And do you see this cute portrait with her in the middle brothers to the left, sisters to the right, parents on each side of her, oh and how can I forget even the main bulter, and can you see that small blot of paint, if you squit a little more. Ah- there I am.

That blot of paint- that's me.

While I'm monologing this I'm PUSHING SERENA DOWN THE STAIRS.

You know you can't help but feel bad for me like I'm the legitimate daughter and I get nothing.

Yes, you hear this my bitches, bros, and non-binary hoes. I'm the Villainess. If you guys spent less time fondling over the basic y/n of a female lead you realize how miserable [name] is as a character.

Her mom is too busy caring for her other siblings that she finds it too bothersome to deal with the least talented or least intelligent that goes for Alfred too because, in this story, we're royalty meaning more than one maid and butler, so why waste your time when you can have someone else do it.

Doesn't help that [name] has ears so she hears every mocking word that is uttered by her servants.

And of course, the main family does not give a pinky toe if she dies so that's so cool.

So [name] being a cliche Villainess is exactly stupid and untalented but all she wanted was her family's love and affection which is why she kept sabotaging Serena, which led her to her death.

Getting her memories suck, I mean my ego that was skyrocketing got hit with a pebble which is not a lot but that's because my ego is huge, this girl put herself down so much that I swear if her self-esteem was a rock she'd be crushed by now.

I mean the size of her self-esteem was so low it would be the opposite of my ego.

I mean how can it not be high? I'm rich, pretty, intelligent, and I've had diplomas in more than one field, Mary Sue? More like Barbie. I'm perfect, in more ways than one, except for relationships I've lacked in that department but I've never had one before so does that count? No.

Did I mention I was rich?

So anyway got her memories, it's so... tragic, but don't worry snookums because even in this life there's one defining trait that I still have, I'm rich. Okay, so not rich out of my pocket, I am a princess umkay, but I wasn't a woman in multiple men's fields for nothing.

Anyway back to the case in point, before I "woke" up [name] was having an impulse, her hands were itching to shove this one good orphaned girl that stole her place in the family, what timing do I have to come back right when [name] decided to take action on the impulse.

Hey, at least a perk of being the main character is that you don't take any damage whether that be physically inside or out. But I don't think the family will let it slide they are yanderes.

Yandere is a term for a character who is initially normal but soon develops an obsessive-compulsive grip on the person they like.

"I-I don't know one second I was walking down the stairs and the next I f-fell... but the only person behind me was [n-name]" Serena whimpered, ah- yes the struggles of a female lead the stuttering.

"[name] I can't believe you shoved Serena! This is-" Meet Palmola, my mother.

"So what?"

"Huh?" Palmola's eyes widened.

No in fact the whole family's eyes were in shock.

Since [name] would always make some batshit crazy excuse like the ghost of Grandpa pushed her or something. But why lie, I did shove her, for a good reason too.

"She walks so slow and sloppy, does she have any etiquette? I hope she would, with the amount of time she likes to spend with you Palmola. Fast, efficient, but proper. You did drill that into my head since I was young, didn't you? You even got mad when I did it wrong, is it so wrong I treat her like how I was treated?"

"Young lady-!"

"We'll discipline her later, Serena are you alright? Here take my arm sweetheart." Bruce let Serena wrap her arm around his.

The siblings paired up with each other, and Palmola took one of her son's arms. Leaving me with no one. A normal occurrence, at first it did numbers in the social circles, and still does, so each time I was left embarrassed. How annoying.

"Announcing the Imperial Family, the Gotham Empire, The Waynes."

Everyone flocked to each of the family but mainly focused their attention on Serena, whether it be her face, jewelry, dress, or how sweet she was compared to me.

"Announcing the Imperial Family, the Metro Empire, The Kents." Meet two of the love interests that right she goes for the big brother and the little brother, originally I'm engaged to Connor, but tonight that would change, the engagement is getting annulled, and his reason to the court is "I have set my eyes on someone new, and with many competitors, I can't lose."

It wasn't hard for anyone to know who it was, I think the only one that didn't notice was Serena herself.

Actually, this was a huge arc in the story when all the love interests fight for her love, there was no victor as she did the poly relationship, which really confuses me doesn't she need to make many offspring for each of the families respectable titles, you can't just combine into one entire thing, can you? That be very messy, I guess you could just give away titles but then who gets-

Anyway, that had a lot of readers mad, usually the whychoose situation would be okay, but she mainly focused on Conner so there was actually no reason to choose this route.

Never mind, that's a conversation for another day that I'll just forget.

Connor approaches me grabbing both my hands, attracting attention.

"[name] there's something I have to confess..."

"You're breaking off the engagement"

"I'm breaking- wait what?"

"You've found someone new, that has many competitors and you can't lose a battle you haven't even tried winning, I get it. But I'd like a downpayment of 10,000 gold and you can give the 490,000 gold later to my personal account and we call it even. Deal?" Hustling, though it's a 50/50 shot with many deals with enough eyes on us I'm sure he'll give in.

"S-sure, right. Right- I'll get that to you immediately-" I gave his hand a firm shake before heading off to the...

If you guessed balcony you're wrong, I'm heading over to the food table.

"Did just see what happened?"

"Is she planning something?"

"500,000 gold?!"

"Sister, what are you planning?" Barbara came over.

Also, who calls their sibling sister, like sure, that works.

"What do you mean?"

"That marriage was meant to connect our kingdoms, you'd let that go so easily, and we both know your gaze on Connor, what are you planning." She spoke through her fan, in a hushed voice.

If I made a scene as to not let him go I'd be embarrassing you guys, but if I show that I'm okay with him leaving me I'm ruining a political standing that wouldn't even work out, I'd still do something wrong.

"Have some decorum sister, we haven't had a proper conversation in years, and this is the first thing you say to me? Typical Barbara you think you know everything since you're older and more "mature""

You could tell Barbara didn't take that lightly as she gripped the fan handle tightly, I literally didn't even do anything.

"I'll spare you from any more veins popping up on that face, don't be an ass, we both knew Connor is in love with Serena and that me begging him not to break the engagement would only bring shame onto our family, so I did us both a favor and ended it." I tossed my hair back before grabbing some croissants that were covered in chocolate, powdered sugar, and some strawberries.

Life really is great.

"What about the scandal that would break out."

"Again, it would break out either way, now do me a favor and go back to your group they're staring at me and it's ruining the snack that I have on my plate."

She let out a deep breath before heading off.

Speaking of which I'd rather have a place to place my food and eat it, pretty sure there's a table in the garden under the gazebo if I remember correctly and I don't but whatever.

Just to find a moping Jon.

"Should you be out here?"

"It's unfair once again he gets to have everything"

Oh? Do tell.

I raised an eyebrow at him cutting my croissant in half before placing a half in front of him.

He finally looks up his face turned shocked like I was a ghost or something.

"[name]?!"

I bit into my croissant, nodding.

"Why'd you have to go and break off the engagement, now I have Connor as competition."

I knew this happened in the novel but I just remembered how young he was he's around Damian's age and I'm about the same age as Serena so this was a cry for help.

"Why do you even like Serena?"

"I don't really, it's just... I wanted something that he couldn't obtain he was going to be the first in line, and he's just better than me in lots of things because he has training so I thought, at least I had Serena."

Sometimes I forget that back then age gaps had no restrictions.

"That just means fewer responsibilities anyway, aren't you a little too young to be worrying about any of that? Now, I brought over this croissant but since I'm nice I gave you half." I ruffled his hair and he tried to swipe it away.

"I guess you're right." He started gobbling the desert down.

Honestly, I don't even know why this was a love interest he's literally a minor, maybe that's why the author got backlash against that and the novel was an overall dumpster fire with a basic self-insert MC.

I don't know what's worse the fact that they kept dragging on the storyline or the fact that I'm now in the storyline.

I mean seriously he only liked her because of the plot, he got over this situation so quickly that you wouldn't even know why he was moping earlier.

Now back to the circumstance at hand I was at home and seems the family never forgot about me shoving Serena down the stairs, they almost forgot about me breaking off the engagement.

"... what if she got a scratch on her face? Or if the clothes ripped?! Are you listening to me?!" I zoned out for a good second.

See we had gone back to the castle and they kept rambling on and on about what could've happened to Serena had the fall been more steep or rough, but like does she even have even status to attend these events in the first place?

"Since you seem to not care about this we're cutting you off of money for the next month!" She hollered in my ear once more.

"What were you thinking at the ball?" Tim cut into Palmola's ramblings.

"Normalize giving contexts, Tim." He scoffed.

"I was sparring with Kon the other day and he made some bogus statement saying he was breaking off the engagement, I didn't think he would do it, but allowing him to? Have you any idea what this caused?"

"Who am I to stop Crown Prince Connor, Tim? He has a woman to chase, and wasn't going to give it up for this contracted engagement." I glanced at Serena who flinched and hid behind Jason.

"I still doubt that you'd let him go that easily, you've been obsessed with him since you laid eyes on him."

"And you know that because you're my caring younger brother or because you like to throw it in my face on the downfalls of my life?"

"[name]!" Palmola scolded me.

Bruce could only sigh at the scene.

"Palmola!" I retorted, bringing a tense atmosphere to occur.

Alfred arrived at the scene handing me a letter.

"To you, Princess [name]." I opened it to see the rest of the money that Connor promised me had been added to my account even with the 10,000.

I'm rich, but this is just the start.

"If that's all I'll be heading back to my room." I tossed my hair back before ordering the maids to prepare my bath.

"You're taking too long," I told the maids who were congregating among themselves instead of doing their jobs.

"Well, usually, Princ- I mean Lady Serena wouldn't mind-"

"Do I look like her?" I gripped the maid's chin.

"Don't worry, since it bothers you so much to draw me a bath you can pack your things up and leave tomorrow, you're fired." I pushed back my hair in agitation.

"What-"

"Did you not hear me, you're fired, don't make too much noise, go on." I shooed her away.

She just dropped to her knees and started begging me, but I made the other maids drag her out now all of a sudden they wanted to switch up and act proper.

"Now, with that out of the way, someone draw my bath." I rolled my eyes.

I do not condone maid abuse, but what's the point of working here if you don't do your job? So firing is the only option.

3RD POV

"That girl- I swear I don't know where she got that attitude from, did you see the way she talked to me?!" Palmola scoffed.

Duke could only think about how [name] seemed different actually the whole family could be thinking about that.

Damian kept stroking Titus' fur while thinking about how [name] didn't just keep her head down and take his insults. Wait- now that he phrases it like that, it sounds really bad.

Tim just thought about his friend Connor, he had been the one that Connor ranted to about how annoying his sister was but he didn't think [name] would take the cancelation of the engagement that easily, he thought [name] would least throw a tantrum at best. And since earlier he noticed how [name] looked at them at the stairway after. [name] looked at them like they were lower than her.

Dick was processing the whole thing, did [name] always talk like she didn't care for their approval? I mean [name] spoke like this could've been a letter delivered to her door instead of an important conversation. This conversation was important, [name] hurt Serena and canceled a political connection of a lifetime, he could feel a headache approaching.

Jason could only blink at the audacity, sometimes when this happened [name] at least looked like she gave a darn but not only was she okay with that Connor boy leaving her, but also being cut off [name] would at least beg for some forgiveness. But nothing...?

Stephanie would've had a jaw-dropping expression right now, but had her fan covering her mouth, holy lord did that really just happen? I mean [name] did not even try to bother her at the ball but she also gave up the man she bothered until her final breath and 500,000 gold?! That's an insane amount one and two when did [name] learn to negotiate?

Cassandra felt confused about what had just gone down, did she hear that right? That whole thing, just what occurred? [name] changed in two seconds, like she blinked, Serena tumbled down the stairs and then she just acted strange.

(What you're sticking up for yourself? That's criminally insane right there.)

Barbara had already dealt with how [name] did a 180 at the ball but she just thought that was because she thought she had a wedgy at the moment, though in general [name] had never done this so what happened this time?

Bruce well who knows what he's thinking he just looks constipated like isn't supposed to be saving Gotham in another life?/j

Bruce sat there, he didn't raise [name] like that, wait-. He didn't raise [name] at all... Is this his fault that [name] was acting out right now? No, he's been busy and with all the duty of the empire on his hands he couldn't pause it for [name], like yes, he does that for Serena sometimes- all the time but that's different she had a hard childhood growing up.

Serena, well, she gritted her teeth and clenched her fist. For the first time, something didn't go her way. And what was that attitude, who did [name] think she was? She shouldn't even act like that, at this point, everyone knows she's supposed to be in her position. I mean look at her.

So it's time to be the center of attention. Wouldn't you think?

Serena let out a few sniffles catching the attention.

"It's all my fault that she's in a bad mood, I'm sorry."

The family quickly came to comfort her. Never mind what they were thinking before, how could [name] be such a child in this situation?

After taking a nice bath and sneezing I was now changed into my nightgown. These things are nice.

I took [name]'s diary, so was not thinking, writing down her devious plans here, one of the reasons she was caught and executed, and she couldn't rebut it as they had proof.

So I'll do us both a favor and burn it.

Tossed into the flame I could only stare at the burning journal.

Another burning pile.

I should sleep I have a lot of plans tomorrow, and only a few months till school starts.

With a flick of my wrist, the candles blew out and the doors shut.

One perk about this world is the powers.

(H2O just add water)

So instead of actually writing the next part for any other series of mine I decided to make a new writing idea 🌝, I'm also making others in my brain as we speak but we're going to keep them there until I finish at least one of my series.

Anyway did you like it?

I'm going back to work now (writing), *le sigh*.

Happy early Lunar New Year though, I'm manifesting a lot of red envelopes to myself and many others!

If there's anything too cringy, plot holey, or grammatically wrong, do inform me!

#platonic batfam #platonic yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #batfam x neglected reader #batfam

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onlyswan · 2 years ago

Text

summary: in which jungkook can’t sleep, and he can’t stop kissing you either.

> fluff, suggestive / word count: 2.6k

> content/warnings: alexa play seven by jungkook! mentions of s^x, lots and lots of cutie kisses :( they’re in that afterglow <3 oc’s chest is his pillow :(

> in which masterlist!

note: hi hi. here’s ur slice of pure self indulgent fluff 🍰 i just had to write abt this jk :P there’s a reference to in which you always get what you want and jungkook is dying to kiss you 🥹 reblogs & feedback are vv appreciated. i’d love to hear ur thoughts so feel free to scream or laugh or cry <3

—

a fleeting white light passes through your closed eyelids, nearly blinding, as you hear the familiar shutter of your boyfriend’s polaroid camera.

“jungkook,” you whimper weakly due to the sudden disturbance, burying your face on the soft pillows while pushing the camera away.

“shit, shit- sorry, baby-” he winces, guilty of disrupting your journey to slumber, as he scrambles to fix his mistake. “forgot to turn off the flash.”

he places the polaroid face down on the space behind him to give it the time to develop the photo he had taken. much to your relief, the bedroom falls silent once more except for the quiet humming and breathing of the airconditioner. you return to properly laying your head on the pillow, taking a small gasp of oxygen, and jungkook smiles because of how adorable you are for still refusing to open your eyes.

“can i take more pictures?”

“did you turn it off?” you whisper as you stretch your legs to find a more comfortable position, unwittingly pulling down the comforter and exposing your nakedness to the cool air. this gives rise to goosebumps on your skin, causing you to shiver, but your boyfriend is quick to your rescue. he catches the hem before it could slide past your skimpy shorts.

“i did.”

a chaste kiss is planted on your shoulder before it is returned underneath the warmth of soft layers of cotton and fabric.

you sigh, melting back into relaxation. “okay.”

he re-anchors his elbow into the mattress, resting his head on his palm to admire the majestic view of you. jungkook likes this a lot, he lives for it— lying on the bed face-to-face with his sated lover, spending the rest of the night feeling like his heart is not a big enough vessel to hold all the love he has for you. the lights he is yet to turn off have splashed the dark room with a red glow that engulfs your figure as well, escalating his heartbeat, so hypnotic and tantalizing, he finds himself breathing heavier and heavier behind the viewfinder, or maybe he has stopped breathing at all. the shutter briefly fills the silence.

this is… the arch of your back is burned in his mind and he swears he still tastes you on his tongue, but seeing you like this feels so different.

he was consumed by his pleasure and yours just half an hour ago, admittedly almost blinded by his own sweat dripping from his forehead because he simply couldn’t stop wanting more of you, giving himself to you. you weren’t exactly innocent either, with your provocative touches and coquettish smiles, whispering lewd words that was gasoline to the lust flaring up inside of him. he revels in seeing that you’re just as desperate for it as he is, if not more, purely from the way you beseech him with your eyes mirroring stained glass windows. he knows you love it when he fucks you so good it brings you to tears, welcoming the delightful intensity of his nature, and that you were also trying to tire him out so he’d finally feel sleepy, but holy shit, looking at you right now, he wants nothing more but to hold you with utmost gentleness.

wildly concentrated with his bottom lip tucked in between his teeth, he brushes away the hair that fell on your face before capturing another exquisite memory to be burned into film.

jungkook is greedy when it comes to you.

a disgruntled whine slips from your mouth when the pillow underneath your head is replaced by his thick arm, which is then rudely cut off by his lips crashing on yours.

clearly, you’ve grown too comfortable in this relationship.

“i love you.” he drunkenly mutters, instantly going for another kiss and barely finishing his another- “i love you.” before he’s kissing you again.

“babe-” you chuckle then gasp, holding on to his wrist as his tattooed hand loosely wraps around your neck.

“i love you. i love you, i love y- i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you.” he repeats himself over and over, the volume of his voice gradually getting quieter as he runs out of breath, until his tongue becomes tied. grounded by the feeling of your steady pulse beneath his thumb, he silences himself by tenderly kissing you, soft lips molding with yours for a wordless declaration of devotion this time around.

pure static— there are no thoughts running in your head. your limbs feel numb but tingly. you feel like you’re floating- no, you’re falling. the bed has turned into an abyss and you’re falling endlessly and jungkook holding you close is the only thing that makes sense. you might have to consider this true heaven, nothingness with your everything, when the whole world is lights-out and quiet that it feels like time has been suspended, and the only way to keep track of it is through each pump of your heart.

at last, your eyelids slowly flutter open as he pulls away, and he greets you with that boyish grin. “pretty.”

his hand on your neck moves to stroke your face lovingly, eyes glimmering with various emotions as they wander your features.

“____ is so, so pretty.”

“hm, really?” you hum sleepily, leaning closer to his touch. “thanks to you.”

“me?” his doe eyes widen in confusion.

“you know, for the afterglow. i feel nice.” you giggle brightly at your own half-joke, positively out of your goddamn mind as you hide your warm face on his shoulder.

“ahhh- ah!”

enlightenment then dawns on your boyfriend.

his giggles blend in with yours for a harmony that strikes the same joy as the sound of wind chimes on a windy day.

jungkook tries not to appear too cocky about the compliment, but consequences be damned, he would die satisfying his lover.

“oh yeah, baby? do you now?” there’s a self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face when you take a peek at him, which then morphs into a grin when your eyes meet. “i feel nice, too.”

“nice?” your voice comes out delicate, droopy eyes asking him for confirmation.

“nice.”

he feels a tug at his heartstrings.

“you know what? fucking great… i could never have enough of you.”

it becomes silent for a while. his tattooed hand slides under the comforter, letting his fingers skim across the side of your waist, feather-light touches on your bare skin before he’s pulling you closer to his body.

“i… i don’t doubt that feelings like this can only grow as time goes on but… it’s still amazing that when i think about it, even until now, all the time, i want to be with you.”

he involuntarily breathes out a shaky sigh, ears going red as they do when he’s expressing sincerity from the deepest parts of his soul.

“really, how do you do this…? what is this magic? why- why do i like you so much? i mean, i know why! of course! but, wow!” he squeezes his eyes shut to express his disbelief, clicking his head to the side. “it’s possible for it to be this much? do you get what i’m saying? i just have thoughts like that— love is so fascinating.”

you barely process his words with your brain still in a haze of bliss, but it’s funny, hearing these questions from the same man who has the entire world madly obsessed with him.

oh, this actually sounds familiar. he’s getting all sentimental and philosophical. again. and he’s not drunk. were you that good tonight?

“i won’t give away my secrets just like that. what if you use them on someone else?” you tease him, rubbing your tired eyes and shaking your head as you giggle.

you receive a dirty look from him, clearly offended and uninterested in the thought of putting in the hard effort to impress someone that isn’t you.

“aish, stop talking! i don’t like hearing you talk in that way.”

“then what else am i supposed to do? you’re the one who woke me up.” you retort in annoyance.

but you honestly don’t think there’s any secret to tell. jungkook is in love with you. plain and simple.

“you’re right, i’m sorry. go back to sleep if you want to.”

he dips down to plant gentle pecks on your shoulder, going down on a trail to your neck, and you unconsciously tilt your head to his convenience because he’s bringing the butterflies in your stomach back to life. it feels good, everything he does always feels good.

“you’re seriously not done?” you mumble against his lips, unfaltering with the kisses as if he would run out of them any minute now.

he stubbornly answers with a “no!” as his lips ghost over your cheek.

if only bam was here, jungkook would eventually leave you alone to rest. he would pester him with his late-night burst of affection instead while talking shit about you to your child because you dodged his kiss in your sleep.

“babe, you’re supposed to sleep. you have work later.”

“no, i don’t want to sleep. i… i want to kiss you- baby.” he protests as he continues to pepper your face with kisses, giving your body a particularly tight squeeze when he searches for your lips again.

you blink at him in confusion when he suddenly sends you a look of irritation, eyebrows furrowed and eyes glaring.

“you haven’t even said ‘i love you’ back yet.”

“oh, i haven’t?” you wince innocently. “sorry. i love you.”

but he should be the one apologizing to you, since it’s his fault that you still can’t think straight, or walk for that matter.

you pat around the mattress behind his back until you stumble upon the camera, and it’s jungkook’s turn to be your beloved muse. you scoot away until the lens manage to capture him down to his shirtless abdomen. you watch him in complete awe behind the viewfinder. he squints at you, raising his eyebrows flirtatiously, and he smirks when you chuckle in amusement.

“ah wait- take this! take this! you have to take a good one, got it? i worked so hard on them yesterday!” he eagerly voices out a special demand.

he shuffles to flex his arm infront of the camera, showing off his well-defined triceps and biceps while releasing rich, throaty grunts. totally unnecessary, but so achingly jungkook.

your boyfriend is outrageously, ridiculously sexy— he’s still wearing that stupid black headband he hastily put on in the middle of sex because he got pissed off at his hair and he needed it out of the way so he could ‘properly see his love’s beautiful body.’

you roll your eyes inside your head.

what a fucking tease.

nonetheless, you acquiesce.

the flash goes off.

and another polaroid is crafted into existence that you selfishly want to keep for your eyes only.

“baby, let me see.”

“it’s mine!” you scrunch your nose with a childlike charm, hiding the polaroid behind your back.

he chuckles, hopelessly endeared by you.

“yes, i’m yours.” he coos in response.

and your unguarded heart is once again swept away by the taste of his tongue. the camera becomes an abandoned item. your fingers daintily pushes off his headband in favor of freely tangling them with his silky hair, and it also ends up getting lost somewhere in the sheets as his sweet kisses lull you in a false sense of security… because out of nowhere, that same blazing light burns through your closed eyes for the second time tonight.

jungkook playfully waves the polaroid infront of your face, and his toothy grin is met by your unimpressed expression.

“this is mine!”

he has been waiting to jump into this type of opportunity, to orchestrate a romantic moment to be stolen in film— you can tell by the sparkles in his eyes. reminiscent of that one late night in a tiny photobooth where your younger and clueless selves were cramped in, this is what you and his hyungs often talk about, how much you share the same fondness for the fact that jungkook hasn’t changed at all.

“just how many pictures of you kissing me do you need?” you ask him lightheartedly.

he juts out his bottom lip sullenly, and a few beats pass before he forms an answer. “i always need more for when i miss you.”

you copy his frown. “then what about me when i’m missing you too?”

“hmmm… i want you to always remember me like this, baby.” he melodramatically declares as he picks up the one and only polaroid you’ve taken of him tonight. “can you see my abs too…? oh- it’s not showing yet.”

he looks back at you shyly with a laugh, and he places it back down to let it continue developing.

“i’ll look later. i can’t even keep my eyes open anymore. ‘m so tired.” you sadly sniffle to gain his pity, fluttering your damp eyelashes at him. “let’s go to sleep, please?”

jungkook doesn’t find it in himself to articulate a consolation or protest, not when you’re tugging him down to coax him into laying his head on your chest.

“heaven.” he moans, overcome by contentment.

he adjusts himself a bit to be more comfortable before dragging the comforter further upwards to provide warmth for the two of you, all the while refusing to remove his face nuzzled up against you.

“why are you always like this? can you even breathe?” you chuckle with your eyes closed.

“i love your boobs.” his honest reply comes out muffled, cute for some reason, along with his satisfied hums prompted by your nails lightly scratching his scalp.

“i know.”

he turns his head to the side to look up at you, and he carries on to speak with his cheek squished against you. “i really, really mean it.”

“yes, baby. i believe you.”

a minute of silence passes. the ecstasy still flooding your veins becomes a stepping stone in the pond towards your dreamland, where all is either fantastically perfect or horrifically fucked up.

but then you feel sloppy kisses being deliberately scattered in the middle of your chest, leading down to your stomach, and you get rudely knocked over into the cold, clear waters.

yes, plea- oh no, no, no, no.

“jungkook, baby, stop. i can’t go another round.” you whine pathetically, being driven closer to the urge to burst into tears.

“AH! o-ow- ouch- baby, wha- i swear, i wasn’t even planning on it!” he loudly exclaims in surprise when you harshly pull him away by his hair.

“still…” your voice cracks. “you know i’ll get turned on!”

his chuckles are infuriatingly raspy and of no help at all, ego inflating upon hearing your response and the frustration obviously laced with it.

“okay, okay! i’m sorry! i’ll behave now!”

thank god.

he assumes his previous position, the place that he deems to be the warmest and the coziest. as he wraps his arms around your waist, your fist relaxes into an open palm that cradles the back of his head.

“____?” he mumbles, finally feeling the tiredness seep into his sore muscles now that he’s lying motionless.

“hmm?”

“let’s eat dinner outside after work.”

“…meat?”

“and beer!” he adds, brimming with excitement, and he salivates as he can almost taste them in his mouth already. they are his favorite, after all.

“i’ll come pick you up then.” you drop a kiss on his forehead, and he sighs happily. “but go to sleep or else i’ll kick you out of the bedroom again.”

his sweet embrace becomes an iron grip.

cold and alone, he swears those were some of the worst three hours of his life.

he squeaks in defeat. “goodnight, baby.”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you

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xavistarlight · 2 months ago

Text

Thinking about Caleb teaching his daughter how to master her evol

Your daughter Willow had inherited Caleb’s evol through and through

The doctors told you she could get her own completely new evol , a mix of the two of your evols or inherit either one. The issue was though it was unclear what age it would start to develop

So safe to say you were in utter disbelief and shock when you saw your baby girl floating above her crib in mid air just babbling away as per usual.

She was now five and as you’re at the counter packing her bento for preschool tommorow Caleb and Willow are manipulating gravity. well atleast willows trying too

The little girl goes to raise an apple her big violet eyes focused on the fruit in front of her as it rises in the air but quickly shakes and comes back crashing down

She huffs and slouches back on the couch arms crossed.

You giggle a bit to yourself she looks exactly like how Caleb did when he was little and frustrated about something.

“munchkin , it’s okay I promise, your not gonna get it the first time ya just gotta practice” he says patting the little girls head.

“ dada im never gonna learn to control it” the little girls cheeks puff up

“munchkin, what’s one thing us xias don’t do” Caleb asks holding the apple in his hand every once in a while throwing it up and catching it.

“ give up” the little girl says with her head down discouraged as ever

“And who are you” he quips

“baby xia” she responds quickly

“And who am I”

“papa xia”

“And who’s that over there” Caleb points to you at the counter

“ mama xia” the girls eyes get a little brighter

“ andddd what do we all have in common” Caleb has a fake confused look on his face

“ we don’t give up!” Willow shouts excitedly back

You can’t help but think about the memory that started the little encouraging “xia chant”

Willows labor was absolutely grueling and painful Caleb holding your hand as he wiped sweat from your forehead

“ Caleb I can’t do it” you pleaded in agony

His eyes were watery full of emotion he hated seeing you in pain but he had to pull it together.

“what’s one thing we don’t do” Caleb squeezed your hand encouragingly

“ give up” you responded breathlessly

“ right pips , because I’m papa xia , your mama xia and baby xia needs you to be strong “ he kissed your cheek as the doctors signaled you to give one more big push.

Now you were cutting peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to put in a little lunch box with an animated airplane on the front. listening to the same speech except it wasn’t just the two of you anymore.

Reblogs , replies and notes are always appreciated but never expected 🤍

Check out my Masterlist while you’re here.

Taglist 🏷️ : @calistaxoxo24 @mariojins

@nezuswritingdesk @swaggyv1v1

@ashsillyrants @wintereve3 @deejse

@lucidreamsea @monsochhichi @sxkura-blxssxm

@princessofenkanomiya @yeompei

@lady-wallace @weepingangel2222 @eolivy @inspiredfairy @wordsgodeep @reit0o @shinreiplays @kithyyy @ruenaie

@theoceanisas0up @rosiesluv

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teaboot · 7 months ago

Note

Growing up, how was your relationship with the fundamentals of conscious existence?

My earliest memory of what I would call self-awareness occurred spontaneously in the middle of my fourth birthday party, where I suddenly became alert to my existence as a separate entity surrounded by other conscious beings.

This presented to me as not dissimilar to simply being brushed along the flow of a river- experiencing life as a serious of flashbang moments and instants and sensations, like meditating to music until the individual notes break into sounds that follow no rhythm and are only noise- no past or future, only now- and then suddenly finding yourself holding a paddle in the belly of a boat with no idea what to do next.

I remember running to the body that felt safest, who I did not recognize as anything else, and asking it who all the strangers around us were. The person that I learned was my mother told me they were my aunties and uncles, and I was being silly because I KNEW them, and why was I so shy all of a sudden?

Learning to articulate myself after that instant, I remember, was immensely frustrating. Learning your first language, as I remember it, is wuite a bit like how Ive been told recovering from brain damage feels like.

YOU know what you mean. YOU know what you're saying. But there are holes where you reach for something you know MUST be there and find nothing, and must find a way to communicate using only what you have at hand. Except there are always faces looking at you, talking down to you, asking you to do tricks for them to prove you really are a real human person.

I loved art, and I'm very good at it, but GETTING good at it was the worst. I'm told I started with scribbles at six months or so, before I could walk, and at three and four I remember being immensely frustrated that I could see in my head exactly what I wanted to produce, and I didn't know how to PRODUCE it.

And simple shit, like drawing shapes and circles, developing fine motor skills. You FULLY UNDERSTAND THE ASSIGNMENT, but your hands are soft and wobbly and don't cooperate. Getting your mouth and body to obey your directions is hellish, especially when all the appliances and furniture and installations around you are built for someone easily triple your size.

Chairs are hard to sit in when you're small and cant touch the ground. Your legs dangle and you cant scoot closer to the table, and the backrest is so far back you cant use it for support, and the table comes up past your chest so your chin is amost in your plate and your dumb clumsy hands cant hold a big spoon or fork in a way that feels natural or elegant so you end up smearing shit EVERYWHERE and getting yapped at for having your elbows on the counter.

Reading people was interesting. Most people are condescending and plastic when you're small, and you can tell when they're being saccharine and fake, but you're told the polite thing is to believe what they say and be polite back. I used to try using big sentences on purpose just to het them to leave me alone. "What a pretty girl! Can you say Hello?" was the most common ask I can recall. Id answer with the floweriest thing I could think of, usually, "I'm very well, thank you for asking, how are you?", because people only ask you interesting questions after you do well enough on their tests to prove you're people.

Being small was very tiring, and very frustrating, and becoming aware of myself in my own head probably made everything a lot worse overall.

No regrets, though. From what I can recall, life is far more enjoyable when you're aware of it occurring. Time can't slow down until you know it's there, I think

Being a baby full of instincts felt like living as a live grenade. Being a child was far harder, but more Full. More Human. A LOT more like adulthood than infancy, and I was very determined to remember that.

If any of that makes sense

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a-hermit-pining · 6 months ago

Note

I saw this on Twitter (i forgot the @), but it really got me thinking. What would your hc be if the boys were playing the game and you were the mc? I hc that Caleb would save every "y/n laughing compilation" he comes across, rafayel would edit y/n's face on random fish and make crack edits and from his alt account he would drop the most gorgeous fanart, and for some reason I feel like sylus would use "quality time" religiously

Hi anon, thank you for sending this in ^^

I completely agree with your takes. Here is my take to compliment yours.

Rafayel: Is the undisputed Fanart King, sketching your character from every angle, in every possible outfit. If an art contest exists, he has already submitted three entries before anyone even knew it was happening. But beyond his artistic obsession, he is also the cursed glitch hoarder. While normal people would be horrified at a headless version of you appearing in-game, Rafayel takes screenshots for exclusive content, considering it a divine blessing from the tech gods. Despite his god-tier art skills, he has zero patience for level locks that force him to wait before progressing, so instead of playing at a normal pace, he rage-quits for months, then returns to binge the game in one sleepless week. His camera roll is half fanart, half stunning in-game scenery that he edits like it’s going in an art gallery.

Xavier: Does not play games for casual enjoyment. He plays for answers. He is a speedrun menace, hitting the first dialogue option before the text box even fully loads. If he gets stuck, he immediately transforms into a lore-devouring beast, reading every spoiler possible just to figure out how to proceed. The only thing keeping him from fully losing his sanity is his refusal to buy premium currency, his pride dictates that he must grind every last diamond by sheer willpower alone. And so, he hoards gems like his soul depends on it, progresses at breakneck speed, and once he’s finished all available content, he descends into 3 AM theory rabbit holes instead of doing something sane like, you know… sleeping. He probably has a color-coded spreadsheet tracking all the route impacts.

Zayne: No one would ever suspect that the infamous, critically acclaimed AO3 writer Frozen Seal, master of soul-crushing angst and tender, breathtaking romance, is actually the stoic, overworked cardiologist Zayne. His fics have a reputation for being so emotionally devastating that readers leave essays in the comments. His update schedule? Completely dictated by his hospital shifts. His author’s notes? Usually something like "Sorry, a patient coded. Will update later." Writes the most heart-wrenching, steamy romance scenes with surgical precision, leaving readers sobbing and sweating in equal measure. Has the smut writing skills of an ace author- which are god tier. Daydreams about you constantly, except when he’s actively resuscitating someone (Even he has limits.)

Sylus: Sylus owns everything. Every premium outfit, every pose, every CG. His entire paycheck is funneled into this game, and no one will ever know the full extent of his power. If questioned about how he maxed out every possible feature, he simply smirks and says, “Skill issue.” But despite single-handedly funding the dev team, he is infuriatingly secretive about his content. His in-game gallery? Locked. His premium screenshots? Hidden. Some speculate he has developers tied up in his basement feeding him exclusive content, but according to Sylus, it’s simply the fruit of his labor. Strangely enough, despite having literally everything, he still has beef with the gacha system and will cuss out the algorithm if he doesn’t get his way.

Caleb: Is cursed with abysmal gacha luck, pulling three-star memories every single time without fail. He suffers, but at this point, he embraces the suffering like a tragic hero. His nights are spent watching crack compilations at 2 AM, laughing silently to himself like a man on the verge of losing his mind (he is this 🤏🏻close). By all accounts, he plays the game rationally until your character appears, at which point all logic is abandoned. He has every single one of Zayne’s fics bookmarked, and he doesn’t just skim he analyzes them like scholarly literature, leaving long, heartfelt comments. And, of course, in the quiet solitude of his room, a freakishly realistic body pillow of you sits on his bed. If questioned? He doesn’t even blink. "It’s a limited-edition collector’s item."

#lads headcanons #love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace headcannon #love and deepspace x reader #rafayel x reader #caleb x reader #sylus x reader #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #fluff #role reversal au #asks

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ghelgheli · 1 year ago

Note

i would actually like to hear more of your thoughts on whipping girl, whenever you feel ready enough to talk about it. i've only ever heard positive recommendations for it. i was thinking of reading it. i've read one or two introductory 101 texts on transmisogyny as well as some medium/substack posts, and always looking to read more as a tme person. ty!

thanks for asking! I'm gonna try to be concise because I'm stuck on my phone for the month, but here are my thoughts on whipping girl:

serano is at her strongest in the book in three areas: manifestations of transmisogyny in media (e.g. how trans caricatures pervade movies), the history of medical institutions developing a pathology of transsexuality (like the diagnostics of blanchard et al. or how trans people seeking healthcare were and continue to be forced into acting out prescribed expressions and manufacturing memories), and the construction of her own transition narrative (telling the reader what it was like for her to grow up desiring femininity in a way that confused her, the experience of crossdressing, the effects of hrt for her)

whenever she's just sticking to this, I think she effectively communicates a lot that the unaware reader could benefit from—even many trans women/transfems/tma people who are otherwise in tune with the history of medicalized transsexualism and our popular depictions could probably benefit from her own personal narrative, by nature of how variegated our experiences can be.

unfortunately I think the book fails at its primary—stated—goal, which is to theorize about transmisogyny. in the big picture this is a bifurcated failure:

on one branch of her argument, she remains committed to there being something biologically essential/innate about gender. this manifests thru multiple claims: that we have "innate inclinations" toward masculinity/femininity and "subconscious sex" rather than what I believe, which is that the latter are constructed categories imposed on different matrices of behaviour/expression/desire in different cultural contexts; that there is "definitely a biological component to gender" (close paraphrase) after a discussion of how she believes E and T tend to affect people (thus equivocating gender with dominant hormones!); that we have such a thing as "physical sex" which is the composition of our culturally decided "sex characteristics" (don't ask me how the dividing line is drawn) even as she says we should stop using "biological sex" as a term; that there is "no harm" in agreeing that "sex" is largely bimodal with some exceptions; that social constructionism is necessarily erasure of transsexual experiences in early childhood... altogether she is unwilling to relinquish arguments about the partial "innateness" of femininity/masculinity and gender. this is at tension with her admission on several occasions that these are neither culturally/geographically nor temporally stable concepts! but that doesn't seem to be a line she can follow thru on.

on another, intertwining branch, she engages in what I think is a deep and widespread mistake in the theorizing of transmisogyny: reducing it (mechanistically) to what she calls effemimania* or essentially anti-femininity. it is her stated thesis at the start that masculinity is universally preferred to femininity. she doesn't offer a definition of either term until one of the final chapters, where she defines them as the behaviours and expressions associated with a particular gender. but I think this reduction just misunderstands transmisogyny. it is even in tension with an observation she makes early on, that trans women are often punished for their perceived masculinity! but again, this is a thought she seems unable or unwilling to follow thru with.

my problem with the thesis is that masculinity and femininity do not float free of gender—it is not possible to speak of their valuation in the abstract. anyone who grew up as a masculine cis girl and never "grew out" of that "phase" can attest to the violence wrought upon expressions of masculinity from women. and this applies doubly so to the subjects of transmisogyny! not only are we punished for any perceived bleed-through of masculinity from our supposed "underlying male selves", those of us who are willingly masculine and thriving as mascs are punished for our failure to conform to the rules of the normative womanhood that is imposed on us (just as we are punished for any willing femininity as "false" and predatory upon cis womanhood—observe that transmisogyny is reactive degendering in every case!).

on both branches serano makes only perfunctory remarks about the intersections with race, class, and colonialism. "sex" as such was made to only be accessible to the "civilized", most of all the white european! for a racialized person and particularly a Black person navigating gender the waters are just not the same; the signifiers of sex neither available in the same way, nor granted the same medical legitimacy. what is the "physical sex" of someone who is de-sexed altogether? how can gender have a "biologically innate" component when its expressions between the bourgeoisie and the working class are at total odds with one another? this all goes for the masculine/feminine distinctions as well. what sense is there in the claim that we have innately masculine/feminine inclinations when globally (and transmisogyny has been made global!) what is feminine and masculine can be very nearly mirrored? nor is "masculinity is always considered superior to femininity" innocent of obviating race. transmisogynoir adds yet further degendering thru the coercive masculinization of someone as a Black woman—masculinization as punishment, again!

and as a final point, the account fails to be materialist. there is no attempt to place transmisogyny in its role as an instrument of political economy or, as jules gill-peterson might say, as a tool of statecraft. it is just a psychological response to the way the world is, as far as serano has anything to say about it. but how did the world become that way, and why?? serano's solution, the abolition of what she calls gender entitlement, is naive to the fact that gender entitlement is necessary to the maintenance of the capitalist state, which is structured thru patriarchy and built on colonialism. it is not possible to reskin this into something innocuous!

this is why I cannot recommend whipping girl as a work about transmisogyny except at the most shallow level. it could be a helpful critical read, but imo, it is just wrong about transmisogyny.

#ask answer #whipping girl #text

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meiguicha · 2 months ago

Text

Come From Way Above (to bring me life)

Yan! Phainon x AFAB! Reader

Always a part of you, always a part of me. I will never leave you.

TW: incest, implications of cucking (is it cucking if its,,, just you but not you), perceived non-con, M on F oral, F on M oral, explicit sexual content, codependence, flame reaver, character death

Note: spoilers for 3.3, phainon's backstory and upcoming "rumours". pre 3.4 please don't hurt me. no use of y/n or actual names, i prommy its still an x reader

// thank @if-loves for this absolute deranged nightmare. his greed sickens me, three instances of smut despite knowing i dont know how to write it, this is the type of greed they warn you against

Aedes Elysiae is a home that matters to no one but two.

Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, sole survivor of a great calamity and ███ of Aedes Elysiae, ████ ████████ of Aedes Elysiae.

Children of dawn coloured wheat fields, twin offspring of Hieronymus and Audata.

Your parents once said to tear your brother from you would be like trying to rip the stars from the sky. Your mother laughed every time she talked about your birth, she said your brother came out first with only a pudgy arm left inside, dragging you out with him. He cried first, wailed until his face grew red and his lungs filled with the first few bouts of air. And yet when he noticed that you did not, he silenced for but a moment before sobbing harder. Yet still, your father would helpfully add, you would not cry until he elicited for you to.

To those outside, it seemed like only your brother had been born and that you had never been birthed at all.

They worried for a while, that your seeming aloofness compared to your brother’s natural curiosity would clash, but perhaps they did not expect the natural belonging that came easy to you two. For so many years, you shared a room and a wardrobe, shared soap and secrets, it was as if they had been blessed with one child.

Silly boy, you called him, the words that fell from your lips as easily as a leaf gliding across the wind. And though he knew that perhaps it started as some insult, even then, as a child, he couldn’t help himself but preen under your attention.

Phainon had never realised just how deep his attachment to you went. His mind at the time had always been Cyrene and the others, of thoughtless prophecy and wishes to remain here forever more. But nothing lasts forever, and as your brother, your silly brother, there was so little he could do except for curl his form over you as he swears for vengeance against that black-robed swordsman.

It was him who took this elysium from him, from you, from the both of you. And now all he has left of that peaceful life is you.

Though memory can very often be a balm to woes, nothing can replicate the delights of reality.

He remembers the first time he felt your skin beneath his touch, as adolescents splashing around in cool river water until not a single piece of fabric was left dry. It is such a distinct memory, one unmarred by the claws of time. You had lost a play-fight, he remembers, climbed yourself out of the river to drag him back for another round despite your being so utterly drenched that even your hair stuck to your forehead.

‘█████! Come back here!’ Your shrill voice that had yet to truly develop is still clear, and he remembers shrieking the moment you grabbed him, unable to do anything but to cling to you then.

You did nothing but laugh at him, whistling through your nose, called him your silly brother and carried him as if it was nothing. At the very least, you did so until someone flicked water at your face and you loosened your grip.

He remembers how soft your skin was, like running his hands over fine silk. The smell of that day too is seared into his mind, the smell of your floral soap on your skin and the mineral-rich waters when you dropped him.

But something is different now, he’s older, taller than you ever were. And as he trails through tall grass and wildflowers, he hears you sing in a voice much lower and familiar. So he lays his eyes upon you, bathing in the very same river of your childhood with white robes clinging to your skin.

In this unconscionable haze of slumber and fantasy, you climb yourself out too, older and taller. Your hair is wet, sticking and coiling on your neck and chest as if a part of your skin. And when you meet his wide gaze, something plays in your eyes, a mirth he thinks.

You gesture for him, curl your finger and urge him over. He listens, you could drag him in like you did all those years ago and he’d still let you.

Some part of him fears you will, it worries that if you really did pull him into this river he’d drown at the sight of you.

You don’t, thankfully you don’t. Instead, you pull yourself out to kneel in front of him.

“You got this hard just looking at me?” Your hands dance along his thighs, nails dragging over muscle and sinew as you pillow your cheek against his thigh. When did he get so hard? Soft, your hands are so soft. Your warm breath elicits a jump in his arousal, a smile playing at your lips as you murmur, “Still so silly.”

Phainon can’t quite answer, as if cotton were lodged in his throat, and yet he rasps back, “Can you blame me?”

A laugh escapes your lips, and once more something dances in your eyes, more than mirth he realises. Without wasting a moment, your hands push past his shirt robes and fleetingly dance at his pants, the tips of your fingers playing with the waistband before pulling it down.

He wants to be embarrassed, to have not let you have your way with him as easily as you do, but as you take him into your mouth, he finds there is nothing inside him that can let him be embarrassed in front of you. Hissing out a sharp breath, though his hands’ first instinct is to move, to grab onto something, he doesn’t.

“Hm?” Humming around him, your eyes pour over him, narrowed as if stalking prey.

Soft, you still feel so soft. Shakily, he tries to meet your eyes despite the way they blur. “Y-you feel so good—”

Your lips tighten around his girth before you bring yourself further in, not to the point that he can feel your nose against his pelvis– no matter how much he fantasises about that very concept– and yet as you bob your head slow and calculated, it doesn’t seem to make much difference to his addled self all the same.

One of your hands travels closer, frigid cold against his balls almost negligible compared to the gentle touch and your persistent play. He feels his chest tighten every time your tongue would flatten over a particular vein, and he’s certain you’re getting off every broken sound he can make.

“Please. Please don’t stop,” He begs, pleads as a hand card through your wet hair.

The noise of your spit and his pre is all he hears, more than rushing water or whistling wind, it's so lewd, too lewd. He doesn’t want this to end, he wants to feel you suckling everything he has to give and more, he wants to feel your tongue circling his tip as he begs you to let him come to, he wants you. He wants you, he wants you, he wants you, he wants you—

You’re next to him, bathing in warm daylight and faced away from him in your shorts and slipping top.

A dream, of course. It's impossible to return to that paradise again.

He doesn’t have to look to see the tent in his shorts, the desires he nurtures for you is heavy without question.

Tentatively, he calls for you, “███.”

You don’t stir. Your chest rises and falls in slow fluctuations as your hands absentmindedly twitch at the wrinkled sheets.

Sucking in a breath, the sheets beneath your forms shift and twist upon his movement, closer to prop himself up, closer to bring himself between your legs, until he can feel the back of your cold thighs fleetingly press against his legs. It is an odd thought at times, but he has grown so used to feeling how frigid your arms feel when you wrap them around him or the coldness of your palms, that just the slightest chill against his own skin plucks at something within his veins.

The light friction made purely from making shallow circles against your folds takes the edge off just the slightest, his mind is still blurry with the feel of your warm mouth around him. Just thinking about it, his throat seems to have dried up entirely and air comes by difficult, the soft noises you make in your sleep don’t help either, small hums and mirthful breaths that keep bringing him back to that fantasy.

He wonders whether, even in such deep slumber, you can feel him throbbing against your core, the thin fabrics that separate the two of you do little to nothing. And as he rubs himself against you, smears more of his desire along the flimsy crotch of your shorts until it stains the cloth, only then do you shift. Nothing that implies your wake, your slumbering form merely shifts and yet such an innocent move only grinds against his aching bulge.

It's not enough, it's not enough to just hump against you like he’s some teenage pervert.

Carefully, he pushes your shorts aside to reveal your damp panties, years of washing them over and over again making them almost translucent. Pressing the pad of his finger against your soft folds, he can feel just how wet he’s gotten you already. His lips feel dry, and though he swipes his tongue across them in some vain attempt, he can already think of some other ways.

Still, Phainon has never been the kind to play with his food, and he wouldn’t torture you nor himself like this any longer.

Soft. You are so soft that he thinks he could die here, with nothing but the feeling of you and the thought of you. He hasn’t even started moving but forming sensible thoughts feels incomprehensible when you’re wrapping around him so tightly, clenching around his girth as if trying to squeeze him for all he has.

If he starts moving, if he does anymore than this shallow grinding–

Awakening from your restful dreams, your eyes flutter open with nothing more than a soft hum from your lips. Then, as if roused by bird song and morning light, you smile at him, the birth of a laugh in your throat as you open your arms, urging him.

“█████.”

If not for the breathy lilt of your voice– lewd, too lewd to call him like that and expect him to not want to make himself yours– he might have thought you were unaffected.

Pressing his nose against your neck, the smell of your shared soap only makes him push himself further into you. He presses open mouthed kisses across your neck, trail to your collarbone and to your chest as his hands dig marks into the flesh of your hips. And your arms that wrap around him, your soft skin and soft walls that envelope him into yourself, it's like you want him to become a part of you, to be inside of you.

A particularly deep thrust rips a raggard sound from you, and yet that mirth of yours doesn’t die. Through your shameless whines and your clawing hands, you only sigh, “Silly b-boy– ahhh– did you have another wet dream?”

“Can you blame me?” Phainon mutters between wet kisses, his tongue peeking between his lips to circle around your hardened nipple. The flesh surrounding it is smooth, and as he takes it into his mouth, the low whimper that leaves your lips only pushes him to keep going, slam his hips against you harder to coax more of your sweet noises. Looking at you beneath half-lidded bliss, though his vision is blurry, he can still see your bitten lips so clearly. “You’re so pretty– mmph– I want to be inside you forever…”

Your hand scrambles to cover your mouth, frantic over your own body only for him to pry it away, entwining your fingers together as your nails tear into his skin. Cold, your hand is so cold he can barely understand how his own hips can thrust harder, rut into you like he’s just some animal in heat just like that. And it hurts, he’s barely had you all to himself and now it hurts so much just to be inside you but he can’t stop, can’t even think about stopping when every time he drags himself out, you squeeze around him tighter, trying to keep him inside you despite how hard you’ve been gushing around him.

You don’t even complain when he pushes you onto the bed proper, arching your back as you take him deeper, as you accept his other arm as comfort, as you rely on him entirely for your own pleasure.

He could have sworn he has more stamina than this, but he can feel it, and no matter how much he wants to keep going, even the slightest graze of his tip against your walls leaves you drawing blood, still holding him closer.

“Can I—? Can I–ahh– please?” You don’t answer him, only wrap your legs behind his back to push him further inside you.

“Please?” He can beg, he can do anything you want but please, please, you have to tell him he can. He can’t finish if you don’t, you have to tell he can cum inside you.

His voice cracks, embarrassingly like he’s that over-eager teen again, “Pleasepleasepleaseplease–”

Your hands reach out to grab his face, and upon instinct he tilts his head if only to kiss you more fiercely, desperately. Snapping his hips in some odd rhythm to prod at that spot he knows makes you whine and cry his name louder, until he can feel your hip bones digging into his and his tip pressing against your cervix.

He wishes he could say his climax comes quietly, that it doesn’t feel as if every nerve in his body isn’t set ablaze, but even as your trembling legs hold him down, hold him tight against you until he can feel his release leak out, the noise that you swallow is strangled and raggard all at once, too loud and too much. Your own is no better, barely intelligible and more spit than sound.

It's his drool and yours that connect your mouths when he pulls away, it's sweet, so sweet. Ambrosia cannot possibly compare to you, to this taste of your pleasure.

“Good morning,” You smile against his lips, rasped breath bringing him in for another. To deny you would be to torture no one but himself, and as the soft plush of your lips meet his once more, gentler, kinder, something in his chest curls. It is only now that some semblance of warmth courses through your veins, like rushing gold that entangles your veins ever the more.

Remnants of your blood tinge his tongue, and as he swipes it across his lip– your lip– he wonders whether his taste just as sweet to you. “ ‘morning.”

Your hands are cold, even while basking in the Sunbearer’s light, even in his own hand. He’s used to it by now, though perhaps what he isn’t accustomed to is when they slip past his fingers, your familiar frigidity replaced by a mere absence.

Very little captures your attention to halt you in your steps, less so that you would not join him immediately. So when he glances back to find you vehemently staring into the eyes of a certain grey-haired trailblazer, he doesn’t quite know what to think.

Cocking your head, you tug at his sleeve the moment he returns to you. “Is that the friend you were talking about?”

“Hm? Yeah it is,” His voice pitches just the slightest higher, a notion that has you sending him a sideway glance.

It's more than clear that your staring has attracted them, and as they approach ever closer, each step they take seems to spark an odd flame inside him. He should take you away now, he should bring you away from here and take you home, he should–

“Phainon! I didn’t think I’d see you out and about.”

They’re waving at him, excitedly, almost like an over-excited dog and in some ways, it's cute. Though, the moment they come, crinkled eyes and light stepped, you flinch back, as if burned by something. He feels your stinging cold around him once more, feel your fingers interlock his as you press yourself close to him.

A smile pulls at his lips almost immediately at greeting, “Well, gotta have some fresh air and stretch once in a while, right?”

The trailblazer only nods, playing at mock pensiveness and contemplation before making a glance towards you. Their eyes pour over you, like they’re trying to look for something wrong about you. “And this is…?”

“███, my sister.”

Something in the trailblazer’s face shifts, a minute tensing of their brow, though they say nothing.

You tilt your head, pulling yourself away just enough to properly greet them and yet, even an inch of your skin away from him feels odd, wrong.

“It’s nice to meet you, Phainon has told me so much about your adventures together,” Your voice lilts higher too, though it isn’t from some mysterious origin like his. The hitch upon his ‘name’, and the dip upon the last word, vaguely sing-songed. His eyes glance at your lips, remnants of your blood still clinging to the wrinkles. He should have licked them off. “Thank you for making sure my silly brother doesn’t end up dead in some ditch, I always worry he’s going to end up dying of something stupid when he goes with Lord Mydei.”

At the mention of his friendly competition, his brows knit together as his bottom lips juts out. You don’t even pay him any mind, and he has to tug at your held hands for you to look at him.

“I wouldn’t! If I did you wouldn’t let me live it down!”

“As I should, how would you face Ma and Pa?”

Placing a hand on your forehead, you play at a swoon as you lean against him. “Oh I left my dear ███ all alone because I decided I needed to one-up Mydei in the hot bath and lost for the final time.”

They blink, a few too many times to be normal. And yet, the laughter that erupts from their lips plays at his ears like playful bells, “You too sure are close, I wish I had a sibling I was close with.”

“Alas, all I have here is Dan Heng.” Mimicking your fake woe, they too press a hand to their chest as they look away with squeezed eyes and furrowed brows, even going so far as to sniffle fake snot.

The sheer commitment coaxes a small laugh from you, the kind that has you whistling from your nose, the genuine kind.

Phainon tightens his hold on you, pulls your form closer to him as he absentmindedly recalls something you told him yesterday. Was it when you were wringing your hair out of the baths, humming to him in that distrait airiness? Or was it when you were running your hands through his hair, when the low vibrations in your chest hummed by his ear?

“Ah, didn’t you say you wanted to drop by Mr. Theodoros’ place?”

You turn, eyes fully focused on him, and the weight of your gaze is comforting, no matter how light. The plush of your lips dip under the press of your finger, instinctively, he wants to look away, but the way you tilt your head and your eyes glimmer with that uncertainty, the sight of it is enrapturing.

“Did I?” He nods, fiercer yet when your face scrunches in remembrance. When you don’t seem to quite believe him, his hand wraps around yours tighter while he pleads through lowered lashes.

With a sigh, you only shake your head and return his grasp, bringing your other hand to wave the now very conflicted trailblazer off. It's cold. Nothing but your touch is cold.

“Bye bye then, don’t get yourself into anything too stupid,” Smiling, the corners of your eyes crinkle together for just a moment before you reach for his face, pulling the fat of his cheeks between your fingers as a shadow of a scowl creeps upon your visage. “So pushy, when did you get so embarrassed of me that I can’t even talk to your friends now?”

You’re pulling too hard, it's like you’re trying to rip a piece of his face off of him. Murmuring through your tugging, he tries to push some tears out, tries to elicit the same fawning you always do when you get like this, “I’m nooot. You know we always spend a while with Mr. Theodoros and I know you’ll get huffy if we get home too late.”

The pinching stops, his cheek vaguely sore only to be met with a few light pats from your palm. A soft breath of mirth leaves your lips– the blood from earlier is still there– as your tongue peeks out to lick them. He can barely feel the ache in his face anymore, and as he reaches out, presses his thumb against your bloodied lip to wipe it off. Soft, so soft under his touch.

“What am I going to do with you?” Sticky sanguine stains his hands and yet you don’t question, merely sigh and pat his face again.

You can do anything you want to him, with him, as long as you keep looking upon him with those indulgent eyes and holding him with those cold hands. He’ll do it, no matter what it is.

If he had known that he would’ve failed so horribly, if he had known that he would’ve troubled his friends once more to pull him out– Well, there was no telling what would have happened but he should have been stronger. He should have been able to reflect upon that burning horizon without feeling every grain of sensibility slip from his fingers, should have been able to at the very least consider what would have happened if he hadn’t held himself over you that day.

And he knew, he knew he couldn’t face it again but somehow the idea that you could have died, that your cold hand would be the last thing he had of you, that weighed heavier in his chest. Between his ribs and amidst his veins, that he would have been truly, utterly alone without the one person that shared his origin, shared his blood, he should have known.

There is no knock at the door that precedes its opening, the slink of steps is light, almost transient as leaves falling in the wind. Bed dipping beneath the weight of two forms, he doesn’t even realise it's you until you snake your arms around him, your chest pressed against his back rising and falling in rapid pace.

You lay your head on him, the warmth of your breath pricking hairs to stand on the back of his neck as you whisper, “There you are, silly boy.”

Carefully, slowly, as if scared that maybe if he– if he turns, the cold of your hands will slip from his grasp again–

Without question, you bring his head into the crook of your neck as you cradle him in your arms, slowly bringing your two forms to lay against the soft sheets. Phainon returns your embrace, wrapping himself around you, entangling legs and veins, looking for your hand to hold. This too you don’t question, merely let him slip his hand into yours.

It's still cold, but something is off. Your chest is warm, and though you still smell of gentle flowers, he has become accustomed to the nature of your scent. Heavier when you finish your warm baths, lighter as the hours pass you by.

No matter, you’re here. That’s all he wants, all he needs. As if that child from years long past, tears dew at his lashes, falling to his cheeks and to your chest as his voice shakes, “I thought I could take it…. I thought maybe I was finally strong enough to…”

“Shhhhh.” Your chest rumbles low in his ears, he can hear your slow heart beating, second by second, the proof of your life leaks into his head. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Burying himself into your embrace, the blood you share is warm, as if maybe he could really pretend that what rushes through his isn’t molten gold but deep sanguine like yours. Warm, you’re so warm, he wishes this was a world where he could spend everyday in your warmth.

You card your hand through his hair, push back snowy strands to reveal his forehead. Instinctively, he knows what you want, exactly what you need him to do. And so he listens, presses himself closer to you, closer to your lips so you can lay a chaste kiss upon his forehead. “You don’t have to be a hero with me.”

“But I want to be able to protect you,” Muttering against your chest, he wraps himself around you tighter, until you’re all but swallowed by his form.

A huff of warm air escapes your nose, yet you don’t say anything. Your lips press another kiss to his burning skin, another and another, until you have left not a single inch of his face untouched, kissing away bitter tears and grief alike. The attention washes over him like cold river water, and though through glassy eyes and quivering lips, through undeserved vulnerability, he needs to keep feeling you like this.

“No matter what happens, I will always be with you.”

And for the first time in the aftermath of failure, the voices that claw and shred at the rationality of his worth are quiet. Even if it is for just a moment, even if only for a second, they can continue to tear him apart but knowing that you’re here, knowing that you can still hold him to your chest and hum, that the hand that he holds is real, it's enough.

The hour is late when he can finally return to your home, when he can finally claw at what little time he has, careful to mind his volume as he strips himself of armour and veneer. Some part of him expects to find you slinking through the kitchen, shirt slipping off your shoulder as you blindly search for a jug of water in your drowsy haze. And yet, there is nothing.

He doesn’t think too much about it, though his chest curls with warning, instead choosing to enter your bedroom. And so you lay, as he expected elsewise, the thin blanket he remembers helping you pick out outlining your form beneath it. Your chest rises and falls in slow rhythm as your fingers twitch against the soft sheets, hair sprawled across pillows and curling onto your chest.

Maybe he should be embarrassed for tracing over your form like this, but the image that belies him, that thin blanket that does so little to conceal what presents to him as your bare chest and soft thighs, is tempting. He wants to be embarrassed but there’s nothing inside him that truly lets him be.

Yet for you to be so tired that you wouldn’t even bother to find something to put on, the least he can do is let you rest undisturbed.

Passing by your shared drawers, he notices the third cabinet just slightly ajar, enough so to garner attention. There is something thrown above neat rows of soft bras and underwear, ashy dark fabric haphazardly covering your most intimate clothes.

Do his eyes deceive him? He can barely trust his own senses now, his own hands numb to all sensations but his own searing nerves, as though the very pads of his fingers have been burned off.

His steps are heavy, and yet they do not wake you from your haze. Even as he throws the thin blanket off, as the weight of his form distorts the plush bed, you make not a single notion of consciousness. Phainon brings his face to your form, to lift your legs apart, to see for himself.

In his haste, his desire to return home, he missed the smell of ash and soot that lingers in the air, on your skin. The sweat of two forms casts a soft sheen on your breasts as your legs that tremble in the aftermath reveal the dribbling remnants of the intruder.

You’re warm, the pulse of your veins slow but rushing with boiling blood.

A soft whine escapes your lips as he drags his tongue along the seam of your ruined folds, the taste of your own pleasure distinctly drowned out by the bitter sting of that thing’s liquids. And though he can feel you pulse beneath his tongue, can feel you tug his hair to pull him closer, can feel you squeeze his head between your thighs in want, he keeps his movements shallow.

You’ve awoken, and through choking over your own spit and tears, the cry of his name is still clear as your fingers dig into his scalp, “█████–?”

It is the only thing he can do. Despite the way his own blood feels more like boiling gold in his veins, he still takes the time to caress your bruised thighs and kiss your puffy clit. You must have been so scared, to be all on your own when he came. But it's all right now, all that matters is that you’re alive and that he’s here.

“I’m sorry– █████–mffh! I’m sorry–!”

“Its ‘kay, I’m here now. Let your brother take care of you, okay?” His warm breath fans over the over-sensitive bundle of nerves, and in an instant a shriek tears through your throat, your pleasure once more soaking through past crimes. Sweet, still so sweet and soft around him.

He doesn’t have to wait for an answer, he knows what you mean, your body has always been more honest than your sweet mouth. And as your brother, as your twin brother, it's only right he does by his duty.

His hands snake over your thighs to hold them down– to pry them open even as they quiver– as he buries his tongue inside you, lapping up every drop of soiled essence, every drop that isn’t yours. Your broken sighs only crack ever the more with each lick, soft walls tensing tighter around his tongue as if unwilling to let him go.

The thought of that thing, of that swordsman, stealing this of you, that it too felt you tighten around it, cry and whine and beg, it burns. Even as he pulls you into his face further, even as there is nothing left of its touch beyond your swollen clit and bruised skin, even as your voice grows hoarse and all you can do is sob, nothing can erase the very fact that his own inattention caused this.

Nothing except for his own.

Yes, it is his inattention. It always has been when it comes to you. Too late, too long, too little–

–too late.

Swallowing a harsh breath, he rushes past flickering stone and debris to get closer, closer to bring you to him, closer to feel your cold skin. His body instinctively expects to feel your frigid arms wrap around his neck, for your freezing fingertips to dance along his nerves like you always have.

The calls for him to continue, to leave you here ring distantly in his ears. He should continue on, the fate of Amphoreus awaits him but you’re reaching for him, urging him. Your lips mouth words he can’t hear, but he knows, he knows what you want, what you want him to do.

‘█████’ ‘Come’ ‘Back’ ‘Here’

You’re so, so cold despite the burning soot and blazing heat. Your eyes are blurry and you’re cold. Breathing comes scarce and no matter how much he forces himself to breath, scream, cry, anything to grasp air back into his lungs, he just can’t get himself to do anything.

Phainon slips his hand into your weak one, you can’t even wrap your fingers around him, and the cold that greets him is emptying, absent. Dark towers spring from your chest, neither retreating or advancing, merely pulsing, pulsing, pulsing, pulsing. Slow, unhurried, as if unrushed to live.

You hum, words rising and dropping as if your words were not coming from your own body, “I’ll always be with you… my….”

His voice is somewhere, he doesn’t know where it's coming from, why it's so warningly low. He calls for you, you have to hear him, he can’t do this if you don’t, “Don’t. ███.”

“███. Please. I’m begging you, please.” He can beg, he can do anything you want him to but please, please, please, you just have to–

Dews of tears weigh your lashes down, trail to his lips and yet he can’t taste anything. Nothing, there is nothing, emptying, absent. Just like the cold of your hand and the scent of your skin. Is he not allowed to even have something of you? Is he not allowed to feel you for the last time?

Is he not allowed to even be able to protect you?

A squeeze, barely transient and dancing on his skin, you smile, “...silly…. boy….”

“...don’t leave me.”

You don’t stir. It pulses and pulses. Second by second, the proof of your life leaks from your chest.

He remembers the last time he felt this emptiness inside him, as an adolescent standing amidst flame and ruins. It is his most distinct memory, the only one unmarred by time’s claws. You clung to him, he remembers, held him to your form as you hummed and silent tears trailed down your face.

He remembers how slow your heart pulsed, unrushed and unhurried to live. The low rumble of your chest lulling him to welcoming darkness still mimicking in his heart, trying–failing– to replicate it.

But something is different now, he’s older than he ever could be, more powerful than he ever was all those years ago. And as he trudges along the lonely path towards a new world, he hears nothing but his own breathing, shallow, laboured.

So he arrives at the altar, and though Lygus stands just outside his perception, there is nothing here but himself.

Trianne, Anaxa, Castorice, Aglaea, Hyacine, Cipher, Tribbie, Trinnon, Mydeimos. Every single person who sacrificed themselves for this lofty goal, they will come back. Different, yes, but return they shall.

Everyone will return, yet he only fears he would not recognise them for who they are.

Will his parents return? His friends, his neighbours, will they too return?

Will he open his eyes to pink hair and sky blue eyes? Will he hear Cyrene talk once more of fate and destiny?

Your cold palms in his, your playful eyes and mirthful laughter, will he get to have that again? Would you come back to him, kiss his forehead and hold him to your chest once more?

Can he come home to you, can he return to a home together with you again?

It is the voice of a friend long gone that forces him to look back, the visage of a person who has left this cycle of living long ago that plants doubt in his heart.

But it is the humming of cold rivers and soft sheets that nurtures that seed. It is the rhythm of steps he recognises from kitchens and fields, the smell of floral soap and cold skin–

There is only one survivor of the massacre of Aedes Elysiae, only one such soul who escaped the claws of violence. And yet here stands two, two souls who have felt the warm breeze of golden fields and the cold river water permeating through skin and bone, who lived to feel the light of Okhema.

Those fingers that have never clasped around his, those hands that have never existed, reach out to him. The smile that has never formed, and that voice that has never sung to him, something–someone– in his chest curls.

“█████, let’s go home together.”

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