#Vanguard Reader

[marvelrivalromance]

Marvel Rivals has me in a chokehold so thanks for setting this blog up.

Now how about a Loki x Vanguard!Reader that always peels for him whenever he’s getting harassed by those pesky dualists and dive tanks?

GLHF with your matches and have a nice whatever time of day it is for you!

Thank you and I hope you have fun with your matches as well, and hope you enjoy this! Loki is real fun personality wise, that sort of pompous, smug, and a bit self centered at times. but because of that it kinda makes him endearing. Kinda similar to Astarion from BG3 if you know about him

• Loki is very much the type who looks down on his fellow teammates, they practically need him to survive and are constantly in need of his guiding hand to get things done. Safe to say he has a bit of a.. complex.. It's easy to hear when he groans in frustration seeing those fools leave him alone on an abandon point. When seeing a new face on the team it doesn't spark much confidence, he could tolerate at least another support, but no it had to be another probably meat-headed tank. His expectations are low, at least hoping for the best that you are at least some what cognoscente to stay with in sight that he could heal you so you might prevent those annoying types from getting to his actual self or his illusionary doppelgangers

• It doesn't take long for him to find himself at a nice vantage point at the start of the match, away from most of the others battling while he keeps the team alive. That is until that pesky Spider-man notices his location, the young idiot webbing him instead of his illusions due to that bothersome spider sense of his. He knows calling out for help is practically pointless when everyone else's attention is elsewhere, he could fight as best he could against this irritating bug, but Spider-man already got his advantage. Just as the punch flies toward his face, Loki watches as his opponent is slammed into the other wall, and before him stands you.

• You quickly use your abilities to defeat the enemy spider, before giving him a smile and a thumbs up before going back to the fight with the others. Suffice to say, you jumped up on Loki's list of who he prioritizes keeping alive, Even if it was a one time thing. Perhaps he was just lucky you had caught it in time or you had already been targeting the Spider-man. Then it happens again, cornered with low health by that Dreaded Hulk, only for you to step between the two and give Loki some much needed breathing room.

• Loki quickly finds himself kept alive a lot more with you on the team. You're one of the few who bother to check in with the strategist like himself. What turns into keeping you alive as priority and conveniences turns into blatant favoritism. It's easy to see how smug he gets when you save him, healing you when you take a bit of damage over the clearly more injured Iron Fist. Safe to say you've found yourself in the graces of the God of Mischief. It's hard to know if that is really a good thing or not.

• Most notice the change but are smart enough not to comment on it, rather not prod at something that is at least beneficial. You're a solid fighter, and with Loki's healing, you can stay alive even when clearly outnumbered. He preens when ever you thank him for his help. Sure others have made sure to give thanks to the God for keeping them alive as they should, But when you do it, he can't help but feel a bit more pride, he can tell you are doing it not out of keeping his wrath at bay, but because you understand his role as the true leader of the team (his thoughts of course) In turn he will thank you in a less backhanded way that he would some of the others, after all, while he might not admit it, he has become fond of you.

I imagine a few maybe interactions of dialogue might be a mix of his odd praise so to speak

"Finally, someone I know will listen to commands unlike the rest of you"

"Ah there is my loyal subject, I trust you will keep your God safe yes?"

"Your talents are wasted on these fools, tell me, how would you like to be my most trusted knight? A king is not without his royal guard"

[mapsthewanderer]

Caleb’s headcanon -

The Vanguard

Synopsis: You’re waiting for Caleb to come home from work. He’s working overtime. Again. Caleb’s so done with work stealing his precious moments with you. So. Done.

Details: Mid/2000ish w. Superduper sexually frustrated Colonel Caleb goes dom. This is lust, not a spec of romance (imo). Explicit and lewd language. Biting. (Not exactly dry) humping lol. Filthy stuff. Schmutt. 18+ content. You are warned. I also rly recommend the track linked below. It was my muse.

Drenched homecoming

Skyhaven, Caleb’s place, you

The dim glow of the city filters through the rain-streaked windows, painting ghostly patterns against the walls. The air is thick with the scent of petrichor, a whisper of ozone lingering from the storm outside. You check the time—Caleb is late.

A sigh slips from your lips as you peel your shirt over your head, fingers ghosting over your bare skin as the chill of the room nips at your flesh. The bathroom light hums softly, casting a muted halo around the tiles as steam curls from the shower. The water cascades down, promising warmth, comfort—a distraction from the empty space where Caleb should be.

You step inside, tilting your head back beneath the heat, allowing it to wash away the lingering ache of longing. Eyes flutter shut. The city buzzes beyond the glass, and for now, you let yourself melt into the moment, unaware of the storm about to step through the door.

——————————————————————————

The Fleet, Administrative wing, Caleb

The meeting drags. The words being spoken blur into meaningless noise, a dull, monotonous drone that grates against his patience like sandpaper. Caleb sits at the long table, one gloved hand curled into a fist against his jaw, his fingers pressing into his temple as he fights the urge to exhale his frustration.

He doesn’t bother masking his disinterest. His violet eyes are heavy-lidded, sharp with irritation, flicking to the clock every few minutes with a growing sense of agitation. Every wasted second is another moment stolen from you—another moment he could have had you beneath him, panting, pliant, warm.

Caleb’s jaw tenses as his mind wanders—wanders to the thought of peeling you out of whatever you’re wearing, pressing you into the mattress, sinking his teeth into that soft, sensitive spot on your throat just to hear the sound you make. His fingers twitch against the leather of his gloves. The heat coiling low in his stomach is dangerous, restless, sharp-edged and gnawing.

With a sharp breath, he jerks his gloved hand up to his mouth, sinking his teeth into the worn leather, biting down hard in a desperate attempt to ground himself, to snap out of it. But it does nothing. The pressure, the taste of leather, the scent of his own skin—it only fuels it. Only makes it worse.

It’s unbearable. The hunger. The ache. The sheer, maddening need riding him raw.

And yet, here he sits. In this damn room. Listening to things that don’t matter, faces that blur together, voices that drone on, oblivious to the fire burning inside of him.

He shifts in his seat, muscles taut with restrained energy, the simmering frustration bleeding into something darker—sharper. It fuels his irritation, the urge to snap at the next person who so much as looks at him the wrong way. He’s so done.

Then someone addresses him directly.

“Colonel?”

His head snaps up, eyes dark, smoldering. The officer stiffens. Caleb holds his gaze for a fraction too long before muttering, clipped and razor-sharp, “What.”

The word alone is enough to send a ripple of unease through the room. Silence stretches, thick and uneasy, before someone quickly fills it with a half-hearted attempt at a summary. Caleb barely hears it. His patience is a thread stretched taut, ready to snap.

When the meeting is finally adjourned, he doesn’t wait. Doesn’t linger. Doesn’t breathe.

He pushes up from his chair, the scrape of it against the floor a sharp punctuation to his irritation. Shrugging into his coat, he mutters, voice low and laced with something venomous, “Next time? Find someone else to waste their damn night.”

The officers shift, uneasy, but no one speaks. No one stops him.

Instead, as he storms out, the whispers begin.

“What’s gotten into him lately?” — “He used to live for this. —Now it’s like he doesn’t care.” — “The Colonel never used to mind overtime…”

Caleb hears it all. And he’s had enough.

If they knew—if they fucking knew—the sheer agony thrumming in his veins, the way his body is throbbing with restless hunger, the way his skin aches to be pressed against yours, they wouldn’t dare say a word.

He shoves the door open, stepping out into the night.

The rain hammers against him the second he steps outside, soaking through fabric, sliding in cold rivulets down the tense lines of his body—but Caleb doesn’t react. Doesn’t slow. Doesn’t even consider reaching for his umbrella.

There’s no point.

Because the second he steps through that door, he’s going to strip you bare, press you into the nearest surface, and neither of you will be needing clothes for a long, long time.

His boots strike the pavement in a steady, ruthless rhythm, his strides long, unrelenting, driven by nothing but sheer force of will. The city around him is a blur—smears of neon reflecting in the rain-slicked streets, hazy figures moving beneath the glow of dim streetlights, the muffled hum of distant voices drowned beneath the storm. It’s all meaningless, all irrelevant.

His mind is elsewhere.

On you.

On what’s waiting for him at home.

Fingers flex at his sides, hands twitching, restless, as tension coils tight in his spine—thick, unbearable, molten in its intensity. A sharp, involuntary tic jerks through his neck, a brief but violent snap of muscle, like his own body is rebelling against the pressure building inside. His head tilts for the barest second before snapping back, jaw clenching, breath harsh. The uniform clings, soaked and heavy, but the heat raging beneath his skin makes it feel like he’s burning from the inside out. That fever has been festering all day, burrowing deep into muscle, riding him raw—an unrelenting fire he can’t outrun.

The rain does nothing to cool him—if anything, it feeds the fire, stoking the hunger, the frustration, the raw, unchecked need burning beneath his skin.

His breath is shallow, uneven, fraying at the edges as his thoughts loop like a broken reel, spiraling further and further into the gutter—dark, visceral, explicit.

The way your breath will stutter when the wet leather glides over your skin—cold, slick, unforgiving. It ghosts over your stomach, your thighs, everywhere except where you need him most. Dripping. Teasing. Denying. Each deliberate stroke leaves a trail of sensation, a wicked contrast between damp chill and the heat pooling low in your belly.

He’ll take his time, savor every shiver, every helpless twitch of your body as it tenses under his touch. Keep you on edge—gasping, trembling—until frustration spills from your lips in broken, desperate pleas. Beg for it. That’s what he wants. Not just your surrender—your complete and utter undoing.

But relief won’t come. Not yet. Not until he’s stripped you down to nothing but raw, aching need. Until every thought, every breath, every fractured whimper is drenched in him. He’ll push, torment, tease—drag you deeper until you forget anything existed before his touch, before his voice, before the sharp, unbearable hunger he’s buried in you. And even then, it won’t be enough. Because Caleb doesn’t just want you needy. Doesn’t just want you aching. He wants you wrecked. Shattered. Bent until you break, until the only thing left in your world is him.

To squirm beneath his touch the way he’s been squirming in his own skin all fucking day.

And when you finally do—when your moans dissolve into cries, when you arch into him with reckless abandon, when you scream his name, over and over and over again, begging, sobbing, pleading for him to give you what only he can—he will.

His touch. His weight. His teeth, his hands, his cock.

Caleb will brand you so deeply you’ll feel him for days, hear his voice in your head, taste him on your tongue, wear his marks like a second skin.

He will give you everything. Every. Last. Inch.

Fuck.

His breath is ragged, labored, his vision blurred around the edges, his pulse pounding so violently he can feel it in his teeth. He rounds another corner, faster now, his body coiled so tight it aches. His uniform is drenched, his coat heavy, his bangs slicked against his forehead with rain, but none of it matters.

He’s surprised the rain doesn’t steam off him by now.

He’s hard. Fuck—he’s been hard since this morning. The pillow talk, the warmth of your body tangled with his, the soft kisses and lingering touches—but that was then. That was before the hours of restraint, the wasted time, the damned overtime that tore him away from you.

Just a little more.

Another turn.

He’s so close.

Then, finally, he reaches his destination.

And the second he steps inside—he hears it.

The sound of running water.

His breath stills.

You’re already in the shower. Water trailing down your skin, heat curling around you. Already wet. Already naked.

Then, a slow, guttural growl rumbles from his chest.

“Change of plans, huh?”

Another sharp jolt snaps through Caleb’s neck—a sudden, involuntary tic, a crack in his control. His body is fraying at the edges, barely holding back the storm.

“I can work with that.”

He doesn’t waste another second.

You. Are. His.

——————————————————————————

Skyhaven, Caleb’s place, you

The shower door swings open without warning.

Steam spills into the dimly lit bathroom, curling around Caleb as he steps inside, his breath ragged, his violet eyes dark with hunger. Rain still clings to him, sliding in slow rivulets down his jaw, catching in the damp strands of his ashen-brown hair. His black colonel’s uniform is soaked through, insignias glinting dully beneath the dim glow of the overhead light. The heavy fabric clings to his frame, molding to the sharp angles of his shoulders, the rigid tension in his body making it clear—he has been waiting for this moment all day and all night.

You barely have time to react before he’s on you.

A gloved hand snaps around your wrist, pinning it against the cool, wet tile. The leather is ice-cold against your overheated skin, the contrast sending a shiver racing down your spine. His breath is hot, uneven, his lips ghosting just over your pulse.

Then he bites.

Teeth sink into the tender spot where your neck meets your shoulder—deep, claiming, a growl rumbling through his chest as his jaw tightens. He doesn’t ease up, doesn’t release you. Caleb holds you there, pinned beneath his mouth, his tongue flicking against the fresh mark before he sucks, slow and unrelenting, determined to leave proof of his hunger on your skin.

His hips grind into you, slow at first, taunting, the hard press of his arousal thick and searing even through the soaked, unyielding fabric of his uniform. Each roll of his hips drives heat deeper into your core, every deliberate motion sending a shudder up your spine, tearing the breath from your lungs. The friction is unbearable—a slow, torturous drag that leaves you gasping, dizzy, lost.

His grip on your wrists tightens against the tile, unforgiving, unrelenting. Had he let go—had he given you even the slightest freedom—you’d be clawing at his uniform, desperate to strip him bare, to feel him without the cruel barrier of wet fabric between you. But he doesn’t let you. Doesn’t allow you the satisfaction.

Instead, he forces you to take it, to feel every agonizing second of his hunger in the way his hips roll against you, pressing, teasing, owning. Caleb’s feral, completely unraveled, need bleeding from every inch of him and soaking into you with each devastating thrust.

His breath is ragged, hot against your throat, a deep, guttural growl rolling through his chest as his gloved fingers scrape along your ribs, gripping, possessive, holding you in place as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

But you’re not going anywhere.

Then, with agonizing slowness, he pulls back.

Caleb’s lips graze the shell of your ear, his voice hoarse, ruined, thick with something dark and desperate.

“I’m home.”

Writer’s note: Fuqit. I saw your answers in the poll so here is something that I’ve had marinating for a while. Tadaaa my take on Colonel Caleb dom schmutt. It’s kinda a tease ikik. I’ll get to it in the series I’m working on atm. (We all know he’s a big softie too, I’m just confident that this is a canon for Caleb when he’s all fed up with work. The song is peak Caleb coded btw.) Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻

If you liked this I’ve just published chapter I-IV of a series with some potential!

[googleitlol]

Gone Sneak Peek!

A huff of exasperation leaves you before you decide to face the path ahead and ready yourself by notching an arrow. “You act as though I hadn’t already spent weeks defending the Great Monk before we saved you from your imprisonment under that mountain.” “And I’m sure that was nice when it was just you, but does it really look like we’d need your help between the two of us?” The ape gestures between himself and Bajie with his head, who was looking between you and Wukong rather awkwardly. “Your pointy sticks won’t be necessary, Dove. Just stay back and… what is it you do again? Give Master a good pat on the back if he gets scared?” “You have no idea what I can do. If I were as immoral with my abilities as you, the monk wouldn’t have to put up with your aggravations.” You hiss at the ape, though he only laughs. “Your delusions truly amuse me.” He grins, which only serves to irritate you further. The combination of rain and wind feel like the only thing cooling your temper as he continues. “Why don’t you just stay back and do your job preventing the danger of a panic-induced heart attack?” “My job is to make sure the Great Monk and his disciples get to Thunderclap Monastery, no matter how insufferable and obnoxious I find them to be.” You grit your teeth as that last bit comes out, the wind growing stronger as the two of you glare one another down from either side of the horse. It isn’t until the monk rides ahead that the two of you snap out of your short-lived staredown. “Okay then! It sounds as though we all know what to do.” He smiles awkwardly at either one of you before facing forward to continue on the path. Wukong does the same, scoffing a bit under his breath before turning forward as well. However, a frown crosses his features when the wind picks up even more. Raising up his head, he sniffs at the air as Tripitaka continues. “Now, let’s continue on our way so we can get away from this place as swiftly as we–” The monk doesn’t get the chance to finish his thought before a large tiger leaps onto the path just ahead of your group. The man screams at the sudden arrival while you, Wukong and Bajie quickly jump into action. The three of you move between Tripitaka and the tiger, the monk falling off of Ao Lie in pure fright. “Hold on, Master!” Bajie calls back before lifting up his rake to bash in the head of the tiger. When the rake makes contact with the beast, you expected it to recoil or fall where it stood, but it did neither. Instead, the tiger raises to stand tall on its hind legs and reaches to be a good bit taller than the pig demon that struck him. Gripping onto his own shoulder, the tiger violently ripped off his own skin in a single powerful swipe. “It is always a good day when travellers cross our mountain.”

[valley-flower0]

COME GET YOUR COD MAN WITH THIS DIALOGUE FROM QUEEN OF THE SOUTH

I was just rewatching one of my fave shows and I forgot about this scene and fuck! I WANT EVERY COD COSPLAYERS TO VISIT ME HAHAHAAHHAHAHA!!!! (im losing my shit)

[starandcloud]

Badass Y/N

This is implied to be a female reader scenerio but it doesn't really matter to be honest-

I need more Y/N things where Y/N couldn't give to fucks what happens to them, where they're just kinda like "oh okay, that happened. Whatever" Someone yells at them, whatever Someone grabs their chest, Okay it happened Someone puts hands on them, okay I don't really care

But the minute The SECOND Someone puts hands or yells at their partner. You bet you your ass they're up in that person's face, in their personal space. Making it everyone's issue that person made their partner uncomfortable. Regardless of if their partner could handle it or not. No matter that person's rank, Y/N would be in their face.

COD Y/N? In Shepard's face for betraying Los Vaqueros and the 141 ATWOW Y/N? Right up Ronal's shit for putting hands on Kiri or belittling Neteyam and Lo'ak Blue Eye Samuria Y/N? Standing up to the Shogun and any man Marvel Y/N? Oh Tony's in for it now

DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON A PERCY JACKSON Y/N! IF Y'ALL THOUGHT PERCY WAS BAD OH MOTHER FUCKER THEY'D BE CURSING OUT GAIA AND CRONOS

Y'all get the point, I need more Y/Ns like this

[faux-ecrivain]

La mort n’est pas la fin

————————————————————-

Translation; Death Isn’t the end

————————————————————-

CONTENT WARNING; Death, war, mentions of infidelity, mentions of blood and waking up in a coffin underground, and memory loss

(Name; Duke Ellis Vanguard; although he’s not actually in this part)

(Thirty Third Official Post)

———————————————————-

       ‘Dear Elaine,’ Is how the letter began, tears threatened to spill from your eyes, and it took all your willpower not to crumple the letter that your husband had so lovingly written. Why were you so mad? Some might ask, after all, this letter clearly showed that your husband held a lot of love for you, Right? Wrong! Firstly, your name was not Elaine, it was [Y/N]. Second of all, your husband never wrote to you with any such love. 

          Typically his letter were all business and war related, never once did he refer to you as Dear, or anything of the sort. You see, you and your husband (Duke Ellis) have been fighting together since the two of you were young adults. By that, I mean, you and him have been in the same war for many years. Each year brought your country a little closer to victory and throughout the many years of war (14 to be exact) your husband has never once written to you with love. 

        His letters were always about the war, battle tactics and how things were going on the eastern front. And you would respond in kind, albeit with a bit more passion, and talk of seeing him after the war (which he always seemed to disregard). Never once in his letters did he ever deviate from the topic of war. 

      Reluctantly you decided to continue reading this letter, maybe part of you hoped it was simply a letter to a friend, or a sibling, and not a letter to a lover. ‘Though it has been many weeks since we were last together, I still remember that day fondly. I recall how beautiful you looked under the moonlight, I recall the way your smile set fire to my soul and-‘ 

          You couldn’t bare to read anymore, your heart couldn’t take it. As your eyes filled with tears, you tore your gaze away from the letter, crumpled it up and tossed it somewhere in your tent. You collapsed in your chair and covered your face with your hands. Intense betrayal wracked your body as you desperately tried to come to terms with what you’ve learned. 

        You didn’t understand how he could do that to you, you had been the perfect spouse. At least you thought you were, after all, you had been kind, responsive, gentle (when you weren’t on the battlefield) and loving. You never belittled him, and you always had his back, never once have you been dishonest or unfaithful. 

        So, how could he do that to you? Weren’t you good enough? Didn’t he say that he would always stay true to you? I mean, that’s what he wrote in his vows, and you thought vows were never meant to be broken. Were you truly so naive? What were you going to do the next time you saw him? Should you pretend nothing happened or confront him? You didn’t know, and you didn’t have an opportunity to think about it either. Because, one of your soldiers had something important to report, and it required your utmost attention. 

       You wipe away any tears that fell, then you stand up and leave your tent. Your eyes roam across your camp until you find the man you’re looking for. You call out to him, your tone stern and your voice steady. “Charles! You said you have something to report?” He, as were others, was visibly startled by your sudden appearance, which lifted your mood somewhat. It was nice to know that your men still respected you, even if your husband didn’t. 

      Charles scampered towards you and gave you his report. “Our scouts say they saw enemy shoulders approaching from the west, and it was reported that the people in the northern front are having trouble standing their ground.” You exhale sharply, the sorrows of love almost forgotten as the consequences of war require your full attention. “Tsk, that means the western front has fallen, we’ll have to double the guards on the western border.” You respond, and Charles nods rapidly in agreement. Hence, you mobilize the troops and inform them of the situation, naturally they are intimated (war is frighteningly), but they do not shirk their duties, and they courageously defend the western front.

       Unfortunately you would never make it through the night, not because your troops failed, they tried their best, but because of an assassination attempt on your life. Your body was found with your throat slit and there was evidence of a struggle. It’s unknown how no one heard the struggle or why you were targeted, although most assumed it was because you were a formidable enemy. Regardless, a ceremony was held, and your family mourned (surprisingly, even your husband mourned, the little bastard). Little did they know, or anyone know, that you would not be so easily condemned.

       You woke within the darkness, confused and frightened, you scratched at the wood surrounding. This causes your nails to crack and your fingers to bleed. You panic, you’ve never done well in enclosed spaces, and kick at the lid of your coffin. It feels as though the walls are closing in on you, as though there were no escape. Your body aches, and your mind can’t quite comprehend the fact that you’re trapped. You struggle, you kick, you claw, and eventually, you’ve made it out of the coffin, and onto the surface.     

          Unfortunately, your filthy, degraded appearance causes the nearby nobles (and commoners) to scream, some even spray you with ‘holy’ water (to deter any evil spirits from bothering them). You’re briefly disturbed by the water, but it’s also refreshing, you were quite parched after all. Whilst several civilians were panicking about the undead awakening and taking over the world, you were simply trying to crawl out of your grave (which many nobles did not like and told their servants to stop you from doing that). 

          It was rather annoying, all their screaming and crying, what was especially annoying was how the servants continue to kick at you. Honestly, didn’t they have anything better to do? Your bones creaked as you got out of your grave and stretched your arms above your head. Your staggering stature caused quite a few to collapse in fear, yet you were unaware of this. Your eyes roved across the plot you were buried in, it was well taken care of, but lonely. 

        For some reason, you felt a simmering rage build up in your heart (which was apparently still beating). You couldn’t remember why you were upset or why you were buried. Nor could you remember how you died, regardless, you felt like someone important, and decided to ask some civilians for information.

————————————————————

(okay, so I wrote this while I was playing Sims 3. I just got hit with a bout of inspiration and had to write, so there you go, and hopefully you enjoy it!)

[spiced-koi-friend]

Tomorrow

Merman!Josuiji Shinri x GN!Reader | TW: none Words: 1085 | Rating: PG

Walking along the river, you start to hear a low humming from somewhere nearby. The soft melody holds your attention, bringing you closer to a bridge a little bit further down the bank. With no one around when you reach the center of the bridge, yet the humming the loudest it has been thus far, you peek down to look underneath. The water is clear, and you can see koi fish happily swimming around beneath the lily pads. A fish food dispenser is attached to one of the posts of the bridge, and you exchange a coin for a small handful. You toss it out and it causes soft ripples in the water as the fish swim eagerly to the surface. 

“Puniko! Look! Go get some, buddy!”

The humming stops, and you hear the man chuckle. Still out of sight, you look around more. Out from under the bridge swims a larger koi, about three times the size as the other ones. He moves sluggishly, somehow looking exhausted despite being a fish. You get another handful of fish food, walking across the bridge to go down to the edge of the water. Wading through the tall grass, you get to the edge of the water as the fish start coming up to you. They seem rather friendly, used to being around humans. The one you assume to be Puniko swims right up to you, letting you pat his head in exchange for a bit of food. Out of the corner of your eye, you see someone hiding amongst the rocks under the bridge. You turn your head to look, but they duck out of sight before you get a good look at them.

“It’s alright, I know you’re over there. I mean you no harm, I just wanted to compliment your singing…” You hear nothing back, but see a pair of eyes peek over the rocks to look at you. They’re an almost electric light blue, sparkling like the waters surrounding you. He chuckles, pulling himself up to rest his head on his arms. His hair is long, slicked back with the weight of the water. He seems to be admiring you, watching how you feed the kois. Most of his body is still hidden, but you can see a blue and orange tattoo covering his left arm. He’s pretty, especially when he smiles at you when he realizes you’re staring.

“I appreciate it. Normally people don’t come out this far, just Puniko, myself, and the rest of the kois.” “You say that like you’re a koi yourself.” “Well…”

He bites his cheek, shrugging before ducking back behind the rocks. You hear a quiet splash, and the kois move around what seems to be a much larger fish. It gets closer, before he resurfaces, throwing his hair back out of his face. A strand still falls back in front, not agreeing with him as he tries to tuck it back. He leans against a rock, bending his tail so you can see his tail, shimmering iridescence over a pattern of white, orange, and black. It’s beautiful, and you can’t help but be in awe of it. His torso is rather muscular, well defined arms most likely from a life of swimming. “Wow…”

He blushes, hiding behind his hand as he tucks his tail back beneath the water. You sit down on the sand, lowering yourself down to his same level. Puniko approaches him, nudging itself under his arm before he pulls it into a hug, laughing to himself.

“Alright, it’s sleepy time. C’mere.” It’s adorable to watch, especially as the sun starts to go down and the sunset begins to turn the sky a mixture of soft pink and brilliant orange. He looks up at the sky as soon as he realizes you’re watching it, before turning his gaze back to you. “Normally people aren’t as… respectful as you are when they find me. That’s why I usually stay pretty far out from the village. I've had a few people try to capture Puniko and me in order to show us off. Luckily I’m pretty strong, otherwise I’m pretty sure we’d be in some sort of fish market or store front aquarium. But you seem alright, Puniko seems to like you. Although Puniko likes anyone who has food.”

His laugh is brighter each time, and you catch a glimpse of some fangs and subtle scales on his cheeks as they catch in the light. He adjusts his grip on Puniko, the sleepy koi fish now thoroughly out of it. 

“Josuiji Shinri, protector of the river and all the koi inside. I’d… like it if you’d come back. You seem nice. Maybe I can show you the koi pond at some point.” Your heart flutters as he offers to show you the pond, and apparently your excitement was visible enough that he smiles at you.

“I’d love to come back. Are you always here at the bridge?” “Not always, but I usually am in the evening. I try to make my rounds through the river, checking in on all the fish. They all have names, Puniko is just the one that sticks with me.” “Maybe tomorrow you can start teaching me everyone’s names. I’d love to know who I’m taking out to dinner.”

Your joke doesn’t come out as intended, leaving both of you blushing into your hands for a couple minutes until the awkward silence becomes a little bit too much. 

“Well, I can assure you I don’t eat fish food.” “I could… bring us some sushi tomorrow? Have a little riverside picnic while you teach me their names?” “Is that a date?” You glance away, not meeting his eye. “It can be…” “Then I look forward to it.” Shinri smiles at you, reaching beneath the water for something. He tears off a blade of grass, threading it through something. In the low evening light you can’t make it out, but as he ties it around your wrist, you see that he’s made you a bracelet from a pearl and long piece of grass. “So you don’t forget us out here. I do hope you come back.”

He waves to you before disappearing beneath the water with Puniko, leaving you to walk back to the village by the light of the lanterns as they start to turn on. You wonder to yourself what kind of sushi a merman would like, and how you managed to secure a date with one.

Guess you’ll find out tomorrow.

[wastedr00k]

aaron keener who has you wrapped around his fingers, like a loyal puppy who comes whenever he calls. it won’t be an overstatement if you said you’re willing to die for him.

aaron keener who holds you close on cold nights, gives you his jacket to wear when he’s out for missions. his rough hands running through your hair as he hums softly with occasional promises of a perfect wedding one day, he even gave you a ring he found. calls you his “partner in crime”.

aaron keener who kisses you on your forehead before you went out for a mission or even just to roam around for fresh air. tells you to “stay safe and please, come back to me.” holding you against his chest for awhile before letting you go.

aaron keener who sacrifices you just for his own safety, a decoy if you prefer being called that.

“keener? they’re coming now, i can’t hold them back anymore!” you yelled into the comms radio that sat on your shoulder, only to be met with silence. reloading as fast as you can as the Divison agents start to draw closer to your location, their drones buzzing closer and closer to you. “sorry love.” aaron’s voice radioed through as you could hear the background sound of the hunters and what seems to be a helicopter taking off, “don’t blame me, know that i love you.” "keener? love? are you leaving me behind?" you were baffled, and somehow you knew deep down that this would happen as you watch him betray those around him, now it was your turn. and as the Black Tusk drew closer to you, all you could feel was your own stupidity for trusting a man who has proven time and time again that he isn't one to be trusted. perhaps the feeling cracking and then shattering of your own heart, by the man you loved the most.

aaron keener who finds and trades a high value target in exchange for you. and fights through hell, the Black Tusk, on his own just to get you back. despite how many times he reasoned with himself that he didn't need you, the heart wants what it wants in the end.

aaron keener who is a master manipulator and a love bomber. he knows just the right mix to keep you coming back home to him.

“you left me there to die!” with how loud you were, everyone in the base could hear the two of you bickering with each other. ”but i came back for you still.” aaron sighs as he lit up another cigarette, “you’re taking my ear out, sweetie.” rubbing away the tears in your eyes, you lifted a finger and jabbed at his chest, “you wouldn’t have to come back for me, i was going to join them just to get back at your stupid ass!” that was enough to make him pause all his movements, lift his head to look at you and kill his cigarette against the ashtray. then took big steps towards you, ending by holding your against his chest, his hands at the back of your neck as he slowly pull your face closer towards his, enveloping your lips with his. after a good few minutes of gently making out, aaron pulled away and placed his forehead onto yours, “i’m sorry, my love.”. your sobbing continued, and so did his sweet words, “it was horrible without you, waking up without you by my side was a living hell.” “all i could think about was you.” “i know you’re mad at me but please stay, i can’t do anything without you by my side.” “i love you, so so much my love.”. and just like that, you were wrapped around his fingers once again, back into his arms. as you wrapped your arms around him and nuzzled your face into his chest.

and you knew you’d never escape from his hands, along with his twisted heart. perhaps that’s how you like it

[thelaughtercafe]

So excited to see your new blog up and running and that you added Cardfight! Vanguard to your fandom list. Id like to request for Brown Sugar Boba head cannons for the Cardfight! Vanguard Overdress men. Specifically Danji, Tohya, Raika, Zakusa, and Jinki. I'll likely send in a request for the Divinez characters at some point as well but wanted to make this my first request. Thank you lovely!!!

Tea Type: Brown Sugar Boba

Potential Triggers: N/A

Pairing: Danji/Reader, Tohya/Reader, Raika/Reader, Zakuza/Reader, Jinki/Reader

Length: 813

Summary: N/A

A/N: Of course darling, hope you enjoy these! As always, thanks for your constant support, it means the world!

Danji:

Such a sweetheart

He’s really respectful- checks before tickling you every time, via body language or verbally depending on the situation. 

He’s really conscious about the loss of control that happens and he’s not huge about being on the receiving end except for those he really, really trust so he’s especially careful to never cross boundaries.

He’s teasy but in a very kind, playful way. Mainly teases his Lee about their reactions and how adorable they look. 

Loves to go for the midsection, thinks squeezing their sides and hearing them squeal is the funniest thing. 

Raspberries are one of his go-to methods, especially on the tummy but he will also go for someone’s neck, if he knows they’re weak there. 

“Ha! Look at you squirm, yet I haven’t heard a single plea to stop yet. Could you get any cuter?”

“Let’s see how much you can take today!”

Tohya: 

Likes to use tickling as a playful punishment if someone annoys him. 

Yu-yu is a constant target because he’s always muttering under his breath and being a brat. 

He’s a bit meaner when teasing, he’s not afraid to fluster his Lee to the point they’re begging him to shut up. 

Enjoys using tickling as a way to release sadistic urges, as long as his Lee is fine with it. 

“Oh, you want me to shut up? Not stop tickling you? Careful, keep talking like that and you’ll have me thinking you like this~”

“Not my fault you’re so easily flustered. You make it so easy!”

Will chuckle along with you as you’re laughing, finds your laughter weakened attempts at shoving him off horribly endearing.

“Listen to that! Bad spot? You have no right looking cute even when you snort. Should be illegal honestly.”

Uses his old doctoral knowledge to teach you anatomy with a hands on demonstration.

Newer to being a Ler, but excels at it in a way that feels unfair. 

Raika:

He doesn’t even really tease! 

His Lee just needs to look at him and the most they’ll get is a head tilt, smirk or raised eyebrow. 

His confidence is what makes him so skilled. No hesitation when he drills into someone’s ribs. 

Scoffs if his Lee has a particularly big reaction and may mutter something about “not even really trying”. 

If he feels a bit more verbal that day, he’ll poke fun about the Lee’s sensitivity, and boast how much he’s affecting them

“This is all it takes to make you scream? How pitiful. You’re really in for it as my experience grows. How lucky I have you as my willing victim; I appreciate your sacrifice.”’

Zakusa:

Zakusa is a wildcard. You never know what he’s plotting till it’s too late, and his techniques vary just as much.

He basically adapts to whatever his Lee is weak to; he’s known for how perceptive he is. 

Also, he’s the one who knows every person’s worst spot-even if he’s never seen them tickled before. He’s really good at clocking someone watching a tickle fight from afar and seeing where their hands defend. 

Depends on what the person’s comfy with/if they piss him off if he shares that information or not. 

Though his style can change, his default is really gentle, almost featherlight. 

Loves to trace along areas, and watch his Lee try to not giggle or react. 

Gradually moves up to spidering and then will experiment more to find the best technique once they crack, under either his nimble fingers or his teasing. 

Really teasy, in fact I’d say his mouth is more of a weapon than his hands when it comes to tickling. 

Loves to commentate on his Lee’s reactions and then will snicker when they readjust. 

“Embarrassed? Then why are you blushing? How amusing. Hiding your face now doesn’t help your case, you know. If you wanted me to tickle you more, all you had to do was ask, not expose more spots for me~”

Another one whose mouth is his greatest weapon.

Jinki:

Probably the meanest out of these five. 

He takes unabashed sadistic glee in messing with his Lee and making them as embarrassed as possible. 

“Ahh, I see you’re quite sensitive here, hm? How unfortunate for you. Beg me to go somewhere else, why don’t you? Maybe I’ll listen if you beg well enough for me~”

He can be really mean, but he does have a soft side, once everything shakes out. 

“Come now, let me see that beautiful smile darling. A small one? Else I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.”

He wiggles his fingers playfully, and gives time to flee. 

That daker side is definitely still a part of him, especially if his partner enjoys it, but he feels a lot of guilt for exploiting their weakness when he was at his lowest and therefore needs a lot of reassurance. 

Doesn’t stop him from being a menace though. 

“Tell me you like this, or you’ll get nothing.”

[mapsthewanderer]

Caleb’s headcanon -

The Vanguard

Synopsis: And so, you step into the shower, steam rising around you as you rinse away the day—readying, steadying yourself before slipping into the onsen. Where Caleb waits. Is your New Year’s wish finally coming true?

Details: Medium 2500ish w. Romance. Nudity. Banter. Raw. Real. Kissing. Umh, licking lol. Possessive Caleb. Sensitive Caleb. Schmutt prelude. Suggestive language. The fuqin sexual tension, bahh I’m sat.

Onsen series: This is a continuation of the onsen series. Check Onsen mist ch. I, Onsen heat ch. II if you want fuller context and a longer slow burn.

The Yearning: @gavin3469 @mcdepressed290

Onsen ripples | Chapter III

Hot water beats down on your skin, sluicing over your shoulders, down your spine, pooling in rivulets at the curve of your waist before disappearing into the swirling steam at your feet.

It should be relaxing. But your mind is somewhere else. On someone else.

You exhale, pressing your palms against the slick, heated tile, letting your head tip forward under the spray, trying—failing—to steady your thoughts.

You’ve shared spaces with Caleb before. Trained together, fought together, shaped each other in ways too deep to name now. He’s always been there—within arm’s reach, woven into your every step.

And yet—

Your heart skips a beat, your stomach tightening—because the memory is still too fresh.

Caleb, stepping onto the terrace. The towel hanging dangerously loose around his hips. His ashen-brown hair turned a deep, rich shade, soaked through, strands curling against his forehead. The silver dog tag glittering, catching droplets that slid slow and lazy down the planes of his chest, following the contours of his body before vanishing beneath linen.

He had stopped beside you, so close the heat of his skin had radiated through the cool night air, sinking into yours.

And then—so casually it had nearly undone you—he had handed you a towel, identical to his.

A featherlight kiss brushed against your cheek.

“Ease up, Pips. Enjoy yourself.”

The words had been soft, coaxing, effortless, the warmth in his tone curling at the edges of something more.

You had tried.

Tried to take a slow breath, to steady yourself in the warmth of the water rather than the warmth of him.

But standing here now, beneath the near-scalding spray, it washes over you all over again.

Every drop is hot, relentless, sinking deep into your muscles, but it doesn’t burn quite the way it should. Instead, it feeds into the simmer already beneath your skin, heat that has nothing to do with the steam curling around you and everything to do with the way Caleb had looked at you before stepping outside.

Your fingers drift absently down your side, brushing over the curve of your hipbone, the plane of your stomach, the slight dip just beneath your ribs. Every inch of you feels flushed—too warm, too tight, far too aware.

Then—your knee.

A bruise.

Your fingers skim over it, and a small frown tugs at your lips. The skin is sensitive, a faint sting prickling beneath your touch.

But it’s nothing, really—just a whisper of color blooming against your skin, a fleeting mark, barely noticeable beneath the mist curling in the air.

And yet—

Self-awareness creeps in, slow and inescapable.

Soon, you’ll step into the onsen, into the open air, into his eyes.

He will see you.

Not just in passing, not just in fleeting glances, but fully, unfiltered, utterly present.

And you already know how Caleb will look at you.

He’ll carry the same unapologetic intensity he’s carried since you met in Skyhaven. The same focus that makes the air between you vibrate, that sends a slow, tightening pull deep in your stomach, like gravity itself is shifting around him.

A shiver runs through you, one that has nothing to do with the temperature as your hand finds the knob, twisting the water off with a final, resounding click.

The sudden silence presses in, broken only by the gentle drip of water sliding from your skin, the mist still curling lazily at your feet.

Cool air rushes in to greet you, sharp against the flush of your skin, a contrast that only amplifies the warmth curling deep inside you.

Reaching for the towel, you wrap it snug beneath your arms, the fabric pressing warm and grounding against you. A slow inhale, a steady exhale.

Then—without another moment of hesitation, you step outside.

——————————————————————————

The night air is a cold bite against your skin, stark and shocking after the heated embrace of the shower. Your breath curls silver in the crisp air, swirling into nothingness.

Steam rises from the onsen in thick, lazy ribbons, the scent of cedar and mineral-rich water curling in the quiet stillness. The lanterns sway gently with the night breeze, their warm glow casting soft, flickering reflections across the surface. The air is thick with heat, the kind that clings to skin, sinking deep, easing everything into a slow, weightless calm.

And then—

Movement.

A subtle shift in the water, the faintest ripple breaking the glassy stillness. The lantern light catches on bare skin, on the slope of damp shoulders, on the dark strands of hair curling over a familiar forehead.

Caleb’s stretched out like he belongs, arms resting lazily along the smooth stone edge, body half-submerged, the water licking at his collarbones. His hair, still damp from the shower, is darker than usual, messy, unruly, strands clinging to his forehead. Droplets slide down his skin, catching against the sharp lines of his shoulders before disappearing into the water.

And—his eyes are on you.

You feel the weight of his gaze as it measures you, as violet drag over you slow, deliberate, unreadable.

Gripping your towel tighter, you force yourself to move.

Then—

His gaze lands on your knee.

The slight furrow of his brows is barely there, a flicker of something close to concern, a shift in his usual ease. His fingers lift to his mouth, idly tugging at his lower lip as he studies the bruise, his gaze dark, unreadable—like he’s debating something, like he’s already decided.

“That from a fight?”

You follow his eyes, glancing down.

Bingo. You knew he’d see it—you knew in the shower already, the second your fingers brushed over it, the second the sting reminded you it was there. His eyes always caught on things like that—small injuries, fleeting pains, the things you dismissed but he never could.

“Nothing to worry about.”

His lips press together—not quite convinced.

You shift your weight, exhaling slowly, steadying yourself.

“Turn around.”

Caleb blinks. “What?”

You lift an eyebrow. “You heard me. Turn around.”

A slow smirk curves at the corner of his mouth.

“Pips,” he drawls, “I promise you, I’ve seen you get into much worse situations than a bath.”

You narrow your eyes. “Yeah? And I promise you, if you peek, I’ll drown you in this onsen.”

Caleb chuckles—but he turns, movements fluid, unhurried, effortless. The muscles in his back shift subtly with the motion, a quiet display of control, of ease. Head tilting toward the sky, he lingers—loose, comfortable—like he has all the time in the world.

Your fingers flex, hesitating for a fraction of a second, before you finally release your grip. The towel slips from your hands, heavy with moisture, falling in a muted thud against the wooden terrace floor—soft, damp, final.

Then—with a steady inhale, you step forward.

The heat of the onsen greets you instantly, wrapping around your legs, climbing higher as you lower yourself in. The water swirls, lapping at your waist, your ribs, your shoulders. The second you’re submerged, you exhale, the warmth pressing into your muscles, unwinding some of the tension.

Some. Not all. Definitely not all.

Caleb shifts. His arms stretch out along the stone again, casual, easy, completely unbothered. And then—he turns back.

Violet eyes find yours—and stay there.

A heartbeat.

Two.

“See? That wasn’t so bad.”

Caleb’s smirk is slow, drenched in quiet triumph, his arms draped along the stone edge as if the entire world exists at his leisure. Lantern light kisses every drop of water clinging to his skin, tracing over muscle and shadow, painting him in liquid gold. Effortlessly at ease, utterly sovereign in the space between you—like he belongs there, like he always has.

But you refuse to let him rule over a peaceful kingdom that easily. A slow inhale, a slight straighten of your spine—then, you move.

Fingers slice through the water, sending a sharp splash straight at his chest.

The droplets hit their mark, scattering across his already damp skin—an act of rebellion against the sovereign in his throne. You catch the flicker of surprise in his eyes before it twists into something amused, something that all but dares you to strike again.

“Oh?”

His tone is low, edged with playful warning, but the amusement in his voice does nothing to soften the weight of his stare.

“That’s bold of you, Pips.”

As he says it, his hands drop from the edge, disappearing beneath the shifting water, his movements slow, fluid—controlled. Muscles flex and ripple beneath his damp skin, the subtle tension of restraint visible even through the steam that curls around him.

The water shifts around him, lapping at his collarbones, sliding over the sharp definition of his chest, swallowing him inch by inch as he sinks lower.

Yet his eyes remain locked onto yours, unblinking, intense—smoldering beneath half-lowered lids.

Like something untamed lurking just beneath the surface, bleeding into the water itself.

Caleb’s act doesn’t fool you—not the warning in his eyes, not the quiet tension in the air. You don’t feel threatened in the slightest. If anything, it only makes you bolder. “I’m just wondering—” fingers flick through the water again, sending another small wave his way, deliberate, teasing— “if you being tired of playing games back in Skyhaven applies to onsen splashing, too.”

Caleb laughs, tipping his head back slightly, his damp hair falling away from his face. It’s a real laugh—deep, warm, unrestrained. The sound settles somewhere in your chest, curling beneath your ribs.

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “Pips.”

Then, faster than you can react, he returns the favor. Water splashes against your shoulder, your collarbone, sliding down in slow rivulets, and you gasp, half in shock, half in breathless amusement.

His grin is pure mischief now. “Careful now—once you start this, there’s no backing out.”

Feigning another attack, you lift your hands slightly. “Oh, I’m not backing out—” you flick more water at him, watching as droplets cling to his cheekbone, “I think I’m holding my own just fine.”

Caleb’s brows arch, and his smirk deepens—something wicked, something utterly confident.

“Looks like neither of us are backing out this time, Pips—” he tilts his head, smirk deepening as his gaze drags over you, slow and deliberate.

His voice drops, a smooth hum of amusement. “If playing this game means I get to be your only audience in an onsen? Pips, I’d be a damn fool to fold now.”

Your stomach flutters—traitorous and unbidden—because the way he says it, the weight behind his words, the way his gaze glides down your body before meeting your eyes again—

His hand shoots beneath the water, fingers wrapping effortlessly around your ankle.

And then—he pulls.

A sharp yelp escapes you, your body slipping weightless beneath the water as he drags you forward. The onsen ripples violently, the heat cascading around you, and within seconds, you are flush against him.

His fingers press into the dip of your hip, grounding you effortlessly. Violet eyes pin you in place—dark, unreadable, simmering beneath the flickering lantern light.

You swallow, breath coming too shallow, too sharp. Caleb’s gaze drops—lower. To your knee. A slight tilt of his head, a slither of something unreadable in his eyes, and then his grip tightens—just enough for you to feel it, just enough to make your pulse stutter. And then—his voice lowers.

“However—”

His thumb brushes over your skin, slow, idly tracing patterns against your thigh as if deciding how much he wants to say.

“When it comes to playing games with somebody else—” his eyes flick up, pinning you in place, “and not telling me about it.”

Your stomach plummets and a different kind of heat curls at the base of your spine. An awareness that has nothing to do with the water and everything to do with the way his fingers are still on you.

He tilts his head, considering you, his mouth pulling into something close to a smirk but not quite.

“That’s not a game I’m willing to entertain, Pips.”

And then—without another second of hesitation, without a whisper of warning—

He pulls.

Your breath catches, stalls, disappears entirely as his grip shifts around your knee, dragging you forward with effortless precision.

Caleb’s lips part, his tongue flicking over the mark, slow and indulgent, tracing the faint discoloration with something between worship and hunger.

A shaky inhale slips past your lips, your fingers twitching, hesitating—then finally giving in. They sink into his hair, gripping, tangling, desperate. He exhales against your skin, the sound rich, satisfied—a hum that vibrates through your leg, through your core, sending shockwaves that’s pooling deep between your thighs.

“Next time you hurt yourself, I expect a report.”

You blink, breath unsteady, mind blurring with the heat of his mouth, the weight of his touch.

“Because—”

Caleb’s lips return to your knee, pressing another slow, lingering kiss before he speaks again.

“I’d like to take care of any damage to you myself.”

With all that obsession brimming beneath his skin, threatening to crack through, you swallow hard, struggling to breathe, to think—but he isn’t letting go.

Not yet.

And just as he finally—finally—loosens his grip, just as his gaze drifts toward the star-soaked sky above—

You move—instinctive, inevitable. Arms curve around his neck, pulling him back, pulling him in—until there’s nowhere left to go.

And you kiss him.

The moment your lips touch his, his breath stills, his body goes taut beneath your hands. The heat of the water wraps around you both, thick and consuming, the steam curling in slow wisps around your faces, weaving through the space between you like something alive.

His grip on you tightens for just a fraction of a second, as if making sure you’re real.

And then—

He smiles. Puzzled, a little shaken.

Like you’ve performed some kind of illusion, some trick of the universe he wasn’t prepared for.

Slowly, your hand lifts, fingers finding the angle of his cheekbone, your thumb skimming just beneath his eye.

A single droplet lingers there, clinging to the thin skin beneath his lashes. You brush it away—soft, barely a touch at all—letting your thumb trail downward, resting against his lower lip.

Caleb doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe. His gaze stays locked onto yours—unblinking, unwavering—like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to this moment, the only thing that exists. And then, slowly, he leans back in.

A peck—gentle, testing, deliberate. He searches for answers in your lips, and when he finds them open, inviting, yielding to him—

“Oh, Pip-squeak”

The way he says your pet name—wrecked, disbelieving, almost vulnerable—unravels something deep inside you. His eyes search yours, drinking you in, like he needs to find the truth there before he dares to hope.

“Is this—” his voice hitches, almost hesitant, “an actual invitation?”

And Caleb kisses you again. Deeper this time. Slower. More intent. And in the press of his lips, in the quiet pull of breath between you, something in you stirs—an answer, a decision. You nod into the kiss, small, almost lost in the way your mouths move together—but he feels it. Just like he feels the breathless laugh that spills against his lips, warm, weightless, dissolving into the kiss itself.

“What, do you want it written?”

Caleb exhales a shaky breath, his forehead nearly touching yours, his lips brushing yours as he speaks.

“No,” he murmurs, his mouth curling into a smile—soft, yet teeth-baring.

Above you, the sky is a masterpiece of shifting light and endless depth, the auroras weaving like silk across the heavens. The world is vast, infinite, and yet—somehow—this moment, this heat, this closeness, feels larger.

Then—his lips graze yours once more, teasing, lingering, making you ache.

“I’ll accept a branding of myself on you instead.”

The heat in his voice sinks into your bones, into your bloodstream, into every inch of you that has ever belonged to him.

And you finally know—without a doubt, without hesitation—

That he means it. That you are his.

Chapter IV

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: *wheeeeeze*. I’m basically torturing myself at this point. It’s happening ya’ll and I’m writing like a madwoman lmao (loving every second of it). THE TRACK THO. I was just listening to a random electronica playlist and then that came! Okey then, thank you for reading and thank you much for all the kind comments on ch. I and II🫶🏻

[readerviews]

"Respect the Thorn" by Gina Rose

A sweet and comforting poetry collection #books #bookreview #reading #readerviews

Respect the Thorn Gina RoseVanguard Press (2024)ISBN: 978-1800169524Reviewed by Dawn Colclasure for Reader Views (10/2024) When I first saw the title of this book, it confused me. Why respect a thorn? Thorns hurt. They cause pain. They can draw blood. But after reading this poetry collection, I now understand what it means to “respect the thorn.” It takes some thought and reflection, but…

[adelheidvonschicksal]

Nsfw scenarios/hcs for the LADS boys with their MC in ABO!AU (Idl if I wrote this right 😅) please? Like how they marked their mates, how they treated their mates during the rut and heat, etc.

+ Omegaverse, sexual content, alpha boys/omega reader, female reader

General

9/10 possessiveness level

Xavier is the most possessive of the main boys and gets jealous the easiest. He may seem calm about other alphas standing a little too close or talking a little too long to his mate, but the tension in the air is thick and unpleasant. There's a specific eery calmness to his face and falsely polite tone to his voice when he happens to cut into the conversation. He always wants to know the topic of conversation when you talk to anyone who has his suspicion. Xavier suddenly gets a little needier than usual, always trying to figure out a way to draw your attention back to himself. Or, purposely sliding an arm around your waist and holding you close in a silent hint that whoever is talking to you should back off, or he will drop his head against your shoulder, saying he’s tired, and asking you to hurry up so you can go home together,  he emphasizes. His last resort isn't pretty. 

While calm, he has a little of a competitive streak with others, whether that means scoring higher in your hunter team battles or building the largest snowman together. He is competitive for your attention against those he thinks are interested in you; and when he has you alone, he insists on scenting you or mating you. You better be prepared to hide large bite marks or hickeys by the time he’s done claiming you.

Protective Level: 6/10

Xavier has no problem with you running about your daily life. He has confidence that you’re strong and don’t necessarily need much protection. He only insists on coming with for two things: (one) if he’s jealous of the person you’re meeting or (two) if you’re going somewhere to fight on your own.

As long as he’s around, he’s confident that things will work out fine. However, he gets extremely protective when you’re hurt, asking for you to stay behind him, rushing ahead to be the vanguard, and trying to take on the brunt of everything himself. And if you get hurt being rash, prepare for him to be upset with you and insist that you allow him to protect you more.

Scenting

Scent: Fresh Linen

Xavier smells good, but there isn’t something to pinpoint about his scent that is unique to him. Simply put, he smells clean, like freshly dried laundry with a touch of lavender.

Xavier loves covering you in his scent, cuddling and sleeping with you until you’re no longer entirely sure what your scent smells like not mixed with his. He scents your things, like your plushies, before you even need to ask. 

He likes to tease you, asking if you want him to scent his hoodies even more since you take them so much, and he’s always happy to oblige. His first instinct to calm you down consists of three options: scenting, cuddles, and food, in that order.

Mating

Xavier already likes to mate with his partner a lot, like a constant rut minus the attitude that comes with it; always wrapping his arms around you, nudging the back of your neck, and lightly coercing the situation to where he wants it to end up whenever the opportunity shows itself.

In a rut, he’s twice as easy to rile up and much more direct about wanting to be alone with you, wanting to hold you and shove his head into the divot of your neck, and audibly inhaling your scent. You can already feel him against you in more ways than one.

He doesn’t waste his time trying to play games with you during this time, choosing to show you exactly how much he wants you before taking charge. You’re burnt out by his energy when you’re used to him napping right after a round or two. This time he isn’t letting up, but he promises that he’ll treat you so well, promises that he’ll get you there twice in exchange for letting him have one more time, as if you're aren't already overstimulated with jellied legs.

He asks if you're already tired. He'll let you sleep but can he at least squeeze and kiss you while he uses his hand. He promises to clean his mess if it gets on you. He'll be good, he swears, and he's so puppy eyed that you let him.

When he finally is tired, he’ll fall asleep while inside you. His knot stopped swelling a long time ago, but he enjoys your warmth around him as he nuzzles the back of your head.

Xavier does his best to tend to his mate when they’re in heat. He’ll get warm compresses and try his best to cook for you (most likely failing) and offer to nap with you when you’re in pain. He’ll let you use him how you want as long as it makes you feel better, whether that’s using his hands, mouth, or knotting you.

There’s a small bit of worry from him, with the way he asks,

“Where do you need it?” “Like this?” “Are you sure you only want my fingers? It’s okay to ask for more.” “Open your legs wider. You don’t have to be embarrassed. It's only me." "Next time, I'll let you take care of me, deal?

You’re so cute like this, needing and wanting him, but he hates how it causes you pain.

General

3/10 possessiveness level

Rafayel tends to have confidence that he can have you before anyone else, trusting your judgment to take care of yourself. He also has pretty high esteem of himself when it comes to the social world. A few properly chosen words is usually enough to get any seducer to back off. Rafayel can’t believe someone else could possibly think they’d have a chance with you when you have him.

As repentance, he wants you to do things for him after little incidents like that. It’s so exhausting chasing lesser alphas off, after all. Whether he’s serious or not when he says he could use some affection after his omega so cruelly ignored him for another alpha remains to be determined.

If there ever is a time where he feels insecure or jealous, he isn’t above trying to cut off someone’s relationship with you. If it comes to threats so be it, but it will end. It doesn’t matter if it’s from your side or the pursuer. It’s an ultimatum, either him or the other person, but not both.

He has a bigger concern about you not needing or growing bored of him than falling in love with someone else. Otherwise, he tends to have faith in you.

Protectiveness Level: 8/10

Rafayel knows you’re strong. Trust him—a twisted arm and playfights abound—he knows. But you are also bulledheaded and naïve. He worries you might end up getting yourself injured; or worse, killed.

So, he’s observant as always, watching for any suspicious activities with the people you’re around, whether warranted or not. He wouldn’t just do that for anyone, only for his precious mate and also for his precious peace of mind. He tends to operate from the background to not be too overbearing, but he doesn’t mind being the one to step in—to get hurt—if it means keeping you safe.

Scenting

Scent: Beach Sand with a Hint of Citrus

Rafayel smells of white beach sand and tropical fruit. He smells like the first hint of salt air and the ocean breeze and mineral. It reminds you of family vacations and old memories. He insists most Lemurians have scents like these, but his is special! It's the only one that mixes so lovely with yours.

He does scent you when you ask, but he requests that you do the same. It’d be much better for you to scent each other. He loves to tease you when you ask him to scent things for you.

“If you like it so much maybe I should make it into a perfume.” But he’d hate it if you actually agree. “Wait, let’s not be too hasty. A perfume really can’t compete with the natural source.”

Mating

Rafayel dislikes his mating cycle only because he dislikes losing his sense of control over himself. But when you’re there, with your scent clouding his mind, it’s all bets off. He’s so needy and HAS to have you. He feels like he’ll die if he isn’t burying himself in your scent, your presence, in you. He needs to feel your hands on him and isn’t below demeaning himself or being more forceful than usual to get it.

He’ll constantly seek you out, calling you late at night. He has nothing to say. He just needed to hear your voice, just keep breathing for him, he’s almost there. He needs you to come over to his place right now. It’s all your fault he’s burning like this. You need to get there immediately and take responsibility before he goes insane. He's already dizzy and his hand isn’t cutting it anymore.

In person, he grabs your hand, and the look in his eyes is begging in place of his mouth that’s too heavy with pants to talk straight as he savors your touch, desperate and gluttonous. 

“Right there...don't make me beg…just a little bit longer.” “I need to feel you. There. You feel incredible.” “If you want my knot, you can have it. Say you want it for me, and I’ll give it to you. Say it.”

When it’s your turn to go manic, he’s going to have his revenge for all the bullying and petting you did while he was rutting. He’s going to coo and fawn over how much you need him, and make you ask him nicely for his touch, but he’ll always give in to his little mate. He knows what’ll make you feel good, and he’s going to give it to you in due time. He thinks you look so pretty when you’re about to cum, covered in sweat, body tensing, the shallow, quick breaths.

“I wish I could paint you like this, but I don’t want to look away.” “Do you really want me to breed you that bad? Don’t say you didn’t ask for it.”

Rafayel is going to make sure you have an easy time, clearing out your schedule for you and letting you stay in the studio with him. Thomas' calls are going to go unanswered for a while.

General

6/10 possessiveness level

Zayne is able to get jealous; however, he isn’t one to distrust you. It’s other people he doesn’t trust. He’ll drop hints he doesn’t like something you’re doing, a sarcastic jab here, a polite warning there, and even a “you should be careful of the company you keep.”. He always introduces himself as your mate to ensure there are no misconceptions about your relationship with him.

Zayne occasionally has to remind you that he’s your partner especially when you insist on teasing him and being a brat, poking at that jealous side of his to rile him up. It doesn’t take long for you to get the idea after having him between your legs. It’s really more of a funny thing, seeing him possessive, because he becomes a lot more short-tempered but absolutely refuses to admit he’s being possessive.

However, he calms relatively easy with some reassurance, and he doesn’t care as much if someone likes you after he knows you have zero interest in them. It’s more of an annoyance than something for him to fear.

Protectiveness Level: 10/10

Zayne is always so worried about you. He always has to tell you to be careful, to watch where you’re stepping so you don’t trip, to not drink too much without him there to take you home, and to watch for injuries. It might be a bit of his doctor attitude coming out, but it’s so much worse when it comes to you. You know no one else who adds the weather of the city you’re in to confirm you’re okay.

He’s also protective of your mental wellbeing; he tends to be the rock you rely on. If someone is bothering you, you can tell him, and he’ll be sure to handle the issue immediately.

Scenting

Scent: Bamboo Forest

Zayne smells like bamboo forests, a mix of floral and earthy. It kind of reminds you of him, calm and quiet but strong and solid like the earth. Fresh, green, and slightly woody. It smells like nature.

He scents you when you ask, and he quietly scents you when he wants, always overthinking if it’s something you want him to do or appropriate at a given point in time. It doesn’t take long for him to become better at knowing when you want it, when to leave something with his scent for you when you’re upset, and when to simply cradle you against him. His mood improves exponentially whenever you shove your face into his chest and mumble about how good he smells.

Zayne loves the way you smell. It’s a familiar and comforting thing to have your scent greeting him after a hard day at work. It lets him know you’re doing okay, and he gets worried whenever your scent is off. He can usually tell the slightest changes of your mood, and it makes him agitated whenever you try to pretend you’re fine when he can clearly tell different from smell alone.

Mating

Zayne tries his best to control himself and avoid you during his ruts. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you, which leads him to being too restrained whenever he’s with you to the point where you can tell he’s not handling himself well.

It’s going to take a few times to convince him that you can handle it, that he can let go and give you everything before he finally allows himself to dive into his hormones, throw you against the bed, and kiss you hard. It's almost like a completely different side of him. Sure, he could always be dominant in the bedroom but there was always a control to it. Instead, he's instinctive, running off the rush of endorphins to reach the peak he desperately wants to tumble over, harsh and tunnel visioned as he chases the sensation of you clamping down around his knot.

“Hold it there, we’re almost there. You can handle it.” “Let me have you a few more times. Then, you can rest.” “Good girl. You’re doing so well. So good to me.”

During your time, he is meticulous. Zayne knows you almost as well as you know yourself, knows what sweets you like to eat, what positions make you the most comfortable, and tips on how to keep yourself together.

That only works so long, however, and soon he takes a more hands on approach in helping you through your heat cycle. His fingers curled up inside you, pushing that sweet springy spot inside you that has your juices pouring over his palm. He shushes you as you beg for him to give you more and more, to please stop this edging and fuck you already.

He promises he’ll make it good, but he has to slowly work you up first, so you won’t get overstimulated. Then, he’ll give you what you want until you pass out.

“Hold still, or do you want me to stop?” “Does it feel that good? I’ll be sure to remember that for next time.” “See what happens when you follow directions?” “You’ll have your reward soon. Which do you prefer to have—my fingers or my knot?”

Zayne also takes special care of you no matter the situation, making sure to wipe you off and hold a warm rag to your swollen and puffy cunt as he makes out with you. He scents you heavily afterward and lets you fall asleep against him until it all starts over again.

[spiced-koi-friend]

Leap of Faith

Werewolf!Shinri x Witch!F!Reader | TW: death, religion, witchcraft, attempted execution Words: 2062 | Rating: PG-13

You watch in horror from the front of the crowd as they bring out all of the accused to be placed upon the pyre for their execution. Your eyes lock onto Shinri as he’s brought out, spotting you but avoiding making eye contact. It takes all of your self restraint to not run to him or call out as he’s held in place by two guards. You were there when they came and took him, watching the fight drain from his eyes as they forced some plant down his throat. Even now he still looks a bit out of it. He should’ve fought back. You know he would have. And apparently they did too.

Once all the prisoners are brought out, a priest follows with his own entourage of guards. He’s the reason for all of this, trying to “cleanse the town of the unclean”, which to him means anyone that may not be human. You’ve been able to hide your own witch nature so far, but you fear that it may not be for all that longer. They throw him on the pyre, tying his limbs down as the priest holds the torch down towards the base of the pile of logs.

“Brothers and sisters of the church, today we cleanse our town of the unclean, of those sent by the underworld to corrupt us into darkness. This man has been hunting our kind in the forest, and was caught standing over the body of one of my own clergymen, soaked in blood. He will pay for the murder of our dear brother with his own life.”

That’s a fucking lie, he was taken from a picnic the two of you were on near the pond. There were no bodies. And the only reason he went along with anything is that they had held you at gunpoint and threatened to kill you if he didn’t cooperate. Anger burned in you brighter than the flame on the torch, having to hide the sparks of magic falling from your fingers.

“Does anyone have any evidence of this man’s innocence? Any at all?”

The priest grins out on the crowd, growing unnaturally wide when he meets your eye. You blink and swear for a moment that his eyes flash yellow. His gaze moves on but you mutter under your breath, a simple revealing spell. A flash of purple explodes where the priest stands, revealing a devil in priest robes. The crowd gasps in horror, screaming and moving in to capture him. They move around you, and you get an idea.

“He’s been killing innocents to send them to hell! He’s been manipulating us the whole time!”

The crowd cheers in agreement as the devil starts cowering back, getting poked at with pitchforks and knives. You quickly move to Shinri, untying his hands with help of some of the younger boys, as you try to move him off the pyre.

“What- what’s going on…?”

He’s still in a drugged out state, and it takes a considerable amount of help to lift him off. With assistance, you get him onto the back of your horse, riding off into the woods to your cabin, in hopes that you’ll have escaped before they know you’re gone.

“Hey, we’re okay, you’re okay. Just hold on tight, okay? Shinri, I need you to stay awake for me.”

“I don’t… think I can…”

You feel him slump behind you and you stop your horse, having to re-secure him to the saddle before continuing with greater speed. Trees speed past you as you carry off into the night, only sighing with relief at the sight of the lantern that hangs outside of your door. Dismounting your horse, you slam open the door and throw together a cot for him, slowly hauling him in while trying to be cautious of any injuries you may accidentally cause.

Once he’s laid out on the cot, you try to wake him again. His breathing is shallow, and they’re slowing down at that. Panic sets in, flipping through your spell book for a diagnostic spell. His lips are turning blue, as well as his fingers. A silhouette of purple hovers around something inside him, leaching out into his veins. Poison. Self-sacrificing motherfucker either willingly took poison, or they forced it upon him. Either way, you have to stop it.

A bell jingles and you see your hourglass flip, and your heart drops. He’s dying, and he doesn’t have much time left. You try to think of any antidote, but without any indication of what it is, you won’t be able to cure him in time unless you get extremely lucky. Time for plan B.

Down at the base of a mountain is a cave rumored to be the entrance to the underworld. Mayhaps you can convince him to wake up if you make it in time. You send a crow to one of the girls in your coven, and hop on your horse. There’s no time to waste when everything is on the line. You make a beeline for the mountain, bobbing and weaving through the foliage and towering trees. The cave comes into sight, a soft blue light emanating from further within. But as you get close, you pull on the reins, having to halt your horse before you both go catapulting off a cliff. Your breathing is heavy, looking across the chasm with tears in your eyes.

You can’t let this stop you.

Your boots hit the ground as you dismount, sending your horse off home as you stand, wind catching your cloak as it bellows from below. Your eyes don’t leave the cave mouth for a second, backing up and digging your heels into the dirt. You close your eyes, ducking your head as you whisper a prayer to the heavens. As if they’re moving on their own, your feet move you into a full sprint towards the edge, determination to make it across filling your heart as your feet lift the ground. You feel the weight of the emptiness beneath you as you’re flung across the chasm, gripping onto the ledge on the other side as you make contact. Clawing your way up, you blow the hair out of your face before moving into the cave.

Mushrooms light the way where your magic cannot, moving deeper within with every step. You come across a river, glowing blue and illuminating the cavern. Across it, a figure stands, slowly becoming more solid. It takes you a moment to realize it’s Shinri.

“Shinri! You have to come back!”

He spins around, shocked to see you as his hand holds a small bouquet of flowers.

“You’re, not supposed to be here…”

“And neither are you. You don’t have to die, Shinri. I revealed the priest, he won’t hurt anyone anymore. Please, come back to me.”

“I can’t, if they find out I’m alive, they’ll kill both of us.”

All you can manage is an exasperated laugh, running your fingers through your hair.

“I didn’t just launch myself across a chasm for you to tell me what I can and can’t do with my life. Your body is dying in my cabin and I had to think of any way to make sure I didn’t lose you. I can’t lose you, Shinri…”

“Sweetheart…”

You both reach the banks of your sides of the river, standing just outside of reach. Your hand reaches out to him, pleading for him to come across.

“Please, love. Please come back to me. Please make all my effort worth it, to keep my love alive.”

He stands there for a moment, looking down at the water and the flowers in his hand. Shinri watches as they float down and touch the water’s surface, shriveling up upon contact. There’s more thought, before stepping back, making distance between him and the edge. He gets a running start, jumping across the river and into you, knocking you both down. But he made it, and you couldn’t be more elated.

“We have to get you out of here, we can reattach your soul once we get the poison out.”

“Poison?”

Well at least he’s not that stupid.

“Later. We need to get out, now.”

You take his hand, and the two of you begin running out of the cave. It begins shaking around you, apparently the gods aren’t used to witches trying to save their boyfriends from a wrongful death. Shinri notices the cave trying to collapse around you, shifting into his wolf form and scooping you onto his back. All you can do is dig your fingers into his fur and hold on. Rocks crumble and break apart, squashing the mushrooms and covering the two of you in bioluminescent goo. He skids to a stop outside of the cave, large stones falling in front of the cave mouth.

“Holy shit.”

The two of you stare at the cave, catching your breath. He leans over, kissing your cheek before getting on the move again. He leaps across far easier than you did over the chasm, racing back to your cabin. Nearing up on it, you spot your horse alongside a few others, thankfully that you recognize as the horses of your coven mates. Shinri lets you off his back, stopping in the doorway as you both enter.

“Woah, it’s weird seeing your own dead body…”

“I’d say you get used to it, but I think all of us pray you don’t.”

Your coven mate gets a giggle out of you and a chuckle out of him, Shinri hovering over your shoulder as you move to try and purge the poison from his system. You grab your spell book as a hand grabs your wrist, your coven head.

“You need to sit, you’re white as a sheet.”

“I’m fine, I-“

“No, you’re not. Anyone who enters the land of the dead leaves something behind, sit down.”

Your face twists into a frown, moving to sit on your bed. Shinri shifts again, resting his head in your lap. You realize quickly that there was truth to your coven head’s words, not realizing how tired you felt until now, perhaps the adrenaline masking it. She brings you some broth from the fire, assisting your shaky hands.

“We’ll take care of you two, don’t you worry. There’s already protective sigils outside, the devil will not catch you here.”

“Thank you, mother.”

She nods to you, going back to her work. Waiting feels like forever, only able to watch the hourglass continue to tick down. Shinri tries to distract you, but even his form begins to fade. You panic at first, until you see his body breathing again. The candles go out as his eyes open, glowing white. The feeling of him around you fades as words are chanted around you, just watching in suspense.

The flames catch again and light fills the cabin, tension hanging thickly in the air as you all wait to see what happens.

“Shinri? Shinri, are you okay?”

You shakily stand, moving to his side, kneeling on the ground. Your hand cups his cheek, almost laying your torso on him as you try to hold him. Silence fills the room as you start to tear up, thinking it all failed as you don’t feel him breathing anymore. A hand rests on your shoulder, trying to be a comfort.

…

Shinri gasps awake beneath you, air filling his lungs again. You jolt up, cupping his face and smiling as he meets your eyes.

“It worked…”

“It did. You did it, sweetheart.”

He sits up, pulling you into his lap to hold you tight. Breathing a sigh of fresh air, before letting out your remaining tears into his chest.

“We will keep the sigils up, the town is barely not up in flames. Luckily that devil got a harsher punishment than anything he served to those innocent people.”

“Thank you, mother. For all of it.”

“Never would have gotten here if you had not revealed that devil. Not only did you probably save the town, but our coven as well.”

“Anything to save my boy.”

You move your hands behind his ears, scratching them and making him growl.

“We’ll leave you two be.”

Your coven leaves, and Shinri has not stopped growling.

“Your boy, huh?”

“Shush. I’m just happy you’re alive.”

He chuckles, kissing your temple.

“I am too.”

[ruruumin]

everything to him.

₊˚ ᗢ itoshi rin x gn! reader.

⤷ when he's just (your) rin.

when you wrap your arms around him, he immediately forgets everything. from his stiff shoulders to the dryness of his lips, the ache in his right leg as well as the rhythmic migraine that beats down on him, all of those things didn’t matter once he was in your arms. every thought and worry washes away like sandcastles on the beach. drifting far, far away from him. he’s bringing you as close as possible. his nose buries itself in the crook of your neck to inhale the subtle sweet smell of your presence.

if you’re in his arms, he thinks he can do anything. he could be anything he wanted. with you, there was just rin. he’s not the vanguard of blue lock nor was he the younger brother to the greatest midfielder itoshi sae. he wasn’t the genius prodigy that everyone looked up to. 

to him, he was just rin. a man who loves eating something sweet before his ochazuke. someone who loves to buy tickets to see the latest scary movie or attraction at a park. just another customer in line to buy the latest manga thats flying off the shelf. rin likes ochazuke, he likes scary movies, and he likes his manga. but most importantly, he likes who he is when he’s with you.

each time you smile, he’s melting like chocolate left out on a hot summer day. he’s always right beside you, thumbing the back of your hand as you pick carrots in the produce aisle. during these quiet, mundane days, he is reminded once again who he is. he’s your boyfriend. your best friend.  your confidant and closest advisor.

he’s everything to you. 

you strip him of his titles and worries. peeling back the loose threads that keep him strung together. when your lips make contact with the side of his ear, he finds himself sinking into your warmth. your love for him has always been apparent. when he asks you in the dead of night if you loved him, truly and sincerely, he adores your sleepy confidence: i’ll always love you, rin. this always ends with you pulling him into your embrace, brushing through his ivy locks with your fingers as you lull him to sleep with your gentle heartbeat.

you remind him of slow, quiet days. that no matter how fast life might move, you'd remain by his side, honest and kind as ever. you're the fire to his ice. his other half. his one and only true love. and the only person he could imagine growing old with.

so when he presses a cold lip against your shoulder, arms tightly wrapped around you like forest vines, he is the happiest man alive.

... and you’re everything to him.

[twi-liight]

Hi! I suffer from Baldur's Gate brainrot. I just stumbled upon your blog and love your writing! Could you do some Astarion, Gale and Karlach headcanons for taking care of Tav after they're badly injured in battle?

Reckless Attack ❣

Grieve, weep, and agonize over a corpse - but know that death is never final in Faerun. The burden of injuries will instead always be present: pain is eternal, no matter how numb. ❥ Astarion/Tav, Gale/Tav, Karlach/Tav. ❥ TW: Descriptive mentions of injuries and gore. ❥ Act 2 spoilers. ❥ They/them pronouns for Tav. ❥ Tav is the nickname for the reader/oc insert. Their real name is up to you!

An Absolutist cult has gathered deep in the bowels of the forests of Rivington. Nothing out of the ordinary... Other than the sheer numbers they possess, creating a dense population of Absolute extremists gathered in stone ruins.

Adventuring parties that dare to end their machinations perished slowly and painfully. Their corpses - what is left of them - are displayed pierced from the gnarled branches of the trees, where they bleed out on the forest ground.

Tav, Astarion, Gale, and Karlach had a plan: throw a barrel full of smoke bombs into the middle of the ruins, firebolt, and profit. Except things didn’t go according to plan (they never do). That barrel was supposed to be at their rendezvous point, but the cultists found it before they did and thought it a gift from their Goddess.

Trapped in hiding, Tav decided to do what they do best: attack.

A potent necromancy curse was successfully cast on Tav, negating any healing spells thrown their way.

Well.

Fuck.

ASTARION

"As always, you refuse to listen to me. And now look at you: a mess. What did I say about running afool to the vanguard?" Astarion does not wait for their response. “Don't do it. It is smarter to be in the shadows in this instance. And what did you do? Ran alone into a quarry of cultists with no sense of self-preservation!”

Anger, pure anger, is present in his voice, sharpening his typical melodic lilt into daggers. If he cared about the present company - Shadowheart, Halsin, and Gale crowded into a tent, surrounding Tav upon their cot - it is nonexistent in his wine-red eyes. They could get lost in those bloody depths for hours. But not now. Not when seething rage roils off of his body like a cloud of darkness.

They look away.

"Nothing to say for yourself, darling?” he mocks. Astarion’s visage twists into a sneer, sharply turning his face away from them. He finds an unused rag, wets it, wrings it of excess water, and then moves past Shadowheart. “Allow me,” he murmurs to her, gentler.

Shadowheart’s inquisitive green eyes understand the depth of the situation immediately. She sighs, clearly annoyed he has taken over her job, but is dissuaded by Astarion’s next string of words: “I’ll clean them up. Magic and healing and all that wonderful nonsense are not necessarily my area of expertise. A firebolt here and there, surely, but I wouldn’t know where to begin with a curse that... Negates healing magic.”

“Sure,” Shadowheart replies, eyes flicking to Tav. Worry is evident over her features. Worry hangs heavy around everyone. Emerging out of battles victorious and grievously injured is commonplace; nothing a mass healing word couldn't fix along with a good night’s rest. Open wounds would be closed scars, ailments would be cured, and broken bones would be unbroken. Rinse and repeat.

This time, it is different.

They, and they alone, were cursed with a necromancy spell that makes all healing magic useless to their wounds.

Their wounds are appalling: Broken ribs evident with the pain swelling in their chest and labored breathing, purple and black blotchy bruises from the hammer blows they took to the shoulder, an open laceration across their chest, their ankle snapped in two, burns on their left leg crawling up their thigh. Blood all over their face from their own and from the enemies they felled.

“Hey, it’s fine,” they wheeze out. "Nothing I can't handle. The cultists are down and dead and buried - everything else can come after."

Hesitantly, Gale opens his mouth to reply, but is abruptly cut off by Astarion snapping out: "No."

"No," they echo. Their brows furrow.

"What a saint you are," Astarion snarls. His lips are down-turned, fangs bared as he speaks, but his ministrations upon their face are soothing. Gently, he rubs off the blood with a cool washcloth, eyes focusing on the task at hand as he cannot bear to look at them.

"Throwing yourself into the heat of battle like that, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Tell me, my dear, do you enjoy watching rational fly past you when you make your impulsive decisions?"

They flush with humiliation and hurt. Broken and battered, they dig their elbow into the cot to prop themselves up and face Astarion head-on, but Halsin presses a hand into their shoulder and pushes them down.

Fuck. Their head spins in circles.

"You're one to talk. Impulsivity is your middle name; you said yourself that planning is not your forte." Even raising their voice hurts but they do it anyway. Their eyes, threatening to slip into oblivion, flood with frustrated tears. "What the fuck is your problem, Astarion?"

"Must I really spell it out for you, sweetheart? You go around, telling everyone exactly what they need to hear. You tell them they aren't alone. That you will help them, that you will ensure they see the future that they want." The words are venom: petty and spiteful and yearning to be understood. "You," Astarion hisses out, "are so blind."

Tempers rising to fever pitch, Halsin tenses from his spot at the foot of the cot. From the corner of Tav's eye, they see Gale murmur something to him, something like, Let this play out. Astarion would never hurt them.

"I am the only one who will take the first step!" Tav cries. The words explode out of their broken chest faster than they realize, flying like an arrow straight toward Astarion's unbeating heart. "I risk my life - every day - for all of YOU! For all the people that need me! For all that I am because-"

"Because what?" He taunts. "Because it is the right thing to do? Look at yourself, Tav! You are on death's door if not for everyone in this room!"

"Because no one else will do it! Not anyone in this damn camp cares enough to- to help the people we could-" They cough violently, but they slam their elbows into the cot to prop themselves up. No one stops them this time as they meet Astarion's burning eyes. "No one cares but ME-"

"WE care about you!" Louder. Vicious. Astarion's voice splits in the air in two in one fell swoop, striking them down like lightning into silence.

He's breathing heavily, panting, as if exhausted. The adrenaline pumping in his veins is begging him to swoop Tav up and run away with them. Away from all of this bullshit and into hiding within the shadows. Maybe the Underdark. Maybe the Shadowcursed Lands. They can descend into madness together.

At least there, they will be safe.

"I care about you," Astarion chokes out before he can stop himself. "More than anything. Do you know that? I hope you know that."

Their mouth forms the words to reply, Of course I do, but it doesn't leave their throat. Instead, it stays stuck there like a fluttering butterfly, forced into silence. It hurts to speak. It hurts to talk. It hurts to see him like this.

He calls out their name so quietly it could have been a trick of the wind.

"Astarion," they plead.

He shakes his head, stubborn and unconvinced. "You don't owe these people anything. You certainly do not owe them your life for their burdens. I," he breathes out, voice as shaky as a leaf in the wind. He screws his eyes shut and clenches his fist around the rag, where their blood stains his palm.

"I almost lost the sun of my life today."

When Astarion opens his eyes, they are steeled with resilience and fury as they gaze into theirs. It is hypnotic. It is lonely. They yearn to comfort him.

"It will not happen again."

GALE

"Easy," Gale murmurs, a strong arm laying them down in his tent. Soft blankets and pillows meet their back, and the cushy grass beneath makes for a cool and comforting sleep. Their breath stutters, but Gale gazes at them so fondly as he pushes their hair from their face that the pain eases.

He does not miss their labored breathing. "Shhh shh shh. I've got you. Just focus on me."

His thumb lingers on the swell of their cheek. His eyes flutter close. A gentle glow of purple surrounds him, and eventually, that gentleness extends to Tav. The agonizing, piercing sensation in their chest numbs into a cool, muted nothingness. They gasp - then exhale in relief, slower than their panicky, short breaths from before.

"That's it," he encourages. "Well done, my love. How are you feeling?"

"So-so," they reply. Their voice aches and croaks, but for some reason, it makes Gale smile.

Oh no. He knows that look.

They study his handsome, tired face, looking for any signs of alarm. Is he hungry? Does he need to feed on another artefact? Was there an envoy telling them they missed another Absolutist hideout? Did they miss something? Did they do something wrong?

No. Nope. "Enough of that." He takes their hand, kisses their knuckles, then sighs. "You're the last person who should be worrying about someone. Such a pest, hm? Always buzzing around me like I'm seconds away from disappearing in front of your eyes..."

"You are," they say. Their brows furrow, and they pant out, "The-- your burden to carry, the--"

"The orb, I know. I know." His heart twists. It aches. He failed Mystra before and that was painful. But this is another subject entirely; it couldn't come close. Watching sheer heartbreak in their expression because of him? Oh, Goddess forgive him, he has failed them.

Gale can scarcely celebrate his victory, too. He undid the damned curse that affected Tav's ability to receive magic. The necromancy spell was so potent that Tav rejected any healing spells thrown at them. Late into the hours of experimentation, he, Halsin, and Shadowheart considered allowing the effects to wither and die rather than exterminating it outright. It was Jaheira who told them it would be inefficient, because how long would they have to wait in camp while Tav rode out the effects of the curse? Ideally? Hours. But days? Weeks? Months?

He spent the long night following and feeling out the curse with the Weave. It was a complicated hex - a tangled knot of magic that had to be unwoven carefully, thread by thread. Every connotation, every intent was traced back to the heart of the curse, and he followed it with abandon.

"I'm sorry for all the trouble, then," they whisper.

"You should be," he jests. "Nearly made my heart collapse, seeing you like that."

The image is still burned into his mind. He can't stop thinking about it. His mortality has always been a dreadful afterthought pushed into the further recesses of his tadpole-addled brain, but was he so taken with Tav that he never realized how mortal they were, too?

No. No. Gale tightens his grip on their hand, giving them a comforting squeeze as they breathe in and out, in and out. It's not that he never realized how susceptible they are to death and danger. He just never wanted to confront it.

"You are changing the very premise of my life," he says softly. An exasperated chuckle leaves him as he shakes his head, adding, "as always. I don't know what I would have done if I actually lost you, back there." What wouldn't I do? "No scrolls of revivifies, no Withers to bring you back. I wouldn't be able to accept it."

He understands Ketheric Thorm all too well, now.

"Come here," they whisper. Gale lets their hands press into the back of his head. He thinks, absently, that he would let them do much of anything. In their care, he is no grand wizard with a plethora of achievements under his belt. No. He is as humble as the Weave itself, and their hands compose music and art for him to simply bear witness to.

They rest his head upon their chest, where his ear can listen to the comforting sound of their beating heart.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud thud.

"Good night, my love," Gale says, when their breathing evens and they have finally fallen into peaceful slumber. He does not sleep at all.

KARLACH

"Oh gods. Oh gods!" Karlach clasps Tav's left hand between hers, holding tightly and vowing to never let go. Their blood stains her hand and chest and clothes. It's everywhere. Sickly sweet and sticky, drawing all of her attention from the room to the sensation of it dripping down her skin.

They've lost so much blood. It's nauseating, like an unsettling reality has just settled in her stomach.

"Tav!" She exclaims, helpless and pathetic. "Why did you do that, you big idiot? You seriously could have gotten killed out there, why-- why aren't you..."

Responding? Where are their quips, their sass, their brightness she fell so fast and hard for? Tav lays there upon the cot, broken and battered. Karlach has seen the remains of her enemies after she has slaughtered them and has barely flinched. She can barely stomach the sight of them bloodied, bones twisted in the wrong way, bruises so purple they're as black as a chasm.

All they can do is breathe. Their eyes focus distantly above them to the roof of the tent, but nothing else.

Panic seizes her faster than she can control it. "Are they breathing?! Are they going to survive this?! Fuck," she growls, running a frustrated hand through her dark hair, matted with blood. "I should have made those sons of bitches suffer."

"Karlach," Shadowheart says, firm but gentle, her hands bloody too as she applied pressure down on Tav's wounds, "it was important that you returned them to camp as fast as you did. Sometimes, we do not have the luxuries to let our enemies die in pain."

Right. Right. Karlach watched an Absolutist barbarian slam his warhammer into Tav's back. Once to knock them down. Twice to keep them plastered on the ground. Once more to keep them unconscious. She saw red, then: the rage she slipped into boiled her veins so hot, the howl she let out sent her surroundings enemies into a frightened frenzy. She hacked her great axe into the barbarian over and over and over until he was nothing but a bloodied pulp of a man, more gore than flesh.

She scooped Tav up from the ground. Karlach never let anyone else touch them. She snarled and snapped at the others who tried to come too close and dead sprinted as fast as she could back to camp.

She heard their choked sobs of pain in her arms. They choked out her name, and Karlach couldn't offer them much of anything other than an, "We're going home, bubs, just hang on. 'Kay? You just focus on me."

"Can I stay here?" She begs Shadowheart. "I won't get in the way. Just let me hold their hand, please."

Shadowheart exchanges a conflicted glance at Halsin. He nods, and she sighs. "Fine," she says. "But - I need you to stand to the side for now. You can hold their hand after we're done figuring out how to undo this curse."

"A fine specimen of a curse, really," Gale adds, his hand curled under his chin. "I'm almost impressed."

"I would be too," huffs Shadowheart, "if our reckless leader wasn't caught up in this mess. Really, what were you thinking?"

"Right?" Karlach shoves off into the corner of the tent, doing her best to keep herself as small and as out-of-the-way as possible. Tears flood her eyes, and she chokes out, "Of all the things to do, why did it have to be that? I thought you said you trusted me! To have your back! I have your back, don't I? Don't I?"

"Of course you do," Halsin croons. He hooks his finger into a bottle of salve, and spreads it on Tav's burns. Tav visibly winces and tenses, whimpering in pain.

"Stop whatever you're doing right now!" Karlach wails. "You're hurting them! I'll kill you, Halsin, I swear it!"

Gale exchanges a look with Shadowheart. He ponders deeply for a moment as Karlach sobs devastatingly behind them. He opens his mouth, then shuts it promptly.

"Just say it," Shadowheart urges impatiently.

"We should play a game," he suggests. "The quiet game."

"No way," Karlach hiccups. "I'm dogshit at that game. Anyway, focus on Tav or I'll gut you, seriously."

❥ Additional links: kofi | ao3

[glasvera]

Blackened Honey

Adam Warlock x Fem!Reader x Venom

Description: When a new vanguard is assigned to assist yourself and Adam Warlock, you didn't expect it to be a symbiote. And you certainly didn't expect tensions between all of you to come to a head one night on a scouting mission. Sexual tensions, that is.

Warnings/Disclaimers: 18+, Minors DNI! 19 inches of Venom, double penetration, three(four?)some, tentacle/tendril play, tentacle bondage, nipple play, asphyxiation, biting, blood, rough (and I mean brutal) sex, vaginal sex, anal sex (f and m receiving), overstimulation, inappropriate usage of healing magic. Established situationship between Adam and Reader.

A/N: If parts of this, especially the beginning and end, sound familiar, that's because this is a Fem!Reader alternative to Blackened Gold. Not sure if I'll do GN!Reader smut from now on outside of like, blurbs/or head canons. It just feels too restrictive when I wanna get descriptive.

Word Count: 4.7k

On these strange, haphazard missions you find yourself on with unlikely allies, you weren’t expecting to fall into any sort of rhythm.

Well, perhaps one of them was to be expected. Adam Warlock worked well with you, keeping you alive during the dangerous segments with his perfectly timed healing. And you kept him safe from those who dared to attack him directly. You had been on several missions together by now that it was easy to fall into step alongside each other. Not to mention your… out of work activities. Needless to say, your closeness had not gone unnoticed.

But recently, the two of you had found yourselves a new protector.

A lethal one.

It started on a particularly risky mission. You were up against incredibly competent and incredibly dangerous enemies. Even Adam, try as he might, was struggling to keep up healing you. You both ducked behind a crumbling concrete wall, wincing when it shook with the vibrations of their attacks. Things looked grim, and for a moment, you thought all was lost. Your mouth was filled with the metallic tang of blood, and it was getting harder to stand… regardless, you made sure to stay in front of Adam. If anyone needed to stay in the fight, it’s him. The team could do without you.

Then a flash of black streaked across your vision. You scrambled to peek around the corner. That flash turned into a… splash? Tentacles sprayed forth from the pavement that cracked from the force of the impact, but soon they came together to form a vaguely humanoid being. It was huge, with broad shoulders and defined muscles that seemed to absorb any attacks coming its way. When its head turned to face the two of you, you felt a shiver run down your spine at the impossibly wide grin of razor sharp teeth.

“Good,” a gravelly, alien voice rumbled forth. “It seems we arrived just in time.”

Tentacles spewed forth and speared your enemies as the alien savior chortled at their feeble attempts to hurt it. It was terrifying to watch, and after hearing their screams you almost felt bad for those on the receiving end of those piercing appendages… yet at the same time, there was something irrefutably attractive about how effortless it was. Adam was quick to take advantage of the opportunity to finally heal you properly, but you simply watched in awe.

The mission didn’t take much longer after that. After your recovery, you and Adam made quick work of the remaining stragglers.

You learned after the battle that the identity of your savior was Venom, or rather, a symbiote named Venom that had bonded with the human named Eddie Brock. It towered over both of you even as it crouched down, giving you both that unsettling grin while its white eye markings took in every detail. Adam was stitching the last of your injuries together with his powers, but he kept a wary eye on the new third member to your little party.

“This one…” its grumbly growl echoes as its finger pokes between your breasts, “pleases us.”

You could see Adam stiffen a bit. To say that he’d become protective of you over the last few months was an understatement. White gold eyes narrow at the shiny black digit that lingers against your body, and his lip curls in visible disgust as he watches the way those tendrils seem to writhe and pulse constantly beneath Venom’s skin. But before he could jump to your defense and play the chivalrous knight he so loved to be, you made sure to speak first.

“Is that why you saved us? Because I please you?” you accuse with a pointed stare.

It’s impossible to read the expression on Venom’s face or tell where its eyes linger, but it does cock its head to the side.

“Preposterous. It is our duty. We protect our team.”

Your brow furrows, but it states it so matter-of-factly that you can’t argue it. Though you can’t help but notice the way tiny tendrils seem to peek out curiously from its finger, spreading a few inches across your chest as they feel their way about. You’re about to swat its hand away, but it seems to notice your discomfort and pulls away, resting the offending appendage on its thigh.

Adam sighs as he withdraws his healing energies, a reaffirming hand on the small of your back as he helps you stand up properly. “So you are the new vanguard assigned to us. Tell me then why I sense the stain of Knull’s essence in your being?” His voice isn’t as hostile as you might have expected. There’s a cautiousness in his tone and in his movements, to be sure, but it’s clear that his curiosity has been piqued.

“Knull is just as much our enemy as he is yours, golden one,” it growls, squinting those wide, white alien eyes at your comrade. “We do not recognize his authority even if he is our creator.”

Adam’s lips press into a thin line. He closes his eyes and lets out a long sigh. “While I find it difficult to trust you easily, there is wisdom in your words. Wisdom I can personally relate to.” He nods, and the possessive grip he has on your back relaxes slightly. “Welcome to the team, Venom.”

The three (four?) of you fell into quite the, ahem, symbiotic relationship over the next few weeks. You worked quite well together: without the focus of the enemy’s fire, you were an unstoppable force, and Adam found it much easier to heal a target that mitigates much of the damage it takes in the first place. It also helps that the two had found common ground in something, even if it occasionally put them at odds.

They were both obsessed with you.

Protecting you, healing you, taking care of you, killing for you. You’d begun to notice the energy shift and just how acutely aware they both were of your wellbeing at all times. There were also the extra glancing touches, lingering glances. You were used to those from Adam before, but those had been ignited into a fury once Venom had begun them as well. At first it was unsettling, but you’d grown accustomed to the way its tendrils caressed and wrapped around your curves in passing. If it carried you to Adam for healing, you could feel the way stray tentacles explored, dipping and slithering about. Never where they shouldn’t, but the intention was still quite clear. And that healing energy, the kind that makes your knees buckle? Yeah, Adam had returned to applying that in full force.

It all came to a head when you were all turning in for the night during a scouting mission. You had some down time while waiting for the target to make a move, so you made camp in an abandoned convenience store in one of the more wrecked parts of the city. Lighting a fire could potentially draw too much attention, and seeing as you were really the only one to suffer from any sort of cold, it fell to Adam and Venom to keep you warm. As you all lie down on a makeshift bed of emergency blankets with bags of stale cereal for pillows, Venom is the first to make its move.

They bickered a little less nowadays, at least, so all Adam gives Venom is a slightly disappointed glance when those symbiotic tendrils curl around your body. Despite its intentions, they’re cold and slimy, and you shiver at the initial feeling. It responds by liquifying itself even further, enveloping your limbs and waist in a cold black that slowly responds to and encases your body heat. His instincts tell him to stop this, to save you from that inky embrace, but something stays his hand. Instead, Adam rolls onto his side, propping his head up as he watches the two of you.

“Is that… comfortable?” he asks with genuine curiosity as he watches the slick ooze form to your body’s shape. It stirs something in him, but he’s not ready to admit that yet.

The shuddering subsides as your body acclimates to its symbiotic cocoon. “It’s… warm now, at least. It’s not uncomfortable,” you respond. But, as a living entity, it seems the symbiote can’t quite stay still, pulsing and writhing against you. It seeps under your clothes, seeking out your body heat to better maintain it, and you squirm slightly. Body heat doesn’t seem to be something you’ll be struggling with for long, as your face begins to flush with the way those tendrils caress you almost lovingly.

Adam could have sworn he saw Venom smiling knowingly, but it could be so difficult to read its expression. Once he hears your staggered breaths, however, his eyes narrow even if he doesn’t make an immediate move. “What are you doing to her?”

“Keeping this one warm,” it responds with a guttural groan. You feel something stir against your backside, and it causes you to gasp. “We know of a good way to do this.”

The golden man’s throat goes dry as he watches. Your body squirms, yes, but it doesn’t look as though you’re trying to break free. And he of all people recognizes the flush on your face and that needy warmth that radiates from your soul. 

You were enjoying this, even if you yourself hadn’t recognized it yet.

And then that long, pink tongue is snaking around your neck and teasing at your parted lips.

“V-Venom--?” you gasp.

“This one feels good on us. We would please you further, if you allow us…” it whispers, that normally grating voice taking on a low and almost seductive quality. “We have thought of this a long time.”

Those tendrils are dipping into your hero suit, teasing along your hip bone or touching just out of reach of your hardening nipples. It’s hard to breathe, not from the tongue that curls about your neck, but from the arousal that builds in your core. You ache with a primal need, you ache for more, so much so that you almost forget that Venom is waiting patiently for your permission. How quaint for a being that’s clearly fine with fondling you already.

“A…And Adam?” you finally eke out, and you see his cheeks turn a deep copper at your offer of inclusion.

“The… blindingly golden one may join. We do not care. We only wish to feel you and keep you warm. Hot.” A tendril finally snakes around your nipple, flicking over the bud beneath your clothes, and you breathe out a soft moan. “Quivering.”

For now, it’s all Adam can do to watch as Venom toys with your body, snaking between your legs and lifting one up as it begins exploring your thighs. Venom parts its symbiotic casing of you, and he can see just how wet you are already as it soaks through your clothes. Even that is done away with quickly as its appendages work in tandem to strip you, leaving you bare and naked before them both. A tendril slips down, sliding back and forth along your slit and coating itself in your wetness. It growls in satisfaction at the gasping breaths spilling  from your lips.

“Y/N…” Adam groans. You meet his gaze, and you can see the struggle in his eyes.

The chill of night is all but forgotten as you moan feverishly at Venom’s ministrations, and Adam is finally spurred to action as he swallows those sounds with his lips on yours. This feels wrong, like he’s aiding in your defilement by allowing this symbiote to have its way with you, but then he feels your hand cupping him through his pants and palming at his hardening length.

“Y/N,” he gasps out, breaking the kiss as you stroke him back and forth. Your movements are much less sure than they usually are, distracted by the way more of Venom’s tendrils travel lower, lower…

They tease at your ass, slathering your skin in black slick as they poke and prod. It draws a staggered cry from your lips. Adam watches you in awe, twitches in your hand even as it falters, cupping your face in his hands before kissing you hungrily. Desire wins out over duty in his mind as he bucks into your touch.

“This one is responsive. We knew this would be enjoyable,” Venom growls before that tongue begins gently squeezing, restricting the air from your lungs ever so slightly. You see stars in your vision as the asphyxiation only turns you on further. “Yes, this one would take us both quite well.”

Venom’s tentacles spread your legs further as smaller ones thread their way into your anus, fucking in and out while your mind goes blank. Adam’s lips continue to devour yours, and it isn’t long before his tongue spears into your mouth, demanding even more. You’re desperately tugging at Adam’s pants with the hand that isn’t wrapped around his cock, and more symbiotic tendrils aid in your efforts to divest your mutual partner of the offending fabric. Adam kicks it off readily as Venom tosses it to the side. When that golden length springs free, you stroke at it with a renewed vigor and, much to your surprise, your hand is joined by a slimy black tentacle wrapping around the base.

“A-ah, that is-” Adam stammers, but his words are cut off by a broken moan as you and Venom work in tandem. That slick quickens and smooths your movements, acting like lubrication that leaves your golden god gasping for breath even as he kisses you again.

All the while, Venom continues adding more and more to your spreading hole, thicker tendrils fucking into you relentlessly. You can feel its cock resting against your ass and silently thank whatever powers are listening that this symbiote was kind enough to prepare you before spearing you with that.

As if it’s reading your mind somehow, you feel more than hear Venom’s growling chortle behind you. “This one still isn’t ready for all of us.”

You’re perfectly aware of that, and even still you feel a growing fire building in the pit of your belly. Tentacles squeeze and tug at your nipples while others dance along your folds, and one wriggles back and forth over your clit. A few even whip experimentally at your ass, and you choke out a moan despite the tongue that keeps a tight hold around your throat.

“Golden one. What is it that you normally do to this one to make them cry so deliciously?” Venom asks Adam, snapping the man out of his own building orgasm as he focuses his attention back on you.

“I-I,” he stutters, deciding actions would speak louder than words when said words fail him. The hands that cradle your head begin to travel, but one of them stays and presses two fingers against your parted lips. You stare at Adam with pleading eyes and pupils blackened with lust, eagerly opening your mouth further to allow him access. He slowly fucks your mouth with those digits as your tongue laves them with attention. He groans at the feeling, nearly forgetting his original intent.

And then the energy flows forth.

You practically go cross-eyed as those streams of golden energy spread through your body, caressing your tongue and filling your mind with pleasure. At that very moment, Venom’s tongue withdraws from your neck, allowing you to scream out as all of the sensations overwhelm you at once. Those tendrils filling you so deliciously almost seem thicker now, and you can feel the way they stretch your walls. Adam’s healing quite literally mind-fucks you, and the vein on his cock pulses as you continue stroking it. Your exposed neck doesn’t need to wait for long as sharp teeth sink into it. It’s a white-hot, searing pain, and you feel the warmth of blood trickling down your shoulder, but paired with the constant flow of Adam’s power, it’s replaced with pleasure as quickly as it hurts. You can feel the skin knitting itself together as Venom withdraws its teeth.

You’re so close. You can feel it pooling low in your stomach and they can sense it. Adam’s mouth waters as he continues thrusting his fingers into yours, mimicking the pace at which Venom spears you. Your fingers and Venom’s tendril wrap around him so perfectly. But it’s not enough.

“Need… Need to be inside you,” Adam finally speaks, and how can you deny such a request when those hooded milky eyes stare at you with such unrestrained desire?

Venom withdraws its tentacles from you just as Adam removes his fingers, and you whine at the sudden loss of stimulation. You were so close, and they were so mean for that.

Those are your thoughts, at least, until you feel Venom manhandling you so that you’re lying on top of it with your back on its chest. Its tendrils still slither and slide around your body, but you notice now that none of them seek to enter you. No. There was something altogether larger prodding at you now.

Sweat drips down your back as you begin to tense up. Venom’s tongue laps at the salty sweet of you as it positions itself, and your breath hitches in your throat when you feel the head of its cock slip inside with an audible pop.

And gods, that was just the head.

Breathing just got a lot harder. You're practically gasping, and you only barely notice when Adam kneels in between your parted legs. Inch by inch, Venom fills you from behind, stretching you for what feels like an eternity. It’s hard to focus on anything else when Venom is set upon rearranging your insides. Tentacles wrap around your breasts, squishing and tugging, and your head lolls back against Venom’s shoulder.

Slowly, it thrusts. A choked, almost pained cry gurgles from your throat as you’re stretched impossibly wide. With every piston it goes deeper, deeper, and Adam can only watch in awe while he reaches forward to massage your inner thighs. Trickles of healing from his fingertips leave delicate golden trails as they seep into your skin, soothing the stretch and helping you relax. Truly, he worries the two of them might break you as he watches the bulge forming in your stomach.

Your hands find Adam’s wrists and hold on for dear life, but such touches are short lived when Venom’s tentacles wrap around your arms and trap them above your head. Though, you can’t protest when it thrusts into you especially hard, bottoming out the last few inches in one fell swoop. In fact, you can’t say much of anything with the soundless scream that leaves your mouth agape. Your eyes roll back into your head as nothing more than vowel sounds break in your throat.

“The golden one hesitates… does she not please you…?” Venom asks as it makes a show of sensually sliding tendrils over your breasts, in the creases of your thighs, and wrapping about your legs before spreading them wide. It displays you like some sort of sick pin-up. “Do we not please you?” it asks again, and you lift your head to watch as those inky black tentacles slither over to Adam and wrap behind him. He yelps when he feels them tease at his entrance, falling forward onto his hands and nearly smashing his face into your heaving chest.

It’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced with you, but when those tentacles wrap around his cock at the same time, he’s bringing a hand to his mouth and biting down on his finger. His brow furrows and he whimpers at these sensations, and you feel your cunt drool when his golden length bobs at Venom’s ministrations.

Though it’s difficult for him to form thoughts, let alone words, Adam does his best. Your golden god looks so tantalizing like this, his face hovering just above yours as sweat beads upon his brow and high pitched moans whisper breathily from his throat.

“N-No… you both please me… hah… greatly,” he manages to speak, even as his body moves back and forth with the tentacles thrusting in and out of him. “I simply have never…”

“The golden one should fuck the pretty one. It will feel even better,” Venom growls before extending its tongue to dance and wriggle about your neck and chest. You moan in agreement with his words, struggling to make any other noises as your ass is filled with that slick black rod. Even if it feels like a suicide mission, you weren’t walking away from this until you had both of their cocks stretching you to capacity.

That is, of course, if you’re able to walk at all after this.

Venom offers you to him on an obsidian platter, and it’s getting harder and harder to refuse. You look so pretty with your hands and legs bound and spread, and it’s getting harder to think when those tentacles thrust just like that… and when he meets your gaze, he can see, no, he can sense the silent plea bursting from your soul. So he kneels before you, ready to line himself up with your entrance. Venom, ever the polite one, uses a couple tendrils to spread your glistening folds. It feels like a vice even as he barely enters you. He can feel the massive girth of Venom through the thin wall of skin separating them, making you tighter than anything he’s ever felt before. It nearly takes his breath away. And the way you squirm between them, helpless to do anything but accept every inch they give you… it’s a miracle he doesn’t cum on the spot.

You, on the other hand? Nothing could have prepared you for this fullness, for the way it steals the very air from your lungs. You’re gasping as Adam slowly slips into you, the breathy sounds accompanied with the tiniest of whines and whimpers. They both still inside you, and Adam braces himself with his hands on your waist as he at least has the forethought to pour that healing energy into your soon-to-be-battered womb. Whatever sting that still lingered from the stretch dissipates, and you heave a sigh of relief.

That relief is short-lived, however, once Venom decides to start thrusting in earnest. Adam takes it as his cue to begin as well, and the two of them alternate as they fuck you utterly and completely. Adam’s healing falters when the tentacles thrusting into him drive ever deeper, and you cry out in a mixture of pleasured pain.

“It is good you are here, golden one. We would likely destroy this one’s organs if you were not healing her,” Venom’s gurgled speech states through grunting thrusts.

You’re going to be completely ruined after this.

“Oh… Y/N,” Adam moans as he starts fucking you faster, his eyes shut fast as he focuses on the sensation of you, wrapped so perfectly and tightly around him, and your symbiotic partner, stroking deep into his rectum and sliding against his prostate. “V…Venom…”

You’ve been reduced to nothing but a cock drunk, babbling mess as they continue spearing in and out of you. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes and you sob out broken moans, curling your toes as you feel your orgasm quickly approaching.

“F…hah… uh… fuck,” you stammer, your body going limp in Venom’s hold as they take their pleasures from you.

Adam’s fingers find your clit and rapidly circle the bud just as you’d shown him to, except this time he’s pouring that golden energy into your bundle of nerves. A scream draws hoarsely from your lips as your hips buck wildly.

“This one is close. She wraps around us deliciously,” Venom states as its hips clap against your ass. It grips your hips tightly, almost painfully so, hammering in and out of your stretched and abused hole as you take every inch it has to give you.

“Y… Yes… it pulsates off of her… I…” But it’s all Adam can muster to make sure you stay healed, that you survive this brutal copulating, and he struggles to form a full sentence. The strange yet pleasurable cycle of your insides bruising and tearing only to be immediately healed with golden aphrodisiac overstimulates you until your head spins. It’s hard for him to focus when he feels a strong, deep pressure building. With how tight of a fit you are, you can feel the way his cock swells slightly with his impending release. It makes the bulbous head drag along your walls in just the perfect way with every thrust, and with the way he utterly abuses your clit with his healing…

“Mm… ‘M close… don’t… ah! Don’t stop,” you beg, your words a blubbering mess as tears stream down your face.

Adam’s free hand comes to cup your cheek, and you’re almost taken aback by the soft and tender gesture before he’s injecting golden morphine straight into your mind again. You scream and keen, arching your back as they thrust into you furiously. It’s all Adam can do to keep up with both pleasuring you and actually healing you. But then that taut cord snaps, and you’re exploding, white behind your eyes as crackling lightning meets golden threads and explodes into thousands of fireworks. 

You’re given no quarter, no chance to recover, as they synchronize their movements, thrusting in and out at the same time. Your face is a mess of tears and drool, your jaw slack as you sob. Your body screams at you to get off, to get away from the sensations that threaten to overwhelm you completely, but Venom holds you fast. The torturous pleasure rewards you with a second orgasm far too quickly and you find yourself squirting onto Adam’s abdomen while your body writhes and convulses between them.

“Oh, gods, yes, Y/N! Yes, Venom, yes!” Adam moans his praises before he pumps into you with a long, drawn out groan, filling your womb with his seed. Venom growls its approval before letting out a roar, stilling inside you and streaming ribbon after ribbon of ichorous cum into your ass. It’s all you can do to stay conscious, let alone breathe, and your body twitches with the aftershocks of your orgasm and their brutal treatment.

Adam’s hand remains on your face and, being the first to recover slightly, now brushes a soothing and tender thumb over your cheek. The healing energy flows forth more quietly now, merely traveling forth to mend any lingering pains as the two of them begin to soften inside of you.

“Y/N… are you okay?” he asks softly, propping himself up so as not to burden you with his body weight.

Your voice is hoarse, but at least the pain of it fades as Adam works. Yet still, all you can manage is a dazed expression, a nod, and a hum of “Mhmm…”

As you all take a moment to collect yourselves and catch your breath, you hear vehicles in the distance and the shouts of several henchmen. Thankfully, they seem to be heading away from you this time. You’re not sure you could take on any bad guys right now.

Oh. Of course they were running away.

Sobered up from your orgasmic bliss, you let out a long, frustrated groan.

“So much for not giving away our location…” you mumble ashamedly.

A hum akin to a laugh rumbles in Venom’s chest. “It is no surprise with the sounds being made. This one is quite vocal.”

You groan again, hiding your face behind your hands. Adam finds himself chuckling too, even if this little debacle has put a handicap on your mission. “I am sure we will pick up on their trail come morning. But perhaps, for now, we all should get some rest?” he offers as he gathers his and your clothes and folds them into a neat pile.

Venom murmurs its agreement before it begins to envelop both of you in that symbiotic cocoon, surprising Adam as he finds himself pressed so intimately against you and Venom. But after that session, it’s hard to protest anything, and it isn’t long before you both fall soundly asleep in the embrace of your diligent vanguard.