#i hope I helped you found some good works to read ^^

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

Moondir - 03

Pairing | moondir!OT7 x human!Reader

Word Count | 6,3K

Warnings | +18, coercion, power dynamics, blood, torture, noncon touching, talks about future sex, hatred, one of the characters suffers from selective post-traumatic mutism, Yoongi and MC clearly have unresolved issues 💀, Jimin is a 100% asshole, discomfort and discussions about smell, Namjoon enjoys humiliating MC, Taehyung is in heat (not kidding) this is not for minors.

This fanfiction is dark and yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | The Moondir, born of the Moon Goddess' love for a wolf, were persecuted and enslaved by humans for merely existing. Moondirian women have been captured and killed in the most heinous ways, men have instead been forced to do dangerous work in place of the humans themselves, and after more than a century, this has virtually brought their race to the brink of extinction. A group of Moondirian rebels have succeeded in their quest to regain their freedom, and not without the use of the crudest violence. Their females are now gone, and it will be human women who will help them repopulate the world.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys! ❤️

I apologize for the delay, it's been a really terrible few days and a member of my family has been very sick, anxiety and stress didn't allow me to finish the chapter sooner 🥺😭 Now things are going well and I've found some peace of mind, I really hope you enjoy the chapter and I apologize if you find any mistakes! ❤️ Let me know what you think! I love reading your comments! Thank you so much for your patience and support, I love you 🥰

Taglist is open: @katherine-kookie - @btsuga-d - @pantara - @angelicsmilesworld - @lennieharper - @takemeaway5402 - @jiminismine4ever - @m00njinnie - @ke1k029 - @velvet-stardust2002 - @darkuni63 - @douknowbts - @aiiselle90210 - @fewercascade - @mageprincess7 - @get-that-brain-working - @whipwhoops - @dragons-flare - @seokjins-luigi - @pjmsneverland - @jimincrystal - @ajkwww - @ungodlyjoon - @hecateslittlewitchling - @namjoonsbuspass - @xicanacorpse - @btssimplove - @antisocial-mochi267 - @reallygenerouskoala - @dabishou - @themwordsblog - @deluluisme - @justanarchiveforfics - @blackberrywonie - @the-holy-hobi - @justlikecrazy - @herareila - @furioustrashlover - @mar-lo-pap - @dachshunddame - @pantaral81 - @withmuchluv-tannie - @calmyourtitts7 - @plushjeno - @rafesbunniebby - @rms-expensive-girl - @polnaraffsrack - @rg2108 - @paramedicnerd004 - @jungshaking - @ane102 - @moonstarw - @teardoong - @butterymin

Main List - 01 - 02 - 03

“Hoseok told me something interesting, little flower,” Taehyung whispers in your ear, his voice low and rough. The wolf scents of cinnamon and burnt wood, an aroma that confuses you, knocking you out between your broken breaths. “Seokjin seems to have been far too kind to you during your examination” he adds in an insinuating tone, clutching you with one arm as he moves slowly, possessively, between your thighs with his free hand, “What does that mean?”

“Stay away from me, please,” you sob, chasing that hand away; you've already been kissed in a vile way, you can't stand even such a thing.

Hoseok nonchalantly sits in an armchair, following the scene with eyes glittering with interest. Taehyung touches your cheek with his tongue, it's slow and warm, picking up a tear you didn't even know you shed. You stiffen, your lips stretched into a hard line.

“You're so good, I'm almost sorry I scared you so much,” he smiles with a wry tinge in his amber eyes. His lips brush the angle of yours, leaving you with a kiss that tastes more like dirty promises than an apology.

You narrow your eyes, trying to ignore his towering figure holding you captive against him. “You're definitely better than that,” you hiss through clenched teeth. "I'm not going to rebel... I know the only alternative would be to die. But please ... not like this."

It is a gamble to try to reason with him, Taehyung is a beast at its peak, and now that you can think more clearly, you realize that the wolf's body is also shaking, but less noticeably than yours.

He is excited, perhaps from the hunt from which he has just returned. Perhaps because he has not yet had a chance to get rid of the adrenaline burning under his skin. And now... he's trying to dump it on you.

“Why do you persist so much, little flower?” whispers Hoseok in a caressing voice, tilting his head as if genuinely curious. “It's going to happen anyway... why fight anymore?”

Why?

Because you are not ready. Because you are human. Because you have dignity. Because you don't want to break completely.

“Come closer, girl,” he orders, patting his thigh, leaving you speechless.

As if he received the order from his superior, Taehyung lets you go. And maybe it really is an order. Of hierarchy.

“Don't make me say it again,” he warns you, and instinctively you take steps in his direction, "Like this. Good."

You drop onto his legs; he grips your waist with a possessive arm, his touch firm yet charged with a warmth that makes you lose your breath.

“Now, tell me why we shouldn't touch you like this-” his long, light fingers caress your waist in small circles, slowly rising to the round lines of your breasts. You want to scream, but his touch confuses you, destabilizes you.

And you don't know how to respond.

“You...” Hoseok's thumb grazes your lower lip, the words stuck in your throat.

"Tell me. Taehyung and I are listening," at his words you turn to the other wolf, he clutches the back of the sofa tightly, his jaw is contracted and his pupils dilated. What the hell...?

Broken, high-pitched, howl-like moans and stench of dry, ferrous blood.

Seokjin wipes his hands before putting on gloves. The room is almost completely dark, to unnerv the prisoner, but he can comfortably see the workings of his teammates.

Namjoon is finishing wiping on his own jacket the long sharp blade he used to chop off one by one the fingers of the man, who is trembling in shock from his torture. He is bound hand and foot to a chair, his dark, wispy eyes darting from one side of the room to the other, trying to figure out who will be next to make him discover new ways to learn about hell alive.

Namjoon's eyes, blue as a night sky, seem dull and apathetic, but only an hour earlier they looked dreamy as he carved his own initials into the man's forehead, letting a cascade of blood blind him.

“So you're not helping us, Jackie,” complained another - Yoongi - lowering himself to the prisoner's height, "Why are you willing to suffer like this? Hand over the rest of your comrades and I promise to give you a quick death, I might even secure a proper burial for you," he tries to persuade him in a mock sorry tone, but the man categorically shakes his head, before spitting a stream of saliva and blood onto the ground, not far from Yoongi's shiny boots.

The wolf's eyes twinkle with amusement as he observes the result of the gesture, "Hmm. A few days ago another person also spit on me... but she was prettier than you,” he chuckles, then without changing his expression, Yoongi sinks a fist into the man's stomach, who doubles over panting, saliva dripping from his lips, “There, that's how you should salivate."

Seokjin wrinkles his nose slightly, finding that human's swollen face disgusting; he wouldn't even want to touch him to tell the truth.

“He won't talk, Yoongi,” announces a more fluty voice, "At least not for today, let Seokjin nurse him a bit and leave him with his final thoughts. I'm sure Jackie is just as tired as we are."

Jimin keeps his hands in his pockets, in a completely relaxed pose, but his stiff shoulders say more than that. He's just trying to maintain control; he doesn't want to kill another vile human being before he's even obtained valuable information. He has already killed far too many — and he did it mercifully

“I have... begged... the h-high officials to kill you... all,” spits the man with difficulty, “You a-are unclean beasts,” he hisses with blood between his now broken teeth, “From. me. you. will. know. nothing,” he concludes with hatred.

Yoongi watches the man with a distant, bored look, “So... we have nothing more to say to each other, I guess.”

“Yoongi, wait-” interjects Seokjin, irritated. It would be insane to kill the man after hours spent questioning him. Just the idea of having wasted that time sends him out of his mind, but he doesn't have time to say anything else.

A figure moves in the shadows, silent as the night, yet clearly visible.

Then a bubbling sound breaks the air.

The prisoner's throat opens in a sharp, clean cut, as if it were butter.

Jungkook's lilac eyes shine in the half-light. He does not speak. Anger pulses in his tendons, in his hand clenched around the still bloodstained dagger. The prisoner stares at him in shock, but his hands are tied and he cannot see his own end.

Some splashes have stained Yoongi's jacket. He does nothing to clean himself.

"Too late, Jin. Jungkook got tired, too."

“Why do you always have to get in the way, 'Kook?” asks Namjoon with an arched eyebrow. The younger boy replies with a shrug.

“Forget it, he wasn't going to talk anyway” Yoongi stands up, putting his leather gloves back on, Seokjin can swear he sees one of the guards posted at the entrance lift his eyes to the sky, before returning to stare blankly, waiting for more orders.

With a grin he shakes his head, Yoongi is far too permissive with Jungkook and this causes jealousies among the ranks.

“Let's go back to our base,” then Jimin turns to those guards, “Get rid of the body, you can do what you want with it... although I advise against eating it, it may have been poisoned before we found it.”

“If so, then he did a bad job with the doses, considering he's been alive far too long as well,” snorts Namjoon, loading a shotgun on his back that he never part with.

Seokjin begins to retrieve his medical equipment, irritated with his teammates.

"Medicines, bandages... for what? Nothing ever changes," he snorts. "You already know they won't talk anyway. And you already know you will kill them. It's just a waste of time. And of patience. We could almost make it a standard protocol," he concludes sarcastically, making Namjoon chuckle.

“I thought you were happy to practice what you've learned over the years,” he taunts him, causing him to irritate.

"I just wish you could keep your nerve for once, being led by hatred will not help us find all these rats hiding. And Jungkook, I'm talking to you too," he blurts out to the younger man, who rolls his eyes without making a sound, which sends a painful twinge to his chest.

Jungkook is the result of what each of them has experienced in a hundred years.

“Enough discussion, we have more to think about now,” sneers Namjoon, “Or have you all forgotten?”

Yoongi, who up to that moment had been smiling wryly, suddenly loses all expression. A stony silence falls over those present.

Seokjin takes a good look at them, biting his lower lip, “Shit.”

They are unpresentable.

They look like they've just stepped out of a horror movie, amid splashes of blood on their faces and uniforms soaked with sweat and dirt. The chase was particularly bloody; Jackie was simply the last name on an endless list. That's why Seokjin feels so irritated and tired.

“We should clean up and change uniforms, I'm going to-”

“No bullshit,” Yoongi interrupts him, cutting him off. “We'll clean up at home, I have nothing to hide.” He nods to the guards: it's time to move toward the vans.

“I'm tired, I don't feel like making myself look good for a cheap whore,” Jimin blurts out, pulling back a strand of tousled hair before leaving the torture room first, in the building that used to belong to the mayor.

They take different vans, Jimin catches up with Namjoon and Jungkook, who pretend to look out the windows, but their ears are strained, on the other hand, Seokjin is fuming with anger.

He reaches Yoongi in the back seat of the other military van and crosses his legs, crossing his arms like a parent disapproving of a child's choices, "Jimin has to move on. And so do you."

"Are you my psychologist? I'm done with that shit, and Jimin is just fine. You've seen how he works, right? At least those human bastards didn’t turn him into a wimp with all those drugs they were pumping into him," he growls at him.

"I understand you, Yoongi. I know what you've been through, because I've been there myself, but that girl is our only chance for a better future."

“Why her?” he growls, “Why did you choose her?”

Seokjin looks at him in amazement, "Do you think I did that? Yoongi, I have no decision-making power, it's blood that determines matches. Your blood chose her,” he retorts curtly, “You always told me about her father and brother, but never about her... so why do you dislike her so much? She doesn't seem like a bad person."

Yoongi begins to chuckle in response, adjusting his jacket on his chest, “Have you fallen into the trap yet, man?” he teases him, “Don't give her too much rope, that's a poisonous viper.”

“Stop it!” you explode, trying to regain control, "I'm not going to do anything until the doctor gets here! Dr. Oliver said everything will have to be checked before you can do whatever you like."

You finally find an opening to free yourself: you get up from Hoseok almost tripping over your own feet.

Meanwhile, Taehyung has slowly slipped off his jacket, revealing his dirt-stained uniform and... more. Something you refuse to give a name to.

He drops onto the sofa like a dead weight, closing his eyes with a contracted expression.

“Damn... this stuff is stronger than I thought,” he groans against his bent arm, his voice muffled, labored.

Hoseok clenches his jaw, “Then I suggest you go to sleep, joking is one thing, losing control is something else entirely,” he rebukes him, leaving you confused.

Had it all been a game to them so far?

Pieces of shit.

But you don't dare say those words out loud.

The atmosphere is strange, you still have in mind the intense look Taehyung gave you a few moments earlier, it seemed quite animalistic.

“She has no idea what’s going on, does she?” he murmurs, looking sicker.

“Of course not, you've seen for yourself how incapable she is of satisfying a man, she's not that kind,” Hoseok replies in an insinuating tone.

Taehyung lets his gaze slide over you, slow and intrusive.

“She's almost cute, though,” he smiles and your heart does a strange thing, like a somersault that embarrasses you and makes you blush.

“Say that when you find her whimpering on the bed” Hoseok rolls his eyes, at which you flare up.

“You certainly seem to know me,” you reply, almost blowing. Your wry reply draws Taehyung's attention.

“Now who made her angry?”

“I'm not angry” you nip Hoseok's rebuke in the bud, staring him straight in the eye without fear, "I won't cry, I know I'm lucky. Because I can still breathe and talk, don't treat me like a spoiled child, I'm not!"

"You say you're not, but you don't seem to have changed much. You really are a spoiled child."

At the exact instant those words cut through the air, time freezes. Even Hoseok and Taehyung appear surprised.

Suddenly the living room seems to shrink around you. No. It is not possible, he cannot be here.

“I can smell her fear, Celestial Goddess, Yoongi--what did you do to her to make her like this,” laughs another voice, deeper.

It is with fear blocking your throat that you turn your gaze in his direction.

Yoongi is staring at you with a glassy gaze, he might start cutting you down little by little, and he won't lose that composed, relaxed air of his, despite his creased and dirty clothes, perhaps even more than Taehyung's clothes.

Yoongi also returned from a hunt, but his seems to have ended in a more satisfying way. Still, he is not necessarily finished.

Behind him a group of men seem to be just waiting for his order so they can play with you; you recognize two of them. Jimin and Seokjin.

You are not amazed at the man with amber eyes filled with contempt, you realize he is actively working alongside his captain, but Seokjin?

Is he the doctor who is in charge of keeping the prisoners alive so he can calmly interrogate them? Will he also participate in their repopulation project, using you?

He immediately turns his blue eyes away from yours when he notices the wounded light you direct at him.

You don't even know why you are so disappointed in him, you two talked only once and he touched you against your will, but you thought maybe he was different. A little better than his fellow members of... what? Pack?

Next to him you also study the other two wolves, you have never seen them in your life, they are simply terrifyingly beautiful.

The guy with the dark blue eyes is the size of a closet. His black hair - still damp - falls back, uncovering his forehead, and that leaves you with a chance to clearly read the hungry look he is giving you. He scrutinizes you from head to toe and his full lips are bent in a ravenous, smug smile. He looks at you as if you were the hottest thing to ever appear in a room -- but with the same respect that you reserve for a fancy whore. And no, it's not pleasant.

The other has a wilder, almost unkempt look. His brown hair falls over his eyes, a barely concealed lilac glow catches you off guard. Are those really lilac eyes? You stare at him dumbly, and it seems to agitate him in a negative way; he bares his teeth and growls at you, a sound that gets under your skin and causes you to take an instinctive step back. Once again it is Hoseok who holds you still, communicating with his gaze to stay where you are. Then you remember Seokjin's warning: Don't run.

“You have a strange memory of me, captain,” you force yourself to respond somehow, hating the quiver in your voice.

Yoongi's grin deepens, interested.

"Is that what you call me now? You flatter me, Y/N” he tosses his coat to the floor, revealing blood soiling the sleeves of his uniform, and his gloves go the same way, "You used to just call me ‘boy’ " he follows Hoseok's example and pours liquor into a crystal glass, Jimin and Namjoon do the same, and soon the living room is filled with deep voices and the pungent smell of cigars.

Seokjin stows his jacket on a coat rack, turning his nose up at the villanous attitude of his companions, then nods at you, silently asking you to sit in the unoccupied chair. That simple gesture brings you back down to earth, but the tension gripping your throat does not ease.

You move with concern, noticing the two strangers approaching Taehyung, who seems to have taken on a rather bright pink complexion. He seems to be fighting something.

“Maybe you really should go to bed,” offers Hoseok once again, “You look like you're about to give in,” more like a disguised order than advice.

You see Taehyung shake his head firmly, “I want to be there when you decide what to do” his voice is hoarse, fiery. “She is also mine, remember?”

You almost shudder as you moan, but as you sit down on the padded material, Seokjin kneels at your side, taking your wrist between his long fingers. He wants to measure your pulse probably, afraid you will faint at any moment?

"She is no one's. She is only a means to the cause,” Jimin blurts out, his voice as sharp as a blade, “When she finishes what she was chosen for, we won't need her anymore."

His eyes nail you, rabid, as if every word were a verdict already written.

“I wouldn't mind keeping her,” the dark blue-eyed wolf speaks for the first time, revealing an extraordinary deep tone of voice, “It would be a waste to limit yourself to two or three children.”

Jimin looks like he could strike him down in an instant. "Are you really the one saying that? You, who should understand me better than anyone, Namjoon?"

Namjoon. That's what his name is. Now you have a face, a name, and one more enemy.

“Don't get me wrong, Jimin...” he retorts, his tone more serious but far from regretful, "I haven't forgotten who we are. Nor what they have done to us and what we have irretrievably lost. I'm just saying that to throw it away too soon... that would be a waste. They kept us in chains for a whole century. The least would be to return the favor... to the last drop of their lives."

Your stomach contracts.

Your heart sinks into the abyss.

You are at the mercy of seven men who, looking at you, see only the years of imprisonment they have spent.

The only one who has not yet exposed himself with a disgusting and cruel speech is the lilac-eyed wolf; he stands apathetically by Yoongi's side. He doesn't smoke, he doesn't drink, he doesn't talk. He has also lost the spark of anger that you had aroused in him a few moments ago; he looks every bit like a soulless rag doll.

“Would you be so kind as to report all this directly to me?” Seokjin jerks his head up toward you, surprised and startled by your courage.

“How?” asks Hoseok, stinging.

"You heard me. I think I have the right to be considered at least a little by you. It's my body, my womb," something in your words makes Namjoon chuckle in response.

"Haven't you figured that out yet? You no longer have any rights, we are in charge now."

You cast a glance at Seokjin, who reciprocates with an impassive face. He doesn't say it, but he clearly agrees with Namjoon. In this new world, even those who show you some kindness will always think of you as less than nothing. You found this out with Dr. Oliver and now with Seokjin as well.

“So don't go around it anymore, what will happen from now on?” you ask without second thoughts. If you have to comply with their every request in order to survive, so be it.

“Don't you want to fight?” the annoyed tone of Yoongi surprises you a little, does he want you to fight?

Of course. To punish you.

“Would it do any good?” you retort with a sad smile. The captain, in response, casually goes back to drinking, deciding that ignoring you is probably best for everyone. He dismisses you with a look as if you were an annoying detail.

It's going to be a long night.

“You're in your most fertile period, your scent is very strong and affects us, Taehyung is the clearest proof,” Seokjin interrupts the staring contest you and the cold captain put on. An animalistic grunt makes you wince.

"I'm fine. It's bearable," Taehyung swallows,

“Don't bullshit, the room pretty much just smells like her.”

That sentence does not please you at all, "Do you have to be so explicit? It's disgusting," you retort, feeling ashamed just imagining what kind of smell you give off, to be so strong to their noses.

Jimin clicks his teeth in your direction, “It's our nature, show respect.”

"I say we start with the ‘meeting’ so everyone can go to bed and rest. We are all tired here," Hoseok announces, sensing the tension in the air and wrinkling his nose at the unpleasant and far from pleasant smell inside the room. It is animalistic and asphyxiating, acrid like sweat, something forcibly restrained, unlike your own which is simply sublime and is driving him crazy.

You smell of a moonlit night, of breeze brushing the wildflowers and carrying their sweet scent, you smell of freedom and this is undeniable, even to Jimin himself who is forcibly restraining himself from jumping on you.

Hoseok's green eyes shift to Yoongi, his captain appears icy and impassive, but he too is pawing beneath the surface. They haven't been with a woman for a long time, and certainly not by their own choice. To them you're a fucking feast.

Seokjin leaves your side to take a seat next to Taehyung, seeming to want to make sure the other doesn't suddenly go crazy, the empty feeling you feel is uncomfortable, making you uneasy. You feel somehow abandoned.

"Tonight you will just rest, but starting tomorrow our procreation program will begin. To make sure you get pregnant as soon as possible, you will sleep every night with at least one of us. Every morning I will check your health status and your vitals, it will only take me a moment to figure out whether or not you have become pregnant," he explains with his gaze over your shoulder, he is simply pretending to look at you. Something prevents him from meeting your eyes, perhaps something called “pity.”

“So we have to decide our turns, hyung,” nods Namjoon with crossed arms, receiving a nod of assent from the other.

“That's right, but we have to do it according to her needs for the time being,” Seokjin points to you, causing Yoongi to arch an eyebrow.

“What's that supposed to mean?” he asks almost annoyed, “It's our needs that you should put first.”

“And that would be so, in a normal situation,” the doctor takes him back in a harsh voice, “But the human is a virgin and I'm not going to force her to have her first sexual intercourse with someone who terrifies the hell out of her, that would be cruel and counterproductive.”

Embarrassment stains you red from head to toe, you didn't expect Seokjin to shout to the four winds what he found out during the first exam, but this seems to ignite the newcomers with interest.

“What a surprise,” Yoongi sneers wryly, “I thought you finally succumbed to the baker's advances.”

His words wound you. They are a blade that lacerates your heart with impressive ease. That comment comes out of his lips too harsh, too accusatory, and you want to cry, because he knows what really happened and should never have thought of such a thing.

“You yourself know that I have too much pride to give in to the wishes of a man like Evan, but you've probably forgotten,” you reply bitterly, hinting to others that you and Yoongi in the past had more than a master-servant relationship. And you did. There was much more respect between you two than he wants to admit now.

The captain grits his teeth menacingly.

“Be careful how you talk, you insolent little one,” he hisses with a calmness that reeks of malice, “It wouldn't take you long to end up on your knees, polishing my boots with your tongue while one of my brothers takes what he wants from that insulting body of yours.”

“You don't scare me Min Yoongi,” you smile joylessly, “I've seen my family die, nothing impresses me anymore.”

You are clearly lying, but he does not need to know that. It is rather pleasant to see that always mocking face turn granite.

“So that's it, I don't scare you,” he nods apologetically, “Then you won't mind bending over whenever I need to get my dick a little wet,” you stiffen, humiliated and shocked by the ease with which he utters those words, and it is Seokjin who puts a stop to it.

“We're not here to have as much fun as we like, captain,” he announces coldly, “The human will be treated well for easier and faster conception.”

Namjoon snorts in response, “Yeah, yeah... you and your bullshit about a peaceful and healthy environment that will benefit her fertility and other such bullshit.”

“It’s a headache,” moans Taehyung, panting slightly, running a hand through his hair, awkwardly mussing it. Drops of sweat bead his forehead, making him ominously attractive. Like a wolf panting hungrily before his next meal. Averting his eyes before he can meet yours, you wrap your arms around your body and curl up in the chair.

“Each of us will have to spend at least one day a week with her, based also on our schedules clearly,” the doctor continues, “And also based on character aspects to be kept under control,” you see the wolf cast a brief glance at the lilac-eyed boy, who merely grunts, leaving you quite confused. He doesn't seem the least bit interested in you. You hope this is a sign; perhaps you will avoid spending time with that particular wolf, saving you at least some of the misery of sharing your body with strangers.

Finally, Seokjin addresses you directly, "I know how upsetting it all still may seem to you, but you have no other options. I advise you to choose who will be first.”

“It will be an honor,” you reply with a hint of venom and irony in your voice, and you are not surprised to see Jimin instantly stiffen.

"If the idea disgusts you so much, why don't you get yourself disemboweled? Let's get it over with here and now," he growls, not even trying to restrain himself.

For some reason, his outburst pulls a crooked smile from you.

“Or maybe you're the one who's disgusted by me,” you retort calmly, staring at him.

And that's when an idea flashes through your mind. A crazy, twisted and probably self-destructive decision.

You had thought about choosing Seokjin: he was the kindest, the most cautious. But for that very reason... he would be precise, meticulous. He would complete his task and you would probably remember him forever.

No. Better someone who hates you.

A wolf who won't even be able to touch you without vomiting his soul. If he feels disgust enough to back off, he'll be perfect. And even if he manages to go through with it in the end, it will still be such a harrowing experience to forget.

He will be your nightmare, but you will be his.

Sure, you want to survive, but enjoy the touch of a Moondirian?

No. That would be so humiliating that you would wish for death. They may get your body, but not your mind, much less your heart.

“Y/N?” the voice of Seokjin interrupts your silence, you can catch a veil of concern in his tone.

“I’ve decided,” you say, letting your gaze rest on Jimin’s amber eyes. “You’ll be the first.”

Your decision seems to shock everyone present, Taehyung's eyes are so wide that he finally bursts into laughter  — a sound closer to a howl — while Seokjin shakes his head slightly, as if to disapprove of what you have just said.

But it is Yoongi's somber expression that makes you tremble slightly; the captain leaves his seat silently, passes his glass to the lilac-eyed boy, and leaves the room without a word, while Jimin almost seems to be foaming with anger.

“Bitch” is all he manages to snarl, before he strides past you with heavy footsteps, leaving a trail of light scent behind him, orange blossom and amber.

“Are you sure?” the voice of Hoseok sounds hoarse, as if moved by a subtle anger that he refuses to show.

“It's a duty, not a pleasure,” you reply harshly, not at all regretting that you just scored your first time.

“The fact that he hates you won't stop Jimin, he'll take what he has to take and he'll do it regardless,” Namjoon warns you with a strange seriousness. After all, he was the one who called you an object in the first place, “He is going through a delicate moment and his wolf isn't well.”

His wolf?

“I'll survive,” you smile without happiness, “That's all that matters to me.”

The room to which Seokjin took you immediately afterwards is dark and cold. It lacks an abat-jour and even a candle to be able to light the bare room, but you certainly cannot complain after the corpses you saw scattered throughout the houses in the neighborhood where you lived. Humans had used fairy magic to keep some of their settlements hidden, but all it took was for one person to know the location on the map to render all efforts in vain. You don't even know why Yoongi didn't raze everything right away; perhaps he had simply taken his time to make you and your family tremble with fear.

Yoongi.

That look before he left the living room still gives you chills when you think back on it. You didn't really mean to incur his wrath, but you felt like a cockroach in front of him and reacted by provoking him as a defense and using Jimin as a resource, probably one of the fiercest wolves in the house.

One who would not think twice about opening your throat from side to side.

You've ruined yourself with your own hands, even Seokjin and Hoseok seemed irritated by your stupid decision, but there's no turning back now.

You tighten the blankets on yourself, moaning a little at the cold, your eyes now accustomed to the absence of light scanning the room shrouded in silence, unable to rest. A grip of anxiety squeezes your chest, stirring your poor, already battered heart, a bad feeling rages against your body, trying to rebel against the new plan that is now your life.

You could escape now.

The window isn’t sealed, and with all the blankets and sheets in the room, you could make a rope long enough to climb down.

You grit your teeth, shaking your head. Even if you made it over that first hurdle, it wouldn't take long for the wolves of Moondir to track you down and - in all probability - punish you. You let go a deep breath filled with frustration.

“What are you thinking so hard about, baby doll?”

Before you can scream, a hand presses against your lips contracted in surprise, as a wave of cinnamon and burnt wood hits you, leaving you breathless. A hot body in the prime of its masculinity trembles on you, the man sighs against your ear, and you finally recognize him. Taehyung.

His heated skin dampens the sweater you found inside the closet and decided to use for sleeping, but he has lost the sour smell of sweat and blood. Suddenly you no longer feel cold with your back resting against his bare chest, but agitation makes your temples throb.

“Promise not to scream, and I'll leave you free to talk,” he whispers, brushing the line of your neck with the tip of his nose. You squint, a slight moisture wetting your eyelashes as you nod.

When the weight of his hand lifts you exhale, flustered.

“You can't be here,” you warn him, aiming your wide-open eyes at the closed door. When and how did he enter? Seokjin locked that door to keep you from leaving... and maybe even to keep them from entering.

“I can't stay away from you,” he moans against your neck, his arms tightened around your legs, holding you tighter to his incandescent body. It makes you feel tiny, helpless, “It's all fucking fire, and your scent only makes it worse,” he confesses with his lips now pressed against your shoulder, a strange sensation pooling in the center of your chest.

“Have you tried... a cool shower?” you stammer, panic-stricken.

Shit. What the fuck are you thinking of telling him!

His low, rough laugh immobilizes you.

“I've done three, baby doll,” he forces you to turn away, holding your chin between forefinger and thumb. “But it only gets better when I can touch you,” he hisses, his half-closed amber eyes shining brightly in the dark with an almost frightening intensity.

“You have a fever,” you murmur as you slowly lift a hand, your fingers brushing his sweat-soaked forehead. His hair drips to his temples, and even without a crisp light, you know his face is flushed. But this is no ordinary fever: he is delirious.

“I've had it ever since the wolf smelled you in the house,” he laughs softly, brushing your neck with his nose, almost obsessed with that spot.

“The... wolf?” you ask, trying to keep your wits about you as he comes dangerously close. You need to distract him, and talking seems the only way.

“Mh-mh,” he murmurs, hugging you tightly, sinking his face between your breasts. He vibrates as if purring, making you blush to your ears. “He likes you, baby doll -- and I like you, too.”

You swallow, gritting your teeth.

"You should have Seokjin examine you. He would know how to help you," you suggest, trying to shake him gently, without provoking him. But your suggestion makes him stiffen.

“I don't want to,” he hisses hoarsely, lifting his gaze to you again, “I don't want those fucking suppressors,” and something tells you he wants you.

You squint, you have to play your cards right if you want to survive. Getting fucked by a wolf in heat and probably out of control doesn't seem to be a good thing, but he certainly won't leave without getting something first.

“You're in heat, am I right?” you ask him bluntly, causing him to grunt in assent, “Humans like me don't go into heat, I don't even know how it works for you” you explain calmly, “So I can't really help you that way.”

"Especially since you chose to give yourself to Jimin, am I right?” he snaps venomously into your ear, “I hope you know what you’re doing” his fingers slide down your back as if trying to find a spot to let go, but they stop halfway, hesitating. The way he's trying to hold back is really admirable.

“I'd still like to help you,” you reply, deciding to ignore his last insinuations, “Just tell me how.”

“You don't understand... it's a need to bite and brand while-”

A quiver shakes his heated body as a stifled yelp escapes his lips, now pressed against your chest in a desperate attempt at self-control. His body heat is pleasant and wrong; you should not rejoice in it.

“Give me your wrist,” he growls, his voice low and strained like a rope about to snap, “And don't move for any reason, if you do I won't be limited to just that anymore,” the warning in his tone petrifies you, but you do as he says.

He presses his thumb against the thin skin of your wrist, listens as if hypnotized to every reverberation of your frantic pulse, and leaves a kiss on it. It is slow and hot, and against your will a pleasant tingle builds up in your lower abdomen, you try to chase that feeling away, but the sensation of his teeth sinking into your skin just enough to leave a mark makes you moan slightly, undecided whether to find it pleasurable or annoying.

Taehyung moves against your body, licking away a few drops of your blood. He concentrates with the tip of his tongue on the tiny little holes his fangs have left, before reaching out toward you with a new hunger etched into his savage features. The charcoal that circles his eyes darkens his already dangerous gaze, leaving you breathless.

“I can't wait to catch you, baby doll,” he sighs on your lips, the fever does not seem to have gone away but there is a new awareness that seems to have calmed his wolf, “You have been very good to me, I promise I will be generous,” he whispers, kissing the angle of your mouth softly, before retreating.

“Good night,” he wishes you, leaving you shocked.

What the hell just happened? Now that the cold has returned to the room, you finally realize that you have been at the mercy of a wolf for indefinite moments.

[anon-188]

on anon because I'm feeling shy, but — aj teaching her something she needs to know for a job, but with cockwarming involved. bonus points if she ends up teaching him something in return. 😌

pairing: AJ x f!reader | genre: smut | wc: 1.6k

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), cockwarming (obvi), unprotected sex, dom!AJ, power dynamics, brat!reader, strong language.

a/n: i hope this is close to what you meant!! thank you for requesting! <3 hope you like it :)

It was yet another late night. AJ had come over to your place this time, settling in as you both got back to work. Blueprints were spread across the dining room table, creased at the corners from how often you’d been poring over them the past few nights.

You were getting better at it—better than when you first started—but not quite where you needed to be for the next job.

Normally, AJ was the one calling the shots when it came to planning, but this time Gordon had insisted on having two people manage the layout. He wanted to double down on logistics, make sure nothing was missed.

And surprisingly, Gordon had vouched for you. Said you had a good head for angles. That your insight had saved their asses more than once, even if he didn’t always say it out loud.

But then came the issue of you not being able to fully read the blueprints. The layers, the symbols—it all blurred together if you looked too long.

Gordon had asked if you thought you could get it sorted in two weeks, close the gap, and you said yes, fully thinking you’d just play catch-up on your own.

The second AJ found out you needed help—like the gentleman he swore he was—he offered.

Only problem?

AJ’s version of help usually ended with you bent over some surface, breathless, moaning his name while the plans sat forgotten in a pile beside you.

You’d been hooking up with him on the low for a few months now. Everyone thought you just worked well together—which was true. They just didn’t know how well.

Tonight, it was supposed to be business.

AJ sat to your right, forearms braced on the table, sleeves rolled up just past his elbows. His watch glinted as he pointed to a section of the blueprint—something about structural tension—and you tried to focus, you really did. 

But now you were over it.

Not because it was too hard—you were getting there—but because AJ had been teasing you nonstop.

His hand stayed on your thigh, inching higher every so often, close to slipping under your skirt. He kept leaning in when he didn’t need to, talking in that low voice of his that always sounded like a setup. And every time you looked up, that stupid smirk was waiting—cocky, amused, and dangerously inviting.

You let out a breath, folding your arms.

“What’s wrong?” AJ asked, all confidence and charm.

You didn’t answer. Kept your eyes on the table, pretending to study the blueprint like you were still trying to make sense of it. But you weren’t. You were already thinking. Plotting.

And then you got an idea.

Without a word, you moved onto AJ’s lap, settling yourself with just enough ease to make it seem casual. He raised a brow, slightly surprised, but the smile tugging at his mouth said he wasn’t complaining. 

When he asked what you were doing, you played it off with a shrug, eyes on the table. “Trying to get a better view of the blueprints.”

He didn’t push it. Just leaned back, still watching you like he already knew what you were up to.

Not even a minute later, you shifted your hips.

AJ let out a low hum, followed by a soft chuckle. “So that’s what this is about.”

You didn’t answer. You just rolled your hips again, slower this time. His hands slid over the tops of your thighs, then up your sides as he exhaled, the sound rougher now, deeper.

“We still need to get through these,” he said, though he made no effort to move you. Instead, his hands found your hips again, thumbs pressing into your skin like he was considering something.

Then he shifted beneath you—slow, intentional—just enough for you to feel the full length of him under you, hard and heavy through his pants. He let you feel it. Let you sit with it.

“You want it that bad?” he asked, his hands firm against your inner thigh, holding you in place.

“Then you’re gonna sit right here. No grinding. No whining. You take all of me—and if you can keep still…” His voice dropped again, slower now. “I’ll make it worth it.”

You knew exactly what he meant.

He’d done this before—kept you full, still, aching while he made you wait. He was always so damn nonchalant about it. But you? You never lasted long.

AJ leaned you forward slightly, one hand at the small of your back. The other went to his belt, the sound of the buckle sharp in the quiet room. You heard the drag of the zipper next, then the faint shift of fabric.

As soon as he freed himself, he gripped his cock and started working it in slow strokes. His breath turned heavier, dirtier, like he was already imagining how good you’d feel around him.

He pushed your skirt higher, fingers grazing your skin as he bared just enough.

Then— 

“Come here,” he murmured, the gravel in his voice saying more than the words did.

You repositioned, pushing your underwear aside as his hands slid back to your hips and guided you into place.

The moment you sank down on him, your head tipped back followed by a sharp moan before you could stop it. Your body clenched at the stretch, just as AJ’s hands gripped harder, holding you flush against him. 

He didn’t move—not yet. Just let you feel him.

And fuck, you felt everything.

Even after groaning from the contact himself, AJ still had that cocky grin in his voice. 

“You probably won’t last ten minutes like this,” he muttered against your skin. “You’re never patient.”

Was he right? Sure.

Every other time, yeah, you cracked. But not tonight. Not after the teasing, not after the bullshit earlier that had you pressing your thighs together just to keep from reacting.

So you didn’t answer. You didn’t even look at him. Just exhaled slow, steeling yourself, and reached for the blueprint again.

You’d prove him wrong, even if it killed you.

He was thick and hot inside you, pulsing gently with every small clench of your body. The stretch was maddening—not from movement, but from the absence of it.

The stillness made it worse. Made it better. Your body ached for friction, for rhythm, but you forced your eyes to stay on the paper in front of you.

You were full, so full it was impossible not to feel every inch of him. Every subtle twitch. Every small shift of his thigh beneath yours that pushed him in just a little deeper—just enough to remind you who was in control.

Well. Who he thought was in control.

For the next thirty minutes, AJ listened to you ask questions. Over and over.

Now you were leaning in again, dragging your finger across the same damn corner of the blueprint you’d already asked about—twice.

“So this—this feeds into the silent alarm loop, right?”

AJ’s hand flexed beside yours, knuckles going white for half a second before he answered. “Yeah.”

Flat. Dry. Barely controlled.

He kept his eyes on the paper, jaw tight, forcing himself to keep breathing evenly.

This was not how he thought this would go.

He thought you’d fold by now. That you’d get needy. Desperate.

But it was him—he was the one struggling to stay composed.

And then came another fucking question.

“If the silent alarm trips and power reroutes, it defaults to this backup here, doesn’t it? The one tucked behind the vault elevator shaft?”

Your finger landed precisely where it needed to. The way your voice sounded—soft, thoughtful, just a little unsure—could’ve passed for innocent. But AJ knew better.

You had understood the basics last week. You didn’t need to ask.

And now he understood something else. You were playing dumb. Drawing it out on purpose. Testing him.

He didn’t even bother to answer.

You moved in his lap, the motion controlled and unhurried. Then you looked back at him with that sweet little over-the-shoulder glance, hips rolling again—just enough to make sure he really felt it.

And he did. 

His hands landed on your hips, rougher than he meant, fingers tightening like he might lose the last of his patience right there.

Your eyes met his.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, soft and syrup-sweet.

AJ’s jaw tensed. His gaze dropped to where your bodies met—where you were still wrapped around him—then dragged back up to your face, darker now. Focused.

So you made it worse.

“Thought you were the patient one?” you said, then rocked your hips forward as much as you could.

His grip tightened, stilling your movement immediately. Harder this time. Possessive. Final.

Suddenly, he stood—fast and forceful—taking you with him, never slipping free.

You barely had time to react before he bent you over the table, pressing you down until your palms flattened over the blueprints.

His mouth was at your ear, voice low and sharp.

“Patience doesn’t mean I’ll let you off,” he bit out, pinning you to the table.

A pause followed, thick and weighted. Enough to make your body brace.

Then he drove into you.

Brutal. No warning. You cried out his name, loud and raw, the sound chased by a curse you that broke from your chest.

He didn’t slow. Just found a rhythm and stayed in it, each thrust hard and unforgiving, dragging another sound from your throat every time his hips met yours.

“You wanted to win?” he said, voice hoarse. One hand slid up to your shoulder, holding you steady, while the other locked back around your hip.

You tried to say his name again, tried to shape it into a plea, but it came out thin.

He let out a harsh breath through his nose, fingers digging in deeper.

“Don’t tap out now.”

Then came the words, quiet and dangerous.

“Take it like a good girl.”

please do not repost, copy, or claim my work as your own.

• tag list: @alealuvshayden @sythethecarrot @apocalyptichero @ggyuslovie @anak1ns-wife @5secondsofmoxley @f1wh0recom @purplerose291 @i5hyv @endairachristensen26 @mvst4far

if you want to be tagged in my future posts, just let me know (comment or message me). i’m happy to do it! :)

• links: masterlist | wattpad

[nqrancia]

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 : bucci-gang including trish

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : sweet moments with your s/o & their stand!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : alcohol mentioned & slight suggestiveness in abbacchio’s (i got a lil bit carried away lmao)

𝐚/𝐧 : first time writing for jojo’s so i hope y’all like it! my friend proof read all of these and requests are also open! :)

𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐎 𝐁.

✦ | The capo truly believes that if his stand wasn’t so well behaved, that it would’ve dragged you into the zipper dimension and kept you there so you could shower it with praise forever. He won’t allow that to happen though, so don’t worry. Bruno still finds it adorable when you praise his stand for good work, it almost feels like he’s receiving the praise himself.

───

Tonight was a rare occasion, your beloved Bruno was able to be home for once. The past weeks had been full of countless missions that needed to be taken care of, and only he was trustworthy enough to be in charge of them. As frustrating as it was being away from home, he enjoyed the time he was able to spend with his little group. But, as they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder. He was eager to see you and hold you in his arms again, to give you all the love you had been yearning for during those few weeks. Letters were simply not enough to express it.

As soon as he entered the front door to your home, he was met with a warm embrace; an embrace reminded him of the days when you were both young and newly in love. Childish, passionate, and so utterly infatuated. With a light chuckle, his arms snaked around your waist, whispering, “I’m home, bella.”

It didn’t take him long to acclimate back into the calm atmosphere your home exhibited, he was finally able to delve into the book he had been itching to read. As he did so, you decided to take on the duty of preparing dinner. He, of course, had offered to do it himself, but you insisted he needed to rest and relax. He couldn’t deny his fatigue, but he still felt guilty for having you do all the work yourself.

He wasn’t too far in his book before he heard soft humming coming from the kitchen followed by the occasionally clanging of pans. A soft smile spread across his face; these were the sounds of home he had been missing. He couldn’t help but look up from his book and into the archway that invited guests into your kitchen, catching a glimpse of the little dances or actions you would take to entertain yourself as items cooked on the burners. You were so sweet and he adored that about you, even simple, domestic moments like this one.

Without even realizing it, his stand had somehow been released during his lovesick staring. It had opened a portal to the zipper dimension and entered through the wall into your kitchen, right next to you as you stirred the pot of pasta. Its sudden appearance startled you, but only for a moment as it merely stood there and admired the cooking process. Sticky Fingers could be an odd one, but it was a useful and dependable stand and friend to have.

Soon, it was time to make the sauce for your pasta. After some rummaging through your fridge, there was no garlic to be found. You swore you purchased some at the store earlier that day, but you supposed you simply overlooked it. “Damnit, I forgot to grab garlic at the store.” You sighed.

Next to you, your husband’s stand immediately perked up; almost like this was the moment it had been waiting for. Quickly, it created an opening in the wall with one of its zippers and swiftly entered and closed the zipper. A few minutes went by, and then came back the stand. It seemed it had nothing, like it had just disappeared for no apparent reason, but then you noticed it was holding an item in its hand. Upon closer inspection, it was exactly what you had needed. A clove of garlic.

Your mouth shaped into an o, then slowly formed into a thankful grin. “Oh, thank you, Sticky Fingers.”

Before it returned to its user, you gave the stand a quick peck on the cheek. A simple way of giving it your thanks, “I swear, as kind as Bruno is, he doesn't give you enough praise.”

If stands could blush, Sticky Fingers was doing exactly that.

Having been listening to your conversations from his comfortable seat, Bruno released a quiet sigh, “Please tell me you paid for the clove.”

───

𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐀.

✦ | For a while, he thinks you're genuinely insane. You’re fawning over his stand, an extension of himself that can’t even properly communicate with you or talk to you. It can only rebroadcast the past events that Abbacchio asks it to, yet you still consistently shower it with praise when it replays the information he needs. He would never admit it, but he does find it endearing when you do so.

───

Once again, Abbacchio was drowning his sorrows in liquor. This habit had begun to dissipate when his relationship with you began, but old habits do die hard. He found that it would happen more when you weren’t around; around to see how fucked up of a man he really was. He was never what you thought of him to be, at least, he didn’t see himself that way.

In your eyes, Leone Abbacchio was a stern, but caring man. He hid his true feelings with anger, hoping to avoid attachment and sentiment, but the people around him couldn’t help but get closer to him. Without even trying, he was a magnet to the teens in Bucciarati’s group; them seeing him as a figure to look up to. At times, he would even crack small smiles at them simply acting like normal teens. If brought up, he would only deny he ever did. But, you knew the truth.

Even with your constant worrying and check ups on him, his depression would never disappear. It wasn’t something that could be fixed, it simply was; and he knew that all too well. On nights when he did get rest, it would be interrupted by nightmares. Scenes of his days as a cop, money being shoved into his hand, the gunshots, and the blood of his partner on his hands would play over and over. Sometimes, it felt like Moody Blues was tormenting him in his dreams. He knew that wasn’t true, but that was what he wanted to believe.

That feeling was familiar as he sipped on his booze, sitting in loneliness at your dining table. He would drink and drink, believing it would make the pain go away, but it never did. He recalled a saying he was told as a child, “If you believe hard enough, your wish will come true.” Abbacchio never wished, but if he were ever able to muster one up, it would be to wish that you were home right now. Not to see him in the sad state he was in, but to deliver the affection you decided he was worthy of. Your kisses were like blessings and your words were like sugar, it almost felt he was being healed from just your presence alone. Maybe that was why he would replay your mornings with him, when he was his loneliest.

As he rewinded Moody Blues once again, the sound of keys entering the keyhole could be heard. Soon after, you gently opened the door with hands filled with bags of groceries. Your eyes traveled up to meet his gaze, then turned to catch the bottle in his hands. “I’m home, Leone.”

“Welcome back.” He muttered, his grip tightening on the bottle. A tell tale sign of his nervousness.

As you sat your bags of groceries on the table, you took notice of the double of yourself that stood behind you. The stand quickly turned back into its true form, giving you a welcoming nod. You gave it a peck on the cheek as it made staticky noises spout from its audio player. “Were you using Moody Blues to replay this morning, again?” You questioned as you took away the bottle of liquor.

This time, he didn’t utter a word. He only looked off into the distance, a part of him shameful of his actions. You never liked that he coped this way, but it was about the only way he knew how. But, instead of berating him, you gave him a sweet smile, cupping his cheek with the same gentleness you gave his stand. “You can just say you missed me, y’know?”

He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed you right now.

“We can work more on helping you find a better coping outlet. I won’t have you do it alone, Leone.”

Before you could say anymore, Abbacchio took a loose hold on your wrist, pulling you down closer to his face. He stared into your widened eyes for a moment, then roughly pressed his lips onto yours. His hands soon wove their way into your hair, keeping you steady for an onslaught of kisses; each more passion filled than the last. His light purple lipstick had smeared, part of it now smudged on your face. He didn’t care.

You were in his embrace, you were home. The drunken wish he had made came true.

As he finally pulled away from you, he stared at the purple now present on your lips and the light red hue that rose to your cheeks. It almost made him fall in love with you again, almost. “Leone-”

He had shut you up with another kiss, with a quiet murmur, “I don’t deserve you…”

───

𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐎 𝐆.

✦ | Golden Experience shares the same adoration for you as its user does, often it grows flowers or plants for you as a thank you. However, it can be overwhelming at times. Sometimes, Giorno’s heart rate spikes when you do nice things for him, such as when you give him kisses or pick up his favorite snack from the store. Those simple actions mean much more to him than you think and make his heart beat quicken, resulting in a sudden patch of flowers growing beneath him. Trust him, that was all Golden Experiences doing.

───

Being a mafia don was terribly exhausting, each day was filled with more tasks that needed to be completed and assigned. Giorno knew that from the beginning when he first took on the journey to achieve his dream, but there was a piece of the puzzle that he had acquired during that time; you. You were one of the members of Bucciarati’s group, and the first to treat him with an ounce of respect. The bond the two of you formed during your mission to protect Trish became unbreakable. That bond eventually formed into something more than just friendship, you became his first love. Now, the love of his life.

He loved coming home, to see your beautiful face greet him with the same adoration he had for you. Even though he would come home exhausted, more often than not, he would always stay up into the late hours of the night just to spend as much time as possible with you before he had to return to his duties in the morning. Just like today.

The moment he walked in the door, you greeted him with that kind smile of yours. You wrapped your arms around him, squeezing him tightly, trying to pour all your love into a single embrace. “Welcome back home, Gio.”

Giorno soon returned the embrace, his arms snaking around your waist as he rested his head against your shoulder. “Thank you, love.” He murmured.

After a moment of sweet silence, you released yourself from his hold. You could barely contain yourself, judging by the fiddling of your hands. You slowly inched yourself towards the dining table, quickly hiding an item behind your back. “Guess what I got you while I was out today?”

A chuckle left his lips, “That’s quite a hard question to answer.”

“Then I’ll spare you, just this once,” you then pulled out the treat behind your back, excitedly presenting it to your beloved. “Two of your favorites combined, chocolate pudding!”

“Why thank you, dear. I take it that this is from the sweet shop you mentioned.”

You smiled cheerfully towards your beloved, “Of course, Gio! You deserve it for working so hard.”

As soon as you uttered those words, the man felt his heart beat become faster than it had been before. Below him, ferns and weeds began sprouting from your floors along with flowers of various species, primarily ones that spoke “I love you” in the language of flowers. It was like a mini garden had suddenly grown in your own home.

This didn’t go unnoticed by you either, an eyebrow raised in concern. “Um, Giorno, I hate to cut this romantic moment short but there’s a flower patch growing beneath you.” You spoke, pointing to the floors below you.

“I’ll pot them later, love,” he whispered, pulling you ever closer to him. “I want to continue to enjoy this moment with you.”

He was utterly smitten.

───

𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐀 𝐅.

✦ | Fugo is extremely concerned for you, but Purple Haze loves it! Due to the stand's unpredictable nature, and possibility of one of its bulbs breaking, it’s rare that Fugo even lets it out around you. It’s rare that it’s even let out in general, but Fugo takes extra precautions so as to not hurt you. However, on the rare occasion that his stand does make an appearance, you are quick to praise it.

───

Fugo could only stare with concern and distaste as you stood a little too close to his stand, arms crossed as his hands formed into fists of frustration. This was his own way of coping, coping with your optimism and kindness towards him and the stand he had grown to despise. His aversion to his stand in the past could be considered so little compared to the precautions he takes now that you have become his beloved. The others within Bucciarati’s little gang had certainly taken the hint that Purple Haze was an unstable stand, but you just couldn’t stay away from it, now could you?

Battered and bruised from the battle that had occurred just moments ago, you still sought to give your favorite stand its well deserved praise. With both your hands cupped around your mouth, a celebratory shout left you. “Good job, Purple Haze!”

Your excitement caused the stand to look directly at you as it drooled, its eyes mimicking a puppy asking for treats. Then suddenly, it began to clean the drool off itself erratically, almost as if it were trying to look presentable for you. It was adorable.

A grimace spread across Fugo’s face, disgusted by his stands attempt at cleaning itself. It was utterly fruitless and only made him more embarrassed by the situation. Seeing this, he gently took hold of your wrist and pulled you closer to him, farther outside his stands 5 meter range. “[Name], please refrain from getting too close to it,” he sighed.

In response, you wrapped an arm around him as you pointed to his stand. “But, it’s so cute! Just look at it.”

Fugo, however, did not share the same sentiments. “I’m being serious, please avoid getting close to Purple Haze. It’s unstable.”

“It reminds me of you, y’know.”

He huffed, “Of course it would, it’s an extension of me.” Only Fugo could see it that way, but there was much more to Purple Haze than meets the eye. It’s nature was that of its users, yes, but its actions reminded you of how much your Fugo meant to you. His supposed “annoyance” towards your behavior to his stand was never what it appeared to be; his feelings and actions were only a means to protect you. His anger was a mask for the softness of his heart, a side only you were permitted to see.

It hurt your heart to know he found it hard to see himself the way you do, but you could try to. “Sure, but its habits reflect the true nature of your soul. You act all tough, but you can be a really sweet person. I love that about you.”

For a moment, you could feel Fugo freeze in your arms. You didn’t even have to look up to know he was fighting off the blush rising to his cheeks.

───

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐎 𝐌.

✦ | Mista adores you, and so do his Sex Pistols. The countless times the bullets have fought over your attention is enough to prove that fact. You can never truly say who is your favorite because they can and will fight over it, for several hours. Or maybe even days.

───

All you and your boyfriend wanted was some rest, any number of hours would do at this point.

As you laid against Mista’s chest, little voices kept bringing you back to consciousness. Bags were beginning to form under both yours and his eyes. Combined with the excessive work you had both received during the week from Giorno, rest was the best possible date the two of you could have. Unfortunately, the Sex Pistols just weren’t ready to settle down.

Their chittering was adorable, that you could not deny. It was difficult to tell them no, even when they were asking for an item as simple as a piece of your food. However, when their cute conversations developed into arguments, their lovable nature turned into not so lovable behavior. Their attitudes would become worse towards their user, but never towards you. After all, they love you just as much as Mista himself does. Nevertheless, it still got on both yours and Mista’s nerves if it went on for too long.

Finally, Mista had had enough. After a long, drawn out groan, he released an annoyed shout, “Guys, can you stop with the racket? You’ve been at this for 3 days now!”

This got his stand’s attention, and they quickly fired back:

“But, Mista!”

“[Name] has yet to pick one of us!”

A sigh left your lips, a pout of frustration soon following after. “You lot should know I don’t like to pick favorites.”

Your little companions however, did not agree with your words. Like clockwork, you could see the wheels turning in their brains to come to the conclusion that you absolutely had to choose. They then released a shout in unison, “There can only be one!”

Once again, you released a sigh before sitting up straight and wiping your tired eyes. “If I pick, will you please let us rest?”

A nod was given by each bullet.

Mista observed as you sat, thinking carefully upon your answer. Then suddenly, you spoke. “Number Five.”

Immediately, a joyous shout came from the little stand which was then followed by disappointed groans from the others. Before you knew it, Number Five was even doing happy laps along the hallway as the others chased it. The sight could only make you laugh and at least they brought their little fight into the hallway. You quickly rose from the bed and shut the door before they could come back in.

As you laid back down, an arm wrapped around you to bring you back into your boyfriend's arms. You then gave him a poke on the cheek. “Don’t worry, you’re still my favorite.”, you whispered.

A haughty scoff left his lips, a smirk following in suit. “Obviously.”

Truthfully, all of them were your favorites.

───

𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐀 𝐆.

✦ | Sadly, you can’t exactly love on Aerosmith like some of the other stands in the Bucci Gang. It’s quite literally a mini airplane. Instead, you can give your boyfriend double the love to make up for it.

───

“Just one, please?” He begged.

“Nara, I am not giving Aerosmith a kiss.”

Narancia’s begging had been going on for several hours now, and he was not going to let up any time soon. Your relationship with him had always been sweet and loving, it was hard to ever find him without you by his side. Abbacchio and a few others liked to joke that Narancia was like a koala with him always clinging to your side, but you never minded it. You had always found it endearing that he loved you so deeply. But, there were a few times that his acts of affection were a little too… interesting for you.

Your boyfriend’s arms then wrapped around your waist, desperate for a positive answer. “But everyone else’s stands get loved on like crazy, and it’s starting to get jealous!”, he whined as he slid down to the ground.

This was ridiculous, yet adorable all the same. You playfully ruffled his hair, using your other arm to wrap around him and keep him off the floor. “I think you’re speaking for yourself, hon.”, you giggled.

Narancia looked up from your stomach with the saddest, most heart-wrenching puppy dog eyes you had ever seen. No puppy you had ever met had managed to sway your heart like the boy who clung to you did nor made you fold so quickly. He had to have been cursed by some witch.

“…fine, but just one.”

He immediately perked up, eyes filled with pure joy as he nearly jumped from how pumped he was. “Yes!”

Aerosmith soon appeared next to you, awaiting its affection. You didn’t waste any time and gave it a quick peck on its nose before quickly standing back. For a moment, you swear the plane's frown that was usually present on its face turned into a grin as it spun around in the air to make a heart shape with its smoke. For a stand that was meant to scare, that was one of the most adorable things you had ever seen.

Arms then wrapped around you from behind, nearly making you fall as Narancia glomped you. “It loved it!”

You couldn’t help but smile, “Now, it’s your turn!”

Before Narancia could react, you turned around and pressed a kiss on his lips. Then another, and another. As you began pecking his cheeks, he broke out into a fit of giggles as he inched you even closer to him. If he were to ever pass, it would certainly be from your affection.

───

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐔.

✦ | Trish finds it a bit odd at first that you give special attention to her stand, but then she eventually comes to like it. Sometimes she’ll catch you putting make up on Spice Girl, even asking the stand if it likes it or not. Trish thinks it’s cute.

───

Spice Girl was a diva, that much you knew. Much like her user, she was particular about her fashion and her tastes in general. Where others would see only part of the picture, your girls saw the whole masterpiece. It was something you admired about them, their complexities are what made them unique and you loved them for it. Even when they could be difficult at times.

As you sat with your girlfriends stand at her vanity, you carefully dabbed the larger brush into the pink powder. Then, with a gentle hand you patted the brush on the stand's face. It remained quiet and still as you did so, trying not to ruin your hard work. You then repeated the same actions with a darker pink blush, being just as careful.

After you finished, you sat back and admired your work. It was a hard choice, both blushes looked beautiful against its pale pink skin. So, you decided to get up and spin the stand’s chair around so it could look in the mirror. “So, a lighter pink or darker pink for the blush?”

Before the stand could reply, a voice came from behind you. “I think a darker pink, it looks nice against her skin.”

There stood your Trish, who had recently just woken up judging by her sleepy eyes. Her pink hair was still messy from her beauty sleep, but she looked adorable nonetheless. A smile creeped up on your face as she approached your side, and you were quick to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Goodmorning, sweets.”, you whispered.

“Goodmorning to you, too.” She murmured, then she took more notice of what exactly you were doing. You were doing make up on her stand, a past time only you and her participated in. Even with Trish’s particularities when it came to her routine, she eventually let you do it for her at times. Over time, you had memorized her routine and she found it cute that you did so.

Pulling up a chair, Trish sat next you as you continued to do her stands makeup, occasionally giving pointers to you. If this was what she woke up to every morning, she wouldn’t mind waking up early.

@𝐧𝐪𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐚 - please do not translate or plagiarize my works.

[cercess]

Beneath New Skies - Chapter III

Death's Door

𖤓 Tags: Depictions of violence, mentions of death, depictions of injury, depictions of blood, angst 𖤓 Rating: Explicit 𖤓 Word Count: 3.3k 𖤓 Notes: hey all! Sorry or the time it took to get this out, I really struggled writing some parts. I want to add a trigger warning for this chapter: it depicts scenes of the city being attacked, as well as descriptions of a wound on a character's arm. If these make you uncomfortable in any way, please skip this chapter. When I upload chapter four, I will include a summary so you don't miss any critical information moving forward. I'm hoping to get chapter four out either tonight or tomorrow, because I know this one took me a long time. This chapter isn't my favourite writing-wise, but it was important for events that will come later. Please excuse any clunky parts, as this is not the type of story I typically tell; I'm much more of a slice of life/romance author. Thank you all for your continued support, and I hope you enjoy the chapter! 𖤓 Previous Chapter / Next Chapter 𖤓 Read on AO3

The day started like any other, with you working the counter at the apothecary. Kyros, the restaurant owner, was browsing the wall of dried herbs, while your father helped Akmonides with some ailment in the back room. 

“What do you think they’re talking about in there?” Kyros asked as he smelled a vial of crushed ginger.

“Is gossiping about the gossip-monger really a good idea? He’ll find out eventually.”

Kyros laughed, as he added the ginger to his basket, “not unless you say anything.”

“That depends on how much coin he offers.” 

It was just a cough. You knew because your father had grabbed eucalyptus on his way back. In your business, the answers to people’s suspicions were often much more boring than what they’d imagined. One day, you planned on taking over your father’s position and treating patients yourself. But, seeing as the man was still as spry as ever, there was still time before that happened. Sometimes he’d test you pool by simply stating the ailment. It was then your job to figure out what ingredients needed to be used. After doing it your whole life, mixing the proper tonics and ointments came as naturally as breathing. Peppermint for colds, feverfew for fevers, valerian for insomnia, ginger for mild pain, and poppies for severe pain. Those were the common afflictions you saw, but every once in a while, there would be a curveball, and you’d have to consult your journal. 

“These are pretty,” Kyros held up a blue flower, “maybe I could use those as a garnish.

“Those are flaxseed flowers, and we use them as laxatives. Probably not something you want your customers eating.” You grin as you fiddle with the necklace Phainon had given you.

He would have found that funny. 

It had been a few days since he’d left for the ruins of Janusopolis, and you’d spent most of your time yearning for his return. It was almost sickening how much you longed for him; like a lovesick teenager who had to be glued to their partner’s side at all times. 

The door behind you opened, and out walked Akmonides and your father. The former held a vial of what you assumed to be a tonic for his cold. The other telltale sign of his affliction was his nose, which had been rubbed raw from wiping mucus away.

“Could you run to Demetria’s?” Your father asked, placing a hand on your shoulder as he slipped behind the counter. “We need oranges.” 

You nodded and hopped off your stool, taking the opportunity to emphatically stretch your arms and legs. He sometimes sent you on errands throughout the day, knowing that you appreciated a break from the mundanity. 

As overwhelming as Marmoreal Market could be, you could never shake your love for it. You had lived your whole life with the bustling stalls right at your doorstep. The sound of customers haggling echoed in the back of nearly all your childhood memories. 

The walk to Demetria’s was short, and when you arrived, the grocer was quick to welcome you with a hug. 

“Have you grown since I last saw you?” She asked. 

“Maybe,” you say brightly, knowing full well you stopped growing years ago. 

When you placed the oranges in your basket, she took a long pause, before adding a bundle of grapes. “That doesn’t quite seem heavy enough, here. A treat from me.” 

“Thank you,” arguing with the old woman was futile. She was too kind for her own good. 

Before returning to the apothecary, you made a detour to find an old friend. She was usually easy to find, as she spent her days running along the streets. 

“Serena,” you called down a row of plant-adorned homes. It wasn’t long before she poked her head out from behind a pot. You waved, beckoning her closer. 

She scanned the street before running over to you with a smile on her face.

Gaining the girl’s trust had taken considerable effort. The first time you met her, she robbed you blind. After returning home from The Grove, you were unfamiliar with certain changes, namely the orphaned children that used the market as their hunting ground. When you told your father, he merely laughed; apparently everyone had fallen prey to her antics. At the time, you were angry, and spent two days searching for the thief. After clamouring over the rooftops, you eventually found her hideout on a balcony overlooking the market. Your anger immediately subsided when you saw her huddled in the corner, surrounded by empty boxes and various stolen mementos. A sudden appreciation for your stable childhood had blossomed since then, especially as more desperate children arrived from Castrum Kremnos.

Serena was from Icatus, and had no means of supporting herself. She insisted her parents would return, but the disillusionment of maturity told you otherwise. Since then, you made an effort to leave her food whenever you could. When you and your father had leftovers, you’d set them outside the shop for her, and in the morning there would be a flower on your windowsill. 

“Were you looking for me?” She asked, trying to get a better look at the gift you held behind your back. 

You laughed, and showed her the bundle of fresh grapes. “I thought you could use a treat on a hot day like this.” 

The little girl’s eyes widened with excitement, and she snatched the fruit from your grasp. She looked at the gift like it was a rare gem, “this is all for me?”

“Of course, I-”

An earth-shattering scream cut through the gentle moment like a knife. Instinctively, you pulled Serena behind you, her hand tightly grasping yours. “What was that?”

“Stay close, and don’t run ahead,” you instructed in a harsh whisper. 

Keeping your back against the wall, you carefully shuffled to the end of the building to peer down the main street. The lone scream had multiplied into an overwhelming rumble of panic. Ahead, people were fleeing a towering figure clad in blue and white. You’d learned of the Titankin through Phainon, but had never laid eyes on one. It’s marbled skin was exactly as he had described, and the golden dagger it brandished was far from an inviting image. 

“What’s happening?” Serena tugged at your arm. 

Primal fear overtook you when the Titankin turned its head in your direction, it’s stiff, inhuman movements only adding to your terror. Had it seen you? Was it coming your way?

“We need to run,” you pulled the girl further down the street, away from your possible assailant. 

“To where?” She asked shakily as she struggled to match your pace. 

You slowed down slightly, needing a moment to think. What you needed was to get to your father. For all you knew, he was alone in the shop. He was not a trained fighter; neither of you were. A feeling of hopelessness began to gnaw at your confidence as you realized the dire nature of the situation. 

“We need to get to my father,” your attempt to keep your voice steady failed. Getting to your father meant returning to one of the main roads on opposite ends of the street. The southern road was blocked by Titankin, and the other route would still be a gamble, especially with Serena in tow. Still, you refused to abandon the child. 

“We can get there from the roof!” Serena pointed to a set of stairs leading up to a nearby balcony. 

A low groan sounded from around the corner you had previously checked, and it became abundantly clear that you had to make a choice; risk finding more Titankin on the main road, or follow Serena’s plan. While you had about a hundred logistical questions about Serena’s route, you decided that a petty thief probably knew all the cutie’s secret passages better than you. 

“Up the stairs then, and don’t look back.” 

She nodded, and led you up the nearby building. From above, you could see the extent of the chaos. It turned out following Serena’s idea was for the best, as a particularly burly Titankin stood guard on the northern road. 

“What are those things?” The little girl was trembling, so you knelt down to meet her eye. 

“Those are Nikador’s Titankin. They are very dangerous, and want to hurt us. If one gets close, you run. Do you understand?” You hated how grave your voice sounded, knowing it would only make her more afraid. But fear no longer mattered; survival was your only priority. “Can you still get us to my father?”

To your surprise, she didn’t cry. Instead, Serena furrowed her brow and led you across a nearby canopy. You rushed after her, eager for your feet to once again stand on a solid building. 

“We can climb down here,” she gestured to the ledge below. 

You realized that she was pointing at the protrusion under your bedroom window. The route you had taken must have been how Serena left flowers for you. 

The girl scrambled down the side of the building, using the uneven stone as foot grips. Given you were larger than a child, the drop was a nonissue. You thanked yourself for leaving your window open, and slid inside your bedroom after Serena. 

“Let’s find my father,” you instructed as your anxiety became almost unbearable. You had no idea what you would find, and prayed that the worst case scenario had not yet occurred. 

The two of you crept down the stairs to the shop, the sound of your racing heartbeat thundering in your ears. Everything was painfully normal; the herbs neatly arranged, the phials on the alchemy bench perfectly in order. The only thing out of place was your father, who was nowhere to be found in the main area. 

Serena trailed you, her eyes widening as she took in the shop. If it were any other time, you might have felt a bit of pride at her reaction. Alas, posturing was hardly appropriate during an attack. 

“I need you to stay ducked behind the counter, I’m going to check the exam room.” 

She nodded and did as she was told, curling into a ball. You took a breath, and opened the door. Inside, your father sat at the desk, hunched over a book. 

“Father! What are you doing?” You asked, equal parts relieved and dumbfounded.

“I didn’t think it would take you so long to get back, I-“

“Do you not realize what’s happening? The city is under attack by Titankin.” 

He adjusted his glasses, “if this is some kind of joke, I do not find it funny.” 

Exasperation threatened to overtake you, but the urgency of the moment far outweighed your irritation. “No, it’s not a joke. We need to run now.” 

Your father rose from his chair, and followed you out into the shop where Serena remained under the counter. “You’ve found a child.” 

“Father, this is Serena. I was visiting her when the attack started. She got us here safely.” 

“Then I owe you my thanks.” He smiled warmly at the girl.

“Where do we go now?” 

Before your could respond, your father jumped in, “I suspect they've started evacuating the market. We need to get out while the guards still have a foothold. Otherwise, we’re trapped waiting for the Titankin to find us.” 

You were relieved to have the pressure of responsibility lifted from your shoulders. It was something your father always bore well, and you trusted his intelligence wholeheartedly. 

“Stay in between us,” he guided Serena to stand in the middle of himself and you. Then, your father addressed you, “did you notice where the Titan were gathering? 

“There's one on both the south and north road. We almost had a run in with the southern one.” You shuddered at the thought of that encounter going any other way. “It was farther up, though, so if we make a run for it then we may reach the guards quicker.”

“Good idea,” he nodded, “it’s also closer to the gates. Follow me.” 

The two of you trailed your father as he exited the shop. “Leave the door open. We don’t want to make any more noise than necessary.” 

He crept forward, checking around the corner as you had earlier. The angle of the building made it difficult to see the rest of the street, but you noticed him straining to see past the restaurant. 

“Now,” your father instructed, grabbing Serena’s hand. They took off down the street with you floating close behind.  

As you ran, you found yourself clutching your necklace, your grip so firm that it left star-shaped indents in your palm. If Phainon were here, you’d all be safe. If you can hear me, please come home. I need you. 

The sudden realization of your own mortality was frightening. You thought of everything you had left unsaid, to your father, and to Phainon. He’d never know just how proud of him you were; how lucky you felt to call him yours. All of the little things you were too afraid to say would die along with you.

Your thoughts were soon interrupted by your companions coming to a stop. By the time you slowed down, the cause for their interruption was clear. A Titankin, larger than the other two, blocked your way with its massive sword. 

Serena trembled behind your father, her shaky hand clenched around his pant leg. 

As for the man himself, he slowly raised a hand, “we mean you no harm! Just let us pass.” 

The Titankin’s growl seemed to encapsulate the area in cool air, freezing everyone in their place. At its feet were discarded weapons; a warning for any who wished to challenge its mighty authority. 

Your eye was drawn to a spear that laid a few feet away, its blade shining in the midday sun. It called to you like a weapon of legend, beckoning you to be the hero your father and Serena needed. 

If I die today, I will make him proud. 

You lunged for the spear, albeit not as gracefully as you would have hoped. Still, when you regained your footing, the spear sat in your hands, sharp blade pointed towards the looming Titankin. 

It shifted its attention to you, sword prepared to strike. 

“What are you-“

“Run!” You interrupted your father as the monster lifted its sword high in the air. 

You shut your eyes, bracing for the impact against your defensively positioned spear. The weight that bore down on you was unbearable. Upon impact, you were sent stumbling backwards, but your spear remained raised. 

The Titankin grunted, and shifted more of his weight to the sword. You could hear the wood of the spear splintering under the force, and you focused on moving out of the way of the opposing blade. 

Behind the beast, your father shouted your name. His desperate tone almost brought tears to your eyes. You wanted to tell him you loved him, but the Titankin had successfully broken through your spear, causing you to lose your balance. 

The weapon’s two halves stared up at you sadly, and you almost felt the need to apologize for reducing the beautifully crafted weapon into such a sorry-state. However, there was no time for that, as the Titankin had raised its sword once again. 

You scrambled backwards, holding your arms in front of your face. The pain that exploded through your left forearm as the blade cut through your skin was unbearable. A pained cry escaped you as your vision blurred. Had you been hit elsewhere? You dropped to the ground, cradling your injury close to your chest. 

“Don’t touch them!” Your father cried, before a loud thump echoed through the streets. You wanted to go to him, to see if he was alright, but your legs wouldn’t work. 

Instead, you squeezed your eyes shut and waited for the end to come. I love you father. I’m sorry I failed to protect you. I hope I made you proud Phainon. I’m sorry I never told you-

An awful sound, like nails on a chalkboard, overwhelmed your senses, but the impact never came. You blinked open your eyes to see a blade sticking out of the Titankin’s chest. It stumbled as that sound filled the air once again, and collapsed into a pile of dust. 

For a moment, the debris shrouded your saviour in mystery, but when they ran forward and took you in their arms, you knew your prayers had somehow been answered.

“What are you doing? Your arm, it’s…” Phainon’s voice trailed off as he observed the gash in your skin. You wanted to wrap your arms around his shoulders and never let go, but decided upon remembering your bleeding injury and his white coat. 

“Phainon?” His name fell pathetically from your lips as tears clouded your vision. Your whole body numbed, until the pain in your arm was nothing but a dull ache. 

“I’m here,” he cupped your face in his hands, “I should have gotten here sooner, I’m-“

“Ahem,” an unfamiliar voice chimed in, interrupting your tender moment. 

Behind Phainon stood a beautiful woman with golden eyes. She held some sort of stick in her hand, its shiny material covered in the same dust-like material the Titankin had been reduced to. Her short skirt and accessories were unlike anything you’d ever seen in Okhema.

“Are you going to introduce your friend?” She grinned down at you and Phainon, slugging her weapon over her shoulder. 

“Leave them alone, Stelle.” An equally exotically dressed man called as he helped your father to his feet. You noticed he had a small scar under his right eye, although it did nothing to detract from his handsome features.

“You’re no fun,” the woman huffed, nudging his shoulder.

You turned your attention back to Phainon, who was watching the duo with as much confusion as you. “Who are they?” 

Before Phainon can speak, the grey woman responded: “we’re visitors from beyond the sky, come to rescue you in your hour of need.” 

Once again, the man tried to real-in his companion. “You can’t tell everyone that,” he hissed, which was met with the woman—Stelle—rolling her eyes. 

“Is she being serious?” You asked Phainon, as he and your father hoisted you off the ground. 

“Yes… Kind of,” Phainon answered once your feet were securely on the ground. “They really are from beyond the sky. And they helped me get to you.” 

You and your father exchanged confused looks as he examined your arm. “It’s nothing major, but we need to get this stitched up.” His hand lingered on yours. 

“The path ahead is cleared, find the guards, and get yourselves to safety.” Phainon orders, having adopted his “hero” persona.

“What about you?” 

A mere touch momentarily shatters his mask. “I’ll come back to you, I promise. We need to clear out the rest of the city and get to Nikador.”

“Nikador is here?” Your father suddenly seemed uneasy. 

The man from beyond the sky ushered Serena to the exit, “leave the Titan to us, sir. Get your children to safety.” 

“You’re facing Nikador? Now?” Your voice wavered with emotion. 

“The Chrysos Heirs will defend the city from this threat,” Phainon’s words were rehearsed, his mask slipping back into place. 

“They’re right,” your father placed a calming hand on your back. “We need to get to safety. Let the Chrysos Heirs do the fighting.” 

Phainon patted your hand reassuringly, “we’ll be okay. I promise.” 

There was much more you wanted to say, but the pain in your arm had returned. Your head was starting to feel fuzzy, and from the trail you left behind while walking, it was clear you were losing too much blood. 

“Good luck,” you told Phainon as your father led you from the market. As you left, the city’s mortician passed, but said nothing. 

Death had come to Okhema, and all you could do was pray that Phainon remained on its good side. 

[lilianne-tarot]

PLEASE READ THIS

NOTE: this is a very long post, but to everyone who has followed me for some time, I would request them all to pls give this a few minutes and read this 🫶🏻

So, this is something I’ve been meaning to say for quite some time now. But life was really busy, and some really unfortunate events over the past two months, which kept me very occupied. 

People who actively engage in the tarot community may already know that heavy energies have surrounded the community for a while, and a lot has been happening.

I hope you all take a moment to read and think about what I say here before jumping to any conclusions.

SOOOO, I’ve been learning tarot since 2019. In the beginning, I used to learn through the guidebook that came with the deck I bought. Later, I started learning through online resources and a few books I purchased. I also used to watch a lot of tarot readings on YouTube to understand how to do readings in real life. I practiced consistently from 2019 to 2021, but school got really busy, and I had to stop completely for a while.

I had a file where I used to write down the meanings of tarot cards when I was in my early phase. Whenever I came across any meaning or any point I found interesting, I’d write it there. In 2022, I saw a few people using AI for tarot readings. Back then, I wasn’t even aware of such tools existed. Out of curiosity, I searched for the meanings of a few cards using AI, and I’ll admit, I found some of them interesting and wrote a few down in my file. But very soon, I realized the downsides of using AI, especially how wrong it can feel in the field of spirituality, so I completely gave up on it. Still, this might be the reason why a huge part of my tarot vocabulary sounds a certain way.

Secondly, English is not my first language, so sometimes I can feel insecure or unsure about how I express myself. Initially, I had a certain image in my mind of how I wanted my tarot readings to sound. I could easily achieve that tone and expression in my own language, but when I tried to do it in English, it didn’t sound the way I wanted, so I wanted to achieve it badly. So, I started reading books, in that genre (not related to tarot)which might help me to improve my vocabulary. But in my readings, sometimes, or say,  lot of the time ,I would write sentences in my native language and then use online translation apps to translate them into English, sometimes even rephrasing tools to improve my messy sentences. Initially, I didn’t realise that this could be problematic too. And even if my own English didn’t always match the image I had in my head, I now understand that I shouldn’t have relied on those tools. So I’ve stopped using them as well. Although I might have used translation or rephrasing tools but those were only in a few parts of my readings; most of them were completely and purely my own writing.

I became aware of both of these issues, and my conscience told me I needed to do something. So now, I’m working on redoing my past readings. If you’ve followed me for some time, you might notice that some of them have changed, and I'll redo the rest of them as well in the coming few days. I assumed this would be the best course of action, regardless of the fact that it’s taking so much more time, but honestly, it made me feel good, so I did it. I even deleted a few posts, thinking I’ll redo them properly later.

People sometimes assume my personality is sketchy or that I’m scheming, and… well, I blame my Scorpio Moon for that 😭. At this point, I don’t even mind, because it happens a lot in real life too, haha.

Also, in my personal readings, I always include the names of all the cards and pictures of the actual cards I pull. The readings resonate with so many people, whether it’s a pick-a-card or a personal reading, so you know they were genuinely channeled, even if I used an app to help rephrase things just to improve grammar.

If you read all the way till here, I’m really happy and grateful that you took the time. This was a very vulnerable post for me, and I’m glad I shared it. I feel so good after doing it.

To sum it all up: I don’t use AI to “do” my readings, and I can say that confidently.

I just felt like I should say all this all especially to the people who genuinely support me. I don’t think there’s anything to hide, so I made this post. If you want to speak with me about anything, my heart is always open💗

Thank you so much, truly 🫶🏻

[whitecompri]

😆 Okay, here's a fun idea in mind:

Imagine hedgehog dads' trying to help the kids with their homework (particularly math), and they happened to be just as stumped as they are. And it results in utter chaos.

Inspired by the 6 × 3 video from the classic HARDSTOP LUCAS (if you know him). 😎 🫡

Hope this idea works! If you don't wanna do it, that's fine too. Just a funny idea that I NEEDED to get out there, lol! Have fun! And thank youuu! ❤

Daddy Homework

Pairing: Sonic x Reader; Shadow x Reader; Silver x Reader; Scourge x Reader

Genre: Fluff, light comedy

Rating: G (General Audience)

Warnings: None

A/N: Thank you for the request! I loved the idea, I thought it was a great fit and very funny. I had never seen this video before, and I thought it was really funny too, lol. I hope you like the result!

Sonic

It was late afternoon, the final rays of sunlight streaming through the kitchen windows. The blue hedgehog was leaning casually against the counter, taking a sip of his soda. His ears twitched toward the front door as he heard it creak, signaling someone’s arrival.

Almost immediately, the door creaked again as it closed, followed by small footsteps entering the house.

Slightly turning his head, his green eyes scanned the kitchen entrance, seeing the little blue hedgehog walk in slowly, looking tired, with her backpack on her shoulders. She slipped the straps off, tossed it beside a chair, and, with some effort, managed to sit on the chair—which was taller than her.

“So, kiddo? How was school?” Sonic asked, walking to her side and pulling out a chair.

“Tiring... It’s so boring having to sit in a chair all day...” She crossed her arms.

“I know how it is... But just relax, it’ll be over soon.” He gave her a light pat on the back.

“Dad, can you help me with my homework?” she asked quietly.

“Sure thing. Just show it to your old man—shouldn’t be anything too tricky.” He laughed, leaning an elbow on the table and setting aside his soda as she reached for her bag, pulling out her pencil case and notebook.

She carefully opened the notebook, flipping through the pages until she found the lesson, then handed it to her dad, who smiled and scanned the page.

“All right, let’s see...” Sonic began to read. “An isosceles triangle is a type of triangle that has two equal sides and—hold on, what? Congruent? Equal angles? Formed with the base?” He furrowed his brow, tilting the notebook as if that would help him understand, his confident grin fading as he read. “Huh... where’s the good old math?”

He looked at his daughter and raised an eyebrow.

“What’s up, Dad? You’re an adult, right? You should know this stuff.” She crossed her arms at him.

“I’m an adult with tons of knowledge and experience in many fields, just not triangle puzzles. By Gaia, I don’t even know what that is. I thought math was just adding, subtracting, dividing, and multiplying!” He crossed his arms back at her.

“But that is math, Dad—it’s trigonometry!”

“To me, that just sounds like a snowboard trick. My thing’s speed. I wasn’t made for tough stuff like this. If it were a simple addition or subtraction problem, I’d handle it no problem.” He handed the notebook back to her.

“Can’t you at least try? This assignment is going to count for a grade!” she sighed in exasperation.

Sonic paused for a few seconds, looking at his daughter intently before taking a deep breath.

“All right...” He ran a hand through his quills, frowning. “What do I know about triangles...” He tapped his finger against his temple, closing his eyes tightly, thinking, impatiently tapping his foot on the floor.

Suddenly, he snapped his fingers, opened his eyes, and dashed off, leaving his daughter confused and staring at the spot he’d just been.

She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, Sonic reappeared in front of her, holding a small decorative pyramid ornament made of metal.

“How’s this?” He flashed a sly grin.

“And how are you planning to solve my homework with that, Dad?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Just use a ruler and add the sides, right?” He tossed the little pyramid into the air and skillfully caught it.

“Of course not!” She took a step forward, pointing at the notebook.

“Sweetheart, solving puzzles is way outside my dad skills...” He flashed her a grin.

“They’re asking for angles, Dad… A-N-G…”

“Okay, no need to spell it out, I get it...” He puckered his lips at her, gripping the pyramid in his hand and setting it on the table, pulling out a chair as she sat across from him.

“I got something that might help...” She rummaged in her backpack and pulled out a round ruler marked with angles.

“Now that helps...” He took the ruler and placed it next to the pyramid, squinting as he inspected the measurements.

“So?” asked the little hedgehog innocently.

“Ninety degrees?” He raised a confused eyebrow, studying the ruler more closely. “Write that down—ninety degrees. And if your teacher gives you trouble, just say your dad helped.” Sonic sighed, handing the ruler back and folding his arms.

“You’re giving up?! We didn’t even really start!” she exclaimed, slapping her hand on the table.

Just then, you entered the kitchen, drawn by the commotion.

“What are you two up to?” you asked, standing at the table and observing the small pyramid now in place.

“Dad was trying to help me with homework… and totally failing,” Sonic pouted at you, then turned to you.

“I wasn’t totally failing—I can’t fail at something I haven’t really tried yet!” He folded his arms again.

“Let me take a look at the assignment...” You picked up the notebook and scanned it, your eyes widening. “Your age and this? Are you really supposed to be learning this already?” you questioned your daughter, who nodded.

“Look,” you said, leaning close. “We start with the law of sines…” You showed her precisely how to complete the exercise.

Sonic’s mouth dropped open as he watched you teach your daughter. Then a small smile spread across his muzzle as admiration glowed in his eyes.

“...Exactly right. Now, to finish, you’ll find the result—2√3, perfect!” You smiled at your daughter, praising her. She looked thrilled.

Then you looked at Sonic, and the intense way he was staring at you made your cheeks flush hot.

“W-what?” you asked, looking away.

He stood and came to your side, wrapping his arm around your waist.

“That was amazing.” He winked at you.

“Well... everyone’s got their areas of expertise, right?” You scratched your neck.

“My area of expertise says I’ve just fallen even more in love with you...” He offered you a knowing side smile. “I’m so lucky to have someone so smart in my life...” His voice dropped lower.

Just then, your daughter broke the spell.

“If you two are gonna kiss, wait until I’m gone—I don’t wanna see any of that.” She said firmly, her ears drooping as she packed up her things.

“Oh, my bad, kiddo...” Sonic chuckled and gave you a quick kiss on your forehead. “We’ll continue later...” He released you, grabbed his soda, then crouched beside your daughter to ruffle her quills playfully.

“Wanna go for a run? Not that you’ll beat me, but it’ll be fun.” The little one gave a mischievous smile and nodded, and in an instant, the two of them were gone, leaving only a blue blur behind, their clothes fluttering in the rush of speed.

You sighed and closed your eyes, shaking your head. It was amazing how he still made you blush, even after all this time together—and it was one of the things you loved most about him.

Shadow

It was early on a weekend morning; a gentle breeze rustled his black quills as he focused on the task he had chosen for the day: cleaning his motorcycle.

Shadow carefully wiped the metal parts, his red eyes scanning for any specks of dirt on the vehicle.

He heard small footsteps approaching across the yard and didn’t even have to look to know it was his daughter—he knew the sound of her walk too well.

“Dad?” she called softly.

“Hm?” he responded, placing the cloth on the handlebar and turning to her.

She came closer and handed him her open notebook.

“Can you help me with my homework?” she asked as he took the notebook into his hands.

“Sure... Come, let’s sit over here.” He guided her to sit at a small wooden table nearby, placing the notebook down and beginning to look over the assignment.

“So? You know the answer, right? This assignment’s even messing with my sleep,” she said worriedly, fidgeting with her fingers on the table.

“The powers (-2)^4 and -2^4… are they the same or different...?” He read the question quietly, then brought a hand to his chin, narrowing his eyes. He took a few seconds to think before clicking his tongue.

“Dad? You don’t know the answer?” the little one asked.

“It’s not about not knowing... The real question is... what’s the point of this in your life?” He looked into her eyes.

“I won’t pass the school year if I don’t know it,” she raised an eyebrow at Shadow, who just closed his eyes and sighed.

“You don’t know how to do it, do you? I thought the Ultimate Lifeform would be able to solve something like this easily...” she crossed her arms at him.

“I was created for many reasons, but solving math questions was definitely not one of them...” he said, picking up a pencil and trying to scribble something in the notebook.

“Why are you answering it then?” she leaned over slightly, trying to see what he was writing, eyes widening when she saw him doing some absurd math.

“Dad, you’re adding both numbers? That’s not how it starts!”

“I’m trying...” he gritted his teeth, grabbing the eraser and rubbing out his scribbles.

“That’s just scribbles, Dad... not the answer,” she raised an eyebrow at him.

“Tell me how to start the question then...” He dropped the pencil on the notebook, crossing his arms, waiting for her to respond.

She scooted closer, pointing at the problem.

“Dad... this is raised to the fourth power... that means you do two times two four times... not two times four!”

Shadow looked at her with his mouth slightly open, processing her words for a few seconds, then raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t get it... if I do two times two four times...” He discreetly counted on his fingers. “It all comes out to four...” His red eyes looked at her in confusion. She just put a hand to her temple.

“No, first you do two times two... then you do two times four!”

“Whoever made this wasn’t very smart... There should be a better way to visualize it... How was I supposed to know this is how you do it?” He raised his hands in disbelief.

“By learning math?” she crossed her arms at him.

“Math never helped me protect the world...” He crossed his arms right back, grinding his teeth.

Watching the two of them at the little table outside, seemingly locked in a long debate, you raised an eyebrow and slowly walked outside, stopping beside Shadow and looking closely at what they were doing.

“Homework?” you asked, noticing how Shadow’s shoulders instantly tensed up at your approach.

“Yeah... but Dad’s not really helping much...” the little one said softly.

“Ah, sweetie, Shadow is terrible with anything school-related.” You giggled softly, watching your daughter’s surprised expression.

“What do you mean?” she asked, stunned.

“Your dad never turned in a single homework assignment in his life when he was living on the ARK.” You placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling him tense up even more.

“...I thought we agreed never to bring up that detail about my life again.” He muttered lowly, blushing slightly under his fur.

“Sorry, but she had to know, Shads...” you whispered.

“Whoa... I had no idea Dad was the Ultimate Slacker...” she said, amazed, staring at Shadow.

“Well... I can help,” you said, pointing at the notebook.

The little one began writing, while Shadow silently followed along with his eyes.

He raised an eyebrow as he watched the simple steps being completed.

“There you go, the answer’s 16 and -16, perfect.” You praised her, and she happily took her notebook and ran back inside.

Then, you turned your gaze back to Shadow, who sat with his arms crossed and eyes closed.

“Don’t be upset, Shads.” You smiled, walking up behind him and placing your hands on his shoulders. This time, he relaxed under your touch.

“It’s just a bit of math... nothing you’ve ever needed before in your life...” He nodded briefly.

“...Would you teach me?” he asked softly, making your face light up.

“Of course! I can give you private lessons anytime you want—it might be helpful to know the basics.” You hugged him from behind, resting your chin on top of his head.

He let out a quiet ‘hmph,’ though a small smile began to form on his muzzle as he enjoyed being close to you and the idea of spending more time together.

Silver

The white hedgehog was humming softly, content, as he gently poured water from his watering can over the garden. His golden eyes sparkled with pride as he admired all the green and blooming plants.

After finishing, he set the watering can down, placing a hand on his hip to take in the view—until, from the corner of his eye, he spotted a little hedgehog standing at the door, watching him.

Silver turned his head slightly, now seeing his daughter clearly. He smiled warmly and floated over to her with his powers.

“Hey there, little one. What’s wrong?” He landed in front of her, noticing the worried look on her face.

“Dad, I need help with my homework...” she said, hugging her book. Silver’s eyes lit up.

“Great! I can help you—let me take a look.” He smiled, carefully taking the book as she showed him the homework page.

“Okay... Solve the complete quadratic equation using the quadratic formula... 2x² + 7x + 5 = 0...” He stared at the equation for a few seconds, scratching the back of his neck.

“Dad?” the little one asked.

“Uh...” He furrowed his brow at the page. “I’ve never seen anything like this in my life...” he admitted softly. “Bhaskara is... what, exactly?” he asked in a whisper.

“The guy who made this up... or something like that,” she shrugged.

“Hmmm...” He rubbed his chin, pouting in concentration. “But... doesn’t this equation already have an answer?”

“I think it wants the value of X, Dad, not the value after the equals sign...”

“Ah, right...” He shrank into himself a little, clearly intimidated by the equation. “In the future we don’t have anything like this... Math’s really different over there...” he murmured.

“That’s true... I guess I never thought about it...” the little one crossed her arms, thinking.

“But I can still help... let’s go.” He smiled, taking the pencil she handed him.

The hedgehog sat down on the ground at the doorstep, the little one doing the same, both examining how to begin.

“Alright... if I have two X’s... let’s say I have...” He looked around and smiled as he spotted two small stones, placing them in front of him. “If I have two stones with this little number here...”

“Dad, I don’t think that’s how you do it...” she raised an eyebrow at his method.

“Relax, sweetie... In the future, math works like this... I think.” He looked away. “Anyway... moving on, how about...” He tapped the pencil to his chin.

“How about we just start with the formula?”

“You mean that... Baskada thing?”

“Bhaskara.”

“Yeah, that one... Well, I wish I knew what that formula actually is...” He gave her a sheepish grin. “There’s gotta be another way to do it...”

“No, Dad... there’s not.” She shook her head. Silver pouted.

“Not even... if I try using my powers?... Even if it probably won’t help...” he laughed.

“It’s okay, Dad. Thanks for trying to help...” she said softly, reaching to take the book back.

“Wait, I’ve got it!” Silver said suddenly, excited, turning around and heading inside. The little one followed, hopeful and curious.

He found you at the kitchen table, reading a book calmly.

The hedgehog sat in front of you, beaming, and placed the book in front of you. You looked up from your book, curious, then saw the workbook.

“Homework, huh?” You smiled.

“Can you help?” Silver asked, as the little one stopped at his side.

“What’s the task?” You marked your page and set your book down. “A quadratic equation? It’s been years since I’ve done one, but I think I can help.” You said cheerfully.

“Thank you, you’re a real lifesaver...” Silver laughed, crossing his arms on the table. The little one did the same.

“It’s nothing. If you want, I can teach you too.” You smiled.

“Sounds great to me. Math in the future is... not exactly like this.” He scratched his neck, glancing away.

“I know, alright, let me see what I can do.” You analyzed the question, grabbing a pencil and beginning to explain to both of them how the equation worked, making small pauses to remember things before continuing.

However, Silver was actually more focused on you than on your explanation. He was watching you with a soft gaze, following every movement you made with his eyes, a little smile on his face.

Then he let out a long sigh, catching your attention.

“Everything okay? You seem lost in thought...” You laughed, watching him blush and his eyes widen.

“N-no, it’s nothing! I was just... admiring you...” He looked away, scratching his arm.

You chuckled softly.

“Thank you, Silver. You're adorable...”

He smiled gently, then suddenly stood up from the chair.

“I-I’m gonna make us a snack... I’ll be right back!” He fumbled a little trying to get out of where he was, quickly heading to the cabinets, looking for ingredients.

Now it was your turn to admire him, watching every agile movement and the little smiles he gave.

“Mom...?” The little one called, breaking the spell and bringing your attention back to her.

“Ah, sorry, here, you just have to do this and you’ll finish the equation.” You said quickly. The little hedgehog giggled softly, clearly enjoying the cute interactions between her parents.

Scourge

The hedgehog was sprawled out on the couch, his muzzle fur covered in chip crumbs as he munched away. Every now and then his hand reached into the bag for more snacks, bringing them lazily to his mouth.

He shifted a bit, stretching his back, enjoying the calm of the house at night. In the armchair, you were curled up reading a book, also savoring the peaceful moment.

That was until the sound of a bedroom door upstairs echoed through the house. The familiar creak made Scourge flick his ears back. He licked his fingers and tossed the snack bag aside. His blue eyes followed the sound of tiny footsteps coming down the stairs, already spotting two little green-furred hedgehogs whose eyes sparkled mischievously upon seeing Scourge.

“Dad!” the older one called out, coming down quickly, followed by her younger sister.

“Whaddaya want?” he asked, stretching and sitting upright to look at them.

“...Help us with homework?” the older one asked with an innocent look, showing him her notebook, the younger mimicking her with hers.

“Uh...” Scourge looked at their notebooks, scratched his neck, then glanced over at you. “Hey... think ya could gimme a hand here?” he asked. Slowly, you lowered your book, observing the three—but didn’t even have time to answer.

“Dad! We want your help this time. Mom helps every time!” the older one insisted, crossing her arms and staring at Scourge. His ears turned sideways, clearly uncomfortable. You let out a husky chuckle, enjoying the scene and his interaction with the girls.

“...My help, huh?”

“Yes...” both said in unison.

“You sure? 'Cause askin’ a stranger on the street might be smarter...” Scourge laughed at his own joke, but his smile faded when he noticed the girls were still serious, arms crossed.

“We don’t care if your head’s empty...” the little one said.

“Hey, watch ya mouth—I’m still ya dad...” he pointed to himself, making the two exchange confused glances.

“Anyway... you heard my sister, we don’t care, we just want your help...” The older one placed the notebook in his lap, waiting for his next move.

Scourge sighed, thinking for a moment, scratching his cheek before clicking his tongue.

“Aight, screw it. I’ll help ya two.” He extended his hand, opening the notebook to the last page.

“This one... just this one left...” The little one pointed to the question.

Scourge cleared his throat before reading aloud.

“What’s the volume ‘n total surface area of a rectang’lar prism with... what—5, 7, and 9 cm?” He paused, trying to make sense of what he just read, then furrowed his brow. “What the hell’s that even s’posed to mean?” He looked at the girls.

“Dad, you’re supposed to know that!” The older one crossed her arms.

“Pfft, yeah right. D’you see me lookin’ like someone who loves math?” He raised an eyebrow at them.

“No, but I thought you’d at least be useful for helping.”

“You’re really gonna keep throwin’ shade at ya own father?!” He gritted his teeth.

“Of course! How can you be the leader of a gang, become a king, fight a bunch of strong people... and still not know how to do basic math?” The older one waved her arms, trying to wrap her head around the fact that Scourge just didn’t know how to do that question.

“I never had to know nothin’ about volume or area... or whatever them scribbles are in that notebook... My brains ain’t about stupid numbers, alright?” he muttered, clearly getting irritated.

You let out a quiet giggle, continuing to read but clearly listening to the conversation.

“You laughin’ at somethin’?” Scourge raised an eyebrow at you.

“Nothing, I was just reacting to a funny part in the book...” You winked at him, returning to your reading. It was pretty obvious the book wasn’t the reason for your laughter.

“Tch... Aight, ya little punks...” He grabbed a pencil and started scribbling something—an absolutely horrendous scrawl. “Done and done. Daddy left a lil' note for the teacher.” He grinned smugly.

“Dad... I hope that’s not a threat...” the older one said in disbelief, taking the notebook from his hands and reading the note. “Teach my daughters something that’s actually useful?” she read aloud.

“Whaddaya think? Just saved ya from homework ‘til the end of the year...” He leaned back on the couch, hands behind his head like he’d saved the world.

The little one huffed, grabbing an eraser and rubbing out the note he’d written.

“I’m not showing that to the teacher...” she frowned.

“Daddy... can you help me?” the younger one asked quietly, holding up her notebook.

“This homework’s already meltin’ my brain...” he sighed, taking the notebook—only for his face to light up with a huge smile. “Six times three? Easy, kid. That’s twenty-one—write it down.” He handed back the notebook, puffing his chest proudly, feeling like father of the year.

At that moment, you lifted your eyes and stared at him in surprise, then raised an eyebrow. The girls looked at Scourge with the same mix of shock and confusion.

“Scourge...” you said softly. “Twenty-one?”

“What? That ain’t right?” He scratched his head, starting to count on his fingers.

“Dad... It’s eighteen...” the older one said with her mouth agape.

Scourge’s eyes went wide, his muzzle visibly flushing even through his fur. He looked away, crossing his arms.

“I-I knew that! C’mon...” He squeezed his own arm, then suddenly got up and left, muttering, disappearing into the kitchen.

You watched Scourge carefully, then turned to your daughters.

“Let Daddy rest his brain. I’ll help you.” Smiling, you closed your book and placed it on the coffee table.

You already knew Scourge would probably stay sulking for quite a while after that scene. But you were also determined to comfort him later and make sure he wouldn’t stay upset about it.

[radicaldreemurrs]

just found your blog from that stupid twitter post: im incredibly sorry people are being mean to you. i feel like theres some sort of disconnect in how people view online discussions: if people dont like your tone they can be rude back, even though youre talking to yourself on your own blog and theyre coming in to harass you. maybe due to people forgetting that a tumblr 'blog' is supposed to be a journal of sorts. i hope you dont feel the need to temper your own expression for others. you arent giving a lecture.

anyway: i read through much of your posts describing your interpretation of the story. theres many things i could say but i dont find most of them relevant. people could stand here poking holes in each others arguments with facts and logic for hours and it wouldnt accomplish much of anything (especially since this argument stakes more on thematic preference and gut instincts than anything else at this point). where we are in the story any sort of read will have holes because we have half the story. people can try and 'get you' by asking how you justify the soul reading noelles thoughts or whatever, but its mostly to make themselves feel better that theyd sweat if someone asked them how theyd justify whatever else holes there certainly are in their takes. its easy to be insecure when your work will always be unfinished because youre working with paint that still has years to dry, i guess.

i find your read on the game completely fascinating and its making me consider facets i havent before. i think it provides incredibly nuanced reads of kris noelle and ralsei that people should look into whether or not they 'believe' you as i thnik theyre relevant anyways. the way i see it, honestly, is that the idea that the game about dissociation is true no matter how you look at it. in this interpretation, that is literal while the player commentary is a metaphor to service that. while in a standard read, the player commentary is literal while the dissociation aspect still exists as an allegory. they work in tandem and so i think people would find a lot in reading your work. that would make the game more complicated, of course, which i suppose is what people are afraid of.

theres really no point in people getting mad over your opinions differing from theirs seeing at the POINT of art is to interpret it in a way that is personal and meaningful to you. as someone with different life experiences, i cant fully agree with you, but i wouldnt be surprised if by the end of the game you were right on the money. who knows exactly where tobys working from after all. not to mention how undertale pulled the same trick with making you think flowey has meta awareness before rugpulling.

i hope you have a day that is not ruined by whatever obnoxious people are certainly currently in your askbox with me.

this was a very nice thing to receive today.... thank you very much for saying so. that's all i can ever hope for when i pose my own ideas, that it'll help people consider alternate perspectives and come up with interpretations of their own that relate to their experiences too, i always just wanna open up discussion and get new angles going. and yeah you're right, people could just try to keep poking holes in my argument thinking they're pulling some absolute gotcha but unfortunately for them i'm an adult human being with better things to do, and i don't owe my time to anyone who doesn't care to understand my experiences. i know this well by now, trust me.

and don't worry, i'm very stubborn. it would take a lot for me to change my temperament just cause some dickheads online didn't like the way i expressed my points. if it were that easy, i wouldn't be where i am now, heheh. i hope you have a good day too, this was very thoughtful of you to express.

[ovaryacted]

GREEDY

─ Dr. Jack Abbot x fem! reader || WC: 3k

SYNOPSIS: You crave to feel your lover differently, and Jack is happy to satisfy your needs.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUT. Age gap implied [Jack is late 40s, reader is late 20s/early 30s]. Power imbalance mention [Attending/Resident]. Established "secret" relationship. Creampie. Unprotected sex (p in v). Mentions of oral (f! receiving) & fingering. Multiple orgasms. Overstimulation. Dirty talk. Brief mentions of birth control & safe sex practices. They fuck nasty and are down bad for each other. Reader is described to have hair. Jack Abbot is a really good partner. Brief mentions of Jack’s scars & allusions to a vasectomy he had in the past.

A/N: This all came to me in a dream lmao. I just had a certain itch I needed to scratch and I wanted to talk about getting creampied by a fine ass old man, so this was the product of that thought. I hope you all enjoy this and join me in feening for this man. Proofread by moi. Reblogs, comments, and likes are always greatly appreciated! <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

You’d never really consider yourself a greedy or selfish person, but when it came to Jack Abbot, you just couldn’t help yourself.

On your first day of residency at the Pitt, your attention instantly gravitated to him. He carried himself so confidently at times, never crossing the line of stepping into arrogance like some of the surgeons he complained about. He kept his head high, back straight, and shoulders flared as he maneuvered around patients and rooms alike, commanding every space with a calm confidence you almost envied.

Coffee and light teasing exchanged in the emergency department turned into cold beers and tipsy laughter at the local bar everyone frequented after long shifts or on their off-days. One drink too many resulted in a not-so-accidental one-night stand with the enigma of a man that was Dr. Abbot. You wondered if he regretted it by the time you woke up in the morning, hair a mess over your head, going in different directions; doing your best to bury the disappointment tugging at your chest when the other side of the bed was found empty.

Much to your surprise, light clanking from your kitchen forced you back on your feet, spotting Jack working over the stove, the smell of eggs and fresh toast wafting through your apartment. His jeans hung low on his hips, unbuttoned, with his black briefs hiding the rest of him. He turns when he senses your presence, the corner of his lips tugging upwards in a small grin at the sight of you, slightly disheveled and wearing nothing but his shirt from the night before.

“Morning. Stole some of your coffee; hope you don’t mind.”

You were doomed from the start.

It never stopped after that; a one-night stand turned into several over the course of one month, and one month turned into two. You found yourself in the consistent presence of Dr. Abbot, who was always there to satisfy your needs, whatever they may be. He learned how to read you, your likes and dislikes, your quirks, and the things that made you happy and tick in agitation. The few weeks you spent with him in secret amounted to the moment Jack popped the question of exclusivity one night, and you were more than happy to say yes.

Now here you were, Dr. Abbot’s favorite night-shift resident at work and his girl when you two were alone. You already had him wrapped around your finger, hitting close to five months of being with him and selfishly enjoying his company in this bubble you’ve created for yourselves away from prying eyes.

And yet you still wanted more.

You couldn’t quite explain what happened along the way, why you simply couldn’t stop finding any little moment to touch him, to kiss him, to taste him. You just knew you wanted every part of him to yourself, and he was ready to give it.

All but one.

Your sex life with Jack was already more than satisfactory, and even using a word as simple as that was a disservice in describing your experiences with him. Hell, you’re pretty sure he’s ruined you for anyone else, and you don’t plan on finding another to take his place any time soon. But there was this one pesky thing that still kept you separated from him.

The damn rubber.

Jack was almost too good for you—a softie despite his take-no-shit attitude, always sweet and considerate when it came to you. Of course, that translated to when he fucked you, prioritizing your safety and pleasure above all else, including maintaining recommended sexual habits. You can’t blame him; he’s not an idiot, and neither are you, but at times it irks you to still have something getting in the way of feeling him the way you wanted.

It almost pissed you off how badly you craved him, desperately holding on to him and pulling him closer when he was too busy fucking you into the mattress. His face dug into the crook of your neck, grunting as your walls fluttered around his length, your arousal covering the thin non-latex material that separated your bodies. Just the thought of it made you whine, clawing at his shoulders and wrapping your legs tighter around his waist.

You knew he was getting close from the way his breathing rumbled deep within his chest, his grip on your hips tightening as his thrusts picked up in force. The words that had been swirling in your head for the past 30 minutes slipped out of your mouth and into his ear before you could stop them.

“Fill me up, baby.”

He groans when he hears you, slamming his hips hard against yours, a curse tumbling from his mouth as he fills up the condom. He draws a final sigh from you before pulling out to dispose of the wretched thing while you remain occupied with taking a peek at his ass as he heads to the bathroom.

Having sex without protection was something Jack didn’t think to bring up or mention. The last thing he wanted was to make you assume all you were to him was a toy to be used when it's convenient and discarded when he grew bored of you. He already had the displeasure of approaching sex that way when he was younger and reckless; he vowed to never do that again, especially with you. And of course, you didn’t want to potentially ruin the relationship you’ve worked so hard to build with your attending.

As much as he wanted to deny it, your words tormented him, playing in his mind on loop so frequently he started dreaming about feeling you with no barriers, claiming you properly. He knows once you hit that stage in your fairly new relationship, there’s no going back. From the way you struggled to hide the slightest tinge of disappointment whenever he ripped open the foil wrapper in front of you, he knew the conversation would happen eventually.

“What if next time, we just don’t use anything? Protection, I mean.” You blurt out to him in the kitchen, wringing your hands together as Jack busied himself washing the dishes after dinner. He finished up and dried his hands, pivoting to face where you leaned against the island.

“Is that what you want?” He asks carefully, his eyes boring into yours gently, the way he always did when speaking to those he cared about. “Surprises aren’t exactly what I’m worried about; we’re good on that end, but, it’s whatever you want to do, sweetheart.”

“Yes, I want to try it out.” You feel his hands coming towards your waist, a comforting gap of space between as you mess with the collar of his t-shirt. “It’s not that our sex life isn’t fun or anything; I very much enjoy sleeping with you.”

“I sure hope so considering how much I risk pulling my back doing all the work.” You playfully slap his chest, rolling your eyes at his teasing smirk.

“I just…I want to feel you, all of you. It’s like an itch I can’t scratch sort of thing, and it feels stupid explaining it, but it’s a thing, okay. Don’t fucking laugh at me.”

Jack couldn’t help but chuckle dryly at your mild panic, shaking his head as he stepped closer to you, planting a kiss on your cheek and squeezing your hips in reassurance.

“Not laughing at you, I just think it’s cute how flustered you’re getting when you’re begging me to fuck you raw.”

“Now why are you saying it like that? It sounds raunchy coming from you.” He only laughs harder.

“I think we’re way past the point of calling what we do raunchy in our relationship, don’t you think?” There’s a faint glint in his hazel eyes when he takes in your features again, his fingers pinch your chin, holding your gaze. “Besides, you aren’t the only one who’s been thinking about it. I was just waiting for you to crack first.”

That’s how you found yourself in this position now.

Your cunt pulsed from the lavish attention bestowed by the older man above, who already made you cum once using his mouth and again in combination with his thick fingers. Even with the two orgasms you gladly took, your body clenched around nothing as you watched Jack lazily jerk himself off, dark eyes raking over your bare body. By now, he’d be tearing open another one of those flimsy foil packets and slipping inside you. Instead, your legs subconsciously widened even more, beckoning him closer to you in an attempt to take you.

Notching the tip of his length at your entrance, he groaned at the feel of you, shifting his hips to grind against your heat as more of your wetness coated the underside of his cock.

“Last chance to take it back, sweetheart.” He quirked, meeting your hazy eyes—glossed over and feral as you admired his broad silhouette and tempting movements.

“Shut up and fuck me already.” You only seemed to be thinking with your downstairs brain, your thirst for more overriding common sense, not that he was complaining.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He angled himself over you, keeping his observant eyes on your face as he started pushing into you, slowly sinking deeper into your welcoming body. Jack didn’t expect you to feel so damn hot, your walls surrounding his cock like a vice, like you were made for it. Your hands flew to grasp his bicep, gasping at the bare feel of him for the first time. Eyes fluttering closed, a whimper lurched out of your mouth when he was down to the hilt, the trimmed hairs by his pubic bone rubbing against your sensitive nub, causing you to twitch around him on instinct.

As he sat inside you and let you adjust to him, you could feel everything—every ridge, every vein, every swell and throb his body gave you, even his damn pulse. It was bringing you closer to the deep end.

“Jack…” You mumbled his name, blinking slowly as his nostrils flared.

“Hold on, hold on, don’t move.” Large hands clutched your hips, keeping you pinned to the mattress with his strength. “You feel so good.”

“Yeah?” The compliment took the rest of the empty space in your head, your thighs taking their rightful place around his waist, knees bracketing over his sharp hips.

“So damn warm and wet…God.” It sounded like Jack wasn’t talking to you anymore but reiterating his own innermost thoughts, filter gone. His attention trailed down to where your bodies were joined together, shifting his hips back to watch your lower set of lips part for him, your slick covering his skin. You moved towards him, already missing the stretch of him inside you, and Jack was just as eager to give you what you needed.

“Look at her. Taking me so well, like she always does.” Thrusting forward, he didn’t spare you an inch, drawing back just to pound into you again and again.

The friction of his hips intensifies the more he gets to feel you, and soon enough the four walls of your shared bedroom are filled with the audible slapping of skin as you lose yourselves in each other. Jack’s hips pummeled into you with a force you weren’t completely unfamiliar with, but this carnal need to have more of him creeps onto the surface. Your nails raked down his freckled arms and the planes of his shoulders, encouraging Jack to buck into you harder with your sweet cries.

It all felt too fucking good, like a dream.

You didn’t want him to stop, your legs winding tighter around his torso, mewling when he hit that textured spot tucked inside you with practiced accuracy, head thrown back against the pillow as you focused on catching each one of his harsh lunges. A hand sneaked to the back of your head, grasping the nape of your neck and angling your face to look up at Jack, the smallest bit of sweat lining up on his forehead.

“Keep those eyes on me, baby. Want to see your pretty face when you come for me.” He practically snarled over you, leaning down to roughly plant a kiss, his tongue swirling around yours, swallowing all of the petulant sounds he brought out of you. “Perfect fucking pussy, and all mine.”

“All yours, Jack.” You parroted, nodding dumbly from the impact of his movements against you. “I’m all yours, sir.”

His grin turned predatory at your needy words, both hands curling around your thighs to angle them higher up, your knees now pinned to your chest, allowing him to dig just a bit deeper into you. You jolted from the change in position, one hand rushing to press against his lower stomach, fingertips skimming the raised scars along his side, long faded and meshed with the rest of him. 

He was unfazed by your movements, holding you steady, and upped his efforts against you. Your arousal practically seeped out of you, pooling at the base of him and dripping down his balls. Another whimper echoed in the room, your clouded gaze glanced down to watch Jack fuck you, mesmerized at the shine you left over him. You didn’t need to warn him that another release was swirling in your gut; your body language did all the talking for you.

“Know you’re close, honey. Can feel you getting tighter around me, damn near choking me.” He grunts, adding a swivel to his precise advances into you. “C’mon, need you to drench me. Let me feel you.”

Three more drives into you, and your third orgasm hit you so ardently your whole body trembled, a silent cry flying out of your mouth. Jack observed your reaction with hungry eyes, cooing at your cock-drunk expression, drool starting to spill out the corner of your lip.

He knew it was only a matter of time before he hit his peak, the tension in his body building in his core, and with the way you haven’t stopped convulsing around him, it will catch him off guard sooner than later. Through the haze of ecstasy, you found your voice and mumbled at him, the lust-filled mania that started this whole ordeal possessing you.

“Jack,” his attention was drawn to your face, plump lips and warm cheeks mirroring his ravenous stare, “I need you to come inside me.”

“You want it that bad, huh?” He was struggling to keep it together, his mind already hyper-focused on finishing inside until you took every damn drop. “So desperate to have your old man fill up your greedy pussy, hm?”

“Yes! Yes!” Tears streaked down your face at the mere thought of getting to feel him like this; the promise of getting what you wanted after so long was enough to overwhelm you. “Please, Jack. I need it; need to feel it. Want to feel you tomorrow, baby.”

That fired him up; the sight of your watery eyes motivated him to flex his forearms and force you to take all of him as he chased his prolonged release. A few more jabs and he was done for, digging his face into the crook of your neck and biting your shoulder to suppress the loud growl that buzzed through him. His hips were flush with yours, giving you everything he had to give, his thighs trembling and stomach almost cramping from his violent climax.

His orgasm felt never-ending; he just couldn’t stop, your body melting from the inside out as you held him above you until he plopped on top of you, pelvis subconsciously grinding into you more, never wanting to leave your warmth.

“Jesus.” You heard Jack murmur against you, placing light kisses over the indents of his teeth on your shoulder. His mouth followed a path up to the column of your throat, your jaw, and to your lips, offering you sweet pecks. “You alright?”

“Mhm,” you hummed at his affections, the rest of your limbs becoming one with the mattress under you. “Didn’t break me yet, though I don’t think I can feel my legs.”

“Means I did my job well.” Both ends of his mouth curl upwards, mimicking his expression as he gently wipes your tears away.

Carefully, he took hold of your legs, bringing them back down to the bed, rubbing them with an apologetic smile as you quivered. With ease, Jack maneuvers himself to pull out of you, his eyes going to your pussy and the mess he made of you. He catches the way his spend drips out of your opening and stains the sheets below you, a sight he was committing to memory for the first time.

A carnal urge flares within him, his curiosity getting the best of him as he brings a hand to the most sensitive part of you, his thumb spreading you out to get a better look at you. More of his seed dribbled out of you, tainting the thick digit as he smeared more of himself over the rest of your cunt. You gasped at the sensation, his thumb circling over your slick pearl, squirming under his touch from the overstimulation.

“I get the appeal now,” he says to himself again, swiftly bringing two of his fingers to scoop the rest of him and sink them back into your hole, serving as a plug to keep his release inside you. You keened at him, clutching his thick wrist as he breached your body with his hand, your breath hitching in your throat.

“Jack…”

“So pretty when you’re so full of me.” You clench around him, the sensation sending a current of pleasure coursing through him, his cock twitching again at the thought of having you again. “You can take a little more, right?”

Who were you to say no to that? You couldn’t get enough of him, and when it came to Jack Abbot, you always made room for seconds and more.

©️ ovaryacted 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[whosashan]

hello! good day to youuu, can i make a request for the lads men? in which reader is not the mc and here's the prompt: having to beg them to do something with you then seeing them doing it with mc willingly, sorry english is not my first language but pleaaaseeee 😭 i love some angst.

Bitter

Pt. 2

PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x non-mc!reader

SYNOPSIS: Watching the one you love partake in what you once pleaded to share—a quiet betrayal—feels like an arrow through the heart, swift and merciless. (angst, no comfort)

A/N: Thank you for the request, it came out more as a drabble. Hope you enjoy!

Xavier

What a bitter, gutting thing it was—to stand in the shadows and watch him shine for someone else. To see the light in his eyes, the easy laughter, the quiet devotion as he did for her what he had never done for you.

The one thing you once begged for. The one thing he had denied you.

But not her. Never her.

She was fate’s beloved, the one woven from the same celestial thread as him, bound to him in ways you never could be. You had always told yourself to be rational, to be understanding. Xavier came with a past. He came with baggage.

And inside that baggage, nestled close to his heart, was her.

The woman you would envy until the world turned to dust.

And yet—how could you ever bring yourself to hate her? When she was made of kindness, of soft edges and warm light? When she looked at you with nothing but affection, oblivious to the ruin she left in her wake? She was an angel. A blessing. A curse.

And fate, it seemed, had always been on her side.

So there they were, walking side by side, woven together so seamlessly it was almost poetic. Almost cruel. Her bags in his hands, the weight of them carried so effortlessly—as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

And yet, when you had asked for the same—just a simple day together, just a moment of his time—he had sighed, shaken his head, told you he was too tired. That work was too much. That he simply couldn’t.

But now, watching him with her, you couldn’t help but wonder—did she take his exhaustion away? Did her presence breathe new life into him in a way you never could?

The answer settled deep in your bones, cold and unrelenting.

Your friend beside you said nothing, only looking at you with that quiet, suffocating pity that made your stomach turn. Because there was nothing to say. Nothing to soften the truth you had known all along.

You were not his first thought in the morning. You were not the name on his lips when he passed a garden of wildflowers. You were not the presence lingering in his mind when the world grew quiet.

And you never would be.

You had spent so long fighting against it. Xavier loves me. He chose me. The words had been your lifeline, a fragile, trembling thing you whispered into the silence. But even your friends never seemed convinced.

And now, neither were you.

So you did the only thing you knew how to do.

You turned away.

No confrontation. No desperate pleas for an explanation that would only come laced with half-truths and empty reassurances. What good was honesty when it had never been yours to begin with?

When he came home that night, his lips still curved with the ghost of a smile, he found an emptiness he had never felt before. Your things, your presence—gone, as if you had never been there at all.

And in your place, only a single note remained.

"I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for. Because clearly, it was never me."

And Xavier, poor Xavier, would stand there, reading those words over and over, grasping at the fraying edges of something he had never truly held onto.

But then again—

Xavier had never noticed his wrongdoings.

Not until there was nothing left but the weight of his own ruin.

Zayne

Zayne—or Dr. Zayne, as she called him—had always been a good man. A gentleman in every sense. Caring, affectionate, endlessly considerate.

But never for you.

His tenderness felt practiced, his affections routine. As if he wasn’t loving you, but fulfilling some unspoken obligation. A kindness given not out of devotion, but out of mere habit.

And you had tried to ignore it. Swallowed your doubts, convinced yourself you were overthinking.

Until you saw them together.

Her.

The one fate had tied him to. The one who never had to ask for his attention, because it had always belonged to her.

Her laughter lit up rooms before she even stepped inside. Her eyes gleamed like sunlight catching on water—brilliant, hypnotic, impossible to look away from. And neither could he.

And then, there was the picture.

A simple post, one she likely uploaded without a second thought, oblivious to the quiet devastation it would bring.

There she was, sitting in his office. Smiling. At ease.

Sharing lunch with him.

Something you had never been allowed to do.

You had asked once—just to drop by, to see him, to spend even a sliver of time together in the place he spent most of his days. But he had refused, brushing you off with a gentle but firm, “I don’t want distractions.”

And yet, there she was, sitting across from him, urging him to eat the food she had made, as if she had every right to be there. And maybe she did.

They had known each other forever. That was what you told yourself—Of course, they’re close. Of course, they understand each other in ways I never will. You had tried to accept it. To be understanding.

But then you saw the way he looked at her in the picture.

The softness in his eyes. The quiet, unguarded devotion.

Like she was the only one who could unravel him, the only one who could slip past his carefully built walls.

You had spent so long trying to do the same, but you never even made a crack.

And so, that was the moment you made a promise to yourself.

You would not be someone’s second choice. You would not collect the scraps of his affection while she—effortless, radiant, destined—was given everything you had ever wanted.

And Zayne noticed.

He noticed in the silence. In the missed calls that went unanswered, the messages left on read. In the bouquets left wilting at your doorstep, the petals curling at the edges.

Roses.

Her favorite flowers.

Not yours.

And that was all the confirmation you needed.

Zayne was never the gentleman you thought he was.

Or perhaps, he was. Just never for you.

Or maybe—maybe it was fate itself that was cruel.

Rafayel

Something inside you cracked, splintering like fragile seashells beneath careless hands—shattered beyond repair, beyond mending.

It wasn’t a sudden break. No, it had been slow, creeping in like the tide, eroding the edges of your love bit by bit, pulling pieces of you away before you could even notice you were unraveling.

And now, the final wave had come, and it had taken everything with it.

Because there he was—your Rafayel—kneeling beside her, smiling in a way you had longed to be the cause of.

The sight alone stole the breath from your lungs.

You had spent so long pretending not to notice. Ignoring the way his gaze always sought her out, the way his voice softened just a fraction when he spoke to her. You had swallowed the ache, told yourself it didn’t matter.

"That’s just the way he is," you had whispered, time and time again.

But it had never been the way he was.

It had only ever been the way he was with you.

And now, you knew why.

Rafayel hated cats.

You remembered the way his nose had scrunched when you had once tried to feed a stray by the docks, the way he had flicked his fingers as if to ward the creature away. “Little beasts,” he had muttered, half-amused, half-disgusted. “I don’t understand how you humans tolerate them.”

You had laughed then, nudging him playfully. “You’re just jealous they’re cuter than you.”

And yet—here he was.

Crouched beside her, cradling a trembling kitten in careful, delicate hands, his expression softer than you had ever seen it. His touch—usually teasing, fleeting, always just out of reach—was steady, warm, tender.

For her.

Not for you.

Something cold curled around your ribs, sinking deep, making it harder to breathe.

It was never about the kitten.

It was never about the things he couldn’t do.

It was about the things he never wanted to do for you.

And watching him now, so unguarded, so effortlessly kind, made you wish you had never met him at all.

Rage and sorrow burned through your veins, curling beneath your skin like a sickness. You wanted to rip that stupidly charming smile from his face, wanted to demand why he had never looked at you like that.

But there was no point.

So you turned and walked away.

Ignoring reality, just as you had once tried to ignore fate.

But fate never ignored you.

And something in the air told you—Rafayel wouldn’t either.

Sylus

Sylus had never been an easy man to love.

Sharp edges, cold precision—every move calculated, every word spoken with intent. He was not a man swayed by sentiment, nor was he one to entertain trivial affections.

You had known this from the start.

And yet, knowing had never stopped you from wanting.

So you learned to take what little he gave you—stolen moments in the dead of night, whispered conversations where he let the ice thaw just enough for you to believe there was something beneath it. But always, always, he kept his distance, his affections measured, restrained.

"This is who I am," he had told you once, when you asked why he never let himself soften. "I don’t have the luxury of being gentle."

You had believed him.

Until now.

Until you saw him, standing there in the dim glow of a high-rise restaurant, his head tilted ever so slightly toward her. The woman fate had written into his story, the one whose presence seemed to unravel him in ways you never could.

His fated one.

And in front of them, two untouched glasses of wine.

Wine.

The very thing he had refused to share with you.

"I don’t drink with others," he had said once, his voice clipped, final. "It's a pleasure reserved for my time alone."

But now, here he was. Sharing a glass with her. His fingers resting idly against the stem of his glass, his expression unreadable yet undeniably present. He was here. Fully. With her.

A man who never entertained distractions, utterly enthralled.

The way he looked at her—it was something different. Something you had never been granted. There was no calculation in his gaze, no careful restraint. No cold, distant amusement.

Just quiet acceptance. As if she had been meant to sit beside him all along.

And that was when you knew.

You could tear yourself apart, try to become everything he had ever wanted, and it still wouldn’t matter. Because fate had already made the choice for him.

And it wasn’t you.

Still, you lingered a moment longer, letting the pain settle, letting it carve its lesson deep into your ribs.

And then, without a word, you turned and left.

Because you, too, could learn to be cold.

Caleb

Caleb had always been warm. That was the problem.

He had a way of making you believe you belonged there—tucked into his arms, held close by quiet promises and easy smiles. He made you think you mattered.

But there was always her.

His childhood best friend.

Not bound by fate, not chosen by some cosmic force—just there. Always. In every story he told, in every old memory that made his eyes soften with something you could never quite reach. The one who had been with him before you, the one who had held his hand through storms you’d never even known existed.

And you told yourself it wasn’t a competition.

Until the night you saw them.

The neon lights of the karaoke bar cast the whole street in a soft glow, music and laughter spilling from inside as you walked past—until something, someone, made your steps falter.

Through the open doors, past the booths and glowing screens, you saw him.

Caleb.

Standing there, microphone in hand, singing.

With her.

The sight knocked the breath from your lungs.

"I don’t like singing in front of people," he had told you once, shaking his head with a sheepish smile when you begged him to join you for just one song. "It’s embarrassing. I just—I can’t, okay?"

But now, here he was.

Swaying slightly, smiling as their voices blended together in a song you didn’t recognize. It wasn’t perfect—his voice cracked in places, he missed a beat or two—but that didn’t matter. Because he was trying. Because he was enjoying it.

Because she made him feel safe enough to do what he had never done for you.

Your stomach twisted.

It had never been about singing.

It had been about you.

You should have walked away then. Should have swallowed the lump in your throat and turned back, should have spared yourself the cruel spectacle of watching them.

But you didn’t.

You stayed long enough to see the way he laughed when she nudged him playfully. The way he looked at her, unguarded, free. The way she reached for his hand without hesitation—because she knew it would always be there, waiting for her.

And for the first time, you realized—maybe you had never been holding his hand at all. Maybe you had only been grasping at the space he left behind.

Something cold settled in your chest.

You didn’t wait for him to notice you.

You just turned, and left, without a sound.

And Caleb, too caught up in a song meant for someone else, never even saw you go.

[writingwisterias]

Do you think you could write pornstar!leon x reader? I’m not in any rush, I just needed to get this idea out

I was thinking older Leon (40s-60s) x college student reader (early 20s at the youngest)

He’s been retired for quite a while, but you stumbled onto his old videos somehow, and you’re obsessed with them. I’m imagining he did them when he was a little older for one reason or another but he stopped. Maybe an erectile problem or he got bored of it. Or something entirely different, it’s up to you.

Then you meet him somehow, one thing leads to another and you’re fucking your favorite ex-pornstar <3

I don’t have anything else in mind, maybe a little good old cunnilingus and something about how the guys your age don’t know how to treat someone right. I don’t know I just needed to share this.

I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE!! I really hope you enjoy because I've had the idea for so long and you have provided the best opportunity for it!!

Warnings: SMUT, MNDI, Basically Porn, Dom Leon, Age-Gap, Sub Reader, Drinking, Rough sex, Light Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Filming, Unprotected Sex, Masturbation, Erectile dysfunction, implied sex addicts Words: 4.3k

Thank you Two n Eva for letting me ramble constantly again...and Shy for beta readings ily all (ignore me adding tags when I remember them it's late for me shh)

Part 2

It shouldn't be this hard. It’s not like he hasn’t done it a thousand times already. The method was simple, he could even use his own videos for reference if he wanted to. Leon squeezed the base yet again, willing the damn thing to even just twitch. It didn’t matter what he did anymore, his days of pleasure seemed to come to an end. The viagra that remained unopened in the bedside table was becoming tempting but that was a last resort, a pathetic one at that. It made him feel old to admit defeat like he’s lost his glory days.

Leon squeezed the base again, the pads of his fingers running along his sack. The stimulation gave him something, a small twitch barely noticeable with his dick in his tight grip. Yet, it was something, the only proof that it still had some energy left in the damn thing. 

The tip was pink and sad staring at him from where he looked down on it. No longer was it that angry red colour, spewing out dribbles of pre cum eagerly. That’s why the fans liked him, he was messy. If only they could see him now, see this pathetic sight. His page remained bare, the last video posted almost a year ago now. 

Not that it mattered, he had enough money from the ones he made because instead of turning it into some production he kept the shitty quality of his phone as it seemed enough for the majority. Well, at least he’s never read any complaint about it. 

One more try, that’s what he would do, before either giving up or going for that drawer. His thumb brushed over the tip before he rolled it back. The roughness of his thumb is the perfect contrast to the sensitive skin. He could feel the slick form, a pathetic watery substance that would be no good for a film. With his hand still doing the motion Leon looked to the ceiling with a sigh, something that he did out of boredom didn’t even help him now. Years of abusing the rush of pleasure and his multiple orgasms a night have finally stabbed him in the back. His eyes flicked to the tv, the pictures lighting up the dark room. Never stopping the work on his flaccid cock as he prayed eventually it might spring to life. 

Surely it was unhealthy to be obsessed with a guy like this, to watch the shitty pornhub videos he posted nearly every night like they were some bedtime programme. The cumshots, whimpers and moans all send shockwaves down to your core, the puffy nerve working quickly to ensure you know it's neediness. His face card was lethal, hair falling over his eyes that were lined with a dark look. It was all too tempting…arousing. Every night you found yourself in the same position, legs spread as wide as you could get them as your fingers circled your clit in teasingly slow motions whilst you watched the video on your laptop. Your pussy stuffed with the largest dildo you could find online. Always ensuring that you match the same pace of his actions. He never said anything, his groans were enough for you. The deep raspy tone was engraved in your every thought at this point, you were surprised it hadn’t turned into your inner monologue. 

You watched his dick twitch in his hands, his hips buckling slightly, all signs that you had learnt was him nearing his end. You worked harder, moving the dildo deeper and slower just like his hips were moving. A punishing brutal pace with the soul goal of his own pleasure. The coil tightened, a thread ready to snap as the minutes of the videos counted down. 

How many times have you done it tonight? 

You poor clit abused, white hot pleasure searing through your system as your nerves set on fire. Your thighs clamping around both of your hands as you orgasm. The slick flooding out from between your fingers as your brain settles into the right mode to sleep. The fuzziness lingering like a drug. An addiction. 

You watched with half-closed eyes and short breaths as he showed off the mess he made across the expanse of his abs. Giving off a subtle wink to the camera before it finally stopped. The date of the post made you frown, it was the most recent one…posted almost a year ago. You couldn’t help the thought’s circling about his life now. Wondering if he would ever post again. Maybe he has kids now, a wife, someone to spoil all the money he earned on.

The parasocial relationship you had formed with him was wrong and a stupid thing to cling onto. You were sure to be the only activity on his page anymore; there was definitely no one else was this insane to choose only one pornstar to get off to. Let alone the one who hasn’t posted anything recently. His videos were always more like a home video, shitty quality, barely audible, it really wouldn’t surprise you if he filmed them on a camcorder. 

You weren’t even sure if any other dick would get you off at this point – not that you had anything other than the dildo to use. Though, if you did manage to bring someone home, you suppose you could beg for them to quiet as you closed your eyes to imagine him. The thought caused embarrassment to settle in your stomach, the sex addict he had made you become was shameful at least that's what you had been raised to believe. 

A woman shouldn’t be this in tune and free with her sexual side, it was always wrong according to your parents. Your sexuality was something for a man to explore and take only for himself. It wasn’t for you, it shouldn’t be pleasurable for you. If your friends knew, they would also shame you for this. They didn’t need anymore fuel for how lonely you were, your search history would surely traumatise them. 

Your eyes flicked down to the corner of your laptop, blinking away the tears that lingered in your waterline, to see the time. 30 minutes to get ready before you leave for drinks with your friends. To see the indie rock band that was playing tonight, your friend's boyfriend, the lead singer. You had no idea why that meant you had to go, though the promise of their bar tab convinced you. There was no hope in going home with someone, never was anymore. All the old fucks that lined the seats of that took away the eyecandy you were looking for and if you did find them…well even you knew that you deserved better than some small dick looking for a quicky.  

Your outfit was simple and comfortable. The jeans hugging you perfectly, the top low cut enough to show off the girls that were definitely co-operating tonight for a change. Their perkiness was evident in every step you took towards the bar, holding your arms around yourself to fight off the lingering cold in the air. You wafted through the cloud of second hand smoke, breathing the scent in deeply allowing it to settle in your lungs. Old habits never strayed too far from reach you suppose. 

The music vibrated through the floor, bodies bumping into as you made your way to the stage. Your friend greeted you with a large smile, her eyes sparkling with joy as she glanced back at her boyfriend. Their relationship was sweet, full of honeymoon type of love and appreciation. You envied them, that somehow in this crap world they managed to find a sweet relationship. You weren’t built for that, not when you were here at this moment and all you could think about was returning home and dealing with the pulsing need in your underwear. 

A drink was shoved in your hand, one from her ‘to loosen you up a bit’ apparently. You looked too tense, ridgid for someone that was here to have fun and enjoy the moment. The neat whiskey burned on the way down, settling somewhere deep in your chest. It warmed you, distracted you; both were welcomed in this scenario. “Is everything alright tonight? You’re like a wooden doll” Your friend laughed as she walked you over to the bar. Her grip was at least grounding, stopping the internal fire blazing inside you. “Yeah I’m good, just a rough day” 

“Good job you’re here then” she laughed, handing you another drink. You watched the amber liquid swirl, the condensation running down the sides of glass reminding you too much of him. Of the scenes you have watched over and over again. She waved her hand in front of your face, breaking the trance you had on the droplets. “Are you sure you are okay?” 

How could you tell her that you were itching to return home? To lay in your soft sheets and watch him. Your skin burned – desire running through you constantly. You couldn’t do anything about it, everything reminded you of him. 

“Drink to forget?” You responded, smiling weakly at your friend. Hers only grew a wild look in her eye before calling a round of shots, bringing you into a side hug whilst giggling. It definitely worked. Your body felt lighter, happier. That burning desire now muted until you at least got home. Your hips swaying with hers, smiles and laughter filling the bubble you had formed around yourselves.

It was your turn to collect the next round of drinks, your shoes dragged across the floor, boots scuffing against the things that had fallen out of people's pockets. Barely avoiding people's elbows as you passed them. You attempted to avoid looking at the couples pressed against the walls, their lips locking onto each other in a heated exchange of passion. Thankfully their moans are muted by the volume of the guitar. 

Yet, you froze in place as your eyes fell upon the slumped figure at the bar. You tried blinking away the drunken haze, the one that blurred with the lights of the bar whilst you observed every curve of the muscle he bore, the nose bridge…hands wrapped around the beer bottle. It couldn’t be. No you weren’t that unlucky and lucky at the same time. Not when you were finally forgetting about him tonight, about the fantasies and daydreams over what he would be like. 

His head lifted as his eyes scanned over the pool of people dancing, the flashing lights blurring their movements. Except for yours because you were still stationary like an idiot, looking right at him. He observed your form as you finally finished the journey to the bar and ordered a large cocktail topped with ice and a glazed cherry. Leon's eyes ran over your chest as you leant against the bar. Your chest was moving slowly and deeply like you were trying to calm yourself. Your nails are scratching at the rings of alcohol that were left on it that your focus now remained on. He couldn’t approach you like he would have in the past, the obvious age gap didn’t bother him. Your youthful skin would feel heavenly under his calloused fingertips. No, the lack of the twitch in his trousers as he perved on you was a reminder that after his failed attempt earlier to get this shit to work before he gave up and dragged himself here. At least the band playing tonight was actually decent. For once.

He never looked away, not once. Not even as people filtered in front of his line of sight. Everytime you allowed your eyes to drift over to him, he was still watching; taking slow sips of the beer he was nursing. The temperature of the drink cooled your skin as you took it from the bartender, savouring the liquid encouragement as you sipped on it. The cherry cola cocktail settled better than the whiskey you had drank earlier. It was dangerous mixing your drinks, each drink adding to the tipsy haze you bore. The cherry was sweet as you slipped it into your mouth. The vodka infused with it makes you smile. 

Leon couldn’t pull his eyes away if he wanted to, not as you drank. Your neck looked perfect as you extended it whilst lifting the glass, your lips curving into a smile as you chewed on the alcoholic cherry. He licked his lips as he watched, almost trying to imagine which part of your neck would be the most sensitive spot to suck one. Which spot would force you to sing perfectly to him? Would it taste like sweat and perfume as he kissed your neck? Or remain flavorless like all the girls he was with before. 

You smiled when your eyes finally met again, a big toothy grin that proudly displayed the cherry stem from between your lips. 

Perfectly tied. 

It was only then he felt the throb, the one he's craved to feel for over a year. His cock quickly worked its way to a semi as he watched you saunter over. Your perfume filled his senses as you slid into the chair next to him. His suspicions on what you would taste like as it smelled expensive. Moving to sit with him was a bold move on your behalf but with the liquid encouragement flowing through your system you just decided to run with it. If this worked, you would be a fool to waste this chance. You simply place the stem on the bar in front of him, now glaringly obvious you were skilled with your tongue. 

“Where did you learn how to do that?” He chuckled. His blue eyes now bore that dark look underneath the strands of hair that fell over his face. Leon leaned back in the stool, his chest turned towards you. The shirt was tight, straining against him as he moved showcasing everything you knew lies beneath. “Research, thought it would be a useful skill to learn” You teased, your body subconsciously leaning towards him. His deep musk hit your senses, the linger smell of the beer in the air he exhaled. It was intoxicating, just as you imagined it would be. 

“You always do this?” He asked again, the green bottle putting some distance between the two of you as he sipped on it again. The condensation ran over his fingers as he raised it. Leon smirked against the rim of the bottle as he watched your eyes flick over his hand. “Only with guys that eye fuck me across the bar” You retorted, blinking slightly as you looked back towards his eyes. He hummed deeply, considering his next actions which were largely influenced by the throb of his cock. “How often does that happen?” 

“Calling me pretty?” 

Leon chuckled, finally leaning forward into your space. His hand landed on your thigh, squeezing it lightly. “I’d be lying if I said you weren’t” 

You scanned his face, breath faltering at his closeness. Everything faded to the background, you forgot where you were, why you were here. All gone as you savoured the addiction of his smell, the curve of his features now they were close enough. You wanted to whimper his name, kiss his lips until they puffed up more. Leon smiled as your tongue darted out between your lips, licking them slightly. Your saliva creates the perfect gloss across them, making them even more tempting. 

As soon as your lips met you melted. Your hands found the inner curve of his thigh as you moved closer, leaning into him for support. The passion was addictive as the kiss grew heated, his touch set you on fire as his hand cupped your jaw possessively. When he finally pulled away, he laughed as you chased after him. “Your place or mine?” 

“Yours” 

His hand was larger than yours as he pulled you along with him out of the bar. The cloud of smoke greeted you again, settling deeply in your system as you both waited for the cab. His lips were upon you again, chasing the growing erection in his trousers. The one that was now becoming painfully hard, not that he would argue. He grinned into your lips, held you closer letting you feel it against your stomach. Feel the want, need, hunger he had for you. 

The cab ride continued the heated exchange and wandering hands as he cupped your body, fingers rubbing over your peaked nipples through the fabric of your shirt. You almost felt bad for the driver…almost. Never would you have expected him to be so needy. To seem like he wanted this just as much as you. Not with his extensive collection of media anyway, surely you were just another fuck and you should be pawning over him more than he was over you. 

The door slammed shut behind the two of you, both immediately toeing off your shoes without breaking the kiss. He leads you further inside, his hands stripping clothes like a trail. Leading all the way to the infamous room, the bed with sheets that smelled like him. That collected everything he proudly showed off in his media. He was painfully hard now, his cock tenting obviously in his underwear as he pushed you on the edge of the bed. 

Leon’s cheeks were flushed, his chest heaving as he stared down at you. The black lace that decorated your body, hiding the things he wanted to taste and feel the most from view. You were magic, a drug to him. Lust finally only filled his senses as his cock twitched against the fabric. No longer was it pathetic and weak like earlier. Fuck he felt great, alive again…

You removed your bra, displaying the perfect peaks to him as you stretched your arms above your chest. He licked his lips, watching them bounce with your movements. Grinning as you laid back against the bed, lifting your hips to remove the underwear that covered your sex. Proudly displaying the weeping mess to him, as a juicy dessert for him to devour if he pleased. 

The whine that left your lips was embarrassing as he pulled his boxers down. You were greeted with a live viewing of his leaking tip, the substance no longer that pathetic watery mess he produced recently. You finally got him working again. You moved up the bed as he hovered over you, smiling as you were surrounded by every sense of him. The giddiness of your dreams peaking through. As he began to rub his cock through the wetness of your folds you couldn’t help but moan. The syllables of his name were drawn out as he teased your clit with his tip. 

But he hadn’t told you his name. 

His hands grasped your cheeks tightly, bringing your eyes back to him with a widened stare. “What did you say?” He demanded. You looked up at him dumbfounded, your brain scrambling for an excuse that would stop the flood of embarrassment. “How do you know my name?” He continued, his grip loosening as he stared down at you. His cock twitching at your entrance. It was all too arousing. 

“Y-your videos…” You sputtered out, hips pathetically lifting from the bed to continue the feeling of his movements earlier. Your stomach tightening as a sly grin began to form on his face. “What a little whore I’ve found…a fan of mine hm? Wanted to get a feel of this?” 

He emphasised the question by notching his tip at your entrance, feeling the tight hole clench and twitch around it. “Y-yes” You admitted, eyes never leaving him. Leon pulled back, his thighs moving underneath yours as he reached over for his phone. Left abandoned on the side earlier in the night. It didn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for. The extensive list of his filmography highlighting your features as he turned the device towards you. “Which ones are your favourite then, sweetheart?” He chuckled. 

The question was a hard one to answer if it had been asked by anyone in general, but now he was asking it? You felt the pressure, the shame of having to admit which one you touched yourself to the most, the one that made you the wettest. “This one” You whispered, clicking on it. Only to then be met with the shlick sounds of him rubbing himself. The tip appeared and disappeared between his fists in a rapid motion, unlike the speed he was now teasing you with. “You liked watching me get myself off, pumping this hard throbbing cock towards the camera?” 

You responded with a nod, hiding your features in the bedding beside you. No he wouldn’t let you do that. Not when his cock was practically screaming to be sheathed inside your warmth. To feel your perfectly aroused pussy throb around him. He stopped his movements, the sound of the video barely audible over your panting. 

Leon gripped at your face again, guiding you to look at him. “Such a dirty girl you are” He teased as he finally pressed himself into you. His own noises became pathetic whimpers as he finally felt himself be surrounded by his addiction, finally giving into the craving after his body forced him to go cold turkey from. He didn’t need the meds that still lied in the drawer next to you, not when your perky breasts moved against his chest. The nipples peaked and sensitive as the movements forced moans out of you. His name was heaven on your lips, the perfect melody. 

You didn’t notice that Leon had now leaned back again, not when he was assaulting you with the perfect amount of pleasure. His hips moving in a slow grind, hitting that spongy spot deep inside of you. There was no point holding back your moans, not when you felt his cock throb inside you at every one. You felt the puffy vein you always wanted to trace with your tongue running along inside you, his cock barely existing before he drove it back.Then you heard the beep of his phone camera recording and his deep chuckle. 

“What a lucky fan you are” he spoke, the camera aimed at the action of him entering and leaving. 

“Be a good girl and hold this steady, yeah?” He instructed, angling the camera in your hands for the perfect view of him drilling into you. The change of pace was intense with how sudden it was, the rhythm soon becoming the perfect thing you needed as the coil quickly tightened up. However, Leon wasn’t aiming for your release, only his own. You began to move against him, squirming away as you lingered on the edge of overstimulation. 

“Hold it steady now” 

Leon groaned at your whine, at each clench you lovingly offered him. His hand held yours, angling the camera back at the money shot where his cock drove into you. Removing his cock only once to circle your clit with the tip. Finally now angry and red again for the camera, weeping his pre all over your untouched skin. He was making a mess of you, a glorious one. The pleasure was perfect as he chased his own. His hips moved faster and faster until they became a bruising pace.

He looked perfectly like this, hovering about you. It was everything you ever imagined and thought of during the day. His eyes remained screwed shut as he took in what he craved. “Fucking perfect” he grunted. He never spoke in his videos, only producing his grunts and moans. This was a first…a first for a lot of things. 

The most important one being his first orgasm in a year. He never released he needed a younger pussy, a perfectly neat one for him to abuse and ruin with the size of him. To mould it for only him and no one else. He sucked against your skin, nipping at your breasts, releasing them with a loud pop. “Fucking hell…” 

You felt his hips buck harshly, a groan leaving his lips…the signs of his release. You moaned his name again as his finger toyed with your clit. The muscles of your tights twitching as you finally orgasmed with a desperate whine. You felt like you were on cloud nine, with the added tipsiness of the bar earlier. Leon continued to assault you through it, the fuzziness of the evening blending together as all his blood rushed south. He pulled out of you, aiming his cock towards the phone and was still angled at the action. With a few harsh pumps, his load came spurting out coating your body in his translucent substance. 

Your chests heaved as you stared at each other with lust blown eyes. The post orgasm status settling in. Regret from either of you nowhere to be found, only the neediness and desire for another round. 

It wasn’t until a few days later you got the text from him. Opting to not contact him first in fear of looking even more like a crazed fan. Despite the fact he wanted to keep in contact. You must have been a pretty good fuck then. The thought offered a light ego boost for a few days at least. To Leon you were perfect, his cock constantly throbbing to life now he had the crappy video on his phone but he wasn’t selfish. It was only fair that you got to see your side of the action, to witness the pornographic moment of that night. Which you helped create. 

‘Did you see the video?’ 

Confused, you checked his page, waiting for the small circle to stop spinning in the corner of your laptop. The title made you blush, the throbbing need that had been satiated for the past few days rushing back quickly. 

SHY FREAK GETS FUCKED BY HER IDOL 

[zae-heeyyy]

Causerie

Summary: You send Arthur a letter. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!reader Word Count: 2,185 Tags: Male Masturbation, solo handjob, mentions of oral and unprotected p in v, dirty talk, long distance relationship, high honor Warnings: 18+ MDNI

an: So this came out of nowhere LMAO It's a bit different from what I'm used to, but I ran with it. The mentioned photo was heavily inspired by @sir-walton-goggins's under-the-cut sketch of their OC, Kris Blake. 😍😍😍 I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading!

Causerie: an informal conversation

Channeling the self-control of a brigade of soldiers, Arthur willed his unruly cock flaccid as he left the post office. An envelope addressed to Tacitus Kilgore in familiar dainty cursive teased him from inside his satchel. The nagging twinge in his gut could only be satiated by his fist wrapped tight around himself in the solitude of his tent. 

He didn’t know how he’d make it through the rest of the day without losing his sanity. Once you’d unknowingly planted the seeds, his thoughts of you grew wild and untamed like the weeds at your feet. He’d never seen something so ridiculous—a woman in her day dress, the lacy hem stained with dirt, trying to repair a loose fence post on her own.

“No man ’round here?” he had asked, holding his hand out for the hammer.

“There is now.”

You beamed, your smile stunning him like a camera flash. Unbeknownst to him, that grin was a brand, marking him as yours for a long time to come. 

Every time he passed by the quiet homestead, he found himself lightly pulling on Boadicea’s reins and scoping out something to fix. Your ways of showing gratitude, like a hug or kiss on the cheek, turned his neck to shades of crimson, yet he’d still come knocking again some time later. On his last visit, you were dragging him to your room by cotton suspenders, mouth attached to his before he could get a word in.

An innocent lamb you were not—he was sure of it now in a half-daze, hypnotized by your breasts as you bounced on top of him. Matter of fact, you must’ve been a witch or a succubus; he’d never felt so used, drained, and perfectly satisfied.

And guilty, too. He couldn’t even look at you as he confessed to his life of criminality, finally admitting what he’d come to tell you in the first place. After this job, he was leaving for good.

To his surprise, you didn’t put up a fight—just wished him well—and dammit, that made him want you even more. You didn’t follow him outside—only watched from under the blanket as he said his last goodbye and promise.

“I’ll write t’you.”

Receiving your letters kept his heart ticking and dick aching. What started as a pile of polite notes quickly transformed into a library of erotica. His hands trembled in anticipation as he opened the latest letter. 

Dear Arthur, 

Are you still alive? I hope you haven’t gone and gotten yourself killed. I’m sorry if I kept you waiting. A new photographer opened up in town, and I stopped by the studio one evening just before he closed. I may have batted my lashes and stood a little too close when I asked for his help. A special photo of me would be the perfect gift for my dear husband, who was about to be shipped away to war in the Philippines. You should’ve seen how red he got when I dropped my blouse. I tried to sit pretty. Did it work?

A photo? Arthur checked the discarded envelope, searching for the supposed gift. A small photo was still tucked away in the envelope. He took it out and held it up to the lantern to get a good look.

Christ.

You were directly in the center of the camera with a lazy smile on your face. Pearls adorned your neck, and velvet cloth draped over your shoulders, just barely covering those twin humps on your chest. Fuck, he wanted to rip that photographer’s head clean off his shoulders for capturing you like that, but goddamn, he wanted to shake the man’s hand too. This slip of paper was a slice of heaven on Earth.

And for what he was about to do with it, he was going straight to hell. Setting the letter aside, the gunslinger undressed down to his union suit with the ardor of his twenty-year-old self. As he settled back onto the cot, he locked on to your sultry eyes and sighed contently.

I had a dream about you. Do you ever dream about me?  

The bulge in his pants begged for attention, and he appeased it, palming himself idly while his eyes stayed trained on the photograph. He’s too old and weathered for this—pining over some girl and touching himself like he’d gotten a second wind of puberty. 

But he couldn’t help it. Even after deafening gun fights and vicious animal attacks, he’d find a letter to re-read, and now he had this picture to accompany his fantasies. His gaze shifted from the photo back to your words on the page. 

We were in this beautiful room in a palace or someplace like that, swimming under blankets. It was far from my humble bed, but it felt like paradise. 

If only you knew, that little bed was his paradise.

Dream you tasted like whiskey and ash and smelled like leather and gunpowder. I don’t think it was too far off from the real thing. We weren’t wearing any clothes, of course, and your head was tucked between my thighs. 

Breath shaking, his hips shifted upward, the memory of your thighs on either side of him overwhelming his senses. Arthur sucked in his bottom lip and didn’t waste any more time undoing the bottom two buttons of his union suit. His cock sprung free, twitching and yearning. Flicking his eyes to your photo once more, his right hand moved on its own, kneading his leaking tip. He peeked over the edge of the paper, watching precum drizzle down his shaft, imagining it was you leaking around him. 

Oh, Arthur, I could feel your lips on every part of me at once, kissing up my stomach, bosom, arms, thighs, legs, all over. But when you found my lips again, I don’t know how my pounding heart didn’t suck me out of the dream. Has anyone ever told you how gorgeous your eyes are or how heavenly your hands feel? And your back, Mister Morgan, is like a brick wall. How I wish I could’ve dug my nails into it.

Arthur’s fisted pace quickened as he stifled a groan, trying his very best to keep the sounds of his sin quiet. He urged himself downward into the cot, hoping the friction could mimic the sting of your nails dragging down his spine, but it was no use. Tightening his grip in frustration, he turned his attention back to the photograph of you. He wanted to study your hands, to imprint them in his mind’s eye so he could imagine them scratching his back and pleasuring his cock.

But the photo was too close up, only your face and a peak of your breasts captured at that moment in time. Would he be too brazen to ask for another? To request a pose? Hell—he’d stuff the money in an envelope with a list of the depraved positions he’d like to see you in. Your hands on your bust, legs spread open, on all fours, one with your pretty fingers in your mouth, and a full body shot with just the pearls. Dammit—he’d kill for it. 

But then, at the very end of the list, he’d ask for a respectable one. One of you with your hair pinned up under a fancy hat, dressed in your finest, wearing a necklace, earrings, and a bracelet with your hands folded politely over your lap. One that was sweet and proper. One that he could tuck in his journal, frame, or pin up on the wagon. One that he could take out in broad daylight and pretend, just for a moment, that he really was that war vet admiring a photo of his loving spouse.

His hips moved involuntarily again, jutting up into his fist—the placeholder for the pussy of the woman he’d one day make his wife.

I didn’t plan to get you in bed that night, as unbelievable as that may sound. You were just so damn handsome and so so kind. I couldn’t help it. I needed to know how you’d feel inside me. I hope you don’t see me as just some Jezebel.

“No,” he gasped out. Wet sounds of his strokes accompanied his declaration.

I really did and still do have feelings for you, Arthur. It’s quite scary, actually. Maybe that’s why my dreams about you are so vivid? I realized just how much I cared that night, looking down into your eyes. I don’t take you as the type of man to just give yourself away on a normal day like that, so I hope you feel the same way as me. Did I ever say thank you? Thank you for being such a giver. I have a tendency to take, take, take when I’m on top, but you got payback in my dream. You had me pinned under all of your weight, damn near suffocating me. It was the good type, though. When you pushed into me, I forgot all about it. I never took you for an eager man either, but you were drilling me into those blankets with the fervor of a threshing machine. Are you an eager man, Mister Morgan?

He answered in shallow pants, twisting his fist around his length and rocking his hips. 

I have a curse of waking up right when I’m on the edge, so as you can imagine, I had a wet problem to take care of. My fingers just don’t quite do it like you. I wish we could’ve had more time together. I get the feeling that you do a lot of taking care of other folks and don’t get that in return. Am I right? I’d take care of you, Arthur. I’d keep your belly full and drain your balls all in a night.

They tightened at the thought, and his hips were a piston now, going up and down on their own accord.

I know you’d never ask because you’re too nice, but I’d get on my knees for you and take care of you in that way. I’m sad we never got to try it, that I never got to taste you. The thought gave me the silliest idea. Are you looking at my picture? Imagine that pearl necklace is your spend on my chest.

Jesus—the perverted imagery hit him like a train. He looked at the pretty pearls atop your chest. Goddamn, minx. 

Don’t think me too crass, but do you touch yourself to my letters like I touch myself to yours? Yours are more well-mannered than mine. But still, I wonder, is your fist wrapped around your cock?

“Yes, darlin.” 

Goddamnit, he was talking to himself now, arm cramping as he pumped feverishly at his engorged dick, his orgasm waiting to explode behind his eyes.

Do you imagine it’s me instead? I wish it was me. I wish I was on top of you again, milking you for everything you’ve got. Would you give it to me this time, Arthur? Would you spill inside of me?

And spill he did, teeth gritted and grunting, as hot ropes of lust spurted out over his hand. Once again, he’d made a mess of himself on account of you.

Shame crept in as he floated back to reality and stared up at the canvas of his tent. He brought the letter back to his face to read the last paragraph. The least he should do was finish it—dirty old bastard. But when he landed on your words and processed them, he was left with a numb, longing ache in his chest.

If we were together, I’d help clean you up, then maybe we could spend the rest of the night all tangled up in each other. I’m sorry I’m not there to touch you for real, but I hope these letters bring a little light to that hard, lonely life of yours. If I can make you feel good, even from far away, that’s enough for me. I miss you. Any chance you could come see me soon? 

Yours.

Arthur sighed and folded your letter back up neatly, tucking it away in his now hollowed-out copy of Rambles Through Woods and Plains. Though your photo and letter were out of sight, his mind refused to wander from the subject of you.

An assortment of motion pictures flickered in his memory: the way your head tipped in laughter at his dry sarcasm, how you so graciously welcomed him to that sitdown meal, the way you worried about him just as much as he worried about you, and how your words, even from afar, brought him unmeasurable comfort. Making it back across the Upper Montana could be a brutal fight, but he’d outrun the law and take a few bullets if he had to. He’d bare it all to bring you back with him. 

As he relaxed into the cot, another thought drifted by, small and almost weightless like a dandelion seed in the wind: maybe he wouldn’t have to bring you back at all. Perhaps he could stay right there with you.

[whateveriwant]

Task force 141 reacting to their very pregnant wife still trying to clean, cook etc

This turned more into ‘Task force 141 preventing their very pregnant wife from trying to clean, cook, etc’ lmaooooo I hope that's alright

Price

HA! Good one!

No seriously, it's actually hilarious that you think you'd do anything for yourself when your hubby's around

That man has been waiting on you hand and foot since you first got together. So now that you're pregnant and you think he'd let you so much as lift a finger? You must have a serious case of pregnancy brain, sweetheart

Price is doing all the cooking, the cleaning, the running errands, etc. throughout the entirety of your pregnancy (and at least the first several months postpartum)

He's kept you practically bed bound these last few months to the point where you think there's a perfect indent of your body molded into the mattress

Seven months in, he's suddenly called away to a quick mission halfway across the globe, and you think finally you'll get some of your autonomy back...

Well, think again because who should show up at your door the next morning than your mother-in-law herself, ready to pick up where her son left off

She came at the behest of your husband, of course, and was armed with a detailed set of care instructions

What does your husband think you are? Some sort of one-of-a-kind, priceless artifact that needs special handling? (Actually that's exactly what you are. Price-less… I'll see myself out 🚶🏻‍♀️)

Ghost

When it comes to having some semblance of independence during your pregnancy, Ghost will give you a bit of a longer leash than Price, but only just so

You’re going for a walk around the neighborhood? Hold on, let him grab his coat to join you. Or you're going into the backyard to tend the garden? He'll pull the weeds while you water the plants

But when it comes to letting you do certain things, there are some hard nos that he will absolutely not budge on

You try to use a stepladder to reach the top of the cupboard? Stop! You'll break your neck! You try to pick up anything heavier than 10 pounds? Stop! Give it here! You try to drive?... Don't even fuckin' think about it, precious.

The farther along your pregnancy progresses, the better he gets at predicting (and intercepting) your next move

You were gonna do laundry today? Well, wouldn't you know, he's already got a load going in the washer. You were about to make dinner? Well shucks, he just ordered takeaway from that Greek place you love

His ability to read your mind is honestly impressive once you get past how damn annoying you find it. Just because you're pregnant doesn't mean you're incapable of fending for yourself, and you're tired of him acting as if otherwise

But really, you can never get mad at anything he does for you. After all, what kind of a husband would he be if he didn't take care of his missus and your little one?

Soap

If you take Ghost’s cautiousness, mix it with Price’s thoroughness, and crank it up to an 11, you get Soap

From the moment he found out you were pregnant, he put your house into full lockdown mode, stopping just short of booby trapping the front door in case you got any funny ideas

You want some fresh air? Just open a window. You want to go for a walk and stretch your legs? Just take a few turns about the living room like you're some Austenian heroine

Don't let him catch you doing any kind of physical labor, because so help him Jesus he will grab a spray bottle and use it like you're a feral alleycat he's trying to house-train (he wouldn't really... but don't test him)

You try to unload the dishwasher? Ehrr! Wrong move. You try to remake the bed? Ehrr! Nice try. You try to mop up your own mess. Ehrr! Enough already. You try to– OCH, WOULD YE BLOODY SIT DOWN, WOMAN?!

For nine long months during his requested leave from work, your husband is attached to you like some kind of loving, smothering barnacle

But doesn't he miss his job, or the lads for that matter? What if the world needs saving? What will they do without him?

Well, (in his exact words) fuck the rest of the world! You're his world, bonnie, and he'll give you everything you could ever wish for and then some

Gaz

By far, you have the most independence with Gaz than you would with any of the other three men… at least, at the beginning of your pregnancy, that is

Once you get to around five or six months he becomes just as helicopter-y as all the others; he's just ever so slightly more bearable, perhaps

There's lots of peeking his head around the corner to check on you throughout the day or appearing seemingly out of thin air whenever you're doing something he'd rather you wouldn't

You've lost count of the number of times you've been in the middle of cooking or hanging up the laundry or whatever and his hand has suddenly appeared out of nowhere, gently taking the object from you before directing you to sit and rest

And like, look. He knows you can handle yourself. He knows you could conquer the whole world if you wanted to. That's one of the things he loves about you the most

But seeing you like this – so fragile, so vulnerable, so beautiful and soft and pregnant with his child; his child – it just… It makes him…

He just needs to do these things for you, alright, love? Just let him take care of you, please? Would you let him do that?

You already have so much you have to carry. Let him ease some of the burden off your shoulders. Let him do these small things for you because they don't even compare to all that you're doing for him 🥲

[salemlunaa]

✰ YOU’RE INDUCING FOR CERTAIN, RIGHT? ✰

a lot of you subconsciously doubt yourself, let’s talk about it

stop with the “just incase”, just stop. “I’ll save this post to read just incase i don’t induce the void.”

“I’ll do this tomorrow just incase I fail.”

“Another day in my shitty reality after an unsuccessful night, I hope this is my last day here” (how many times have you said that, may i ask?)

“Just incase I’m not doing right, i’ll check some more posts.”

how many times have you gone through this cycle, waking up after an unsuccessful night hoping it’s your last in the shitty life you live, doomscrolling hoping it clicks for you with each paragraph you read and then “attempting” to “enter”. And when you “fail” to induce, you go back around this cycle.

Inducing pure consciousness doesn’t require a day of “good self concept” or affirming till your brain is mush. However, it helps to have a mindset of knowing, that this IS your last day here in this shitty reality. Knowing that you aren’t going to try you’re going to do. Knowing that there is no “what if i don’t make it” or “just incase i fail” because failure doesn’t exist for you. Being firm instead of wondering if it’s going to work can help a lot.

There is no trial and error for you, stop going into this inducing process “hoping” you’ll do it. Seeing “if” it will work tonight. There is no “if”, “maybe” or “just in case”. There is no attempt and fail for the operant power, there is no trial and error for a god. You just be and you just do. Idc how long you’ve spent in this community there is no week, month or even year long process of trying and failing, because it’s not needed, this isn’t some developmental arc, it’s instant.

You must know that you are inducing for certain. This wavering relationship isn’t helping

There’s no “i’ll try tonight”, if you have decided that tonight is the night then it is, if you have decided you will use this day to shift consciousness then you will. there is no “just incase i don’t” nope, not a thing when you’re a god.

so kill that thought of trying, as soon as you found out about the law you found that you control everything, so why are you trying, attempting, hoping for something in a reality where you control everything, where you can just do? it’s almost as if you think whether you induce the void or not is based on external factors, because if you knew it was you who holds the power you wouldn’t be trying, you would just decide that inducing is simply something you can do.

and i feel like this is a reason a lot of you procrastinate, you’re holding off failure so you don’t let yourself down, but why would you fail if you know it’s you who owns all the power in this reality and it’s riding on you to induce. why would you fail if it all rests in your hands.

you do know it’s you, right? you’re inducing for certain, right? a lot of you need to reevaluate what you actually know about pure consciousness because this “trying” and “failing” to induce wouldn’t exist in your reality if you understood

you can’t try at something when you call the shots

🐬🦩STOP SETTING YOURSELF UP FOR FAILURE AND ACTUALLY APPLY YOUR BELIEF 💋

[dcxdpdabbles]

I found and read this cute story on AO3, about Frostbite being Danny's legal parental guardian. In the story Bruce Wayne runs into Frostbite (in his full yeti glory no disguise) who is setting up for school bake sale. Got me thinking about what if Danny's past rogues took turns filling in and doing parental stuff especially at school functions. Like Frostbite does the bake sale, Pandora shows up for his games, Ghostwriter goes to all of the PTA meetings, Clockwork goes to teacher meetings, so on and so forth.

The 43rd Annual Gotham Academy Bake Sale by Faeriekit

Ohhh, that sounds good! I'll get it a read when I have some time. Thank you for the rec!

Danny Fenton is one of the lucky few who have a very involved household. His various family members would always sign up for any school event the boy needed support in. It didn't mean that the boy won everything, but as a teacher for nine years, Emily has come to learn how much it mattered to just have someone show up.

She had seen students whose entire faces light up after spotting someone in the crowd in the same amount she saw a student's hope crumble after they scanned the room.

Danny was a polite young man, a bit on the shyer side, but kind and not a troublemaker, his previous school had her believe. If anything, he seemed to struggle with fitting in, but no students blatantly disliked him.

The general opinion of Danny matched, as her students would say, "I know him from class, but I don't really talk to him. He seems cool though".

Maybe that's why so many people were supposed by his family to march into the auditorium during Danny's talent show. Seeing him wave at the row before starting his gymnastic act had been such a surprise.

Now, Gotham wasn't a close-knit community, not with the size of their city and the millions of people living within it, but everyone would have noticed that Danny was adopted.

After all, he was the only one that wasn't glowing or a large humanoid animal. They cheered the loudest among the crowd; uncaring Danny got bronze- having lost to Joey's tapping dancing for second and Damian's spectacular multi-instrumental cover of a meme song for first place- and Danny beamed back at them.

Gotham was known for not being meta-friendly, but that was only due to a few mean people who shouted the loudest on media outlets. Many of Emily's students were meta, had family that were meta, or knew someone meta. It wasn't a common enough trait one would encounter a meta on every outing, but you would see them in Gotham well enough.

Everyone knew, but no one said it out loud. In the same way, she knew which students' parents were in the country illegally but worked harder than anyone else. Saying anything would help the cops, or worse, the rich running Gotham.

Even the most prejudiced Gothamite would rather be spat on then give them aid. And those who were so prejudiced to help the poor man's enemies, well, Emily has lived here long enough to know they vanished rather quickly. The smart ones kept their mouths shut.

No one could forget what happened to that guy who accidentally insulted Penguin. His grandmother had been an illegal immigrant on his mother's side.

No one messed with that side of the family.

"Hello, Mrs. Jackson." Danny's adoptive father, Dr. Frostbite said, ducking down to avoid banging his head on the door. On one of his shoulders was a box of hotdog wieners; on the other were multiple bags of bread. "I'm here for my snack bar shift."

Emily tilts her head back to look the Yeti in the eye. He had been shocked the first time they met, but she could admit that Dr. Frostbite was a relatively gentle and wise soul. "Welcome aboard. The girls are just about to take the field. You can put that down by the crock pot over there."

The mountain of white fur brushes by her with the grace of a king as Dr. Frostbite does as she says. There were no customers at the window, so she leaned on the counter and offered him a smile. "Did you enjoy the game?"

"Yes. I was saddened our team did not win, but Danny hit a home run." Dr. Frostbite's sharp smile could have been frightening if he wasn't oozing parental pride. "I caught it all on video."

Emily opens her mouth to respond when a hand lands loudly on the counter with a loud crack. Her heart leaps, and she looks into Danny's Ember. She isn't one of Emily's students, though she does appear to be a teenager in appearance.

You know. If it wasn't for her hair made of fire. Or her blue skin. Or her glow.

"I set a boy on fire," She announces with a cackle.

"That's so?" Dr. Frostbite gently rips open the box, taking out the hotdog packages. With one large claw, he rips a hole into it and lets the few weiners slide into the crockpot with a gentle splash. "What did he do?"

"Tried to slap me on the butt." She huffs, rolling her eyes, but her smirk doesn't lose an edge of smugness.

"Well done." Dr. Frostbite praises placing the lid back on. It always surprised Emily to see such careful actions from the large creature. "I assume you did so out of Pandora's line of sight?"

"Naturally. I don't want her lecturing me in front of the whole community." Ember scoffs, crossing her arms. Behind her, the top of Pandora's head can be seen swinging side to side over the dugout, keeping an eye on the ball.

She was the best volunteer referee because even the parents knew not to shout insulting things when she was present. Emily doesn't think she has had such peaceful games in a long while. Hopefully, Danny will try out again for baseball next year so the woman can return.

"Oh hey, you're Danny's English teacher, right? Mrs. Johnson?" Ember asks, leaning on the counter to give Emily a curious look.

When the blond nods, holding out her hand for a shake. "That's right. It's nice to see you again, Ember."

The girl's hair flairs a little as a grin grows on her face. Her hand is ice cold to the touch, but she's got a firm grip that her husband would appreciate. "Likewise. I got a message for you from Ghostwriter. He sent the notes for the last PTA meeting to you and the revision playwright for the musical you two were working on."

Emily's mood brightens up. "That's wonderful. Could you tell him I'll check it out when I get home and get to my laptop since my phone broke in the last Two-Face attack?"

Ember's hair flickers in the wind when she nods, but Danny bounces right up behind her just as she opens her mouth to speak. He's wearing his Gotham Acadamy Baseball uniform with pride despite them losing. "Hey, Frostbite, can I go with Tim and Duke to get Peoeria Pizza? We'll be back before the girl's game ends."

"Only if you take Ember with you," Dr.Frostbite says, nodding to his daughter, who looks alarmed to be included. "She needs more friends."

"Hey!"

"Sure. Come on, Ember, you'll get along with Duke. He likes old-school rock."

"It's not old-school!"

Emily laughs, watching the two siblings bicker as they stride away, blending into the crowd with no one batting an eye at the glowing girl anymore. How blessed that boy was.

"I'm glad Danny has gotten comfortable here. I always worried he never was going to have a normal childhood." Dr. Frostbite confesses to swirling the hotdogs around in the water to ensure each one is cooked.

"I think you and the rest are doing a wonderful job. You're a great father." She assures him, thinking wistfully of her William. He's been on deployment for a few months now and will likely miss the holidays again, but his contract is almost up. They may try for a child when he gets in the reserves. "How are things at the clinic?"

"Oh, wonderful. I'm grateful that Mr. Wayne has allowed the expansion of Thomas Wayne Memorial Clinic. Dr. Thompkins will be covering the east side of Gotham while I help those on the west. It's much more fulfilling than working in some hospital that demands funds for the silliest things. Back home, that would have been illegal. The people would have burned me at the stake if I had allowed anyone to pass away due to greed."

"My kind of people." She laughs. A sharp crack sounds from the field as the bat makes contact with the ball, and the crowd goes wild. It's a wonderful day.

[ohmy-gojo]

i gave a second chance to cupid!

or arranged marriage with nanami kento

– nanami was told that he has to get married by his parents

– since no one caught his eye he just let his parents choose for him

– nanamis secretly a hopeless romantic, so he cant help but be dissapointed in the setting. now all he hopes is that his partner is kind

– he was shown your picture and well, he found you really pretty but he also knows looks are not everything. if youre nice and understanding than he could live the rest of his life with you

– a date was set prior your marriage as to help you get to know each other

– nanami and you showed up at the spot. you were even prettier in person. and when you both started talking, it seemed like you were a little shy so it was mostly him leading the conversation

– he asked about your likes and dislikes, your dreams, your hobbies, what food you like and even your favorite color

– your mannerisms and the way you talked was very endearing to him

– you also asked about him and got to know about his dangerous life as a sorcerer, it worried you to know the man youre marrying has to constantly put his life in risk

– all in all the date went pretty well and he was happy that he got a partner like you and vice versa.

– you both went on multiple dates before the marriage. sometimes you chose the places (amusement parks and fairs) while sometimes he chose (museums and aquariums)

– during that time you both became comfortable with each other. nanami now genuinely enjoyed spending time with you rather than thinking of it as merely a duty. now he can say that hes a little excited to marry you and live with you

– after your marriage everything was the same except you saw each other everyday. you both wake up and make breakfast together, eat and leave for work together

– you also broke out of your shy phase, now you always fill nanami about your day. sending him texts on his lunch break about how hes doing and if he ate

– you make his house more lively bc of your creativity. theres a new cover you handmade for the table and stickers even on the fans

– slowly you both start to fall for each other. it was you who fell first tho and how could you not

– and when you realized you loved him well, you were never good with words so you became more affectionate with him

– shyly giving him pecks on the cheek (first time you did that nanami was frozen, you were afraid he was uncomfortable then you saw the tips of his ears reddening) from then on, you were unstoppable. kissing him when he leaves for wokr and when he comes back home. you also loved to run your hands through his hair.

– even though you fell first, nanami was the one who fell harder

– now he really cant imagine a day without your presence. hes slowly getting used to you and your mannerisms. you fussing over him when he's overworking, always making sure he ate, taking off his glasses and pecking his forehead when he fell asleep reading a book (he could feel you doing that) and your late night conversations

– you made his house a home. it took him some time to realize that he has fallen for you

– now you both cant keep your hands to yourselves lol. he always has to have a hand in your waist

– nanamis love is shown in the way he protects you. from glaring at people who randomly touch you in the crowed train to making sure you dont hit your head in the corner of table

– he also spoils you. remember on the first date you told him about your likes, hobbies and dreams? he remembers all that and gets you whatever you wished

– you guys still hadnt gone in your honeymoon so he and you visited malaysia after the shibuya incident. that was when nanami confessed his love for you. you replied that you love him too with tears in your eyes. it was really the perfect moment for both of you, away from all the sorcery and tensions of the world.

– nanami kento, the hopeless romantic is now getting the love he deserves in this arranged marriage with you

[anisespice]

“ accidents happen ” || tokyo rev.

cont. two

synopsis: in which they discover you had their child and kept it from them all these years later.

pairing: bonten x fem!reader [ mikey, ran, sanzu ]

warnings: mature content ahead. MDI. mature language, crude humor, angst (if you squint really hard), deadbeat!bonten (unintentionally), not proof-read so there may be errors lol and i think that’s it :))

notes: i just want the drama >:) may make more parts, and even extend said headcannons into longer fics in the future, but wanted to post something quick for mother’s day. hope you enjoy!

When you disappeared off the face of the earth, MIKEY had never been the same. One fight. One argument that spiraled out of control, and you were just gone...

He had people looking for you for about a couple years, the trail ran cold after a while and he had half a mind to think you were dead. Up until he got intel of your whereabouts one morning during a meeting.

That man got up and left immediately.

He wasn’t accompanied with any of his men, only because he didn’t want to draw any unwanted attention in the broad daylight. Sure, him wearing a black hood, ball cap, and mask in a park didn’t really help him look inconspicuous but it at least concealed his identity enough for him to blend in. Mikey sat on a bench for a good forty minutes, anxious, making anyone who passed him shiver from his intense aura alone; even birds walked around him. After almost an hour of waiting, he began to feel frustrated. Perhaps, the intel was false. Just as he went to stand, already conjuring up ways to have Sanzu execute the idiot who wasted his time, he heard it.

Your voice. Seizing him, like a siren’s call.

His eyes were alert, darting around until they landed on your figure, spotlighted by the sun, like an angel descending from the heavens. You looked good, healthy. That was good. An array of emotions fought for their turn in Mikey’s heart—Relief, distress, anger, nostalgia. He couldn’t just pick one, especially when it came to you. As he watched from his spot, doing his best to not seem suspicious, he clocked the people you were approaching with excitement, your peppy stride as you waved at, what he presumed, to be mother and daughter.

However, his entire world turned upside down when the little girl extended out her arms towards you, and said “Mama!”

“Hello, my darling.~” You cooed, taking her into your awaiting arms from the woman, embracing the toddler tightly. “Mama missed you so much.”

“Missed you, mama!” was the child’s reply, followed by her giggles.

A bucket of cold water would’ve been better than this. Watching you converse with who he now assumes to be the babysitter, Mikey felt faint. Vision blurring, head pounding, heart clenching. You…you…no. There’s no way. You wouldn’t have moved on…you couldn’t have, not like this, not from him. You loved him, didn’t you? You still love him, didn’t you?

How could you…how could you?

Before he knew it, he started to follow you around. From the park, to the store, all the way back to your apartment. He already phoned some of the executives to start working in on the babysitter, and anyone else in your new found circle for information. He wanted answers. He needed them.

By the time you began fixing dinner, with your daughter laid down for a nap, you receive a knock at your door. Who could that be at this hour?

RAN was chilling outside the rendezvous spot for something the boss and a few other execs were participating in, having a smoke, minding his business, up until he sees a little girl with pigtails wearing a school uniform approaching, standing before him and just…staring. She barely came up to his thighs, could've been no older than seven. She was practically staring into his soul with bright lavender eyes that scarily reminded him of Rin’s when he was that age.

He stared back, head tilted as he blew out the smoke from the corner of his mouth. The hell was a kid doing on this side of town?

Then, after an uncomfortable staring contest, the little girl points at his cigarette. “My ma says those things are bad for you.”

Ran raised a brow, “Does she now?”

“Mmhm! She says it makes people unhappy.”

He offered a thoughtful nod, an amused grin spreading across his face. “Mm. Do I look unhappy?”

The girl looked at Ran for a minute, eyes squinted. Eventually, she shook her head. “No. But, ma also says people who are always unhappy get better at hiding it.”

Ran’s grin faltered. Her unwavering stare started to unnerve him, especially after hearing such a heavy statement come from such a small package.

After a brief moment of silence, he chuckled softly, taking one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it away. He exhaled. “Smart woman.”

The little girl beamed, “Mmhm! My ma knows a lot of stuff.”

“Tsk. But not ‘Stranger Danger’, apparently.”

She tilted her head, curious. “Huh?”

“You shouldn’t be wandering around by yourself, let alone approaching someone you don’t know. ‘s not safe. Especially for nosy little girls who stick their noses in other people’s business. Your ma never taught you that?”

The little girl rolled her eyes, hands on her hips. “Duh. Of course she did. Everyone knows that rule,” she exasperated. Ran snorted, but yielded when she squinted at him, pointing as she sassed. “And I do so know you, so you’re not a stranger.”

This time, Ran couldn’t help the incredulous laugh. “Oh, you know me, huh? That’s not good. ‘m supposed to keep a low profile. Say, you ain’t a cop are you?” He teased, earning another eye roll.

“No. Too small to be a cop, dummy.”

“Oh, pardon me, I didn’t notice. Where do you know me from, then?”

The little girl pointed over to the building..where the executives were having their meeting. She beamed, “Ma’s works in there. On important people days she can’t get me from school, so she tells me to come straight here, and to not talk to the purple man that stands near the building. She says you’re mean.”

Ran smirked, then gave a half-hearted shrug.

“She also says you’re my pa. But, I never believed her. You’re too old.”

Ran’s smirk dropped.

Whether more from the first comment or the last, you decide. But, one thing was for certain: he needed another cigarette.

SANZU cackled watching some guy struggle to round up a couple of rowdy twins at the convenience store. One was knocking shit off the shelves while the other ran circles around the guy. It was what he needed for his bitch of a hangover, a good laugh to distract from the ache in his skull.

However, he wasn’t laughing for long when you came around the corner of the isle, holding a few items with a smile on your face that soon faded once you saw the scene unfolding before you; the pinkette thought he was still tripping balls. Blinking a few times to allow any after effects of the drugs to clear up, when you didn’t disappear he used his long legs to swiftly yeet behind one of the shelves, peering around it like some paranoid stalker. The last time you had spoken, you had threatened to castrate him with your teeth if you ever saw him again.

And he’d be damned if he tried your bluff.

He watched in awe as you straightened those twins up quick. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought they were trained to obey you, and only you. Any other authority be damned. While the guy was putting all the stuff back on the shelves, sweaty and out of breath, you gently reprimanded them for causing trouble. You still made that cute pouty face you always did whenever you were mad at him…

“What did we talk about earlier? Hm? Mr. Satoru was very kind to help mama today, you know. You two promised me you’d be on your best behavior for him.”

Sanzu gagged. This was the rebound you let nut in you? This huffy moron who can’t handle a couple of ankle biters, this was your king? He had half a mind to just gut the guy to put him out of his misery from that pathetic display from earlier, alone. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be back home. He remembers when he was that age—Rowdy, reckless, the Antichrist. Adorable, but deadly. God bless that poor bastard’s soul.

Wait…Mister? Not…dad?

The first twin whined, stomping their feet. “He’s too boringggg!”

Come to think of it…if Sanzu squinted…the longer he looked at the little family…he swore the more he saw the resemblance of himself in the tiny gremlins. From the hair, to the eyes, all the way down to the mannerisms…Hang on. When had been the last time you two fucked? Three…no, was it four years ago?

The second twin huffed, pointing at the man. “Yeah! And he’s jus’ being nice so that he can sleep in your bed, mama!”

You flushed, nervously chuckling as you looked around to make sure no one heard. Sanzu ducked behind a bag of chips, now nothing but eyes peeking through the gaps of food on the shelf.

So…that loser’s not the father? Then…could that mean..?

“He’s mama’s boyfriend, remember? He’s allowed to do that. And he’ll be around for a while, so I want you two to be nice, okay?”

“…okay, mama.” They grumbled.

Sanzu almost popped a blood vessel, fist clenched around a bag of Lays and nearly busting it. He chuckled darkly, “Oh. We’ll see about that.”

© 2024-2025 anisespice ッ all rights reserved.

likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!