#just by looking at them... and it's stronger with touch

[starrbishops]

⟡Filthy Mouth⟡

(Bob Reynolds x Reader)

Summary: Bob finally lets you give him a blowjob. - prequel to Sidelines based on a request from @princess312

Word Count: 1.4k

Notes: Oral sex, blowjob, established relationship, Post-Thunderbolts*, porn without plot, so much swearing, Bob Reynolds curses like a sailor,

a/n: Uhhhh yeah this is just pornography. Straight up written word porn. With some Bob character study mixed in on his background and behaviors in a relationship. But mostly porn. Enjoy!

Bob wasn’t used to being powerful.

It was strange, having his new abilities. He felt stronger, healthier, but he still felt like himself. Robert Reynolds, the vagrant drug addict dropout. He did his best to keep his powers at the forefront of his mind after remembering what he’d done to New York. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, especially not his new friends. And especially not you.

Bob tried to take things slow with you, always leaving you chances to back out. He knew he wasn’t an easy person to be with, and he honestly didn’t fully understand what you saw in him. But you stayed everytime. No matter how much he pointed out his faults, his flaws, you’d just smile and tell him you liked him anyways, as is.

It’s part of why he likes you so much. More than anyone he’s ever known.

Still, he tries to not come on too strong. He always makes sure to put you first. All the bare minimum boyfriend tasks; walk closer to the street, hold doors open for you, remind you everyday how incredible you are. In bed, it translates to making sure you cum at least once, preferably twice or more, before he does. Which is why it takes so long for him to let you blow him.

When it comes to sex, Bob is first and foremost concerned with not hurting you. He still gets nightmares of when you beat up you and the rest of the team as Sentry. You all laugh it off as a funny memory, tell him you forgive him, but it nags at him. He could hurt you so easily, and he would sooner die than do that on purpose. Anyways, he much prefers the way you look when he eats you out, eyes rolling back in your head, hands gripping his hair while he raves at you. He prioritizes your pleasure over anything else. The fact that you even let him have sex with you is the win from his perspective. Apparently, you don’t see it that way.

You’re seated in his lap, the two of you making out in his bedroom while the rest of the team is away on a mission. You palm at the grown bulge in his pants, breaking the kiss. “Can I please blow you?” you ask, with just a hint of a pout on your face. “I’m good at it, so I’ve been told.”

Bob is about to reply before you cut him off. “And if you say you just want me to have a good time, I will have a good time. I like taking care of you Bob. I just want you to let me.” 

He shuts his mouth, looking up at you. It feels like a fever dream, a beautiful girl in his lap who desperately wants to suck his dick. It’s not like he hasn’t imagined it before. There’ve been plenty of long missions where he’s had to deal with his erections himself, and thought of you while doing so. Imagine it was your hand rather than his, how it would feel to have your lips wrap around his length, taking all of him into your mouth and down your throat. Just thinking about it now makes it even harder.

So instead of his usual deflection, he nods. “You sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

You just grin, already tugging at his waistband. “Bob, we’ve had sex before. I know your dick is big. Congratulations, I will survive.”

He chuckles as he assists you in removing his pants, lifting his hips so you can pull them off along with his boxers before tossing them across the room. You settle yourself between his legs, licking your lips as you take in the image before you. 

Bob’s cock stands at attention, red and desperate for touch, precum leaking from the tip. You glance up, waiting for consent before you make a move. Bob nods, awkwardly settling his hands by his sides, not wanting to touch you too intensely at first.

Bob Reynolds is no blushing virgin. He’s had sex, and had blowjobs before. He’s trying not to be too loud. He really, really does. Still, the moment your tongue swipes over his tip, he’s already groaning. “Fuck, baby.” he gasps, one hand flying to your head while the other grips the sheets beneath him in an attempt to ground himself. “So good, fuck.”

You take the base of his cock in our hand, getting a firm hold before you lick up the underside of him, taking your time to coat him with your spit. He does his best not to hold too tightly onto your hair for fear of pulling too hard. He keeps his eyes on you, memorizing the sight of your tongue sliding along his length, the feeling of you against his most sensitive parts.

“Tell me how it feels, baby.” you mutter, looking up at him with lust darkened eyes. “Don’t hold it in.”

Bob’s always been the talkative type. Before you, he tried to tone it down, considering most of his sexual experience was just flings. When you said you liked when he made noise, he took it to heart, letting his inner monologue escape his lips as you ravished him. 

He nods, another moan escaping him as you take him in your mouth, at the heavenly feeling of your lips around his cock. 

Try as you might, you can’t take his whole length in your mouth. You compensate with your hand on what you can’t fit, stroking him as you begin to bob your head on him, Bob groaning at the sensation.

“Holy shit, babe, oh my god.” he rambles as you take him in and out of your mouth, his knuckles beginning to turn white with how hard he grips the sheets. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful like this, mouth full of cock. Should’ve let you do this sooner, fuck-”

He interrupts himself with another moan as you manage to take him ever deeper into your throat, his tip just touching the back of your throat. You continue at your pace, laser focused on his every move and sound, noting what gets the most reaction. You do it again, take him just that much deeper, and Bob almost cums on the spot.

“Oh my god, you’re so good. Holy fuck, you’re perfect, your mouth is fucking incredible.” He can feel your own moan vibrate around him, and he groans at the feeling in turn. He’s becoming convinced you’re trying to suck his soul out through his cock. He’d let you, if it feels this good. He’d let you do anything you want to him.

He’s still talking aloud, he realizes as you make a sound that at first verges on a laugh, shifting quickly to a moan as he accidentally jerks his hips up just a bit. “Shit, I’m sorry, a-are you good? Okay?”

You nod, wiping your mouth quickly and smiling innocently as you lower your mouth back onto him, one hand moving to cup his balls beneath his cock. Yet another string of curses escapes him at the feeling, the combined sensation of your mouth and hands becoming all too much. He can feel himself hurtling off the edge, towards absolute ecstasy.

“Oh, god, baby I’m gonna cum, where should I- can I cum in your mouth? Please? Wanna fill you, let you taste me.”

You moan around him, and Bob takes that as the affirmative. You continue, eyes closed as you concentrate on maximizing his pleasure.

“Fuck, baby, ‘m gonna cum, fuck, fuck!” he practically yells out your name as he finally cums, you taking as much of him as possible as he does, hot spurts of cum sliding down your throat. You take it like a champ, holding your position, still stroking the base of him and massaging his balls beneath that.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Bob groans as he tries to collect himself, eyes coming back into focus to see you sit up, swallowing before licking what’s left of his cum off the tip of his softened dick. “You’re amazing.”

“You have a filthy mouth.” you chuckle, crawling up his body. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse that much.”

“The things you do to me.” he smiles, leaning in to kiss you. He can taste the salty flavor of himself on your lips. “We should do that again sometime.”

You brush some fallen hair out of his face, grinning with satisfaction. “Told you I was good.”

“I never doubted you.” he assures you, pulling you into his arms as he flips you onto your back. “But now it’s my turn.”

a/n: i'm gonna be fr blowjobs are not my specialty but i did my bset here and honestly it was good practice. Insane thing to say about writing about blowjobs but damn here we are. uhhhh bob fans enjoy!

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Idia Shroud - Watchman of the Underworld Voice Lines

Watchman of the Underworld Idia does not have a vignette

With the goddesses of fate behind me, here I am, almighty and all-powerful!

Summon: Whatcha think? How's it feel standing face-to-face with the SSR [King of the Underworld]? I'll show you true power. Fheehee!

Groovification: Gonna use all I got to smash to smithereens all sort of useless hassles and forced niceties!!

Home: Boom ba-da boom boom boom! Hah!

Swap Looks: I'm the boss! Heehee!

Home Transition 1: Who'd've thought I'd get a raid party of OP overblots together, even if it's just inside a dream? Even though the whole burning through blot thing's supposed to be my family's special skill.

Home Transition 2: I should be god-tier when I'm in my overblot form... So why can't I scrub the memory of my mother looking through my computer!?

Home Transition 3: Just 'cause I'm acting more upbeat than usual doesn't mean I've changed classes or anything. I'm not perpetually-cheery like Ortho. OK!?

Home Transition - Login: Fheehee! No one's a match for me while I'm in this form. But that's just another reason to watch what I say and do. Don't need it getting back to me later.

Home Transition - Groovy:  I was sooo ready to take dozens of screenshots of Malleus-shi wailing... But that was totally not what I was expecting!!

Home Tap 1: I heard some of the guys back in the lab saw this outfit and likened it to the big climax boss battle at the end of an anime. See, geeks love armor...

Home Tap 2: Being able to fight alongside both Orthos is a heart-wrenchingly good arc. My imagination is way too powerful, isn't it...?

Home Tap 3: I get stronger with every buff and debuff! Oh man, looks like I'm a game-breaking OP character～

Home Tap 4: It's a bit unfair that no one got to see your dream, isn't it? Hey, let me take a peek sometime. Just to even out the stats.

Home Tap 5: Don't touch me, you'll get burned... Fheehee, I always wanted to say a line like that!

Home Tap - Groovy: Y'know... Can you not just start randomly chit-chatting with me? I'm goin' for a super sinister vibe here.

Duo: [IDIA]: I'll destroy them with every bit of firepower I got! [VIL]: I won't let you off so easily if you fail.

Requested by @farfalla049.

[jeansdoll]

thinking about subby!caleb who gets so whiny when you’re hands are wrapped around him. as you straddle his bare torso, fully clothed, you stroke him slowly while keeping your grip firm. facing away from him just to be a tease. you watch his legs struggle to stay put, the same way his hands squeeze at your waist when you do the same to him. roaming his hands all over you like he doesn’t know where to put them, desperate for contact.

his whimpers are endless, tangled with breathy pleas that spur you on. that familiar wetness soaking your panties as you fight the urge to grind yourself onto his abdomen.

he’s just loud and talkative — shameless. “please, let me cum, pips.” he begs, trembling beneath you, his breaths shallow. “please.”

his tip leaks with precum, flushed red like it was begging too. he could so easily pull you off him, flip you over and fuck you senseless — he’s much stronger than you. but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love when you were in charge. praise him and call him a good boy and you’ll have him wrapped around your finger.

“you wanna cum, hm?” you ask, barely finishing the sentence before he’s already blurting a string of “yesyesyes”.

you take that as the initiative to quicken your pace, hands moving faster, grip tightening like you’re really milking him. his hold on your waist tightens as if he was bracing himself. sobs turn into loud moans and before you know it he’s bucking up into your hold, thick ropes of cum spilling all over your fingers.

his chest heaves beneath you as he catches his breath, slowly calming down. your strokes ease, making sure he’s left empty. you glance over your shoulder, biting your lip as you catch sight of his fucked out state — flushed cheeks, lips swollen from being trapped between his teeth. he meets your gaze with half lidded eyes, a look that clearly says ‘i need more’.

“please… let me touch you.” he pleads, desperate “i’ve been a good boy.”

꩜ masterlist !

🏷️ @ashirelle @littledarlingsthings @wynxoxo @dalmoonchi @kiyadeleine @sayoko-ou @sylusexual @rafascutie @colonelpantysniffer @oakimiuy @lyricelli join taglist here!

[yuurei20]

Unique Magic / Signature Spell Compilation: Azul Ashengrotto

Azul’s unique magic, It’s a Deal (hidden meaning: The Golden Contract) is a “taboo” magic that “sucks every power out of someone if it’s not channeled through a contract.”

Azul does not need the scrolls in order to cast his unique magic: he needs them to limit it, as it is too strong for him to wield on his own.

In Book 3 Leona explains that Azul’s unique magic “enables the caster to take one power from a target if that target signs the scroll,” but he later learns that he was wrong and that the scrolls are merely the filter than enable Azul to control himself.

Leona further explains, “in the event of a contract breach, the breacher is compelled to obey Azul’s every command to a T,” and this seems accurate, with Azul turning 225 NRC students who fail to fulfill their contracts into servants in Book 3.

When Azul takes a special talent and/or magical power for collateral, “it’s sealed inside the contract and made available for Azul to use as it suits him.” Jack accuses Azul of cheating by using powers swiped from others, but Ruggie assures him that he isn’t: “As far as signature spells go, his is crazy high-level. Guy’s gotta have some chops to pull something like that off.”

We see examples of what might be abilities that Azul has acquired from other people via his contracts, such as an impressive singing voice, the ability to speak with and understand animals and advanced potion-brewing skills.

Leona says that the contracts last as long as the special scrolls he uses in order to limit his powers exist, and Azul himself emphasizes multiple times that they are invulnerable.

When students attempt to so much as touch a contract they are electrocuted, with Azul saying, “they’re rigged to jolt anyone who touched them aside from myself.”

Leona says, “all magic’s got a loophole,��� “there is no such thing as a spell that’s completely flawless” and that the idea that Azul’s contracts are unbreakable is preposterous, and he is proven correct: he is able to destroy Azul’s entire collection of contracts with his own unique magic, explaining, “it looked like they were impervious to damage only under specific conditions. Namely, either being in the VIP room, or being in your hands…the contract scrolls themselves are no stronger than any other sheet of paper.”

While Azul does not take the destruction of his contracts in Book 3 very well (it drives him to overblot), there are other examples in the game where he destroys contracts and does not seem to suffer any side effects.

Unique Magic Design: We technically see the process of Azul crafting his unique magic through sheer effort via a flashback: unlike Riddle, who seems to have worked for his UM to please his mother, and Leona and Idia, who were born with their magics, Azul seems to have been motivated by a desire to enact revenge on those who bullied him as a child.

But while Azul seems to have designed the spell himself it’s possible that he didn’t know he was creating what would become his own unique magic at the time. While unconfirmed, he may have wanted a spell–any spell–to take talent from others, and it becoming his unique magic was possibly an unintentional bonus.

Limitations: During Glorious Masquerade Jamil teases Azul with, “I doubt a certain someone could get plants to sign a contract for his signature spell." As Azul does not need the contracts in order to cast the spell, just to control it, it is possibly still unclear if he can or cannot cast his unique magic on things that cannot give their consent (maybe not without overblotting?).

In-Game Examples: Jade and Floyd describe examples of Azul’s unique magic from before they enrolled at NRC, with one mermaid losing weight in exchange for giving up their singing voice and another mermaid getting beautiful hair but losing their tailfin.

Other examples from the game include Azul contracting with the prefect in Book 3 to try and get them to acquire a photo from an elementary school trip on display at a museum in exchange for freeing his 225 student servants (including Ace, Deuce and Grim), taking Ramshackle Dorm as collateral.

He also contracts with Floyd, taking Floyd’s unique magic as collateral while granting him a deeper voice. Azul also contracts with Deuce, taking his unique magic and using it to strike Rollo in exchange.

There is a conversation in a vignette where he discusses providing Vil with moisturizer in exchange for poisonous plants from Vil, and while Vil does sign a contract there is no talk of collateral, so this may have been a normal exchange of favors between two Housewardens rather than a unique-magic-enforced arrangement?

[fanged-fanfics]

Wait !! I just thought now.... How about a golden cheese cookie x reader but when Burning Spice Cookie was about to crush her the reader take the hit instead of her, and pass out (but not die), how will Golden Cheese Cookie react ?? Will she regain her strength ??

☆ Even Gold Can Crumble — Golden Cheese x Reader Fic ☆

Genre: Angst || They/them pronouns for reader || Light warnings for descriptions of injury/Burning Spice disabling Reader

A/N: I think this is referencing the fight where her wings got torn so that's what I based it off of, sorry if that's not what you meant! I hope it's enjoyable either way

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

It all fell so fast. You remember only fragments of it, flickering visions of what had transpired. A strong, imposing figure— that Beast. The way he gleefully cut through your land, his loud bark of laughter echoing through your memories. But it had been going so well... with Golden and Smoked Cheese on the rise, they finally had something. But the army proved much too intense

Blindsided by the Great Destroyer, it was over before it could even really begin. A noble act, a mercy— it's all the golden queen strived for. But that same kindness was due to be her downfall. Stopping the boulder to save a creature gave the Beast enough time to sprint ahead. Just as quickly as the boulder had shattered into pebbles, Golden Cheese was sent into the air. Pushed aside, she watched in horror as you'd taken her place in being swept away by Burning Spice Cookie. You remember a hand on your throat, caverns below as you dangled off the edge. There was screaming, and a grip on your arm.. and...

You suddenly woke up. With a choked out gasp, you lunged forward, seeing nothing but the vision of the Spice Army. "Oh dear-! Darling, please-" A familiar voice came. It was faint, almost as if coming through a fog. A hand touched your shoulder, and your head snapped to the direction it came from. Wild eyes met soft gold. Your mind raced, slowly forming together as that same hand rubbed your arm. "My dear, please... it's me. Your Radiance, remember?"

You looked around at the surroundings. A bed, four walls, and... and her. Golden Cheese Cookie. "Golden..? What- what happened?" You asked, voice raw from the lack of use. With a relieved sigh, she cupped your cheeks in her hands "Oh, my treasure... my brave, brave little gem. You saved me" she said. "I- huh?" You repeated. It was as if your brain itself felt numb. You could see the flashes of memories, feel every sensation you did then. But it only came through a little bit at a time into your conscious

"It's okay, take your time" Golden Cheese said. Her voice was soft, soothing to your aching head. She scooted closer to hold you, tugging you in a bit "You poor dear. I'm so, so sorry". "No, no-" you began "I wanted to help. I couldn't let him... I couldn't let him hurt you". "But now you're hurt" Golden Cheese countered, her expression a little more serious "This was my battle. I shouldn't have let you have my fate"

"Please, don't blame yourself" you said, leaning your head on her shoulder "I acted because I wanted to. I just... the thought of his hands on you... it makes me sick". She leaned her head against yours, gently nuzzling you "I should have been stronger. He's my enemy, not yours. And now you've lost..." she began, trailing off

Lost... what? You furrowed your brow in confusion, leaning back. Her eyes were glistening, moisture gathered at the bottom of them. A memory entered your mind. Your arm. It was the last thing the Beast had grabbed of you before you lost consciousness. You quickly looked over, only to have your heart drop. There was nothing. Everything below the shoulder was completely gone. All at once, the pain struck you like a hot iron. It was gone. So much was gone. That Beast had taken everything— and now this. He almost took her too

Grief, rage, pain, all of it swirled in your system like a sickening slurry of emotions. A wave overtook you, your breath coming out short, and nausea settled into you. Golden Cheese immediately wrapped you in her arms, pulling you into her chest. You broke down into sobbing, and she rubbed your back. "I know, I know" she whispered, voice cracking with emotion "I'm so sorry. I should've- I- I'm so, so sorry"

You didn't ease up, tears falling in an endless stream to vent out all the pain. Her arms were your only refuge, her wings wrapping around you for further comfort. She held back tears of her own, walls firmly in place. It wasn't right for her to break down now, not when you're hurting worse than she could've ever feared for you. She kept holding you close, as you cried out all you could physically give. You pulled away eventually, eyes burning as your throat felt raw. Everything was blurry, and you felt lightheaded. Golden Cheese's hand cupped your chin

"My beloved... I won't let this go by unpunished" She began, kissing your forehead "He will pay for this. Every crumb of dough you lost will be repaid in that Destroyer's jam" she promised. Her hands still held you up, letting you lean on her for support as she spoke. "This will not be in vain. I'll make him regret the day he even thought about harming you"

You sniffled, simply letting her hold you. Her words brought comfort, soothing you just enough to give you a flicker of hope. Not a single Cookie could get away with harming Golden Cheese's treasures, especially not you. "Thank you" you said hoarsely "Please, just... be careful. I can't handle if you get hurt too". "Don't spare it another thought" Golden Cheese said, kissing the top of your head yet again "I will avenge you, darling. Just you wait"

[nipuni]

WE FINISHED THE GAME!!! MASTERPIECE BRILLIANT TOUCHING STUDY IN GRIEF COMFORTING POIGNANT REFRESHING NO NOTES ALL I WAS HOPING FOR AND MORE we both loved it so much what a gem of a game!!

I'm going to put all my thoughts under a cut for spoilers, don't read unless you have finished the game, please play it blind!!

This game is so consistently good all the way through and even with such a huge shift in perspective in the middle it manages to stay on theme and deliver the message it sets off to tell from the start in such a clean way. It could have been jarring but it stays cohesive because of this and suddenly so much about the world building makes sense.

It also makes it so easy for you to understand and respect every character's choices and where they are coming from, all their different ways of coping with tragedy sets them on their roles within the canvas but at their core there is just their love for each other. Everyone is so loving!! there is so much love in this story!! Every character is allowed to be vulnerable and tender and stubborn in such a childish way. You can see them all go through the stages of grief and it feels like a coming of age story, there is a playful innocence to everyone that is never punished and felt so refreshing, and you are immersed in it in Verso's world and you see so much of this through the eyes of a young girl.

I also love how they made love look messy and difficult but stronger than anything. From the start with Gustave and Sophie loving each other but also divided over this dilema mirroring Aline and Renoir. They could have gone the easy route of an idyllic relationship but they chose to show this conflict and it adds so much more weight and depth to it.

There is also this recurring theme about the value of creating something doomed, it's in the children of Lumière and the Canvas worlds, in art and relationships and attachment, it comes up over and over and it shows you every possible answer and rationalization I love that!! All these impossible questions and no right answers just people doing their best with the time they are given and being so brave.

The story started with such a devastating emotional gut punch, it took them under 10 minutes to make me sob. It sets the tone immediately and it is so quiet about it. The start of Gustave's arc was one of my favorite parts of the game, he doesn't say a word but you can follow his emotional state perfectly, you feel it, it's so real.

Act I is such an epic story in itself, the final act of resistance and all the shapes it can take "For those who come after" "We continue" it's all so human. And how you go from this grief on an existential and societal scale to this very personal family tragedy at the center, and this grieving father trying to save his loved ones from despair and from repeating the same patterns and hurting each other with their pain because he get's it, they are all so similar. He wants to make the hard choices so they don't have to and he is willing to suffer the consequences, It's so touching 😭

The acting is fantastic, the EYES, there is so much happening in the eye movements!! The voice acting and writing of the dialogue is impeccable too, I especially loved how they sometimes talk over each other. The humor is also great and unexpected.

This story felt very comforting, the views on art and family and life feel like a hug after a good cry, like acceptance. The music is INCREDIBLE I can't stop listening to the OST!!! the visuals have this beautiful dreamlike quality and the SCALE of it all feels thrilling. I have to go back and play NG+ because I think I missed a ton of stuff in my rush to know how the story ends and I want the full experience now which is a compliment too.

The worldbuilding is fascinating and new and has so much potential for further installments but at the same time the game is very self contained and complete which is rare nowadays, it felt very intentional and focused. So I'm satisfied but also would grab any other game they make in a heartbeat (Give me Clea's story give me Clea!!).

Anyway I talked a lot, we loved it, it's good!!

We are finally playing Clair Obscur 👩‍🎨 I've already cried my eyes out five times, the acting is excellent, the themes immaculate, great writing, aesthetically gorgeous. It feels tailor made to our taste, there is so much to dig into, there is so much meaning to everything

[barleyo]

Hell is Briefly Within.

Devil! Sukuna X Prostitute! F! Reader (smut)

A/N: classic country and sukuna? my two favorite things combined? oh hell yes! this is heavily inspired by "The Devil Went Down to Georgia." great song, wonderful storytelling, and such good inspiration. please enjoy!!

Tags: prostitution, religious themes, misogyny, coercion, dub-con, oral (f receiving), handjobs, blowjobs

Wordcount: 3.3k

There was never a more unfortunate girl than you. You had been left to your own devices for longer than you cared to remember. You tried to rationalize how you got to be in your way, turning tricks and selling yourself, but it was hard. It was hard to feel any good about yourself when you saw how others looked at you—how men looked at you.

You knew you were beautiful. It was only skin-deep, but it was there. Even as a young girl, you knew it helped you, but you hadn't the slightest that it would be your only lifeline now. In the beginnings of your youth, blood and beauty brought the boys, and the boys brought juvenile affections, but now men brought money and sought blood. It hardly felt like an even trade.

Everything about your life felt wrong. You floated by like a lifeless doll, being passed around and toyed with by those stronger than you. Those who treated you poorly—evilly—and discarded you.

Really, evil was something you knew quite intimately. 

Evil was the man who stuffed your face deep into his crotch, snatching the breath from your lungs and replacing it with the tart, stale smell of his sex, then handed you crumpled bills that could pay a quarter of your rent. 

Evil was your landlord who tried to slip his cock into you more often than he slipped into your bathroom to fix the leak that you had been complaining about for weeks.

Evil was the cruel lack of heating in your apartment, and the nearly spoiled milk in your fridge, and the Pleaser Heels in your closet, and the cheap makeup in your pocketbook, and the condoms in your bedside table. 

Evil was everything that surrounded you, every facet of your life, but ultimately, evil was best defined by your broken faith. However much you used to believe in Christ—that He would save you—you started to believe in the Devil more—that he had been following you. 

You never feared him, because you knew the Devil wasn't a big, red man with horns and a sharpened tail. The Devil wasn't adorned with goat hooves nor split tongue. Hell wasn't a landscape of fire and ash, overcome with grief and magma. You knew the Devil because you saw him in every man who touched you. You knew Hell because you were living in it.

You used to pray for salvation, or for someone to somehow save you. You quickly abandoned that hope after the first time you allowed a man to hit you for money. You started to feel that you couldn't get better, and that you didn't deserve to, either. 

Even in this Hell, though, there were cold, quiet times of grey and silence. Times where you'd sit on the coverless, fraying mattress you'd spent far too many nights on, smoking whatever cigarettes you ruffled up from your purse. Sometimes, you would let the ash fall onto your thighs, the embers being the softest things that touched your body. The smoke clouded the air around you and made it stale. It choked you up, enough to make you want to cough, kick, and cry. You couldn't very well do that.

You couldn't cry anymore. Not because you were strong and above doing so, but because you cried your eyes dry years ago. Crying was a luxury saved only for girls coddled enough to still feel rocked by the world around them. Tears were reserved for girls with warm beds and fathers. You had neither, so your eyes stayed ever dry and irritated. 

You weren't trying to find salvation anymore. You were just trying to find more—to find reason. Sadly for you, the out you were searching for came in the form of an eerily familiar, wicked "man."

More and more souls seemed to find their way into Sukuna's grasp. Hell had never been a more popular tourist destination. He was right to distrust humanity's morals and respectability, seeing as the fall in it could visibly be seen in his own domain. He had always had power, that was undeniable, but now? With so many foolish, selfish, evil people getting their comeuppance? He had more influence than he knew what to rightly do with.

He was painfully aware of his infamy. How could he not be? The Devil was, after all, the first fiend. His terrible power was stuff of legend, of fear and horror. Leaders warned their followers from getting caught up in his lifestyle—preached that going the path of evil would earn them permanent torment. Alters and superstition stood to appease him and avoid his wrath. This all added up to his famously large ego. 

Yet, he still wanted more.

More power, more fame, more influence over the human race, more ability to terrify the unfortunate peoples of earth. More souls. More delicious, hateful souls.

The souls of evil men were commonplace to him. He enjoyed the taste of them, the bitter dryness and poignant tang they left in their place. He had tasted criminals, liars and cheats, greedy and grubby aristocrats, though those were far too few and far between for him to actually enjoy. Who knew one could actually buy one's way into heaven? Clearly the billionaires who narrowly evaded his trap did. 

What enticed him most was the complex, rich feeling of a contradictory soul. One that was not wholly evil or malicious, but one that was lost. Disfigured. Now, those—those were rare as hen's teeth to him. Heaven seemed to be awfully forgiving of the misguided. 

The grief stricken mother who smothered her own child, not out of hatred, but out of delusion and exhaustion. The nurse who confused mercy with murder as she put her patients out of their misery. The thief who, tastefully, stole from the higher and gave to the lower.

He yearned for the taste. He had gotten a hint of it once—Jephtah's ancient sacrifice of his daughter. A rash decision between Heaven and Hell was made, ultimately landing in Sukuna's favor. The syrup of misery and edge of regret aligning the man's spirit. danced behind Sukuna's lips. He missed the flavor dearly.

Likely, it was the only thing he had ever wanted for. That and general suffering of those around him, of course. 

The human world was changing. Morality wasn't nearly as grey as it was intended to be. The good, though comparatively few, ascended. The bad, excruciatingly many, took their place in the underworld. Confused spirits were scarce. He needed to get his hands on one, and quick. His craving was strong. 

Perhaps you were right, then. Maybe the Devil was plotting on you. 

The night was threadbare. You stood on the corner for hours longer than you should have. If your rent wasn't coming up, you would have thrown the towel in earlier. You were counting on a few of your regulars to pick you up, but they fell short. Maybe they all found new girls. Or maybe they were spending time at home, kissing up to their wives and being present for their children. The thought made you sick to your stomach. You would never call yourself a victim of circumstance, and the only other option would be an aggressor. Were you ripping these men away from their responsibilities? Were you dirty and shameful? Yes, you knew the answer was yes, but more than morally, you wondered. Was your very existence a mark on the world? You eyed the other girls on the street as you made the walk back to your apartment. Was theirs?

When you entered your dwelling, you slipped your heels off, as if the scuffed linoleum was something worth protecting. Like it was nice. It was one of the small ways you tried to protect your connection to normality. Corporate women probably did the same thing. They probably came home, feet aching from pumps way shorter than yours, made dinner for themselves awhile watching whatever drivel played on television. 

You dreamed of that life, and before you thought you would get it, but it was just out of sight. You dreamed of rigid schedule and payroll, of weekends and paid time off. There were no breaks in your world, not even to catch your breath before the next intrusion was forced into your mouth—into your autonomy. 

You saw your living room. Not a place where you had a warm, leathery couch and a flatscreen, just a room where you did all of your living. Mattress, small television, white refrigerator. Your kitchenette sat in the corner and your bathroom was, luckily, tucked away in the closet sized room across from your bed. 

You hadn't lived here for very long. You tried to rationalize the disappointing furnishings with that fact, but you had always lived like this. Constantly looking like you had just moved in and were in the process of leaving. It was easier that way, to travel light. You never stayed in the same place for long. 

It wasn't safe.

Slipping onto your mattress, you tried to smooth yourself with the television. Nothing was on, but that hardly mattered. The noise was crucial for you. 

You faced the wall. You wouldn't fall asleep for a few painstaking hours, like every night. Your body was still awake and overly alert, like a primal instinct that you could never turn off. It had saved you many times before, so complaining was no option, but it made giving into comfort difficult. 

Your sense started to itch at your brain when the sound of subtle whooshing made itself known. The sudden chill of the room made your stomach twist. Clearly, you were being dramatic. A draft here or there was nothing to worry about, but the fact that it seemed so close was disturbing. It was unlike any rush of wind that rattled shutters or spun weather vanes. It was soft. Breathing. 

Eyes, red and lazy, bore into yours from merely a foot away as soon as you turned onto your other side.

"What kinda things do they have you do, hm? Blow 'em? Use that pretty mouth like this?" A sharp nail pressed against your lower back. "How about this cunt?"

You definitely would have had a better chance to win if you used your pussy. Your clients were absolutely whipped by it. But, once you saw what Sukuna had under his pants, you decided that your poor mouth would have to suffer instead. You'd rather have your jaw ache and split than get your sex destroyed. 

It was truly greedy that he had not only two cocks, but two thick, weapon-like cocks. They hurt your eyes just to look at, and your mouth was a different story. 

The terms of the bet were simple: whoever came first lost. If you won, you'd get to start over. He would change your life completely. Money, fame, safety, love. He promised you all of it. If you lost, he'd get your soul. 

He should have mentioned how skillfully his stomach's tongue could move before he got you to agree to the wager. Unluckily for you, the wet muscle was fucking brilliant. Thick, sloppy, and intrusive. Doubling the misfortune, his real mouth was free to tease you.

"You'll cum any moment now, human. There has never been a hole that I couldn't bend to my will." Sukuna left a sharp, stinging smack on your ass. "Especially when I've got a delicious prize waiting on me." 

"Fuck you." 

You spat a thick glob over the bigger of his cocks, milking it with you hand as fast as you could. Twist the wrist, stroke the shaft. You did everything you could. Your mouth enveloped the other length, greedily sucking it down your throat as far as you could go. 

"And that's all you have, isn't it?" he jeered. "You really are cute. Maybe you just need a little help."

His large hand grabbed your hair. If you were naive, you would assume he was just pulling it out of your face, but you weren't nearly that stupid. With a firm grip to work with, he forcefully guided your head up and down, fucking your throat without any care for the gagging that came from you. 

You could already feel the abuse taking a toll on the back of your throat and mouth. It was hard enough trying to keep your teeth from scraping him, but with speed and force like this, you toyed with just biting him to get back at him. You controlled yourself. 

"Oh, fuck," he feigned arousal, letting his voice grow embarrassingly fake and sultry, "aren't you a skilled girl? What, with all the practice you get using that mouth."

Your eyebrows pinched together, both in pain and irritation. His words agitated you almost as much as the constant hits against your esophagus. 

You tried to give your clit a break. For how much Sukuna seemed to hurt you, he matched it in the pleasure he gave dealt out. You had a will strong enough to resist giving into your high, but you kept coming too close. You lifted your hips a bit, slightly and shifty. Maybe if you could just get a second to recoup, a tiny break, then maybe—

The hand that was buried in your hair yanked your head back. Your neck angled back painfully, forcing you to look back up him. He was upside down and stern. You were dizzy and turned on. 

"Cheater."

The porcelain teeth in his mouth gritted against each other, clenching from behind his sexy snarl. 

You coughed up a vile mix of salvia, precum, and blood, unable to wipe it away as it dripped down your chin, neck, and finally flowing through the curvature of your chest. "I swear," you choked, struggling in his grip, "it's not like that, I was just—just adjusting."

"You don't even believe yourself."

He let go of your hair and roughly grabbed your hips. He flipped you around to face him, and you tried to turn back. Desperate for his cock, but not in the way that was genuine. You needed to be able to get him off, or else you would be shit out of luck.

"Give the Devil his dues," he spat, lifting his own hips up off of your mattress to press his stomach-tongue against your pulsing core. "I know a cheat when I see it. I'm one myself," he let an inkling of humor drip into his tone, "clearly."

You found yourself giving up. You weren't a fraction as strong as he was. There was no way you could fight him or his iron grip. Might as well enjoy your last moments.

You released the tenseness in your lower body and leaned into his touch. The firm prodding of the tongue gliding over your slit. The squelching of your cunt slipping over his abs. It was all too awful, too evil to be real. 

You felt everyone come to a head. Your short, unfortunate life flashed before your eyes. Unhappiness and existential dread. Desperate moves and last ditch efforts. Bright, shining light that shook you to your core as you rode out your high. 

"We had a deal," Sukuna muttered, voice clouded and fading, "but I think I've changed my mind. I don't want your soul."

You were practically floating in his arms.

"I want your body. I think I'll take you back with me," he said, "back to Hell, where you'll have all everything you want."

The tongue traced from your hole to your navel.

"And more."

[aylacavebear]

When She Walked Away Ch 1 The Quiet Before

Summary: In a world where the line between human and supernatural is razor-thin, Y/N—a Touched of Bastet—was bound by an arranged marriage to Dean Winchester, a hunter who never saw her as anything but a monster. After saving his life and enduring years of rejection, she walked away—cutting ties with both their families and building a hidden sanctuary for outcasts like herself. Two years later, she's a respected leader, protector, and legend among those the world refuses to understand.

Now, as whispers of her growing power reach old allies and enemies alike, Dean—changed, remorseful, and haunted by memories—must face the woman he once cast aside. But forgiveness doesn’t come easy… and the past doesn’t stay buried.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2139

Warnings: Angst, Longing, Pining (if you squint), Dean a jerk, cannon-level violence, Doesn't follow the show timeline.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 1 – The Quiet Before

Year 4, Month 7 – Late Night

The rain was steady, a hushed rhythm that softened the forest surrounding the sanctuary. Mist curled along the treetops, shrouding the wards and watchtowers in silver haze. Y/N stood at the tall windows of her study, hands wrapped around a mug of black tea she hadn't touched. She watched the rain fall in long streaks across the glass, the fire at her back casting a gentle glow behind her.

The sanctuary she’d built was quiet this night, not somber—never that—but still. Like it knew something weighed heavy in her bones. Her council had felt it too. That strange thrum of old memories clawing their way up through the soil of time. She hated that she still felt it, even now.

She sipped her tea finally, ignoring the bitter edge. Her reflection in the glass was the same as always: steady, strong, guarded. The sanctuary leader. Bastet’s favored child. Her only Touched in a century. The one who walked away.

Children’s laughter had drifted faintly through the walls earlier—kitchen noises, the soft lull of bedtime. Now, all was still.

But earlier that evening, across the courtyard and beyond the gardens, a group of children had played near the north fountain. A young witch, ten years old and freckled, conjured iridescent bubbles that danced in the air. Two kitsune twins chased them, giggling, while a fledgling dragon—still in half-human form—hovered nervously above the grass, his wings flapping awkwardly.

Peace. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real.

Her chest ached, unbidden.

“I loved him. I still do. But I had to love me more.”

She whispered it, barely audible even to herself. Then she exhaled and moved back to her desk, where a leather-bound journal sat open to a marked page. Her handwriting flowed across the paper—firm, even. A habit she never let slip.

---------------- Journal Entry March 19, 2002 Day Before the Wedding He doesn’t look at me like I’m his. He doesn’t look at me like I’m anyone’s.

I know this was never about love.I know I’m a bargaining chip. A treaty wrapped in silk and claws and a healing bloodstream they want to control.

But there’s still a small part of me—the little girl who watched fairytales and dreamed of someone who would see her—really see her—and choose her. That part hasn’t died yet. I don’t know whether that makes me strong or foolish. Maybe both.

------------------- Journal Entry Year 0, Month 4 He wouldn’t listen. Not when I told him the pack wasn’t just three. Not when I reminded him my senses have never failed me. He went anyway.

I followed him out of instinct, knowing he would be pissed.

He would’ve died if I hadn’t stopped the bleeding.He didn’t even look at me when I did it. Not really.

Just said, ‘Thanks,’ like I was a tool.A medkit.

Not his wife.Not his partner.

I remember the smell of his blood. It hit me hard—richer, stronger than anything I’d scented before.

He just looked at me with those eyes like I was the thing that had torn him open. Not the one who stitched him shut.

And all I wanted to do was hold him. I think the worst part is that even now, I still want him to want me.

She pushed that one aside. Too long ago, and memories she didn't want to have play out. Not tonight. The rain always had her drawn back to her older journals. Things she tried to put away, leave where they belonged, in the past.

Tonight felt harder, with Thanksgiving only a couple of weeks away. If it weren't for the magic from the other creatures within the sanctuary, it would be chilly, too cold for children to have been out much at all earlier in the day.

For a moment, she just sat there, eyes moving slowly over the other journal, already sitting open to an entry she wasn't sure she wanted to read. But just like every other time, she pulled it close, the words leaving her lips in a whisper, fingers brushing like feathers over the paper.

------------------------ Memory of that Journal Entry… It had been early spring, just warm enough for the trees to bloom. He left before sunrise.

Dean’s intel had been clear—or so he said. Three werewolves. Spread thin. Easy to isolate. Easy to kill. He insisted he didn’t need backup. He especially didn’t need her.

“Stay out of it,” he’d snapped that morning. “I’ve been doing this a long time. I know what I’m walking into.”

Y/N had scented the lie before he even finished the sentence.

“They’re nesting, Dean. You can smell it in the soil. You think that’s three wolves? It’s a den. Six minimum. Probably more. You walk in there alone and you won’t walk out.”

He hadn’t listened. He never did—not when it came to her instincts. Her bloodline. Her claws. All things that made her less than human in his eyes.

But that didn’t stop her from following him.

He parked the Impala on the edge of a rusted property line, the woods thick with fog and blooming clover. He disappeared into the treeline like he owned it.

She followed minutes later, barefoot and silent, the damp earth clinging to her toes.

The ambush happened exactly where she’d predicted.

He’d taken down the first two easily—cocky, fast, reckless. The third one nearly gutted him. The fourth tore into his thigh. He was still trying to reload when the fifth appeared. He never saw the sixth.

But Y/N did.

She moved like smoke. Feline, silent, and fast. Her claws tore through fur and tendon. Her blood sang with adrenaline, eyes glowing gold in the moonlight. She didn’t stop until they were all down.

She dropped to her knees beside him, hand instantly pressing to the open wound at his side. His pulse was fading.

“Don’t you fucking die on me, Dean,” she hissed, tearing open her palm with a fang and pressing the bleeding skin to his lips.

He tried to flinch away.

“Swallow. Now.”

He did.

Her healing blood worked fast. The color returned to his skin before he could even speak. His breathing slowed. Stabilized.

And then he opened his eyes.

“Y/N?”

She sat back, eyes burning. “You arrogant, pigheaded bastard. I told you. I told you.”

He didn’t say sorry. He didn’t thank her, either.

Just muttered, “Didn’t ask you to follow me.”

She stood up. The silence stretched between them like barbed wire.

“No,” she said. “You didn’t.”

But she had. And he lived.

And that night, when they returned to the motel, and she curled into the far side of the bed with her back to him, he didn’t reach for her. Didn’t say a word.

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

There had been a time when she thought loving him was enough. That if she just proved her loyalty, her worth, her usefulness—he might one day look at her like she was something more than the sharp edge he was forced to sleep beside.

Stupid. Foolish. Childhood dreams born of fairytales and movie screens. That little girl had wanted to be someone’s treasure. To be chosen, protected, loved, not despite her wildness, but because of it.

“I should know better by now,” she whispered. “No one loves the monster. They just use her until she’s empty.”

She breathed in, slow and measured, pulling the ache back down where it belonged. Deep beneath bone and muscle and grace. She had too much to do. Too many people depending on her.

The Sanctuary didn’t care about the cracks in her heart. It needed her whole. And so she was.

A knock at the door pulled her from the memory.

“Come in, Sabine,” she said.

The door creaked open, and the fae healer stepped into the room. Her silver braid shimmered in the firelight, damp from the rain. She carried the scent of iron and wet moss—fae markers. Her expression was unreadable, but the tilt of her head said enough.

“You should rest, Y/N. Council meets at dawn.”

Y/N nodded, closing the journal softly. “I will. Just… got caught in old ghosts.”

Sabine crossed the room and placed a warm hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “They don’t haunt you. You carry them like armor.”

A faint smile touched Y/N’s lips. “Maybe. But armor still gets heavy.”

The Sanctuary had been born of necessity, but it had grown through love. Thirty-two permanent residents now—Touched, gifted, supernatural, mundane. Each one handpicked. Each one safe because of her.

Down the corridor, someone laughed in their sleep—probably Milo, the pyrokinetic. The sound made her chest ache in that familiar, quiet way.

She rose, walking past her desk where files and maps cluttered the surface—rumors of hunter uprisings, whispers of old magic resurfacing. Things to handle in the morning. Things that kept her needed.

And still… Still.

Some nights, like this one, she wondered if wanting was still allowed.

"Messenger at the gates. Says it’s urgent. It’s Garth."

Y/N was already pulling on her cloak. Garth only came when he hadn’t been able to stay away from Bess any longer, or something was going on with the human hunters.

She didn’t bother with an umbrella. The rain met her without hesitation, soaking the hem of her cloak, clinging to her hair. She walked the stone path through the heart of the sanctuary, past the round communal houses built from earthen magic and timber, past glowing windows and the soft hush of a world sleeping safely. Residents nodded respectfully but didn’t stop her. She was a force in motion—unapologetic, undeniable.

Gardens with night-blooming flowers gave off a soft luminescence, and enchanted lanterns floated lazily through the air. A few nocturnal beings stirred in the trees or rooftops. Milo, their vampire sentry, watched from a high perch above the main lodge. Rook stood near the bakery, unmoving but ever-aware.

The gate guards—Elian and Marek—stood at attention. They opened the barrier the moment they saw her.

There, standing just beyond the threshold, soaked and awkward, was Garth.

She stopped short.

They hadn’t seen each other in months, not since he’d last stopped by, finally able to sneak away from The Bunker. A place she had no interest in ever seeing up close.

The day he’d first come to the sanctuary, nearly a year ago, trembling and ashamed, it was to confess he’d been bitten. That he wasn’t human anymore.

She had forgiven him. Quietly. Offered him a place. A chance. He’d accepted. Randal’s pack had taken him in, teaching him how to curb the cravings of human hearts. That was when he’d met Bess, and almost hadn’t gone back to the human world.

But he’d learned so much in those six months, not only from Randal’s pack, but from everyone at the sanctuary. He returned to the human world, determined to find a way to bridge the gap the best he could. But now, here he was.

He didn’t speak. Just reached into his coat and pulled out a sealed envelope.

She didn’t take it.

His face softened. He understood. Nodded once and tucked it away.

"He asked me to deliver it," Garth said. "Didn’t tell me what was inside. I didn’t read it. You don’t want it—fine. I respect that."

Y/N’s throat felt tight.

"You’re still welcome here," she said, voice low.

"I know. But I’m not staying. Just wanted to make sure it got to you. Even if you don’t open it."

She nodded, and he turned away, disappearing into the trees like a ghost.

Sabine appeared at her side, silent.

They watched the gate close again. Wards hummed as the sanctuary sealed behind him.

Y/N exhaled shakily.

"The past always catches up when it’s not at peace," she murmured.

Sabine said nothing. Just reached out and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

Together, they turned back toward the heart of the sanctuary, where the future waited—and the past refused to stay buried.

Back inside, the fire in Y/N’s study had dwindled to embers. She removed her cloak, draping it near the hearth, and poured the last of her tea down the sink. Sabine lingered just behind her.

"You’re not going to sleep tonight, are you?" the fae asked softly.

Y/N didn’t answer.

"The council will want clarity in the morning," Sabine continued. "They’ve been sensing the pull. The past isn’t the only thing stirring."

Y/N nodded slowly. “I’ll be ready. We’ll meet just after dawn.”

Sabine gave a low hum of approval. “Good. Then I’ll see you at first light.”

When Sabine finally left, Y/N crossed to her desk once more and laid her palm on the journal’s leather cover.

She closed her eyes.

And waited for morning.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 2 - Echoes At Dawn - coming soon

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[velvetghoul]

Doctor’s Orders

✦ Part 3

M!Reader x Shoko Ieiri | 18+ MDNI

cw: nsfw, explicit smut, rough sex, bathroom sex, emotional vulnerability, enemies to lovers, blood and injury, hurt/comfort, jealousy, angst, surgical healing, medical scenes, trust issues, love confession, soft ending, dominant Shoko Ieiri, Gojo and Geto involvement, emotional tension

Part 2

⸻

The mission had gone sideways faster than anyone expected.

Cursed spirits, stronger and more unpredictable, had ambushed you all in the cramped backstreets outside Tokyo. The clash of energy was brutal — screams and curses echoing off broken walls.

You’d been fighting with everything you had when the worst happened.

A cursed beast had pinned Shoko against a building, its claws slashing across her side before you reached her. She went down hard, gasping, clutching her ribs.

“No,” you’d thought, heart pounding as you tore through the fight, ripping the beast apart with every ounce of cursed energy you could summon.

When the last shadow vanished, you were already running to her side.

Her eyes were wide, her breath shallow, and blood stained her crisp white coat.

“No, no, no!” you shouted, voice raw.

She barely whispered, “Go… get help…”

You shook your head, panic setting in. “I’m not leaving you.”

She tried to push you away, but you caught her before she fell.

You lifted her carefully, feeling the weight of her broken body against you. Every breath she took was shallow and painful.

The world blurred as you ran back to base, ignoring every warning and every protest your body made.

You carried her like she was the most precious thing you’d ever held — because she was.

Back at the safehouse, the doctors rushed in, but you wouldn’t let go.

You sat by her side through the night, holding her hand, watching her fragile rise and fall.

She was silent, distant — but beneath that silence, you sensed a crack opening in her armor.

For the first time, she wasn’t the invincible doctor, the calm medic.

She was just Shoko. And she was scared.

Days passed. Shoko barely spoke.

You kept watch, tending to her injuries, reading her like a book you didn’t want to finish too fast.

She started leaning on you in ways she never had before — a gentle touch, a half-smile.

One night, she rested her head against your shoulder and whispered, “Thank you.”

You smiled softly. “Always.”

The safehouse was quiet except for the soft hum of the air purifier. You sat on the edge of the cot, carefully adjusting the bandages around Shoko’s side. Her breathing was steady but shallow. Every movement made her wince, yet her face remained impassive — almost unreadable.

You met her gaze, searching for some sign of the woman you knew beneath the calm exterior.

“Hey,” you said gently, “I’m here. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, but you’re safe.”

She turned her face away, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I’m fine,” she said flatly, voice tight.

“No, you’re not. You barely talked since I brought you back.” You tried to keep your tone soft but firm. “If you keep shutting me out, I can’t help.”

She scoffed quietly. “I don’t need help. I don’t need—” She paused, biting back the words, “—anything from you.”

Your chest tightened at the edge of vulnerability in her voice. “Shoko, listen. You don’t have to do this alone.”

She finally looked at you, eyes cold but glimmering faintly with something you couldn’t name. “You think carrying me back makes you some kind of hero? I’m not broken. I’m not a patient. I’m still me.”

Her words hit harder than any curse.

“I’m not here to fix you,” you said quietly. “I’m here because I care.”

Her jaw tightened. “Care is overrated.”

You swallowed hard. “Maybe. But I’m not going anywhere.”

She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. For a moment, you thought she might relent. But when she opened them, the cold shield was back.

“You should get some rest. I’m fine.”

The days stretched on like that—Shoko kept her distance, polite but distant, her words clipped, like a doctor performing a necessary procedure rather than the woman who once laughed with you.

One evening, you found her sitting alone by the window, watching the rain slide down the glass. The room was dim, shadows casting sharp lines over her face.

You hesitated, then sat beside her quietly.

She didn’t move.

“I hate this,” you said after a moment. “The silence. The distance.”

Her eyes flicked to you, sharp and guarded. “Then stop complaining.”

You swallowed, feeling the sting of her barbs. “I’m not complaining. I just want to know—what do you want from me?”

She was silent, then finally spoke, voice low and strained. “I don’t know. Maybe… nothing. Maybe everything.”

You reached out, brushing a stray hair from her face. She didn’t pull away, but her eyes remained distant, locked on some point beyond the room.

“I’m not giving up on you.”

Her lip twitched, almost a smile—then she shook her head. “I’m not the kind of woman you save. You don’t get to be my knight.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be,” you said. “Maybe I just want to be the one who’s there when you need it.”

For the first time, her eyes softened—just a flicker.

But then she looked away. “Don’t expect me to ask for it.”

The next morning, you found her already awake, sitting rigidly on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the floor.

“Morning,” you said quietly, trying to bridge the space between you.

She didn’t respond.

You pulled a chair closer, your voice firm but patient. “You’re not alone. You can lean on me.”

She finally met your gaze, icy and unreadable.

“Don’t make me regret trusting you.”

Her words landed like a challenge. You met her eyes steadily.

“I’m not going anywhere. But I need you to meet me halfway.”

Her lips twitched—was it the ghost of a smile or just irritation?

“Halfway,” she echoed, voice flat. “You make it sound like a favor.”

You shook your head. “It’s not.”

She looked away again, voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t do ‘us.’ Not like this.”

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

You reached out, brushing your fingers lightly against her arm. She didn’t pull away, but her body remained tense—an unyielding fortress.

“I know you’re scared,” you said softly. “You don’t have to hide it from me.”

Her laugh was bitter, a sound that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Scared? No. I’m not weak.”

“But you’re hurting,” you said.

She locked eyes with you, sharp and cold. “And what are you? Weak enough to think I need saving?”

“No.” Your voice was low but steady. “Strong enough to want to fight with you, not against you.”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her breath catching.

For a split second, the cold mask slipped—just a flicker of raw, naked vulnerability.

Then she pulled away, standing abruptly.

“This isn’t easy for me. So don’t expect me to act like it is.”

You swallowed, heart pounding.

“I’m here. Whether you want me or not.”

She didn’t answer. The distance returned, colder than ever.

You didn’t expect the knock. It was past 1AM.

You hadn’t heard from her since that conversation. Since she told you not to expect her to act like this was easy. Since she turned her back and walked away like none of it touched her.

You thought that was it. You thought she meant it.

But now she was on the other side of your door, not saying a word.

You opened it slowly. And there she stood.

In her hoodie and leggings, coat over one arm, hair tied in a messy knot like she hadn’t even looked in the mirror before walking here. Her eyes were red.

She didn’t say anything. Just stood there.

And for a moment, neither did you.

Then— “…Shoko.”

Her gaze dropped. She didn’t flinch when you said her name. Didn’t speak.

Just breathed.

Then stepped inside like she didn’t trust herself to stay standing much longer.

You didn’t touch her. You just waited.

Waited as she walked past you into the small hotel room, dropped her coat onto the floor, and stood by the edge of your bed like she didn’t know what she was doing here.

Then, in the smallest voice: “…Can I just stay here? I won’t talk.”

Your heart cracked clean open. You stepped aside, pulled the covers back, and nodded.

“Yeah of course.”

She climbed in fully clothed.

Didn’t undress. Didn’t even look at you when you joined her under the blanket.

But the second your body sank into the mattress beside hers—

She turned. And curled into you.

No kiss. No apology.

Just her forehead pressed to your collarbone, and her fingers fisting your shirt like she’d been holding it in for days.

You held her. Said nothing.

And for a long, long time, the only sound in the room was her breathing.

Slower now. Steadier.

Like she’d finally come home to something she didn’t think she deserved.

You woke before the sun. It was barely six.

The room was gray-blue, that soft shadowed hush that comes before light. Your arm was stiff, your mouth dry, but none of that mattered — because her body was still tangled with yours.

Shoko was still here. Still breathing against your neck.

Still curled into your chest like your skin was the only thing keeping her together.

You exhaled quietly and looked down at her.

Her leg was hooked over yours. Her hand splayed low on your back, just above your waistband. You were still in your boxers, sheets low around your hips. She hadn’t undressed, but she hadn’t let go, either.

You wanted to kiss her. God, you really wanted to kiss her.

To wake her up with your lips at her jaw, her throat, the soft place behind her ear she always flinched when you brushed.

But something held you still. She felt too still.

Too deliberate. Like she wasn’t sleeping.

Like she’d been awake, counting your breaths.

“Shoko,” you whispered. Her grip tightened. No answer.

Just the faintest movement of her fingers against your back. Like she was saying don’t. Like she knew what you were about to do and couldn’t handle it.

You swallowed hard. Your pulse beat against your throat.

You pulled back slightly to look at her, but she just buried her face deeper into your chest. A sharp inhale. A quiet tremble.

Something in her was breaking — but she wouldn’t let you see it.

She didn’t want tenderness. Not now.

Just closeness. Just this. Just holding you like maybe if she wrapped herself tight enough around your body, the world couldn’t take you away from her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said softly.

Still, she didn’t move. Just held you tighter.

And as the sunlight finally breached the curtains, painting your bare skin in warm gold—

You stayed still. Wanting her. Needing her.

But knowing that if you kissed her now, she’d pull away.

Because right now, all she could bear to ask for was this:

Arms. Heat. Silence.

And someone who wouldn’t let go first.

You shifted, arms wrapping tighter around her waist.

“Hey,” you murmured, lips brushing her temple. “You awake?”

She didn’t answer. But something in her body stiffened.

You pulled back, just enough to look at her.

She was already blinking at the ceiling — eyes open, jaw tight.

“Shoko…”

“I need to go. I have to change, get ready for work.“

Her voice was clipped. Mechanical.

You froze. “What?”

She was already pulling back the covers, sitting up. Her hoodie rumpled, hair tangled from sleep, but her movements were fast. Purposeful. Like she’d rehearsed this part in her head all night.

“Don’t do that,” you said quietly, heart beginning to race. “Please.”

She didn’t respond. Just gathered her coat. Her phone. Her bag.

“I can’t—Shoko, talk to me.”

Still nothing.

You watched her slide her arms into her sleeves, one by one, not even looking at you.

Not even looking back.

“You weren’t supposed to mean this much.”

And just like that, the door closed behind her.

You couldn’t sleep after that. Didn’t try.

You stood under the shower until the water ran cold, scrubbed her scent from your skin even though part of you wanted to keep it. You got dressed in silence. Packed your things. Avoided your own reflection.

By the time you reached the HQ kitchen, the sky was bleeding gold through the frosted glass. You didn’t say a word.

Just poured yourself a bitter cup of whatever coffee was left in the carafe, grabbed a mug, and wandered until you found the hallway lounge.

And there he was.

Gojo.

Slouched in the corner armchair, blindfold crooked, coffee half-drunk and forgotten on the windowsill. He looked like he hadn’t slept. Like he hadn’t even tried.

He didn’t say anything when you walked in.

Didn’t crack a joke. Didn’t throw a wink.

Just glanced at you once — long enough to read the look on your face — and then stared back at the sunrise.

Like he knew.

Like he’d seen this kind of ache before and understood it in his own silent way.

So you sat down across from him, neither of you speaking.

Two ghosts in the quiet glow of morning, pretending coffee was enough to fill the space where something used to live.

The time Gojo caught her slipping out of your room was early morning — seven AM sharp, sunlight barely filtering through the blinds.

Your body still humming from the emotional storm of the past days. Then, the faint sound of a door opening.

You didn’t have to look to know who it was. Shoko.

Her usual calm replaced by hurried, cautious movements as she tried to be as silent as possible.

But you heard every step.

You stayed still, breath caught, watching her in the dim light as she slipped on her coat again and headed for the door.

Then the unmistakable click of the door shutting behind her.

You wanted to call out, to ask why, but something held you back. A mixture of exhaustion, fear, and the fragile thread of hope you clung to.

Gojo, however, wasn’t so subtle.

Later that morning, when you were nursing a cup of lukewarm coffee in the common area again, Gojo slid beside you with that smirk that usually meant trouble.

“Didn’t peg Shoko for the sneaky type,” he said casually, eyes glinting with mischief. “Sneaking out of your room at dawn. What’s going on there, huh?”

You glanced up, irritation flickering. “None of your business.”

He chuckled, undeterred. “Oh, come on. You two have that look now. Like you’re playing house but neither of you knows the rules.”

You frowned, trying to hide the ache beneath the surface.

“Satoru. Keep your jokes to yourself.”

Gojo leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. “Look, I don’t care what you two have going on, but I’ve seen her. The way she looks at you when she thinks no one’s watching… and the way she shuts down after. Something’s messing with her.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Later, when Shoko returned — shoulders tight, eyes colder than ever — you wanted to ask her about that night, about what it meant, about what you both were avoiding.

But she shut you down before the words even formed.

“Don’t read into it,” she said, voice clipped and distant.

Your heart clenched. “I’m not reading into anything. I want to know.”

Her eyes flashed, fierce and fragile all at once.

“You don’t want to know. It’s easier if you don’t.”

You stepped closer, voice low. “I want to be the one you trust.”

Her defenses faltered for a split second, then slammed back harder than ever.

“Trust isn’t something you give lightly. Don’t expect me to hand it over.”

The cold between you was thick enough to suffocate.

And yet, despite the distance, despite her walls, you saw the cracks—tiny, fragile—but real.

You weren’t sure how much longer she could keep this up.

She didn’t answer right away, just stared at the floor, fingers curling into the fabric of her sleeve like she was trying to hold herself together.

“I’m scared,” she finally whispered, barely audible.

Your breath hitched. “Scared of what?”

“That this… this thing between us, it’s going to break me,” she said, voice trembling. “I’m not good at this—being vulnerable. Letting someone in.”

You reached out, hesitating before brushing your fingers lightly over her knuckles.

“You don’t have to be perfect. Not with me.”

Her eyes flicked up, raw and searching.

“But what if I push you away? What if I ruin everything?”

You shook your head gently. “You won’t. We’ll figure it out together.”

She swallowed hard, biting her lip.

A fragile, almost shy smile curved her lips. “Maybe I don’t want to be the cold, distant doctor all the time.”

Your heart clenched at that. “Then don’t be.”

She leaned into you, resting her head briefly on your shoulder—a silent admission of trust.

The moment stretched between you, fragile and precious.

Then Gojo’s voice cut through the quiet from the doorway.

“Don’t get too comfortable, you two. I’m watching.”

You both jumped, breaking apart, and Shoko shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

But inside, you knew she wasn’t as guarded as she wanted to be.

Not anymore.

Gojo leaned against the doorframe, that signature cocky grin plastered across his face. “You know, I never thought I’d see Shoko act like this — sneaking out, getting all flustered. You must be doing something right.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

Shoko shot Gojo a glare that could freeze fire. “Why don’t you mind your own business, Satoru?”

He raised his hands innocently. “Hey, I’m just saying. You’re not the cold, untouchable genius I thought you were. And honestly, it’s… kind of nice.”

You caught the flicker of something behind his playful eyes — a subtle edge, like a shadow of jealousy.

Gojo stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Just don’t mess it up, yeah? You’re walking on thin ice with her.”

Shoko crossed her arms, eyes narrowing. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gojo smirked. “But I’m the only one allowed to tease you like that.”

You laughed softly, watching their banter with a mix of amusement and gratitude. It was strange — this messy, complicated web you’d all found yourselves tangled in.

Gojo clapped you on the shoulder. “Anyway, I’m just saying, keep her on her toes. She’s not used to this.”

Shoko muttered something under her breath, but the warmth in her eyes betrayed her.

As Gojo left, you turned to Shoko, who was already retreating to her room, the cold mask slipping just a little more with every step.

You whispered, “We’ll figure this out.”

And for once, you believed it.

Shoko’s footsteps faded down the hallway, but the chill she left behind was unmistakable.

You wanted to call her back, to tell her you’d wait however long she needed.

But instead, you stayed still, the silence pressing down harder than ever.

Days passed, and Shoko withdrew further into herself.

Messages went unanswered. Rooms were left empty.

When you saw her, her eyes held a distant glaze, like she was somewhere far away — locked inside a battle she refused to share.

You caught glimpses of that old, fierce doctor beneath the cracks, but the warmth you’d glimpsed after the mission seemed buried under layers of doubt and fear.

One evening, as you sat alone, your phone buzzed.

A message from Utahime.

“I know what you’re going through.” A smirk tugged at your lips.

Because if Shoko was the cold storm, Utahime was the fire waiting to ignite.

And things were only about to get hotter..

໒꒰ྀི ˶• ༝ •˶ ꒱ྀི১ hope you like it!!

be sure to check out my other stuff too <3

[sourhaneyart]

The World is Not Enough

(Part 2 - ending) (Part 1 - here)

pairing: Zevlor x fem!Tav

summary: we know when to kiss and we know when to kill... if we can't have it all then nobody will. when everything around you is burning, when the forces of the Absolute close in from all sides, and when your life will never again be as calm and steady as it once was… the world is not enough but just his touch his touch is all it takes to remind you what living truly means.

notes: english isn’t my native language, so apologies for any weird phrasing! Since this is my first fanfic written in English, please be merciful like Gale with bad poetry xD also, I kept Tav’s details vague(ish) so you can imagine your own, but yeah—she’s a curvy half-tiefling who lives in dresses. The fic has a few tweaks to match my personal take on the characters (oops, did I ‘forget’ tiefling claws exist? how tragic~ anyway) + Zevlor kept his paladin healing powers (esp `Lay on Hands`) despite the Oathbreaker thing (because my Tav in-game still had them anyway lol). Hope you enjoy!

content warning: nsft, 18+ MNDI, smut, p in v, swearing, dirty talk, bound/being in control, age gap,kinks, tiefling-specific traits, slight angst, not proofread (maybe huh) songfic: The World is Not Enough (Garbage) word count (this part): 4900 taglist: @wassidy-wanders-around-and-back @yeetmeoutthewindowdaddy @kazalhia @xanguissettex

She came to her senses moments later, finding herself still in the quarters but now lying on a bedroll in a room adjacent to the "office."

"Why didn't you tell me you were injured?" Zevlor loomed over her, fumbling to remove the sleeve from her left shoulder. This proved difficult as the shirt was tucked into a tightly laced corset, "You've been like this all day? Tav? And why didn't your party's cleric do anything about it? And where the hells was Halsin even looking?"

"Zevlor, please... it's fine," Tav attempted her usual smirk and tried to turn on her side, but a fresh wave of pain shot through her shoulder, making her hiss and fall back onto the bedroll. Blinking away tears of pain, she glared at the ceiling in frustration. "Alright, alright... Shadowheart healed it as best she could. The poisoned goblin bolt was stronger than our resources." Tav huffed, not understanding why she hadn't thought to ask Halsin for help. He could've fixed it in an instant.

"I see," realizing struggling wouldn't help, Zevlor exhaled sharply and gave her a resigned look, "We'll have to undo the corset."

Tav shot him a questioning glance. No, this was exactly what she'd been angling for minutes ago—but the situation and tone were entirely different now.

"I... can't. Well, you understand," Tav shrugged and gave a sheepish smile. Only now did she notice how smoothly Zevlor had shifted to informal address. Not surprising, especially after what she'd done with his fingers and her mouth. Still, she preferred addressing him by rank — it pleasantly stirred her thoughts.

The tiefling paused, clearly deliberating, then reached for her corset laces, deftly loosening them.

"Hope you don't mind," he muttered dryly as his hands neared her chest, swallowing hard before meeting her eyes with uncertainty, "No other choice — need to remove the shirt and bandage to treat the wound properly."

"Yes, yes. Of course." Tav settled in, letting him undress her. Though not in the erotic context she'd envisioned. Yet.

Zevlor handled her carefully, precise movements freeing her from the garments. The corset gave way first, allowing Tav to take a deep, unconstrained breath. Her full breasts, now supported only by a cotton chemise, rose softly beneath the shirt.

He froze again, hand hovering at her shirt buttons. His tense expression betrayed how hard he was holding back. This moment between them... it was charged. Even if sparked by something as unpleasant as a goblin's arrow. "Forgive me," he murmured — though there was truly nothing to apologize for; it was simply respect in action. His deft fingers swiftly unbuttoned her shirt and, lifting her carefully, he finally freed her left side from the garment.

The chambers were chilly, and the sudden exposure made Tav’s nipples stiffen instantly. The rough fabric of her chemise only heightened their sensitivity.

"Damn it," Tav swallowed, acutely aware of the tension thickening between them. Every brush of his fingers, every lingering glance now registered in her body as prelude. Her lower abdomen clenched traitorously, heat pulsing between her thighs. She bit her lip, forcing herself to focus on the dull pain as Zevlor peeled away the bandage and cleansed the wound with what smelled like a prepared antiseptic solution.

"Ah... sorry. I’ll be gentler," he said when his fingers grazed her collarbone again, drawing a soft whimper from her. But it wasn’t his touch that hurt — it was the way pain tangled with arousal, the slick warmth between her legs betraying her.

"It’s... fine. Really," she lied through a tight smile, shutting her eyes. Get a grip. He’s helping you, and you’re acting like some desperate!

Warmth bloomed across her shoulder — but not from his hands. Tav cracked her eyes open and turned her head: Zevlor hovered above her, eyes closed, a muted glow spilling from his palms. His brows furrowed intermittently, lips moving almost imperceptibly — a prayer?

Right. Lay on Hands. Paladin healing was potent against cursed or poisoned wounds. Any wounds, really, but those two types responded especially well.

"Oh," Tav blinked. She hadn’t even noticed the pain ebbing, then vanishing entirely. Pushing up slightly, she examined her shoulder: the bruising had faded to a faint shadow, the wound now just a pale pink scar.

"There. Much better," Zevlor opened his eyes, withdrawing his hands to study her, "You should’ve told me immediately. Had I known, I’d never have..."

"Not your fault, Commander," Tav caught the twitch of his upper lip at the title, "A goblin loosed that bolt — his doing. And I... overindulged. Was too... persistent."

"True enough," he huffed a laugh, shaking his head — disheveled strands of hair falling across his forehead. Pausing, as if weighing something, he leaned down abruptly, stopping just shy of her face, "And... I’d hate for a creature as charming and recklessly bold as you, Tav, to take such... intentions elsewhere in this Grove."

Tav froze, a rabbit before a serpent. When had their roles reversed? She’d thought she was the predator here. No — his gaze held no threat, no challenge. But that hungry ember she’d glimpsed earlier? It was back.

The girl frowned slightly, pondering her answer. Is he flirting? Offering to pick up where they left off? Or is she imagining things? Tav blinked, fixing her gaze on his face—and suddenly noticed his eyes trailing over her lips, lower, down her neck, to her collarbones.

The man exhaled sharply, his hot breath scorching her skin. And Tav did the only thing she could think of.

She pushed up on her elbows, bringing herself nose-to-nose with him, and crashed her lips against his in a greedy, demanding kiss.

Zevlor froze. But after a moment, realizing she wasn’t backing down, he reluctantly relaxed his lips—uncertain, but letting her kiss him. When her impatient fingers fumbled with the fastenings of his pants, though, he broke the sudden kiss, pressing both palms to her waist and gently pushing her away.

“Tav, please wait. You…” he cut himself off as Tav lifted a burning gaze to him. Burning in the most literal sense: her sclera had darkened, her pupils narrowed, and her irises glowed like molten amber. Now, she was a tiefling in full force. She was breathing heavily, lips wet and swollen, her entire appearance so aroused and disheveled that the man couldn’t help the heat pooling in his gut.

“I don’t want to stop, Zevlor,” she whined, puffing out her lips in an infantile pout, “This whole ‘noble elderly gentleman’ act is charming and all, but honestly…” She leaned even closer, brushing her lips against his ear as she exhaled hotly, “I want to do things to you so filthy, saying them out loud would be a sin. Truth be told, I wanted to start right on your damn desk, but since we’re here…”

A beat of silence. The man shut his eyes and let out a rough exhale. Then — he growled, low and feral, like a starving beast spotting prey. His hand slid to the back of her head, dragging her to him. And in the next instant, he tilted his head and reclaimed her mouth. Electricity sparked through her body — this was exactly what she’d been waiting for, craving, but never actually expected to get. The first brush of his lips quickly turned insistent — a gift Tav gladly accepted.

Her fingers deftly worked the buttons of his shirt, and when her hands returned to his belt, the tiefling let out a throaty groan and pressed closer, his forehead resting against hers. She nearly choked on the sudden wave of heat radiating from his body as he deepened the kiss hungrily, his tongue pushing past her lips, sliding against her teeth. He tasted like aged, smoky sherry, and Tav met him eagerly, her own tongue desperate to savor him.

His scent hit her nose: leather, hot spice, the bitter tang of smoke. It was intoxicating, more dizzying than anything she’d drunk that night. His tongue moved against hers, tasting, claiming. Long fingers suddenly cradled her jaw, but his touch was careful, as if Tav were some precious treasure he refused to break — even as his claws pricked lightly into her cheek. He shifts, brushing the tip of his nose along the bridge of hers, while his other hand slides down to her thigh, gripping it with sensual pressure. Tav whimpers when he breaks the kiss — she wants to kiss him again so badly it feels like the whole world might crumble. His touch burns hotter than before, reality trembling beneath them, making her knees weak.

And then he kisses her again, no longer holding back the passion surging through him. She tastes as sweet as she smells, and he catches himself wanting to devour her whole, every last drop, until she becomes part of him.

Tav shudders, letting out a soft, sweet moan as he pulls away from her lips to trail wet, scorching kisses down her neck. His tongue drags over her pulsing artery before he growls quietly, moving lower to press his mouth to the sharp line of her collarbone. Then he returns to the spot beneath her jaw, and Tav hisses through her teeth— he’s definitely leaving stubborn hickeys on her delicate skin, as if marking her.

“Damn it, Zevlor,” the girl whines, dragging her claws along his bare forearms. The heat of his body makes her breath come faster. Suddenly, he shifts, nudging her legs apart with his knee until he’s settled right between her thighs.

His strong hands slide over her waist, squeezing impatiently, and Tav doesn’t hold back a ragged moan. The man tears himself away from her neck and moves lower, greedily stroking the soft, plush curves of her thighs with both hands. He leans in, burying his face between her spread legs, tugging at the thin — and now utterly inconvenient — fabric of her skirt. A sudden draft brushes against his feverish skin, and the sight of her lush body pressed against his hands is more enticing than ever. He inhales deeply, shamelessly, reveling in her scent — the unmistakable aroma of raw arousal and desire.

Tav exhales sharply, her gaze unfocused as she stares down, her entire body trembling, fists clenched.

This… is too good.

And yet, it’s not enough.

After a pause, she rolls her hips slightly, as if giving silent approval—though it seems he hardly needs it anymore. Her fingers brush lightly over his horns, and she feels him shudder in response, his grip tightening on her thighs.

“Can I?” — a simple question, needing no clarification.

“Yes. You can have everything,” he growls against her skin, the vibration of his voice sending a wave of heat through her. Tav shudders, exhaling sharply. This… feels damn good.

The irritating fabric keeps him from feeling the scorching heat of her skin, and he can’t stand it a second longer. Clawed fingers grab the hem and yank it up, revealing thick, shapely legs encased in simple thigh-high stockings. For a moment, he freezes, mesmerized by the sight, his pulse roaring in his ears.

Under his intense gaze, Tav even feels a flicker of self-consciousness — she’d always been curvy, with full, generous proportions, but she considered it her “charm.” “Zevlor?.. Oh!” Tav barely managed to speak before her breath hitched — he brusquely pushed aside the thin fabric of her violet panties and immediately pressed his mouth to her aching flesh. His tongue — long, wet, and damnably hot — made the ground drop out from beneath her. She frowned, whimpering softly, instinctively gripping his horns for balance. When she glanced down, she met his gaze — burning with nothing but all-consuming desire.

Noticing her reaction, he practically growled against her thighs before diving back in, this time sliding his tongue inside, his mouth flooding with her essence. Tav moaned again, and this time the wave of sensation was even more intense — just a tongue, yes, but so deliberate and undeniably skilled. She shut her eyes, and the world spun violently around her, as if trying to drag her into another reality. A few lovers had ventured between her legs in her short adult life, but what this tiefling was doing now was unmatched.

He gave her a heated glance upward, briefly pulling away to let her adjust. Tav hiked her skirt higher, fully baring her thighs, and spread her legs wider, granting him full access. After a pause, she toed off her soft shoes — thank the gods she hadn’t worn boots today.

“You mind if I…?” she didn’t finish, just demonstrated — her stocking-clad foot pressed gently against his shoulder.

“Hells...” his gaze raked over her luscious legs, and the sight alone nearly dragged a groan from him.

The pressure in his pants grew unbearable, throbbing insistently. The tiefling snarled under his breath, his hand drifting to his own groin — he wanted inside this voluptuous young half-blood so badly it was driving him mad.

“Zevlor, please,” she begged when his fingers brushed her entrance, arching off the floor with a loud moan. She was so hot, smelled so good, and her slick — mingled with his saliva — was dripping down her thighs.

He cursed again, growling as he turned his attention to the foot braced on his shoulder. His lips grazed bare skin, then his teeth—firm, but not yet marking. Not yet.

He shuddered when her other foot—now free of its shoe—ghosted over the prominent bulge in his pants, rubbing lightly.

“Tav…” her name tore from his lips like a prayer. He licks his suddenly dry lips and involuntarily rocks his hips toward her touch — damn, this is more intoxicating than strong liquor. Tav looks up at him through her lashes, biting her lip — she’s clearly enjoying his reaction.

She exhales sharply through parted lips as he tilts his head slightly, watching her every move with rapt attention. His hand drifts to her face — middle and ring fingers brushing against her damp lips before slipping inside, gliding over her tongue with deliberate strokes.

“Lick them,” his voice is a low purr, but there’s an undeniable command in it. Tav obediently opens her mouth wider, letting his fingers sink deeper as she drags her wet, relaxed tongue along them, her heated gaze locked on him.

He looks down at her, spine straight, looming over her as his free hand rests on her foot—the one pressed against his groin. Tav shifts her leg slightly, the faintest movement, but he feels it so intensely he can barely restrain himself. And at the center of his desires? Her.

“Good girl,” the words catch her off guard, delivered with such casual authority that a full-body shiver wracks her. The heat between her legs flares when he withdraws his fingers from her mouth and drags them lower, tracing her burning core.

“Can I take off… oh..!” he doesn’t let her finish, his fingers slipping inside — his claws, though blunt, are long enough that he has to be careful not to hurt her.

“They don’t get in the way. It’s…” Zevlor pauses, searching for the right word, “Quite intriguing.”

Tav snorts. He’d just buried his face between her thighs, exploring her with his tongue, so calling her pushed-aside panties “intriguing” might be the most absurd choice he could’ve made. But it’s almost endearing—he still puts her on a pedestal, in a way.

All thought evaporates when he sinks deeper, fingers spreading inside her with slow, deliberate thrusts. Gods, she wants more than just his tongue and fingers — as incredible as they feel — she wants him. But beneath her foot, she can feel something big, thick, and unyielding, and suddenly she understands his hesitation. After all, she’d only ever been with humans and elves — never another tiefling. Who knows what other… natural quirks their bodies might hide? The thoughts on her furrowed face likely didn’t escape the man’s notice. Zevlor removed her leg from his shoulder and leaned over her — though without stopping the movement of his fingers inside, pressing his thumb against her clit, over the hood. Tav shuddered, her back arching into the new, sweet sensations.

“Before it all happens,” he reached for her pointed ear, brushing his lips against the lobe, lightly grazing it with his teeth, drawing a desperate, drawn-out moan from Tav, “I need to know: how you like to be taken, hm, little Tav?”

Tav’s eyes flew open, feeling like she could come from that question alone. Her breath hitched, a wave of heat rolled through her body and pooled between her thighs, intensifying the throbbing. The girl could tell he liked what he was saying—and how she reacted to it. His hips ground against her foot more insistently, more openly, betraying his impatience.

“Tell me,” his lips touched her neck — seemingly leaving another hickey, this time on the other side. Tav squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to think about how she’d explain these marks to Shadowheart, who would definitely notice, “You must’ve thought about how it would go. Planned it. Fantasized. Tell me how you imagined it.”

Tav whimpered softly, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and burying her face in his neck. One thing was to plan and drop vague hints—another was to talk about it so openly. He smelled so good, so warm, that her head spun again.

“I…” she exhaled noisily against his skin, pressing kisses along his jawline, “I imagined… you shoving me onto the table, face down, pinning my arms behind my back, and moving so hard and rough that it’d leave bruises on my thighs,” the words spilled out in one breath before she hid her face against his neck again.

The man went still, tension radiating from his posture.

“Is that so,” his voice took on a growling edge.

Tav licked her lips, breathing out in quiet, shaky bursts.

And the next moment, he pulled away.

A disappointed moan escaped the girl’s lips as she shot him a questioning, almost indignant look.

“Turn over,” he shifted slightly, guiding her leg to the side so she rolled onto her stomach beneath him.

Tav gave him a flustered glance, then shook her head and obeyed. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her. And all of this — just a game, adding more spice to the moment. As soon as the girl shifted her position, lying on her stomach, something clinked behind her. Tav was about to turn and look, but Zevlor pulled her toward him roughly by the thigh, and now her buttocks pressed firmly against his hardened crotch, still concealed beneath his pants.

"Hands. Put them behind your back," he ran his palm down her lower back, and Tav involuntarily moaned, shamelessly rolling her hips. She crossed her arms behind her, now pressing her cheek against the lounger warmed by her own body heat. When something cool — a leather strap — brushed against her wrists, securing them snugly but not too tight, Tav’s breath hitched, and her heart pounded as if she were sprinting across the Wasteland, fleeing a goblin raiding party.

"Zevlor...?" she asked silently, but the man only leaned over her without a word, kissing the top of her head softly and stroking her backside. The next moment, he lifted her hips slightly and slid a cushion — the lounger’s makeshift pillow — underneath them. Tav snorted: last time, she’d made love on a featherbed and silk sheets, but… that experience hadn’t felt half as good as this.

He rustled with something again, and Tav was about to ask once more when she was cut off. The weight of another body — so desired, so feverishly hot, pressed against her from behind. Zevlor nudged her legs apart, settling more comfortably between them, and in the next instant, Tav felt the unmistakable, throbbing heat of his cock sliding against her slick, aching sex. The dizzying, razor-sharp sensation made her squeeze her eyes shut and release a long, pleading moan, arching her back even more, trying to grind against him just a little harder, even in this restrained position.

"So impatient," Zevlor purred in her ear, brushing her hair aside and covering her neck in searing kisses. Tav whimpered. She wanted him inside her. Now. All of him. Even if it hurt.

“Zevlor, please...” she rolled her hips again and nearly choked as his cock dragged over her clit. She could definitely feel a ridged texture on it, something like… tiny spikes? “I need to feel you inside me, please, oh please...” her voice broke into a petulant moan, and she could’ve sworn the man smirked in satisfaction.

“Remember to breathe deep, little Tav,” his hand slid to her hip, guiding himself, and he pushed into her with a few slow but insistent thrusts, tearing loud curses from her lips — ones that tangled with high, keening whimpers.

“Nine Hells! You’re so big,” Tav practically howled, jerking beneath him as his final movement buried him so deep she felt pressure against her organs — sharp pain lancing through tender flesh before melting into a dull, throbbing stretch. He was inside her, giving her only seconds to adjust to the way he filled her, then he moved. His rhythm was hard, relentless, slamming in to the hilt with barely any withdrawal. She could feel every ridge, every spike along his length, stretching her so taut that one wrong move might split her open. So she stayed still, letting him take control—though every now and then, she clenched around him, and the resulting wave of sensation made her eyes roll back as she gasped for air like a fish stranded on shore.

Zevlor growled, breath ragged with barely audible groans. She was perfect—so tight he didn’t even know how he’d fit inside her. Her body was so human, soft and fragile, and he knew he’d hurt her when he pushed in. But the way she whined his name, arched into his grip, fists clenching where her arms were pinned—begging him not to slow down—told him one thing: Tav loved how he fucked her. And right now, that was all that mattered. “Zevlor…!” the world spins around Tav with furious force, pulsing into her heated core. The pain has faded, and now she only feels discomfort in those rare moments when he thrusts into her deliberately rough and careless. He feels so good inside her, so perfect, that the overwhelming sensations make Tav want to cry. She moans aloud, completely forgetting that somewhere out there, the celebration is still in full swing—that someone might hear them. But all of that is somewhere out there. And they—they are here and now, and the whole world isn’t enough for this moment.

The man leans forward, pressing down on her harder, sinking her deeper into the cot. His arms wrap around her waist, pulling her even closer. Now she can feel how fiercely his heart is pounding, the thrum echoing between her shoulder blades.

“Seven hells, if you knew how good you feel…” he whispers into her ear, raising goosebumps across her nape. Tav frowns from the flood of emotions, squeezing her eyes shut and arching further into his touch. “So tight, yet so wet… such a good little thing, taking me so well,” he kisses her neck and nape hotly, again and again, leaving burning marks on her pale skin, shamelessly claiming her. At one point, his fangs graze her trapezius, and he seems to hesitate. Tav opens her eyes and glances at him, hesitating herself.

“Please… do it,” she finally breathes in a trembling voice, immediately biting her lower lip and rolling her hips in time with his movements. “I want it. So badly.”

“Haularake, Tav…” his tone suggests he’s about to refuse, but for some reason… he doesn’t. Instead of protesting, he presses his lips to the curve of her neck once more — then sinks his teeth into her yielding flesh with force. Tav lets out a long, drawn-out moan — then a sharp cry, surrendering to the emotions raging over her mind. His movements grow faster, rougher, now seemingly unconcerned with her comfort. He holds her tightly in his grip, slamming his hips against hers with brutal force, practically impaling her on his cock as he desperately chases his release. All Tav can do is submit to him helplessly, yielding to his strength, his dominance—and the searing arousal drowning her completely.

Dozens of deep, punishing thrusts blur into a single relentless storm. Tav no longer moans aloud—now she only whimpers softly, teetering on the edge of consciousness. It feels good, so damn good, unlike anything she’s ever known. She doesn’t want this moment to end. She’s utterly at his mercy, finally getting exactly what she’s craved for so long.

At some point, his hand slips beneath her thigh, fingers brushing her slick, dripping entrance. He teases her clit in rhythm with his thrusts, careful not to overstimulate—just enough to keep the pleasure sweet, nothing more. Her climax hits like a sudden, scorching wave: a spasm wracks her entire body, her thighs trembling violently as molten ecstasy pools deep inside.

Tav clenches around him, drawing out the agonizing pleasure, her body seizing with near-electric intensity as a long, blissful moan tears from her lips. She throws her head back, surrendering to his messy, feverish kisses—he’s close, too, his control fraying. His hips stutter, movements growing erratic and desperate, until finally, with a low, guttural growl, he crushes her against him and spills inside.

They freeze in perfect silence, broken only by the man’s ragged breathing and Tav’s soft, shuddering gasps.

The haze of pleasure slowly fades, and now she feels everything: the ache in her lower back from being pinned in place, the sting of Zevlor’s bites, hickeys, and claw marks littering her skin, the throbbing heat of the mark she begged him to leave. She feels his cock pulse inside her, still twitching with aftershocks, and the dull, spreading ache between her thighs — stretched and sore, having taken the worst of it. “Zevlor…” Her breathless, quiet voice sounded strange and distant. She shifted her hips weakly, hissing softly at the sensation.

“Fuck… yes, yes,“ clearly, this little “sprint” hadn’t been easy for him either, leaving him thoroughly spent. But he quickly pulled away from her, hastily freeing her hands and helping her into a more natural position, “Sorry.”

“Hells…” Tav exhaled, clumsily crawling out from under him and rolling onto her back. She collapsed onto the cot with a thud, breathing heavily, her unfocused gaze fixed on the ceiling. She must’ve looked like a mess right now: face flushed and swollen from screaming and crying, lips bitten raw, angry red marks from the belt still visible on her wrists. And only now did she realize — Zevlor had come inside her. And she hadn’t stopped him, because damn it, she wanted it. And so, a wild, satisfied smile spread across her face.

“Tav, I…” his voice was low, tinged with something bitter. Tav didn’t look at the tiefling, but she was sure he was once again the “refugee leader” everyone was used to seeing. The Hellrider Commander of Elturel had stayed on the other side of their shared climax.

The girl smirked at her own joke, one that had only played out in her head. You didn’t say things like that out loud to a man you still planned on having more fun with. In the near future.

“It’s fine,” she finally glanced at him — he’d already straightened his clothes and was reaching for the damp cloths left untouched since treating her wound earlier, “I liked it. Really. That was… fuck! Can’t even find the words.”

“Brutal,” he snorted, and the word carried his displeasure with his own actions. Did he really regret giving in to her provocation? “And... too rough. Judging by the marks on your body.”

Tav let out a noisy exhale, suppressing her irritation. The last thing she wanted right now was an argument. Pushing herself up on her elbows with some effort, she squinted, giving Zevlor a long look. He looked so ridiculous and miserable right now, like a schoolboy caught with his hand in his pants. Tav smirked as kindly as she could.

“I enjoyed it. That should be enough, yeah?” she reached out, placing her hand on his cheek. Zevlor reacted instantly, nuzzling into it like a big cat, then pressing a kiss to her palm, “Don’t overthink it. We both wanted this — exactly like this, exactly now. And it was damn good.”

“Yes. Well,” the man took a deep breath in and out, then kissed her hand again — this time on the wrist. He shook out the cloth he’d been holding this whole time and reached for her, carefully dabbing between her thighs, now smeared with slick and spend, “Let me take care of you. And then… I’ll speak to Netty about our little… ahem incident.”

“As you say, Commander. As you say,” Tav grinned, catching his almost embarrassed look, and flopped back onto the cot, letting him clean her up.

She stared at the ceiling, rubbing her sore wrists — bruises already blooming where they’d been pinned. She liked this… hidden side of Zevlor. And the fact that she’d managed to draw it out with a little erotic maneuvering? Intriguing.

Tav licked her lips, dreamily biting the lower one. Oh, the marvelous discoveries Baldur’s Gate surely held for them — their shared destination, even if they’d take different roads to get there. If, of course, they had the strength to make it. And as for whether they would? Tav had no doubts.

[ratwithhands]

Fun fact I used to consume a lot of Land of the Lustrous stuff.

Anyways this is one of my many Land of the Lustrous OCs, Vivianite. Mohs hardness of 1.5, dark green/blue in colour, and very old. Due to the nature of his weak composition, Vivianite can't actually do much of anything, and has had to live under very specific conditions.

Vivianite wears a tight full body uniform to hold any chipped pieces in place, and is kept in a box stuffed with loose cloth to ensure minimal damage. If he comes into contact with light, he begins to oxidize and darken, so he's kept in a windowless room with curtains over the entrance.

That's all to say he's isolated and bored. He spends much of his time inactive, but he'll jump at the opportunity for conversation if there's someone around. Certain gems visit him to chat, get guidance, or give him the recent news. A task given to some gems is to clear his room of dust, and maybe bring him some books if he's up for it.

Vivian sees himself as an older sibling/friend to many of the other gems, and as such he's very keen on providing a listening ear and giving advice where possible to those who need it. He's essentially emotional support in a can.

Other notes/details:

not all gems know Vivian exists! He's hidden away so most gems wouldn't see him unless they were actively looking for him. A lot of the older ones know about him, but the younger ones don't

Rutile is endlessly tired of having to glue him back together so often due to his softness, which is part of why he has a tighter uniform to keep all his broken pieces in place

Vivian struggles with walking, he tends to be slow and stumbly

the tanks in Vivian's room are for jellyfish. Gems who are sent to clean his room have to switch out the jellyfish too. They're there to provide a faint light source so he doesn't go completely inactive

Vivian, despite living in a box in the dark, has a lot of technical knowledge about things as a result of millennia of going through the library collection. He' a living encyclopedia and can usually offer some answers if a gem has questions on a particular subject

his internal structure is basically a lot of shards stuck together like fibers, so he does minor repairs on himself by affixing strands of his hair into empty spots. He's had his fingers repaired and replaced this way often

In the few instances where Vivian has gone outside, he has an abnormally high amount of energy as a result of his inclusions being able to work at full capacity in the light

If I remember anything else I'll add it, anyways have a good day!

[aq2003]

i saw a post saying boom was good bc it feels like it could be done with any doctor/companion duo and honestly that was one of the things i felt was wrong with it

[angelonhelios]

why is it that i feel like if the cov didnt exist the crimson raiders would probably misidentify a lot of non pandoran people as bandits because the bandit designation is so weirdly arbitrary and bandits on other planets would obviously not behave the same as those on pandora. that is if the orientalised (and therefore homogenized) nature of the bandits wasnt a thing

oh, yeah absolutely. even the pandroan definition of bandit is meaningless because of how much it varies between individuals so the raiders being faced with outside populations would be. something. thank god maliwan and the cov are color coded because otherwise i think they’d get confused /j

[bumblingbabooshka]

A Klingon and a half Vulcan participate in a myriad of rituals.

[arundolyn]

i don't really know how to articulate this super clearly but i really appreciate that like. kuon conceptually with the 8 floaty swords behind him could very easily have turned out like a murakumo knockoff and im impressed by how visually and stylistically distinct he is. its really nice

[hyoer]

Project: Get Over Bob (2)

pairing. Bob Reynolds x reader

synopsis. Bob likes someone that’s not you and now its up to you to carry on Project Get Over Bob.

warnings. Mentions of suicide (vagueish), mentions of child abuse and  forms of non-physical self-harm, mentions of drugs :( Bob just struggling a lot with life but reader and the team are there to make it better even if it’s just a bit. Lots of angst and no comfort… Yet. Also, a bit of kissing. I may have made reader english unintentionally :) expansion of readers relationship with the team!! The Void and a little?bit of the Sentry make an appearance.

word count. 6.5k

Notes at the end of this chapter

part 1.

Phase: Bob?

Robert Reynolds grew up like a dog, held taught at the neck, beaten into submission for the hell of it. He'd spent 29 years running from the cage he grew up in.

From backwater towns to unkind cities, across borders and oceans, he was always searching for his next high.

And every time he found it and crashed, he crashed harder.

All of his misfortune had led him to Kuala Lumpur. What better place, he thought, for cheap meth and good food?

Not that he could afford either once he landed. His so-called "working holiday" quickly devolved into sleepless nights and cheap motel rooms.

The lab was a nightmare, and the splitting of his mind it hurt, it hurt so much. But none of that pain could compare to the guilt.

The sickening knowledge that he'd hurt people.

That he'd become the thing he feared.

His father had always told him: Violence is in your blood. One day, you'll understand it's not cruelty—it’s survival. Bob had spent his life trying to prove him wrong, only to fail.

Waking up in the vault was terrifying. But that fear was eclipsed by the feeling of something stronger, the opportunity of a real life.

A final chance.

He regarded it as the single most important moment of his life. Sure, getting the sentry serum was life-changing. But he’d give it up in a heartbeat if it meant keeping what he had now.

And you were there the day it all started.

You weren’t a child assassin like Yelena, or a phasing shadow like Ava, or a walking weapon like Alexei, Bucky, or Walker. But you moved with purpose. Precision. That quiet intensity set you apart. You weren’t the strongest in the vault. But took twice as many hits as you dealt and got up three times as fast.

Now, in the tower, most of Bob’s nights were spent with you. He’d perch himself on your sofa, fingers picking at the frayed threads along the armrest, eyes blurred but never closed. You’d talk about everything. The strange weather patterns, Alexei’s obsession with marketing, the new taco shop opening downstairs—mundane things, your voice soft and steady, trying to anchor him.

The room always felt smaller when you were there. Your presence was a warmth that filled every corner, something he could almost reach out and hold if he wasn’t so afraid of breaking it somehow.

But even you couldn’t keep the thoughts out.

The silence between your words gave them space. The darkness of the room fed them. And the safety you offered made them bolder.

“I wish I’d died in Sarasota.” he said one night.

Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide with a fear he hadn’t expect.

“Hey—no, no. Please don’t say that, Robert.”  you moved closer  “Please just- just look at me.”

Your hand cupped his face, fingertips grazing the edge of his jaw, soft and trembling.

It wasn’t romantic.

It wasn’t sexual.

It was a safe feeling touch, he’d always wanted that.

You always gave it to him.

“Look, I won’t tell you that you can’t feel like this, it wouldn’t be right for me to say that. But you’ve been working so hard to unpack your issues and work at them, please, please just give yourself the credit you deserve.”

He blinked up at you, fighting the urge to look away.

“Most people go their whole lives never even trying to unpack their pain,” you continued, voice low but unwavering. “But you—you’re facing it. That’s brave.”

And for a moment.

The void inside him seemed to shrink that bit smaller.

Being at the tower felt freer than the life of a nomad he’d adopted for the past 7 years. There were still plenty of rules, curfews, schedules and therapy sessions—but the structure gave him purpose. It kept his mind and body active.

Every morning, Yelena would bang on his door like a madman.

“Make sure you grab your coffee ~” she’d call through the door, already bounding halfway down the hall by the time he’d have opened his eyes.

There, he’d find you with your back turned, shuffling through the music on your phone, tapping your foot lightly to the beat. He’d reach over and grab two cups for you both before heading out for a run in Central Park with Yelena, well, he’d be attempting to run, but that was besides the point.

He’d run beside Lena, wheezing through half-finished stories about old jobs or nights he barely remembered. She’d hit back with tales from the Red Room. They were always darker, sometimes sad, but she was a master of comedy so he’d be barking out laughs between gasps for air the whole way.

Once she was finished torturing him he’d head back to the tower to meet Ava in the lab.

She was helping him work toward his GED—something he’d started years ago, then abandoned when life got too loud. Now, with all the time and resources in the world, he thought it would be a good time to start again.

Ava was the best teacher he could ask for.

She never rolled her eyes when he forgot how to do something, never laughed when he misread something aloud.

Her teaching was patient and kind.

She wasn’t much of a talker, which was a given with her solitary upbringing, but that was fine with him. They’d spend time in comfortable silence, with Bob occasionally breaking it to ask a question. Both of them used to the quiet, neither of them quite understood what normal looked like but their quiet friendship fulfilled them both.

After finishing up with his work, Bucky would usually steal him away for sparring.

“You keep dropping your guard.” he’d grunt, tossing Bob onto the mat for the fifth time in the past ten minutes.

“I don’t have a guard.” Bob would mutter, staring up at the ceiling begging someone, anyone for a break.

He hated physical exercise.

The sentry serum had made Bob invincible and while he didn’t feel any pain, his frustration was with his lack of ability.

His strength was absolute, his body impenetrable, but, he wanted to be able to move around with the same grace and stealth that the others did.

Bucky pushed him harder than anyone else.

But it never felt cruel.

It was focused and encouraging.

Like he was his older brother who believed in him enough to never go easy.

You’d sometimes be there too, just out of sight in the adjacent room. You’d be reviewing mission footage or deep in a debrief.

Bob liked it better when you weren’t watching. Not because he didn’t want you there, he just preferred to keep his exploits or lack thereof between the senator and himself instead.

Dinner was one of the best parts of his day.

Sitting at the dinner table didn’t involve endless lectures or threats of harm. Alexei and John would always be the first ones at the table, seated across from him like some sort of strange uncle-nephew trio. They weren’t constantly at each others throats but when they were it was way more entertaining for him.

John always had a dumb joke ready but Alexei managed to always have a weirder one. Half the time, they would argue about whether Kramer vs Kramer was a Christmas movie or if John had browned the butter well enough for the banana bread.

“Why do you even eat potatoes like this?” Alexei would say, stabbing one with his fork “It is so dry, no soul.”

“You’re literally Russian dude?!!” John would shoot back his voice raising an octave.

“Russia has great food, you know my father-”

Bob was definitely not listening to the rest of that. But he would smile and finish his meal with a warmth in his heart and that’s all that mattered.

You and Bob would take your daily walks after dinner.

The city was quieter at night.

Well, New York never really was, but it was quieter in the way Bob liked. Just a low rumble of traffic in the distance and the occasional click of footsteps as you both aimlessly wandered.

Bob chuckled at your retelling of your siblings meeting Ava for the first time. His smile lingered even after you’d finished talking, it was a strange one. It felt like he was half-sincere and half-lost in thought. His steps slowed and he turned to you, “You’re one of my best friends, y’know, just thought I’d tell you.” said more like a question than a statement.

You smiled. “That’s why you’ve been looking constipated this entire walk?”

He huffed a laugh, but his face still has a serious look “I mean it. It’s not just because we have to live together or mission stuff. You’re always there for me even when I’ve been hard to be around.”

“Bob, you’ve never been hard to be around, ever.”

He didn’t respond right away. His jaw flexed and eyes fixed somewhere past your shoulder.

“I guess I-I just keep thinking” voice low “That I’m this ticking time bomb. Like the more time you guys spend with me, the quicker I’ll blow up a fuse and hurt you all.”

You were quiet for a second. Then you said, “You ever think that maybe we don’t need protecting from you? That having you around is so good that we’d be willing to keep the Void at bay forever? I would go through hundreds of rooms for you Robert, every damn day if I had to, I’m sure the others would too.”

You didn’t say anything else, and he stared at you for a moment before sputtering out that it was late and you both should head back. He really hoped you hadn’t noticed how red his ears were.

Bob thought that maybe you liked him the way he liked you.

But he decided to push silly thoughts like that away. You would have said that to everyone.

It wasn’t that Bob himself didn’t like you; he just felt as though pursuing you would be another Malaysia. He would somehow grip your light so tightly that it would burn only you, leaving him at the centre of yet another massacre. And Bob was far too kind, he cared for you far too much to doom you to a life of walking on eggshells.

He would get over you. And he knew just what to have to start his journey.

A sweet treat.

Bob didn’t plan on finding the bookstore.

He was walking to find a new dessert place, the serum left him with a serious sweet tooth.

Bob liked walking on Main Street. Sure, there was always a major risk of him literally destroying everyone in the city if the transdimensional being in him escaped but, the feeling off blending in and being normal was worth the risk.

He walked for another ten minutes before he saw it.

The bookstore that you were always raving about. You had begged the whole team to come with you, rambling on about the idea of a book club in preparation for the new Christopher Nolan film, but your pleading had been interrupted by Mel informing them all they had press to finish up.

He decided he’d go in and find you something, that should cheer you up.

Bob wandered into the store, trailing his fingers along the many books, stopping only when he'd collected too much dust for his nose to handle. It reminded him of a place he’d hidden out in once, years ago.

Different city.

Different Bob.

“You looking for anything specific?” came a voice.

He turned and saw her.

A short woman with long loose waves nestled into a bun, a pencil sticking out of her pocket and reading glasses hanging around her neck. She looked at him cheekily and something about the intensity of her gaze flustered him.

“I’m-I’m not really sure, I’m looking for a friend but I have no idea what she would want.” he replied honestly, scratching the back of his neck.

She smiled, “Those are the best kinds of searches.”

Their first conversation was short. She’d recommended some kind of fantasy novel.

He’d bought it and you were so happy that you spent the next two weeks singing Bob's praises to anyone and everyone.

That included Lily.

Bob came back the next week to pick something else out. And the week after that.

And each time, Lily was there with a new recommendation. With questions about what he liked, how he was doing, how you were doing.

Sometimes they talked for a minute.

Sometimes ten.

Bob never told her who he really was, nothing about the Thunderbolts stuff, though he was sure she knew.

Just said his name was Bob and that he was working on “getting his life together”.

She never pried. Never asked why his hands sometimes shook, or why his eyes would occasionally glow. She always spoke to him gently and laughed at his shitty attempts at jokes in a way that made him feel like maybe he was just a guy in a bookstore.

Someone normal.

One day, he decided to be brave, “You ever uh free for a coffee?” he'd asked, the words almost catching in his throat.

“As in to drink it? Or are you asking me out?” she looked surprised.

Shit, she looked like she was freaked out, he almost backed off right then, but he decided to push through. He nodded “Yeah yeah uh the second one.”

She studied his face - not judgmental, just thoughtful - “Okay, yeah sure, but be warned I’m coming in hot off the back of an awful relationship. Like the guy was Loki levels of out of his mind, I may go crawling back.” she joked.

Bob smiled.

“Here. Take my number.”

Once outside with her number tucked safely into his breast pocket, he took a moment to take in a breath.

He thought about you for a second, your smile, your voice and he felt guilty, but you didn’t like him. It was ok for him to move on and he was sure you’d support him putting himself out there.

Right?

Phase 3

Phase 3 was not feeling as easy as you’d predicted it would be.

Not thinking of Bob was difficult. He engulfed your every thought, every second of the day seemed to stretch out further than you thought possible when you worked on any task that didn’t include Bob.

Even sleep didn’t offer a break.

In your dream, Bob appeared doe-eyed, curls falling over his face and his skin glowing. Your hands were roaming his body and his breath was hot against the shell of your ear. He was calm and collected, his movements slow as he cradled you tightly to his chest.

His head turned to you, his lips inching closer to your face and then all at once pressed against yours. His head angled to the right to swipe his tongue against your bottom lip, the action causing you to gasp and heat to bloom in your chest.

As your hands began to reach for his face, they fell through, jolting you awake. Your bed cushioning your movements didn’t stop your face from hitting the side of the bed frame.

You’d never made out with anyone before, so how the hell did the kiss feel so real.

“What the hell?”

Huffing you drag yourself to the bathroom, you find Bucky there brushing his teeth. You say nothing to greet him and the strangeness of your silence isn’t lost on him.

He offers a smile as he makes his way out of your shared space, he’ll bother you later once he brings back a red velvet from the store near his and Steve’s old place in Brooklyn.

Remind yourself to get an electric toothbrush, this one is struggling to withstand the force of your anger as you scrape each tooth with all of your strength.

You were doing so well to not fall back into thinking of Bob.

So why did this dream have to screw everything up?

By the time you’re done damaging your enamel it’s time for another hellish sparring session with John.

Good Lord, you were not in the mood.

You unwillingly tread down to the gym, smelling the clinical bleach mats before you round the corner.

The gym always smelled like sweat, chemical cleaner, and testosterone — basically John's cologne. You pushed the door open hard, making it slam against the frame making John jump from the noise and trip over the weight in front of him. Wait did that weight say 2000kg holy shit-

“What crawled up your ass?” he barked, startled but recovering quickly.

“Nothing. Just thought I’d get a bit of payback. You ready?” He smirked.

The mat is thick beneath your bare feet, cold and spongy. Walker stands a few feet away, stretching out his legs, the muscles in his arms rolling under his shirt. For someone so impossibly strong he sure was wirey looking.

Captain America, my ass. You reminded yourself he had limits — he had to.

You both began circling each other, and a quick step to each side had you both falling into a familiar rhythm.

“You know he came by asking for you, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “It doesn’t mean anything.” you swing your fist, miming a punch, daring him to act.

Walker was always too trigger happy for his own good.

He would always bite.

“Y’know its pretty obvious to everyone include Bob that you’re distancing yourself from just him,” he said, launching at you with flurry of jabs. You dodged most, but he caught your shoulder and stomach hard.

Jesus that hurt, you deserved an extra matcha latte for lunch as a reward.

“Yeah? Well, he’s the one glued to his girlfriend’s side every hour of the day.” you step back with your arms up “I don’t see how that’s my problem.”

He raised an eyebrow, eyes narrowing “If you don’t like him, then why would it—”

“Oh my God, John,” you cut him off, voice tight  “Everyone knows. I know Bob knows I like him. I don’t understand what people want from me! I’ve been kind. I talk to her, I talk to him. I haven’t said anything mean or snarky, I’m not making a scene. If they’re in the room, I don’t disappear... I’m trying.”

Your breathing was heavy and you could feel the pressure rising behind your eyes. You weren't prone to emotional outbursts and John felt like he’d provoked you without reason.

“What else am I supposed to do?” you whispered.

John looked like he was going to say something — probably a joke, probably one of his usual offhand lines to break the tension.

But he didn’t.

“I see him with her and it really hurts.”  your arms dropped and you began to take the next few of his punches half-heartedly. You weren’t fighting back anymore.

Just standing there, letting the blows land and getting back up like clockwork.

“I-I can’t do this. I’m sorry”

You turn away, walking over to the wall pressing your forehead gently against the cool panelling. It��s the only thing that you could think to do to ground you. John comes up behind you, placing his hand on the top of your back, patting it like he would do to his son when he was helping him drift off to sleep.

John spoke, his tone gentler than usual.

“How do you always eat my hits like that?” he asks “You sure you’re not a mutant or something?”

You half-laughed, half-sighed, “If I was, I wouldn’t be a B-grade superhero like Variety said.”

He snorted behind you “And you believe the opinion of the magazine that made me ride my shield like a horse?”

You both laugh. John stands there with you until you calm down.

He tells you to clean up and head back upstairs, he says he doesn’t need you so stressed out so close to you guys’ next mission.

As you make your way up to the kitchen to fill up your water bottle you pass the library, freezing when you see two familiar figures sitting side by side on the floor.

Their arms are fitted so tightly next to one another, they look like their melting into each other. Lily reaches out and nudges a stray curl back behind Bob’s ear.

You feel sick.

Bob’s cheeks flush a little, and he gives her a sheepish grin and you make the mistake of scuffing your slippers across the floor in an attempt to walk away. They both look at you wide eyed, like they’d been caught doing something wrong.

“Hey guys” your voice gentle “Looks like a tornado flew through here, what you up to?” you’re hoping the fake texan twang is enough for them to not see the obvious awkwardness on your face.

Bob giggles and she explains their plan to find the ultimate saag paneer recipe, both finishing the others thoughts and animatedly nudging each other when they think the other ones wrong.

You decide that the scene is too intimate and too domestic and you need to run away.

Bidding them goodbye with a wide smile you all but run past the kitchen to go to your room and stew in your jealousy.

While Lily continues to argue the importance of the four forms of taste Bob swallows hard, his gaze distracted and brows slowly knotting together.

Something seriously doesn’t make sense with you.

You sit with your knees up on your bed, the soft glow from your bedside lamp casts shadows across the room. You make shapes with your hands and play with the shadows, your headphones are playing something by Lorde that makes you feel worse somehow.

That’s a first.

The door to the bathroom slowly cracks open, Ava’s brown curls visible as she inches her way in as quietly as possible.

“I’m awake y’know.” you grin at her, she was so cute when she was trying to be sneaky.

She guffaws “Yeah I k-knew.”

You stare at her accusingly with your brow raised.

“Ok so I thought you were asleep, so what? You can tell me off later once you tell me why you flooded your room on purpose.”

“I plead the fifth.” your expression completely deadpan.

“We’re both English! That doesn’t work.” she laughs out, not angrily but with the same tone a mother would with her child.

“Technically-“

She stops you “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the flying boy that you’ve been pining over?”

“That’s a low blow c’mon.” your pout is unintentional, you love Ava but you do not need to think about him even more after the day you’ve had, it would ruin the plan even more than it already had.

“Can we just drop the topic of Bob and just hang out? Since you’ve already snuck your way into my room”, she stills for a moment and without warning jumps onto your bed and grabs your waist. With her head in your lap you begin to thread your fingers through her scalp.

She mumbles something, half of her mouth buried in the plush fabric of your pyjamas. You’re sure it’s something about the way you keep the room way too cold for comfort.

This is nice you think.

Maybe you don’t need just Bob after all.

Phase 4

Never mind maybe you do.

Bob seems to struggle less and less with the concept of never seeing you around, he fills his time with Lily and her life. You think he seems to fit in fine with her spin classes and zoo dates. Not that there’s anything wrong with exercise and animals.

It isn’t your life, Bob isn’t your boyfriend and he would never want to be.

Ouch.

Maybe you really were on the cusp of really becoming invisible to him.

Just like you wanted?

Whatever, you didn’t have time to think about Project Get Over Bob anyway, Valentina had scheduled a gala to honour the ‘ex- Avengers’ as she called them. None of you were happy with the phrasing and you were sure Sam would talk you, Buck, and Joaqins ear off when you met up later tonight.

Your dress had been fitted a month or two before and Mel had scheduled a glam team for everyone so you go through the first half of the day abnormally relaxed.

You, Yelena, John and Alexei make your way downstairs first. You hear someone mumble about there not being enough space for everyone in the car but the air is so cold and bitter they’re lucky your ears haven’t frozen off by the time you’re off to the venue.

Once there, you struggle to get the train of your dress to stop sticking to the bottom of your heel, you curse loud enough for Alexei to notice and carry you out like a doll.

“Your dress ok my little firecracker?”

“Yeah thanks Lexei. You guys go ahead, I wanna go to the bathroom before heading in”

He nods and turns around, walking towards the others and wrapping his arms around them, binding them to himself as he rushes them in.

As you finally look up at the scene in front of you, your breath stutters.

The building in front of you was immense.

The lights perched about the balcony and grounds are blinding, and you grip the train of your dress in an attempt to calm your nerves. You focus on the sound of constant chatter and the feeling of the pebbled walkway under your heels.

Before your time with the team, you’d worked as a paralegal with the Govenor of New York. It was thankless but looked great on your Linkedin. You hadn’t figured out how to write Avenger in the current jobs section without seeming like an idiot yet. Galas were a common part of your job so you weren’t worried about having to network.

No what you were nervous about was keeping your cool around Bob. You’re sure that seeing him in a suit would kill you.

Now, back from the bathroom you feel a lot lighter and not just physically.

“You’re looking very foxy tonight lady.” without hesitation you reach out behind you to hit Joaqin.

“Why’d you say the same thing to me at every event dumbass.” the man gives you a bone crushing hug and another pair of arms snake around you while he squeezes.

“Buck been training you too hard or something? You look tired.” Sam and Joaqin really were tied at the hip recently, maybe Bob’s comment about them reminding him of Tina and Tina was right.

Wait, get yourself together, no more Bob!

You talk to the both of them for around twenty minutes before you're all ushered into the main room. You move effortlessly between the hoards of investors, senators and random people that you really don’t know, spitting out jokes and making conversation that the others on your team definitely don’t understand. You forget they didn't have to go full corporate for their previous day jobs.

God bless your internship at EY.

As you make your way over to the buffet, a voice calls out your name, you turn and see your friend Finley. He’d worked on a campaign with you a few years back.

You missed being less busy, even the stress of a political campaign was quieter than the constant press and training that had taken over your life. His sudden appearance was a welcome distraction.

“Look at you,” he said, pulling back to take you in “Avenger, huh? Still can’t believe you went from filing out my paperwork to fighting eldritch horrors.”

“Hey it’s not my fault you were so bad at your job.”

 You both laughed and decided to find a nook to reminise about your awful pay and long nights together.

Your conversation was cut short when your phone buzzed in your clutch. A quick glance at the screen showed Bob was calling you.

You swipe the notification without a second thought.

You tell youself to remember the plan.

But you feel it suddenly, like someone is burning the side of your head with a lighter. What the hell?

When you look to your left, you see him.

Bob stands a few feet away, his expression unreadable.

His suit is black, tailored so precisely it looks painted onto him. The jacket hugs the top of his shoulders so deliciously, when he moves the fabric pulls just enough to remind you that he actually does have muscles and it isn't just rainbows/kittens under there. His shirt was crisp white, the contrast against his tan skin made your throat dry.

But it’s his face that really leaves you breathless.

His heavy brow bone, sharp and prominent, is even more pronounced under the chandelier lights. Shadows pooled in the hollows of his brow, making his already intense features twice as alluring. And his eyes—

God, his eyes.

Wait he looks really pissed.

His usually kind blue eyes looked unsettling, flashing wisps of black and gold. Did Bob always look like he was wearing eyeshadow or was it just today?

His gaze flicks from your face to your phone, then back.

He’d seen you ignore the call.

For a second, you brace waiting for him to say something, to call you out right there and then. But instead, Bob just… turns away but not before you see something raw flicker across his face, you just cant figure out what.

You text him a few times, a flurry of messages explaining you were in the middle of something important and were going to call him back, you promise.

Bob just replies with a thumbs up and tells you not to worry about it.

That somehow makes you feel worse than if he'd told you off.

The rest of the evening is fine, you have fun stuffing your face with courgette tarts but are worried about what to do when you get home. You’re leaving for Ulaanbaatar tomorrow morning and really don’t want to leave on a bad note.

The team was beat by the time the night was over, you all piled into your cabs and single-filed your way up to your rooms.

You’re two steps into yours when Bob lightly pushes his way in before the door closes.

“Hey”

His voice soft.

You turn, and there he is, still in that damn suit, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Was he trying to make you pass out on purpose? His eyes are tired, not angry. It makes you feel guilty, you’d have prefered him to be angry.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” he states.

Not an accusation.

Just a fact.

You swallow. “I’ve been busy. The mission prep—”

“Don’t.” He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t do that. Not with me.”

You want to look away, but his gaze is so strong it feels like the room is falling away and all you can see is him.

“You haven’t hung out with me in weeks.” he says “You stopped eating breakfast with me, you did a U-turn in the hallway when you saw me last week and I know that you hate pottery so whats going on?” a pause, he looks nervous “Did I do something?”

Your chest aches “No. It’s not you.”

“Then what is it?”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. How could you explain? That every time you saw him with Lily, laughing at some joke you weren’t part of, it felt like he was ripping your heart out with his bare hands. That you were supposed to be over him, but you weren’t, and it was eating you alive?

Before you can force out another lie, Bob’s breath hitches. He can see the cogs turning in your head, attempting to lie to him again.

Wait, was the air in the room becoming thicker or was it the stress of the situation settling into your body?

His hands clenches. His pupils dilate—too wide, too gold.

Gold? Shit.

“Bob—” You step forward, but he staggers back, not wanting to touch you, bracing himself against the wall. His knuckles turning white where they grip the plaster, cracks begin to form under his palm.

That was not good.

“I don’t understand what the fuck your problem is! You go f-from telling me you aren’t avoiding me and that we’re such great friends to complete silence. I just, I don’t know what I did to make you upset with me.” his voice tapers off as he lowers his hands from the wall, the anger and frustration leaving his body only to be replaced with the sinking feeling of dread that maybe you really didn’t care for him.

“Hey, sweetheart I think we should both just calm down I’ll-“

“NO, no I won’t, I refuse to be ignored. We’ve devoted ourselves to you, don’t you see that!!” his voice is hoarse and it sounds as if all three of them, Void, Sentry and, Bob are shouting at you.

His body begins shaking and before you can even think you and Bob are completely gripped by the inky black tendrils of the Void.

The Void swallows you whole.

You land on your knees in a familiar place.

“No, no, not here, not again” you whine.

Maria Hill stands to your left, frozen in time.

You missed her, you missed her more than anything.

But you refused to live through it again, you worked so hard to come to terms with that day and it was a low blow for him to show you the room that you’d already worked so hard to leave a year before.

The scene changes and she’s there, right in front of you, bleeding out on the concrete.

Again.

And again.

“You like pulling cheap shots every time you force me to come here?” you scoff, sure the place scares you, but you calm yourself when you remember that Bob is stronger than whatever torture the Void is willing to put you through.

He’ll be here, you know he will.

“It worked on you last time, what’s the harm with trying twice?” a static-like voice whispers out from behind you.

The dark figure steps out in front of you, gripping your arm so tightly you can feel your muscle and bone press grind together. Despite the pain, you can feel him.

Feel Bob.

His presence calms you enough to stop struggling with the vice like force on your body.

You reach out, holding his face. The action angers him. You can’t see him but feel his features curl into a snarl.

“You think that a pathetic fucking human being like you can touch me or calm him? You think he dreams of you or thinks of you even a fraction of the amount you do.” his grip tightens even futher.

“Even the team, they think you’re dead weight, they tolerate you. Nothing more”

Suddenly Bob appears and he’s not alone.

He’s got an arm around Lily, whispering something in her ear and kissing her so deeply it feels innapropriate to observe.

You try to look away but his hand, Bob’s hand, grips your jaw leaving you unable to turn your head.

The Void purrs, his tone amused "He pities you and wants your attention because he’s bored, once he has her do you think he’ll care? He’s too kind to tell you to fuck off"

The Void senses your sudden hurt and latches on.

Digging deeper, he flashes every humiliating memory of yours—failed training sessions, missions where you froze and fucked up, anything that would make you hurt. "You’re a placeholder," he hisses, "a charity case. And the worst part? You know it." 

The shame burns so deep you can’t breathe, can’t think, and as you begin to find your voice to tell him that you didn’t care and he’d had misjudged your reaction, the Void delivers a final blow.

His face flickers to resemble Bob "You really thought I could ever want you?" It’s so cruel and something within you is so caught off guard at the sight of Bob that you believe him.

The Void’s glee is palpable.

And then a voice cuts through the dark.

“Enough”

Bob.

Your Bob.

He stands at the edge of the nightmare, his eyes are blown open and wild, his hands clenched like he’s holding up the weight of the world

The midnight world suddenly splinters.

You wake up and the room is shaking, no wait, the room isnt shaking its you.

Bob’s crouched in front of you, his face concerned and he cradles your head in his arms “I didn’t—I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Your pain and fear is so strong you feel like you could collapse. You want to run away and scream, call out to everyone to take you away and lock you up somewhere that it couldn’t find you.

But you don’t dwell on those feelings, you know Bob, he must be devestated that he pulled you into the Void.

Your tone is soft as you push youself up “Hey, hey look at me. It wasn’t your fault, how were you supposed to know the big guy would come out so quickly.”

“But I let him hurt you-”

You stop him “Don’t, don’t say anything. Look we need to take you to the med bay now j-just don’t say anything please, just don’t.”

Bob stares at you—hurt, guilty, devastated—but he doesn’t protest.

You both hobble down to the med bay in silence and you cant help but wonder if he remembered what you both had been speaking about before or your hidden shame.

You really hope he hadn’t.

You’d called Yelena down on your way, telling her the other guy had come out to play for a bit and Bob was shaken up. She’d raced down as quickly as she could to relieve you of your babysitting duty.

Outside of the med bay, you speak to her in hushed tones while balancing the entire weight of your body on her, exhaustion setting in.

“You ok?” she strokes your hair as you tremble.

“Yeah I just, I need sleep.” she doesn’t press you for answers and you’re grateful. One small kiss to her head and you decide you’re ready to leave.

You glance back at Bob through the door, he’s already looking at you, pensive. You smile reassuringly and can visibly see his shoulders slump down in relief.

You leave but not after throwing another gummy smile and a thumbs up at the man.

The morning comes too soon, you’re still upset from the events of the night, but that doesn’t mean you can just shirk your responsibilities.

You’re packed and out the door before the sun fully rises, meeting John and Alexei downstairs. They don’t ask why your hands won’t stop shaking or why your eyes are so bloodshot.

As the engines hum to life, you glance back at the Tower one last time.

Project Get Over Bob was a complete bust.

Hey guys, hope that this chapter has you guy’s as excited as I am to continue on to the final part of this fic! Sorry for not adding a taglist to this fic but there were a lot of replies and I didn’t think I could get through them!

If you have any tips for fic writing pls follow me I’m always looking to improve.

I hope the writing style isn’t too different, I’m still trying to find my style and footing when it comes to this stuff!

The next chapter will be filled with plenty of comfort and maybe something a bit cheekier if you catch my drift!