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romerona · 4 months ago

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Ethera Operation!!

You're the government’s best hacker, but that doesn’t mean you were prepared to be thrown into a fighter jet.

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Awkward!Hacker! FemReader

Part I

This was never supposed to happen. Your role in this operation was simple—deliver the program, ensure it reached the right hands, and let the professionals handle the breaching.

And then, of course, reality decided to light that plan on fire.

The program—codenamed Ethera—was yours. You built it from scratch with encryption so advanced that even the most elite cyber operatives couldn’t crack it without your input. A next-generation adaptive, self-learning decryption software, an intrusion system designed to override and manipulate high-security military networks, Ethera was intended to be both a weapon and a shield, capable of infiltrating enemy systems while protecting your own from counterattacks in real-time. A ghost in the machine. A digital predator. A weapon in the form of pure code. If it fell into the wrong hands, it could disable fleets, and ground aircraft, and turn classified intelligence into an open book. Governments would kill for it. Nations could fall because of it.

Not that you ever meant to, of course. It started as a little experimental security measure program, something to protect high-level data from cyberattacks, not become the ultimate hacking tool. But innovation has a funny way of attracting the wrong kind of attention, and before you knew it, Ethera had become one, if not the most classified, high-risk program in modern times. Tier One asset or so the Secret Service called it.

It was too powerful, too dangerous—so secret that only a select few even knew of its existence, and even fewer could comprehend how it worked.

And therein lay the problem. You were the only person who could properly operate it.

Which was so unfair.

Because it wasn’t supposed to be your problem. You were just the creator, the brain behind the code, the one who spent way too many sleepless nights debugging this monstrosity. Your job was supposed to end at development. But no. Now, because of some bureaucratic nonsense and the fact that no one else could run it without accidentally bricking an entire system, you had been promoted—scratch that, forcibly conscripted—into field duty.

And your mission? To install it in an enemy satellite.

A literal, orbiting, high-security, military-grade satellite, may you add.

God. Why? Why was your country always at war with others? Why couldn’t world leaders just, you know, go to therapy like normal people? Why did everything have to escalate to international cyber warfare?

Which is how you ended up here.

At Top Gun. The last place in the world you wanted to be.

You weren’t built for this. You thrive in sipping coffee in a cosy little office and handling cyber threats from a safe, grounded location. You weren’t meant to be standing in the halls of an elite fighter pilot training program, surrounded by the best aviators in the world—people who thought breaking the sound barrier was a casual Wednesday.

It wasn’t the high-tech cyberwarfare department of the Pentagon, nor some dimly lit black ops facility where hackers in hoodies clacked away at keyboards. No. It was Top Gun. A place where pilots use G-forces like a personal amusement park ride.

You weren’t a soldier, you weren’t a spy, you got queasy in elevators, you got dizzy when you stood too fast, hell, you weren’t even good at keeping your phone screen from cracking.

... And now you were sweating.

You swallowed hard as Admiral Solomon "Warlock" Bates led you through the halls of the naval base, your heels clacking on the polished floors as you wiped your forehead. You're nervous, too damn nervous and this damned weather did not help.

"Relax, Miss," Warlock muttered in that calm, authoritative way of his. "They're just pilots."

Just pilots.

Right. And a nuclear warhead was just a firework.

And now, somehow, you were supposed to explain—loosely explain, because God help you, the full details were above even their clearance level—how Ethera, your elegant, lethal, unstoppable digital masterpiece, was about to be injected into an enemy satellite as part of a classified mission.

This was going to be a disaster.

You had barely made it through the doors of the briefing room when you felt it—every single eye in the room locking onto you.

It wasn’t just the number of them that got you, it was the intensity. These were Top Gun pilots, the best of the best, and they radiated the kind of confidence you could only dream of having. Meanwhile, you felt like a stray kitten wandering into a lion’s den.

Your hands tightened around the tablet clutched to your chest. It was your lifeline, holding every critical detail of Ethera, the program that had dragged you into this utterly ridiculous situation. If you could’ve melted into the walls, you absolutely would have. But there was no escaping this.

You just had to keep it together long enough to survive this briefing.

So, you inhaled deeply, squared your shoulders, and forced your heels forward, trying to project confidence—chin up, back straight, eyes locked onto Vice Admiral Beau "Cyclone" Simpson, who you’d been introduced to earlier that day.

And then, of course, you dropped the damn tablet.

Not a graceful drop. Not the kind of gentle slip where you could scoop it back up and act like nothing happened. No, this was a full-on, physics-defying fumble. The tablet flipped out of your arms, ricocheted off your knee, and skidded across the floor to the feet of one of the pilots.

Silence.

Pure, excruciating silence.

You didn’t even have the nerve to look up right away, too busy contemplating whether it was physically possible to disintegrate on command. But when you finally did glance up—because, you know, social convention demanded it—you were met with a sight that somehow made this entire disaster worse.

Because the person crouching down to pick up your poor, abused tablet was freaking hot.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with a head of golden curls that practically begged to be tousled by the wind, and, oh, yeah—a moustache that somehow worked way too well on him.

He turned the tablet over in his hands, inspecting it with an amused little smirk before handing it over to you. "You, uh… need this?"

Oh, great. His voice is hot too.

You grabbed it back, praying he couldn't see how your hands were shaking. “Nope. Just thought I’d test gravity real quick.”

A few chuckles rippled through the room, and his smirk deepened like he was enjoying this way too much. You, on the other hand, wanted to launch yourself into the sun.

With what little dignity you had left, you forced a quick, tight-lipped smile at him before turning on your heel and continuing forward, clutching your tablet like it was a life raft in the middle of the worst social shipwreck imaginable.

At the front of the room, Vice Admiral Beau Cyclone Simpson stood with the kind of posture that said he had zero time for nonsense, waiting for the room to settle. You barely had time to take a deep breath before his voice cut through the air.

“Alright, listen up.” His tone was crisp, commanding, and impossible to ignore. “This is Dr Y/N L/N. Everything she is about to tell you is highly classified. What you hear in this briefing does not leave this room. Understood?”

A chorus of nods. "Yes, sir."

You barely resisted the urge to physically cringe as every pilot in the room turned to stare at you—some with confusion, others with barely concealed amusement, and a few with the sharp assessing glances of people who had no clue what they were supposed to do with you.

You cleared your throat, squared your shoulders, and did your best to channel even an ounce of the confidence you usually had when you were coding at 3 AM in a secure, pilot-free lab—where the only judgment you faced was from coffee cups and the occasional system error.

As you reached the podium, you forced what you hoped was a composed smile. “Uh… hi, nice to meet you all.”

Solid. Real professional.

You glanced up just long enough to take in the mix of expressions in the room—some mildly interested, some unreadable, and one particular moustached pilot who still had the faintest trace of amusement on his face.

Nope. Not looking at him.

You exhaled slowly, centering yourself. Stay focused. Stay professional. You weren’t just here because of Ethera—you were Ethera. The only one who truly understood it. The only one who could execute this mission.

With another tap on your tablet, the slide shifted to a blacked-out, redacted briefing—only the necessary information was visible. A sleek 3D-rendered model of the enemy satellite appeared on the screen, rotating slowly. Most of its details were blurred or omitted entirely.

“This is Blackstar, a highly classified enemy satellite that has been operating in a low-Earth orbit over restricted airspace.” Your voice remained even, and steady, but the weight of what you were revealing sent a shiver down your spine. “Its existence has remained off the radar—literally and figuratively—until recently, when intelligence confirmed that it has been intercepting our encrypted communications, rerouting information, altering intelligence, and in some cases—fabricating entire communications.”

Someone exhaled sharply. Another shifted in their seat.

“So they’re feeding us bad intel?” one of them with big glasses and blonde hair asked, voice sceptical but sharp.

“That’s the theory,” you confirmed. “And given how quickly our ops have been compromised recently, it’s working.”

You tapped again, shifting to the next slide. The silent infiltration diagram appeared—an intricate web of glowing red lines showing Etherea’s integration process, slowly wrapping around the satellite’s systems like a virus embedding itself into a host.

“This is where Ethera comes in,” you said, shifting to a slide that displayed a cascading string of code, flickering across the screen. “Unlike traditional cyberweapons, Ethera doesn’t just break into a system. It integrates—restructuring security protocols as if it was always meant to be there. It’s undetectable, untraceable, and once inside, it grants us complete control of the Blackstar and won’t even register it as a breach.”

“So we’re not just hacking it," The only female pilot of the team said, arms crossed as she studied the data. “We’re hijacking it.”

“Exactly,” You nodded with a grin.

You switched to the next slide—a detailed radar map displaying the satellite’s location over international waters.

“This is the target area,” you continued after a deep breath. “It’s flying low-altitude reconnaissance patterns, which means it’s using ground relays for some of its communication. That gives us a small window to infiltrate and shut it down.”

The next slide appeared—a pair of unidentified fighter aircraft, patrolling the vicinity.

“And this is the problem,” you said grimly. “This satellite isn’t unguarded.”

A murmur rippled through the room as the pilots took in the fifth-generation stealth fighters displayed on the screen.

“We don’t know who they belong to,” you admitted. “What we do know is that they’re operating with highly classified tech—possibly experimental—and have been seen running defence patterns around the satellite’s flight path.”

Cyclone stepped forward then, arms crossed, his voice sharp and authoritative. “Which means your job is twofold. You will escort Dr L/N’s aircraft to the infiltration zone, ensuring Ethera is successfully deployed. If we are engaged, your priority remains protecting the package and ensuring a safe return.”

Oh, fantastic, you could not only feel your heartbeat in your toes, you were now officially the package.

You cleared your throat, tapping the screen again. Ethera’s interface expanded, displaying a cascade of sleek code.

“Once I’m in range,” you continued, “Ethera will lock onto the satellite’s frequency and begin infiltration. From that point, it’ll take approximately fifty-eight seconds to bypass security and assume control."

Silence settled over the room like a thick cloud, the weight of their stares pressing down on you. You could feel them analyzing, calculating, probably questioning who in their right mind thought putting you—a hacker, a tech specialist, someone whose idea of adrenaline was passing cars on the highway—into a fighter jet was a good idea.

Finally, one of the pilots—tall, broad-shouldered, blonde, and very clearly one of the cocky ones—tilted his head, arms crossed over his chest in a way that screamed too much confidence.

“So, let me get this straight.” His voice was smooth, and confident, with just the right amount of teasing. “You, Doctor—our very classified, very important tech specialist—have to be in the air, in a plane, during a mission that has a high probability of turning into a dogfight… just so you can press a button?”

Your stomach twisted at the mention of being airborne.

“Well…” You gulped, very much aware of how absolutely insane this sounded when put like that. “It’s… more than just that, but, yeah, essentially.”

A slow grin spread across his face, far too entertained by your predicament.

“Oh,” he drawled, “this is gonna be fun.”

Before you could fully process how much you already hated this, Cyclone—who had been watching the exchange with his signature unamused glare—stepped forward, cutting through the tension with his sharp, no-nonsense voice.

“This is a classified operation,” he stated, sharp and authoritative. “Not a joyride.”

The blonde’s smirk faded slightly as he straightened, and the rest of the pilots quickly fell in line.

Silence lingered for a moment longer before Vice Admiral Beau Cyclone Simpson let out a slow breath and straightened. His sharp gaze swept over the room before he nodded once.

“All right. That’s enough.” His tone was firm, the kind that left no room for argument. “We’ve got work to do. The mission will take place in a few weeks' time, once we’ve run full assessments, completed necessary preparations, and designated a lead for this operation.”

There was a slight shift in the room. Some of the pilots exchanged glances, the weight of the upcoming mission finally settling in. Others, mainly the cocky ones, looked as though they were already imagining themselves in the cockpit.

“Dismissed,” Cyclone finished.

The pilots stood, murmuring amongst themselves as they filed out of the room, the blonde one still wearing a smug grin as he passed you making you frown and turn away, your gaze then briefly met the eyes of the moustached pilot.

You hadn’t meant to look, but the moment your eyes connected, something flickered in his expression. Amusement? Curiosity? You weren’t sure, and frankly, you didn’t want to know.

So you did the only logical thing and immediately looked away and turned to gather your things. You needed to get out of here, to find some space to breathe before your brain short-circuited from stress—

“Doctor, Stay for a moment.”

You tightened your grip on your tablet and turned back to Cyclone, who was watching you with that unreadable, vaguely disapproving expression that all high-ranking officers seemed to have perfected. “Uh… yes, sir?”

Once the last pilot was out the door, Cyclone exhaled sharply and crossed his arms.

“You realize,” he said, “that you’re going to have to actually fly, correct?”

You swallowed. “I—well, technically, I’ll just be a passenger.”

His stare didn’t waver.

“Doctor,” he said, tone flat, “I’ve read your file. I know you requested to be driven here instead of taking a military transport plane. You also took a ferry across the bay instead of a helicopter. And I know that you chose to work remotely for three years to avoid getting on a plane.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. “That… could mean anything.”

“It means you do not like flying, am I correct?”

Your fingers tightened around the tablet as you tried to find a way—any way—out of this. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t need to fly the plane. I just need to be in it long enough to deploy Ethera—”

Cyclone cut you off with a sharp look. “And what happens if something goes wrong, Doctor? If the aircraft takes damage? If you have to eject mid-flight? If you lose comms and have to rely on emergency protocols?”

You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting at the very thought of ejecting from a jet.

Cyclone sighed, rubbing his temple as if this entire conversation was giving him a migraine. “We cannot afford to have you panicking mid-mission. If this is going to work, you need to be prepared. That’s why, starting next week you will train with the pilots on aerial procedures and undergoing mandatory training in our flight simulation program.”

Your stomach dropped. “I—wait, what? That’s not necessary—”

“It’s absolutely necessary,” Cyclone cut in, his tone sharp. “If you can’t handle a simulated flight, you become a liability—not just to yourself, but to the pilots escorting you. And in case I need to remind you, Doctor, this mission is classified at the highest level. If you panic mid-air, it won’t just be your life at risk. It’ll be theirs. And it’ll be national security at stake.”

You inhaled sharply. No pressure. None at all.

Cyclone watched you for a moment before speaking again, his tone slightly softer but still firm. “You’re the only one who can do this, Doctor. That means you need to be ready.”

You exhaled slowly, pressing your lips together before nodding stiffly. “Understood, sir.”

Cyclone gave a small nod of approval. “Good. Dismissed.”

You turned and walked out, shoulders tense, fully aware that in three days' time, you were going to be strapped into a high-speed, fighter jet. And knowing your luck?

You were definitely going to puke.

Part 2???

2K notes · View notes

zomgcaleb · 3 months ago

Text

time of the month

-`♡´- synopsis — based on this drabble, extra blurb at the end.

-`♡´- tags — bunnyhybrid!xavier, bunny rut cycle, m!masturbation, xavier stealing your clothes, panty sniffing, pillow humping, mutual pining, scent kink, spitting (once), mating press, handjob, oral f!receiving, overstimulation (?), multiple orgasms m!receiving, xavier calls you master, cockwarming, biting, breeding kink, aftercare, whiny!xavier, kinda pathetic!xavier, sex with feelings, porn with plot, love bombs, marking, premature ejactulation, xavier passes out (he's fine), dom!xavier, tummy bulge, creampie, unprotected p in v sex (be safe please)

minors do not interact — 18+ only!!

wc — 6.2k

quick context — male bunnies typically lose consciousness temporarily after ejaculation

notes — not proofread!! i haven’t written a fic like this in quite a while, so i hope it’s somewhat coherent and you enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it ^^

He could feel it. It wasn’t far away. The blood in his veins felt like fire. An invincible flame that nothing could quell… except…

You were none the wiser of this ordeal, hacking away at the vegetables you’re preparing for the soup you’re making for dinner.

Xavier bounced his leg to the rhythm of his thoughts. You’d surely be getting suspicious by now, about the stains on your pillows. His heart plummeted when you confronted him about it, the limp pillow case dangling from your fingers. To his fortune, his lucky stars, you begin to ramble about a supposed leak in the ceiling. ‘I knew our insulation was getting bad but not that bad’ you’d told him. The relief he felt came in strong intense waves and in blew a high he carried for days. You’d hadn’t caught him yet.

You’d hadn’t caught him so he can do it again.

But his streak soon ends when you came home from work early one day and a strange knock sounded at the door. It was a maintenance worker. A maintenance worker who took a look at your insulation systems and said they were perfectly fine.

A maintenance worker who just replanted the seed of doubt in Xavier’s garden of ecstasy. How was he supposed to spend his ruts without his only outlet? Now that he thinks hard about it, they’ve been lasting longer and longer. It seems his makeshift methods have grown stale.

Maybe he should pretend to run away. No, that’s stupid. Maybe he’ll come up with a distraction…But, what kind of rouse would last a whole week?

Xavier shakes his head to calm his racing heart and huffs dejectedly. He listens to calming sounds of your kitchen tools clanking softly and with a twitch of his ear his eyes shoot open.

Maybe… he can convince you it was your idea.

He’s seen the way you look at him when you think he can’t see you. He’s noticed the glimmer in your eye when you take care of him. He’s even noticed the way you touch him, or rather, that places you touch. If he thinks hard enough he can still remember the feeling of your fingertips on his neck as you checked his temperature after his last rut. You’d been so worried he’d shut himself away and his chest tightened painfully at your confession that night.

You’d thought you’d done something to upset him.

He can’t let things go how they are for much longer.He’s starting to make you doubt yourself.

It ultimately comes down to two outcomes. None being good. You either find out of his naughty endeavors eventually, or his long, grueling, unsatisfying ruts will give him away anyway.

His brows crease in distaste.

Before he can spiral anymore into his rabbit hole you call him sweetly from the dining room. Dinner was ready.

He was certain now. Or at least more certain than he was.

You both sat at the table to eat, like you normally would. However he couldn’t shake the feeling of a watchful eye…like usual. He tried not to make anything of it really. He was a bunny hybrid. His fluffy ears were hard to miss. But due to his earlier turmoil he paid closer attention this time. To what you were looking at.

He was wearing a rather old t shirt. It’s been out through the wringer a number of times, used for various activities like painting, cleaning. Whatever you wouldn’t want on a shirt you actually like.

He was doing laundry last week when he noticed the collar had been snagged. Not enough to really make him think to throw it away but it wasn’t too noticeable... Except since now that he wears it, it sags pitifully below his collarbones.

You definitely noticed.

He’d trailed your wandering eyes through his peripherals right to his neck. At first he wasn’t sure what to do with his finding. It wasn’t until he finally looked over at you that your eyes meet and he sees a glint of something.

Of want. Of desire. The same one he has when you bend down in front of him…or when you lick the batter off the spatula and moan in delight..or when he smells your perfume in the bathroom after you’ve left for work…

It was then, he knew exactly what to do.

The tests started small. A fleeting touch here, a lingering stare there, hugs that last for a little too long. But it wasn’t enough. Not to make you crack.

He needed to get you to act first. And quick. It wasn’t until his skin starts to burn deliciously when you touched him and his brain starts to fog with—indecent—thoughts of you that he gets his rude awakening.

His rut was coming, and fast. He needed to up the ante somehow.

He lays helplessly in his bed. His body suffering from a heat wave all too familiar. It was faint, few and far inbetween but its effects showed no mercy. His hands clutched a shirt you’d gotten together at a new park stand that sold lemonade. It was a grand opening souvenir you’d gotten from the tender and you’d been so happy with it. It was big on you, too big. You’d both shared a laugh at the time when you slipped it over your top and it draped down to your knees.

The graphic was stupid and hard to look at. He thinks if he thought hard enough he’d be able to come up with something better. Something less of an eyesore.

But right now…he couldn’t seem look away.

He’d waltzed into your room the next day with innocent intent, trying to find a pen to finish the grocery list, when he saw the crumbled yellow fabric of it tangled in the sheets of your bed. He held it up, chuckling as he reminisced. But before he could put it down he gets a whiff of you. Your perfume, your deodorant, the conditioner you use; it even smelt faintly of him. It was enough for him to take it.

And now, it was clutched tightly between his fingers, sniffing wildly at the ugly fabric as each wet schlick of his other hand filled the room. His breath hitched softly, his voice catching in his throat. The smell of you was faded and weaker than before as it’d been a while since it’s left his bed, but it still quelled the heat growing in his core nonetheless.

If he closed his eyes he could picture your hand instead of his, gripping his weeping cock tightly—possessively. He’d be so pliant, yielding to your every word yet you’d tease him anyway.

“Please….” Xavier wheezed. His voice was strained and rightfully so. His cock bobbed against his abs, demanding attention with his angry pink tip. Spurts of pre-cum glisten against the ambient lights of his room.

He wants to touch you. His hands need to grip and kneed at your hips—at your waist, to fondle what ever he can reach and burn the feeling into memory. He’s so tired of looking longingly from a distance. To not be able to have you whenever he wants.

Oh, how he’s wanted to kiss you sweetly before bed every night. Or hold you from behind to nuzzle into your neck, only to bite softly into the juncture of your shoulder. You’d gasp in surprise, so cute and helpless pressed against him like that.

“Hah…“ Xavier’s hips thrust into his hand. Faster. Tighter. His hands start to get sweaty and his hair sticks to his forehead. He was already so close, the rising heat of his orgasm was only getting stronger and his stomach drops.

With a long lingering sniff of your shirt he presses it to his tip as his cock twitches. A groan rumbles in his throat as hot white ropes erupt into the fabric, soaking it almost completely. He chants your name softly, mumbling to himself as he fucks himself through his high; his thrusts slow and he hums at the warm feeling of cum coating his fingers. The once vibrant yellow turns into a muddy mustard variant and he only stares down at it with a glaze over his eyes.

It’s ruined…looks like he’ll have to borrow another one.

Xavier sighs. His ears are flopped over his pillows and his tail flicks behind him.

What can he do to occupy your head like you do his? How can he get under your skin?

Under… your skin…

Well, if you liked his ogling his neck, you should like this, right?

He’d woken up the next morning and did his usual routine—with a slight tweak. Brushing his teeth, making his bed, changing out of his pajamas…Only this time instead of digging around in his drawer and throwing on the first feel of soft cotton up and over his head, he just…didn’t.

He was shirtless and shivered at the unfamiliar breeze of the cold AC against his chest before strolling out into the hallway.

-`♡´-

It was almost as if he’d developed an estranged allergy to wearing a shirt the next two days.

You’d wondered what the sudden interest in this behavior was considering Xavier wasn’t exactly the type to do such a thing so excessively. Not to mention bunnies were prone to temperature change and if anything it made you worry. It didn’t last long enough for you to ask about it but you kept it in mind.

You kept in mind the sleek curves of his collarbones…and the ripples of his back when he rolled his shoulders— the dip of his back to the twitch of his cute little cotton tail.

But mostly his unusual behavior, of course…

You’d thought that maybe it was just a fleeting habit, something that would show its head for a bit before going dormant.

Well it didn’t.

It was movie night. The one night out of the week that was designated for the both of you to relax, unwind, to make up lost time with each other. And relax you did—until you didn’t.

You’d hadn’t even managed to sink into the couch properly before Xavier walks over to you, casual as ever, dressed so non-casually.

The obvious bulge in his sweats was staring at you through the whole movie. You tried not to make eye contact but the act was almost impossible. You wanted to look. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. However, that didn’t stop your cheeks from heating, or quell your racing heart at the thought that…you could just.. grab it. What kind of owner would that make you though? Taking advantage of your sweet bunny? You worry your lip in between your teeth as you move to sit on your hands.

You didn’t want him to shut himself away. Again. You went a whole week without seeing him and it crushed you. You hated it. So you keep a comfortable distance in hopes that you won’t upset him.

This was only the beginning.

Eventually it got to the point where he’d walk around in nothing but a towel every night after his bath. His actions seemed more deliberate after a while.

He’d hold your hips to slide past you in the kitchen. he’d lean over you and peer at you from above with those beautiful blue eyes when you sat on the couch. He’d sit and watch an episode of your favorite show next to you, legs spread and skin still glistening with water.

It wasn’t until tonight that he’d seemed to have had enough.

“Why won’t you touch me?”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise and you start to choke on your own spit. You shove your bookmark in the book you were reading and practically toss it onto the table by the couch.

You clear your throat with a curt grunt before facing him with teary eyes. “Xavier, what are you talking about?”

He stands there, looking down his nose at you with an unreadable expression. His eyebrows are scrunched and he can’t quite seem to meet your eyes, opting to stare at a spot on the floor. It was extremely mundane compared to you.

“It’s…I’m so..hot.” He whispers. His fingers twitch at his sides.

You soon wear a look of concern. Now that you’re looking at him his chest is heaving a little heavier than normal. His forehead shines faintly with a sheen of sweat and you tilt your head confused.

“What do you mean? What’s the matter?” When he doesn’t answer right away you shift to the edge of the couch and widen your knees, just enough for him to fit through. You sit up straight and pat your lap. “C’mere.”

Hesitantly, he sinks down to his knees before you, nestling in between yours with his hands in his lap. He sneaks a glance at you but quickly turns away.

You press the back of your hand just above his eyebrows. “You are hot…” you trail off. Before you think to stop yourself, you drag your hand along his neck and he flinches. You retract your hand as if it had been burned. “…and flustered.” You whisper. “Is that why you’ve been acting so weird lately? Are you getting sick?”

Xavier sighs. “It seems…I am.” His velvety voice echoes throughout the living room and suddenly the air feels hard to breathe. His hands move from his lap to trail his fingertips up your calves. When he reaches your knees his fingers draw petite patterns along your knee caps. “But…there’s only one way to take care of me when I’m this way.”

Finally, he meets your eyes and you see it. He looks hazy, almost drunk off the tension that swells in the room. Your breath becomes shaky and you feel like you can’t move. Probably because, you can’t. Not anymore.

Xavier’s hands rest beside your hips and he rises, slowly, almost predatory. If the situation had been less intimate, you’d laugh at the irony. All you can do right now is stare at him in anticipation and you start to lean back instinctively as he gets closer. Your elbows catch you as collapse under him.

Your gaze flickers down to his shirtless torso but you look away shamefully. Xavier’s fingers quickly grip your jaw and turn you to face him. Your noses are almost touching and his eyes bore into yours with something desperate.

His warm minty breath hits your face when he speaks. “You seem to know all about how to deal with bunnies, right? Then…” he takes your wrist in his grip and spreads your palm over his chest, “you don’t need any hints?” He keeps his gaze level with yours and he starts to push your hand. Down, down, down. You feel the divot between his pecs and soon the ridges in his abs. It wasn’t long before you were dangerously close to the waistband of his abnormally low pajama pants. Ones that appeared to have a suggestive tent growing in them.

Before you can reach it you resist against him, your arm twitching to pull away. He stops but he doesn’t let go of your wrist.

“Xavier you..w-we can’t.” You try to contain the way your body warms at his ministrations yet, your voice is breathless as if it was punched out of you.

You startled slightly when his knees hit the floor, his body shakes and crumples into your lap. He talks before you can.

“Why?” His voice was deep, deeper than you’d ever heard it and firm, albeit shaky in his current unfamiliar condition. “Why—Why won’t you…” his breath is heavy against your thighs and his back heaves with every inhale.

Your eyes are wide in surprise. Your eyebrows crinkle when you suddenly remember something, something you’d buried inside your head a long time ago when you first looked into homing a hybrid like Xavier. It was a notice that warned new partners of… particular seasonal behaviors. It clicks in your head and your hand hovers over Xavier’s head reluctantly.

“Xavier, are you…in some sort of heat?”

His body jolts and you feel something hard brush against your legs. It’s as if the dam breaks and he keens loudly at the feeling. He tries to catch his breath to reply. “I—hah—I want you to make it go away. Please...” His big, glassy blue eyes look up at you and your body gets shocked with arousal. “…Master.” You gasp quietly and feel the heat flare in your core. You fidget slightly in his grasp. Is this really happening?

You reach out to him and cup his cheek, an innocent gesture, but the second he feels your touch it’s like he can’t live without it. He shoves his face into your palm and his lips part to moan. His hips start to pick up a languid rhythm as he humps against you.

“I tried so hard to get your attention. You didn’t reach out to me, not once. Didn’t even look at me.” Xavier shakes his head frantically. His thrusts get firmer and rock with intent before coming to a jarring halt. His head drops from your hand and the tips of his bangs tickle your thighs. “Do you…regret bringing me here?”

You grip his face and lift his head up to face you. You use your fingers to scrunch his lips into a small pout. You lean down and press them into yours, kissing him with a longing you’ve held for a while. You hoped he could feel it. He groans sweetly and you separate with a soft smack. “Xavier I could never regret you. I wanted to touch you I just.. I didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage of you.”

He perks up at this, looking up questioningly at your confession. You shake your head dismissively and smile before pecking his forehead, letting go of his face to push coaxingly against his shoulder. “Switch with me. Let’s take care of you, bunny. Yeah?”

His breath hitches in his throat and he groans, eyes squeezing shut to nod aggressively. He quickly takes your spot and now it’s you who’s leaning over him, plopping down to sit on his thighs. You take a moment to truly breathe him in. Xavier was a gorgeous man. Even now with the new and unfamiliar shift in your dynamic, this was the first time you could truly admire him. No sneaking glances or peeking through cracks in the doors, or staring at him through photos you’ve taken together. And this time, he’s actually looking back at you, with the same feverish want.

You start with his ears. They’ve been bobbing on top of his head, standing proud as if begging for attention. You couldn’t help yourself when you reach up to touch them, gently grazing and caressing the fluffy outer shell, just the way he likes. He grunts and you feel his hips stutter. His hands quickly find purchase on your thighs and you feel his fingers dig into you firmly.

You glance down at the sizable bump that sits right below his waistband. It throbs angrily as if trying to escape its confines, trying to get to you. His eagerness is really turning you on.

Your eyes drag up, and up, past the faint veins under his belly button and the chiseled creases of his stomach. Right to his collarbones. You salivate at the thought of finally being able to take the soft, almost porcelain skin into your mouth and ruining it with pretty, red and purple splotches—like you’ve always imagined.

Your eyes settle on his face and dark, half lidded eyes look back at you. His long lashes flutter with anticipation and he tries hard to keep himself from squirming.

However, the second you dip down to take the skin between your lips, he blows caution to the wind. You sink your teeth into the junction between his neck and shoulder and he whimpers. Right into your ear. The sound rings through your ears and clouds your brain, and you don’t register the way you start to bounce at first. It was the pitchy moans and cries that sounded soon after that snapped you out of your haze.

His hips start to buck, searching for something, anything, to tame the heat in his abdomen. He groans with frustration when he realizes you’re sitting too far back and grinding against the fabric of his pajamas is not enough. Your name flows from his mouth in a sickly sweet plead.

You hum into his neck and lick over the mark tenderly, giving it a firm suck before you grab his hips and press them down into the couch.

“Be still, baby. Let your Master claim you. You want that, right?” You purr, choosing another spot to nip the skin between your teeth. He nods, wrapping his arm around your waist while the other trails up your back to tangle his fingers in your hair. Every suck, every lick made him twitch but he endured it. You finally pull back and he looks dazed. His cheeks are red and flushed, and there’s red marks littering his lip where he’s sunk his teeth into it.

Before you can act he thrusts forward, smashing his lips into yours. His hands come to cup and hold your face as he leans back, taking you with him. Your hands are spread over his chest for stability as he devours you and swallows the noises you make. He tugs at the hem of your shirt and you pull away to rip it off, tossing it somewhere on the other end of the couch.

“So pretty…” he mumbles, softly palming the lacy fabric of your bra. He leans forward to kiss the peaks of your boobs before trailing sloppy open mouth kisses up your neck to your jaw. You sigh, dragging one of your hands down his torso, to hook into his pants. With a swift tug you pull them down and tuck them under his balls, his cock slouches from its own weight to rest on his stomach.

You curse at the sight of him. It was smooth like the rest of him. The head was a pretty pink, glistening in so much pre you start to wonder if he’d cum already at some point. You take him in your hand and immediately his head is thrown back. He arches towards you, a whimper on the tip of his tongue. Thanks to his leaky tip it easy for your hand to glide against his length. It soon leaks over the top of your fingers and you bite your lip at the feeling.

“Mmm. S…Stroke me faster, Angel. Please.” He whines breathlessly, his chest heaves violently with every breath and his thighs shake and tense. “Faster, faster, faster…” you follow his instruction, your grip tightening and all that fills the room is the naughty shlicks and moans coming from Xavier. “Yes. Thankyouthankyouthankyou.”

Finally, finally. He feels your soft skin touch him like this. It was euphoric. The tension in his core was about to snap and he had no time to prepare. This was so much better than what a pillow could give him, or a shirt. His eyes roll back under his eyelids and he can’t seem to shut up. Your hands slide and grope at his chest and he feels an overwhelming rush of adrenaline that he can’t ignore. With what strength he has he hoists himself up to nuzzle into your neck, huffing the sweet scent of you and pressing heated kisses to wherever he could reach. Between the pace you’re going and the weight of you on top of him he’s going to blow his load. Right now.

His body goes rigid and his hand flies up to grip your wrist. “Don’t stop. I—I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum—m’cumming.” His cock was hot to the touch and pulsed aggressively in your hand. White runny ropes of cum stream out and down his tip, running over your fingers to pool at his base. He continues to writhe and wiggle, thrusting into the comfort of your hand through his orgasm.

You loosen your grip when he starts to grunt, giving one last stroke before it flops between you. It was…still hard. As a rock.

Suddenly you feel as though you’re about to fall backwards. Your legs hug his waist and your arms are thrown around his neck. Xavier props you up in his arm and hold you close with the other. “Hold on to me.” He whispers.

You nod, placing a soft kiss just below his chin. He hums, rubbing your back soothingly with his thumb and placing soft pecks of his own against the span of your neck.

Soon your back hits the soft padding of your bed and you grab at Xavier to follow suit. You pull him into sweet kiss and you both hum in delight, Xavier shifts from where he lays comfortably on top of you, pinning you to the mattress.

“I really want to taste you, Angel. May I?” He sits up on his forearms and litters your face with kisses. Kissing your eyes, your nose, your cheeks, your temples. You giggle and his heart sings at the noise.

“Yes, bunny.”

He sighs softly, pressing a final kiss to your lips before he sinks down. His lips kiss and lick down your navel to the start of your pajama shorts. He hooks his fingers into the elastic and pulls, tossing them to the side. All that’s left is your panties. They’re a beautiful light blue with lace trim with a cute little bow on top. He thanks his lucky stars for this moment. You looked like some kind of sexy present for him to unwrap. Only for him.

He groans at the wet patch right in the middle. Right where the entrance of your cute little cunt was. Just leaking, begging for him.

“It’s for you.” You call out. He looks up at you through his lashes and the view is burned into brain. You’re bashful now, having being spread open for him like this. Your face is flushed and the curves of your body align perfectly in this angle.

He curses to himself, opting to caress the skin of your inner thighs with his lips. He stops and glances at you again with those deep blue eyes. “I think…” another kiss, “it’s only fair to give you some of my marks as well.” He happily decorates your thighs with purple marks of his own, even forming one into the shape of a heart. You moan dreamily, trying to fight off the urge to close your legs around his head already.

He shoves his nose deeeep into your panties, inhaling deeply at the scent of your arousal. His ears twitch above him and you can even see his tail wag briefly.

“You smell so good. Mm.” He nuzzles into your cunt and his nose catches your clit. It was also mindnumbing how sensitive you were. You jolt with a gasp and your thighs threaten to close on him but he wraps his arms under your legs to keep them apart. His fingers make dents in the soft skin, the sight was erotic.

He places a few more kisses to your cunny before licking a fat stripe right down the middle. Your hips buck at the stimulation but it wasn’t quite enough. You pout down at him. “Don’t tease me, Xavier.”

He chuckles, so quiet it was almost to himself you think. “You got to have your fun. Now I’ll have mine.” He gives your clit a sloppy kiss and pulls your panties to the side. Your slick clings to crotch, seeming as if it didn’t want to let go but it finally pops off, connected by hypnotizing strings.

Xavier groans and wastes no more time. His lips wrap around your clit and suck, your back arches off the bed in ecstasy. Hot waves of heat shoot through your limbs and you keen at him, reach down to card your fingers through his hair and rub at his ears. He moans into your cunt and the vibrations make you shiver.

“You feel—hn—so good.” You cry out shakily. Your hands tighten their grip against his scalp and he grunts, the bed started to wobble as he bucks against the mattress. You feel a pop in your lip as you bite it, the faint taste of copper fills your mouth. His tongue moves up and down in a steady pace, catching and swirling around your hard bud. The tip of it teases the rim of your entrance before easing in, your legs resist and against his grip to close but to no avail.

“You’re so pretty. So pretty, Angel.” He slurs. “Think of you spread for me like this when I touch myself. Love how your body squirms, just from my mouth.”

He spits on cunt and uses it to glide across your clit in quick circles.

“I need you, I need you so bad.” Xavier kisses around your labia tenderly only to dive back in, swallowing whatever he’s able to take from you.

“Xavier, baby, please.” Your hips grind in tangent with his face and you feel your eyes cross. One of your hands moves from his silky strands to grip the sheets instead.

“Gonna cum for me, Master? Give it to me. Let me have it, let your bunny have it—please.” His thrusts start to stutter and he whimpers. His hand leaves your thigh to grab yours, untangling your fingers from the sheets to intertwine them with his own. “Cum for me so I can fill you up.”

Your core tightens and snaps all at once. With a wanton moan you arch into mouth, squeezing his hand to ground you. He squeezes back, eyes fluttering shut as he erupts into your pretty bedsheets.

The room is filled with heavy panting and soft groans. You sounded so good together.

You’re still basking in your afterglow when Xavier sits up, climbing over you with a new glint in his eye. You glance down to see his raging erection is still seeking satisfaction.

“Angel, I need to be inside of you. Please, sweetheart open.” He grabs at your legs that lay limp between his and his hands under your knees to throw them over his shoulders. His brows furrow at the burning sensation of his skin. The tip of his cock kisses the soft plush of your entrance and he looks at you, swooping down to take your lips as his hips push forward.

You’ve never felt so full than you do now, the walls of your wet cunt cling to his cock like a lifeline. You moan into each other at the stretch, his hands once again searching for yours, desperate to ground himself to you like and anchor at sea. His mind is lost in you and only you can find him.

His touches are firm but gentle. He works you open, taking in every jolt and twitch of your body. The feeling he was chasing was finally his, the warm suction of your pussy was slowly taming the fire that lit his bones. His voices catches in his throat.

He needed more. More more more more.

Xavier pulls away from your lips with a soft smack but he doesn’t stray far, he leans forward to touch his forehead to yours and your breaths combine.

“H-How do you feel, does it hurt?”

You shake your head firmly. “Good. Can feel you…” you grab his wrist and drag it over you, pressing his palm flat against your stomach. “Right here.”

“Shit.” Xavier feels the push and pull of his cock inside you, and his jaw drops at the revelation that every inch of him has been accepted by you. He’s touching parts of you that no one else will ever come close to and it makes him crazy.

“Go faster.” You whine, hooking your heels into his lower back. “I can take it, bunny, promise. Use me to feel better.” You coo at him.

“But I want this to be special.” His pace picks up and you see a line a drool start to spill over his lip. “Love you. I love you…loveyouloveyouloveyou—“

He attacks your neck, licking and sucking colorful spots in places he knows you can’t hide. He wants people to see. See that you’ve been ravished in a way they can only dream of. At the end of the day, you’ll come home to him and he wants everyone to know it.

It doesn’t take long for his thrusts to become damning, forcing you into the mattress only for your cunt to bounce back up at him, taking him deeper than before.

“Yes!” You squeal, pawing and scratching at his back. “I love you, Xavier! I love you...”

Your name falls from his mouth pitifully, a cry you respond to by peppering his face with small pecks. Your hands fall to cradle his face and your eyes snap shut as your walls clench around him.

“Say you’re mine. Tell me.” He pleads his hands knead your waist and you’re sure you might bruise tomorrow.

“I’m yours! Only yours. Forever and ever.”

His eyes open to gawk at your sweat covered bodies and he watches his cock disappear inside you. A rubber band is forming in the pit of his stomach and his breath hitches.

“Mine. My angel. Gonna fill you up. Gonna give you a big pretty litter. You’d want that, right? I’ll fill your cute cunt whenever you want. Keep you nice and happy and full. Full of me.”

Your mouth hangs open as loud moans escape your throat. His hand comes up to dig into your cheeks and pries your mouth open wider.

Tuah.

A wet blob coats your tongue and your teary eyes open to meet his. The look he gives you sends an intense warmth down your spine.

“Swallow.” Xavier releases you and you close your mouth, shuddering as it travels down your throat. “Good girl. So so good. I knew you’d be perfect for me.”

You whine, touching his chest, his shoulders, his arms, trailing your hands down his hard torso. He coos at the feeling of your fingertips gliding over his hot skin. He takes your hand and flattens it on the left side of his chest. His heart beats against your palm as if it wants to kiss it itself.

“D’you feel it? I’m yours. Master.” His thrusts start to lose rhythm and he pants heavy, using his free hand to rub frenzied circles on your clit. “Please, cum. I want to feel it.”

Your core pulses at his words as if they were the last thrush of water before the dam breaks. And break it does. You clutch him tightly, pulling him down to smash his chest against yours and the synchronizing of your heartbeats comforts you through your high.

Your cunt contracts and twitches violently, and with a long drawn out groan, Xavier shoves his cock as deep as it can go. His cum is hot like lava and you moan as it fills every crease, every crevice, every ridge and nook it can claim.

Finally his hips come to a still and he drops your legs to wrap around his waist, before the full brunt of his weight relaxes into you.

There was a comfortable silence, the sounds of your fatigued breaths filled your ears and you hum. Your fingers run through Xavier’s sweaty hair and you kiss the crown of his head. He nuzzles weakly into your neck.

“You okay, bunny?” You wince at rasp in your voice before peering down at him. His chest has slowed significantly and he’s… really heavy.

“Xavier.” You call out again, using your shoulder to jostle him. Your heart skips in concern when he doesn’t answer and with what strength you have left you rock back and forth enough to flip the both of you over. You quickly balance yourself on his lap, and clench slightly. He was still nestled warmly inside you.

Your hands take to his face, poking and prodding, trying anything to get a reaction. Eventually, his eyelids flicker and he opens his eyes albeit slowly. You sigh in relief and he turns to look at you. He props himself up his elbows, giving you a delicate Eskimo kiss.

He hums. “We’ll have to try this position next time.” His cock had softened a good while ago now, but he still grinds up into you, soft and teasing.

Your face flushes at his vulgarity. How can he say something like that in such a casual tone? You decide to ignore it. “Y-You had me so worried. What happened? Are you okay?” You whisper.

“I’m sorry I worried you, Angel. I’m okay. It’s common for bunnies like me.” His eyes squint cutely and he yawns. “M’sleepy.”

You smile and lean down to press a lazy kiss to his lips. “I’m sure you are, stud. Don’t fall asleep just yet, we gotta clean up.”

He groans reluctantly, but hops to his feet with you in tow. You yelp at the burst of energy and giggle as he blows small raspberries into your neck, carrying you into your—shared—master bathroom.

extra —

You wake up to soft chirps of your name and groggily open your eyes. The sky was still dark but the sun had just started to rise, casting the room into a light cool blue.

“Xavier? Whas’ wrong?” You whisper. Your eyes shoot open when you feel something hard poke into your ass.

He grunts as his hips jerk against you. “M’sorry m’sorry I..I’m really hot.”

This was going to be a long weekend.

-`♡´- tag list — @froleineeeee @hitorim106 @silverbrain

#lads #love and deepspace #lads xavier #lnds xavier #love and deepspace xavier #xavier love and deepspace #xavier x reader #xavier smut #bunny xavier #xavier x mc #xavier x you #love and deepspace fic

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sigh-tofm · 8 months ago

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when the power goes out one cold and rainy november evening…

… price

- goes full dad. pulls the grill up to the back veranda door and cooks up some mean steaks for you two. gets a fire going in the fireplace to keep the house heated. has half a mind to call the power company and tell them that they don’t need to hurry, he’s got everything covered here. actually, they don’t need to come at all, not for a few days. tells you his thoughts as he pulls the mattress off your bed and deposits it in the living room in front of the fireplace, so you both can keep warm tonight. you let him know in no uncertain terms that he will do no such thing. you’ll let him have is fun tonight, but you will need a hot shower and a working oven in 36 hours, no matter how much he wants to play boyscout. but as you sit in front of the roaring fireplace and your admittedly very rugged and handsome husband feeds you bits of grilled steak and holds a glass of red wine to your lips, a thick, warm blanket covering you both, you must admit that this isn’t bad either.

… kyle

- excitedly improvises. you know, it’s like this every day when we’re in the field, he beams as he brushes the dust off the firepit in the woodshed. doesn’t mean it has to be like this now though, does it, kyle. you pull your jacket tighter around yourself and watch as he finds the least rotten firewood in the shed and uses up eight matches before he can get a light. you almost tell him to leave it and come inside, that you’ll order in tonight, but he’s so engulfed in fanning the little flame to life that you can’t help but play along. you get an umbrella when the rain comes down harder and use it to shield both your boyfriend and his firepit from the weather. when you gently ask how he’s going to cook up the pizza you two were in the middle of preparing when the power went out, he wilts a little, but somehow manages to macgyver a cooking system for it that only leaves it slightly burnt. you know, he says while you two are standing under the awning, admiring your fire baby and nibbling on damp, blackened pizza, in the field we sometimes need to share sleeping bags too.

… johnny

- immediately relents. moans and groans about being off duty and that he shouldn’t be expected to fend for himself like this when he isn’t in an active war zone. you pull up the local takeaway menu on your phone and hand it to him. go get us some warm food, soldier, you prompt him and gather up some supplies while he’s away. the old scottish farmhouse you live in has a fireplace, of course, so you light a fire there and with some effort pull the couch up in front of it. blankets and pillows from the living room, old fair isle knit jumpers from the hallway closet, a sheepskin rug to warm your feet on. when he comes back with his arms full of steaming indian (best to get some extra, mo chridhe), his mood seems to have lightened a little too. especially when he sees you in thigh high knit stockings, wearing his jumper and laying on the sheepskin rug. okay, maybe this isn’t so bad. at least he’s not being shot at.

… simon

- is prepared. goes down to the basement and carries up box after box of emergency equipment. hands you a round little paraffin stove (which you have no idea how to work) and a matching aluminium pan, as well as a large variety of ready-made freeze dried stews and soups. just add water, he says unhelpfully, and continues pulling out equipment from his kit. amongst the various bags of tools and gadgets you can spot tent poles and emergency flares, and it’s obvious he’s been itching to use all this stuff for a while. you decide to entertain him and google your way around the stove, finally getting a light on it. you light candles and pull out your winter coats while the water boils, making it an overall cozy time. hav’ta be prepared, he mutters as he comes to sit with you when the food’s ready, the living room full of his unpacked catastrophe preparations. next time we’ll just go to a hotel, you gently request and serve him year-old mushroom stew, brought back to life with some warm water. he looks longingly at all his equipment. you yield. or camping.

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is-this-fascism · 10 months ago

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My plan to escape homelessness. I need your help to get started before winter!

hello friends! i'm a homeless queer guy living in a tiny car. it's been like this for most of my adult life, and i'm trying to make a change! I want to convert a van into my new home! my plan involves these stages:

Stage 1: acquire a van.

while still living off donations in my car, i'm fundraising. as soon as i can afford one, i'll purchase a van. the market shows most used vans that would be suitable are around $3.5-4.5k give or take. we're already about halfway there!

I'm really hoping this stage can be complete before november, as my car is not suited to survive another winter and it could be devastating to attempt it.

Stage 2: survive winter

since winter is approaching, i'll need to quickly put insulated walls in the van and make sure i can live in it. at this point, it'll already be an upgrade to my car, but i won't be able to do much building in cold weather, so it'll just be the bare minimum i need to survive the winter.

during this time, i'll be taking measurements, drawing plans, researching appliances, and generally preparing for the build process. i'll continue fundraising to make sure i can afford all the materials and tools i'll need. i may also take care of any maintenence the van might need. i'll also clean and sell my car so i have some cash from that as well.

Stage 3: build my home!

when it gets warm enough, i'll start doing the actual build. i'll document this on video as much as i can, and post the process on my youtube channel for not only the people who helped me, but for anyone who's curious. i'll start with solar panels and an electricity system, i'll add countertops and kitchen appliances, a shower and sink with plumbing and warm water, a toilet, a real bed, lights, climate control. it'll be essentially a house on wheels, and just the right size for me!

Stage 4: whatever comes next

once i have my new home, i'll need an income. i may take a regular job to support myself at first, and that will actually be possible when i have a shower. but, i've been considering making content pretty much my whole life, and now i think i have a great chance to actually pursue that. i'll use some of the money from selling my car in stage 2 to get some basic equipment (laptop, mic, camera). i'll be posting my van build at first, and after that i'll probably start by telling stories about my time being homeless, but i'm also interested in streaming and video essays. thanks to all the generous support i've been getting from my followers and other people on the internet, i feel my opportunities are wide open!

Please consider donating to my fundraiser to help me change my life!

GFM

2115/10k

#homeless #homelessness #donation request #fundraiser #mutual aid #gofundme #van life #housing

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bbybhr · 2 months ago

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♡•°You look too good for your own good°•♡

or arcane women reaction to you dolled up for them (warning: reader has make-up on)

Ambessa

Ambessa’s breath would catch in her lungs, impracticably, yet a strong reaction. her eyes would sweep over your form slow, missing nothing. The colour of the clothing, the style, the colour of your lips and the blush on your cheeks.

She prides herself on having exquisite taste, and seeing you embody that, looking more magnificent than ever, for her, fills her with a deep sense of pride, more than usual.

While tempted to keep you all to herself, say damn with the occasion and just take you there and than... showing you off is also appealing! Although it's a test for her patience... patience is a tool that she wields effectively, tonight though... the desire to touch, to kiss, would be a tangible force simmering beneath her calm exterior.

Your're warning her that she shouldn’t kiss you and smudge your makeup? She'd likely kiss you anyway, perhaps with a low murmur about reapplying it later. The immediate gratification often wins, especially when driven by such potent appreciation. Her kisses would be more possessive, staking her claim before you leave.

"Patience is a virtue... but you test it severely looking like that." She will say, her voice low, a protest to how you weaken her patience before pulling you in for a demanding kiss.

She might gift you a piece of jewelry right there, she was planing to give it to you later that night, but deciding that it would complements your look perfectly she would fasten it herself with lingering touches.

She would take your sight in, once more ,after the jewels claim their place on your body. a slow smile spreading. "Magnificent. You embody beauty as you embody strength, my dove." She will whisper into your ear. Lovingly.

"Tonight, all eyes will be on you... and they will know you are mine." She will add, her tough lingering on your neck, soft, grounding.

You step out, ready for the exclusive Noxian gala Ambessa is taking you to. You’ve spent hours preparing, dressed in a stunning clothing she had commissioned for you. Ambessa stands waiting, resplendent in her own formidable attire. She turns as you approach, and her usual sharp focus softens into something deeper, stunned, though her posture remains imperious. Her gaze travels down your body and back up, slow and appreciative. "Truly," she breathes, stepping forward, her presence commanding the air around you. She reaches out, her fingers lingering against your skin. "You eclipse the stars themselves." A ghost of a smile plays on her lips as her gaze drifts down to your mouth.you smile up at her. "Perfection. Though," her thumb brushes your painted lip, a possessive glint in her eyes, "this might not last the journey." She leans in before you could protest, or warn her to not ruin your lipstick... She kisses you, a deep, possessive claiming that leaves you breathless, not caring in the slightest about your meticulously applied lipstick. She pulls back slightly, eyes blazing with a mixture of desire and triumph. Her gaze lingers on you for another moment, a genuine awe softening the possessiveness in her expression. "Turn around," she murmurs, her voice a low command, "Let me admire my conquest...hmm...They will envy me tonight."

Sevika

She'd likely give you a slow, deliberate once-over, maybe raising an eyebrow or letting out a low, almost inaudible whistle. she won't stammer or blush outwardly, but the intensity in her gaze betrays her, telling you everything you need to know.

Internally? System overload. Externally? A smug smirk might appear. "Well damn... you worth the trouble tonight" The gruff compliment is high praise from her. But her yearning mostly translates into needing to touch.

Patience isn't her strong suit when desire hits. Seeing you looking like this would spike her possessiveness. She'd want to immediately pull you close, maybe back you against a wall, reinforcing her claim before anyone else gets to see you.

She absolutely would kiss you, makeup be damned. impulse override aesthetics. If anything, the slightly smudged look might appeal to her more!... evidence of her touch. The kiss would be hard, demanding, staking her claim.

Her hand would be constantly on you... running her thumb over your clothed body or hip, a silent gesture that promise more...to both of you.

You emerge ready for a rare night out, maybe trying to blend in at a slightly less grimy Undercity establishment than the Last Drop. You’ve made an effort... clean clothes that fit well, even eyeshadow around your eyes. Sevika's waiting, leaning against a corroded pipe infront of your door, looking unimpressed with the world as usual. Her gaze flicks towards you, then stops, doing a slow, thorough appraisal. Her usual cynical expression shifts almost imperceptibly, a flicker of heat in her grey eyes. A low grunt escapes her, followed by a slow, smug smirk. "What a sight" she says gruffly, pushing off the wall and stalking towards you. She stops right in front of you, close enough to feel the heat from her body. Her flesh hand comes up, thumb brushing against your cheekbone "you look too...distracting tonight" Without further warning, she grabs your jacket, pulling you into a bruising kiss that tastes like cheap spirits and possessiveness. She forces herself to pull back, eyes dark. "Gods that's going to be a hell of a night for me..." but seriously the one in trouble is you, after the night is over.

Grayson

Grayson would be genuinely floored. Her usual composure might crack into a wide, appreciative smile, maybe even a moment of speechlessness. She sees the effort and feels incredibly special that it's for her.

Expect heartfelt compliments delivered in her signature raspy voice. She’s not shy about expressing admiration for you.

She adores the sight of you everyday as is...but seeing you like this, she just can't help herself but stare. While the temptation to stay in would be strong, she's a woman of control.

But she'd definitely kiss you, and that she can't control. She'd probably apologize afterwards, even though she doesn't mean it,you know it because she continues it, even after her apology.

The kiss would be full of warmth, passion, and sheer adoration.

"Wow... , you look... absolutely breathtaking." She would say her eyes lingering all over, trying to take in everything she can.

You're ready for your date. perhaps a rare evening at a respectable Piltover restaurant. You put extra care into your appearance, wanting to match the effort Grayson always puts in. She arrives at your door, looking sharp in her off-duty attire. When you open the door, her polite greeting dies on her lips. Her green eyes widen, sweeping over you with undisguised admiration. A slow, genuine smile lights up her face. "Good evening, Sheriff," you tease. "Goodness," she voices softly, stepping closer and gently taking your hand, raising it for a light kiss to your knuckles, her gaze never leaving your face. "You look... stunning. Truly. I'm the luckiest woman in Piltover tonight." She leans in, cupping your cheek. "Forgive me," she murmurs, before kissing you deeply, full of warmth and appreciation. She pulls back, slightly breathless. "Okay. Now, as much as I hate to stop there...but, shall we?" She offers you her arm.

#ambessa #ambessa x you #ambessa x reader #ambessa medarda #arcane ambessa #ambessa reader #ambessa league of legends #sevika fanfic #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #sevika #wlw #grayson x yn #grayson x reader #grayson #grayson arcane #scenario #imagine #headcanon

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curtis-brothers-hug · 30 days ago

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Look. Darry hitting Ponyboy is obviously, unequivocally wrong, and we shouldn’t make excuses for it or justify it.

But outbursts of aggression or violence can be a symptom of trauma and PTSD. And we really need to stop completely leaving that out of the debates of “is Darry a good or bad guardian/person?”

Something many in the fandom forget, despite it being a central aspect of Darry’s character, despite it being a central aspect of Pony’s character arc, despite Pony reminding us explicitly and repeatedly in his narration - is that Darry’s behaviour when we see him in canon is out of character.

Ponyboy could not be more clear about this. “Me and Darry got along before mom and dad died.” “Nobody in our family ever hit me before. Nobody.” The palpable shock of all three brothers, including Darry himself, after Darry hit Pony.

One of the main reasons why Pony finds Darry’s behaviour so distressing is because it’s new. It’s different. It’s unexpected. It came seemingly out of nowhere. He’s not used to it and it’s caught him horribly off guard. It’s yet another cataclysmic change that Pony’s had to deal with as an unexpected byproduct of his parents’ deaths. He hasn’t had a lifetime to inoculate himself against Darry yelling at him or hitting him, like Johnny or Dally or Steve with their parents. If Darry was an abusive person, Pony would be used to these behaviors. He might say something like, “Darry was always like this but now mom and dad aren’t here to protect me.” But no. Darry yelling at Pony all the time is out of character. Darry hitting Pony is out of character. Again, it doesn’t excuse the behavior, but it does raise alarm bells and give us some very important clues.

You have some acting violently in a way that is recent, sudden, and out of character. That’s the profile of someone who is suffering from trauma.

All three brothers suffered their parents’ deaths, but it’s safe to assume Darry was the one who had to identify their mangled bodies. Darry was the one who had to prepare those bodies for burial. Do you think Darry doesn’t see that image when he closes his eyes? Do you think he let Soda and Pony see that? If Pony had seen his parents’ dead bodies, he would have mentioned it. The whole point of the story is that even after his parents’ death, Pony doesn’t see the full extent of death and violence and dead bodies with his own eyes. Because Darry took care of it for him.

Darry is not only acting out of character during canon, but he’s most likely also acting on impulses that he can’t fully control and hasn’t been given the tools to do so. Mental health and trauma therapy were not really a thing in the 1960s, and even if the Curtis’ lived in the modern era, they still wouldn’t have the money and resources to access that help. Maybe a modern Darry Curtis could self diagnose through Google searches, if he ever found time, but that’s about it.

Not to mention the societal and material circumstances at play. You can’t insist that the story is about class and socioeconomics - which it is - but make Darry the sole exception, and act like his wrongdoings alone exist in a vacuum.

The whole point of Darry hitting Pony is that it’s the culmination of events, a breaking point, that is a direct result of their class and their poverty. Darry would never have hit Pony if he wasn’t at the end of his rope, not just due to their parents’ death, but all the socioeconomic conditions resulting from it.

Darry hit his breaking point when Pony came home late, not because he was mad that Pony broke his tyrannical rule, but because Pony breaking curfew could have disastrous, life altering consequences. He was worried sick not knowing where Pony was, but he couldn’t do anything about that, because if he called the police, Pony and Soda would be taken away and tossed in the system. Because Darry’s custody is constantly under threat, because they’re low class and poor. And he’s already running on fumes from the financial ruin and precarious custody that he’s had to deal with every minute of every day since their parents died. If soc kids lost their parents it would still be a tragedy and a trauma, but money and custody and college and future would not be a concern. They’d just access their trust funds and be adopted by any number of other wealthy relatives or family friends.

If anything, I think it’s damn impressive that Darry improves his behaviour toward Ponyboy as much as he does, considering he has no more resources or support system by the end than he does at the beginning. His efforts to be more gentle and patient and communicative are sheer willpower. In essence, he’s trying to override his triggers while still living in survival mode, and he manages to make progress. That’s hard enough for people who know those terms and have that vocabulary, let alone someone who very much does not.

So is Darry’s treatment of Pony wrong? Of course. Is he inherently a bad person? The narrative is very clear that he is not, that his negative behavior is an anomaly. Is there a hell of a lot of context to Darry’s mistakes that should be taken into account? Yes. Is said context literally the whole point of the story? Also yes. Would you do any better in his position - his exact position, including his age and living in his time period? Sorry, no. If you are an adult in 2025 who can’t bother to understand Darry, there is no way you would have done a better job of understanding Ponyboy or caring for Ponyboy if you were Darry in 1965. If you write off Darry as just an abuser, just an inherently bad person, I guarantee that if you lived in the 1960s, you’re the one who would think Ponyboy was just an ungrateful brat who needs a good smack to whip him into shape.

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prettylilyanime · 5 months ago

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Blooming Hearts ♡ Chapter 06

˚✿˖ Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x fem reader

˚✿˖ Synopsis: All your life, you’ve had it all—wealth, beauty, and a quirk good enough to secure your spot at UA. But after three years, you still feel more like an outsider than a future hero. Social life? Barely existent. Friends? Who needs them? You’re ready to coast through your final year solo… until fate lands you squarely in the lap of a certain hot-headed blonde—literally.

˚✿˖ tags/warnings: 18+, smut in the later chapters, reader is spoiled, shy reader, they're all third years at UA, Fluff, strangers? to lovers trope, not really strangers, miscommunication, drama, y/n just wants to make friends, reader is canonically pretty, reader is a hero in training, whipped bakugou, she falls first but he falls harder

˚✿˖ Authors note: Ochako we love you

˚✿˖ Masterlist ♡ Previous ♡ Next

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Tradition and the cultivation of exceptional talent are what keep U.A. alive.

Which is why, the moment you and your classmates return from your extended weekend break, you’re sent straight back to the dorms.

To pack.

Why? Because the annual Forest Training Camp trip has been sprung on you without warning!

Normally, you'd have at least a week's notice to prepare—time to plan outfits, sort through your skincare, and mentally brace yourself for the grueling training ahead. But this year? This is insane. You've been given one hour to pack before you’re expected to be on that bus, ready to go.

Which leads to your current predicament—fighting for your life in your very own closet.

"Curse these dorms and their shitty allowance of space!" you mutter, aggressively shoving hangers aside in search of anything remotely practical.

This is ludicrous! How are you supposed to fit five days' worth of outfits, makeup, hair tools, and your entire skincare routine into that flimsy, school-provided duffel bag?

It's simply not possible.

Well… maybe if you really tried, since most of your clothes aren't exactly bulky. Miniskirts and lacy tops are easy enough to fold down. But still!

You make an executive decision, tossing the school-issued duffel aside and swapping it out for your personal one—a soft baby pink travel bag with your initials delicately embroidered near the bottom. A cute, sparkly bow charm dangles from the strap, catching the light. Perfect.

This is your third and final training camp in that damn forest, and yet you still haven’t figured out a proper packing system.

You start with the essentials: hair tools, skincare, and makeup. That makes up the bulk of it, anyway.

Next, a pair of pretty designer flat sandals (because looking good in that hellscape is non-negotiable) and a comfortable pair of sneakers. Then, your activewear—cute, color-coordinated gym sets that scream Pilates Princess—followed by a few soft pajama sets.

On a whim, you toss in a swimsuit. You doubt there'll be time for swimming, but... who knows?

Finally, your usual outfits—little skirts, cute tops, the essentials—go in last. After a moment of struggling, you justmanage to zip up your duffel.

With that, you rush outside, praying you aren't the last one to board the bus.

And yet, to your utter mortification, you are.

Heat creeps up your neck as dozens of eyes land on you the moment you step onto the bus. You instinctively check the dainty watch on your wrist. Damn. You're still five minutes early—how is everyone else already here?!

Thankfully, after a brief glance, most of your classmates return to their conversations, their voices blending into a dull hum of excitement.

Except— "Overpacked this year too, didn’t you, Y/N?"

The familiar dry drawl pulls your attention to the front of the bus, where Aizawa sits, arms crossed, a single brow raised in silent amusement.

You roll your eyes but can’t fight the small, sheepish smile that tugs at your lips. "Sorry, Sensei."

He exhales through his nose—his version of a chuckle—and shakes his head.

The man has known you since childhood, and it shows in the subtle ways he goes easy on you. There’s a soft spot there, one that means you rarely get in trouble for the little things.

Like showing up last. Like swapping out the school’s standard-issue duffel for your own monogrammed one.

But Aizawa’s patience isn’t infinite, and before he can usher you along with one of his signature unimpressed stares, you force yourself to move.

Which brings you to the next big hurdle.

Where the hell are you going to sit?

Your palms begin to sweat as you hover near his seat, scanning the rows ahead.

You’d sit with him if you could—he’s been a family friend for years, and his presence is at least familiar—but it’s only a matter of time before Present Mic barrels onto the bus and claims that spot for himself.

Your usual refuge—the very back of the bus—is also out of the question.

The space is crammed, especially with the guys, who have somehow doubled in size over the summer. Normally, you’d have a quiet seat to yourself, maybe with Tokoyami or Todoroki nearby, but not this time.

You hesitate, fingers curling tighter around the strap of your duffel as your gaze drifts over your classmates. Sun-kissed faces, relaxed smiles, the easy cadence of laughter filling the space around you.

There’s an undeniable lightness in the air—stories exchanged, inside jokes tossed back and forth, remnants of shared vacations and group outings you weren’t a part of.

A familiar sinking feeling settles in your chest.

If it weren’t for your own shyness, your inability to reach out first, maybe you would’ve been invited. Maybe you’d have a story to tell, too.

Your eyes flicker toward the back of the bus, landing on a particular blonde.

Bakugou Katsuki sits a few rows back, next to Kirishima, his broad shoulders squared, arms crossed over his chest as he stares out the window, scowl firmly in place.

Even slouched, he commands attention—the sharp angles of his face, the tousled strands of light hair catching the sunlight, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

Something about him—his presence, his quiet intensity—draws your gaze before you can stop yourself.

Your heart stutters.

The last few days don’t make you friends. Not even close.

But still…

When everyone else was gone, when the dorms were practically deserted, he was there. With you.

Well—with might be a stretch. But he hadn’t left.

And it’s a little pathetic, honestly, how your mind keeps clinging to those moments, replaying them like they were something out of a movie instead of just fragments of real life.

You still can’t believe it happened.

You. Of all people. Fell into his lap.

Not just that, but in your robe, of all things, and those stupid glasses. And instead of shoving you off or snapping at you like you expected, he helped. He hauled in every last one of your boxes—without being asked, without a single complaint—just brisk, efficient movements, like it was no big deal.

He, Bakugou Katsuki, taught you how to use the damn train!

And he didn’t just rattle off directions and leave you to figure it out—he took the time, went out of his way to make sure you understood, grumbling the entire time like you were the biggest inconvenience of his life.

And yet, the entire experience had been exhilarating for you.

Standing next to him on the train, surrounded by strangers, your designer clothes and stiletto boots wildly out of place, you almost felt… normal.

Maybe, to him, it was ridiculous—having to explain something so basic.

But to you? It was everything.

And realizing that—that you’ve spent the last three days replaying the scenario over and over in your head—is just fucking sad.

In less than a week, you’ve spoken to him more than you have to the rest of the class in the last three years.

Now, standing frozen in the aisle, you force yourself to look away before he catches you staring.

To him, last weekend was probably nothing. Just another day, another minor inconvenience, already forgotten.

But to you, it was monumental.

You remind yourself not to dwell on it. He was just being nice. You were just—quite frankly—helpless.

Forcing yourself to move, you scan the seats, hoping to find an open spot before you make things any more awkward for yourself. Your pulse climbs as your eyes dart between rows—until finally, you spot an empty seat next to Ochako.

She’s sweet. She wouldn’t say no, right?

And for once, luck is on your side.

“Hi, Y/N!” Ochako waves you over before you can even open your mouth, smiling warmly. “Do you wanna sit with me? The bus feels so much tinier this year.”

Relief swarms you, your shoulders dropping as you eagerly nod, trying not to look too grateful.

“Oh! Yes, that’d be great.”

With that, you slide into the seat, settling your duffel at your feet. A deep breath escapes your chest, your nerves finally loosening their grip.

“I love your duffel,” Ochako chirps. “It’s so cute!”

The sudden compliment catches you completely off guard. You jolt slightly in place, blinking at her in surprise.

“O-oh! Thanks! I travel with it all the time.”

You offer her a small smile, feeling warmth creep up your neck. Shit. Should you have told her where you got it? Should you have complimented something on her?

Your mind scrambles, juggling potential responses, overthinking every possible outcome—

But Ochako just gives you another sincere smile, then effortlessly falls back into conversation with Tsuyu and Mina, who are seated in front of you.

Another breath leaves you, longer this time. You cross your legs, pulling out your phone and earphones, deciding to drown out the chatter with one of your favorite shows—a baking competition.

As the drama of a woman’s collapsing cake unfolds on your screen, you settle in, letting yourself relax.

Well.

At least that didn’t go terribly.

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Once you step off the bus, you’re immediately swept into the middle of the group, caught in the current of excited voices and shuffling footsteps.

The crisp air outside is a welcome contrast to the stuffy warmth of the bus, and for a moment, you inhale deeply, letting the fresh scent of pine and earth ground you.

You're wedged between several of the guys who apparently decided to hit some insane growth spurts over the summer. They loom around you like moving skyscrapers, broad shoulders and towering heights making you feel even smaller than usual.

And right in front of you—Kirishima.

Rather than getting a clear view of Aizawa, you’re met with an eyeful of Kirishima’s massive back. He’s built like a damn boulder, all muscle and impossible proportions, standing firm and unmoving like a human shield.

It’s honestly a little terrifying.

How the hell did he get so tall and muscular?!

Before you can dwell too much on it, a voice rumbles behind you, far too close.

“Sure you can see Aizawa from back here, Sad Eyes?”

You quickly turn around and you almost—almost—crash straight into Bakugou’s chest.

Your breath catches, your body stiffening as you realize just how close he is. The heat of him is immediate, radiating off him in waves, and the scent of his cologne—rich caramel laced with something fresher, sharper—fills your senses before you can even think to stop breathing it in.

And okay. Not that you would really mind...

But oh dear lord, ohhh dear lord, hold it together.

Why is he so close?!

And why does he smell so good?!

You blink rapidly, trying to process what just happened—what he even said to you.

“Sad Eyes?” You stare up at him, confused.

What happened to Princess?

It’s crazy how much you already miss him calling you that.

Bakugou smirks, eyes sharp with amusement as he shoves his hands into his pockets. “New name,” he grunts. “Considering the way you look at me every time we speak.”

Your jaw drops. Sad Eyes?!

Is he joking?!

Well. No, he isn’t.

The truth is, the more Bakugou’s gotten to know you—which, granted, isn’t a lot, but enough—the more he’s found himself stuck on your damn eyes.

Big, glossy, practically shimmering under your long lashes and whatever glittery eyeshadow you always seem to wear. And always looking up at him like he’s supposed to help you somehow.

That last bit might be all in his head, but he doesn't think too hard on it.

Point is, You have the saddest fucking eyes he’s ever seen.

Like some cartoon baby deer.

Maybe the right term is doe-eyed, but that’s way too cute, way too soft.

So Sad Eyes it is.

“I don’t know if I like that new name…” you mumble, your glossy lips naturally curving into a pout. Then, after a beat, you scowl. “Scratch that—I actually hate it.”

Bakugou snorts, arms still lazily stuffed in his pockets.

The unimpressed look on your face, the slight downturn of your lips, the way your eyes shimmer just a little too much for someone supposedly annoyed—yeah, you’re only proving his point.

“Ha? You’re telling me you like Princess better?”

Is he being sarcastic? Because quite frankly, you loved princess-

You bite your lip, debating if you should just admit it—if you should tell him outright that yes, you preferred it when he called you Princess, because at least that felt sort of… nice. And not like you were some pathetic little creature he’s found amusing enough to nickname.

But before you can gather the courage, before you can even respond,

“Ooh, what’s going on over here? I didn’t know you two were in cahoots.”

A new voice interrupts, effectively shattering the intense staring contest you and Bakugou had unknowingly fallen into.

Denki—noticeably taller this year, his blonde hair a little longer, framing his face in messy waves—sidles up next to Bakugou, bumping shoulders with him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You blink, caught off guard. “Cahoots?” you echo, tilting your head slightly, the word sounding almost foreign coming out of your mouth.

“We aren’t in anything, Dunce Face,” Bakugou deadpans, his voice flat, his signature scowl settling back into place. Whatever amusement had flickered in his expression moments ago is gone, replaced with sheer irritation.

Denki grins, entirely unbothered by the hostility, rocking on his heels as if Bakugou’s anger is nothing more than white noise.

Meanwhile, Bakugou’s ruby gaze shifts away from both of you, fixing straight ahead—staring over the crowd like he can see something neither of you can.

Damn.

He could probably see Aizawa from up there…

Before you can dwell on that thought, a whisper cuts through the hum of voices around you.

“Psst, Y/N!”

Between the slivers of space between bodies, you catch sight of Ochako waving you over, her eyes bright with warmth. Your brows raise slightly in surprise, a small flicker of something light and pleasant blooming in your chest. She’s calling you over?

Ochako is quickly becoming hero of the day in your books!

You hesitate for a split second, instinctively glancing back up at Bakugou. But he’s not even looking at you anymore, his sharp profile angled away, entirely uninterested. Denki, meanwhile, is too occupied pestering him to notice your fleeting look.

Deciding not to dwell on it, you gingerly push your way through the crowd, muttering apologies to some of the guys you have to brush past before finally reaching the brunette.

Oh wow.

There’s so much more breathing room out here!

Ochako grins as you settle beside her. “I saw you back there, and it looked suffocating,” she laughs lightly, tilting her head toward the crowd.

A breath of laughter escapes you, and heat rises to your cheeks as you nod. “It was pretty bad, I won’t lie.”

She giggles again, and for a moment, everything else fades into the background—the swarm of voices, the shifting bodies, even the lingering warmth where Bakugou’s presence had been just a moment ago.

But in the back of the group, Kaminari persists.

Because seriously. Bakugou talking to you? And at that proximity? Since when!?

Bakugou, meanwhile, keeps his eyes forward, his jaw tight, making it a point to seem unbothered by Kaminari’s relentless poking and prodding.

“Oh, don’t be like that, man,” Denki drawls, nudging him. “Why don’t you invite Y/N to the lake today? I didn’t even know you knew her like that.”

“I don’t.”

“Now that I think about it, you two were the only ones who didn’t come to the beach house with the rest of us.” Kaminari squints at him, curiosity brimming in his expression. “Have anything to say for yourself?”

“No.”

Denki clicks his tongue, undeterred. “Oh, come on, Bakugou. She’s one of the hottest girls in class and doesn’t even look at any of us! What do you two have going on?”

Bakugou doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t acknowledge the question beyond the slight twitch of his fingers in his pocket. Even if he did have an answer—which he doesn’t—he’d rather drop dead than entertain Denki’s idiotic curiosity.

“Nothing. Pay attention to Aizawa. This is why you’re always lost, dumbass.”

Denki groans dramatically but finally lets up, deflating in defeat.

For now.

But something he said lingers in Bakugou’s head, annoyingly persistent.

Inviting you to the lake.

Would you even go? Hell, do you even know how to swim?

You seem like the type who’d scream at the sight of a bug, let alone willingly step into lake water.

No, you strike him as the kind of person who only steps into crystalline water, the kind that shimmers under the sun, untouched and impossibly blue. Pristine hotel pools lined with marble, warm tropical beaches where the waves roll in soft and predictable.

And from what he’s gathered, you don’t seem to go out of your way to interact with the others. He can’t really picture you in that kind of setting…

And yet—

The thought won’t leave him alone.

Because for some godforsaken reason…

He kinda wants you there.

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Aizawa had been merciful today, keeping things simple with straightforward training—no surprise exercises, no unexpected curveballs. Just good old-fashioned endurance and technique work.

The others naturally paired off into their usual groups, sparring and strategizing together, while you, as always, remained on your own.

You had spent the afternoon seated on the forest floor, your fingers brushing over damp earth as you tested the limits of your quirk.

Delicate blossoms unfurled across tree trunks at your command, creeping like veins of color against the rough bark.

You had been experimenting with different types of pollen, watching how they interacted with the environment, but the solitude had begun to weigh on you in the back of your mind.

By the time training wrapped up, exhaustion settled into your limbs like a heavy cloak, and the entire class trudged back toward the inn.

The moment you stepped inside, Aizawa announced that room assignments had been made—completely randomized.

A relief. And also… kind of terrible.

On one hand, it spared you from the awkwardness of seeking out a roommate yourself, the silent dread of being the leftover option no one wanted.

On the other, the idea of sharing a space at all made your stomach twist. You could already imagine the other girls hoping to be paired together, the unspoken wish that they wouldn’t get stuck with you.

Bracing yourself, you pushed open the door to your assigned room—

And nearly exhaled in sheer relief.

“Y/N? No way! What are the odds?”

Ochako’s cheerful voice greeted you, her eyes sparkling as she sat up from her twin-sized bed. Her expression was warm, welcoming—genuine.

Your shoulders immediately eased.

You weren’t necessarily close, but after today’s unexpected interactions, she probably ranked the highest on your (admittedly non-existent) social list. And while she might not have been hoping to room with you, at least she didn’t seem disappointed.

Your gaze flickered over her outfit, catching on the pastel pink of her swimsuit, the way her little shorts covered the bottom half.

Noticing your stare, she perked up. “Oh! I just got ready a little early,” she explained, smoothing out her top. “Everyone’s going to the lake in a bit—just to hang out and relax. We’re doing a bonfire after.”

Whatever lingering comfort you felt immediately plummeted.

Another group outing.

You turn away, setting your duffel bag down on the neatly made bed. The weight of what she just said lingers between you, pressing against your ribs, winding itself into the knots of doubt tangled in your stomach. You scramble for a response that won’t make you sound completely pathetic. Because the truth is—that’s exactly how you feel.

Out of place.

Another night of lying in bed and watching some over-the-top baking competition it is…

“Why don’t you come with me?”

You freeze.

Your head snaps up, startled. Ochako is still smiling, her expression open and easy—like the idea of including you isn’t strange at all. Like it isn’t some grand act of charity or obligation, but something as natural as breathing.

You should say no. That’s what you always do. Politely decline, make up some excuse, retreat into the safety of your own company, where no one can reject you because you’ve already rejected yourself first.

You are your own self-sacrificial lamb. And you hate that about yourself.

But before you can even think, before your instinct to run away kicks in, the words tumble out.

“Can I?”

Ochako’s eyes widen in surprise—then brighten with excitement, her whole face lighting up like she just won the lottery. “What? Of course you can!” she beams. “You never come to these things! I think you’d have so much fun!”

Her enthusiasm chips away at your usual barriers, that high, impenetrable wall you’ve built brick by brick over the years. Maybe—just this once—you can ignore the nagging voice in your head telling you to back out.

A hesitant smile tugs at your lips. “Y-yeah. I’d like that.”

You glance down at your duffel, then back at her, shifting from foot to foot. She’s patient, waiting, completely unaware of the anxious thoughts spiraling in your head, screaming at you to get this interaction right.

“Um, I don’t know if I packed the right thing for this. Do you wanna see?” You hesitate as soon as the words leave your mouth. Is that… normal between friends? The immediate internal reminder that you two aren’t really friends comes unbidden, and your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag.

Ochako doesn’t seem to share your doubts.

If anything, her eyes sparkle with intrigue, and she bounces over to your bed with ease. “Of course! Let’s see what you’ve got!”

Your heart pounds a little too fast as you unzip your duffel, rummaging through neatly folded clothes before finally pulling out the swimwear you’d packed.

Ochako lets out a gasp so dramatic that you physically flinch, wide-eyed at her reaction as she takes the pieces of fabric in your hand.

Her face is red—redder than any strawberry you’ve ever seen—as she holds up the bikini.

The one you barely thought twice about when you packed.

Of course, it’s designer—baby pink, delicate, with an even lighter monogram of the brand subtly woven into the luxurious fabric.

The kind of vintage luxury that isn’t just worn but collected, straight from a coveted '90s archive, impossible to find anywhere but the most exclusive resellers. It’s sweet, undeniably cute—Y2K perfection. Something that once graced the pages of glossy fashion magazines.

It’s also, well…

Tiny.

“Y/N!” Ochako practically shrieks, holding the stringy top between her fingers like it might disappear if she lets go. Her wide, warm hazel eyes flicker between you and the delicate scrap of fabric, her entire face turning a shade deeper.

Oh dear lord, is she even breathing properly?

“This—this is what you’re wearing to the lake?!”

Your neck heats at her reaction, embarrassment creeping in as you awkwardly scratch at the back of your head.

“Oh… is it not cute?” you ask, suddenly second-guessing yourself. “I was in such a rush, I just threw it in there.”

You dig back into your duffel, fingers brushing against smooth fabric before pulling out the matching baby pink skirt—a dainty little cover-up that, in hindsight, is your one saving grace.

“Oh, thank god I packed this. It totally completes the outfit,” you sigh in relief, smoothing out the material. “Oh, and I think I have some cute sunglasses to go with it too!”

Ochako gawks at the skirt before practically smacking a hand over her face, her other hand waving frantically in front of her cheeks as if trying to will the blush away.

“I haven’t even seen you in it yet, and I’m already blushing.”

You tilt your head, blinking in confusion, entirely too naïve to fully grasp her reaction.

“O-oh… that means it’s good, right?!”

Ochako lets out a breathy laugh, shaking her head fondly. “Good? Y/N, you always look good. This is gonna be incredible!”

She holds up the bikini again for emphasis, her eyes flicking over the delicate fabric before meeting yours with absolute certainty.

“Seriously, you could wear a paper bag and still somehow look put together.”

Your face warms at the unexpected compliment, and you duck your head slightly, smoothing a hand over your wrist as if to distract yourself.

You don’t really think about how you look—it’s not like you go out of your way to be noticed. You just wear what you like, and what you like happens to be straight off the runway, sparkly whenever possible, and always perfectly coordinated.

But… was that really how people saw you?

“I don’t know about that…” you murmur, glancing at the bikini in her hands.

“Well, I do.” Ochako grins, nudging your arm playfully. “You’re gonna turn heads in this, I promise.”

You blink at her, lips parting slightly. Turn heads?

You’re not sure how you feel about that. Your style has always been on the extravagant side—frilly dresses, designer miniskirts, monogrammed handbags—but it’s not like it’s ever made your classmates pay much attention to you.

You’ve always just… existed in your own little world, wearing what made you happy.

Why would this be any different?

You chew on the inside of your cheek, fingers brushing over the soft fabric of the cover-up skirt. “Okay,” you murmur, more to yourself than anything. “I’ll try it on.”

Ochako practically beams. “Yay! Oh my gosh, I’m so excited to see!” She waves her hands, backing up a little to give you space.

You gather your things and make your way to the bathroom, nerves piquing—not necessarily about the swimsuit itself, but about everyone else.

The entire class would be there, chatting, swimming, joking around. You’ve always been on the quieter side, more of an observer than an active participant.

Would Bakugou be there?

Would he talk to you at all? Probably not—he’d be with his friends...

You shake off the thought as you step into the bathroom, slipping into the bikini with practiced ease.

The silky material molds to your figure perfectly, the baby pink hue soft and delicate against your skin. The designer monogram catches the light as you adjust the straps, the matching skirt sitting just right on your hips, fluttering ever so slightly when you move.

You glance at yourself in the mirror. It’s cute—your usual style, really—so there’s nothing to feel nervous about. With that in mind, you step back into the room.

“I’m dressed,” you announce rather casually, brushing your hands down the sides of your skirt. But the moment you look at Ochako, you falter.

She’s frozen, jaw slack, eyes impossibly wide.

“…Um,” you start, confused by her reaction. “Does it look okay?”

“Y/N,” she mutters, taking two quick steps forward before placing her hands on your shoulders. The sudden contact makes your eyes widen in surprise.

“If you ever wanted to drop the whole hero dream,” she breathes, shaking her head in disbelief, “you would make an incredible model. Seriously. You look insane—in the best way.”

Your face instantly warms, heat creeping up to your ears. “Ochako…” you mumble, shifting your weight slightly, unsure of what to do with the praise. You weren’t expecting this kind of reaction.

She just beams at you, completely unbothered. “No, like, I actually feel honored to witness this. This is next-level, Y/N. You look like you belong in a magazine.”

You tug at the hem of your skirt, flustered. “thank you, you look great too” lame response really, but you're trying to match her energy!

As you fasten a delicate bracelet around your wrist, the lingering warmth of Ochako’s words settles over you like a cozy blanket. It’s… nice.

Not just the compliment—though that was sweet—but the way she talked to you. Like you were already friends. Like this was normal.

She hums happily beside you, typing away on her phone before tossing it onto the bed with a satisfied sigh. “Okay! The girls are gonna freak when they see you.”

You let out a small laugh, smoothing down your skirt. “I don’t know about that…”

“I do.” She grins, nudging you playfully before hopping to her feet. “Alright, you ready?”

You take a breath, then nod. “Yeah. Ready.”

And for the first time in a while, you really feel like you are.

As you follow Ochako out the door, the giddy warmth in your chest blooms even further. Maybe this is what it feels like to finally—finally—start making a friend.

#katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #my hero academia #bnha x reader #bnha #bakugo katsuki #x reader #bnha bakugou #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou x fem!reader #blooming hearts #bakugo x y/n #bakugo fluff #bakugo x reader #my hero academia x reader

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bonefall · 3 months ago

Note

Howdy Bonefall!! Great work wanted to start with that

I'm trying to come with a hyena xenofiction (+ other canid-likes), and I'm struggling with like... Not doing the stupid shit Erins did with the sisters of "in a WORLD where MEN are OPPRESSED". "Actually all the guys are okay with being second class" feels like a cop out, and I don't want to erase such an interesting aspect of hyena hierarchy.

So... I guess I'm going to you sorta for advice? Because you're super cool, and the only xeno worldbuilder I really follow. If you want, feel free to use this ask as a pass to infodump about the sisters instead, instead. Like, your version or the Erins.

Sorey for the long ask bye now

This is a neat question without a totally straightforward answer, but my advice would actually be to look very closely at historical systems with rigid gender roles, and try to understand the role it played in society.

What usually makes xenofiction sexism so rancid is the way that an author states (by assertion or just by subconscious assumption) that their ""natural world"" is bioessentialist, and this is justified because It's Natural. For a clear, STARK example, the Ginga series asserts that male dogs are better than female dogs, just by matter of biology, while also assigning gendered human behaviors (vanity, whininess) to its female characters to make its point.

In Cheek by Jowl, Le Guin points this out as "cheating." The author both describes the world they're writing as "natural," while prescribing their own human biases to it.

With the Sisters, the Erins did this lowkey fascinating thing where they sort of did the reverse. They described realistic, normal cat behaviors, but they're SO repulsed by the idea of not portraying heterosexual, monogamous marriage as ideal that they got scared of their own concept.

Hence the way they've turned on the Sisters, using human values to have the Warriors react with disgust and hostility when they don't have husbands, don't raise kids in nuclear families, send teen males away at 6 months, etc. They're doing the same thing Le Guin pointed out, just in a different flavor.

So-- that's why my advice is to look at societies. If you're anthropomorphizing animals enough for them to consider high concepts like justice and equality, they aren't just working on raw biology. Gender roles can be influenced by sexual dimophism, sure, but look deeper.

WHY do those roles exist? What purpose do they serve to society? Hunting, food preparation, spreading news. Are there materials to be prepared, like clothing or tools? Are there social laws to be taught and remembered?

Are these gendered? How? Why are they divided in the way they are? Are these divisions rigid?

These sorts of questions in humans are not answered purely by biology. Gender and roles are different across cultures and, while most have common trends, nothing is truly universal. Why do Xenofiction writers assume that would be the case for fantasy animal cultures?

Be thoughtful. The phrase "Well Behaved Women Rarely Make History" wasn't a victim-blaming call to action for every girl to start 'misbehaving' to appease the historians-- it was to implore people to appreciate the contributions that women HAVE been making since the dawn of time, even within oppressive roles that downplayed those achievements.

And, I would also call for you to do some deeper research on hyenas, because here's a surprise-- the "male oppression" thing is actually an oversimplification!

Exactly like the concept of the Alpha Wolf, it's only partially true but largely inaccurate. Hyena clans are much more complicated than that.

Hyenas are not actually highly sexually dimorphic. Females are only slightly larger on average. In this way, they are quite like humans; we also aren't massively different between sexes.

Hyenas are so intelligent that they have theory of mind. Shenzi is capable of understanding that Ed likes Banzai more than Banagi, and uses that to her tactical advantage. Shenzi knows that she needs to befriend Banzai to have Ed's support, and then both of them will help her usurp Banagi.

Clans are not matriarchal, they are matrilineal. Cubs inherit their mother's rank, just below her. A male cub can massively benefit from staying in his birth clan because of this-- and that does include inheriting his mother's status.

So that thing about "highest ranking male is below the lowest ranking female" is not accurate. That applies to migrant males, not clanborn.

And here's the real kicker; size and strength is almost completely negligible to which hyena wins a fight. It's ALL about SOCIAL CONNECTION. me and the girlies attending the ides of march

Males are more likely to leave their birth clan and females are not. Leave home and your mom won't help you beat up your bullies, and you can't rely on the other males because they aren't family. This is the reason why females "dominate," they don't disperse so they've got family watching their back.

The idea of hyenas being "bizarro world" where the big, mean sex oppresses the tiny, demure sex is just as much a misconception of spotted hyenas as it is a misconception of human beings.

It would make a downright delicious concept to play with, if you wanted to make a deconstruction of gender roles broadly.

(Disclaimer: this post is intentionally discussing sex in a binary way for simplicity in how it influences gender, especially in a historical context. Sex is not actually binary. Even "bimodal distribution" barely scratches the surface of the topic)

#Bone Babble #Bones Gives Advice #Gender

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keferon · 7 months ago

Note

My friend is urging me to resubmit this because they're sure it must have been askbox eaten, my deepest apologies if this is a repeat.

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

Jazz breathed out. He’d been screened, and the chance of him collapsing into a complete, insane mess was very, very low. He kind of wished that they’d tell him exactly how low. That would be nice and reassuring, unless it wasn’t, at which point he would… go ahead with it anyway, because what else was there to do at this point?

One motion jacked in the last cable, and then there was… something. A sensation, like electricity and like opening. There was something outside of him, on the edge. The mech, probably. It wasn’t like there were testimonials about this. Yet. Maybe he should write one, when this was over, so that baby mech pilots would know what the hell to expect. So long as he was able to do that.

He was stalling.

Jazz breathed in, and pushed outwards.

Then began to run out of himself, spilling to fill the new space that he’d found. It was a strange sensation, like water and electricity flowing out of him. He blinked, and shook his head, filing the thought for a song or something. Always important to save lines when you thought of them.

Jazz blinked again. Oh. This wasn’t the inside of the cockpit. This was the inside of the hanger. That was… good. That was good. And now that he checked, he’d backed that line up to some kind of electronic memory. That was probably meant for recording encounters with the monsters, not for keeping up with the poetical ideas of the pilot. Ah well, his idle thoughts probably wouldn’t take up enough room for anyone to notice or care. He put a lock on it anyway. If they asked him to explain it, he’d just wink at them and say that they didn’t want to know everything that he thought.

Carefully, he flexed his hand. It was different, but not bad different. His connections and struts communicated feedback to him, telling him how much strain they could take, what materials they were made of, how far they could bend. It was kind of cool to have this level of detail about his body.

Checking the power levels, Jazz was made aware that his human body would shut down far before his mech one. There was enough auxiliary power in here for two weeks- oh, and there was a storage cache in here. What was that supposed to be for? It was airtight, he knew his own seals. Big enough for food, water, and medical supplies, as well as some mech repair tools and materials. Fuck whatever it was supposed to be for, it was gonna be his don’t die cabinet. Closet. Pantry. Whatever. Supply room. That was better. He added the new designation to his mental map. It slotted right in, nice.

There was actually a lot of empty space in here. He should get some tape and ties and bundle the cables in some of his limbs so that they didn’t rattle around and tangle. They could even get unplugged if they got tied up enough, which was a hazard. Who had built this thing? Having an actual person to make complaints to about how his body was built was going to be nice.

Wait.

Okay.

Jazz needed to get back to himself. This wasn’t his body. He had done the basic checks. He needed to unjack the cable and check that he was alright.

He reached up, and the mech hand moved.

Okay. Don’t panic. Panic is not useful. Panic is bad. He could feel his fans- the fans of the mech kicking up. It thought that he was in a fight, and was preparing. It wasn’t exactly helpful for what he was trying to do. It made him feel more present and alive in the body that wasn’t supposed to be his body.

Jazz offlined his optics that weren’t supposed to be his, and tried to retreat. Tucking himself back in, becoming small again. It hurt, and he cringed back outward. Why was he hurting himself? Because he needed to. He crunched down harder, forcing himself out of his own (NOT his own) systems. Pressing himself into that small organic core again.

Finally, he brought up a human arm and unplugged himself.

The face was damp. Why was it damp? His face was damp. He had been crying. Probably from pain.

Was being human supposed to hurt? Being a mech hadn’t hurt at all. Inhabiting. Using. Using a mech hadn’t hurt at all. Vocabulary. Word choice. Very important, he’s written enough songs to know that.

He’d thought of a good line during that, hadn’t he? But when he tried to access it- remember it- ah. It was in the mech. Which he wasn’t in right now. Well, he was in it, but he wasn’t it. Because he was a human and wasn’t a mech.

Jazz breathed in, staring at the cable in his hands. It would be so easy to plug it back in, just to get to the line.

It would hurt so much to be human again.

Jazz breathed out, put down the cable, and began the process of getting himself out of the mech.

OOHHHHHH WAIT I HAVENT SEEN THIS OH MY GOD OTROKRKGKEL

#mecha pilot jazz au #thank you for your writing AND for submitting ehehemhmhm #my inbox became an absolute mess since that au started haha

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bloomzone · 26 days ago

Text

📍.𝟐𝟓 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

As I mentioned before I’ll be updating more challenges this summer and since June is just around the corner, I’m kicking things off with a 25-day weight loss challenge for the girlies !

But first a big disclaimer:

I’m completely against toxic wonyoungism and unrealistic body expectations (you know the type eating two cubes of ice and calling it a meal? Yeah, no). If you're looking for that kind of harmful content, this blog isn’t the place for you.

✒️.firrst let's always start with

💡 Things You Need to Succeed

To truly succeed in this 25-day weight loss challenge, you need to surround yourself with the right tools, routines, and mindset that lift you up. First, build a supportive environment. That means preparing your space clear out the junk food that makes you spiral, stock your kitchen with foods that actually nourish you, and make your space feel calming and focused. Have a go-to playlist that keeps your energy up, a journal or calendar to track your progress, and maybe even a small reward system (like a movie night or self-care day) for every few days you stay consistent. You also need a structure that fits your life, not one you copy from someone else. That might be walking instead of running, or doing stretches and Pilates in your room instead of going to the gym. The challenge is yours, not theirs. And don’t underestimate the power of visual reminders: write your goal where you can see it. Stick motivational quotes on your wall. Save a note on your phone that reminds you why you started. You need energy-giving habits like drinking enough water, eating protein with your meals, getting sun in the morning, and allowing your body time to rest and recover. And most importantly, build emotional resilience. That means learning to forgive yourself quickly, and knowing how to get back up without guilt when you fall. Success doesn’t come from flawless days it comes from choosing to try again, every single time.

🔴 Things You Need to Avoid

If you really want to grow during these 25 days, there are some dangerous patterns and toxic habits you must leave behind. First: punishment disguised as discipline. Pushing yourself to work out when your body is exhausted, starving yourself to feel "in control,” or replacing food with shame none of that will bring you real progress. Avoid turning this journey into self-abuse. You also need to avoid obsessing over numbers. The scale, calorie counts, your waist size these are tools, not definitions of your worth. If you’re constantly checking the scale and letting it ruin your mood, it’s time to step away from it. Another trap is consuming too much “fitspo” content online. What starts as motivation can become a mental war when you begin comparing your real life to someone’s filtered story. Social media should never make you feel like your journey is less valid. You also need to avoid starting over every time you “mess up.” One bad day doesn’t mean you failed. What really breaks people is the all-or-nothing mindset when one slip turns into a spiral. Let it go and move forward. And finally, avoid negative environments, whether that’s people who mock your goals or friends who constantly invite you into situations where you feel pressured to break your own promises. Your energy is sacred. If you don’t protect it, no challenge will ever stick. Cut the noise. Cut the guilt. Cut the things that drain you. This journey only works if you stop letting what’s behind you control where you’re going.

let's start

first block the 60% : workout workout workout

Let’s get this straight workout is the core of this challenge, workout is the core of the weight loss journey not starving yourself. Not pretending you're being productive while you scroll in bed n listen If you think eating one apple and then just laying there like is going to make the fat magically disappear? be serious. You are not going to lose weight by kicking your feet on the bed and waiting for the scale to change. That’s not health that’s self-sabotage. You have to move. You have to sweat. You need to get your heart rate up. That’s when your body wakes up and starts burning

Essential workout components checklist

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐨𝐯𝐚𝐬𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

▢ Aim for 150 minutes of moderate cardio weekly this could be brisk walking, cycling, swimming, or dancing .

▢ Include 2-3 high-intensity interval training (HIIT) sessions lternate between intense bursts and recovery periods

▢ Mix up your cardio activities ,prevents boredom and works different muscle groups

▢ Start with 20-30 minute sessions ,gradually increase duration as fitness improves

𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

▢ Schedule 3-4 strength training sessions per week : focus on major muscle groups

▢ Include compound movements : squats, deadlifts, push-ups, and rows work multiple muscles .... ect ect

▢ Progressive overload is key : gradually increase weight, reps, or difficulty over time

▢ Don't skip leg day : ur legs contain the largest muscle groups and burn the most calories

▢ Allow rest days between strength sessions : mscles need time to recover and grow !!!

𝐅𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲

- Incorporate 10-15 minutes of stretching daily : Improves mobility and prevents injury

- Try yoga or Pilates weekly : builds core strength and flexibility simultaneously !

- Schedule active recovery days : light walking or gentle stretching on rest days

- Prioritize sleep quality : 7-9 hours nightly for optimal recovery and hormone balance (especially it's summer ! )

Weekly workout structure

⚠️ : u can structure ur own not forced to do the exact one

- Monday: Full-body strength training + 20 minutes cardio

- Tuesday: HIIT session + stretching

- Wednesday: Upper body strength

- Thursday: Active recovery (stretch or walking)

- Friday: Lower body strength + cardio

- Saturday: Longer cardio session (20-30 minutes)

- Sunday: Complete rest or gentle stretching (in ur bed )

second block the 25% : nutrition nutrition

eating just one apple a day or skipping meals thinking it'll help you lose weight faster is completely wrong and dangerous. Your body needs consistent, quality fuel throughout the day to function properly, maintain your metabolism, and support your workouts. When you starve yourself, your metabolism actually slows down, you lose muscle mass instead of fat . Real weight loss happens when you eat regularly with natural whole foods that nourish your body and keep your energy steady all day long. Ain't nooooo wayyyyyy eating one meal will help u ain't nooooo way !

𝐃𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 :

. ( with meals idea )

Early Morning (Upon Waking)

▢ Start with water - 2 glass of water to rehydrate after sleeping

▢ Add lemon if desired Fresh lemon juice can help with digestion and vitamin C (click here)

▢ Wait 30 minutes let your body fully wake up before eating to not feel

Pre-workout fuel (30-60 minutes before exercise)

- Banana with almond butter : Natural sugars plus healthy fats for sustained energy

- Oatmeal with berries : Complex carbs that release energy slowly during your workout

- Apple slices with peanut butter : Easy to digest and provides quick energy ( my girl 😍)

- Handful of dates and nuts : Natural sugars paired with protein and healthy fats always keep some near ur bed or couch

- Greek yogurt with honey : Protein plus simple carbs for immediate fuel

Post-Workout Recovery (Within 30-60 minutes after exercise)

- Protein smoothie with fruit : Blend banana, berries, Greek yogurt, and spinach

- Eggs with avocado toast : Complete protein plus healthy fats on whole grain bread

- Cottage cheese with berries : High protein with natural sugars to replenish muscles

- Tuna salad on whole grain crackers : Lean protein with complex carbs

- Chocolate milk alternative : Homemade with almond milk, cocoa powder, and banana

Breakfast (Full Morning Meal)

- Veggie scrambled eggs : eggs with spinach, tomatoes, peppers, and herbs ( my girl 😍 )

- Overnight oats : Oats soaked with almond milk, chia seeds, and fresh fruit

- Avocado toast topped with eggs : Whole grain bread, mashed avocado, poached egg with coffee for some taste if u are not used to vegetables

- Greek yogurt parfait : Layer yogurt with berries, nuts, and a drizzle of honey

- Sweet potato hash: Diced sweet potato with vegetables and a fried egg on top

Mid-Morning Snack (If Needed)

- Mixed nuts and seeds : Almonds, walnuts, pumpkin seeds ( luv them ) for sustained energy

- Apple with nut butter : Natural fiber plus healthy fats to keep you satisfied

- Hummus with vegetable sticks : Carrots, cucumbers, bell peppers with homemade hummus

Lunch (Midday Power Meal)

- Quinoa bowl : Quinoa with roasted vegetables, chickpeas, and tahini dressing (u can found it in restaurants too )

- Grilled chicken salad : Mixed greens, grilled chicken, avocado, and olive oil dressing

- Lentil soup with whole grain roll : Hearty legumes with complex carbohydrates

- Salmon with sweet potato : Baked salmon with roasted sweet potato and steamed broccoli

- Black bean wrap : Whole grain tortilla with beans, vegetables, and salsa

Afternoon Snack

- Celery with almond butter : Crunchy vegetable with protein and healthy fats

- Hard-boiled eggs : Prepare ahead for easy protein-rich snacking

- Berries with Greek yogurt : Antioxidants plus protein to fuel your afternoon ( my girl 😍 )

- Homemade energy balls : Dates, nuts, oats, and cocoa powder rolled into balls

Dinner (Evening Nourishment)

- Grilled fish with vegetables : Any white fish with roasted seasonal vegetables

- Turkey meatballs with zucchini noodles : Lean protein with spiralized vegetables

- Stir-fry with brown rice : Mixed vegetables and chicken over brown rice

- Stuffed bell peppers : Peppers filled with ground turkey, quinoa, and vegetables

- Baked chicken thighs : With roasted root vegetables and herbs

Evening Snack (If Hungry)

- Herbal tea with a small handful of nuts : Chamomile or peppermint tea

- Sliced cucumber with hummus : Light, hydrating, and satisfying

- Warm almond milk : Plain or with a pinch of cinnamon for better sleep

𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

Always choose these natural options

▢ Fresh fruits and vegetables : The more colorful your plate, the better

▢ Whole grains : Brown rice, quinoa, oats, whole wheat bread

▢ Lean proteins : Fish, chicken, eggs, beans, lentils

▢ Healthy fats : Avocados, nuts, seeds, olive oil, coconut oil

▢ Herbs and spices : Fresh or dried seasonings instead of processed sauces

Avoid these processed Items

ᝰ.ᐟ Anything in a package with ingredients you can't pronounce

ᝰ.ᐟ Sugary drinks and sodas : stick to water, herbal teas, and fresh juices

ᝰ.ᐟ Pre-packaged snacks and meals: make your own versions with real ingredients

ᝰ.ᐟ Artificial sweeteners and additives : use honey, maple syrup, or dates instead

ᝰ.ᐟ Fried and fast foods : cook at home with healthy oils when you need something crispy (don't act like it's forbidden u can et junk food but not regularly )

Meal prep made simple

- Sunday prep day : Wash and chop all vegetables, cook grains and proteins (this is productive y'know)

- Mason jar salads : Layer ingredients so they stay fresh all week

- Batch cook basics : Make large portions of quinoa, brown rice, and roasted vegetables

- Freeze individual portions : Soups, stews, and cooked proteins for busy days

third block the 15% : fix fix fix your lifestyle

Creating a Life That Supports Your Goals

Building a life that truly holds you means creating systems, habits, and an environment that naturally support your health and fitness goals without constant willpower or struggle. It's about designing your daily routine, your surroundings, and your mindset in a way that makes healthy choices the easy choices. When your entire lifestyle is aligned with your goals, you don't have to fight against yourself every single day - your environment does the heavy lifting for you , It's about making strategic changes that compound over time, creating momentum that carries you forward even when motivation is low. When you build the right foundation, healthy living becomes your default mode rather than something you have to force yourself to do. You're essentially creating a life where success is inevitable because everything around you is set up to support your journey.

Sleep

Your sleep is absolutely crucial and forms the foundation of everything else you're trying to achieve. You need to go to bed and wake up at the same time every day, even on weekends, because your body thrives on consistency. Create a bedtime routine that signals to your body it's time to wind down - dim the lights, put away all screens at least one hour before bed, and instead read a book, do gentle stretching, or practice some light meditation it's so so so relaxing . In the morning, get outside within 30 minutes of waking up to expose yourself to natural sunlight, which helps regulate your circadian rhythm and improves your sleep quality that night. Develop an evening wind-down ritual that might include herbal tea, gentle stretching, journaling about your day, or practicing gratitude. Pay attention to how different bedtimes affect your energy levels and workout performance the next day, and prioritize getting 7-9 hours of quality sleep every night because this is when your body repairs your muscles and regulates the hormones that control hunger and metabolism.

Stress Management and Mental Health

Managing your stress levels is absolutely essential because chronic stress sabotages your weight loss efforts, disrupts your sleep, and makes it nearly impossible to stick to healthy habits. You need to develop a daily stress-relief practice that works for you, whether that's meditation, deep breathing exercises, taking walks in nature, or any other activity that helps you reset and recharge. Learn to identify your personal stress triggers so you can recognize when you're getting overwhelmed and take action before it spirals out of control. Build what I call stress buffers into your life these are go-to activities that can quickly reset your mood and energy when you're feeling frazzled. Practice saying no to commitments, requests, and activities that don't serve your goals or drain your energy unnecessarily (this go with all the goals in ur life not only the weight loss challenge) , because protecting your time and mental space is crucial for long-term success. Do regular mental health check-ins with yourself, noticing patterns in your mood, energy levels, and stress responses so you can make adjustments before small issues become big problems. Develop a daily gratitude practice by writing down three things you're grateful for each day, which helps shift your mindset toward positivity and abundance.

Environment Design for Success

Your environment has enormous power over your behavior, so you want to design your spaces to make healthy choices as easy as possible while making unhealthy choices require more effort and thought. In your kitchen, keep healthy foods visible and easily accessible on counters and at eye level in your refrigerator, while hiding or completely removing tempting processed foods that don't support your goals . Set up your workout space the night before with all your exercise equipment, workout clothes, water bottle, and anything else you need laid out and ready to go, eliminating any friction that might prevent you from exercising. Create designated meal prep stations in your kitchen with all the tools, containers, cutting boards, and utensils organized and easily accessible so you can quickly prepare healthy meals and snacks. Place visual reminders throughout your living space like motivational quotes, progress photos, or written goals where you'll see them multiple times throughout the day to keep your objectives top of mind. Surround yourself with people who encourage and support your healthy lifestyle choices, and limit time spent with individuals who consistently discourage your efforts, criticize your goals, or try to sabotage your progress with negative comments or peer pressure to make unhealthy choices.

Time Management and Routine Structure

Creating structure in your daily routine eliminates decision fatigue and ensures that your health priorities get the time and attention they deserve rather than being pushed aside by other demands. Develop a consistent morning routine that energizes you and sets a positive tone for the entire day, whether that includes exercise, meditation, journaling, or simply taking a few minutes to set your intentions. Use block scheduling to assign specific times for workouts, meal preparation, grocery shopping, and self-care activities, treating these appointments with yourself as seriously as you would any other important commitment. Spend about 30 minutes every Sunday planning your upcoming week, including when you'll work out, what meals you'll prepare, when you'll go grocery shopping, and any other health-related activities you need to schedule. Batch similar activities together to maximize efficiency, like doing all your meal prep on Sunday, planning all your workouts for the week at once, or grouping all your errands into one trip. Build buffer time into your schedule rather than packing it too tightly, allowing flexibility for unexpected events, traffic delays, or days when things simply take longer than anticipated. Create an evening preparation ritual where you set out your clothes for the next day, prepare your lunch, review your schedule, and do anything else that will make your morning run more smoothly and reduce decision-making when you wake up.

Social Support and Accountability

Having the right people around you can make or break your success, so it's crucial to intentionally build a support system that encourages and reinforces your healthy lifestyle choices. Find your fitness community by joining exercise classes, participating in online groups related to your goals, or working out with friends who share similar health objectives and will motivate you to show up consistently. Clearly communicate your goals to family members and close friends so they understand what you're working toward and can support you appropriately rather than inadvertently undermining your efforts. Establish a workout buddy system where you have someone who's counting on you to show up for exercise sessions, creating mutual accountability that makes it much harder to skip workouts when motivation is low. Share your wins (Tumblr is a great platform) and progress with people who understand and appreciate your efforts, celebrating milestones with those who recognize how hard you've worked rather than downplaying your achievements. Be willing to be an example and inspiration to others through your consistent actions and positive attitude rather than preaching or trying to convince others to change their habits.

Digital Wellness and Simple Habits

Use technology strategically by choosing just 1-2 helpful apps for tracking workouts or progress while avoiding the overwhelm of trying to use too many different platforms. Set clear boundaries with your phone and other devices by designating phone-free times during meals, before bed, and during workouts to improve your focus and reduce stress. Curate your social media feeds to follow accounts that inspire and motivate your healthy lifestyle while unfollowing or muting accounts that make you feel bad about yourself or discourage your efforts. Keep things simple by focusing on basic equipment you already have or can easily access - you don't need expensive gear to be successful, just consistency with bodyweight exercises, walking, and using whatever space and tools are available to you.

Flexibility growth and Long-term success

Building a sustainable healthy lifestyle requires flexibility, self-compassion, and a commitment to continuous growth and learning. Plan for imperfection by expecting setbacks and having specific strategies ready for getting back on track when life inevitably throws you curveballs or when u make choices that don't align with your goals. Make seasonal adjustments to your routine based on weather changes, holidays, work demands, and other life circumstances, understanding that flexibility is a strength not a weakness. Always have backup plans ready for busy days or unexpected circumstances, like knowing quick healthy meals you can prepare, having alternative workout options when you can't get to the gym, or keeping emergency healthy snacks available when your regular meal schedule gets disrupted. Listen to your body and adjust your routine's intensity based on how you feel physically and mentally, understanding that some days require more rest while others allow you to push harder. Focus on building sustainable habits rather than pursuing quick fixes, maintaining a long-term perspective that prioritizes consistency over perfection and celebrates progress in all its forms, not just what you see on the scale or in the mirror.

I hope it help guuuys ⌨️🎀

@bloomzone

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earl-of-221b · 4 months ago

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Nezha 2 spoilers - on the character of Sheng Gongbao.

More on Sheng Gongbao, because I think what the movie did in introducing this classic antagonist's parent and kid brother may feel really random at first, but totally recontextualsies him to be (1) an even closer foil to Ao Bing and (2) a new foil to Nezha.

Ao Bing

In Nezha 1, Shen Gongbao explains his nature to Ao Bing so he could share the similarities of their situations: that he is a leopard demon, and demons suffer the same disrepute and disadvantage of dragons in the world of cultivation. That's why he did all this scheming from Ao Bing's birth to set him on a path that can diverge from his own - so he can prepare his disciple to advance where he can't - so Ao Bing can climb higher on the cultivation ladder. Shen Gongbao would benefit from Ao Bing's advancement as the master who trained, raised, and sponsored him to advance on the celestial stage. Ao Bing's father and people would also benefit from Ao Bing's ascension.

The foil Shen Gongbao plays for Ao Bing is being a demon - underpriviledged, undesired, having to struggle and claw his way in everything, being twice as good and yet not good enough, all because of what they are and how they were born. But he's known to Ao Bing only as his master and senior, someone who understands how the world works and whom taught Ao Bing his martial arts and magic.

In Nezha 2, the characters Sheng Zhengdao, the father, and Sheng Xiaobao, the kid brother, are introduced. This immediately changes the reading of Shen Gongbao. Not only is he a master, senior and an 'adult' in the complicated and cruel cultivation world - but he is also a son. Not only is he a son, there is an intricate backstory about what kind of son he is - he's the son who left his home and backwater town to go to celestial university, he's the first in the family to be accepted into the Chan Sect, the son who achieved human form, the over-achieving son, the son with a career, the son who made it, the absolute pride of the family. The eldest son who's family think he is living it up.

He is..........decidedly not. This is where the 'demon' storyline comes back: he has hit wall after wall. He's done dirty quid pro quo. He's been decieved, used, and even cowed by the system. One can't be treated fairly as a demon. Since he cannot make it any further by himself, he's resorted to relying on Ao Bing.

However, Sheng Gongbao's new role as a 'son' now paints him in an interesting light to both Ao Bing and Nezha. We instantly see that his motivation isn't just about feeling oppressed as a demon and wanting to be recognised for his merits. There is also clearly some insane filial piety driving him - because his position and ascention is supposed to benefit his kid brother and aging father back home! He is not just doing it for himself. He did all that dirty quid pro quo, being used as a tool, cowed by the system....because he needed to be the good son for his family. Because the truth is he has not made it at all. But if only he trains the perfect disciple, more perfect than himself...if only he gets him accepted into the celestial word...if only Ao Bing becomes a god of the Fengshen Bang...if Sheng Gongbao is reocognised as one of the 12 Golden Gods.........

On and on. His foil to Ao Bing as a son adds an extra dimension to Nezha 1. Ao Bing trained his whole life (being given the advantage of being the 'Yang pill') to advance his father's and people's position. To the point of being convinced, even if for a moment, that levelling Chentang Guan and killing all the people to keep the shameful secret of his dragon nature, was the only way forward...This now sounds very similar to his master. This is the solution his trusted, experienced master sold him. In Nezha 2, we learn Shen Gongbao has done terrible things for the celestial Wuliang (his senior cultivation brother)...it follows he would unload that same treacherous cycle onto Ao Bing.

2. Nezha

In a broad sense, Sheng Gongbao as the son becomes 'young,' a former protagonist himself, the hero of his own story, with his own parents and brother to appease. What I found endlessly interesting, is that with this new role, Shen Gongbao explicitly becomes a foil to Nezha as well. But the specific foil to Nezha in this case is 'being a son who will go on a total rampage out of love for his parents/family.'

With the knowledge of his parent's 'deaths,' Nezha goes on a total rampage out of love for his parents and the pain of losing them, that ends in beating up dragons and locking them in a huge magic furnace, completely playing into the hands of the evil celestial Wuliang. When our hero Nezha mitakenly fights the Eastern Dragon King Ao Guang, with the threat of his unfinished flesh body being disintegrated (he's not ready to fight in that condition yet!) - what does he say? He says "I don't care if I'll die, so long as I kill you!" The urge to avenge his parents is stronger than his self-preservation. But it's a twist. His parents are alive!

In the furnace scene, Nezha is offered a chance to save his parents who are getting cooked into cultivation pills by Wuliang. To accept a pill that makes him lose his memory and fall under the control of Wuliang. But Nezha's mother bats that thing out of Wuliang's hands, that's stupid and her son will never be a puppet for nefarious gods! Nezha, in the end, comes from a loving and supportive family who knows and understand him. They accept him for who he is. They would never stand for it. And so Nezha is protected from being manipulated.

Upon the Chentang Guan plot twist, it's revealed Shen Gongbao actually has the same reaction Nezha has when he thinks his family has died. Except for the point that his kid brother really does die - right in front of him! After whisking away Nezha's parents, Sheng Gongbao steps out again to the war-torn Chentang Guan, to fight off a thousand demons and the three traitor dragons. All by himself. There's dialogue, Nezha's parents ask Master Shen Gongbao what is he doing - where is going - why doesn't he take shelter with them?! And Shen Gongbao answers with bitter acceptance, "What's the point? My family's gone." And he goes out to fight. To take a last stand. To die.

Going back to Nezha, doesn't that reveal Sheng Gongbao's deepest motivations as the same as our hero's? He wasn't really doing it - all of it - entirely for himself. Now that his father and kid brother are dead, there is no reason to strive further. Shen Gongbao can let go of being one of the 12 Golden Gods or whatever. He's going to go out into danger, satisfy the urge to avenge his father and brother, and die.

Which takes me to the very delicious, delicious, diabolical end credits scene. The villainous Wuliang goes to a terrible prison where Shen Gongbao and his barely-ok father are alive. In a scene that totally parallels Nezha's choice in the furnace, he presents the same offer to Shen Gongbao. Accept a curse on his mind and body that will enslave him to Wuliang in exchange for his father's life.

But Shen Gongbao doesn't have the same honesty, understanding, protection from his father...because all this time he has been away from home...not returning because he hasn't made it...his father under the impression he is living it up as a celestial...his father not even conscious...

His kid brother died.

He has just this one family member left.

A person he was supposed to be doing all this for, to make proud.

A person he was ready to get revenge and die for.

After all he has already done - what is a little curse on Sheng Gongbao for the benefit of his father?

#nezha #nezha 2 #哪吒 #哪吒2 #哪吒之魔童闹海 #sheng gongbao #Where Nezha escapes the oblivion pill in the furnace - Shen Gongbao will willingly take on the curse in the prison.#Anyways.#Get ready for Mind-Controlled angst in Nezha 3!!!!#*UNGODLY LEOPARD SCREECH*#I am ready for the horrible awful scene where Ao Bing is begging his master who apparently has no clue who he is and is totally ok using #lethal moves on him #aldkfj;ladkjs;laksjdf;lakdj

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opencommunion · 1 year ago

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The Stop Cop City movement has sought to prevent the expropriation of part of the Welaunee Forest for the development of an 85-acre police mega training center: a model town to prepare the state’s repressive arms for the urban warfare that will ensue when the contradictions of their exploitation and extraction become uncontainable, as they did in 2020 after the APD murdered Rayshard Brooks. That murder, and all those that came before, were the lodestars of the Black-led movement during the George Floyd uprisings; their demands were no less than the dismantlement of the entire carceral system. Unable to effectively manage or quell the popular street movements, the Atlanta Police Foundation set out to consolidate and expand their capabilities for surveillance, repression, imprisonment, armed violence, and forced disappearance. One result is Cop City, which has been racked by militant sabotage, land occupation, arson, and popular mobilizations, in an attempt to end the construction and return Atlanta to its people. As the Atlanta Police Foundation was unable to contain the 2020 Black rebellion, so too have they been unable to quell the resistance against Cop City. The press reports that the project is hemorrhaging money and is mired in delays and difficulties. For their part, the city, the state, and the federal government, have in turn employed every tool in their power to destroy the movement. Last week, the Georgia State Senate passed a bill to effectively criminalize bail funds in the state; RICO charges have been contorted to target networks of support and care that surround the fighters; and last January, APD assassinated the comrade Tortuguita in cold blood while they rested in their tent in the forest. It is clear that Stop Cop City represents one of the conjunctural spear tips for expanding the existing systems of counterinsurgency that span Africa, Asia, and the Arab world. Today the system’s belly rests atop Gaza, whose rumblings shake the earth upon which we walk. Through its Georgia International Law Enforcement Exchange (GILEE) program, the APD has sent hundreds of police to train with the Zionist occupation forces. And in October 2023, after Tufan al-Aqsa, the Atlanta Police Department engaged in hostage training inside abandoned hotels, putatively intended to “defeat Hamas,” in an advancement of tactics for the targeting of Black people. With every such expansion, the ability of counterinsurgency doctrines to counteract people’s liberation struggles grows. The purpose of counterinsurgency is to marshal state and para-state power into political, social, economic, psychological, and military warfare to overwhelm both militants and the popular cradle—the people—who support them. Its aim is to render us hopeless; to isolate and dispossess us and to break our will to resist it by any and all means necessary. This will continue apace, unless we fight to end it. Stop Cop City remains undeterred: on Friday, an APD cop car was burnt overnight in response to the police operation on February 8; yesterday, two trucks and trailers loaded with lumber were burnt to the ground. An anonymous statement claiming credit for the former, stated: “We wish to dispel any notion that people will take this latest wave of repression lying down, or that arresting alleged arsonists will deter future arsons.” As the U.S. government and Zionist entity set their sights on the Palestinian people sheltering in Rafah, as they continue their relentless genocide of our people in Khan Younis, Jabalia, Shuja’iyya, and Gaza City, the Stop Cop City movement has clearly articulated its solidarity with the Palestinian struggle. They have done so with consistency and discipline, and we have heard them. Our vision of freedom in this life and the next requires us to confront and challenge the entangled forces of oppression in Palestine and in Turtle Island, and to identify the sites of tension upon which these systems distill their forces. This week, as with the last three years, the forest defenders have presented us one such crucible.

(11 Feb 24)

National Lawyers Guild, Stop All Cop Cities: Lessons For a National Struggle (video, 1 hr 45 min)

#turtle island #palestine #colonialism #imperialism #library #action

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velarisdusk · 10 months ago

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Cursed Flame

Eris Vanserra x Reader

word count: 8k content: [ explicit sexual content, unprotected PIV, rough sex, oral sex (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), biting, oral fixation, enemies to lovers (as much lovers as I could fit into an 8k fic) | mentions of: blood, attempted murder via witch curse | strong language ] summary: When Eris Vanserra, heir to the Autumn Court, stumbles into a healer's shop under a mysterious curse, it sets off a chain of events neither could have anticipated. As the skilled healer works to unravel the dark magic threatening his life, tension and attraction crackle between them. author's note: SO EXCITED FOR YALL TO READ THIS ONE!!!!!!! i received this ask a bit ago and i couldn't wait to write it. i hope you all enjoy! as per usual, no beta, so if you see any typos no you didnt ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

The shop is a warm refuge in the heart of the Autumn Court, its walls painted a calming sage green and lined with shelves filled with jars of dried herbs and roots. Sunlight filters through the tall windows, casting soft, golden light on a thick, woven rug. The scent of lavender and rosemary lingers in the air, mingling with the quiet crackle of a low fire in the hearth.

You move methodically around the shop, stocking freshly dried herbs on the shelves. Your fingers brush over the labels, ensuring everything is in its place. The rhythmic work is soothing—a welcome distraction.

Reaching up to place a jar on the top shelf, you're caught off guard when the door suddenly slams open. The force of it startles you, and you instinctively drop the pendant of your necklace from your mouth as you spin around to face the intruder.

Eris Vanserra stands in the doorway, his usually pristine appearance disheveled, his skin pale and lips tinged with an unhealthy shade of blue. He looks unwell — like something is gnawing away at him from the inside out.

“Looking a little paler than usual,” you murmur, your tone caught between concern and the dry sarcasm that usually colors your interactions with him. But even as you speak, you’re already moving toward him, instinctively assessing his condition. Grabbing your tools, you hurry to where Eris has collapsed into the armchair by the hearth.

“What happened?” you ask, scanning him for visible injuries but finding none. “When did this start?”

Eris leans back, his breathing labored, and then he coughs violently, a splatter of blood staining his hand. He looks at it with shock and frustration.

“Tell me everything,” you demand, already rifling through your supplies for anything that could help diagnose whatever this is. “What did you eat? Drink? Did you come into contact with anything unusual?”

His eyes narrow in irritation as you continue to probe. “Why does it matter? Just heal me and I’ll be on my way.”

You give him an incredulous look, stunned by the sheer stupidity of his question.

“What…? Mother above- if you want me to help, I need to know what’s causing this. Did you encounter any dark magic?”

You move to check his pulse, frowning at the erratic rhythm and his lack of response. “If you’re going to be like that, just go to your family’s healer,” you mutter, not bothering to hide your irritation. You place the back of your hand on his forehead, noting the strange combination of cool skin and unnatural heat radiating from his chest.

“Do you think I’m here because I’d like to be?” Eris snaps, coughing again, though this time with less blood.

You ignore his tone, turning your attention to the herbs and ingredients at your disposal. After a few minutes of methodically preparing and steeping the herbs, you hand him a steaming cup. “Drink this,” you instruct.

He takes the cup but eyed it skeptically. “What is it?”

“It’ll react if there’s poison in your system,” you explain, your tone firm as you watch him closely, waiting.

He lifts the cup reluctantly, sipping as you hover your hands over his chest, closing your eyes to focus on sensing any magical disturbances. “Why can’t you see your family’s healer?” you ask, murmuring a chant under your breath as you work.

“He’s busy,” Eris replies tightly, though his expression suggests there’s more to the story.

You press your lips together as you complete your chant, waiting for any sign of magic—an aura, a pulse of energy, anything. But there’s nothing. Frustration wells up, and you move to the shelves, selecting a vial of a potent potion that reveals the presence of dark spells. You hand it to him, but before you can tell him to wait, he lifts the vial to his lips.

“Wait—” you start, but it’s too late. He drinks the contents of the vial, grimacing at the taste as he swallows.

The dark tendrils of the potion begin to swirl beneath his skin, their movement barely noticeable through the fabric of his shirt. Panic surges through you, and without thinking, you reach forward and rip open his shirt, buttons flying everywhere.

Eris recoils slightly, a flash of irritation crossing his face. “Do you have any idea how much that shirt costs? More than you make in a month, I’d wager.”

You shoot him a sharp glare, not bothering to hide your exasperation. “Definitely not as much as making that potion cost me,” you retort, focusing on the dark tendrils now clearly visible beneath his skin. The potion is reacting to something, though it’s still not enough to fully reveal what’s wrong.

Eris glares at you, but before he can respond, another wave of pain hits him, forcing a troubling series of coughs out of him. This time, blood stains his lips, and the dark tendrils pulse ominously with the movement.

Ignoring his earlier complaint, you press your hand against his chest, feeling the unnatural heat beneath your fingertips. The tendrils shift and twist just beneath the surface of his skin as if something dark is trying to break free. “Are you usually this hot?” you murmur, more to yourself than to him, as you watch the tendrils fade back into nothingness.

Eris’s lips curve into a smirk, despite his condition. “I wasn’t aware you found me so irresistible,” he drawls, his tone laced with that familiar cocky arrogance.

You roll your eyes, not even dignifying his comment with a response, refocusing on the task at hand.

With a sigh, you grab the vial from him and set it aside, biting your thumbnail as you wrack your brain for ideas. You decide to turn to a more traditional method. “Stand up,” you instruct, grabbing a fresh egg from a small basket. Eris raises an eyebrow, but you don’t give him a chance to question it. “I’m going to perform an egg cleanse. It’s an old method, but it’s effective for detecting curses.”

He complies, albeit reluctantly, standing from the chair. You glance up at him, realizing you can’t quite reach the top of his head. “Bend your knees a bit. I can’t reach that high.”

Eris smirks, but obliges, lowering himself slightly so you can reach the crown of his head. You begin by holding the egg just above his scalp, moving it slowly around the top of his head and down his neck. You notice his jaw clench, the muscles tightening under your careful movements.

You continue to work your way down, the egg warming slightly in your hand as it absorbs the negative energy. The air feels thick with tension as you move the egg over his shoulders and bare chest, noticing how he tenses when you pass it over his thighs. His body reacts subtly, with a slight shift in posture, a clenching of his fist at his side, as if he’s fighting to keep his composure.

“Anything yet?” Eris presses, his tone light, almost as if he’s making conversation, but you can hear the underlying tension. “Or are you just playing with eggs for fun?”

“Hold still,” you mutter, ignoring his jab as you complete the cleanse. When you reach his feet, you pause, feeling the unsettling energy still clinging to the egg in your hand. You ask him to lift each foot slightly so you can pass the egg underneath. He does so with a small huff of annoyance, muttering something you couldn’t bother yourself to care about.

Finally, you finish the cleanse, bringing the egg back up to his head and closing the circle. The egg feels heavier in your hand now, almost throbbing with the energy it’s absorbed. You step back, holding the egg up to the light, examining it carefully.

“What are you seeing?” he asks, his voice steady, but you catch the edge of something beneath the calm facade. “What’s wrong?”

With a frown, you walk to the counter, grab a glass, and fill it with water. Eris watches you, curiosity and impatience on his face as you crack the egg into the glass.

The moment the shell breaks, your breath catches in your throat as the realization hits you like a physical blow. The web-like structures forming in the egg’s whites, the dark red blood swirling through the yolk—they aren’t just signs of any curse. They’re markers, symbols that reveal the curse’s origin. A curse that dark, that potent, could only come from someone with a deep, intimate connection to the target. Someone who shares his blood.

Eris leans over your shoulder, his eyes narrowing at the sight. “That’s not normal, is it?” he asks, his tone still deceptively casual, but you can hear the sharp edge of concern creeping into his voice.

You shake your head slowly, staring at the cursed egg. “No,” you reply, your voice low and tense. “Eris,” you begin, your voice trembling slightly as the weight of your discovery settles in. “This… this isn’t just any curse. It was arranged by someone who’s tied to you by blood. They must have paid a witch to curse you.”

His eyes widen, the casual facade slipping as your words sink in. He straightens, stepping back as if physically recoiling from the truth. For a moment, he’s silent, his usually sharp mind racing to process what you’ve just told him. But the tension in his jaw, the way his hands clench into fists, betrays the anger simmering beneath the surface.

“One of my brothers,” he murmurs, his voice low and deadly. There’s no question in his tone, only cold, calculated fury. The possibility of betrayal from within his own bloodline cuts deep, and you can see it in the way his expression darkens, in the way his shoulders stiffen as if preparing for battle.

You nod slowly, still staring at the cursed egg, your mind racing as you try to make sense of it all. “Whoever did this didn’t just want to hurt you—the curse is meant to kill, Eris.”

His gaze flickers back to you, and for a brief moment, you see something vulnerable in his eyes, something raw and unguarded. But then it’s gone, replaced by the cold determination that you’ve come to expect from him.

As you stare at the cursed egg’s results, frustration and determination mix in your mind. You need to figure out where the curse is coming from. “Wait here,” you tell him, already moving towards the shelves.

You start rummaging through your collection of enchanted tools and artifacts. You pull out a magnifying glass with runes etched into its frame—designed to detect magical auras. With it, you examine the egg’s remnants, trying to find any additional clues. Still focused, you then grab a small jar of salt, used for creating protective circles, and a vial of basic anti-magic tincture.

You hold the magnifying glass over Eris’s body, carefully examining for any magical disturbances. The glass shows a faint, dark aura around his entire form, but it’s still unclear where the source is. The salt is meant to amplify magical reactions, so you grab the jar and sprinkle some in a protective circle around him. As you observe, the dark aura becomes more pronounced, shifting and swirling. Still, it’s not pinpointed enough to identify the exact source of the curse.

You then use the anti-magic tincture, dabbing it on various parts of him: his hands, shoulders, his ankles, and on his clothing. The tincture reacts, but again, it does not specify where the curse is anchored. You decide to turn to a more direct method.

You remove one of the rings from Eris’s hand, placing it on a small tray before examining it closely with the magnifying glass. The ring is stunning, with a polished tiger’s eye stone that seems to capture and reflect the light with every movement. The stone is set in intricately crafted silver, engraved with delicate, swirling patterns reminiscent of flames. It’s a ring befitting Eris Vanserra—elegant yet undeniably powerful. This time, you notice the dark tendrils of magic intensify around the ring, more clearly than on the other items.

“This ring,” you say, realization dawning as you see the dark magic swirling more intensely, “Have you given it to anyone lately?”

Eris’s brows furrow in confusion. “No, why would I do that? It’s one of my favorites.”

You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms and biting your lip in thought. “Are you sure? Any recent changes, anyone who might have had access to it?”

He hesitates, shifting uncomfortably. “I—well, I didn’t give it to anyone, but…” He sighs, sitting back down and looking down at the ring. “I woke up one morning and found it missing from my jewelry box. I only found it a few days later, yesterday, under the dresser.”

You nod, your mind racing with the implications. “That’s significant. The timing fits with when the curse seems to have taken hold. It’s likely that someone who knew about the ring might have tampered with it.” Eris’s expression darkens, and he clenches his jaw.

You give him a sympathetic look. “Luckily, it seems whoever cast this curse used extremely rudimentary techniques. I should be able to take care of it relatively easily… Go lie down in the back room,” you tell him, pointing at the door behind the front counter. “I’ll be there in a bit with what I need to start the healing process.”

Eris nods and heads to the back room, his demeanor more subdued now. As he disappears behind the door, you turn back to the counter, gathering the rest of your supplies. The task ahead is daunting, but you’re determined to see it through.

As he disappears into the back room, you take a deep breath, centering yourself as you gather the necessary items for the healing process. Your mind is consumed with the details of what you need, and you absentmindedly reach for a pen from the counter, sliding the end of it between your lips as you think through your list—cleansing herbs, protective talismans, and special antidotes to counteract the curse. You pull out a small wooden box and start preparing the mixtures, setting out vials and jars with practiced ease.

You move through the shop, grabbing the fresh batch of herbs and an old family recipe for a purification salve. As you’re about to head to the back room, you pause, realizing you need one more item. You hastily grab a small vial of enchanted water, known for its potency in breaking curses.

With everything in hand, you head towards the back room, your nerves steeling for the task ahead. You open the door and step inside, where Eris is lying on the sofa, looking more subdued and less defiant.

“Alright,” you say, laying out the items on a nearby table. “I need you to strip, so I can massage the salve into your skin.”

Eris raises an eyebrow, his posture relaxed despite his condition. He lounges on the plush sofa, the luxurious fabric seeming to contrast sharply with his unwell state. He is draped elegantly over the cushions, looking effortlessly refined even in his weakened state. “Are you always so forward with your clients?” he asks, a lazy, yet sardonic smile playing on his lips.

You shoot him a wry smile. “Only the ones who show up at my door covered in curses. I promise, I’ll try to keep it as professional as possible.”

Eris arches an eyebrow, glancing down at his torn shirt before meeting your eyes with a smirk. “I’ll be curious to see just how ‘professional’ you manage to be, given the state of my shirt.”

“I suppose my attempt at professionalism might seem a bit questionable after that,” you respond, trying to match his playful tone. “But given the circumstances, I promise to keep my focus on getting you sorted out.”

Eris smirks, clearly entertained by your response. “I’ll hold you to that,” he replies, making no move to cover up as he removes his shirt. He casually kicks off his boots and slips out of his pants. He starts to remove his underwear, but you quickly hold up a hand, a hint of discomfort in your voice.

“Uh, you can keep those on,” you say, your tone awkward. “I really don’t need to see more of you than I already have.”

Eris raises an eyebrow but complies, lying back on the sofa in his remaining attire. He stretches out, his posture relaxed despite his state.

You try to maintain your composure as you prepare to apply the salve, aware of the subtle flush on your cheeks at the sight of him.

You take the salve and begin applying it to his skin, your hands gliding over the thick, soothing mixture. The salve is warm and slightly sticky, and you work it into his flesh with careful, deliberate strokes. His skin is pale and warm under your touch, marked with faint, livid lines where the curse has taken hold. Despite his condition, his muscles are firm and well-defined.

You try to focus on the task, but the proximity and the intimate nature of your work make your cheeks flush. Your hands move methodically, spreading the salve evenly over his torso, smoothing it into every defined contour. The tension in the room is almost tangible, and you do your best to maintain your composure, concentrating on the rhythm of your movements.

After a few minutes, you glance up at Eris, only to find him watching you with a smirk. You assume he’s noticed your nervousness and it makes your blush deepen, feeling the heat spread across your cheeks.

You hum as if asking “What?”, but it comes out a bit strained.

Eris chuckles softly, the sound low and knowing. “What’s the pendant on your necklace?”

You pause, momentarily distracted by his question. You glance down at the pendant but realize you’ve been toying with it between your teeth. You drop it, a sleek piece of black tourmaline set in a delicate silver setting. It catches the light, its dark, glossy surface reflecting an eerie, protective shimmer. “It’s black tourmaline,” you explain, trying to keep your voice steady as you wipe your hand on the skirt of your dress. “It’s known for protection.”

You reach up and carefully open the locket, revealing a small, intricately illustrated image nestled inside. The illustration depicts you and a scruffy little dog, your faces pressed close together. His warm brown eyes are visible, reflecting the affection between you. The artist’s delicate strokes bring out the softness and warmth of the scene, with a gentle, glowing quality.

“Here,” you say, offering the locket for Eris to see. “That’s my dog, Cedar. He’s my best friend.”

Eris glances at the illustration and raises an eyebrow. “Cute dog,” he remarks, his voice softening slightly. He takes a moment to admire it before you close the locket and turn your attention back to the task at hand.

You resume applying the salve, your hands moving carefully over his thighs. Your proximity is close, and you can’t help but be aware of the intimate nature of the task.

Eris breaks the silence, his tone is casual yet curious. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a dog person. What’s he like?”

You continue working the salve into his skin, your hands deftly spreading it. “Cedar? He’s a little bundle of energy. Loves to play and is always up for an adventure. Not very fond of arrogant redheads.”

Eris chuckles softly. “Sounds like quite a character. I’ve got a few ghost hounds myself. Jasper’s the mischievous one, Ember’s more reserved but loyal, and Thorne... well, he’s a bit of a troublemaker. They each have their own quirks, but they’re a handful.” He smiles faintly, a hint of fondness in his eyes.

You nod, trying to focus on the salve while managing the awkward proximity. “Sounds like they’re quite a pack.”

Eris’s eyes twinkle with a mixture of amusement and affection as he regards you. “They are. All twelve of them.”

You clear your throat, doing your best to shake off the distraction of Eris’s body under your hands. “Twelve? That’s… quite a lot,” you manage to say, hoping your voice doesn’t betray how flustered you are.

Eris gives a small, almost smug nod. “They’re quite the company.”

You force a small smile, quickly refocusing on the task at hand before your scent gives you away. “Alright, I need you to flip over so I can get your back,” you instruct, your voice steadier now.

Eris moves with a grace that belies the curse’s toll, turning onto his stomach. As he settles, you catch yourself marveling at the expanse of his back, the way his muscles shift beneath his skin. You work the salve into his skin, starting at his shoulders and moving downward. Your fingers glide over the planes of his back, kneading the thick mixture into his skin with slow, deliberate motions.

When you reach his lower back, you can’t help but notice how firm and tight his muscles are. You swallow hard, trying to focus on the task and not on how ridiculously sculpted he is. This close, his scent—woodsy and warm, with a hint of spice—mixes with the herbs of the salve, creating an intoxicating blend that makes your heart race.

With the salve fully applied, you stand and step back, wiping your hands on a cloth. You retrieve the small vial of enchanted water from your supplies. The liquid inside shimmers faintly, a sign of its potency.

You kneel beside Eris and unstopper the vial, letting a few drops spill into your palm. “This will help neutralize any residual dark magic,” you explain, mostly to fill the silence as you pour the water into your hands. It’s cool to the touch, sending a slight tingle through your fingers.

Gently, you begin to rub the enchanted water into his skin, starting at his shoulders and moving downward again. You feel a faint warmth where the water touches his skin, a sign that the curse is reacting to the cleansing magic. You mutter a soft incantation under your breath as you work, tracing the lines of his muscles with your fingertips to ensure the water reaches every part of him.

Eris lies still beneath you, but you can sense his awareness of your every move. The tension between you is palpable, like a coiled spring waiting to snap. But you focus on your work, pushing aside the awkwardness.

You clear your throat softly. “Flip back over. I need to do your front.”

Eris obliges, rolling onto his back again. As you begin to apply the enchanted water to his chest, your hands instinctively move in slow, deliberate circles. The cool liquid glides over the hard planes of his abs and pecs, and you find yourself distracted by the feel of his muscles beneath your fingertips. His skin is smooth, marred only by the faint, dark lines of the curse, but the tautness of his body is impossible to ignore.

Your thoughts begin to wander, unbidden. The definition of his abs under your touch, the way his chest rises and falls steadily with each breath, the heat radiating from him despite the coolness of the water—all of it feels too intimate, too close. You lose yourself in the rhythm of the massage, each movement deliberate, but tinged with an awareness you wish you could ignore.

When you finally finish applying the water, you take a step back and wipe your hands again. “That should do it,” you say, though your voice comes out softer than you intended. “Now we just need to give it time to work.”

Eris slowly sits up, his movements careful and deliberate. He glances at you, and for a moment, his usual guarded expression softens. "Thank you," he says quietly, the words carrying a weight that surprises you.

You nod, unsure of how to respond to the sudden shift in his demeanor. "Just... make sure you rest. The curse should start breaking down now, but you'll need time to recover-"

Eris cuts you off, his tone turning teasing as he leans forward. "You always seem to be keeping that mouth of yours busy, don't you?"

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden comment. "Excuse me?"

His gaze drops pointedly to your hand, and it's only then that you realize your thumbnail is between your teeth. You quickly pull it away, trying to mask your embarrassment with a frown. "I wasn't-"

"Oh, you were," he interrupts, the smirk playing on his lips growing. "First your necklace, now your nails. And don't think I didn't notice you biting your lip earlier. Tell me, is this a nervous habit or something else?"

You huff, the irritation building slowly. "It's nothing. Just a habit, alright?"

He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he's dissecting your every move. "A habit, hmm? Interesting."

You roll your eyes, exasperation creeping into your tone. "Look, it's really none of your business. I just did you a favor, saving your life; can't you drop the smart remarks for once?"

Eris's smirk doesn't waver. "A favor? Let's not pretend you didn't enjoy getting your hands all over me," he says, his voice dripping with mockery. "You were practically drooling over me."

Your face burns, and you take a step forward, anger and embarrassment now battling for dominance. "I was doing my job, Eris. If I took any extra care, it was because I had to-your life was in my hands, not because I wanted to."

He arches an eyebrow, clearly amused by your rising frustration. "So you admit you were being thorough."

You let out a frustrated breath, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. "You're insufferable, you know that? Not everything is about you."

His voice drops to a low, teasing whisper. “If it’s just a job, then why do you look like you’ve been caught red-handed?”

Your eyes widen at his insinuation, and you struggle to find a retort, feeling both flustered and infuriated by his smugness.

Your heart skips a beat at the intensity in his gaze, the raw challenge in his words. "What does it matter to you?" you snap back, though your voice falters, the heat of the moment starting to overwhelm you. "You're just trying to get under my skin."

Eris's gaze flickers to your lips, and you feel the air between you grow heavy, charged with an undeniable tension. "Maybe I am," he murmurs, his voice a low, seductive growl. "Or maybe I'm just waiting for you to admit you want this as much as I do."

Your breath catches, and for a moment, the world narrows down to just the two of you, the magnetic pull between you impossible to ignore. You shake your head, trying to maintain your composure despite the heat in your cheeks. "You don't really want this," you retort, your voice coming out more uncertain than you intended.

Eris's smirk widens, and he stands impossibly close to you, his eyes dark with intensity. "Oh, but I do."

You meet his gaze, feeling a surge of defiance and desire. "Prove it," you challenge, your voice barely above a whisper.

Eris responds to your challenge with a fierce intensity. He closes the space between you with a sudden, forceful kiss that takes your breath away. His lips crash against yours, and the kiss is a wild, heated clash of desire and frustration.

Your lips meet with a ferocity that makes your head spin, his hands gripping your face as if he's afraid you might pull away. His mouth moves against yours with a demanding urgency, his tongue pushing past your lips to tangle with yours. The kiss is rough, almost desperate, as if he's trying to prove something with every touch.

You feel his teeth nip at your lower lip, sharp and insistent, and the sudden spark of pain only intensifies the heat between you. Your hands find their way to his hair, gripping it tightly and pulling him closer if possible, as if trying to merge your bodies together.

Eris's fingers tangle in your hair, his grip firm as he tilts your head to deepen the kiss. His movements are driven by a raw, unrestrained need, and you can feel his breath come in ragged gasps against your skin. Each touch, each movement is a battle, a clash of passion and frustration.

You respond in kind, your own fingers digging into his scalp, your nails scratching lightly as you try to keep up with the fierce pace he sets. The kiss is a war of wills, a struggle for dominance that leaves you both breathless and hungry for more.

Finally, the intensity of the kiss subsides, but only slightly. You pull away just enough to look into each other's eyes, both of you panting heavily, faces flushed. The moment is charged with an electric tension, a mix of anger and desire that hangs in the air between you.

Eris's eyes are dark and intense as he stares at you, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Is that proof enough?" he asks, his voice low and rough.

Your lips slam into his again, and you press your body against his with a forceful urgency, your hands roaming over his bare torso. Eris’s initial surprise quickly turns into fervor. His hands move over your back and sides, his touch rough but deliberate. His fingers brush along the fabric of your dress, tugging it slightly as he pulls you closer. His hands glide over your waist, up your sides, and finally settle at the small of your back, pulling you so close that there’s no space left between your bodies. Your hands explore his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his smooth skin, and you can’t help but dig your nails in slightly, relishing the shudder that ripples through him.

“You’re such a pain,” you murmur against his lips, your voice breathy but laced with irritation. “Always so arrogant, thinking everyone wants you.”

Eris’s response is a low growl, his lips curving into a wicked smile as he pulls back just enough to look at you. “And yet here you were, begging me to strip under the guise of helping me. I guess my arrogance isn’t so misplaced after all.”

Your retort is immediate, biting. “Guise? I did help you, don’t flatter yourself. This isn’t about you—it’s about shutting you up.” You punctuate your words by biting down on his lower lip, hard enough to make him hiss in a mix of pain and pleasure.

He chuckles, the sound low and mocking. “Is that what you’re telling yourself? That this is just about shutting me up?” His grip on your hips tightens, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “Keep lying to yourself if it helps you sleep at night. But we both know you’re enjoying this.”

You shove him back slightly, just enough to regain some space, your chest heaving with both desire and defiance. “You’re delusional. If anything, I’m doing this to prove you wrong.” But even as you say it, your hands are already trailing lower, brushing over the hard lines of his abdomen, testing his resolve.

Eris’s smirk never falters. “Keep telling yourself that,” he says, his voice thick with lust and challenge. “But we both know the truth—you can’t resist me any more than I can resist you.”

“Resist?” You scoff, though your voice wavers with the intensity of the moment. “Who said anything about resisting? Maybe I’m just enjoying the moment before I throw you out.”

His eyes darken further, a primal edge sharpening his features. “You talk a big game, but I can feel how much you’re into this.” His hand slides up your thigh, pushing the fabric of your dress’s long skirt aside with forceful impatience. “Or do you want me to stop and see if you beg?”

You meet his challenge head-on, your eyes blazing. “Beg? I’d rather die.”

He grins, his teeth flashing in the dim light as his hand continues its relentless exploration. “We’ll see.”

With that, he kisses you again, the force of it pushing you both back until you’re pinned against the wall, his body pressing into yours with an intensity that makes your head spin. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling hard, and he groans into your mouth, his own grip on you tightening as the need between you becomes impossible to ignore.

"You're insufferable," you hiss, though your fingers are still digging into his skin, still trailing over the hard lines of his chest.

Eris’s mouth swallows your frustrated words. “Then shut me up,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice dripping with challenge.

You take the bait, pulling him closer as you bite down on his lip again, harder this time, drawing a low groan from him. His hands slip under your dress, the roughness of his touch sending a shiver up your spine. “That all you’ve got?” he taunts, his voice ragged.

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes locked with his in a heated stare. “I can do a lot more than that,” you shoot back, your voice dripping with defiance.

“Prove it,” he snarls, his hands tightening on your hips as if daring you to push the boundaries further.

Your gaze never wavers from his as you slowly begin to sink to your knees in front of him. Eris's breath hitches slightly, his eyes darkening with a mix of surprise and something else, something far more primal.

“Careful,” he warns, though there’s a rough edge to his voice that betrays his anticipation. “You might find yourself in over your head.”

You smirk, defiant as ever. “I’m sure I can handle you,” you say, your voice low and challenging as you settle in front of him, pulling his underwear down and freeing his cock. It springs up, slapping against his skin. Eris's breath catches again, this time more audibly, as your fingers wrap around him, the warmth of your touch eliciting a shudder from him. For a moment, the air between you is charged, thick with tension. His fiery gaze locks onto yours, his usual cool demeanor cracking just enough to reveal the raw desire simmering beneath the surface.

“Is that so?” His voice is a rasp, heavy with lust, yet there's still a trace of his usual arrogance, as if he’s not entirely convinced you know what you’re getting into. His hand slides into your hair, not quite a caress but not entirely a threat either.

You look up at him through your lashes, your smirk never fading as you lean in, the tip of your tongue teasing the sensitive head of his cock. Eris's grip tightens involuntarily, and you feel a surge of satisfaction at the way his control is already starting to slip.

“Keep pushing me, and I won’t be able to stop myself,” he growls. But you don’t intend to stop. You want to see him unravel, to take him apart piece by piece until there’s nothing left of his carefully constructed composure. Your mouth closes around him, taking him deeper, your movements slow, savoring the way he swears under his breath, his hips jerking slightly as if he can’t help but respond to the pleasure you’re giving him.

“Fuck,” he mutters and braces his hand against the wall as you cup his balls. The last of his restraint frays as you take him deeper, the heat of your mouth and the slick glide of your tongue driving him mad with pleasure.

His dominance, his ever-present need to be in control, is slipping through his fingers, and you can see it in the way his eyes flutter shut, in the way his head tips back, exposing the strong line of his throat. You’re pushing him closer and closer to the brink, and the power you feel at this moment is intoxicating, heady, and utterly addictive.

His hand tightens in your hair, and just as you feel like you’ve taken control, he pulls you back with a sudden, forceful yank. The motion is swift, leaving you gasping as he tilts your head up, pressing it back against the wall. His eyes, dark and wild, lock onto yours, and you can see the moment he decides to take the power back.

Without a word, he thrusts forward, his cock pushing past your lips in a smooth, deliberate motion, filling your mouth completely. The sensation is overwhelming—the taste of him, the pressure, the way his hips move with a raw, unrestrained need. He’s no longer holding back, no longer letting you lead.

His hand in your hair tightens even more, holding you firmly in place as he begins to fuck your mouth, each thrust rougher, more demanding than the last. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s fighting to maintain some semblance of control, but it’s slipping fast, and you know you’re the one driving him to this point.

“Is this what you needed?” he growls, his voice rough with the thrill of dominance. “Always biting your nails, playing with that necklace... I knew you needed something more to keep that mouth of yours busy.”

His words send a jolt of heat through you, the dark thrill only intensifying your desire. You try to nod, but his grip holds you in place, his cock filling your mouth completely, muffling any response you could give. The way he’s watching you, eyes narrowed, intense, tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“Tell me,” he demands, thrusting deeper, his voice low and laced with a dark satisfaction. “You like this better, don’t you? Better than biting down on that lip of yours? You’d rather be sucking my cock, wouldn’t you?”

The words, the sheer audacity of his tone, make you whimper around him, the sound vibrating through your throat, and his grip tightens almost possessively in response. His thrusts become more erratic, each one pushing you closer to the edge, the friction, the heat building between you until it’s all-consuming.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a mix of mockery and admiration. “So desperate to keep your mouth busy. Is this what you’ve been wanting all along? Something to fill that pretty little mouth, something to keep you from biting down so hard?”

You hollow your cheeks, taking him deeper, and the way he shudders makes you feel a surge of satisfaction. You’re pushing him right to the edge, and he knows it, the way his hips snap forward betraying how close he is to losing control entirely.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice cracking with the intensity of it all. “You feel so fucking good—taking me so well. Just like that. Keep going, and I’ll make sure you never have to worry about looking for something to occupy that pretty little mouth with ever again.”

His words send you spiraling, your own desire mounting as you submit to his dominance. You can feel him throbbing in your mouth, the desperation in his movements telling you just how close he is to unraveling completely. His grip on your hair is almost punishing, but the way he’s losing himself in you is worth every second of it.

“Do you like this?” he taunts, his voice low and rough. “Better than anything else you’ve ever had between those lips?”

And just as you sense he’s about to tip over the edge, he pulls back, panting heavily, his eyes blazing with a mix of frustration and lust as he tries to regain control. But it’s too late—he’s already there, the pleasure too overwhelming to stop. With a low, guttural groan, he wraps his hand around his slick cock as he strokes himself to completion.

His hips jerk as he comes, hot and thick, painting your lips and tongue with his release. The taste of him floods your senses, salty and rich, and you can’t help but savor it, holding his gaze as you swallow every last drop. The look on his face is pure, unrestrained satisfaction, but there’s still that edge of frustration, like he’s not quite finished with you yet.

Before you can react, he hauls you to your feet, his grip firm, almost possessive. His eyes never leave yours as he reaches out, his thumb brushing against the corner of your mouth, gathering the last traces of his release. The movement is deliberate, his expression dark and unreadable as he holds his thumb in front of your lips.

“Open,” he commands, his voice rough, and without hesitation, you part your lips, sucking his thumb clean. The taste of him lingers on your tongue, and the way his eyes darken tells you he’s watching every second, every subtle movement.

His thumb slides free from your mouth, and for a moment, there’s a heavy silence between you, charged with the aftermath of what just happened and the unspoken promise of what’s to come next. Eris’s chest heaves with each breath, but the hunger in his eyes hasn’t dimmed. If anything, it’s only grown stronger, the intensity between you far from spent.

Eris’s hands find the laces on the back of your dress, his fingers deft as he begins to undo them, each tug of the fabric sending a thrill of anticipation coursing through you. His breath is still heavy, uneven, but there's a renewed focus in his movements, a meticulousness that makes your pulse quicken. The dress loosens gradually, the cool air hitting your skin as he exposes more and more of you, and the sensation of his fingers grazing your back is maddening.

You can take in the sight of him now—bare, unrestrained, his usual elegance stripped away—it sends a jolt of desire through you. But before you can revel in it, his hands are on you again, rougher this time, pulling the dress down your body until it pools at your feet.

His eyes drink you in, taking in every inch of your now-exposed skin, and the way he looks at you makes your breath hitch. There’s something almost reverent in his gaze, but it’s laced with a hunger that promises he’s far from done with you. He steps closer, and the heat radiating off him is palpable, his chest brushing against yours as he reaches down between your bodies, his hand yanking your underwear down and finding its way to your core.

Your hand slips between you, stroking him, and he groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. His fingers slide against you, a delicious friction that makes you gasp, your grip on him tightening reflexively in response. His eyes are half-lidded as he reaches behind you to undo the clasps of your bra, focused entirely on the way your body responds to him, and it sends a shiver down your spine. It’s a reminder that despite the edge you’d gained, he’s still every bit as dangerous, every bit as intoxicating.

With a growl, Eris suddenly lifts you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he presses you back against the wall. The cool surface contrasts sharply with the heat of his body, and the sensation is almost overwhelming, his hard length brushing against your inner thigh, teasing, tormenting. You can feel the tension in his muscles, the barely restrained need as he grinds against you, his hand still between your legs, stoking the fire that’s been burning between you both from the start.

And then, with a swift, powerful thrust, he’s inside you, and everything else falls away—the tension, the teasing, the power struggle—until all that’s left is the raw, unrelenting desire that neither of you can deny any longer. He’s relentless, driving into you with a raw, primal need that matches your own, each movement sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. The sound of your bodies colliding, the wet slide of him inside you, fills the room, mingling with the ragged breaths and low moans you can’t suppress.

“Is this what you wanted?” he growls against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin before he bites down just hard enough to make you gasp, the pain mingling with the pleasure in a way that only intensifies the sensation. His voice is rough, laced with a dark satisfaction as if he’s finally giving you what you’ve been daring him to unleash. “You’re so fucking desperate for it, aren’t you?”

“Shut up,” you snap back, but your voice comes out breathless, betraying how much you’re already unraveling. His words send a thrill through you, the taunting, the edge of danger in his tone only making you want him more. Your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving marks on his skin as you try to meet his thrusts, the pressure building inside you almost unbearable.

He smirks against your throat, his breath hot and uneven. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your pulse point before he bites down again, harder this time. “You want me to break you, don’t you?”

Your hands fist in his hair, yanking his head back so you can meet his gaze, the defiance in your eyes only fueling the fire between you. “Shut up,” you hiss, your voice trembling with the force of your impending release.

A dark chuckle escapes him, and he slams into you harder, the movement sending you both crashing further into the abyss of sensation. Each thrust drives you higher, the pressure in your core building, threatening to shatter you into a million pieces. His movements are wild, erratic, and yet there’s a precision to them, a calculated determination to make you lose control before he does. But you’re not about to give in easily, not when the taste of victory is so close.

“Faster,” you demand, your voice edged with desperation, and the way his eyes flash with something primal tells you he’s just as close to the edge as you are.

He obliges, his pace becoming almost brutal as he pounds into you, the sound of your name falling from his lips like a curse, like a prayer. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice cracking with the intensity of it all. “I’m going to ruin you.”

“I’m sure you’d love to,” you manage to choke out, but the words are barely coherent, your mind a haze of pleasure as he drives you closer and closer to oblivion.

And then he reaches down, his thumb finding your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to send you spiraling. The sudden, overwhelming sensation makes you cry out, your body arching against him as your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, drowning you in bliss.

Eris isn’t far behind, the feeling of you tightening around him pushing him over the edge. He buries himself deep inside you, his own release ripping through him with a ferocity that leaves him shaking, a guttural moan escaping his lips as he finds his own release, the tension that’s been coiled so tightly between you finally snapping.

For a moment, neither of you moves, the only sound in the room is ragged breathing as you both come down from the high. His forehead rests against yours, his breath hot against your lips, and for a fleeting moment, the war between you seems to fade, leaving only the raw, unfiltered connection that this moment has forged.

But it’s only a moment.

“Don’t think this changes anything,” you murmur, your voice still breathless but laced with that familiar defiance.

Eris chuckles softly, the sound a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies, though there’s a softness to his voice that wasn’t there before, a hint of something more beneath the layers of antagonism.

#eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x reader smut #eris vanserra smut #acotar smut #acotar #acotar fanfic

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