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#Maybe his body changed shape when he died
ovaryacted · 9 hours
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Really random but dad bod DI Leon🤤🤤🤤 (I really love DI Leon if you couldn’t tell) like I love Leon w abs, and his hourglass shape but just him cuddling w you and being so warm and soft😢 (or when y’all are making love and his tummy just has us fitting together like puzzle pieces and it’s LIKE OMGMGM😭😭😭😭😭)
-🐏
cw: descriptions of body changes, internalized fatphobia, smutty thoughts/acts.
OHHHHHH DAD BOD LEON IS MY VICE PLEASE OH MY FUCKING GOD. LIKE RAHHHH, I NEED IT BAD. Ram anon, I'm on to you.
The changes happen after a year into his forced retirement, he doesn't realize it until he becomes more aware of the way your arms feel wrapping around his soft torso. Once adorned with hard muscle, his body now was covered in a layer of skin that expanded over time. He still had the same physique and the same capacity for strength, but there was an added softness he’d acquired recently that sent his head in for a spin.
Retirement has been good for Leon, he no longer has to deal with the hecticness of mission briefings and assignments. He gets to actually rest, his usual overactive nervous system now rendered down and becoming more manageable. The first couple of weeks he spent falling asleep in bed or on the couch, like his body was playing catchup on the energy that's been robbed from him over the years. You didn’t bother him about it, didn’t even judge him whenever you’d find him limp on the bed and snoring in the middle of the day.
You'd use that time to run errands or do chores around your shared home, often preparing meals for him whenever he'd wake up groggily to go look for you. Eating homemade meals that were made with love certainly started to add up, the consistent intake of food was new and apparently something that his body liked and needed. The constant nausea he often experienced when he was under so much stress went away, slowly learned how to enjoy eating again like he did years before he was forced to become an agent.
He never focused on his appearance most days, but as Leon stopped to observe himself in the mirror one morning, his eyes were fixated on his body. He's certainly changed after a while, stomach a little fuller and cheeks more plump than before, hell even his arms and thighs looked bigger. His initial reaction to the change would have been disgust, to put himself back on a routine to regain the muscle he's lost and to critique every imperfection that would eventually be another nuisance.
But as he looked at himself a little longer, a smile crept up on his face, not minding what he saw for probably the first time in his life. All he saw was your love for him, how the signs of you taking care of him after all this time were starting to reflect in how he looked. He was healthy, he was alive, and that was a win in his book.
You certainly didn't mind the changes either and took every opportunity to remind Leon of just how much you adored him. Cuddling him whenever you could was something that became a ritual between the two of you, sneaking under his arm and digging your face into his chest any chance you got. He was soft, warm, and just a tad bit squishy. He was human, he was himself, not some war machine meant to work like a dog day and night.
One of your favorite things about his new appearance was the intimate moments you both shared and how he felt around you both internally and externally. You loved getting on your knees and worshipping him, sucking over his cock lavishly and running your hands over his thick thighs, biting at them when Leon found himself lost in pleasure.
Or when you were riding him and the sound of his thighs slapping against yours was louder than before, his lower tummy rubbing into you, meshing together so well one would think you were part of the same whole. It made you feral, like a primal instinct to claim him and show him that all you wanted was to make him feel accepted in this new body. Leon didn't complain, he loved how your attraction to him seemed to skyrocket.
Maybe being a bit more soft wasn't so bad after all.
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nelkcats · 1 year
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Box Bat
Fear him!
Batman is Box Ghost, the only reason he's obsessed with boxes is because he died in a warehouse explosion, and it's the last thing he remembers next to glimpses of his children.
He was undercover as a box deliverer to investigate the arms shipments that were arriving in Gotham, when he woke up in those clothes (the same ones he died in), and with no memories, he assumed that had been his job and committed to the bit.
Danny as a blue-eyed black-haired kid brings forth some feelings but he uses his perfect repression skills to ignore those feelings and commit harder on "Box"
The "fear me" is a mockery that he unconsciously makes to the Joker, even if he doesn't remember him.
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An analysis on how Sir Pentious' character design represents his personality and development perfectly (beware of Hazbin Hotel spoilers)
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Let's get this out of the way: Sir Pentious is a snake, an animal mostly known for generally believed negative traits such as poison, deceit and betrayal. We don't know WHY he's in Hell, maybe he was a "snake oil salesman" considering he comes from the Victorian times and he's into hyping up what he does, or maybe he was into war. Thing is, he's a Sinner whose design just scream "Evil".
(BTW, a snake could also represent "fertility": looking at you, Egg Boiz!)
He always had eyes all around him not just because of a stylistic choice.
Sir Pentious always felt like he was watched, and had to watch out for any danger.
"Everyone here is too nice: obviously it must be a lie! I can sense they are planning to kill me, but when?! HOW?! I must be PREPARED!"
Sadly, he's been constantly berated by other demons, far more effective in destruction, status, cruelty and charisma. Alastor won't ever bother to remember him, Cherri always ones up him, and the Vs, the ones he admires to most, won't care less about him.
To the point that Vox sent him as a spy without the intention to save him if things were going to fail. Heck, he even openly tells him to die while calling him a failure.
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So of course he's got reasons to have trust issues, or taking everything so seriously, being constantly reminded of what he can't accomplish. So he puts an air of grandure that may be very flamboyant, but is VERY frail.
But, if we have to be frank here, his biggest source of insecurities... is himself.
He has eyes on his tail (his softer, more vulnerable side, which is ironically made even MORE lieable to getting hurt because of how sensitive those organs are), and inside his hood, so he could look out better for danger when on alert mode.
Heck, even the mark on his hood kinda resembles one eye.
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Problem is, when you see his hood folded, when he's at ease, neutral or sad, those are not looking at outside sources.
They're looking at him, at his back. A constant stare that happens everytime he lets his guard down and shows how vulnerable he is. A gaze that can sense all of his weakness, his struggles, his insecurities.
And it's all him.
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Pentious constantly believes that his inferiority complex will fade away once he'll accomplish something grand that will make others accept him. But he is his biggest critic, his worst enemy: HE is the one who believes he's a failure, that he'll never gain approval from others.
This show takes place in Hell, but this is Sir Pentious' personal Hell: insecurity born out of self hatred. Doomed to feel everyone's gaze upon him, including his own. Believing the danger to his self esteem is from others, when it's really from him.
But then he's accepted at the Hazbin Hotel: Charlie forgives him, he bonds with Angel, Husk and Niffty who don't care a bit about what he's accomplished or not, or what he's done in the past.
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He feels more comfortable in showing his vulnerable side, and no one judges him for how easy it is for him to get emotional.
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Of course he's still very insecure, considering how he struggles to confess to Cherri, but notice how he stops building machines or planning to attack others as soon as he starts bonding with the others: he doesn't have a reason to destroy or attack, now that he knows he's loved.
And his final design, when he goes to Heaven, shows how much he's changed, yet stayed the same. He may have died a hero, but he's still the same awkward snake we've come to love.
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Speaking of love, let's talk about that!
No more eyes on his tail, now it's just on his chest (showing he's opened his heart), his glasses are now heart shaped, and even the markings inside his hood resemble kiss marks more than anything else.
And look: the mark on his hood is now heart shaped!
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Why all these hearts? Why did all the eyes disappeared from his body? Even his eyes that were looking at his back?
Simple: love. Love defeated his insecurities and self hatred. He died for love.
He died protecting his friends, his new family, his new home.
He confessed and kissed Cherri knowing full well he wouldn't have made it, and yet he went anyway.
The usually cowardly and timid Pentious actually faced a great danger with courage and determination: he acted selflessly by putting himself in harm's way, he didn't steal (naturally) and by going against Adam he did indeed "stick it to the man"!
He used his weaponry knowhow and battle experience not to conquer, but to save his loved ones.
His only thought up until his demise was: "I'll go down protecting them".
And he's been rewarded not only by becoming an angel, but also being spawned directly in front of Emily and Sera, two Seraphim, the highest rank for an angel to have, who have also been depicted as snakes of fire throughout history! Sir Pentious, the lowly demon considered a failure by everyone, actually has been noticed by the Seraphim! He's come so far!
He's now come to represent the REAL symbolism of a snake: the duality of death and rebirth, transformation and immortality (ironically a reference to the fact he's been around since 1888 without ever dying from any Extermination or blessed weapons).
And isn't so poetic that a snake, the "source of the original evil", was the first sinner to ascend to Heaven? Or that this episode was released on February 1st, or National Serpent Day?
And of course, as the Bible itself says:
"Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends."
(John 15:13)
And knowing him, I'm confident in saying he'll keep helping his friends even in his new position, like the soft hearted noodle he's always been, but was to afraid to show it up until now.
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tobifuyu · 8 months
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New hair, who dis?
Ran Haitani x f!reader
After years of friendship, Ran is growing and maturing right in front of your eyes but you cannot bring yourself to accept what change brings about.
cw: nsfw, mdni, basically porn with plot, friends to lovers, reader is oblivious, ran is a simp, rindou is so done, masturbation, mirror sex, use of sex toys, hair kink ig, lots of pet names.
wc: 9,7k
a/n: gosh this is way too long I’m so sorry I just have too many ideas and once I start writing I cannot stop myself. many more fics to come, I have a long list of fantasies to satisfy. also, we stan simp ran in this house.
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One thing you were not expecting when opening the door of your apartment that evening was for Ran to walk in looking like a completely different person.
You wouldn’t even have recognized him if it weren’t for his purple eyes staring down at you with their ever-present mischievous glint.
Lately, his lanky body has been filling out the new suits he’s wearing in a delicious way, and the time he’s been putting in at the gym, even if reluctantly, is visibly paying off.
You notice he has removed the transparent plaster from the fresh tattoo on his neck, black ink a stark contrast against his pale skin.
There’s something else missing, and the sight is so unsettling that for a moment you think about closing the door on his face.
Who is this man staring back at you? If this is Ran, why are his infamous braids gone?
“Ran, what the fuck?”
“I can explain!” He puts his hands up, gesturing at you to let him come in, and you move out of his way automatically as you take him in from different angles.
The door gets closed behind your back and Ran wraps your wrist in one of his big hands to steer you to your couch in the center of the living room. You’re both silent as you sit down, your eyes fixed on the damage.
“I cut my hair.”
“I can fucking see that!” The smug grin that was stretching his pretty lips slowly fades at the agitation in your voice. The thing is that you don’t understand why you feel so distraught.
It shouldn’t matter, right? It’s not like he went and cut your own hair behind your back. Yeah, he could’ve let you know about such an important decision in his life as he does with pretty much everything else. He could’ve maybe even asked for your opinion. But he didn’t have to.
You and Ran have been friends for years, more than a decade, and you have seen him cut and style his hair multiple times in the past. Just because you are particularly infatuated with the way his two-toned braids swung around while fighting, or how he would twirl them with his baton and long fingers, and how it looked untied, forming a messily shaped halo behind his head while resting on the pillow during one of your many cuddling sessions… doesn’t mean he had to ask for your permission.
It’s not like he knows how much you love to brush his soft locks before twisting them back into the braids that come hunting you on your dream-filled nights. Because you’ve never told him. So it’s not his fault if all these things don’t matter to him.
“You don’t like ‘em?” He coughs to hide the embarrassment he feels after asking such a vulnerable question. Ran has never really cared about what other people think of him, except for maybe Rindou, sometimes. But you’re an exception.
He knows he’s far from ugly and he thought he looked real good with the new haircut. He was excited to match with his little brother once again, and he thought you would also, considering how well you reacted a couple of weeks ago when Rin showed you the light purple color he got done at the saloon.
Maybe, just maybe, you like Rin a bit better? No, he thinks, it can’t be possible. He would’ve noticed something like that.
Then why are you acting so… mad? Or is it hurt he sees painted across your pretty face?
You let out a sigh, “No, it looks good. I overreacted, I’m sorry. I just– I wasn’t expecting you to cut your hair, that’s all.”
He scoffs, as if he doesn’t believe your words, and pulls one of your hands up to his hair. He wants to convince you that not much has changed, and you’ll still get to play with it while watching movies, he thinks it’s soft enough with the treatment he has done, “See, it’s still pretty long, just pushed back. Maybe you can braid it sometimes.”
You laugh at that and Ran smiles at you. You meet his soft gaze before daring another glimpse at his new haircut. It’s styled in such a way that accentuates his sharp facial structure, jawline visible in all its glory.
“You look…” Hot. Fuck. You shake your head, trying to reign yourself in as you stroke the soft hair, “It looks good, more mature. It’s fluffier than I thought, Rannie.”
The more you look at him the more you realize that this new look of his is toying with your already decaying sanity.
Pull yourself together, for fuck’s sake.
Ran lets it go after that, props you to get settled on the couch, and removes his suit jacket before grabbing some drinks and snacks to watch a movie.
An hour in, he lays his head on your chest. It’s routine, he’s always been clingy with you, in private. And you’ve always enjoyed the closeness, no matter how confusing it might be, so you never question him.
Your hands subconsciously bury themselves between his lilac locks. You can hear him let out a deep sigh as you scratch his scalp, relaxing into your hold.
“Looks good, Ran. I like it a lot,” You whisper as if to reassure him, whilst you’re only stopping yourself from confessing that you would like him even if he were bald. Your gentle motions make him fall asleep with his lips curled in a smile.
My sleepy boy, you think.
That night you wake up in a cold sweat. The blond tresses that you constantly dream of softly stroking have been subsided by messy lilac locks. The short length is being gripped by your hands as its owner's head peaks from between your thighs. Unfortunately, it’s not very the first time you dream of Ran in such a compromising position. But the matching lavender gaze staring at you with purpose is now fresh in your memory, and makes his haircut seem even more attractive, the perfect length to shove him back against your heat.
Your cheeks redden as you try to shake the feeling away, you get rid of the covers and turn on your side ready for sleep to take over once again, but his new and improved look keeps hunting you at every toss and turn.
You reach into your bedside table for the only thing that can bring you peace of mind: your trusty vibrator. It’s a small bullet one, but it does its job just fine when you press it against your clit to release the pent-up stress of the day. You think nothing of it when the face that appears behind your closed eyelids as you come is that of your bestfriend.
The next couple of weeks, it doesn’t escape Ran the fact that you’re looking at him a little weird. At first, he thinks you might still be trying to get used to his new look. It was definitely a drastic change, and for you who have known him for such a long time, to be faced with it without him even giving you any heads up must’ve been weird. So he hopes that the gift he has planned to give you, will be enough to make it up to his bestfriend, to show how much he cares about your friendship and your opinions, even if he didn’t ask for it this time.
Then he starts panicking because you stop picking up his phone calls. You don’t make plans to hang out with him anymore, just shoot a text from time to time to let him know that you’re okay but busy. He’d like to believe you, but you’ve always made time for him before. You’re avoiding him.
He doesn’t know that you cannot bring yourself to face him anymore. You had managed to suppress the feelings you harbor for him for years, but seeing him in another light, with his childish braids replaced by a more mature and undoubtedly attractive look, has been the hardest challenge for you.
You feel ashamed by the number of times his face has been appearing in your mind at the most inconvenient times. You feel too dirty to look him in the eyes and pretend like you don’t dream of them at night.
Ran has reached a level of desperation where he has to involve his brother before he loses his cool over something that, he thinks rationally, shouldn’t even bother him that much. The two of you are just friends, you don’t owe him your time.
Luckily, you pick up Rindou’s call on his first try, you haven’t heard from him in a while, so it only makes sense that you do, might be something important. What if something has happened to Ran?
Rin doesn’t want anything to do with this mess, but he can’t bear to stress over the safety of his brother anymore as he comes to their meetings looking tired and miserable as hell. Bonten is just starting out, and they’re dealing with some heavy shit now, his brother needs to fucking focus.
So he invites you over for some drinks. Explains how it’s just a small get-together they’re throwing to celebrate a new deal, only some of the guys will attend. And when you ask about Ran, he rolls his eyes but replies that his brother is not gonna be there. Which is a lie, a big fat lie that is gonna turn into a headache for him soon enough. He knows that already.
You show up just because you’ve been holed up in your apartment for the past week. Work has been… well, work. And your friend group is pretty much the same as Ran’s, so you couldn’t risk him getting word of you being out and about after you’ve turned down all his invitations. You’re joining tonight because Ran hasn’t tried to contact you in a few days, and Rin has promised his brother is gonna be held back at work. Getting a few drinks with your old friends is the perfect way to destress.
You don’t make it that far, though, because the moment you walk in Ran is already there. Mingling about and walking like he owns the place, which he does. You turn to Rindou, who’s conveniently opened the door for you and is now planning to make a run for it, and you look at him as if you’re ready to tear his head off. He must’ve known what’s going on, there’s no other way for him to be so sneaky about this. He sends an apologetic look your way before scrambling away to Sanzu, who’s waiting for him in the dark of the corridor leading to the rooms.
Ran stutters over to you the moment his eyes lay on your fidgeting figure. He’s wearing a pair of dress pants and a shirt that look like they’ve been tailored to fit his lanky body in such a way that makes it hard for you to breathe. His short hair is parted and gelled back, a few pieces falling off the hairstyle and resting effortlessly on his forehead.
“Hey pretty, you’ve made it.”
“Looks like it,” you shrug your shoulders, looking around awkwardly as he ushers you into the middle of the living room. You should’ve known the brothers would’ve stuck together. Fuck you, Rindou.
“D’you want something to drink?” He sits beside you, and the scene reminds you so much of when he last came over to your apartment, except this time you’re surrounded by a handful of people. Gotta make sure you’re on your best behavior, so you turn down the drink.
“C’mon, work has been stealing you from me for weeks now, y’need to let go a little.” He can sense you’re tense, and maybe alcohol isn’t the best choice in this situation, but he doesn’t know how else to let you at least look at him. He feels a pang in his chest. Why won’t you even look at him?
“I’m okay, thanks.” You’re acting so cold and distant. He’s starting to wonder if all of this really has happened over him simply cutting his hair, or if there’s something deeper beneath it. Did you feel betrayed by him not telling you?
“I think I’m just gonna go home, I’m pretty beat actually,” you start to say, and Ran doesn’t want to force you, but he doesn’t want you to go either. “Please, just some more time to catch up. Rin wanted to see you as well,” as he says this he looks around the room and curses his brother for leaving with Sanzu.
Ran’s ass gets saved by Kakucho tapping on your shoulder before he wraps an arm around both of them as you turn to greet him. You’re smiling again, just how Ran likes to see you, but the pit of his stomach is burning with something akin to jealousy.
He’s relieved that Kakucho stopped you from upping and leaving, but he doesn’t like how you get up and join him at the counter to get him another round. Seems like you’re not drinking still, means you don’t plan on sticking around.
Ran is bummed out, he stops staring at you and Kakucho after some others join in on the conversation. He doesn’t want you to mingle with these people too much (most of them have something to do with Bonten, after all), but he’s the one who strategized all of this in the first place, so he lets you enjoy yourself. He’d rather stop pushing you before he makes it worse.
In the meantime, you’re watching a pouting Ran sit on the couch from the corner of your eye. Kakucho snickers as he notices, and you swat him away when he suggests you go sit back down with “your Ran”.
“He’s been a mess these past few weeks, I think he misses you. A lot,” Kakucho has never been anything but kind and truthful to you, that’s why you enjoy his presence so much. He’s a breath of fresh air around the much violence this friend group has experienced growing up. He’s one of those who has suffered the most but he always has a nice word to spare. Such a pure heart, his.
Your eyes wander back to where your heart is, but what you see makes your face turn into a grimace. A pretty girl you’ve known for a while, someone’s girlfriend you recall, has sat down in your spot and is now talking to Ran. They seem to be sharing a laugh as she reaches over to stroke Ran’s hair out of his face, before gesturing at it as if complimenting the new hairstyle.
The interaction is short-lived and friendly, you know her for being nothing but nice, but you feel like shit now.
You don’t like the feeling of jealousy, especially when it’s not even excused. You just don’t like when people touch Ran’s hair, and you do even less now that it has become such a touchy subject for you. He let her, that’s the problem.
“Yeah, I bet he missed me alright,” you mumble bitterly as you excuse yourself from Kakucho.
It doesn’t take you long to stand in front of Ran and stare down at him with cold eyes, “‘m leaving. Have a goodnight,” You direct the last bit to the girl, hoping she doesn’t think you’re remotely even mad at her. Then, you leave the apartment in such a rush that you don’t hear Ran calling for you. You feel like you’re underwater and the first real breath of air you take is back at your flat.
All you had time to do, before hearing the furious knocks banging on your door, is take off your makeup and wear your pajamas. Maybe, just maybe, if they had started shaking the wood just ten minutes later, you would’ve been sleeping already and not giving enough fucks to get up from your bed.
You open the door, no need to check from the peephole as you already know who it could be at this ludicrous hour.
“We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t, I have work early in the morning,” you try arguing as you go to close the door. He blocks it with his shoe, pushing it open with his right hand as he stares at you with a look he usually reserves for Rindou when he gets pissed off about something important. It’s completely different from the one he has while fighting, he’s not being snarky or overconfident, he looks serious and undeniably mad.
“You’ve been avoiding me. For weeks. ‘Cause I cut my fucking hair.” He slams the door as he steps inside the apartment and you jump from the sudden sound, walking towards you as you slowly back away and fidget with your raised hands. You’re not scared of him, you know he’d never do anything to hurt you. You’re just scared of the confrontation that is about to go down, the fact that you’re gonna have to tell the truth, for once and for all, cause you can’t possibly hold it from him anymore. And just like that, you’re gonna lose Ran.
Ran takes in your panicked state and slows down to approach you carefully, his face softens and he clasps your hands in his bigger ones. With the grip he has on them, he drags you closer to his body. The two of you are standing in the center of the room as silence overtakes it. You can feel his stare burning your skin but you keep your own cast down.
“You know I’d never hurt you, right?” His thumbs are stroking your skin in a calming pattern, “I don’t know what I’ve done, but I never meant to hurt you. I’m sorry.”
You don’t understand what he’s talking about. The one apologizing here should be you! “You did nothing wrong, Ra–“
“Please look at me,” you cast him a glance from under your lashes, but the way he’s staring back is so intimidating that you can’t help but feel your face heat up and you have to divert your eyes elsewhere, “You can’t even look at me.”
“Ran, I swear this has nothing to do with you cutting off your piss-colored hair.”
He knows you well enough not to get offended, your self-defensive mechanism has always been that of getting mean.
Two fingers find their way to your chin to grip it and raise it enough so that your eyes meet once again. You can’t escape him this time.
“Tell me how to fix it, how to fix us.”
His voice is almost a whisper, he sounds so distraught, blaming himself for your stupidity. You can’t take it anymore. You love Ran, the last thing you want is for him to be hurting.
“I’m not mad at you Ran, I’m mad at myself,” His purple eyes widen with surprise, but he remains silent as he lets you explain yourself, “This is gonna sound, real bad but… I couldn’t bring myself to face you these past few weeks. Cause I had a wet dream about you. After you cut your hair…” You’re not telling the whole truth as of yet – there have been multiple dreams – but you need to test the waters first.
“Oh,” Well fuck, you’ve said it now. “Oh, wow.” His hands drop his hold on one of yours and fall from your chin, for a moment you think he’s gonna step back and run away far from you, but then you feel his touch on your waist, moving you even closer than before.
His lips settle on your forehead, stamping a kiss on the skin while you feel his mouth vibrate against it as he shakes with laughter.
This is Ran we’re talking about, ‘course he’s not gonna run away, he’s gonna embarrass you to the ground. In a week's time, everyone in your friend group will probably know about this. Not only is your friendship officially ruined, but you’ll never get to step outside of your flat without feeling like a walking joke ever again, “Are you laughing at me?”
“You got embarrassed?” He places another smooch over the same spot, “So what if I made you wet in a dream? It was my haircut, wasn’t it?”
Ran giggles. The motherfucker thinks he’s funny.
“Is that why you reacted that way back at my place? You got mad someone else was gripping my hair?” His mocking voice makes you flush red, but you know better than to give in to his teasing.
“She barely touched you, please. Like I give a damn,” You roll your eyes, finally getting the courage to stare at his smirking face as you fall back into your comfortable routine of making fun of each other. “I can always grip it myself and show you the difference,” You bark back, watching how the side of his curved lips slightly twitches.
“Go at it, babygirl.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Gosh, you seem to be pretty mad still,” he’s pouting, and you swear you wanna bite his lips so badly right now.
Get a fucking grip, oh my goodness. You haven’t even told him the worst part yet. He doesn’t know you’ve masturbated to him. He doesn’t know you like him way more than a simple friend should.
“Should I find some way to make it up to you?” His words snap you back to reality, but he’s been observing you, lavender hues taking in your scrunched-up face as you think hard over something that is still concealed from him. He wants to kiss your cute cheeks, wants to hear you giggle. You’re his precious girl, he feels this visceral need to let you know just how much he cares.
Ran’s mouth presses against the apple of your cheeks once, twice, trice. He’s leaving kisses all over the bare skin, switching from one side to the other, kissing the top of your nose endearingly.
One of the hands he has gripping your waist slides to the center of your back, over the sleep shirt you’re wearing, trying to stop you from running away from his kiss attack – as if you would – and to keep you comfortably pressed against his embrace.
He can feel you melt against his body. Rosy lips parted to take in deep breaths. Your eyelids are now closed and he doesn’t waste time kissing over them as well. He can feel your skin heating up against his mouth, feverish-like, but he can’t stop himself from dragging his lips lower to peck at your jawline.
The kisses he’s giving you are all kinds of kisses, from short and sweet pecks to loud and cute smooches, to more sensual and wet ones, especially when he reaches the skin of your neck. At this point, you can’t help but raise your hands to his hair and grip the short length of it just like you promised to show him. He lets out what sounds like a moan in the croak of your neck, but you think you must’ve imagined it as you can’t really hear much over the sound of your beating heart, the blood furiously pumping in your ears.
You know you’re enjoying this way too much, and for a moment you start to feel dirty again. He’s showering you with love because you’re his best friend, and your head is turning something so pure into nasty thoughts.
It’s not the first time he has smothered your face in kisses, maybe not to this extent, but you guys haven’t seen each other in weeks, so it only makes sense why he’s reacting to your closeness in such a way.
That’s until he sucks on the soft spot behind your ear and takes the lobe between his teeth to pull the skin. The way his name comes out from your mouth, breathless and whiny, makes him weak in the knees.
He’s gonna turn all your wet dreams into reality. You just need to say the word and he’s gonna give you what you deserve and more.
His nose is now bumping against yours, mouth pressing between the space above your cupid’s bow, the corner of your mouth, the bottom of it. Your lips graze each other every time he moves along. At this point, he has kissed every inch of your face except for the mouth. You know that would be taking it a step too far. The already thin lines of friendship between the two of you would blur to a point of no return.
At least on your part; you know Ran doesn’t shy away from human touch as you do, so it might not carry the same weight for him, you’re nearly sure of it.
You can’t possibly know how wrong you are, because as you’re thinking that, Ran is holding himself back from closing the space between you.
He has been dying to kiss you for years, since the first time you offered to braid his hair for him.
“What did you dream of?” he whispers, gruff voice scratching a part of your brain that you didn’t think existed as his hot breath washes over you, only inches away.
“Uhm, I… I don’t really remember.”
“You’re not a good liar, princess,” his mouth moves closer to your ear, trailing on the soft skin on his way there, as one of his hands grasps the fat of your left thigh and hooks it over his hipbone. “What was I doing that made you wet? Did you touch yourself because of me? Tell me.”
You know that if you could see yourself from the outside right now you’d laugh at how red your face probably is, but there’s nothing to laugh about how firm Ran’s voice is when giving orders. It might’ve sounded like he was teasing you before, but he’s being completely serious now. And you’d never dare disobey Ran when he gets like this.
“I- You were eating me out,” you gulp, your throat lets you heave the words out with difficulty. “It was either that or… some other nights, you’d do more.”
So it’s multiple dreams, different nights. Ran’s grip on you tightens, “Did you touch yourself?” He repeats the question, eyes dark and attentive, as if he’s dying to know. As if he can’t picture it in his head without you guiding him through it. Fuck it, you think.
“I did, used my vibrator-“You can’t even finish your sentence because Ran is grasping your other leg and lifting you up in the air. You circle his neck with your arms and hold on tight in fear of him dropping you, but his strength makes it seem like he’s barely breaking a sweat.
“Fuck, can I kiss you? I’m dying to taste you.”
It takes you some time to elaborate on his desperate plea, but once you do, you consent enthusiastically, “Yeah? Yes!“
The moment your lips meet, it’s like nothing else matters in the world. Ran is kissing you, his lips are moving over yours with expertise. He starts slow and deepens it to the point you have to push him away slightly to regain your breath.
Sometime during the kisses that come after, Ran has you up against the wall. He runs the tip of his tongue over the seam of your mouth, but you don’t open it straight away to pay him back for all his usual teasing. That’s until he presses his hips against yours, and you feel his hardness rubbing on you.
“Oh my god, fuck, Ran.” He takes your surprise as an opportunity to tangle his tongue with yours. You moan in his mouth, and he groans back, parting just enough to let you know what he needs, “I want you so bad, pretty girl.”
You buck into him as if asking for more and bite his lip before letting it go, watching as it falls back into place.
Ran laughs at that, starting a trail of kisses from your puffy lips all the way to your exposed collarbones. He knows you’re not wearing a bra, you don’t sleep in them. The first thing he noticed when he stepped foot inside your apartment tonight is how your nipples were perked up against the cotton of the shirt. He also knows the only thing covering your bottom is a pair of panties. Keeping this in mind, he sends you a look while reaching for the hem of your sleep shirt, as if asking for permission.
You nod and he frees you of it, chunking it somewhere behind his frame. He’s holding you up with his hips alone, navel pressed tightly against yours. That’s so fucking hot.
His hands make a b-line to your breasts, squeezing them to get a feel, and the motion is as pleasurable to you as it is for him, making his cock jump in his pants. You can feel his length twitching and it’s driving you crazy.
“Please-“ Your voice breaks the moment Ran puts you back down, you struggle to keep yourself on your feet and watch as he bends to bite at one of your nipples.
“Oh my god, yes,” he’s twisting the other with his fingers, and regretfully leaves them behind as he moves in a downward path over your body. He’s so close to your heat that he can smell your arousal, and when he casts his eyes toward your mound, he sees the wet patch staining your panties.
“Is this because of me?” a slap on your covered cunt follows his question. He knows already, you’ve made it clear, but he wants to hear you say it.
“Yes, yeah, Ran, baby. It’s all because of you.”
He thinks you must be already pretty out of it, because you’re not usually this straightforward when it comes to sex, in front of him at least. He heard how dirty you can get when talking about it with other friends, so he’s happy he’s found the key to open you up to him, literally.
It’s after your nth confirmation that Ran decides to grasp the side of your cotton panties and slowly drag them down your quivering legs. Both of you still can’t believe this is happening. You’re about to satisfy his every craving, and he’ll make sure to do the same for you.
Ran is on his knees, staring up at your body as if it’s a piece of art that has moved something inside of him. His admiring gaze is pushing all of your shyness and insecurities to leave you. His making you feel comfortable while being so exposed and vulnerable is exactly why you fell in love with him in the first place.
The weight of a peck being stamped on the inner skin of your thigh is what you feel before your body starts being covered in kisses. He’s raising to his full height while doing so, and the last one he gives you is on your forehead, just like the first of the night.
“I need you, Ran.”
Everything is still around the two of you, in the silence of the night you can hear the deep breath he takes. You lean forward to kiss the tattoo peeking from the collar of his dress shirt.
The hanafuda is a bright reminder of the life he has selfishly involved you in, and for a second he rethinks his next move, but you quickly realize he’s getting into his head and raise on your tippy toes to kiss his pink lips.
“Take me to bed, Ran. Don’t make me beg.”
You’ve told him multiple times that you can take care of yourself, and you know that where you can’t on your own he’s gonna be there to save you. You believe him, and he has to do the same when you tell him that he’s not gonna get rid of you that easily.
“You’re gonna beg either way,” he promises with a sneaky smile as he grabs your ass in his hands, making you straddle his hips as he carries you to your bedroom.
More kisses are being shared between the two of you during the short way, and he can barely tear himself from you as he lays you on your mattress.
You think he’s reaching into your bedside table for condoms but what he finds is even better: your pink vibrator. He looks at it as if he’s discovered gold. When he orders you to take it and use it on yourself, you realize he wants to watch. He wants to recreate what you’ve so cutely told him you’ve been doing for the past few weeks while thinking about him. Ran wants to see for himself.
He stands at the foot of the bed while you tease your entrance with the bullet vibrator, collecting your wetness to make it glide more easily over your clit. You keep your legs spread to give him a show, watching as he pays you back by removing piece by piece of clothing.
His full-body tattoo reveals itself to your greedy eyes. You’ve seen it multiple times, but have never gotten to take it in all together.
You’re panting, reaching your slit with one of your fingers as your opening clenches around nothing under his lust-filled gaze. “Hold it,” his deep voice tells you, and you follow his instruction, regretfully so.
“Keep it spread fo’ me.” You spread yourself open with two fingers, bucking up to chase the sensation of your vibrator. “Fuck, such a good girl fo’ me. Doing anything I tell her.” He grasps his hardness over the cloth of the boxers, the grey fabric sticking to his skin and forming a wet patch where his precome is leaking.
He strokes himself a couple of times before removing the last piece of clothing on his body, finally letting you see the place where his tattoo connects, but most importantly his cock.
It’s so pretty, lengthy, and a girth that would scare you if it weren’t for how long you’ve been dreaming of this moment. It bobs between his legs as he crawls over the bed to you and the pink on its head is glistening, you wish you could clean it up with your tongue right now.
You think he must also have an oral fixation because the moment he reaches you and settles between your open legs he chunks the vibrator to the side of the bed to cover your wetness with his mouth.
Curious tongue running over the mess you made, the sounds he’s making giving away how much he’s enjoying getting a taste.
“Can’t believe I’ve been missing out on this. You taste like heaven, princess.” He’s raising as he mutters the words. He takes one look at your withering figure from above, before letting a glob of spit fall on your cunt.
Ran bends and goes right back in, the muscles on his shoulders moving along as his hands come up to hold your thighs open before you can crush his head, you can already feel the bruises from the tight grip forming on the skin.
It’s like the wet dreams that have been plaguing your mind ever since he cut his hair have finally turned into reality. His shorts locks are peeking from between your thighs and you’re gripping them for dear life as he feasts on you, mouth sucking around your clit and lilac eyes peeking from below your mound with a stare so intense that you can feel your legs trembling from that alone.
When his fingers join in the fun you feel yourself getting closer, he’s moving them in a come hither motion and hitting your spot just right. He’s not building up momentum or taking his time in opening you up, that’s how desperate he is. Two of them are fucking into you quickly and with precision, while his dexterous tongue flicks your bundle of nerves.
“Ran, fuck, you look so good between my legs,” You can feel him smirking against you, the boost of ego you know he needs to get him right where you want him.
“I’m gonna cum, plea– please, don’t stop.” The problem is that Ran doesn’t exactly like being told what to do, and he’s being greedy now. He has waited too long to have you, he can’t possibly wait anymore.
He stops his movements, triggering a cry on your part. You nearly kick him with one of your feet but he’s fast enough to move to the edge of the bed, sitting in front of the full-length mirror that covers your wardrobe and conveniently faces the mattress.
You stare at him, spread legs and hard length resting on his lower abdomen as he settles reclined on the palm of his hands. “Come sit on my cock.”
You’re facing his back, laying down on the bed still, and from your position you get to admire the tattoo on his back, and how his muscles flex beneath the skin every time he moves. His body is as sinful as it can be, he drips sex and makes you want to mold yourself to him and never let go. It has always scared you, this pull he has on you, but now he’s the one inviting you over. It’s not the time to shy away.
He’s watching you from the reflection in the mirror as you get up. Your naked body is to him like a tall glass of water after weeks without drinking, he feels like he would die right here, right now, if you were to walk away without letting him have a sip.
Even his wet dreams – yes, you’re not the only one fantasizing about your best friend – don’t compare to the sight of you standing in front of his spread legs looking down at him.
“Uh nah, turn around pretty,” he prompts when he sees you’re about to straddle his lap. He enjoys the sight of you doing whatever he tells you to without even having to touch your body, and he stores that information inside a little drawer in his head for later.
You finally sit down, sliding against his hot skin until you’re resting only half of your weight on his thighs. His cock is now sandwiched between your bodies, and he groans when your asscheeks rub against it while you are wiggling onto him purposely.
“I said sit on my cock, I want you on top of it.”
You’re about to fuck your best friend, it doesn’t seem real. Should the two of you even be doing this? This will change everything forever, there would be no going back from it.
You know that once he’s gonna slide inside you you won’t be able to look at any other man ever again. You barely do now, anyway.
Your right hand goes under you to grasp his length, the angle is uncomfortable but you make it work enough to give him a few pumps. His girth feels hot in your hold, and you bring it to your opening to tease yourself with his wet tip.
“Fuck baby, don’t tease me.” The reflection in the mirror shows his tensed body in all his glory, and you get a glimpse of his hands buried in the sheets, he’s gripping the fabric so tight you think blood might’ve stopped flowing.
Ran is trying not to buck up into you, he’s giving you time to adjust to his size, and you realize how needed it is when you finally lower yourself on it.
You’re watching the scene unfold in the mirror, how his cock is slowly sinking inside of you. The stretch leaves you with a burning feeling and when you nearly reach his base you realize how full you are. All your bumps and ridges are being deliciously stroked by his skin.
Your lips fall open in a pant and Ran is groaning right by your ear as he straightens his posture and bends slightly over your body. “I’ve been dreaming of this for years,” he confesses while his hands grasp the fat of your thighs, spreading you to him as he loops your legs over his, keeping them open just like that with his knees.
He can’t believe his eyes when he gets to fully glimpse how far he’s stretching your cunt with his cock. All the patience in the world wouldn’t help him hold back anymore.
He bucks up into you, having you take his cock down to the base. You let out a shriek at how big he feels inside, and after that, he starts moving. Being on top made you, at first, feel like you could be in control, but it seems like the orders he was barking at you weren’t the only thing he was planning on doing on his part.
Ran starts pounding into you from below, strong thighs helping him in bucking up. You’re being split open on his cock and he’s enjoying the show. The sound of skin slapping against skin is so sinful, but your eyes are now closed in pleasure as you’re reduced to nothing but a moaning mess. His thrusts are so powerful that it takes you very little time to lose your mind.
He’s calling for you, you can hear his deep voice and feel his hot breath on your ear after you slumped against his bigger body, resting your leaned-back head on the crook of his neck. “Mhmh, open your eyes, pretty girl,” like the good girl you are, you do as said, even if you’re struggling to keep them open when his thrusts don’t let up, but instead seem to be getting deeper every time you do something he asks of you right.
He grabs your chin with his thumb and pointer, redirecting your line of sight towards the mirror, where you can see his heavy balls slap over your glistening skin from below. “Look at how much you’re dripping, that’s how I slid in so quickly.” You whimper at that, Ran always had a way with words that could get to you even when nothing of sorts was being said, always the teasing one, but now that he’s running his mouth with all these dirty thoughts you can’t help but be even more affected than usual.
“You take my cock like a pro, mh. You like it, don’t you, my pretty little slut? Oh, I just know you’re loving this. Bet your little vibrator couldn’t make you feel this good.”
He’s pressing down on your belly, making the pressure on your navel feel ten times more intense, and all you can focus on is how he’s spreading you open. “It’s so big Ran- Ah,” he thinks your words are gonna get to his head. He has to keep a solid grip on you not to melt at your praise, “Fuck Ran, please, please baby.”
“What is it that you want, use your words.”
“I wanna come, pleasee, I need it so bad,” He loves how polite you are, asking for it with a please. He’d give it to you no matter what, but he appreciates how much you’re trying for him. He knows you can get a little hot-headed, or maybe he just found that one field where you finally succumb and let others take care of you.
Ran reaches over to the forgotten toy and switches it back on before placing it over your neglected and pulsating clit. He never had anything against sex toys, he doesn’t see the harm in using them to bring more pleasure to his partners. He knows you could come from his cock alone, but he needs to feel you gushing around him right about now, before he loses it. He wants to see you dripping to the ground before he fills you up to the brim.
You grasp a handful of his hair and pull it without shame as he fucks you with abandon while rubbing your clit with the vibrating toy. He has to hold your thigh open with one of his big hands because you keep clenching your muscles, and he needs to watch as you come undone.
“Fuuck,” you’re cursing loudly, without a care for your poor neighbors who must be going crazy with the loud noises at such a late hour.
Ran is hitting all the right places, he’s prodding and searching all over your body like he needs to study it, to learn it, and knowing him and how attentive he is, you’re sure that the next time it will take him half of the time to get you there. Or maybe he’ll use his knowledge to drag it out like the teasing little shit he is.
But who said anything about a next time? You’re not even sure as to why the two of you have fallen into bed together, but what you know with certainty is that you’re perception of Ran has shifted the moment he cut his hair.
It might be crazy, ruining a years-long friendship over something so trivial, but it’s like your best friend Ran was the one with the braids, and the one you’re sitting on top of, who’s kissing your neck and whispering sweet praises in your ear, who’s bulkier and more charming and wears purple striped suits, is someone else entirely, but someone that you love all the same.
You’ll always cherish your braided Ran as your friend, but this older version of him will not be able to live inside your mind while battling your feelings as you’ve always done.
The man in the mirror looks at you with lust, but under all of that is the shade of his unchanging lavender hues, the ones who have been staring at you with unnamed affection for years. Maybe it’s time to let go of that uncertainty and fall into him once and for all.
“Ran, I’m gonna come.” He’s so good at reading your body already that he doesn’t stop, he just forgoes the vibrator opting to massage your clit with his thumb, spreading you open with two fingers, while his other hand reaches your boobs. He knows how sensitive they are, he remembers you telling him once, and that’s why he has avoided touching them until now.
His fingers alternate pinching and pulling at the erected nipples, and his hand grasps the entirety of your left beast to pull you down as you try to fight his thrusting and press you onto him.
He noses at your cheek, inviting you to meet him for a kiss. It’s a deep one, with tongues entangling and teeth bumping against each other, he has to rein you in as you’re panting and mumbling.
You don’t have the strength to speak anymore, but Ran knows the exact moment you dangle and trip over the edge because you squeeze him so tight he lets out a string of curses.
He feels you gushing around him, the squelch of wetness becoming even more loud making his cheeks tint red. He’s never been shy when it comes to sex, but the way he’s fucking you now it’s so nasty that he can’t believe how you’re letting him. His sweet girl.
Now that you’ve come on his cock, he slows down his hips to avoid overstimulating you, and he helps you regain your breathing as he kisses your cheek, “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Mh- Fuck,” Your cunt is squeezing him so hard, coherent thoughts are slowly leaving his mind in favor of you. Nothing else matters now but you.
Ran has to gather all of his remaining strength to slip from you and lay you down on your white sheets. Big eyes are looking up at him as he just hung the moon and the stars, and from his position, he gets to watch your face contort in pleasure as he slides right back inside your wet heat.
“Ran-“ “I know, baby.” Your nails are raking down his chest, red marks showing up on the untattooed side of his body. Your neck is straining as you press the back of your head into the pillow, and he eyes the still unblemished skin before placing his lips on your pulse point, sucking and biting as he goes.
His thrusts are slow but deep, you can feel the heat building up in the pit of your belly all over again. You buck up against him, watching as he lets out moan after moan, getting closer to his end. He sounds so fucking good.
He wants to drag this out, scared of what might come after the both of you come down from your highs, so he pins down the side of your hips with one hand, resting on his hunches as he grasps both of your wrists in the other and raises them over your head.
He’s circling his hips now, rubbing his navel against your clit and relishing in all the pretty noises you’re letting out.
“Pretty girl- can you come fo’ me one more time? You’ve been s’good to me, gimme another. Just one- one more,” Ran’s voice is strangled, he’s trying to hide how much the pulsing of your cunt is affecting him, with very little success. His balls are strained and heavy with cum, he wants you to come around him as paints your walls in white.
You’re moving to break free from his grip but his strength doesn’t let you, so you try begging for him, “Rannn, more! Please, need more, I’m so close- Wanna cum.” You’re whining, sweat running down your body, he looks at how your skin is glistening and wants to lick you up.
Ran has never been able to tell you no, so he moves the hand that was holding you down to your neck, thumb resting over your pulse as he squeezes enough to make you feel it. His hips resume his thrusting with a purpose.
“Cream on my cock, ‘m gonna fill you up, angel,” and you do just that, on command. Ran thinks you ruined every other woman for him, right there and there. It’s like you were fucking made for him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, babygirl.”
He’s right behind you, mouth parting as he groans and repeats your name like a fucking prayer. You’re arching your back, your chests are pressed together and Ran swears he can hear the sound of your heartbeat as he fills you up with cum.
With scrunched-up eyebrows and eyelids fighting to stay open, his purple eyes are taking you in. Your legs are locked behind his back and his hips keep pressing against yours as he slowly drags out your highs, cum dripping down his thighs as he tries to fuck it back into you.
“Fuck, I feel so full,” you manage to let out in surprise after regaining your breath. Ran lets go of you the moment his mind is clearer, and when you feel him slip out from within you, for a moment you’re scared he’s gonna get dressed and leave you laying there.
But Ran just parts your legs before you can close them in shyness, and takes one good look at the mess you’ve both made before diving in. He’s happy he’s gotten to fuck you raw, so now he gets to taste how good you are together.
You’re still so sensitive that when his tongue makes contact with your folds, you tremble. He takes his time in eating it out of you, loud smacks and wet noises can be heard as he does, along with his hums of approval, “Mhh, taste so fucking good, baby. Wanna try?”
You furiously nod at that, dragging him away from your heat before he gets in his head that he needs to make you come again; you don’t think you’d be able to do that now, the overstimulation from those simple touches already taking you to the verge of crying for him.
Ran finally kisses you again, tongue slipping past your lips to make do with his promise, and you moan in appreciation at the taste of you combined. Everything he does is just so fucking hot.
He doesn’t stop once you do, and risks stripping you of your breath completely, but you’re not any better. The last thing you want now is for him to not kiss you anymore, so you grip his infamous hair once again, scratching his scalp with your nails as you’ve always liked doing to get a reaction out of him.
Ran shakes in your hold, he has to pull away or he’s gonna fuck you all over. He can feel himself getting hard against your thigh, so he decides to leave your embrace. He’s aware of the elephant in the room, and his maturity is screaming at him to talk things out before he can fall right back into it.
“Ran… please, don’t leave,” he glances back at you because of the way your voice breaks while muttering that sentence. His heart clenches when he sees your lash line glisten with unshed tears, so his hands find their way to your pretty face to hold it as he stands close to the edge of the bed, bending over you. He kisses the tip of your nose, then takes your mouth in a chaste kiss.
“‘M not going anywhere, my love. Just need to take care of my pretty girl. Give me one minute and I’ll be right back, okay?”
A simple “‘mkay,” leaves your lips in a mumble, and Ran helps remove the sheet from under your spent body to cover you with it before leaving the room.
It takes you a few seconds to elaborate on everything. Aside from what happened in the past hour, you’re now fixating on the names he just called you. My love. My pretty girl.
His? You definitely are, you just didn’t think he knew.
Once he steps back in the room, you notice he’s cleaned himself up and wore his discarded boxers. You take him in while he walks closer, silently appreciating his physique as you’re used to doing. But this time you get to recognize the bruises and red marks littering his body as something you’ve done yourself.
As promised, he’s carrying a wet towel and a bottle of water, and he carefully cleans you up with the former.
After making sure you’re hydrated, he settles by your side under the sheets and drapes his arms around your waist as both of you lay on your respective sides, facing one another.
“I was planning on giving you a gift, after the party was over, y’know? But you just had to run away,” he lets out a big sigh, as if thinking back to your fight makes him drained all over again.
“What is it?” You ask, as curious as always. He loves this side of you. He loves you, actually.
“I gave Rin one of my braids after I cut them off. I was thinking about giving you the other one,” your eyes widen, and the movement of your fingers running over his collarbone stops as you ponder over his words. “I know how much you like them, so did I. Want my two favorite people to keep them safe for me.”
Your heart has never beaten this fast, you think it might start overheating and set your whole body on fire. You bat your eyelashes, willing the tears away as you hook your hands under his face, gently stroking his jaw.
“Thank you,” is the last thing you whisper before closing the distance, repaying him with another short but sweet kiss.
When you separate, you lean your forehead against his and he softly calls your name. In the closeness of your embrace, you meet his lavender haze, “I love you.”
The only thing that follows his sentence is silence. You think you must’ve fallen asleep, this has to be another one of your dreams, one of those sweet ones you used to have when Ran still had his braids and the two of you were younger.
Ran could easily take your stillness as an answer. He could fall victim to his hidden insecurities and make you think he meant it in a platonic way to somewhat try and save what remains of your friendship. But he knows that no matter what your response to his confession might be, he wouldn’t take it back for the world. There’s simply no getting over you.
“Don’t misunderstand,” He knows how much you overthink, that’s why he should’ve said this before. “I’m in love with you, always have been.”
You think your heart must’ve stopped completely now.
“Ran…” “Sh, I know, it’s okay.” He feels the need to comfort you straight away, to let you know that not sharing his feelings is okay. He’s always gonna be there for you, no matter what. “God, Ran, I love you so much.”
The lips that suddenly find his, again and again, are not the only thing taking his breath away. Both of you cannot believe how stupid you are, how you’ve been in love this whole time while thinking the other could never see you that way. His hands are all over your heated skin, caressing down your back as you hold him closer.
“Want you to be mine, baby.”
“‘m yours Ran,” his kisses are spreading everywhere he can reach, he’s getting drunk on you once again. Bitten lips part to let out panting breaths, and you notice soon enough how the newfound confessions are affecting not only yours truly.
Heady eyes and tinted cheeks present themselves to you. You think the marron of his natural blush and the shade of purple staining his pale skin look a lot like the color of the hair that started this all. You love it already, just like you love him.
And Ran lets you happily grip onto it as he takes you again and again, that night. No more wet dreams that leave you running away from him, he’s gonna make sure to fill your nights with something that’ll make you want him even closer, every day, from now on.
Right before falling asleep, as dawn leaves space for daylight behind your closed curtains, you take one last look at your sleepy Ran.
You comb back his messy hair to uncover his pretty face, softly kissing his forehead before falling into a dreamless sleep. There’s no need for dreaming anymore, you have everything you want and need right here in your arms.
Might have to send his hairstylist a bottle of wine as thanks, though.
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solar-wing · 19 days
Text
⚣ Jason Todd: NSFW Alphabet 🔴
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⚣🔴 A/N → I forgot I had written these out and had them on my old account. Did a little fine-tuning to them though. WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI | it's an NSFW alphabet so just expect the unexpected and the expected.
⚣🔴 Words → 3.6K
REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛
⚣ ENJOY 🔴
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A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
This man can go from rough and hard to soft and gentle in literal seconds. It’s like watching someone come out of a trance or possession. He’ll clean you up with a fresh rag and make sure you’re comfortable, especially if you’re sore (you’ll most definitely be). He’s clingy though.
You won’t get anywhere without him right beside you. And he won’t say it, but he loves it when you try to take care of him too. Jason is dominant and prefers to be in control, but that man is as needy as a newborn baby, and it gets 10x worse after sex.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
Jason’s relationship with his body is difficult, but, if we’re talking about one where he’s healed, maybe been to therapy, and (slightly) moved on from his trauma, he probably favors his arms, chest, and hands. Jason prefers strength overlooking aesthetically fit, and he kind of always looks like he’s bulking but it's defined somehow. And because that adds to his overall size and level of intimidation, he loves working on those specific groups to increase them so he can in turn use them to intimidate people, especially those who try to flirt with you in front of him.
Now, on the other end, Jason is 100% an ass man. You can not change my mind. He loves you wearing any kind of tight or fitting material that molds to the shape of your butt and just being able to oogle and smack it when he wants. And smack it he does. Dude has the equivalent of 100 cheese necks in one palm and you feel it every time he lands one on your ass. 
Bonus points if you have thick thighs that jiggle when you walk. He’ll be paying extra special attention to those, especially if you’re wearing any kind of short shorts or fitted athletic wear. He also has a slight obsession or fascination with your neck. Whether in the act or just chilling, his hands will somehow find their way to your neck whether it’s a gentle caress or a firm grip. And if he’s feeling a little possessive or riled up in the moment (which is frequent) it’s his favorite place to mark, and if you try to cover them up, it’s more motivation for him to leave even bigger ones. He likes it when people can tell and see that you belong to him.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
More of an oozer than a shooter unless he’s been holding a load in for a while. And his loads are thick. He may not shoot far but he’ll definitely give you enough to fill the bottom of a glass. 
Also, no questions asked, he’s coming inside you. You just have to choose if it’s going to be your mouth or ass. Don’t ask, it’s a territorial thing with him. The thought of you walking around and greeting people while his babies are lodged deep inside your ass or fresh down your esophagus does wonders for his pride.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
If you’re not around and he’s really horny, he’ll masturbate with a piece of your clothing. Sometimes, he’ll also call you in the middle of it and won’t tell you just so he can hear your voice while edging himself to completion.
He also will purposely start arguments with you so you can have a reason to have angry make-up sex later.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
Some small experiences before he died, and little hookups here and there when he came back and was somewhat in a good place with Bruce and himself. That being said, he gets most of his experience from his relationship with you. He quickly learns what he does like and what he doesn’t, and makes it known to you immediately. 
He also may or may not go to Dick for advice or tips on how to improve. Going to Bruce is out of the question. And not just because that’s still technically his dad.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Doggy for one. It’s something about him grabbing you by your hair or even better, around your neck and forcing your body against his while he pounds into you from behind. He gets an exhilarating high from having you at his mercy and you surrendering yourself to him.
He also does favor missionary if he’s in a slightly more tender mood. But, If he’s feeling jealous or pissed off about something, he’s putting you up against a wall or in a corner with his hands around your neck and ramming you like there’s no tomorrow. Your legs will not be functioning for 24 hours.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Tends to be more serious in the moment. When he’s in the mood, he’s fully in it. Especially if he needs to get his frustrations out. However, the sound of you moaning and screaming his name will definitely bring a smug grin to his face.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
He keeps himself adequately groomed. May grow some facial hair and have a little bush down there along with a happy trail but he’s good about keeping it neat and clean. And, if you want him to, he’ll shave it all, no questions needed.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
This he struggles with at times. It’s something he wasn’t given much of (especially with Bruce) so he doesn’t really know how to act when in those moments and he tends to get really uncomfortable, especially if it’s a particularly vulnerable moment for him. As far as during sex, he’s definitely on the more rough and brutish side, but he’ll always do his best to check on you.
It’s something he’s getting better at though. Even in moments without sex where you two are just lounging and sitting together, he’s good at reading you and knowing what you want or how to make you happy with small gestures and actions. He just wants to make sure you’re happy and that you feel loved (and that you belong to him and only him).
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
Mentioned with dirty secrets. Really only does it when you’re not around. He’ll rarely do it just for the heck of it. He prefers getting his pleasure from pleasing and fucking (owning) you.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Dominance/Submission (Power Play) - Jason has had many things happen to him that he didn’t want or couldn’t control. It’s basically what influences this kink more than others. You submitting to Jason, letting him lead and have full control in sex and even in domestic scenarios creates a very satisfying and pleasurable feeling inside him. It also serves as reassurance for him, knowing that you fully trust him to the point where you basically surrender yourself to him. Getting back to more dirty things, this kink can include other aspects such as orgasm denial, bondage (on you), and verbal affirmation of your submission (dirty talk).
Choking (giving only) - This plays into the dominant/submission kink as well. It’s a rush from the feeling of control he has over whether you get to breathe or not while pounding your brains out. But, he’ll never go too far and he hopes you know that. However, he’s not at all okay with it being done to him. He does not like his neck being touched at all for that matter. Call it PTSD from his time with Joker and other things that have happened to him in the past, so it’s a big no-no. Although, with time and him getting more comfortable in the relationship, if he gives you a clear consenting sign that he’s okay with it, he’ll allow a gentle caress and rub down his neck, but only from you. Anyone else who tries to touch him on his neck risks several broken limbs.
Mirror Sex - A key part of his possessive nature toward you. He loves seeing himself fuck into you and even more, his ego gets a big boost from seeing you turn into an erotic mess while he’s inside you.
Size Difference - The fact that Jason can pick you up and throw you around like a rag doll, dwarfs you in size, or that his clothes (even if you’re tall and broad) can look three sizes too big on you is a major turn-on for him. He won’t say it, but he likes the idea of someone smaller than him that he can protect.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
Weird enough, the thought comes to mind that Jason has a weird obsession with having sex with you in tight spaces. Mainly, places like the shower or the car. It ties a bit into his power and size kink. Something about the size of his body towering over you in a small space riles him up like no other. It’s the feeling or sensation that he’s got you cornered that drives that feeling. Kind of like an outlet for him to deal with his trauma of when he was actually trapped/cornered.
Also, he has it in his mind that whenever you move in together, he has to fuck you on every single available surface in your place. Christening your home with your love is how he likes to think of it. Plus, he gets a nasty kick out of when guests are over, imagining in his mind that they’re sitting in places where he had you crying out and cumming on his dick multiple times.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
#1:Jealousy & Possessiveness – The idea of you finding anyone else attractive, let alone giving them your attention which is only supposed to be reserved for him, he’ll be quick to snatch you into the nearest closet or bathroom to remind you who you belong to. And it doesn’t matter who it is besides your parents or his family. It could be the barista at the cafe, a random guy who gave you a friendly nod, or god forbid, an old classmate or co-worker you happened to bump into on the street. Jason is a selfish & protective little fucker who doesn’t even want to consider the idea of someone else thinking they can have what’s only for him.
#2: Clothes – Please, exercise caution when picking your outfit for any particular event. Jason’s never gonna tell you what you can’t wear, but keep in mind that again, he’s a selfish and protective little fucker who has the sex drive of a large animal. Wearing anything even slightly tight or a bit showy for his taste can and will land you in many situations where Jason has pulled you aside somewhere quiet and private to have at your body. And don’t let him catch others ogling your outfit or even giving you the slightest compliment or all hell is breaking loose. Not to say he doesn’t like it, he loves it. But, you’re for his eyes only. Now, if it’s his clothes you’re wearing out, please be aware that at some point, you may be buying him a new shirt/hoodie cause he’s about to rip it off you.
#3: Arguing – Something in that man thrives on chaos, and when you and he are going at it, he can’t help but get hard. And again, hot, angry makeup sex. Duh…
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)
He will not do any form of rape/forced play, including machoism and sadism. His vigilante life and past trauma already left a deep scar on him and anything that resembles that can and will trigger him. Plus, he knows he’s way stronger and doesn’t want to even take the risk of hurting you in any way.
Unless we’re talking Arkham Jason. That’s a completely different story.
He would clear it with you first that you’re okay with bondage and choking, but he doesn’t want it performed on him, especially the choking, as we’re already aware that he’s very sensitive about his neck.
Any extreme BDSM kinks like piss play or fisting is also a major turn-off for him. Exhibitionism is a straight-up no. Jason would rather drink from the Lazarus pit than have anyone looking at you in a state that he’s only allowed to see you in. Don’t even attempt to pitch the idea of a threesome or foursome or just any suggestion of bringing someone else in on your fun. It will turn into a major argument and not a good one that ends in happy fun.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
Inexperienced but picks it up quickly and learns what gets more of a reaction from you. He’s a fast learner and loves it when he’s able to drive you over the edge with his mouth alone. Also, if we’re talking about eating out, he’ll happily do it till the sun turns blue. There’s something about tasting you on his tongue that just really gets him riled up.
But, if we’re talking dick-sucking, definitely prefers receiving over giving. Jason finds it extremely hot seeing you go up and down on him with your mouth, especially when he grabs your hair or head and starts to force your head up and down or starts thrusting in your mouth. He loves seeing you slobber and choke all over him. And if you look up and give him a teary-eyed but submissive look, game over (in a good way).
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Definitely fast and rough. And if it’s not, you can bet he’s delivering some powerful strokes that will have you squeezing and clenching your legs all around him. Plus, he notices the harder he goes, the more you squeeze yourself against him while pressing your nails into his back and biting at his skin, trying to silence your loud moans and cries. Though, it’s probably not the best idea because he’ll just go even harder to force those noises out of you. And, those are marks and scars he will PROUDLY wear.
It takes him time (if you even decide at all that you want him to) to learn how to move at a softer, slower, and more sensual pace. But, if it’s something you truly desire, he’ll work on it and do everything he can to make you happy. But, that doesn’t mean rough sex goes away. It actually makes it even more hot, especially when Jason is in one of his moods.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
He’s not opposed to them. But, Jason likes to take his time with you. He doesn’t like to rush and hates the idea of feeling as if someone is going to interrupt him. No one should intrude upon your special time with each other. God bless (and protect) the unlucky souls that do.
But, if he’s really in the mood and he can’t get you to an ideal private place in a fast enough time, he’s not above pulling you into the nearest dark room or corner to get down and dirty, especially if he’s feeling a little territorial because someone decided they wanted to be brave stupid and hit on you. He’s more than happy to remind you who you’re in a relationship with. Or if you’re not in a relationship, then just who’s fucking you every single night, plain and simple. Either way, quickies to him are basically just his versions of reminders to you for what happens when he gets a bit jealous.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
You’d have to move at a snail’s pace with him if you want to introduce something new to your routine. If it’s something small, then he may go ahead and give in to it, but Jason craves consistency and normalcy, and that includes sex. Asking him to try something new can hit a sore spot cause it may seem like what you two are doing now isn’t enough for you anymore.
But, if you reassure him it’s not that, and just slowly introduce the idea to him, (double points if he likes it off the start) then you’re definitely in for a treat. For you, and you only, he is willing to step out of his comfort zone, as long as it’s not too crazy or on his no-no list.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Depends on his mood and what prompted the sex. He could go for one round or two if he’s just feeling a little feral and wants a piece of you. If it’s a jealous or angry fit after an argument, you might wanna cancel any plans after, cause he’s certainly not letting you leave the bed, the house, or wherever you are until your legs are basically useless.
The same thing goes for the duration of a round, especially if you’ve got the good good (hehe). If you’re really giving it to him. Mans may be lucky to make it past 10 minutes, but that’s not too bad. It means he can cuddle you, or you cuddle him. Either way, cuddles are non-negotiable after a round. But, if you two just got done hashing it out over something or you decided to poke one too many of his buttons, he’s dragging it out as long as he can. This means exiting out of you whenever he feels like he’s getting too close, and denying you your own orgasm as well (that damn control factor strikes again).
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Jason doesn’t own any toys and never really had an interest in them. It’s not something he’d really get into on his own and only would experiment with them if you asked. The most he’s got is handcuffs or rope he’d use for bondage but that’s as far as he would take it.
If you were to use toys, he’d definitely prefer him using them on you unless there was something else specific involved that didn’t cross one of his boundaries.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
50/50. If you’re teasing him, payback’s a fucker named Jason. He’ll kiss all your sweet spots, nibble on your chest, and barely give any attention to your dick/genitals. Especially if he’s in one of his ‘I want to hear you beg for me, tell me who owns you’ moods.
If he wants to get to the point, then you can expect to be promptly thrown onto the bed or whatever surface is nearby, and the most he’ll do here is tie or cuff your hands so you can’t touch him, knowing how much you like to feel his body while he’s ramming yours.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
Jason’s loud. But, in a very grunty-like way. You may have to fight tooth and nail to get him to moan for you, but by golly is he expressive when you manage to get it out of him. For the most part, though, he’s giving grunts, growls, and grumbles. You’ll mainly hear him whisper into your ear, reminding you that he’s the one currently plowing your guts and that no one else is allowed to see you like this but him.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
He likes fucking you with clothes on frequently. You’re wearing a tight compression shirt that’s showing your pecs, abs, and just overall body, he’s got you bent over a surface while oogling your muscle constricting under a shirt. Wearing a jockstrap or thong in the gym and he can see it, he’s pulling them down and that underwear aside just enough to get inside you. You’re not complaining though. If he’s wearing his own compression and muscle shirts all the better for you, getting to ogle and rub his muscles while he’s hammering inside of you like an animal.
He also really enjoys massages. Particularly on his shoulders, back, and chest. He loves it when you lick and play around with the head of his dick and when you run your fingers through his hair while his face is buried in your neck kissing and leaving marks all over.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Bigger than average.
8-9 inches minimum. He’s thick and girthy down as well. Maybe narrower at the base with a really large and bulbous head. Entering can be a bit of a challenge, but it gets easier the further he gets inside. Also has a curve to his dick.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Jason has a fairly high sex drive and the Lazarus pit only increased that. His libido can sometimes be more emotion-driven so feelings of love, anger, or even just a slight irritation will get him hard.
Maybe you’re not fucking every hour of the day, but he’s gotta have you in some shape or form at least once or twice a day. Whether it’s a blowjob, hand-job, or one of his jealous reminder quickies.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
He can go to sleep fairly quickly, but only after he’s properly cared for you and cleaned you up. Also, he has to have your body pressed against him. Cuddles are vitally important and you should never once not want to cuddle him. It’s the one intimate thing he’s got down perfectly to a T. 
However, he has more than once fallen asleep while still inside you and in the position you both finished in. It can lead to a comfortable or uncomfortable scenario, depending on the situation.
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☀️ | Jason Todd/Red Hood | ☀️
☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️
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luvv4j4ybe11 · 2 months
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𝑻𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝑺𝒆𝒂𝒕, 𝒀𝒂𝒘𝒏𝒆.
✧ 𝑵𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒚𝒂𝒎 𝒙 𝑭𝒆𝒎𝑯𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒏!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓
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✧ 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚~ 𝑵𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒚𝒂𝒎 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒃𝒔
✧ 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔~ 𝑫𝒐𝒎!𝒏𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒚𝒂𝒎, 𝑺𝒖𝒃!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓, 𝑪𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝑷𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒌, 𝑨𝒃 𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝑩𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑(?), 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒅𝒆𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒍 𝒃𝒊𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒂 𝒄𝒓𝒚𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚, 𝒕𝒆𝒚𝒂𝒎 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒆 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓, 𝒔𝒊𝒛𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆/𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒌, 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒍 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆, 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒉 𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒊𝒕, 𝒍𝒎𝒌 𝒊𝒇 𝑰 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝑬𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚<3
✧ 𝑻𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔~ 𝒀𝒂𝒘𝒏𝒆=𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅, 𝒀𝒂𝒘𝒏𝒕𝒖= 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒏𝒆, 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓, 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏, 𝑺𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒏=𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒚(𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒇𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒔)
✧ 𝑫𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒃𝒚 @chilumitos 𝒂𝒏𝒅 @eloquentreverie
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It was a chill day for you and your boyfriend, Neteyam. Just enjoying each other’s presence while the sound of rain hitting the roof soothed you both. You had your leg thrown over Neteyams larger one, the other laying out straight as your arms (barley) wrapped around his large frame. Your hand was comfortably placed on his toned stomach, as his was resting on the hilt of your ass.
Subconsciously, you start to tracing his abs in small shapes and patterns when your mind starts to fill with thoughts of getting on top of him and riding his abs until you make a complete mess all over him.
The thought makes you squeeze your thighs together, but that was stopped by his stronger one wedged between your legs comfortably. His thigh was just inches away from your throbbing cunt, making the urge to just wrap your small legs around his thigh and grind down onto it till you came get harder to ignore.
He smirks once he catches the change in you scent, trailing his hand up and down the skin of your ass. “Mhm, what is it, Babygirl?” His voice is enough to snap you out of your thoughts, but also enough to make your pussy leak even more. You take a few breathes before answering, trying desperately to calm yourself. “Nothing, why are you asking?” You say softly, continuing to delicately trace his abs.
He grumbles lowly at your response, siting up and pushing your small body onto his lap, causing you to let out a little startled noise at the quick movement. He looks down at you with hooded eyes, getting high off of your scent.“Maybe because I can smell how much your pretty pussy is leaking.” He says lowly while hooking his finger under your chin, leaning down to kiss your lips softly, braids cascading down his shoulders and hitting the sides of your face gently. “Now, what were you thinking about, Babygirl?”
The question has you staring at him blankly, a chill of anxiety ran down your spine at the thought of him seeing you differently if you were to tell him. “Uhm..” you start off, the intensity of his stare making you feel extremely small, and nervous. “I was thinking about..riding your abs” you say tentatively, looking down at the waist bead he made you when you first got together.
To your surprise though, your confession doesn’t make him disgusted, or make him storm out of your room in complete surprise and disgust. Instead, he just laughs, he fucking laughs. But it wasn’t judgmental of course, it was genuine and loving. Everything he ever is to you. “Shut the fuck up, Neteyam!! That’s not funny!!” You say through your own giggles, hitting him in the chest roughly.
“Yes it is, Sevin!” he replies, his laughter dying down softly. A pout forms on your face, pretty doe eyes boring into his siren eyes. “How?” You question, attitude laced in your tone. “Because, you said it like someone just died.” You laugh at his response, replaying your words in your head. “Whatever, Neteyam!” You quip, sarcasm apparent in your tone. “But, FYI, I only said it like that because I thought you were gonna have some type of negative response to it.” You add, voice honest and truthful.
He turns his head to the side and looks at you with a confused/sad expression, long braids falling down his shoulders and ears perking up with the same emotion. “Why would I have a negative reaction to that? You know I would never, ever, judge you, babydoll.” He says reassuringly, placing his large hand on your head and rubbing your scalp softly. “I know, I just..I got in my head, I guess. I’m glad you don’t find me weird or anything though.” You confess through a soft chuckle, making him laugh before he moves his hand from the top of your head to your chin, holding it firmly.
“I could never, babydoll. Truthfully though, I find it pretty adorable how pent up you get to the thought of me. My needy little girl just can’t help herself when she’s around me, huh?” His tone makes you pussy throb and ache, instinctively bucking your hips against his strong thigh. “Mhm..” you hum, eyes flickering from his own to his lips, you lean in to kiss him, but that’s stopped by his strong hand on your chin. “Awh, does my baby want a kiss?” He teases, rubbing his lips against your own, but not giving you the chance to kiss him back because of his firm grip on your chin.
“Mhm!” You whine, rubbing your needy pussy against his thigh quicker. He pecks your lips softly before kissing you fully, his pace slow and steady. The pace makes your head spin and clit throb, hips speeding up the longer he kisses you. You whine when you feel his warm tongue against your own, mindlessly kissing him faster to feel more of him. He wraps his hand around your throat gently, a silent warning to follow his pace, not yours.
Once you feel his hand wrap around your throat, you knew you were a fucking goner. Turning into putty in his hands almost automatically. The amount of slick that was coming from your pussy soaked your shorts, leaving a trail all over Neteyams thigh. He groans lowly at the smell of your arousal, breaking the kiss reluctantly, a line of spit connecting your plump lips together.
He damn near rips your shorts in half when he takes them off before he lays down, pulling you onto his abs roughly. You hover over him slightly, scared of hurting him even though he’s so much more bigger than you.
“Teyam, I-“ you start
“You aren’t gonna hurt me. Now, take a seat, yawne.” He orders, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you down onto him.
Both of you gasp softly once you feel his hard abs against your soft, puffy pussy. The feeling so new and foreign. Your hands find purchase just below his ribs, slowly rocking your hips back and forth against the muscles. Whining softly when you feel his firm abs hitting your clit every time you move.
“Oh..fuck, teyam..” the grip on your hips gets tighter, soft groans filling your ears the more you rock against him. “Mhm, that’s it, babygirl. Such a pretty little slut for me.” He coos, pressing your cunt on him tighter, making you moan louder and hips rut against him quicker.
He lifts you up from his abs slowly, you moan at the loss of friction, but he was too focused on the lines of slick that connect your puffy lips to his stomach. He moans lowly at the sight, pressing you against his abs once more before lifting you up, even more lines of slick connecting you two together. “Awh, babygirl, look at the mess you’re making on me.” He coos before scooping your slick up with his fingers and putting them in his mouth, sucking on them hungrily.
You whine and squrim against him, getting both equally turned on and frustrated that he’s holding you up with one hand just to watch your pussy leak onto him. “Teyammm! Put me down!” You demand, the feeling of your orgasm slipping away from you quickly. “And why should I do that? I like watching how you helplessly flail around because I won’t let you ride me like a little bitch in heat.” He states, a pout forming on your face from his words. “You’re so mean.” You huff, tears welling in your eyes once your almost orgasm finally leaves you.
He cups your cheek lovingly, rubbing his thumb against the soft skin. “Oh, l’m just the worst aren’t I? My baby getting all mad because I won’t let her cum?” He prods, a fake pout on his face, making a smile creep up on your own. Without warning he places you back down on his abs, locking his hands behind his head. You gasp in surprise, placing your hands below his ribs for support.“Go ahead, babydoll. Wanna watch you cum for me.” He orders, never breaking eye contact while he speaks to you.
You felt so ‘on the spot’ without his big, warm hands guiding your movements, suddenly not knowing how to start off or where to put your hands. “Teyam..” you call for him, but all you get in return is a “nuh-uh, babygirl. I’m not helping you. Want you to be a good girl for me and show me how badly you wanna cum.” You stare at him with a pout on your face before slowly moving your hips, the feeling of his abs repeatedly hitting your clit makes your moans get louder and needier, your orgasm slowly getting closer and closer.
He flexes and relaxes the muscles continuously, causing you to jump and grind into him more. The constant friction on your sensitive clit starts to prove to be too much for you, making tears start to well up in your eyes and thrust get sloppier. “T-tey, I can’t. It way too much.” You blubber almost incoherently, but he still caught it. He doesn’t stop flexing his abs though, and you don’t stop moving your hips. “Yes you can, Yawntu. I can feel how much this pretty pussy is pouring on me. You’re almost there, baby.” He encouraged, the praise being enough to make you chase your high. Making him smile proudly. “There you go, babygirl.”
His words have your pussy pouring out slick like a river, you both glance down at his abs to see that they’re completely soaked in your juices, the dim light of your room making his pretty skin seem like it was glowing. He chuckles at the sight before looking up at you, in a trance by how gorgeous you look on top of him. “Mhm..What a pretty little slut, getting this wet from riding my abs?” You let out a small “uh-huh” before you feel the coil in your stomach getting tighter.
Noticing this, he flexes his abs and keeps them flexed, biting his lip at the little whimper that comes from your mouth when he does that. “Teyam, I need you to touch me.” You demand. But he doesn’t move, no matter how badly he wanted to squeeze and pinch at your sensitive skin, he kept his hands behind his head. “Please!, tey, please! I’m sorry!” He chuckles at your needy tone before rewarding you with a “good girl” and letting his hands roam across your body.
You let out a downright pornographic moan once his hands touch your sensitive tits, small hands wrapping around his slender wrists. He pinches and fondles at the soft skin gently, making all sorts of pretty noises and pleas fall from your plush lips.
His left hand reaches up to cup the side of your face sweetly, while the other continues to play with your sensitive tit. “Mhm, you gonna be a good whore for me and cum all over my abs? Hm?” He questions, wrapping his hand around your throat firmly. You let out a broken “yes,sir” before a loud moan leaves your lips as the coil in your stomach snaps, your cum completely covering his whole stomach.
“Shsh, I got you, babygirl, lemme help you.” He places his hands on your hips to help you ride out your high, stopping once your moans die down and turn into soft heavy breathes.
You look at him to be met with hooded eyes and a smirk, one that told you that you definitely said something you’re gonna regret. “What?..” you ask, the word heavy on your tounge as you look at him with a furrowed brow. “Sir, huh?” He asks, making you cover your face in embarrassment. “No way I said that! It was an accident! Oh my god!” You blurt, but he silences your rambling with a passionate kiss.
“I didn’t mind it, you know.” He says once he pulls away from the kiss
“oh really?” You question, a devilish smirk on your face
“Mhm.” he responses, eyes fluttering from your lips to your eyes. “Well thank you for tonight, sir.” You tease, leaving a quick kiss on his cheek before getting up quickly, but he was quicker, grabbing you by your waist and putting you on your back.
“Uh-uh, tonight is just getting started, yawntu.”
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𝑨/𝑵~ Hii! I only proofread this two times, so I apologize if there’s errors/repeats it’s literally 12am rn💔 but lemme tell yall I was blushin and kickin ma feet while writing this one frl😭, I need to write for neteyam more bc whew😩 what a fine man he is. I hope you guys enjoyed this tho🥰🫶🏽 bc now I’m off to sleep, stay safe and hydrated, I love you guys🩷
𝑫𝒖𝒄𝒆𝒔🫶🏽,
𝑳𝒖𝒗𝒗4𝒋4𝒚𝒃𝒆11
~
~
~
𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕~ @pandoraslxna @neteyamgfs @faintfill @tsireyasluvr @aperiraa @fioooweeooweeeoo @loakstahni @brioffthegrid @wheneclipsefalls @chershire23 @blue-slxt @tallulah477 @itchaboi-itchyboy @neteyamsyawntu @neteyamyawne @inolaphoenix @renaimel
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noroi1000 · 6 months
Note
hii noroi! saw you opened your rq for 2 weeks 👀 neways- can i rq angst where reader dies bc of mahito? like what happened to nanami and how stsg react? i live for the angst!!
Too weak
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Heavy angst warning!!! Character death!!!
Summary: You thought you were strong enough to fight without their help...
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You slowly walked down the alley when you knew your boys were waiting on the other side.
You kept a hand on your very hurting side.
You told them that you are strong and as a special class you will be able to defeat the special class. You told them you would go alone and when you were done you would come back to them. And you also said that if you needed help, you would call them. Because you wanted to show them that you can be as strong as them.
But you were too weak.
You had to run away. That's why you ran between buildings and when you didn't feel like you were being chased, you stopped running and walked towards them.
You didn't want to die. The wounds should be normal for a Jujutsu sorcerer.
But this thing wasn't a wound. Your whole side was black. It hurt so much. As if the pain radiated throughout your body. You couldn't speak without whimpering.
There was no blood on your clothes. But this terrible pain prevented you from doing much but suffering.
There was a ray of hope in your soul that they would help you and you would return home. Everything will be fine
"You were supposed to be strong. And you are. But you can't be untouchable, can you?" Your opponent's words echoed in your ears.
And his sadistic smile couldn't fade from your mind.
With each step you took, you felt your bones breaking. As if it was made of such a fragile thing.
You ignored the pain you felt and kept walking.
But the moment you saw your boys, you just gave up and lowered your body to the ground.
Sitting against the wall, you called out their names quietly.
"...Satoru....Suguru..." Your lips were dry and you thought that nothing could moisturize it.
You just want them to overcome the curse and take you home. So that you can be together with a smile.
But why was everything blurry outside of their figures?
When their eyes landed on you, they were a little scared.
You were sitting on the ground, tiredness visible on your face. They ran up to you, checking your condition.
"(y/n), are you okay!?" Suguru began to check you over completely. His hands explored you and you gave him a weak smile.
You came back after half an hour. And the fact that you are here may mean that you have won or escaped.
"...It's just a little scratch..." You coughed slightly. "I was just too weak for it."
You gave them a weak-eyed smile.
You always wanted to see them in the last minutes of your life. Be with them. But you don't die. It's a small wound that just needs treatment. You are alive. You don't die. You are here with them all the time.
"Too weak for this... Sorry..."
"You don't have to apologize." Satoru reassured you, moving your hand away to check your wound. "Suguru, can you take care of this curse?"
"Maybe we should take care of (y/n) first?”
"You can leave her to me! I can take her to Shoko now!" he said with worry and a smile to calm down the situation.
You couldn't see it, but your skin was so pale. Your veins throbbed as you sat in front of him. Your skin felt so very hot despite how it looked.
And there were darker circles under your eyes. You looked completely different than half an hour ago.
You had to get care quickly. Therefore, the best way will be to take you directly to Shoko. But you're conscious. That's why it's good.
"Should I change her soul into the shape of a rabbit? That would be fun! You finally released a little defenseless bunny for my amusement!" A voice echoed through the alley.
Your eyes widened as you knew he hadn't stopped chasing you.
You reached for Satoru's uniform, but suddenly you couldn't feel your body anymore and you fell limp in his hands.
"(y/n)!"
You felt your lips become wet. But it wasn't saliva or water. It was much more dense.
"Such a little soul! It was sweet! I would like more sorcerers like this to play with! Experimenting on special grade sorcerers is exciting!"
You felt a great pressure in your head whenever he spoke. Like something was about to burst your skull. At the same time, your side hurt so much.
"Please hold on a little longer! I'll take you to Shoko now!" Satoru shouted and tried to pick you up. But as soon as he wanted to get up, he felt like your body was crumbling from the inside. As if you were so fragile and one squeeze could break you.
Suguru looked in horror at the black cracks on the skin of your hands. Several of them had small drops of blood oozing out.
Feeling weaker from the pain, you breathed a little weaker. Your vision was blurry. You couldn't see anything but their faces.
The terror in Suguru's eyes as he set his curses for protection when he also wanted to take care of you.
"...There is no time... Toru..." you moaned weakly, feeling nothing but blood on your tongue.
In the distance, you heard a quiet psychopathic song about a dying rabbit.
If it were Suguru's voice, you would be calmer. But it was the voice of a curse that wanted to watch you suffer, slowly killing you before their eyes.
You just wanted to go home...
Have you asked for too much?
Was that too much of a desire?
You were too confident to fight this curse... You went there without help...
Was your desire to go home really too much? A dream that can't come true?
„The bunny lay in tears, For me is time to cheers~”
Since when have you been crying?
Or maybe it's true...
"...Toru... Sugu... I'm sorry... I was too weak..." you jerked hoarsely.
"No no no! It'll be fine soon!"
"...Sorry... I just... Wanted to go home...to much..." You moaned, not knowing he had said anything as your ears were filled with the same thick liquid as your mouth.
You forced your aching facial muscles to show them a smile.
"...I just want to... Go home–."
Your breath hitched suddenly as the imaginary song in the background ended.
„And for the song end, The bunny is just dead.”
Blood flowed from all over your face as your breathing hitched and your body became as soft as marshmallows in his arms.
All they could hear now was the chuckle of the curse behind them. And their own breaths as they watched your body not move at all.
"...(y/n)...?" Suguru whispered, unable to breathe for a moment. And then he looked at the petrified face of Satoru whose blindfold began to drop tears onto his cheeks.
With a muffled whine, he moved your body closer to his, hugging you. Suguru grabbed his neck, resting his forehead on his shoulder as he was terrified by the sight.
"Aww... I wanted more fun... But this was fun too!"
What will be the most painful death for the curse?
Almost kill, absorb, release and torture until death. Watching the suffering.
Just like they had to lose you, that curse with the stitched face will lose the smile from its face...
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spacedace · 9 months
Text
Here be the first little bit of the new DP x DC AU I warned about earlier where Tim, due to his constant repeated attempts at cloning Bart & Kon, accidentally summons slightly eldritch Elle who is very interested in what he’s up to.
As always feel free to run with this as a prompt if yall find anything here interesting :D
*
Tim didn’t mean to summon her.
He’d been in the lab, staring at the data on the latest failed attempts at cloning Kon and Bart and feeling like he was cracking in two. Eyes burning, chest tight, world spinning out into shifting impossible shadows around him as his mind and body struggled to push him forward into another day without sleep. The hush of water in the tanks, his unsteady steps on the cement floor, the chill seeping into his bones.
He stumbled and swayed through the maze of the lab, numbers dripping like blood down the screen as he tried to stare at the figures. He needed to try again, needed to bring them back, in whatever capacity he could. This time would work. This time he’d get it right.
When he saw her, feet clumsy as he rounded a corner, he thought she was just another hallucination.
How could she be anything else?
Skin like a polished mirror, hair like the white-hot flash of lightning, eyes as green as the depths of the Lazarus Pits. She floated before a tank, spectral and strange with a long wisping tail that drifted off into nothingness in place of legs, body shifting and changing before his eyes in ways that bodies should not be able to. Outside of the eyes the face was…not there. An impression of the shapes that you’d expect to see in a human face, like the Question’s. Sometimes though the features defined, sharpened. Mirror bright skin crackling as faces took shape in the glass.
In the low light of the lab, he almost imaged one of those faces was Kon’s. Dimples and freckles and high cheek bones and the slant of a silhouette that haunted Tim’s dreams at night. A flicker of her lightining hair and it was gone. Smoothed back into soft blankness once more.
He watched from the of the aisle as she lifted too-long mirror shard fingers and rest them gently on the glass as she seemed to peer in at the lifeless body inside.
Attempt 76.
One of his tries with Bart. The organs hadn’t grown right during the age-up process. Tim had cried for that one as he had for all the others. As he had for Bart and Kon when they had died. As he still did as the fact that it was more maddened grief than hope that kept him pushing forward anyway.
He closed his eyes to the hallucination at the end of the aisle. Breathed deep and steady. It might be gone when he opened his eyes again. It might not be. It might be something - someone - else when he dares look next. He’d been through this time and time again over the days and weeks he’d been throwing himself at this agonizing wall. The only difference this time was the intricate strangeness, the total lack of recognition he had for the figure, baring the moment he almost saw Kon in its face.
Coffee. Maybe some harder stimulants, if he had any left. New data to review, new attempts to be made. He didn’t have time for the effects of sleep deprivation.
Tim opened his eyes.
He jerked back as he came face to face with himself, warped and strange and green in the reflective face of the being where it now hovered so close that if it breathed he would feel it upon his face.
She tilted her head at him, curious. Hands rose to cup his face, rest on his shoulders, wrap around his arms, cradle his hands. More hands than he’d seen before. More hands than he was able to truly comprehend, stomach souring as his eyes stung and strained in the attempt to look at the impossible warping of her body. Despite the glint of shattered glass that made up her fractured palms and splintered silver fingers, her hands were soft and warm where they curled around him. Almost human in the way they held him in place, the hold pleasantly firm.
He’d never had a doting elder aunt to pinch his cheeks and demand to get a look at him, but he imagined this might be what that felt like. The way the being shifted her head from side to side, his reflection warping in the curved reflection of the planes of her featureless face, added to the strange idea. His hallucinations didn’t normally touch him, though. And never so…kindly.
Tim felt his blood go cold as he realized it might not be a figment of his fracturing mind floating before him.
Swallowing nervously, he tried to shift backwards, to slip out of the many grasping hands before the softness turned sharp and began to cut into him. He felt something cool against the back of his legs, hair standing on end as static electricity built up on his skin where he brushed the trailing tail he hadn’t noticed her curl around him. The entity leaned in close, the depthless green of her glowing eyes consuming Tim’s entire field of vision, and he was flooded by the sudden, horrible awareness of being Known.
The world fell away from him, his stomach lurching with the sick-sweet feel of free fall that used to exhilarate him when he’d first become Robin and had flown from rooftops dangling by his grapple and his belief in the magic being Robin instilled in him. The lab, the equipment, the piles of data and desperate scribbles, the failed clones, Tim himself. All swept away in the flood of green and the roar of lightning and the cool press of glass.
He came to would could have been minutes or centuries later. Gasping and sick on the cold cement floor, shivering as he dry heaved. His mouth full of salt and copper and the burning crackle of ozone at the back of his throat.
For a moment, disoriented and dizzy, he thought it had all been a hallucination after all. Or some fractious dream visited upon him by his torn and tattered mind after he’d finally collapsed from exhaustion on the lab floor. That the entity truly had been just in his mind, a consequence of his refusal to rest until his work was done.
Then he felt the glass-cool fingers running through his hair, the warm hand rubbing at his back, heard the low murmurs of reassurance in a voice that was almost, almost human.
He spasmed as he tried to jerk away, hissing with the sharp sting of pins and needles dancing over every nerve. His limbs were heavy and clumsy, and he was crashing back to the cold floor under his own weight before he could even try and drag himself away. His breathing came in short, aching gasps as he tried to twist away, only managing to roll to his back to see the entity where it sat calmly looking down at him.
She had a face now. A solid, steady one that fit her in a way that made him think it must be her real one, though what that meant exactly he didn’t know. The glowing eyes had dimmed and shifted, more human looking with black pupils and white sclera. Button nose marked with silver-tarnish freckles that spread over her cheeks too. A mouth, with lips curled into an apologetic smile. Her hair, still shifting as if caught in a wind that wasn’t there, was still the bright white it’d been before, but the lighting of the locks had settled into faint crackles between the curls. Whatever she was, whatever she’d done to him, he could look at her without feeling like his mind might just crack in two.
“Wha-“ His voice cracked, painful and hoarse like he’d been screaming. Maybe he had been. Swallowing around the burn in his throat, he choked out a hissed, “What are you?”
Her head tilted in that curious slant again, more human features giving her a bright, youthful look as she peered down at him questioningly. “You summoned me, Little Gaffer, shouldn’t you know?”
*
Gaffer is a term used for a glass crafter, as well as light technicians for stage/movie productions. I’m using it as the term for the person who creates a Clone, with the clone themselves being a Mirrorborn, and the person they are cloned from being called the clone’s Reflected. Gaffer is probably a bit of a stretch for this, technically I think someone who makes mirrors would be called a Glazier (Glaziers are glassmakers) but I wasn’t vibing that as much. Besides I like the vibe of glass + light = mirror in a way.
Anyway, opening volley of a new AU where Tim ends up becoming like a warlock to Elle to get his loved ones back, while Elle is just having the time of her sorta eldritch little life watching this absolute mess of a human wreck shit and cause so much chaos even without the powers she starts giving him.
(Elle in this is both the God Queen of Clones/Mirrorborn as well as the Ancient of the Speedforce (which I’ve decided is called the Ever Onward in the Infinite Realms, because I literally can’t be stopped from trying to make normal DC things sound mystical because spooky Infinite Realms aesthetics haha)
Have a tiny bit more written for this, but don’t know how much I’ll end up writing for it with all the other projects I have currently lol, so if anyone is interested feel free to run with it as you so desire haha
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yeyinde · 7 months
Note
This might sound so cringe and cliche, but I wanna be of help in some way-
how about price faking injuries to see a specific nurse he has a crush on but won’t admit.
Cringe and cliche are quite on brand for me, tbh.
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It starts as a concussion, a stiffness in his neck. A pinch in his shoulder. 
Then it changes shape, shifting, evolving, into something more. A tenuous dance held together by silken threads. He tugs on the ends sometimes, just to watch little pieces of you begin to unravel. Raw skin, untouched and new bared to his curious eyes. 
You’ve thrown him off-kilter, left him feeling strange. All asunder. 
He shouldn’t be too surprised by the way you unmoor him so easily. Your eyes swallow the atmosphere around him, eating through gravity. Weightless, he’s left to drift in the aether until you snatch him from the air, leaving him wing-clipped, and kept cupped in the soft swells of your palm. 
It’s greed, he thinks. That awful little thing that makes him keep coming back for more.
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The helicopter crash did a number of things on him—mild concussion, a fractured rib, sprained wrist; it seemed to have flipped his insides all askew for a moment when he plunged to the earth before somehow righting themselves when he'd landed—but in retrospect, hindsight, whatever, it could have been a lot worst. 
A fact Gaz seemed to have picked up on quicker than he had when they'd met in the medical bay together, holding their broken bodies with trembling hands. 
(Or maybe threaded together by a statuette of Nefertem laced in the fibres of their hearts.)
"What's this now," Gaz asked when he limped in, knee smarting without the surge of adrenaline keeping him upright. Mirth rolling through his teeth, ge offered Price a fractured grin that very likely might have been a grimace. "Two for two? Might be a sign, cap…"
"A sign for what?"
Gaz shrugged, pressing tender fingers against the gash on his forehead. "Stay the fuck out of helicopters. Take the bloody bus instead."
There's a retort in the back of his throat, but it's swallowed when you walk in, hands gripping a medical bag between blanching knuckles. He's closest to the door, and you turn to him with an air of pensive uncertainty that nudges the spot inside of him that preens under authority. That likes law, order, and the simplicity of life. A natural-born leader. He plays the part, of commander and captain, and dips his head toward Gaz, a silent motion meant to convey him first. 
The always in that is ironclad, he thinks. Brassbound. Even if he was bleeding out on the pavement. His men, his boys, first. 
Except, he catches Gaz doing the same thing toward him. A stalemate, then. 
You're new, he notes; ears still wet, face still green. He braces himself to step in, to lay down the authority you need before you flounder, unsure what to do, but instead of being met with uncertainty, he finds himself breathing in your ire. 
"Well, heroes," you snip, brow pinching together in displeasure. "One of you has to go first, don't you? So while I put my stuff on the table, I expect you to have figured it out amongst yourself, yeah?"
And it's—
It's something. 
A strand of static in the air. Direct current to his heart. It thuds in a strange murmuration, off rhythm, off balance. But it makes sense. You'd thrown him so wildly off kilter. 
He clears his throat of the soot that congeals the back, and nods once. Sharp and jerky. 
"Right, yeah…" 
Price turns to Gaz, brows pinched in the middle. A messy bow. 
It isn't like him to be so askew, but you turned everything upside down before he could familiarise himself with the world in its right state. He's adrift for a moment. Floundering, he notes, tasting something sweet behind his teeth. 
Gaz meets his eyes somewhere in the fog, the furrow in his brow asking the questions he won't voice aloud—you alright, cap?—but he isn't sure what he's meant to say. Everything feels like it was knocked loose inside of him, left to roll off shelves and clatter to the floor. Disorganised chaos. Awash. Lost in tangled webs. He isn't used to this. To feeling so useless, so askew. 
He later finds it just the concussion warping the edges of his mind, turning his thoughts into a slurry. That the mild part was an oversight, one that was immediately corrected by you—firm fingers holding his chin still, nails scratching against his beard as you peered into his eyes with a clinical air of detachment that shouldn't have made his heart beat as loud as it was. 
You smell of summer rain. The musk of water on a hot pavement. He breathes it in until it's clogging the back of his throat, so thick he can almost taste it. So heavy, so heady, his head swims. Ozone. Charred wood. War tucked in a bottle.
The soft fingers against his pulse was a shock, made potent by the little curl of your brow when you counted the beats per minute and found they were much too fast. He isn't embarrassed. Doesn't think he has it in him anymore to feel that way, but there's a sense of frustration in the back of his mind as you move around him, commandeering him with an ease that leaves him feeling a little breathless. 
"You're concussed," you say at last, lips pitching downward as you read his charts, the scrawl left behind by the nurse who'd seen him earlier. The one who promptly sent him to you. "And it isn't mild."
With that, and a list of things he ought to do (non-negotiable), you send him on his way. Gaz, too. Fixed up with gauze and made shiny and new. 
Soap asks why he's so quiet later when they meet for a debriefing later on (one that he knows is definitely on the list of things you told him not to do), and has to stop the rip current from spilling past his lips. 
"He's concussed," Gaz supplied, narrowed eyes clipping the side of his face when it lands; a physical blow. "Doc said he needed rest. But good luck telling him that."
"Don't need rest," he grumbles. There's a blossom of pain in his temple. A little sapling that flourishes under the waning sunlight. "'M fine."
They don't believe him, but the debriefing is too short to push him to lay down, and he spends the next hour pretending he's not seeing shadows in his periphery. That the words on the pages don't bleed together. 
(That the scent of Petrichor doesn't glue to the back of his throat.)
When the hurt in his head dims, he finds his thoughts drifting back to you. Meek and unassuming. A wolf in sheep's clothing. It lingers long after the meeting has ended and he's ushered to the barracks for rest. Home tomorrow, Gaz promises on the tail end of yawn. Gonna sleep for a whole year, I think. 
Aye, gonna head home in the morning, Soap murmurs, but his eyes don't stray from the corner where Ghost leans, chin dipped low to his chest. 
(Price wouldn't put it past him to be asleep already.)
They tell him to get some sleep, dressing the worry in their voice as a friendly admonishment, and he takes it as it is. 
But rest doesn't come. 
He's curious about you. The little hellion that managed to snatch him clean from the air, and cup him in the palm of your too-small hands. 
(He wants to feel it again.)
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It begins as idle curiosity.
Price is a large man full of bulk and grit. The snarls in his throat command authority, respect. He isn't used to feeling so wing clipped, sidelined, and he blames that on why he seeks you out. 
A pinch in his shoulder. His chest feels swollen around the broken rib. His knee hurts. There's an ache in his throat. A throb in his kidneys. 
Each time is met with the same stern expression, firm hands. You commandeer him around the room, dragging out the ailments with ease that always seems to leave him off-kilter and breathless. 
He realises what it is the fourth time he comes to your office, exacerbating some mild pain. 
You take up space. All of it. Any crevasse, or corner is immediately filled by you. You have this presence about you that is so at odds with the meek façade you carried on your countenance like an ill-fitting mask when he'd first laid eyes on you. 
You're an enigma, a paradox. A riddle begging to be solved. He wants to take you into his hands and pull you apart until your insides are bared to him, true and real, and known. 
He's met people like you in his lifetime. Leaders in roles that don't fit them. He thinks you belong in worn pages of history, tucked behind a desk as you commandeer the world around you with firm hands and a gnarled smile instead of standing before him, musing softly at whatever ailments he throws your way. 
Despite his plethora of issues, you tackle them all with an air of severity and seriousness that he finds kinship in, touching softly at the twined mass that writhes before him. The cuts in your gaze are made from the same shorn razor as his, and he wants to see what's behind that ill-fitting mask. 
He wants to see you slip. 
But you don't. 
Tongue between teeth, clenched so hard that blood blooms and swells in the tip, you keep everything locked tight to your chest, and usher him out with pantomime remedies to heal his farcical hurts. 
Price isn't sure why he keeps going—curiosity, maybe. An attraction that cracks like lightning striking through his chest. A gale of turbulence that leaves him seaswept and standing on shaking knees. He doesn’t know what to do with the kinetic energy that buzzes in his veins, begging to be free, and so he tests. Pulls and tugs at the seams that keep you spooled tightly together just to see that fissure that once split across your face, leaking fury and fire into the air until it ripped through his nerves, an electrical fire, and set him alight from the inside out. 
(He finds he likes the way it hurts.)
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As much as he tugs, he finds he likes it when you pull back. 
"Should be careful," you coo, and the syrupy sweetness of your voice sparks against some dormant part of his mind. "You seem to have a lot of bad luck when it comes to ailments."
He shrugs. "Just unlucky."
"Or you're being cursed." 
"Oh, yeah?" He hums. "Could be." 
You offer a flimsy smile, but it’s enough to soothe the ruffle through his plumage. 
"What's your name?" He asks, fingers plucking at the gossamer that sits between you, unsettled by the quiver in his chest. 
The smile you flash at him is all teeth. "Sekhmet."
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Laswell doesn't ask why when he requests your records, but he senses the confusion in her voice when she calls. 
"All of them?" 
He grunts in response. 
"I vetted them personally, John… but," there's a shuffle in the background. Boxes sliding on linoleum. She's overseeing the tearing up of Shepherd's office, and this minute request suddenly turns his stomach sour. "Fine. If that's what you want."
"It's just—"
He isn't quite sure what to say. He was weakened and flummoxed by the world around him. You turned the tipping axis on its head, leaving him feeling asunder. 
"Heard they were quite rough with you," she teases, an olive branch. An excuse. "Bossing around the boss. Is this what it's about?"
He scoffs, then, and only feels an inkling of pain. "No, Laswell. And I wasn't bossed around."
"Manhandled?"
It gives him pause. That feeling from before swells in his chest. Soft hands against his talons, clipping his wings. 
"No," he mutters, but the airiness of his voice gives him away. 
Laswell, in a feat of mercy, just hums. "They're good, John. Good for this team."
Good for you, she doesn't say. John thinks she doesn't have to. He hears it, anyway. 
There are cracks inside of him, ones made from the chipped clay that once concealed an unslaked black hole. 
You fill space, he thinks. 
He isn’t surprised to find you fill the gaps inside of him, too. 
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He goes again, but this time it’s real. A bullet grazed his shin, deep enough to warrant stitches, and finds you waiting for him with that clipboard pinched between your hands. 
The look on your face gives him pause. It’s pulled taut, coiled like a defensive viper, but where he expects the same clinical efficiency and detached airs, he instead is met with a palpable sense of uncertainty—too much, he thinks, like the first time you walked into the room, unsure and wobbling on unsteady feet. 
His heart thunders under your prying gaze. “Need some stitches,” he says, if only to fill in the terse silence that settles over the room, hushed and aggrieved. 
“Right,” you echo, eyes dropping to the blood that runs in streaking rivulets down his leg. 
And you say nothing else after, working quietly as you knit skin back together and sponge the drying blood from the wry thatch of curls that blanket his shin. 
Price takes in the paleness of your lip, pinched tight against your clenched teeth. The deep ravine that cuts a line between your brows, heavy with shadows and flooded in some strange amalgamation of anger—potent enough that he can catch the embers in the air on his tongue—and this uncharacteristic sense of disquiet that makes your shoulders tense, your hands slacken. The firm, sure touch is gone—replaced, instead, with clouded unease—and you no longer commandeer him around the room, catch him from the air and manoeuvre him to your fanciful whims. You nudge, now. Soft utterances; requests. 
You don’t move space to fit yourself between the brackets. You linger in the periphery. 
He isn’t accustomed to this, and the hesitancy in your brow needles behind his ribs, pinching and pushing until he’s left feeling that same, strange sense of weightlessness as before. But where you led him around by the tip of his ears, he finds himself unmoored. 
(He likes the loss of control, but only when it’s tethered to your hand.)
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His wound is patched up, skin knitted together with silken black lines that cut a neat crisscross through his tumid skin. There is no reason to linger, despite the weight on his tongue urging him to speak. 
But you strike first, catching him at the door. 
"Is there a problem?" You ask, words stripped bare, and masticated between clenched teeth. Reluctance is a heavy weight on your brow when he turns to you, as if you don't want to ask, but are compelled to. Forced to. 
It's the first time he's felt any sense of control around you. He stretches his wings. 
"Problem?" He echoes, and tucks his hands beneath his arms. Steadying his stance. Preparing for the fight. 
You mimic his pose, but grab the knobs of your elbows between tense fingers instead. There's fire in your eyes. The room fills with smoke. 
"You asked for my papers."
The meagre file tucked away in his cabinet spoke of your accomplishments in the same detached, clinical distance as one of the many façades you adopt. It listed your education, your former employment, and your accolades in Times New Roman, all standard affairs. Impressive, of course, but he found it all to be quite lacklustre. 
It didn't mention the firmness of your fingers when you take his pulse or commandeer him to your liking. It said nothing about the paralysing weight in your gaze, vipers tucked in the corners of your eyes when he meets your stolid authority with his own fiery wrath. 
(Or the softness of your cheeks when you try to hide a smile. The admonishing pinches made in jest when he says something that distracts you from your task.)
"I did."
"Okay," you breathe heavily through your nose. "Why?"
"Is there any reason why I shouldn't?" 
"You just—" another breath. He has the peculiar urge to syphon the next directly from your lungs, to taste your air on his tongue. "You come here, week after week, with some—illness, and just—"
"Just what?"
"If you have a problem," you say at length, eyes flashing. "You could have come to me? One on one. I would have—"
"A problem?" He singles the word out, tossing it back at your teeth. “I don’t have a problem.”
You laugh, but it's scathing. "Are you undermining me? Is this—hazing?"
“Hazing? No,” he shakes his head, chasing the tail end of your derision. “Consider this vetting.”
And there it is—that fissure. Heat pops from the lavascape, spilling down the split of your lips. 
“Right.” You snip, shaking your head. “Well, I hope I met your expectations, Price.”
He huffs, then. The noise is a broken facsimile of a laugh forced through crooked teeth. “Of course you do.” The pinch in your brow wobbles. “Wouldn’t be here if you didn’t, love.”
He rents the air with his admission, splits the seams of this tenuous dance you make each week he shows up, speaking of some phantom pain ripped the pages of the textbooks that sit, worn and well-loved, on the shelves behind your desk. 
You say nothing when he leaves. 
(Or when he rests a piece of himself on the doorframe—a glossy feather from his primary remiges just for you.)
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He doesn’t go for the next three weeks, but it isn’t cowardice that drags him away from this oddly shaped choreography. He’s caught in a storm halfway across the world with sand in his hair, and the curve of your confusion nudged between the fibrils of his chest. 
In the softness of night, he wonders what you've done with his clipped feather. 
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Price meets you at the beginning, but this time, he stands in the medical bay with firm knees, and a clear head. Searching, seeking. 
The thread vibrates, and he finds you with your back to him, doling out gentle, firm, commands to the medical staff congregated around you. Clinging to your breathy orders with the same listless uncertainty that makes his chest swell with the urge to lead whenever it's rested on his shoulders. 
He isn't sure if you can feel the reverberations through the thread, the leftover sutures from when you weaved a needle over the cut on his forearm, and accidentally sewed a piece of yourself into his skin, or if it's just the heavy weight of his gaze burning brands into your back that draws your attention. 
(It certainly garners enough from the staff around you, their flighty eyes flickering from the mountain of a man seething at your back, to you—feigning obliviousness as he strips you bare beneath his glacial gaze, cutting a path to your membrane where he knows he'll find the piece of himself that you snipped off months ago.)
When you finally turn, you give a peculiar look over your shoulder, eyes clouded over, gaze inward. He watches you for a moment, taking in the curve of your cheek, the slope of your nose. Foreign, of course; but familiar under the cloak of darkness and the hail of gunfire. 
The fire still burns in your unreachable depths, but the embers are smouldering. He feels the heat even from this distance, but when you return from whatever thoughts were racing through your head, he finds the look that fixes itself there to be strange. Pensive. 
A quiet contemplation as you take in the length of his shoulders, the width of his chest. 
His heart hammers against the cages of his sore ribs, leaping to the base of his throat where it pulses like a raw wound. 
The whole of his body smarts like a massive contusion—muscles bending at odd angles, bones brittle—but he knows in an instant that he won't mention it to you. He'll tuck the hurt aside. Let it moulder. Let it rot. 
This thing between you—crafted from the design of his heart—has been pulled and pinched, flexed and stretched too taut. It's ready to snap. To break. 
He waits for that moment, bracing himself for the inevitability of the recoil clapping him against the chest, but it doesn't happen. 
You give a small dip of your chin. 
Then, you're gone. 
You've been moulding him between form hands since the beginning, moving him around however you please. 
So, it just feels natural when he follows. 
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This time it's his chest. 
You go through the same dance, steps known. Ingrained in muscle memory. Your hands are firm, authoritative as you lead him on this little chase, pushing and pulling, tugging on the threads that keep him sewn up and whole. 
But an incipient path is born. A new routine. The hand on his cheek, as you read his temperature, lingers, thumb brushing over the dividing line that separates skin from wry curls. 
The touch is familiar. You’re no strange to feeling around the phantom aches and pains he presents to you, but this is an electric shock that rattles through his nerves. The trail your thumb leaves behind as it strokes idly at his skin prickles and burns. Goosebumps rise, creating cresting hills and peaks along his topography. You map it all with nimble fingers, firm and sure. 
You take the thermometer out of his mouth after a moment, not even pretending to read the results (thirty-seven degrees, always), and it’s tossed back on the tray quickly before your hand returns to his skin, drawn there by that same innate pull he feels in his iron bones. The warmth of your palm threatens to suffuse his skin, mated together in ferromagnetism. 
His chin rests, plinthed in your palms, and there’s a sudden swell, a rush, that gorges on his heart. The façades fall, clattering to the ground. The broken pieces lay in remains by his feet. 
Price doesn’t spare them a glance. 
Can’t, maybe, because in azimuth he finds that solidary feather he plucked for you resting between your teeth. 
Wonderment. Awe. He feels the surge of something ripping through his body—a paroxysm—but he can’t look away from the shapes of your bare face; the imperfect asymmetry, the wrought iron lines, the convulsing atoms. It’s mesmerising. 
And maybe it’s an electrical phenomenon—no let go—but he doesn’t spare it a single thought, even as the current burrows deeper into his chest, igniting his tissue until red-hot, blistering, charred. Even then, even with the scent of smouldering, necrotising flesh brimming cloyingly into his scenes, the absolute apathy he feels for himself at that moment is a testament to the unshakeable draw, that primal magnetism that glues him to you; met in perfect equilibrium in the middle.
It’s you who moves, who splints the poles until they fall apart when you let your hand drop.
But you’re not finished. The tips of your fingers move, a long peregrination down the twisting, sloping topography of his visage; snaking down his temple, the dip of his nose, the rough bushel of curls, the soft pout of his lips, the ulotrichous hair along his cheek and jaw, the long decline of his check, the ridged of his collarbones, the swell of his chest. It’s there where it lingers, fingers spreading like webs along the birdcage of his thundering heart. 
Price watches you, rapturous and nearly choking himself on the avarice that spills from his heaving lungs. 
You rest the flat of your palm there for a beat; lost in perambulation. Feasting on the thud of his heart. 
He thinks you’ve had your fill. Quenched yourself. 
But when you look up from the slight tremor of your hand, pulsing in time with his hurried beats, the look in your eyes is distinctly unslaked. 
(—and he can’t stop the rumble from spilling out of his chest at the sight.)
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Price isn’t sure how long you stay like that. Minutes, seconds, hours. Aeons might have passed since you let your mask slip. Since he plucked at threads keeping it upright. But he shakes back into cognisance when you pull away, cutting through space and time, and filling the gaps once more with the heavy weight of your presence. 
“You’ll be fine,” you say over your shoulder, reaching for your clipboard. “A little rest is all you need, captain.”
There’s an insurmountable number of things he can say, but you press on his throat, and he swallows them down, nodding at your back instead. 
The cloven strands fall around him, broken with distance. There’s an urge in his bones to sew back into his skin, to press them like drying flowers into the folds of his heart where they’ll say, nurtured on his blood and suffused into his being. He rests his laurels on it for a moment, feels the weight of his want, his desire, and compares it to the fraying wisps dragging along the linoleum. 
But he doesn’t reach for them. 
He is wing clipped and flightless. You hold the only feather that gives him lift between the monoliths of your teeth. 
A fine place to keep it, he thinks and turns around, ready to leave on unsteady feet, but—
"Seven," you say, firm and sure. No nonsense. But when he turns, he catches the pallor of your knuckles gripped tight around the clipboard. You hold it to your chest like a shield. The vipers in your eyes quiet their hissing, tongues lashing out to scent the air. "There's this place in Manchester that makes the best Beef Suya."
You're not asking him. 
(But you don't really have to, do you?)
His lips pull up. He catches the drifting threads in his bare palm. "Manchester, mm?"
"I hope you like a little bit of spice."
"I can handle the heat." 
You swallow thickly, and he thinks the action on anyone else might be easily mistaken for nerves, but the livewire that pulls taut between you thrums with a heavy sense of anticipation. 
"I hope so, John," he startles at the mention of his name. It makes your lips curl back, and he shouldn't find it so mesmerising when can't tell if it's a smile or a sneer. "Otherwise I'd be quite disappointed." 
His chin dips to his chest. It renders his voice to little more than smoke and ash, but you shudder from across the room at the growl. 
"Wouldn't want that, now, would we?" 
It isn't breathless when you speak, but he licks his lips and tastes the pulsing excitement that sparks in the air. It curls in his lungs. Saltwater on burning coals. 
"Don't be late." 
It's a promise, he thinks; a warning, too. A threat. "Wouldn't dream of it, love."
He turns away from you, shielding the growing smile from your searching gaze, but your voice stops him short at the door, fingers curled around the frame.
“And Price?”
“Yes, love?” He calls, featherlight in a way he hasn’t felt since he was eighteen and free. Ready to soar, to fly.
"You know," you say, brows knotting together. Despite the severity of your expression, there's a note of playfulness between your teeth. "If you wanted to see me, you could have just asked." 
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After dinner, they fucked so nasty that Qadesh could be heard gagging across the aether.
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regonold · 2 months
Text
Ok hmm so idea
So danny he has a bad reveal, and instead of escaping or retreating into his core or any of tge numerous numerous other ways he has or could escape he dies on the vivisection table
Now halfa's they due to being paradoxes of living and dead have a wierd death if they are human while they die they would turn ghost and need to basically regrow their human boddy so staying spirit for a couple years (depending on age the younger the body the less time ot takes)
However when their ghostly half dies it is much different for starters if it was just a random out in the wild something somehow kills them they'd transform back to human die due to not having half a soul and immediately reform their ghost half
They way pantom is dieing tho makes a difference so danny is dieing on a vivisection table from both blood loss ectoplasm loss organ loss and numerous other things at a certin point it no lomger becomes worth it to revive a body
So phantom instead or repossimg his body and re awakening his other hlaf of a soul searches for a different anchor to safeguard hi. Whilst he regrows his body
Their a few checklists he needs to do first of course to make sure that it is most suitable and to be clear it is not phantom or danny doing it it is the base part that made him a ghost the part screaming i want to live
Theres only really two boxes that need to be checked one really by the second is an added clause due to how danny died
Does it have access to ectoplasm
Does it have defences
Now you know what has abundant assess to ectoplasm and defences the fenton works building so Danny's spirit anchors to that instead of his body
Now it you were a spirit that has just been killed over and over and over and over agian by your parents and you just took over the house literally you'd absolutely force them out right? And adf the fact that due to having a portal to the realms means the house is very much not as connected to this universe in a meaningful way anymore well I'd fucking run as well
So danny now a house with a mad scientist basement filled with his own corpse his organs detached form his own universe and bound to this house till he can find out how to regrow his body whats he to do but move around the multiverse and change shape to blend in more
Maybe he becomes known Maybe he gets bet in a card game Maybe he becomes the house of mysteries and maybe just maybe one john Constantine can actually help him finally finally get his body back
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tojigasm · 1 year
Note
SAM PLS FEED US MORE JAKE ANGST💘
I was a little evil with this one, I admit 👩‍💻
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Sometimes it's still vivid in his memory. How cold it was that day, the ash, and harbored screams. He could remember how hard it was to breathe through the thick chunks of grey that littered the forest and how raw his hands and wrists felt. Had Pandora ever had a cold day? He can't recall.
Neytiri doesn't come to him in times like this. Where he sits by the stacked forest flowers and pretty stones that you'd collected. She knows na'vi and human grief is settled differently in some, Jake is one of them.
You're still there, in his memory. He can make out your pretty smile and hair, the shape of your lips when you talk – though he can't hear your voice. He'd forgotten the sound of it some time ago.
In the past several days he finds your face foggy, clouded by blurs and features he can't quite make out in the midst of his memory.
Hes terrified of losing you again.
He still remembers how you were laughing and smiling right before the troops showed up and how quickly that changed everything.
The two of you had gotten separated when Eytukan and Mo'at had tied he and Grace up. Forced to watch you and Neytiri run into the forest in pure horror of your mate.
And he still remembers the way Neytiri looked at him in fear when he'd found her. Asking where you were.
You were so cold in his arms, a bloodied wound sunken deep into your side, your skin turned a shade of purple almost. You had died alone and cold and afraid. Without your mates and anyone to soothe you.
Jake doesn't think he's ever cried harder than when he lost you. He and Neytiri had sat with your body for hours, hoping maybe it was a shock spell and you'd wake up and he could get you to Norm and the healers.
You didn't wake up.
He hasn't seen you in the spirit of Eywa. The thought of seeing you so close and so far away might ruin him. Though he knows you must miss him, especially when all who visits is Neytiri.
So it's on a whim, when Neytiri and the kids have gone to sleep that he goes to the spirit tree. Stroking his hands over the delicate branches and letting himself bask in the gentle air.
When he does connect, he sees you. Not the foggy memory he's made, but you.
He recognizes this memory. The sounds of the creak and the cooes of animals in the forest. It was the day you'd found out you were pregnant.
Your giggles are what draw him in, pulling him to kneel beside your seated form.
"Jake!" You squeal when you notice him, wrapping your arms around him, "Where have you been? I have something exciting to tell you!"
Jake tears at that, stroking a hand down your soft back, "m'sorry, kid. I've been busy." He pulls away to cup your cheeks in his hands.
"Oh... well that's okay," you're back to smiling, holding your small hands over his large ones, "why're you crying?"
Jake shakes his head for you to continue and you do, but not with out the signature eyebrow raise you'd give him whenever you'd think something was off.
It makes him chuckle momentarily, softening in the warmth of you, "you gonna tell me what's so exciting or am I gonna have to wait ti'll I'm fifty?" He jokes and you giggle, pulling one of his hands off of your cheek to rest on your tummy.
"M'pregnant." You look up at him so excitedly he feels his throat hitch with a sob. You were so happy and you had it ripped away from you only a few days after.
"you are?" He struggles and he knows you can tell. He blinks hot tears that roll over his striped cheeks and his hand shakes beneath yours.
"Are you okay–"
He cuts you off by pulling you into his arms, holding your heart over his own to hear it beat once more. Settling to keep you as close as he can before he has to leave. He feels you relax under him, pressing kisses to his skin.
Jake holds you like that for a while longer before pulling away and looking you over. Stroking his hands over your cheeks, he kisses the top of your head.
"Be good while m'gone, m'kay?" He keeps his hand on your chin and you nod with that pretty little smile. And he can't help but kiss you once more, whispering "that's my sweet girl." before he's disconnected from you and left in the cool forest again.
He doesn't go back to the tree of Eywa for a while after that and he doesn't tell Neytiri. Though a part of him thinks she knows. Knows in the way she's more gentle with him, she's more relaxed about pushing him to go see you.
He settles on your memory again, thinking of you in small moments and letting the soft memory of your lips settle him.
And it's not until Jake and Neytiri pack and leave for the Metkayina that he wonders if he'll see you again and when a sinking feeling settles into his stomach it's that he realizes he probably won't.
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justcressida · 7 months
Text
ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ- DEAR SAİNTESS
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"I was granted the death I desperately longed for, only to be caught up in a second life no different than the first. And yet, here I am, doing everything I can to stay alive."
Record Of Ragnarok X Rudbeckia De Borgia! Reader
PS: I'm a foreigner okay? Language problems. Part 2?
A beautiful smile, a radiant gaze, and a gentle aura. No matter what, just smile and pass. You've done just that all your life, and your end hasn't changed yet.
While your desire for death was never ending, when you finally died, you were somehow resurrected with all of humanity. for Ragnarok.
LOKİ
Okay, you were too weird even for someone like him. He was just bored and wanted to mess with mortals, but...
Why are you smiling? He wanted you to be scared or raging, but there you are, with a gentle smile on your face. Yet that master of lies saw your trembling hands no matter how well you played.
Maybe it was meant to be enjoyed, but... Did it really scare you that much?
Okay, he hadn't had the fun he wanted, and the rage of Humanity's first victory was still running through his veins, but somehow you got his attention.
I mean, come to think of it, what mortal would smile at someone who tormented him so much?
Out of sheer curiosity, he chased after you and started spying on you.
And he saw the scars on his back. Whip marks, stab marks.
How did you have so many wounds when even a warrior didn't have that many wounds?
Moreover, Ragnarok had resurrected humanity in its most wonderful period.
Was this your greatest period?
With your pretty face and those horrible scars on your body?
He was obviously extremely intrigued, and Loki's curiosity is obsession.
He will solve the mystery of this beautiful mortal.
THOR
Although too busy a man to care for a mortal, Thor was quick to discover Loki's new obsession.
Is it a mortal? Really Loki?
Still, he couldn't help being caught up in this beautiful mortal. The mortal's bright beautiful eyes, shapely face, bright lips, and beautiful hair.
Still, he doesn't understand why this mortal has such a bad reputation. No matter how beautiful mortal she was, everyone looked at this beautiful woman with disgust.
Thor doesn't like to go undercover like Loki, so he'll talk directly to your face.
"Who are you mortal?"
In fact, he said it without expression, too much even for a mortal.
Still, the hammer in his hand, his tall stature and intimidating gaze didn't help at all.
You tried to smile, unable to stop yourself from shaking like a kitten.
"Uh- d-did I do something wrong?"
Your kind words even though you tremble like a kitten, your attempt to smile despite the fear, and most of all your beautiful voice.
He had heard that this beautiful mortal was famous for his voice, but this velvety tone of voice softened his cold heart.
"What's your name, mortal?"
"Well m-my name is Y/N."
Y/N.
A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.
Maybe, Thor thought. Maybe this beautiful mortal isn't as bad as rumors.
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willowsgrl · 11 months
Note
Okay- I hope you don’t mind dark vampire eddie because that’s what I have in mind 🤭 part 1
So after eddie turns into a vampire is around the time reader moves in to Hawkins he smells her before he even sees her- I see her being super sweet and shy maybe she’s a bit of a weirdo and one day she’s by the trailer park collecting pretty rocks, she’s skipping and twirling so unaware that a literal monster is watching her through the trees, every time the wind blows her scent gets closer HES practically salivating she smells so sweet like vanilla or hot coco on a winters day also a hint of her sparkly cherry lipgloss and hints of sandalwood. Eddie ISNT a bad guy he’s never been a creep but he wanted nothing more than to steal away the pretty new girl and keep her to himself..why was he having these awful urges..why was he trying to steal a glance up her skirt every time she twirled around why did her legs look so supple and soft- he wanted to bite into her- bite her soft skin and leave his marks all over for everyone to see
Eddie’s starts stalking the cute new girl all over town hes right behind her in the shadows making sure his girl is safe and sound, every guy who ends up flirting her way disappears in a matter of days..but Reader doesn’t think much of it she’s too busy in her own little world she doesn’t want those stupid boys attention. He usually follows her home and makes sure she gets home nice and safe but then one day he decides to stay a bit longer..one day he decides to stay perched in the tree outside her bedroom window and he watches..he watches her slip off her dirty converse and kick them around her room then goes her cute chunky sweater he watches her slip off those thigh high socks..his eyes practically darken he feels the tent forming in his pants he’s never felt more like a perv. Now she’s stripped down in her bra and panties and of course they are mis matched but it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen and now he’s got his hand in his pants even while she’s changing into her cute little pajama set 🤭
Omg anon, your mind!! 😖🥰😵‍💫 Ty to mothy for proofreading💛 my love
Tw: m!m*sterbation, perv!Eddie, vampire!Eddie, v*yeurism, stalking, Eddie cums on a tree?? Let me know if I missed anything!!
He wants to feel guilty, he does but instead all he can feel is the growing bulge in his jeans. Stalking, watching, protecting this strange girl made him feel alive for the first time since he died. He'd do anything for her, and would spend the rest of her life keeping her safe for him.
She's slowly pulling her chunky knit sweater off and he couldn't help himself once he saw what was underneath. No shorts, just pink panties and a blue bra keeping him from seeing everything. The pain in his crotch was too much to bare and he had to unbutton, unzip and pull out his hard cock for relief.
Eddie wasn't even sure he could get hard anymore. His day to day life had been pretty bleak since he woke up dead. But right now, god he'd give anything to be able to go to her, ask her out... Maybe take a bite out of one of those chubby little thighs.. no, he couldn't! He scolded himself for even thinking such a thought. Hurting his strange girl for a little drink, how could he!
Suddenly she slipped out of her panties and whipped off the bra with such ease, he almost fell from his position in the tree. She was checking herself in her mirror, touching and posing her body. It was like she was performing for him. His own private strip show.. he wishes
At least Eds could pretend it was, right? He took his boner in his fist and slowly felt himself twitch as she bent down to pick up her discarded clothes. Eddie has to spit in his hand so he could start properly getting himself off, especially when she laid on her bed with her legs wide open. He watched her fingers trace shapes on her bare thighs, teasing herself but he didn't have it in him to tease himself. He needed relief and fast. He wasn't estranged to that feeling, it's how he felt when he'd gone weeks without feeding.. but he somehow felt more guilty for giving in to his temptations now.
Her hand finally reached where he wanted to touch her most. She was dipping the tips of her fingers into her wetness and dragging it to her clit. Eddie watched as she used her middle and ring finger to stroke soft circles on herself, taking note of how she twitched when she stoked herself a certain way. Though he wasn't sure why, he knew he'd never be able to be with her.
Eddie's cock was leaking pre-cum, and he could feel himself getting close to his orgasm. That's when it happened. He could have sworn she looked directly at him, in his dead eyes that were currently full of life and lust. The second their eyes met, thick ropes of cum came spurting out of him and all over the tree. The intense feeling in his chest was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. It was painful but a good kind of pain. He needed more, he was desperate for more.
After 30 seconds of post-orgasm heavy breathing, it quickly dawned on Eddie. She saw him. They shared eye contact, he was almost sure of it. But then that would mean she saw him cum. Fuck
When he dared to look over to her bedroom, she'd gone. He was suddenly terrified as if she was the blood thirsty predator and he was her prey. He would have to keep a low profile for a while. Avoid her usual hang outs which ever so slightly broke his heart. Who would keep her safe if he couldn't...
Before she would have the chance to call the cops on him, he climbed down from the tree and found his way home to his abandoned van in the depths of the forest besides her abode. Eddie wouldn't see her again for a few weeks but he did casually walk by her home every few nights. That's how he first noticed the note taped to her window. The same window he was peeping at her through. When he was sure she wasn't home and worked up the courage he read the note, he was pleasantly surprised to find it was for him.
'Dear Midnight Stranger,
I know you know I saw you. You have beautiful eyes, sir did you know?
I do have a confession to make though, sir. I knew the whole time you were in the tree. I knew when I stripped off and I knew when I was spread out on the bed. I was kinda hoping you would join me but I suppose it was wishful thinking..
Anyway, I feel as though I see you around town all the time and yet you never seem to be with anyone. Do the townfolk avoid you? They avoid me too, it's okay! Maybe we could keep each other company:-)
Anyway, if you would like to accept my offer for companionship, sir there's the most beautiful rock, a shiny broken coin and a small section of pottery in a plant pot by my front door. The yellow one. If you accept my gifts, I know you accept my friendship good sir!!
Your move, my midnight stranger <3'
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lliminall · 11 months
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libera me, dies irae, requiem aeternam
[yandere!GER x reader x yandere!giorno]
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word count: 1.8k
tags: fem reader, yandere, ignoring canon to make my silly little stories cooler, read a bunch of those poetry tiktok slideshows beforehand and now I think I can write like richard siken or something
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In the dream, you wake up in the void. It’s the only dream there is, ever since he brought you here. The dream always begins the same.
There is nothing in the void. Not a body for you to kick and flail with, not a voice for you to call out. There is only you, floating, and the prickling sensation of something watching you all the while.
You learn to accept it. The emptiness. You learn to tell yourself that you’re only dreaming, that it will pass as it does every other time, that you can simply ignore the clawing, gnawing feeling that you are being watched with the intensity of a predator stalking the sole object of it’s attention. It works, even as you begin to hear echoing whispers of words you can’t quite make out.
The voice is distantly familiar, the smooth tenor being one that you hear nearly every day, since he brought you here. If it would just come closer, speak a bit more clearly, maybe you could finally make out the words it speaks to you. Maybe they would be familiar, too.
You learn to manage, in the void of the dream that’s always the same, until the night it changes.
When you wake in the dream, you are in his bed, in the room he brought you to. It’s quiet, dark, and when you turn to face the other side of the bed, he isn’t there (you don’t like to say his name). You think you’re awake, really awake, until you glance out the window and see that it’s black outside. Not black with the night. Not black in the absence of light. Black in the absence of anything.
Your skin prickles. You are being watched.
You roll back onto your side quickly and the sound of rustling sheets is the only noise in a room far too quiet. There is something in the room with you, a shape in the shadows at the far end, rigid and unmoving. Your eyes strain to adjust to the darkness. At the top of its form, where its head must be, two eyes stare back at you, wide and unblinking and nearly glowing. Blood rushes through your ears. Your body is frozen, and you cannot look away. The eyes pin you where you lay.
“You are always afraid,” it begins in the familiar voice, “when we meet.”
Your tongue is heavy in your throat. You couldn’t respond even if you knew what to say. The figure begins to move, the eyes and the blurry shape of its body stalking slowly along the lines of the wall. It’s stays within the darkest throws of shadow, approaching you as if you would bolt at the slightest startling movement. Maybe you would, if there was anywhere to go. If you could feel your fear-stricken legs under the sheets.
“You have no need to fear me,” it says. It’s mechanical voice seems to soften. “I could never harm you, as my user could never bear to cause you harm.”
White-knuckled fingers clutch the sheets to your chest, and you take a long steadying breath as you command your body to move, speak, anything.
“Wh-who-“ your halting voice begins. “Who are you?”
The figure comes to a stop across from your bed. It regards you quietly for a moment, it’s unblinking eyes flitting over your body, your fists, your face. How helpless you must look below it.
“I will never harm you,” it says, it’s voice hardened and determined. It’s making a promise to you. A vow. “I will never leave you. My devotion to you will never wane.”
It takes a step toward you and your fingers lock again. It stops before you by the bed.
“There is nothing and no one that can take you from me, or from my user.”
It leans over your body and in the dim light of the room you can finally make out its face. Its smooth, hardened features. The crown of its head. The arrow shape pressed into its brow and its piercing, doll-like eyes. A mimicry of a human being. Something only half-way there.
There is no heat coming from its skin, you realize as it nearly cages you in. There is no warmth, no coldness, as if it occupies no space at all.
“In every eventuality, in all of life’s diverging paths, I will keep my promises to you.” It raises a pale hand to your face, and you realize that you’re crying at it wipes a tear from your cheek with a single finger. Not warm. Not cold. Not quite there.
“You will understand,” it says, in a voice that’s softer somehow. “In time, you’ll come to understand why we do what we must. I’ll see to it.”
A trembling breath rattles through your chest. It raises its hand in front of your face and you see that there’s a flower between its fingers, small and delicate. It tucks the bloom into the folds of your hair.
“I will see to it. No matter how many times it takes.”
The tea in your cup is getting cold. The china has been switched out today for something more colorful and ornate. To match the coming spring season, you suppose. He always is attentive like that (you don’t like to say his name).
“Should I have another drink brought out for you?” he asks. His voice registers somewhere in the back of your mind. Smooth tenor. Not mechanic. Familiar, in more ways than one now.
You take a steadying breath. You remember waking up in his bed this morning. You remember feeling the residual warmth of his body on the sheets he had just left. You remember the sunlight filtering through the curtains and onto your skin.
You remember picking flower petals out of your hair and gagging over the sink. You’re awake. Not asleep. Not in the dream. Awake.
His hand slides into your peripheral and you hear the soft clinking of a knife as he spreads jam onto a pastry for you.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks.
The sunlight is warm on your skin. The scent of his coffee is light in the air. His hand dips into your view again to set the pastry onto your plate. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake.
In the back of your mind you register his sigh. His hand comes to rest tentatively over yours, and you finally give him the eye contact he wants (you don’t like to look at him. You don’t like to speak to him or be touched by him or sit in the parlor and have breakfast with him either, but he doesn’t always give you the choice).
“You can tell me if you’re having trouble sleeping,” he says. “You know I’ll help in any way that I can.”
His blonde hair sits in perfect curls against his face. He’s trying, you can tell, to school his expression into something relaxed and amicable, but you can also tell it’s taking more of a strain than he would like you to see. You are driving him mad with worry. You know, because his face is beginning to look a lot like yours. Sunken, dark-eyed, bleak.
“I’m fine,” you say, and move your hand to take the biscuit from your plate. You begin to eat, finally, and his shoulders seem to relax a bit.
“I’ll bring home a supplement for you. Some melatonin, perhaps,” he says. “And you can tell me if there’s anything else you need.”
His voice is too familiar. But his hand was warm on top of yours and there’s sunlight in the windows and food in your mouth. Awake, awake, awake.
“Thank you,” you say, and raise the beautiful cup to your mouth. Your tea has gone cold.
Giorno wakes late into the night with a tug on his soul. His stand is out, and up to something.
He rolls to his side to see the stand crouched low, eyes locked on his, it’s face close to yours and it’s fingers threaded through your hair. It isn’t the first time he’s caught it like this.
The stand pets your hair in long, affectionate strokes, and you don’t stir under its ministrations. You had been so good for him that evening, sitting quietly at the dinner table as he sorted through paperwork, tucking yourself into bed and accepting the melatonin gummies he handed to you without fuss. He knows you’re only being so cooperative because you don’t have the energy to put on a stubborn face anymore. You haven’t been sleeping well since he brought you here.
The medicine seems to have done it’s work and then some. Giorno can see lines imprinted in the skin where your cheek was pressed into your pillow. Your hair is splayed around your head in a mess of a halo, and you don’t stir as he props himself up an elbow to better look at you.
They sit in silence, he and his stand, watching your peaceful visage. It isn’t an expression they often have the privileging of seeing any other time.
Giorno is often struck with the sense that are things going on beyond his awareness. That his stand, powerful and intelligent in ways he doesn’t yet comprehend, is pulling strings he cannot see. Often, he is struck with the sense that his ultimate weapon is not as well under his control as it allows him to believe.
The stand removes its hand from your hair and looks at him. The hand trails lightly across the length of your body, curving over the lines of your shoulder, your waist, ruffling the fabric at your hip. It watches him expectantly, and Giorno’s fingers twitch.
The stand removes its hand and Giorno raises his own, guilty like a child reaching out for what’s been forbidden. He starts at your shoulder, smoothing the sleeve of your shirt and feeling emboldened when you don’t so much as breath in response. He flattens his hand against your warm skin, brushing down the dip of your waist, the hard line of your hips, the soft flesh of your belly. There are inches between his chest and your body. It’s the closest he’s ever been to holding you.
His heart swells with adoration, every little interaction a blessing that renews his devotion to you. He looks at his stand that has not broken its line of sight with him, and wordlessly they come to their constant understanding.
More than anything, he wants to keep you safe. More than anything, he wants you to understand that he loves you, and selfishly he wants your love in return.
Giorno lays down beside you, his arm draped over your form. He thumbs at the sliver of skin where your shirt has ridden up over your belly, and trusts that whatever his stand may be doing, whatever hidden things lie outside of his control for the time being, it’s all being done for their sake. It’s all being done for your sake.
He closes his eyes and leaves you under the watch of his unblinking Requiem.
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letterstotheflre · 2 years
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𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐔𝐒 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 || 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍 & 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐘 𝐂𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐀𝐌
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summary: when you and chrissy save a pirate from drowning, you get him to show you what humans do for fun. [pirate!eddie x mermaid!reader x mermaid!chrissy]
cw: slight manipulation from u n chrissy, reader is mentioned to have long hair so she can cover her chest, smut || 18+ only [ft. threesome, oral sex (m receiver), handjob, cum play, monster fucking (technically?? u n chrissy are the monsters lol), beach sex, reader n chrissy are very innocent but somehow two whores?? who knew u could be both]
a/n: this was super fun to write ngl. please lmk what u think!!
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“Isn’t he kinda… cute?” Chrissy asks you, eyes glued to the man laying on the shore between your bodies.
You look down at him, taking in his soft cheeks and his nicely shaped nose. You trace the bridge of it with a finger, leaving his skin dewy with droplets of sea water, and drift your gaze down to his plush lips. Under the slight bluish tint they have from being underwater for too long, you can still make out their natural pink colour.
In the back of your mind, you wonder if they’d feel as soft as Chrissy’s lips do on yours.
“Yeah," you hum, now tracing his cupid’s bow. “He’s pretty.”
She twirls one strand of his hair around her finger. “And his hair! It’s almost as long as Jane’s now that she’s back.”
The mention of Jane brings back the memory of the captain that kept her for years for his twisted experiments on your people and reminds you what exactly lays between you and Chrissy. You recoil your hand back and grab her wrist. “He’s a human, Chrissy. We shouldn’t have helped him.”
Her delicate features contort into a confused frown. “But he was drowning. He would’ve died if we hadn’t pulled him out!”
Maybe he should’ve, is what you’re about to say when the man starts coughing. The coughs wreck his body and water spills from his lips, his eyes slowly fluttering open but narrowing quickly from the glare of the sun. He tries to get up, using his elbows as leverage, but another cough throws him back down.
“Take it easy,” Chrissy tells him, shielding him from the sun with her body. His eyes widen at the sight of her, grow even wider when he realises she isn’t alone and sees you next to her. “You had a nasty fall.”
“Wha– What’s going on?” His voice is hoarse from the abuse his vocal chords suffered and the lack of proper air in his lungs. “Who are you?”
“I’m Chrissy, and this is–”
“Chrissy! Don’t tell him our names!” You scold.
She rolls her eyes at your overprotectiveness. “He’s not going to do anything. He can barely stand.”
You scowl at her. “You can be so careless. It’s a wonder you still have your tail on.”
“Tail?” The man's baffled voice breaks up your argument. He glances to the side and sees both of your tails wagging in the air– Chrissy’s baby blue scales and your purple ones shimmering under the golden light. “Woah! What the fuck?!”
“See? He hasn’t got a clue what we are. He’s not going to kidnap us or whatever dark fantasy you’ve created in your mind– anyway!” She changes the subject before you can tell her that you don’t have fantasies about a human male kidnapping you. She turns to him and smiles sweetly. “What’s your name?”
The long haired man looks between the two of you, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Ed– Eddie. Eddie Munson.”
“Eddie,” she tastes the name on her tongue. “That’s pretty. What happened to you? You’re pretty far from home.”
“I, uh, my ship got wrecked.” He gulps when you narrow your eyes at him in suspicion. Your mother had warned you of human men and the lies they would tell you to get you to trust them and this one sounded very familiar. “There was a storm and– and a wave flipped us over. My friends– shit,” he wipes his face with his hands, clearly distressed. Your heart softens ever so slightly. “I have to find them.”
He tries to get up again but you place a hand on his chest and he freezes. He stares at you, brown eyes pulling you in like a current. “I’m sorry about your friends but you shouldn’t go anywhere yet. You’re still hurt,” you point to his arm where a deep gash seeps blood down to his forearm.
“Fuck,” he swears. He looks down at himself and rips a piece of the cloth he’s wearing over his torso with a low grunt that makes your scales tingle. He wraps it around the wound, hissing when it presses against the gash and baring his teeth. He struggles to tie a knot, yet you and Chrissy are mesmerized as you watch him work.
“What’s that?” You ask him once he’s done.
“What’s– Oh, this? It’s a dressing. To keep the wound from infecting.”
“No, I mean the… things you put on your body.” He points to his chest to make sure you’re asking what he thinks you’re asking. “Yeah, those. They don’t seem very comfortable.”
“You don’t know what these are?” He looks at your bodies and realises that neither you or Chrissy is wearing anything to cover your chests, only your long hair keeping some of your modesty. Blood rushes to his cheeks and you giggle at how pink he suddenly is.
He seems to be speaking to himself when he mumbles, “Oh, wow. No, no, of course you don’t know. You’re mermaids. Very pretty and n-naked mermaids.” He clears his throat and blinks awkwardly, looking away to pretend he wasn’t ogling at you. “They– They’re clothes. This is, um, a shirt. And these are pants,” he explains, pointing to his chest and legs.
“And that thing under your pants?” You point to his groin where a bulge strains against the thin black fabric. “Is that where you keep your shells?”
Eddie gets even redder. “That’s, um…” He seems at a loss of words, mouth opening and closing without making any sound.
“Oh, we love collecting shells! Can we see?” Chrissy eagerly leans forward and unties the knot that keeps his pants tied together, lowering them quickly without waiting for Eddie’s answer. Instead of the clatter of shells you were expecting, something long and thick hits Eddie’s stomach. “Oh, that’s… not a shell.”
“What even is it?” You tilt your head to the side and reach your hand towards it. You’re about to touch it when Eddie’s fingers wrap around your wrist tightly, stopping your movements.
He almost cowers from the deadly glare you’re giving him for touching you so roughly. “Sorry, sorry.” He takes a deep breath, avoiding eye contact. “That’s, uh, that’s my cock.”
“Cock?” Eddie closes his eyes when he hears Chrissy’s sweet voice say such a filthy word. His cock twitches. “Oh my Poseidon, it moved,” she whispers to you in awe.
“What is it for?” You ask him.
“For fucking.” That one answer came out naturally for him but when he sees your confused stares he scrambles his brain for a word you would understand. “Uh… mating. For mating and… playing.”
“How do you play with it? It seems rather… stiff.”
Eddie plays with a strand of his hair, trying to cover some of his burning face with it. “You touch it. With your hand. Or you– you put it inside a woman. Or man.”
You stare at his cock– long and thick and as pink as his lips, with a tip that’s a slightly darker hue than the rest of it. There’s a thick tuft of curls at the base and two round sacks hanging heavy from it. You can’t help but want to squeeze them.
You lick your lips and look back at Chrissy who’s doing the same as you. Ogling. Her eyes are dark with need, the same look she gets when you two are left alone for more than a couple of minutes– especially on a full moon.
Before you can pay attention to the warning voice of your mother that echoes in your ears, you ask, “Can we play with it?”
Eddie swallows harshly. “I don’t think–”
“Please?” Chrissy asks, pouting her lips, her voice taking in the sultry tone the elder mermaids spend years teaching you. Her tail flicks yours and you copy her, rounding out your narrowed eyes and looking at him pleadingly. “We don’t know if we’ll ever see a human again. We just want to know what it feels like.”
Eddie seems to debate with himself for a few seconds, only the sounds of the crashing waves breaking the silence. Your voices and your eyes have him in a trance and, completely ignoring all the warnings he heard about mermaids, he nods, wet hair swinging with the sharp movements. “Yeah, okay. Knock yourselves out.”
You and Chrissy giggle happily and wrap a hand each around him, tails wiggling in excitement. You twist them around, getting a feel of the velvety skin and the ridges of the veins that lead towards the head, watching amazed as Eddie’s cock grows more stiff, becoming heavy in your palms.
“What’s happening? Why is it getting so hard?”
Eddie takes a deep breath to ground himself, nostrils flaring. “Cause I’m turned on.”
“Turned on?”
“You’re making me feel really good,” he rephrases through clenched teeth. Your hands are incredibly smooth as you hold him, probably from the slick film coating them to protect them from the abrasion of the salt in the water. He exhales a shaky gasp of pleasure when you slowly glide them up and down, his stomach flexing. 
You bite your lip and look up at him. “And how do we make you feel more good?”
“He’s been looking at your tits a lot,” Chrissy pipes up before Eddie can answer. There’s mischief in her blue eyes as she pulls your hair away from your chest, revealing your breasts completely. Eddie’s mouth falls wide open. “Do they ‘turn you on’, Eddie? Go ahead, touch them,” she encourages him.
You sigh when his hand cups your breast and kneads the fat gently, thumb flicking your hard nipple. Eddie watches your expressions carefully. When you arch forward into his touch and tighten your hand around, making him groan, he twists your nipple, earning himself a sweet moan from you. 
“Aren’t they soft? They also feel really good in my mouth, Eddie.” Chrissy smirks, moving her own strawberry blonde hair out of the way so Eddie can touch hers as well.
“Holy shit.” His mind conjures up a filthy image– the two of you under the water, hands slowly down your bodies and mouths kissing every inch of skin they could, eyes rolling back once you sucked on the others breasts. His hips buck up. “You two– you play together?”
“Mhm. All the time.”
“Oh my God.” His grip on your tits tightens. He keeps tilting his hips up, moaning softly as he fucks your hands. Something that has a pearly sheen starts to leak out of his slit and drip down his shaft, making your fingers sticky. “Yeah, lick it up, sweetheart. C’mon,” he groans when Chrissy asks if she can taste them.
She slides her tongue over your knuckles and catches the first drops that fell, eyes widening at the salty flavour. She hums appreciatively and leans down for more. “That’s nice. D’you want a taste?” She asks you.
You nod enthusiastically and her fingers gently grab your chin, tilting your head towards her so she can dribble the white substance into your mouth. “S’good,” you breathe out. 
Eddie slams a hand on the sand, eyes hazy with lust as he watches the two of you share his precum and enjoy it. None of the women back home had ever done something like that, not even some of the whores his friends brought back to the ship on the odd nights they stayed in a popular town’s port. 
You keep stroking his cock as you kiss, focusing more on the upper part of his shaft since your hand is on top of Chrissy’s. You gently squeeze the head and more precum oozes out. You flick your tongue over his slit and give it back to Chrissy, pecking her lips sweetly when she swallows it down. 
Eddie groans when you do it again. “Like that. Just like that. You’re doing so good. G-Give it a little kiss– oh fuck.” 
His eyes roll back when you kiss his tip, soft lips peppering little kisses all around it. Chrissy copies you, letting go of him so she has more flesh to kiss and slobber all over. Your eyes meet as you lick him, your happiness clear in your gazes.
She takes your hand and guides you down to the two soft sacks that caught your eye before, adding the smallest pressure to the back of your hand so you cup his balls and squeeze them with care.
Eddie moans loudly and throws his head back on the sand. “Oh my God. Oh my God. You’re– Jesus H Christ.” He gasps in surprise when Chrissy wraps her warm mouth around his dick and you kitten lick his fuzzy balls. “Oh, you’re gonna kill me.”
He lets go of your chest and the sand so he can add pressure to the back of both of your heads, keeping you stuck to his groin. Carefully, he thrusts his hips up, slowly fucking Chrissy’s untrained throat and making her gag. 
The lewd sounds make you squirm in place, the musky scent of Eddie’s hairs that tickle your nose doing little to calm you down. You’re desperate for some relief but it’s not a full moon yet– you have no legs to spread for him. So you whine needily around his balls, eyebrows scrunching up in desperation. 
Eddie shushes you, scratching your scalp with the tips of his fingers to help you calm down. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” he coos. “J-Just a little more and you’ll make me cum so fucking hard. Gonna fill your girlfriend’s throat and make her share it with you, since you liked my cum so much. You want that?”
You look at Chrissy and see the tears springing in her lower waterline from the abuse her throat is suffering, some of them already falling down her rosy cheeks. With your thumb, you brush them away and offer her a reassuring smile, one that she struggles to reciprocate with Eddie stretching her lips wide but you’re able to tell she’s enjoying herself nevertheless. 
You hum in agreement and lave your tongue over his balls, feeling them twitch in your mouth. His moans grow louder and louder, thighs trembling and hips thrusting wildly. “Shit, I’m gonna– Oh, fuck, I’m cumming. I’m cumming,” he grunts and pushes Chrissy down completely until her nose is flush with his base.
True to his word, he slowly peels you off him and, with a hold on the back of your necks, guides your mouths together. Chrissy is smiling as she merges your lips in a heady kiss, your tongue sliding around hers so you can scoop up any leftovers that she didn’t swallow for herself, spit dribbling down the corners of your mouths and to your chests.
When his grip on your necks slackens, Chrissy tiredly rests her head on your shoulder. You blink slowly and pet the top of her hair, kissing her temple.
“You’ll come back for us, right?” she asks Eddie with a hoarse voice.
Eddie licks his lips and looks down at the pair of you, memorising the image of two beautiful mermaids looking at him with needy and wanting eyes. What kind of pirate would he be if he didn’t collect his treasure?
He brushes your cheekbones with his thumb, your eyes fluttering shut at the gentle touch. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”
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apollo-cant-write · 13 days
Text
He would be okay [ao3]
hurt/comfort, angst and fluff, short and sweet, will solace is exhausted but nico is there for him
One thing about Will is that you can always tell when he's about to break down.
It starts small. He'll still tell stupid jokes, smile your way and, of course, work hard in his shifts but you can see exhaustion in his eyes.
Then, you watch as he locks himself away, running from anyone who tries to speak to him. His shifts turn awkward, his meals too.
At one point you'll notice he's not even eating, he's paying less attetion, always looking lost in something else.
And finally you'll notice the frustration.
He'll yell, cry, shake in your arms and what is there to do except accept it? That's what Nico thinks as he holds his boyfriend on a dark winter night. It's past curfew but he doesn't care, Will needs him.
Will lasted a whole week this time, a whole week without bothering others.
It had been a few months since the last war, he should be over all the deaths by now but he could still feel them. As if a bit of him died with each person he couldn't heal.
He sobs.
It's not like he himself got badly injured, everything turned out pretty good. If we don't count the occasional stab thrown at him.
(He ended up with a giant scar near his stomach, but that's a story for another day)
He cries into Nico's shirt and whispers apologies all of which and answered by the grip on his back tightening. He didn't mean for this to happen, he didn't mean to burden someone with his problems.
Especially someone like Nico. Someone who has gone through more than the average person, or even the average demigod, can imagine. Someone who has suffered and persevered, someone so brave and so tough.
Unlike Will, who with each bad thing that happens becomes increasingly more paranoid and panicked
Nico suggested he went to therapy but how would he even explain his fears without sounding downright insane? That's another problem he wasn't about to deal with.
He breaths in and out slowly, feeling his heart rate and body calm down. He doesn't look up, he can feel the too pitiful look on Nico's eyes stare him down. He knows what's he's going to say.
"Please don't..." he lets out and it sounds so desperate it almost makes him tear up again. So pathetic, so embarrassing.
Nico sighs "I understand you're scared but I think it would be for the best."
"For the best? They'll lock me in a rubber room once I say anything" he laughs and wipe away tears that have come down to his cheeks.
"At least you look good in white."
Will laughs and lightly punches Nico's shoulder.
"You're such an asshole," he mutters, though he doesn't actually mean it "literally the worst"
Nico stays quiet for a moment and Will can't tell if he should worry. He still doesn't look back, he wouldn't be the one losing this game. He wouldn't give in to the temptation of Nico's beautiful brown eyes.
They were different than any other eyes Will had ever seen before, and he's seen alot just from being a doctor, some in pretty bad shape.
Nico's are just too precious, gorgeous, almost sparkling and changing colors. Or maybe Will is just imagining it. (Gods, he's so in love)
What Nico says next is almost worse than any fucked up eye he's ever seen.
"I wish I could help you." Nico says and Will can see the words turn into a knife and stab him right in the chest. Piercing his heart. He bleeds out. He dies.
Or he wants to, at the moment, but instead he just frowns and complains.
"You don't have to do anything, I'm not your responsibility. You have other things to worry about like the work your father has been giving you or training the new campers or--"
"You're my boyfriend and I care about you" he interrupts and grabs Will's face, slowly turning it to face him "Alot"
When tears star spilling out his boyfriend's eyes, Nico panics
"Sorry! That was too much- I'll let you- uhm... do your thing"
"It's okay, Nico" Will puts his hand over the one that's gently grabbing his cheek "You're just too sweet"
"You deserve it"
"Hmmm... I don't know about that" Will exhales and closes his eyes which are now burning as an aftermath of the crying.
"Well, I do. You deserve all the sweetness in the world. All the love. All of everything good that exists" Nico presses a few kisses all over his face.
"Gods, I love you"
"I love you too, sunshine, and I'm here for you. You know that right?"
"If I didn't I wouldn't be here"
Nico kisses him, softly, in response and only pulls away to speak again.
"The city in camp jupiter has a few therapists, you could try going there if it's easier" he gets a hold of Will's hand a squeezes it as if trying to reassure him it's safe.
"I'll think about it. Deep down, I know it'd help me"
"Yeah, it's going to be okay"
With someone like Nico, someone who loves so much, cares so much, someone so sickeningly sweet, Will could believe it.
He would be okay.
(Legends say he fell asleep there. In the warmth of the embrace, feeling peace, even if for just a moment.
But who knows?)
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