#and then there's in-between!! big clouds and wisps of clouds. they feel like faces or just. living things

[mysterypigeon]

i don't think i'm ever going to be normal about the sky (tags)

[littledes1re]

Under his mercy

Pairing: dark!joel x fem!reader

Summary: you thought this was the end, as you lose all hope and give up, Joel miller finds you and takes you with him. Now keeping you safe. A dangerous man whose tendencies and actions are not clear.

Warnings: 18+, dark!joel, murderer!joel, death, fear, angst, outbreak, ellie doesn‘t exist, injuries, open wounds and flicking them back together, age gap! (joel is 56 and reader is 25), reader is kinda naive, reader feels alone and trusts way too fast, tension

A/N: Phew, that was a lot. This has been cooking for a while and if you guys want I will make chapters of this! I‘ve never wrote anything dark!joel related but hopefully i‘ll do well. Please be cautious of the warnings!!!

Joel would do anything for you. Anything.

Cold— that kind of cold that bites trough every layer of skin, leaving you with a painful sting, the one that every breath you take, makes you shudder in response. Middle of nowhere, in a big forest, where the trees groan under the weight of snow, paths invisible to every kind of eye and one wrong step could cause a avalanche. You were under the mercy of hopelessness. Of quietness, of pain and slowly dying.

The path you left behind you was blood. The crimson trail leaving a stark against the untouched whiteness of the snow. A dark mark only leaving behind faint whispers of suffering and giving up.

The snow underneath you cradled you, it finally felt soft, relaxing even. The blood was soaked into your clothes, leaving dark red patches everywhere just like in the snow. You didn‘t hold it anymore— no. You could barely feel the wound now, only the warmth that was pooling under you, spreading like ink on paper. You laid there numb, the new snowflakes that land on your skin lulling you slowly to sleep. Finally you had comfort, it didn‘t hurt anymore. As your breath came in uneven wisps, you let the memories began like a movie beginning in the Theater.

All the faint laughters, blurred out faces of people you once knew and loved. The beautiful breeze of summer as conversations began in the background, the weight of your fathers and mothers hands on your shoulders, scolding you or telling you that everything is going to be okey. The first time you felt love, the excitement that run trough your veins, your heart beating fast and butterflies spreading in your tummy.

And as those snowflakes melted in your skin, you getting hugged with the idea of finally letting go, you heard vague foot steps coming near and near to you. But you didn‘t care, you let go.

You were free.

���

You gasped. Eyes shot open, breath ragged, your pulse hammering in your ears. You were alive. Not lost in the darkness, not the end you prepared yourself for, not the one where you let go of your body and finally felt at peace. Between blurred sight you saw wood. Wooden walls, sturdy and rough. There was a dim light coming from the small lamp across the room, casting shadows.

Your body slowly moved, first your legs, realising a small piece of fabric wrapped around you, damp with your own sweat. While the temperature was iced and whenever you breathed out a little cloud formed before your eyes, your body still felt hot, like a fever. And when you tried to move with your whole body— a sting.

A dull ache spread trough your ribs, sharp enough for you to release a hiss from your lips.

Your hand slowly clutched at the blanket, pulling it away and revealing the open wound you had, stitched, bound and safe.

Somebody flicked you together. Somebody saved your life.

You were tented by someone, cared by, touched by someone. But you were alone, all wrapped up in a bed, taken care of by foreign hands.

Your fingertips slowly danced over the surface of your wrapped up wound, it was tight, the skin around it swollen and red. The pain gradually disappearing again, leaving you with only a small sting that comes when you sit up.

Were you alone?

The confusion in your head grew, trying to walk trough the fog of unconsciousness and to grasp how you ended up in here. Any memories, any conversation, basic explanations. It was all lost.

The thoughts and emotions all stopped in one as you heard the small cracking of the wooden door right in front of you. The door was opening. The dimmed light not helping you, the window only casting a small shadow, it was too dark. A figure stood on the doorway, unmoving. You held your breath, muscles locking in place your wound giving you a sharp sting as a response. There was an overwhelming urge in you that told you to hide under the blanket, or stand up and run. But you coudn‘t, your body was locked and your heart was pounding so hard it pulsed right trough your ears.

Heavy boots strike the wooden floor with slow, deliberate steps, walking towards you. The dim glow of the light barely grazes his form, his board shoulders seemingly absorbing the weak light instead of reflecting it.

You could make only furrowed thick brows, a big nose and a mustache with a rather untrimmed beard in the darkness out.

Was he the one who saved you?

„look who is finally awake.“ the man rasped, his rough voice echoing in your head, the first voice you heard in months. His hands holding a tablet, with dry bread and soup, the smell filling your nose, making your tummy grumble. You haven‘t eaten in days. Cautiously he sat down the tablet besides you. You saw it in his demeanour, he didn‘t want to scare you.

The room filled with light, suddenly you could see every corner. Cracks and splits of the wood. It was all weather-beaten. The walls being slick with probably the snow and all of the rain it had to endure the past days. There was not much of furniture, just the bed you had, a small chair besides you and a table where the light was on. The one that wasn‘t just dimmed anymore, your eyes hurting at the sudden glow because they were so used to darkness.

You didn't know what to say. You didn't know this man; you were used to being alone, to surviving on your own. You were used to this world that was not kind, where people killed one another, where they didn‘t care much. This was the only experience you had, you never encountered kindness. You never encountered someone caring about a person.

„who are you?“ you asked.

„Joel Miller.“

Your heart stopped beating abruptly, warmth spread throughout your body, just like goosebumps, and if you weren't in complete shock, you'd start crying.

Joel Miller.

You heard his name like a mantra, ‚be careful of Joel Miller’; a rumor that had once originated from far far away and was now told every time around the campfire as a horror story. Someone whose background and intentions were so dark that people were afraid to go out at night. Every fractions biggest Nightmare since the outbreak, one whose name alone made people afraid.

Joel was a murderer. A cold-blooded murderer.

It is said that he slowly and painfully dismantles each of his victims, no remorse, no blinking of his eyes, no mercy, no blood that’s being shed is too much. It‘s his way of torturing people and making them regret things they have done. Some may think this way is the only way to make them pay, that he is just cleaning up. Raiders, wolves, scars on and on. His way of making the world a better place, playing justice. Playing god.

It was cruelsome nonetheless, nobody needed to clean up anything, not in this way. People knew if it wasn‘t for the clean up, the way he left his victims was proof enough that he was enjoying that.

Your entire body went into flight-or-fight mode. You certainly couldn't fight him, a big man like him. You wouldn't even have a chance. Escaping would be another option, if it weren't for this massive wound that caused you abnormal pain every time you breathed. Everything was too confusing. Why would a person like that save you? Why would he take you and put you back together again? Your head was a mess. So much of a mess that you suddenly felt lightheaded, your breathing came heavy and suddenly you just started to prepare yourself to die again.

„Ain‘t gonna do shit to you.“ he murmured, the voice sending shivers down your spine. You just looked at him. His face looked like he'd been hit one too many times. Scars and bruises everywhere, looked worn out by everything that was happening out there. You couldn't figure out if he was telling the truth; you couldn't figure out anything about him. It was only a matter of time before he pulled out a knife and slaughtered you just like the others.

The only thing in this mess that didn‘t made more sense was your gut telling you that you were safe. Safe with him and that you shouldn‘t be scared. Believing his words way too fast.

„Look, I flicked ya back up. There is no reason for me to do things to you, we don‘t have unfinished business.“

There was hesitation in his voice, like he wanted to say ��murder‘ but couldn‘t. Could a person like him feel guilt? Feel pain or shame?

„M‘gonna go—i think. Thank you for this but I need to keep moving.“

You didn't even know what you were saying. Your mind was acting in fear, while your gut still told you you were safe with him. His eyes met yours, a hint of sadness in them. Reflected by the light that stood there, the dark irises disappeared, transforming into those that showed trust and security.

„You ain‘t gonna survive long, m‘telling ya. The storm is coming, and with that big wound of yours—”

„why did you save me?“

You didn't know if you wanted to find out why he saved you or why he saved you out of all people.

„S‘not like you see thousands of people with worse injuries on a daily basis.“ you added, but still, couldn‘t figure out where this was coming from. Your anxiety seemingly vanish, you grew to be interested in his tendencies.

Why are you confronting him just because he helped you? He was a murderer, just because he has now done something good, doesn’t change the fact that he is a horrible person. And you needed to get that in your head.

He ignored your question and stopped looking at you. The tension in the room thickening with every second. You heard him sighing, slowly making his way over to your bed. Muscles locked into place again, you didn‘t dare to move. You were sure, this was the end, that you pushed him on edge with those stupid questions.

Unexpectedly he put his hand on top of your wound, your breath hitching as you slowly looked at what he was doing. You traced his side profile with your eyes. His nose, pouty lips and beautiful curly hair, he looked concentrated.

„Hurts?“ he asked softly, still looking at the covered wound and slightly touching it.

„Little bit, yeah.“

He stood up again, gently putting the small blanket over you, covering the wound and tucking you to bed, without looking into your eyes. The light was dimmed again, as he stood there opening the door he glanced once more into the room.

„Ain‘t gonna let you go in this condition and weather. Eat your food and if something happens, yell.“ With that he disappeared in the dark again.

AAA that was a lot. If I did any mistakes please let me know. As always english isn‘t my first language!! Feedback is gladly appreciated.

Please let me know if you want to see more of this.

Taglist: @vickie5446 @a-goose-on-mars @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @keseqna @shivispunk @kyloispunk @meetmeatyourworst @cuntyhunty22 @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50

Thank you so much for 500 followers😭🥹

[takotakigum]

right here — itoshi rin.

characters: itoshi rin x fem!reader

warnings: smut, dry humping, making out, hickeys, exhibitionism (if you squint), and breast fondling.

word count: 2.0k

synopsis: as someone who is scared and anxious of the pouring rain, rin can’t stop himself from doing his very best to distract you.

aged up characters | please read at your own risk!

it’s cold, so, so cold. the rain easily silences any other sound you may hear, and it overwhelms you. the uneasy body that’s almost slouched in the passenger seat belongs to you.

“i’m sorry, i know you’re tired from practice. i was supposed to drive us home so you could rest but you ended up driving since the rain is too intense and-” rin listens to your ramble of apologies, but doesn’t stop you. however, you catch yourself with a lump in your throat when you notice rin pulling up in the nearest gas station on the highway.

“rin! you don’t have to stop driving because i don’t like it! i know you’re still tired and-” rin forces you to look at him, his fingers pinching your cheek for attention. “i know. i’ve heard you saying the same thing for the past, what, ten minutes?” you bite your lip, assuming that rin has reached his limit for the night. although that’s not the case, you’re only too distracted by the anxious feeling from everything around you.

unfortunately, you don’t hear what rin told you, and even if you did, he doubts you’ll listen to it. so, he looks at the outside of his window, watching the hefty clouds of the night sky pour down heavy rainfall before coming up with an idea to pass the time and to—hopefully—help you out.

“go in the back of the car.” rin gently grabs the hands you’re using to cover your ears to guide you in the rear. “what?” you speak out, eyes anxious with how flashes of light encase your vision from the storm. it’s getting worse now, as the appearance of light gets accompanied by the clang of thunder seconds after. “you heard me, did you not?” rin repeats his words, urging you to listen to him. unsure of what’s fully happening, you sit down in the middle seat at the back, hands starting to pick on the threads of your pants, crumpling the material harshly. “move over.” rin suddenly follows after you, his tall figure having difficulty in squeezing himself through the tight space because of the car console.

itoshi rin is the epiphany of a distraction. be it his looks, skills, or even personality—he’s one big distraction.

sometimes, it’s a pain. but right now? it’s a blessing.

however, the storm is unforgiving.

so, rin maneuvers your body to lay on the back seat, and a palm under your head as he gently lowers you down on the leather. “just look at me, stop looking anywhere else.” he says, stretching your legs to drape over his lap. and you do. you stare at teal eyes that nearly looks like it’s glowing in the dark, wisps of dark hair cascading down his face as his body slightly hovers over you.

“okay.” your breath is still audibly shaky, chest heaving as cold fingers now drag up the sides of your body. “tsk. calm down, will you?” rin whispers, almost annoyed, yet he states it in the softest way possible. however, your eyes go shut when another bright shine enters the car’s windows. “can’t, rin.” your body shivers, and the rain pours down heavier. with a sigh, rin’s lips touch your forehead, trying his best to keep the both of you as comfortable as possible.

rin’s fingers toy at the hem of your shirt, cold fingers contrast his warm cheeks. “rin?” you murmur, running a hand through his hair, attempting to pull his head away from you to figure out his intentions. “stop that.” he breathes out; taking your hand away from his hair and placing it between the two of you, kissing your fingers slowly as gentle hands caresses your palm. then, he pushes your fingers closer to your face, your own skin touching your lips as rin leans down. a tease of a kiss, perhaps. although it doesn’t last too long. because one or two pecks later, rin goes impatient with his own antics.

abruptly, he removes your fingers blocking the parts of your lips that he once could not adore, deciding that his tongue will be the first thing it meets. little by little, you open your mouth, letting rin feel every bit of your ragged breath. you almost breathe out a moan, but the sudden shock of rin’s cold fingers dragging from your warm neck and down to the underside of your shirt halts it.

almost, you forget about the thunderous rain outside. well, perhaps this works too—as a distraction, that is.

when wet lips make a ‘pop’ sound in parting, rin pants a bit, smoothing his thumb on your flustered cheek. “color, love?” he asks, voice merging with the whistles of wind outside of the vehicle. “yellow��just go slower, please.” rin hums, and his hand retreats from your abdomen's skin. however, rin does rest it under one of your clothed tit, while continuing to kiss you deeply and slowly—but this time on your neck, leaving light hickeys all over—before you take a hold of his hand to guide it higher and let it rest directly on top of your breast.

gently, rin squeezes the flesh. and he finally earns a moan from your sweet mouth. so in return, you attempt to squeeze your legs around rin's waist. although the tight, limited space in the back of his car begs not to, you manage to bring him closer. your crotches desperately meet, feeling every crevice of fabric that’s taut because of rin’s growing erection.

“love, how ‘bout now? color, please…” rin suppresses a string of whines on the warmth of your neck, his body stiff. with your breath still rough and mind racing not only from the intimacy but also the anxiety that seems to not falter—you’re not able to speak. as your vision is practically blocked of most light sources by rin’s head, you navigate your hand to where rin’s occasional toying with your breast is. when you lift his hand up and away from your body, he feels unfortunate that you decide to halt him. at the very tip of the iceberg, rin thinks you’re telling him to stop.

somehow, you’re more aware of the storm’s raindrops echoing inside of the car along with the flashes of lightning once more. then you realize it’s because of rin’s body trying to sit up and away from you.

“no, no- don’t go away.” you whisper desperately, rushing to place rin’s hands on your thigh. “green, rin. couldn’t say…” another blast of lightning and thunder makes you flinch, rin’s fingers dances back and forth on your thigh for comfort. his hand creeps higher on your thigh, knuckles teasing near your clothed cunt. which, inevitably, makes you flinch too. “hm?” his body is close to yours again, his erection rubbing against your thigh instinctively. “mind’s too occupied. ‘m sorry.” you let out a hot exhale, warm enough to produce moisture on the cold car windows.

rin only nudges his head down to your stomach, biting the end of your shirt and lifting it so that it’s right above your breasts. “just focus on this, alright? i'm right here.” rin mutters, kissing one of your tits before leaving a sloppy line of saliva all over it. you groan, your nipples perking while being confined by your bra adds an extra sensation other than rin’s active tongue and teeth playing around the skin that’s spilling out of your brassiere.

amidst soft moans emitted from your mouth, rin’s knuckles glides against your sweatpants, right at where your clothed cunt is designated to be. it traces down your slit, rin feeling the warmth he’s grown addicted to through the layers of fabric.

you moan louder this time, grinding your hips against his teasing fingers. “you want it like this?” rin smiles against your chest, looking up at you and your pleasured expression. “mm. don’t wanna make a mess-” each whimper from your mouth seems to get louder, but how could it not? with the way rin’s knuckles press harder on your clit directly in such a way that’s electrifying, you’re body begs for more. however, you’re too hyperaware of the sounds you make. so you bite your lip, trying to silence yourself as much as possible.

rin notices the sound of the rain pouring being louder than your melodic voice, and that’s not right to his ears. “come on, love. you don’t like the rain being loud, right? go on, moan.” your pussy has already soaked your underwear, so much that rin can practically feel your wetness seep into your pant’s cloth. two fingers tease your clothed entrance, exactly how rin would typically do it when he fingers your hole, and it frustrates you. because it’s too much—yet too little. your body jerks as rin once more encourages you to moan loudly. “people might..ah…hear-” rin bites at your collarbone, making you gasp and moan almost the way he wants you to. “i don’t care about them. they probably won’t either.” his voice is low, and his shoulders slowly shrugging adds to your arousal even more.

rin’s fingers play with you a bit more, different strokes and pressures riles you up in a way you never knew could happen before. you’re nearing the edge, and rin knows it. your moans and whimpers are getting thinner, becoming higher pitched pants of air than usual. your hips chases the feeling, and rin helps you through it. “h-how about y-you? ahn- feels so-” you try to lift your thigh up to create any form of friction with rin’s erection, which he weakly accepts, but the both of you know it’s not really enough. “it doesn’t matter. i’m not the one who needs distracting, love.” he grunts, curling his fingers along your clit for your pleasure.

when you finally cry out one last moan before your orgasm, rin captures your lips to take in your filthy noises of pleasure. as your lower half still shivers while your back arches from the leathered seats, rin’s tongue is messing up your mouth: saliva mixing with one another as some trickles away from your mouth and onto the side of your flushed face.

“i didn’t think you’d actually cum like this.” rin takes his time feeling the soaked area of your pants, he almost wants to look at it—if he could. rin attempts to cover a giggle with a cough, although it doesn’t work, because you catch on and slap his shoulder. “you can’t just say that! it’s embarrassing!” still hazy from your orgasm, you hide your heated face on rin’s neck. “doesn’t matter, though. it worked didn’t it?” rin lifts your body up, and along with his, he sits properly in the backseat while you’re slumped on his lap. his numb hand from acting as your makeshift pillow reaches up to your face, thumb touching your cheeks as he looks at you with a soft expression and you tilt your head a bit to the side, looking at him in wonder.

“you got distracted from the rain, love. isn’t that right?” only now do you notice that the storm has subsided, time flew by just like that. and the only thing you can hear is rin’s uneven breaths almost matching yours.

“yeah. i guess you’re right.”

© takotakigum | do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works.

[moesartblog]

alright I don't really write but this is my first attempt at fic in a loooong time

this is just part of prelude stuff to that assassins creed au thing

I hope it reads ok

I included some drawings as well

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Sun shined brightly through the window, with only wisps of clouds spotting the sky. The light from outside bounced around the room painted in ornate red patterns.

“My love, how are you feeling?” Giovanni sat on the side of the bed and gently placed a hand upon his wife’s cheek.

“I am finally beginning to recover from the pain,” Maria replied, smiling softly, while leaning into her husband’s touch. “But, more than anything, I am grateful to have another beautiful child as a part of our family.”

Ezio, the newest addition to the Auditore family, wriggled slightly within his swaddling blanket. He looked back and forth curiously between his mother and father. When Ezio’s gaze lingered on his father, Giovanni gave him a soft smile and gently put a hand on his head. Ezio gave a small laugh.

Knock knock.

“My lady, it is Annetta. I have brought Federico, as you requested. May we enter?”

“Si, si, please!”

The bedroom door opened slowly, with a light squeak. Anetta entered, holding the hand of an uncharacteristically shy Federico, standing slightly behind Anetta’s skirts. At just three years old, Federico was already showing signs of being a bit of a mischief maker. Just last month, he had gotten into his mother’s jewelry boxes and stashed some of her necklaces into a small crevice in the wall of his bedroom. But right now, he seemed like an entirely different child.

Giovanni stood from the bedside and walked around to where the other two stood.

“Thank you, Anetta,” he said to her with a grateful smile.

“Of course. I must attend to a few chores now, but I will return to feed Ezio afterwards.” Anetta glanced down at Federico, with a smile, tousled his hair slightly and left the room with a quiet click of the door.

Federico was left standing in front of his father, hands clasped together in front of his chest nervously. Giovanni knelt in front of him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Federico, I would like to introduce you to your new little brother.”

Giovanni took his son’s small hand in his, and led him to the bed, where his mother and brother were resting. He lifted his son up onto the side of the bed, mindful not to disturb Maria’s position. Federico carefully shuffled his way up the edge of the bed to get a better look at his new brother. Maria extended her hand to her firstborn’s face and rubbed his cheek with her thumb.

“My beautiful baby boy, this is your new brother,” Maria said, slightly tilting Ezio up for Federico to see, “Ezio.”

“Ezio…” Federico repeated quietly. He looked at this wide-eyed baby with a curious expression. Ezio only stared back at him for a very long moment. Maria and Giovanni grew slightly nervous. Would Federico react poorly to there being another child in the house? Would he have an issue with not being the only son?

Finally, with a soft breeze coming in through the window, Federico’s wavy hair bounced slightly, which made Ezio giggle. Federico’s stone face broke into a wide smile, and he held out a finger for Ezio to hold.

“He has a strong grip!” Federico exclaimed excitedly.

 Both Maria and Giovanni, internally, breathed a sigh of relief. Giovanni settled into the spot on the bed he had been sat in before. “Of course he does! Just like you when you had been brought into the world.” Federico smiled with a proud look on his face, at his father.

“Mama, can I hold him?”

Maria shifted slightly up. “Of course, my dear, but remember to be very careful, and be sure to keep his head supported.”

Maria delicately placed Ezio into Federico’s lap, and he followed his mother’s instructions to a T. He began to bounce his legs a little. “Salve, Ezio! My name is Federico. I am going to be your big brother from now on. I have so many amazing things to tell you about!”

As he continued to softly speak to Ezio about all the fun things he plans on doing with him when he’s able to walk, his father chimed in, “Federico, I want you to listen closely…”

Federico looked up towards his father.

“You are Ezio’s older brother, which means you have a very important job to do. You must help to keep him safe and guide him in the ways only a brother can. Do you understand, my son?”

Federico wasn’t sure about the details of what his father meant, but he at least understood that he needed to keep Ezio safe, so he gave Giovanni a firm nod. He then looked down at Ezio and smiled.

“I cannot wait for all the fun we will have together!”

-------

The moon was high in the sky, stars twinkling across the inky black sky.

The bedroom was only lit by a few candle-stands placed around the room, flickering lightly in the cool breeze from outside.

Viola walked up to her father’s side, beside her mother’s bed. She looked over at her mother, then looked at her father. Francesco was holding his wife’s hand and rubbing the back with his thumb.  She laid still, with slow breaths. Her red hair was still slightly matted to her skin from the exertion of birth, and her shut eyes were weighed down by dark bags.

“Papa, is mother alright?” Viola asked hesitantly.

“Yes, Viola. The birth just took its toll on her. All she needs now is rest,” he responded softly.

Viola let out a small sigh and looked over to the other side of the room. One of the wet-nurses, Guilia, was sat in a chair by the window feeding her new baby brother. She made her way around the bed to where they were.

Guilia glanced up at Viola with a smile. “Buonasera, Signora.”

Viola dragged another nearby chair over to sit beside her. “’Sera, Guilia. How are you?”

“I am doing well, thank you for asking,” she responded.

“Bene. How about my mother, and brother?”

“Your mother will be fine.” Guilia placed a hand on one of viola’s arms for comfort. “This was a difficult birth for her, but the doctor said she would be okay after some rest. And your brother is as healthy as can be.” She shifted her position to allow the baby’s face to be more visible, while he was tiredly suckling at Guilia’s breast. Viola smiled at him and gently ran her fingertips across his delicate head.

“What was the name he was given?” Viola inquired.

“Vieri,” Francesco chimed in, suddenly. Viola glanced over with a more plain look on her face.

“Was that your decision, or mothers?”

Francesco’s eyebrows furrowed for just a moment out of irritation. “It was your mother’s choice, Viola.”

She hummed and turned her attention back to her brother. “Vieri.” She gave a look that mixed worry and determination onto her face. “As long as I am your sister, I will do my best to keep you from knowing loneliness, fratellino.” Viola stood from her chair and made her way toward the door. “Guilia, if it is not too much trouble, please let me know when my mother is awake.”

“Of course.”

Viola nodded appreciatively, and then briefly glanced at her father, who had not moved an iota since she came into the room, his eyes still trained on his wife. She let out a small sigh and left the room with hardly any sound.

[dark-elf-writes]

Aizawa, Mic and cloud guy(forgot name🥲) yuri polycule.

Angst and then comfort after they find cloud gal again and rekindle the romance and finding out what has changed and what has stayed the same between them.

Kurogiri looked at her hands.

No. No that wasn’t right. That wasn’t her name.

Oboro Shirakumo looked at her hands, her living, flesh hands, for the first time in years. The air was still charged with Eri’s quirk, the little girl herself panting and already half asleep in Shouta’s arms, but everything around them stood perfectly still.

Her hands had been covered in freckles. She had forgotten that.

Slowly, so slowly, Oboro looked up, squinting as the light burned her eyes. Hizashi and Shouta watched her, seemingly just as stunned as Oboro was.

Then she swayed, and everything went dark.

—

Learning to life again after years spent as little more than a zombie was a more difficult process than one might expect.

Oboro had to remember to eat again. Had to remember to drink. Had to remember to breathe. Her head was full to bursting with information that Recovery Girl had told her, the woman’s voice softer than Oboro remembered. Kinder. She could almost not imagine this is the same woman that had chased Shouta and Oboro around the infirmary with her cane when they were in school. Even with her reminders Oboro still forgot more often than not and would only remember when her body was on the edge of collapse.

So really it only made sense for her to move in with someone that could help her. Hizashi had offered before Recovery Girl could finish.

Shouta and Hizashi’s home was exactly what she had expected of them. A mix of wild colorful clutter, weapons scattered on almost every surface, and hints of softness where one would least expect it. Shouta was carrying Oboro’s bag (full of things given to her in the hospital. Her own belongings had long since been packed away by her parents and had been lost after their deaths. God her parents were dead and she never even knew. She would never see them again. Never feel her dad’s hand in her hair. Never smell the vanilla and earthy scent that was her mother’s. Nev-)

Something soft and vibrating was set in her arms, breaking Oboro out of her spiral. It took several moments to realize it was a cat. Fat with big stupid eyes that looked up at her before slowly squinting closed. Oboro looked from the cat to Shouta, needing something, anything to make sense. Her eyes—. Eye. Her eye was full of understanding.

“Welcome home,” Shouta’s voice was rough like she had been shouting. Or maybe that’s just how it sounded after puberty. Oboro hadn’t been around to learn.

“I’m home,” Oboro’s voice was dry as dust and the realization hit her hard enough that she would have sobbed if she remembered how.

(She remembered a little boy, angry and hurting but hers. For better or worse he had been hers to raise and care for.

She remembered the man, the monster, he became. Remembered his broken body. Remembered her boy was no more.)

Shouta guided Oboro to sit on the bed and there she stayed, like a doll waiting for the next tug to her strings, and remembered.

—

“You wear the same perfume.”

Hizashi jolted, whirling to the open bathroom door, and nearly dropped the bottle in her hand. A little wisp of cloud, all Oboro could muster these days though Shouta and Hizashi assured her she was getting better, appeared under her hand to steady it.

Hizashi’s smile hadn’t changed either, Oboro realized. Bright and blinding and crooked as it had always been.

“Well a pretty girl told me once she liked it, and I thought that was a good sign to keep it.”

It was odd, blushing after all this time. Oboro had almost forgotten how it felt to be anything but cold before she woke up a hand full of months prior, and now her face radiated heat of its own like her own personal sun.

(She remembered telling Hizashi that her Perfume smelled nice. Remembered sinking her teeth into Hizashi’s neck where that smell had been strongest right after. Remembered the pleased thrum of heat the next day when her uniform’s collar wasn’t high enough to hide the hockey she had left, and the scent of Hizashi’s perfume filled her head as she walked past to her seat.)

“Here,” Hizashi’s hand carefully cradled Oboro’s own wrist and drew it up enough so she could spray her perfume on Oboro’s skin. Just as claiming as Oboro’s teeth in her neck had once been. Her fingers stroked over Oboro’s pulse point, lingering to feel the pointing of her heart. Her smile was nothing short of predatory when Hizashi looked up (god they both looked up at her now. How her body had grown while technically dead Oboro had no idea but fuck if it wasn’t intoxicating when Hizashi looked up at her through their lashes like that.) meeting Oboro’s eyes. “Now we can both smell nice.”

Oboro managed something between a squeak and what might have been Hizashi’s name, before stammering her excuses and retreating back out of the bathroom and to her own room again.

—

“Do you think it will ever be like it was?” Oboro asked one day, with her head in Shouta’s lap and her legs slung over Hizashi’s.

Shouta, ever practical Shouta, shook her head. “No, but I think would could make something new. Something better.”

Hizashi squeezed her ankle in agreement, and Oboro couldn’t help but believe them.

[raccoonfallsharder]

nemotia.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ preview [est feb 29] ✩

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 1/?? | wip | word count: pending.

She sits with them and presses the heels of her hands deeper into her eyes, and she tries to imagine the scent of the flowers, the feel of the grass between her fingers and toes. She traces the letters and the tops of the stones, smooth and sharp-edged.  And then, on the back of one bare shoulder, she feels that burn again: hot, scalding. Before she can even look around, the escaped wisps of curls at the nape of her neck suddenly shift. Her head snaps up and she whirls on one hip, nearly falling off the edge of the bed. “Who’s there?” Maybe no-one, she reasons — but if that’s the case, there’s also no-one to mock her for her fear. She knows she looks afraid: eyes big in her face, lips parted. She should hide it. She should. Instead, she holds her breath, and waits, but only the thunder answers in the dark. Then the light shifts on the floor, and she realizes the rain sounds different. She tears her eyes from the dark corners. The window is open. How? She’d traced every edge, looking for a crack or crevice, a lock, a lever — but now it’s open, swinging lightly on its hinges. Fear unfurls in her chest, and it’s so warm that she presses her icy fingers to her sternum automatically. “Who’s there?” she repeats, and her voice trembles. Thunder again, rumbling — but this time, when it fades, another sound remains behind: a chuckle, dark and low. Dark and low, and very, very close. Her head snaps toward the sound, and she catches the flash of something out of the corner of her eye. “Were you watching me earlier?” she asks, and that fear licks out from her sternum to the edges of her ribs, down to her shoulders and hips. “You shouldn’t be here. It isn’t—” It isn’t safe, she had been about to say — but then something grazes between her shoulderblades, like a paintbrush on her skin. Her head whips to follow it and she twists, eyes wide, lungs desperately trying to haul in air like stones up a mountainside. “You can’t — don’t touch me. It’s—” Dangerous. Another flick of the terrifyingly-soft thing again, on the back of her hand this time.  Something is moving around her in the dark. Something is stalking her. What to do? The door is locked. The closet is an open mouth of blackness in one wall, but she can’t barricade a sliding door. The open window had been a nice fantasy and she’s not ruling it out, but her curiosity is at war with her fear and she wants, more than anything, to make sure this creature or person gets out.  She knots her fist in the draping silk, gaze sifting through the shadows. Another flash of something her eyes can’t follow. She rises slowly to her feet, and reaches for the candle, and lifts it high. For a moment, there’s nothing. And then, in the dark shadows at the corner of the room, two perfect points of brilliant red gleam in the darkness: flat glowing coins, clouded with crimson. Twin blood-moons. Eyes.

chapter one [est 2/29] ✩

꧁･:☁︎ ⋆. cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂

wyndham’s bride lands on counterearth in time to prepare for her wedding. an unexpected guest arrives. warnings: discussion of non-sexual child abuse and grooming. brief mentions of suicidal ideations. animal/pet death. canon-typical violence.

inspired by mary shelley’s frankenstein; or, the modern prometheus. a freakish little monster visits the high evolutionary’s bride on her wedding night. an adventure of intergalactic proportions ensues. aka raccoons make plans; the universe laughs. 

enemies-to-lovers (as per frickin’ usual, only one of these idiots think they’re enemies, and tbh the enemy part is pretty short-lived.) while the beginning of this fic is dark (please check warnings for each chapter), we always get happy endings here. most chapters will contain super-smutty commentary at the very least. this fic is a longform expansion on wyndham; or, the galactic prometheus (day 31) of °˖✧♡kinktober 2023.

much like Window Across the Galaxy ✧*:･ﾟ , this fic is pure wish-fulfillment. i'd like a sexy space raccoon to rail me and then let me be stupid-sweet to him.

WARNING for dubcon/hate-sex (at the beginning), mentions of childhood grooming & abuse (no CSA), and brief suicidal ideations. please pay attention to all ao3 warnings/tags for every chapter.

if you’d like to join my fanfiction taglist, please comment or send me a message or ask! ♡

some explicit statements or references ✩ abbreviated explicit sequences ❤︎ detailed/prolonged explicit sequences ❤︎❤︎

[bnomiko]

Figure collecting: Pharaoh Atem 1:6 resin by Aftershock Studio (expanded review)

MFC is no longer allowing articles on unlicensed figures, so I'm posting the full text review here (along with a few extra photos that didn't make it into my original Tumblr post), since I don't want the article to go to waste.

Oddly both this unlicensed Atem on horseback resin AND this licensed one (by Fantastic Territory) came up for order at around the same time. Unless you're a massive Atem fan I can't see getting both so I had to choose one. The Fantastic Territory one was appealing since obviously it's licensed, and the base a lot smaller and less fussy (my preference), but I thought the horse on this statue looked much nicer and I generally prefer figures to have closed mouth expressions, so Aftershock's version won out and I placed my order. But… was it worth it?

Box and Packaging

Big shipping box: 62.8 x 30.8 x 63.5 cm and 27 lb ship weight. Actual figure box was snug inside, so no extra buffer padding.

The figure box is very basic - one big close up of Atem in the front, Sennen Puzzle in the back, content text on top and sides.

I was happy to find the foam inside held together with velcroed straps (MUCH better than tape which some companies use), and the foam was properly custom cut to fit each individual piece and layered in a sensible manner - main base pieces, horse and Atem's body in one layer, smaller things that went on sides and top in second layer. So it was very easy to unpack and assemble one layer at a time. And most importantly, no major breakages, even after I accidentally knocked the entire box over while dragging it to my display area for assembly. 1 minor breakage on the tip of a strand of the horse's mane but I located the damaged piece so it should glue together without issue.

Figures

Atem's face is great, exactly what I was hoping for. His earrings are even hinged which was a nice surprise, so depending on how you slot in the head they can fall into different spots. Good musculature on the body (nice thighs!) Biggest nitpick with the body is the blue flap of his skirt in the back isn't magnetized and the slot's a bit too big for it to sit securely, so I've already knocked it out of place twice.

The horse looks good. Came as a single piece except for the tail, so no issues with visible seams. Pose is dynamic and it feels stable even though it attaches to the base via the 2 back hooves with a bit of weight resting on a dust wisp that goes between the horse's legs. I mean if I'm going to nitpick it's way too hairy for the desert environment its supposed to be from and I doubt the tack's accurate to any era (certainly isn't tack that would be used in modern riding). Tack is much more minimal than the horse in the licensed statue for sure! But it's still a pretty and powerful looking horse.

I do have to add that I don't think this is really 1:6; it's probably closer to 1:7. I know Atem is short but unless this is a pony and not a horse, this is not a 1:6 horse. Breyer Traditionals (for those familiar with them) are 1:9, this horse is a bit larger but not by [i]that[/i] much.

Overall paint and finish are fine on both. Minimal shading overall. A few rougher patches but nothing egregious. I'm not a nitpicker though.

Base & Extras

The base is unfortunately quite large with a lot of dust cloud effects, though given how horizontal the entire piece is I think it was unavoidable having a longer base to counterbalance the weight of the horse. There's a mini temple at the back to give the impression that Atem is galloping away from the city or whatnot.

Overall paint and finish are slightly rougher on the base than the figures, but a lot of it gets obscured by all the dust attachments and who really looks at the base anyhow?

Bottom of the base has felt circles plus an additional padded vinyl(?) layer with a drawing of Atem and the number of the figure as well.

There's also an additional gold bracer / AE duel disk that looks like it should slot somewhere in the base, but doesn't shrug I already packed it away because it looks weird just sitting there as a separate piece that doesn't scale with the statue.

[raelhbishop]

Dreams of the Welkin World

Art: "Val van Icarus" by anonymous, between 1675 and 1711 (colorized by author)

There’s someone in the clouds.

The boy had often seen shapes in the clouds as they passed by, fanciful forms that came and went at a moment’s notice. He sometimes wondered if the clouds had lives of their own, like those of his parents tending to the fields below.

This was different. 

Staring directly at him is a girl, one made of wisps and skystuff, but a girl nonetheless. A child just like him, somehow, riding a horse made of smoke. 

The boy had always been an inquisitive fellow, even before he could talk. Though he stands no higher than three feet, he doesn't let it stop him from climbing the local rock faces or swinging from treetops. 

From this plateau, one can see his parents working in the distance. They look like mere ants from here. He could see the whole world from here: the farmhouses of his neighbors, the lazy streams and winding canals, the flowers and wheatfields and orchards, even the distant marketplace. If one squints, one can spot a tower further ahead, filled with strange noises and even stranger people. Faint hints of gold can be seen on the midday horizon, seeming to curl upwards like a floor rug pushed against a wall. 

Breathtaking as it may be, the boy remains glued to the sky above. He sometimes wondered if the clouds had lives of their own. He didn't question it now. 

Her lightning eyes are all that remains in his head as an inaudible command draws the girl away, into a hidden world amongst the clouds.

===

Thick layers of snow sit on the plateau. The boy, now a foot taller, runs out of the farmhouse as his parents scream for him. He heads into a toolshed and pulls out a rickety device, made of twigs, strings, and animal hides, together resembling bird's wings.

Device in hand, he trudges through the snow and, with difficulty, climbs a tree. He straps the device to his arms and waits.

The winter air bites at his nose and shakes his body - which is exactly what he'd been waiting for. All the while, his parents yell at him to come down. 

Not too far off, a robed man with grey hair and a large forehead walks down the road, staff in one hand and bowl in another. 

The boy continues waiting. The wind grows stronger and stronger.

It's time.

In an instant, the boy lunges off the tree. He falls for a moment, before the wind billows the animal hides on his device and propels him forward. 

Hovering a mere fifteen feet off the ground, the boy swiftly glides past his parents, past the farmhouse, and past the frostbitten fields. The sensation of flight is equal parts scary and exciting. If his teeth still chattered and his bones still shivered, he didn't notice, for the feeling of gliding is all that occupied his mind. 

It's an exhilarating experience - until he plummets as the wind dies down. He hurdles faster and faster towards the ground, flying by the robed man, before crashing face-first into a snowbank.

Some time later, he wakes in the farmhouse, the robed man having tended to his wounds. He sees the man talking to his parents, pointing enthusiastically at diagrams and scribblings in the boy's notebooks. Big words like ‘apprentice’ and ‘inventor’ can be heard here and there, which the boy can’t understand.

His eyes land on the fireplace and its smooth embers.

The wind only blows left and right, in-and-out. Humans naturally tend to fall. It seems only fire and smoke climb upward.

===

The sun shines brightly on the tower of the Natural Philosophers' Guild, where strange folks reside and the constant clammer of caustic devices emanates. 

From one of its highest windows, the boy stares out into the distance. He's now five-and-a-half feet tall, a well-off apprentice, and much closer to man than boy. 

He's learned a lot during his time at the Guild. Useless things, mostly. How to dissect a flower, the names of the beasts, how the pangene works... 

But, also, useful things. Tales of distant places and the wonders therein, the five elements and their crystal spheres, how to sell your strange and incredibly hazardous inventions in the marketplace…

Even so, our apprentice inventor still looks out into the distance with longing. The farmhouse and plateau look so small from here, as if they were another world entirely.

Then, out in the clouds, a figure appears. It’s that of a woman, a specter made of clouds and billows, with eyes like two charges of lightning. 

Those days climbing rock faces come flying back to him. He swears it’s the same girl from before, having grown just like him. 

===

Later that day, the apprentice lumbers out of the tower-cum-workshop with a device strapped to his back. It’s a distant descendant of the twiggy bird wings he fashioned so many winters ago, now reinforced with proper wood, light bits of metal, and paper wings. Now present is a metal box on his back, heavily concealed, with holes in the bottom. Inside sits a steel ball of water and an array of clockwork.

The other inventors chase after our apprentice, pleading for him to stop. 

He pulls a match from his pocket (the latest invention from the merchant republics) and throws it into one of the holes. Inside, cogs and gears start turning. Bits of coal and saltpeter alight from inside the metal box. The water in the ball heats up. A chain reaction begins, growing louder and louder. 

The apprentice fears for his life as an explosion emits from the holes in the bottom, launching him dozens of feet upward. Within seconds, he’s now flying among the clouds. Those down below scream or chant prayers.

His mouth is agape as he sees his comrades shrink into the distance. It remains agape as he turns and sees entire villages hidden among the clouds. Children of wisp float around the clouds as their guardians tend to fireplaces of lightning. Billowy reapers can be seen harvesting rays of sunlight from the sky. Pools of liquid rainbow can be seen here and there.

As he ascends, he starts to feel warmer and warmer. His senses return to him, and with a few obscure movements he slows his descent, calming the fires inside the box. He adjusts to the wind, and begins gliding through this welkin world. 

Down below, the robed man ascends the guild’s tower and pulls out his simple brass telescope. Though nearly blind, he can make out the apprentice’s figure in the heavens, gliding from cloud to cloud. He smiles.

[mulanism]

lovesick ryomen sukuna is literally infesting my mind and giving me brainworms and i don’t think anyone gets it. how absolutely smitten sukuna would become with you, the puny little human he had originally thought to be unworthy of his gaze, let alone his time and attention.

it's nothing but time, the healer and killer of all things, that makes this cursed man realize just how much his entire world revolves around you. how he'd end humanity itself before he'd allow things to be any other way between you two.

lovesick sukuna who loathes being in proximity to those he deems as insignificant and inferior. he gets awfully irritated breathing the same air as those lowly underlings, and he predictably doesn’t like the touch of anyone else.

but when it comes to you, he has this unbridled desire to always be skin-to-skin, to keep you flush against his massive body and never let go until he absolutely has to. it's troublesome, but the weight of you in his lap keeps him oddly pacified whether he wants to acknowledge his restrained and mellowed demeanor in your presence or not.

lovesick sukuna who doesn’t like when others try to touch him in any way, shape, or form. but he’d let you do anything. you could dig your nails into his skin, tear his heart out, and he’d do absolutely nothing to stop you.

he is completely yours, just as you are completely his.

suggesting that sukuna enjoys your touch earns you nothing but unwarranted ridicule and excessive condemnation from him if you ever mention it; his chest rumbles as he reprimands you for being so foolish—all while he makes no move to stop your hands from brushing those wisps of pink hair away from his line of sight. he doesn't even interfere when your tender lips carefully brush against the tattoo markings littered across his face.

lovesick sukuna who is fully aware of how much he likes to return your touch, too. there was a time when he told himself he was far too busy to wallow in trivial matters of the flesh; but now it has gotten to a point where he can't stop himself from indulging in yours.

you feel so soft, so supple, and warm beneath his calloused fingers. sukuna's hands are big—large enough that a single hand of his almost completely covers the expanse of your tummy. the size difference between you two both humors and fascinates him, so much that he can't stop himself from kneading the plush of your stomach or the soft flesh of your thighs. it was sukuna's nature to barbarously ruin and pulverize everything he got his hands on, but here you were being the only exception.

lovesick sukuna who is never one to hold back in anything he does, yet he finds himself handling you with a little bit of care that he wouldn't dare extend to another soul on this earth. truthfully, he wants to devour you completely, but he understands he could snap you in half if he doesn't remain mindful about the amount of force he's exerting when he's bending and twisting and handling you every which way.

he has his moments where his uninhibited carnality and lust speak for him; when he loses control of himself and lets out out those guttural sounds that he never lets slip through his lips unless he's with you. sounds that are never heard outside of your most intimate moments, like the ones where he can't stop marking you and leaving behind dark, purple love-bites that will last a little while longer than usual.

lovesick sukuna has moments where his senses are clouded with the smell and taste of you as you exhale softly through parted, kiss-swollen lips while you lay dazed beneath him. those moments where he's kissed you for far too long and taken nearly all of the oxygen out of your lungs. vermillion eyes watch as your chest heaves and you puff out those small little breaths, and sukuna thinks it's cute how he can render you that way with little else but a kiss.

lovesick sukuna who thinks you are ignorant. he believes you don't truly realize the power you hold over him. you don't truly comprehend how he would scorch and set ablaze the entire world on your command. all you had to do was say the word, and he'd do anything. it's a bit unsettling to think about how tightly you've got him wrapped around your finger without even knowing it, but there's a part of sukuna that's in no rush to reveal such a vulnerability to you.

sukuna is not one for saccharine words and sentiments—but if there is one thing that rings true, it’s that his mind is constantly consumed by you—you, you, you.

[live-from-flaturn]

French Inhale

This absolutely wild ficlet was brought to you in part by @foxandfall, whose convo led me to the conclusion that not only can Porchay do a French Inhale, he uses this Secret Bad Boy Skill to tease Kim beyond the point of fairness.

stoner lingo: roach = tiny bit of remaining weed at the tip of the joint (where your lips go), toke = hit/pull/drag, you gotta cough to get off = you have to take big hits and cough to get really high, 

tws: adults using legal mind-altering substances (smoking weed), horny vibes

---

Kim found Chay on the balcony of their new apartment, leaning his elbows back against the smooth metal railing. A lit joint hung precariously in the space between his pointer and middle fingers and a thin tail of blue-white smoke curled up through the air. Kim’s eyes followed its shifting column until they were inevitably drawn to the dangerously exposed length of his boyfriend’s neck, which tensed and relaxed appealingly as he opened his mouth to exhale.

“Long day?” Kim asked, voice miraculously normal. 

Chay offered a throaty, tired hum in lieu of a reply. Long didn’t begin to cover the kind of day he’d suffered through, but everything was fine right now. Kim was moving steadily closer, the weed was good – nothing less than the best for Wik’s secretive muse/boyfriend, and a buffet's worth of food was on its way from Porsche and Kinn as a ‘thank you’ for handling their shit all afternoon.

“Brothers?”

“Mhm.”

“Was it that stupid fucking wedding I warned them about?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m sorry, angel.”

Chay didn’t want Kim to be sorry at the moment, however. Not like that. 

Determined to turn the entire evening (and this conversation) around, Chay straightened his posture and took another slow drag of the joint before offering it to Kim. Once the mafia heir had taken a nice lungful, Chay parted his glossy lips. He coquettishly revealed the rolling white cloud of spicy marijuana smoke that sat hovering within the curved bowl of his tongue. 

With the kind of precision that only came with lots of practice, he inhaled through his nose and felt the smoke start trickling upward from his mouth in a smooth, impressive wave. Kim swallowed, which was a huge mistake because he still hadn’t released the last hit he’d taken. 

Coughing uncontrollably but also desperate not to lose sight of his boyfriend’s confusingly hot display, Kim planted both hands on his knees and stared Chay down. Chay shrugged nonchalantly and shot him a wink, “You gotta cough to get off, babe.”

When he could breathe properly again, Kim pointed accusingly up at him and wheezed, “You know that’s not what that means.”

“So?”

Chay took the joint back and used his free hand to pull Kim close, tucking the shorter man into his side. He took an enormous toke and buried his face in Kim’s unstyled hair. When the burn grew too painful for him to hold another second, he lifted his chin, sighed, and watched any remaining grey wisps disappear in the breeze. Kim plucked the roach away with a look that said ‘you’re finished’, so Chay chose to occupy his hands by fitting them over his boyfriend’s hips instead. 

He squeezed without any shame whatsoever, having openly professed his feelings about Kim’s delicate waist a long while ago. Held flat to his chest as Kim now was, he felt the idol tense in a distinctly excited way. Kim shoved the depleted roach into their novelty bootlegged-Hello Kitty ashtray and twisted around in one smooth go. 

The movement temporarily broke Chay’s hold on him, but once he’d gotten situated with his face to Chay, Kim put them right back where they belonged. He tilted his head up to look at Chay, “Wanna go inside?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You tired, or about ready for a snack?” Kim teased. “I think the foo-”

He was interrupted by Chay’s decision to lift him up and throw him over one annoyingly broad shoulder. 

“Hey! Put me down! Chay!” 

“Why should I put you down, P’Kim?” Chay laughed. He moved inside and closed the sliding balcony door behind them, Kim flopping back and forth with each half-turn of his torso. He planted a firm smack to Kim’s ass and laughed at the surprised yelp it got him in response. “Didn’t you just ask me if I wanted a snack?”

“That’s not what-”

“Then you should have been more specific.”

And if their awkwardly delivered dinner was a little cold by the time they got around to eating it? Oh well. You wouldn’t hear either of them complaining.

[magnoliacharmed]

Breezy

(not my gif!)

Rob Van Dam x Fem!Reader one shot

[Also available on Archive of Our Own!]

Word count: 485

Tags: Picnics, sunsets, weed

Summary:

Prompt: Breezy | You and Rob have a picnic by the lake.

Author’s note: Prompt from @fluffyfebruary​! I’ll be posting various stories using their prompts throughout the month.

A particularly strong breeze rushed by you and Rob Van Dam as the two of you scrambled to make sure your napkins didn't float away into the sky. You both sat criss crossed on a large picnic blanket with a big basket of snacks close by. Sure you wanted to make sure you had plenty of food for the day, but the unwieldy basket also served as a cover. You and Rob craned your necks awkwardly to stare at the ground up weed below you. Your hands cupped around the little green pile as Rob quickly gathered it up to roll it into a joint. You realized how silly you two probably looked, foreheads almost touching and intense expressions on your faces. A passerby would've thought you were trying to disarm a bomb with the concentration that was being shown.

You tore your eyes away from Rob's fingers as he continued on. The breeze did feel good even if it was a little annoying. You especially liked the way it made his hair fly around him, the soft wisps of it whipping out of his ponytail. A small smile spread on your face as you returned your attention to the task in front of you.

"Okay, I think we're good." Rob's voice-- always calm, cool and collected-- hesitated slightly. He raised the perfectly rolled joint up to his lips to seal it while his large, pretty eyes stared away at you. His long lashes blinked closed while you turned away from him self-consciously.

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" Your fingers reached into the picnic basket for a lighter.

"You face away whenever I look at you for longer than a second."

"What can I say? You get me all shy."

Rob laughed in that laidback way you loved. His hand reached out to pass you the joint, your fingers brushing by his. No matter how many little touches you shared with him, you still got the same electric feeling you did from the very first time. The lighter was passed over to him and he attempted to strike the flint of it. Every time his finger rolled against the metal, a gust of wind extinguished it in a flash. After a few more attempts you were finally able to catch the fire. One deep inhale later, you were on Cloud 9. You placed the joint between your lips, letting it dangle as you scooted over to Rob's side. Your lips kissed against his fingers when he reached to grab it gently and take a puff. The sun was setting, washes of orange, pink, and lavender all mixing together in that watercolor painting sort of way. With the joint between his two fingers you leaned in to take another hit, then rested your head on his shoulder. Prickles of light danced against the surface of the water in a show just for you two.

[iwaasfairy]

𝙳𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙸𝚃𝚄𝚃𝙴

when did you start thinking of big brother as something to possess? not sure. at the same time that you were given your own demons to fight, maybe. a/n. wanted to write something for not-yet-so-evil geto, yk, before everything went to shit

.wordc. 3k tw incest, big brother geto, dubcon, unprotected sex, feelings :/

There’s a thick blanket of shame that you often cuddle into. A thick cover of broken understanding that casts over you and curls around your fingertips, and you lay, and you wait. But for all that lackluster, shattered understanding, you don’t think you could trade it if you wanted to. No, this is yours to sit in, from the moment you wake up to the second you go to bed, and if you’re lucky, it doesn’t follow when you sleep.

It makes sense, doesn’t it? Short, feeble breaths escape you as you jog around the corner and your feet sink into the thin wisps of snow left for the day. You brought this upon you two, so it’s only right that you deserve to be punished. Your eyes are teary and unfocused, cheeks bitten by the wind and the sweat on your back cools too quickly, but you can’t deny it.

This is your own, little curse to wear; hidden far beneath the safety of your skin.

Niisan carries his own well. You should do him a favor and follow suit. Your breath escapes in thin, white clouds as you come to a halt in the courtyard and stretch out your back, shaking your feet from the wetness of the melting snow. You pick up the geta and switch out your soaked sneakers, leaving those in the exact place you took them from. Being exact, that much you’re capable of at the very least. You turn towards the main door— only to startle back at the narrowed gaze pointed at you. Suguru crosses his arms over his chest and hops down from the ledge, before he raises a brow. “What are you doing?”

You only tut your lips, a bit frustrated at being caught, but not willing to let it show. “Running.”

“Yes, I can see that,” your big brother softly chuckles, pulling his hands from his pockets as he walks towards you with lingering steps. “My question is; why?”

He stops a few feet away from you, but even from a distance he seems to tower over you, always has- probably always will. It’s one of those things that you struck out on, you guess, being the shorter sibling, the slower, less talented sibling. He’s always been the perfect size to hold you to him and make you fit in his hands. You wish you could despise him for it. But Suguru nii isn’t like that, he’s never been unfair to you. Even though you are—

When you don’t answer, he takes another few steps closer, nudging your face his way and leaning to meet your eyes. “Baby sister? I can’t hear you.” The teasing drag of his words only tightens the knot between your brows. You push the fingers gripping your chin away with a huff and walk around him, tapping your toes onto the floor a few times as you get onto the terras, not bothering to look back at him. If you were to tell him the real reason, he’d end up pitying you. Gleefully, wholeheartedly, he’d tell you no- because Suguru nii doesn’t think of you as anything bad, and you can’t help but disagree.

“If you’re gonna cry, at least do it in my room! What if mom and dad see you,” he calls after you, something that has your pout jutting right back out as you turn on your heel. Niichan looks like a drop of ink on spotless paper in this landscape, black hair and yukata almost blending together to create one perfect form, full and proud. You kick off the wooden shoe and chuck it straight at his head, watching as it stops a few inches away from his shoulder and falls to the ground, stopped in it’s tracks. Stupid curses.

“I’m not crying, Suguru!”

“You look like you’re about to, to me,” he chimes back, picking up the geta and chucking it right back for you to put on, wet this time. He gives you a little up and down, staring at you with full attention through those long, thick lashes, before his mouth corners drop slightly. “Really though. Why have you been out for almost an hour now, y’know I worry.”

He does. You might bicker and toss out snide comments, even fight from time to time, but you know he worries. He cares, always has. It’s a miracle and a half he hasn’t given up on you yet, really. “‘M hmea,” you whisper, looking away from your big brother, still standing in the middle of the courtyard like a beacon, a blaring warning sign against the landscape. He raises a brow, and places his hand behind his ear, slipping back into the grin. “I’m weak.” But he gives a lost ‘huh?’ again, making you pipe up, clenching your fists at your sides. “God, I said I’m weak, niichan! You’re so annoying!” Your snappy tone echoes in the quiet of the mountain, seeming to carry much too far.

And to his credit, he has the decency to look at least a little sheepish at pushing you when you shrug your sweater over your head, staying only in a flimsy top as you let the cold pick at your glowing skin. You toss the thing inside the hall with a sigh, glancing inside the house for a few seconds when it stays entirely quiet up here, so unlike home. “Where are they, anyway?”

You don’t bother to even acknowledge him this time as you push open the door further, wanting to curl up and hide in your room. He’ll probably use this as a way to blackmail you later on. Maybe make you run a lap so that Satoru senpai can make fun of you too- and how stupid and weak you are. “They left for the day, it’ll be just you and me until tomorrow.” He hops up onto the wooden platform himself, and patiently waits for you to get out of the hallway before he follows behind into the house. “Should be fun, right?”

Though the softness in his tone is definitely present, you can’t help yourself from clicking your tongue and rolling your eyes, moving quickly to the simple room you’ve been spending the last two weeks in. “Yeah, totally.” It doesn’t feel like home, not by a long shot, but it’s become close enough a place to relax as you’ll find this far into the mountains. Mom and dad needed a “getaway” for the family, something along those lines. They really just didn’t want to deal with the pressure of Suguru’s growing popularity and demand in the Jujutsu scene with a second kid failing so miserably, you’re sure.

You hear him sigh as you trek away from the main room so suddenly, the familiar urge to hide from the world creeping back up. The golden boy of the Geto family. You know you’re being unfair to him, and that for all his flaws, Suguru is about as good to you as big brothers come. It’s just fact that he is stronger. If you had been born the stronger of the two, you probably would carry it less gracefully. He never looks down on you. You are his blood and he is yours, now until forever - it’s something you always admired him for.

When you were smaller and he’d place you on his back, carry you through the dark hallways while talking to you so helpfully. “Keep 'em shut,” he’d laugh any time you dared open a squeezed eye, only to cower back into his shoulders. “Almost there.” Suguru nii had every reason to be afraid— more reason to be, since he could see the things you were actually afraid of. He had to face them for you. And then he’d cling to your hand and lead you out of the house, out of the heat, into the night with his smile a little too genuine.

Looking up with big, teary eyes at the way the moon lit up his face and made him seem wholly different than you. Maybe that’s where your infatuation started, or maybe that’s just the excuse you give yourself these days. Your appreciation of him used to be wholesome. It used to be good and pure and straightforward. It used to be right. You’re not sure when that changed for you, when you started seeing niichan as something to possess. No. He has his curses and you have yours, and surely, surely- there’s a reason as to why you wake up in a cold sweat every night, dreaming of your big brother.

Your begged your parents to let you stay behind, drop you with aunts or uncles or anyone else. Just don’t keep you locked up in a coop with your big brother, please. You think Suguru would’ve probably winced if he’d heard how hard you begged, but he’ll never understand what it’s like. To be overcome with-

You pull your blanket further over you as the door is slid open, his somewhat lanky form slipping into the room to kneel at your bed. There’s a deep breath, before his warm palm lands on your head and he brushes an encouraging thumb along your temple. “Didn’t mean to actually make you upset. You okay?” The ruffling of his yukata is soft and awfully distracting, smooth fabric dragging along your neck and leaving goosebumps all over your skin. “Don’t be mad at me,” he whispers as he leans down, ever so soft.

Only when it comes to you he is able to leave the posturing behind and crack open at the edges, and you’re not nearly good enough to resist it when it’s offered so gently. Not that it doesn’t kill you inside. The tears that well up in the silence between you two are something made of both regret and frustration, and you sniffle into the blanket the longer it lasts. Bringing up a knuckle to swipe the fat tears away from your face, you struggle back as he scoots down and gets under the blankets with you, now no longer hesitating to pull you close.

“‘M not mad at you,” you try to squeak, you try to push at his shoulder, but he just catches your hand and folds it back between your two bodies. He cuddles up to you as close as you’ll let him with your objections, and noses at your temple as you’re forced to make peace with the comforting smell of caramel and spices that takes up your space. “Go away, oniichan,” you beg again, but the way your hands are wrung into his clothing proves it. You’re-

“You’re weak.” His eyes find yours when you look up in surprise, cheeks swiped with wetness and lips cracked open. “Is that what you’re so worried about, little sis?” A little breath washes over your cheeks when he laughs, enjoying your expression a little longer. “That’s just fine, isn’t it? That’s why I was made to be strong after all. I’m meant to protect you.” Your little, pink tongue peeks out to wet your lips against your lack of words, and his eyes follow the motion, before he swallows. “Big brothers are meant to take care of their little sisters, aren’t they? Definitely when your sister is weak.”

“You have no clue what you’re talking about, niisan,” you whisper back, letting goosebumps overtake your arms and legs. Even the slightest brush of the soft fabric sends you spiralling deeper into your own little hell, gross thoughts now again banging at your conscience. It’d be so easy to ask it of him right now— demand it for hurting you, for the long term damage he might cause. Your nipples pebble the longer the cold air slips between your two bodies, his hand no longer soothing over your side. “You shouldn’t promise things you can’t give.”

Suguru’s eyebrows pull together at that, pinching in a single line that pulls crooked, the slightest reminder that even perfection has it’s temporary flaws. “I’m not, I mean it.”

“I don’t think you want to help me, Suguru nii,” you end up whispering, looking from his eyes to his neck, hearing the birds outside and your heart bang in your throat. There you go again, thinking something you shouldn’t. “I’m not just weaker than you physically. If that was the case I could forgive it.” It aches not to drag your lips along the soft stretch of exposed skin under his chin, leave your sign there. He is yours and you are his— by blood, but it doesn’t seem like it. Not when your thoughts thump like this. “‘M weak because I want something.”

It’s unfair. You know he’ll ask, anyone would, and you know you’ll bite the bait gladly. But you’re only one person, and this seems too good to be true. “What?” Suguru asks, while your hands cling a little harder to him. There’s a strange intensity in his eyes, a focus as he watches you roll closer, bury your nose against the thumping vein of his throat and place your lips there, softly at first.

“This,” you mouth along it, shifting so that his thigh is slotted in between yours, and though he doesn’t move and you don’t dare push your luck, even the slightest bit of friction makes you clench, panties wet. It’s a curse for sure, how easily you’ve come to think of your body as his. As an extension of him, always longing and begging. You kiss harder when he takes a sharp breath, following him when he pulls back and grabs for your shoulder. You whine when his skin leaves the vicinity of your mouth, shaking your head. “No, niichan, stay.”

He lingers— for your sake or his you’re not sure, but it’s a second before he loses the grip on your shoulder and you climb onto him to push your crotch to his. “Holy fuck,” he mumbles, staring up at you like you’re a foreign thing now. You might as well be, you’ve tried so long to keep it in that right now it feels like a stranger. A stranger that tugs little hands from niichan’s collar and shoves it open to drop a greedy mouth down his muscular pecs and under them, sucking and biting. You mewl happily when you rock yourself on him and you feel the hardness between you two, cock swelling with blood even if he doesn’t mean to.

Your clothed cunt slicks and begs as you rut yourself on him for a few seconds, breathing so heavy, before Suguru manages to find his voice and cracks out a plea. “Are you insane?” Probably.

“Want you so bad, niichan,” you moan, digging your nails into his sides and rocking yourself enough to shake loose the rest of his clothing and give you more access to him. The hardening, growing length is twitching by the time you slide off onto his thighs to start pulling his boxers down, letting your mouth drop open with a needy tongue, greedy for him. You wonder if he sees you as a curse right now, not lingering on it long enough to care before you lave your tongue along your big brother’s cock. “‘S your fault, niichan,” you mumble to him, and he bristles.

“You did this to me,” you cry.

His eyes find yours under your lashes, thick and watery and your drool slipping along the glossy head of his cock as you let it into your mouth before popping it back out, licking along the ridge. Suguru is painfully quiet as he grips your hips to steady you onto your knees, but you don’t care. It hurts. You can’t be bothered with any more foreplay before you pull your shorts and underwear to the side and get positioned above his thick cock, twitching impatiently for your touch.

You let the head brush up against your soft, wet cunny, before you push down and feel it slide deeper inch by inch. And Suguru nii, he just hangs onto you and lets you do what you need to do, as if he knows that you’re hurting without him inside. “Ah, niichan,” you throw your head back as you sink down until he bottoms out, smelling like sex and freshly washed linen, something that smelt so pure just seconds ago. “Niichan, w-need -ah- you,” you sniffle, leaning down for his face and kissing him, letting your tongue meet his when he finally starts kissing you back.

And you hurt, because it isn’t fair. That he got everything, and gave you the bad end of the deal. Made you so weak, to start with. “‘S your fault, niichan,” you mumble against his mouth again, banning the imagines from your head. “Don’t you remember?”

‘Shh, stay still,’ he giggled back then, hiding out of the house under the light from the moon. Perfect. The golden boy, and you, his shadow. ‘I’m just going to give some of my curse to you! That way we’ll be together forever.’ Hiding under the bridge and brushing your tears away.

‘You won’t hurt me, right, niichan?’ He’ll give you your own cursed technique. Give you part of his.

‘Never. If anyone can do it, it’s me, right?’ He’ll fix you. He’ll fix you. He’ll fix you. ‘Because I am strong and you’re weak.’

‘Promise?’

‘Promise.’

And as you cry around him now, spearing yourself onto your big brother with shaky thighs and slick gushing down his cock, you’re still weak. You tremble and shake each time his cockhead bumps your cervix, moaning out his name and feeling him bucking back into you. The lewd squelches that fill the empty house and the heavy hit of your ass hitting his thighs, his hands pulling your hips further onto him. What a liar in the end. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice cracking.

“I love you, niichan. Never leave me.”

[uncouth-the-fifth]

Hello!! I was wondering when you'd write a general smut HC for Jon like you did for Damian

hell yeah, it's Jon day now 😤

when asked, Jon (after a lot of blushy fumbling) will claim that he had the normal teenage sex experience. He tried to have one, anyway. The occasional s/o had brought it up with him before, and Jon, desperately clinging to his human side for any sense of normalcy in his bizarre life, prematurely agreed. He soon finds out that he's barely compatible with humans in the first place. His strength alone makes the entire situation dangerous, since the premise to sex is a loss of self-control - Jon can't even stop himself from crushing his phone when he's not paying attention. Simple math.

So, he moves on to aliens. Being Superboy gives him lots of... access... across the galaxy, so he gets away with lots of things he shouldn't. Sneaking off to makeout with a girlfriend is pretty normal for teenagers, so Jon gets some points there. But flying behind Saturn to get some action in a spaceship? Not so much.

This makes Jon sound not so innocent, but he's still the gentleman we all know and love. These alien girls he goes around kissing are remembered by name and treated kindly every time Jon sees them again - he's not the type to play and toss. All he wants to do is learn about himself and other people. His sexual curiosity is definitely tied to his sense of identity, since it takes an entire saga for Jon to figure out what satisfies Kryptonians.

The answer: very, very little.

When he's hard, he stays hard, even after he cums. Jon's endurance is literally endless as long as the sun is up or light's touched him in the last day. His heat vision acts up when he's turned on, too, something he had to learn the hard way. He's probably never had a truly good orgasm in his life... (Until you, but will get to that).

But like every hard thing about being Kryptonian, Jon twists it into something positive.

Obviously, he's huge. He's aware how uncomfortable it can be for some people to handle something that big, so he's content with oral instead. Giving, that is.

Jon's mouth never tires, so he can stay between your legs until his breath runs out - which it doesn't. He picked up a couple handy tricks in space that make him a menace in bed. If Jon touches light enough and moves fast enough, his fingers can vibrate inside of you at super-speed. As he's tenderly kissing your clit, he'll blow icy puffs of air on your pussy to make you squirm. If you're cramped for room or can't find a good position, Jon can pick you up with one hand and hold your thighs around his face comfortably in the air. And if someone happens to walk in? A little super-speed goes a long way for your privacy.

There's other things about having sex that Jon learns to enjoy, too. His superhearing catches every wisp of a moan, every hitch of breath. He likes to remind you that his sense of taste is super, too ;)

Eventually, you start to feel guilty. Jon does so much for you but you're physically unable to do the same for him. Though it takes a bit of looking, there are solutions to this problem.

Star Labs discreetly develops a bracelet/collar that cancels out yellow sun energy with red. Jon's nervous to use it, but after the hundredth time you hear the little click as it snaps onto his wrist (usually before he makes love to you like a heathen), you both think of it like you would a condom or birth control. Though this means no super-vibration or limitless endurance, Jon makes it more than worth it for you both.

He's a sweet, impatient lover. Jon needs very little foreplay to get heated up, and he does a lot of whining and begging if you prolong anything. He'll scoop you off your feet and effortlessly drop you in his lap, where he'll pepper you with dovey kisses and giggle about how eager he is to feel you squeeze around him. Jon's just sassy enough to be considered on the edge of vulgar - but if you dare to dirty talk to him in return, he'll dissolve into a crimson-faced puddle and do anything you ask.

Years of being Damian's "sidekick" has given him the smallest degradation kink. One time, you'd smacked his ass with a kitchen towel and teased him for being a bad boy- only to end up bent over a counter and pounded into until your thighs were purple.

(And the spanking... the harder, the better. Pain is out of the equation for Jon, so all that's left is the nature of the act, of being punished and submitting to it. He's always forced to be the one in control. It's nice to relax and take orders for once. When he's not wearing that bracelet, the best way to turn him on is by clawing your nails up his back, over his neck, and into his hair. None of it hurts, but the sensation never fails to make Jon go berserk).

In bed, Jon's a very flexible switch. His default is bottom, since his powers always put him in charge in every other situation. After a harsh day as Superman, there's nothing he wants more than to go home and not be in charge for once, especially if it's him submitting to some filthy snuggling. Though he's always in a rush to get to the dirtiest part of things, Jon never fails to chase the bone you hang over his head. One x-ray vision glimpse of your lack of underwear makes him forget how to walk. The look you give him as you get out his bondage ropes - starved. A lot of it is about letting go and losing control for him, but just as much relies on getting some good ole fashioned attention. Jon loves to be treated like a puppy. Kiss him, coo at him, pet him, and he'll be yours.

His favorite positions are, without fail, the ones where he can hold you up. Jon's bumped your head against the ceiling plenty of times in the process, but he prefers to eat you out with your legs wrapped around his head, your whole body held up by two hands. He can maneuver you however he needs to in order to fuck you best with his mouth, and often it ends with your hands in his hair, pretzeled around his head and wailing while he devours you. Or, with your legs around his waist instead. It's a position that gives his strength the advantage, where he can easily kiss you and glide his cock into your core in the same motion.

Jon loves to take his time when you get to sex, but with his schedule and the constant calls for help, he will never mind a quickie. As long as you find an appropriate spot (aka: kitchen counters, behind the clouds in the sky, in the shower, against the front door before work, etc), Jon will satisfy you just as easily as he would with more time.

Along the way, Jon discovers that sex is his best outlet for liking his powers. After his first time, his confidence is permanently boosted. Behind those baby blues adored by the public, a dirty secret lurks: Jon knows precisely how to make you scream his name, and it has everything to do with why they call him the Man of Steel.

[mhysa-leesi]

𝕄𝕣𝕤. 𝔸𝕝𝕝-𝔸𝕞𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕟

Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers 𝒳 (femme) Reader ⭐.

Summary: “Steve Rogers deserves nothing less than an All-American Apple Pie Life, with his Miss America. And he’ll stop at nothing to have it.” 

Word Count: 3,472 

TW‼: Drugging, Kidnapping, Non-Con, Smut, Minor Stockholm Syndrome, Minor Misogynistic Themes, and 1940′s Housewife Themes. 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI‼

AN: This story contains adult and dark themes, please do not proceed if you are under the age of 18 or if ANY of these warnings upset you! I am not responsible for your media consumption–you and only you are. 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 

AN Cont.:  If you or anyone you know has been a victim of sexual violence, please reach out for help. I do not condone ANY of the actions described in this story, this is merely a work of FICTION. 

Steve Rogers is a hero who’s sacrificed so much for the greater good of the world. He’s been fighting his entire life, a constant cycle of getting knocked down, just to get back up and do it all again the next day. A constant blur of black and blue, of broken bones, and bloodied knuckles. Steve didn’t complain too often, he enjoyed waking up every morning and saving the world. He was grateful for the life he led, a life of justice and liberty. So, why did he feel so unfulfilled? Unaccomplished? Incomplete?

Steve would catch himself daydreaming during briefings, dreaming of his childhood. He dreamt about Coney Island, about the smell of popcorn, and the sticky feel of melting popsicles on his fingers. He was stuck in the past and he knew it, maybe he truly was “The Man Out of Time”. He’d journal his thoughts, sketching his memories in charcoal and faded colors. Mostly he’d sketch faces of his past, but there has only been one face as of late that lived within the thick pages. (Y/N). The newest Avenger, his Miss America.

He found himself fantasizing about her with every gentle curve of his pencil, imagining it was his hands running over her hips and not his graphite. The front of his jeans tightened as he shaded her breasts, and he wondered if they were as soft and supple as he made them look on paper. He captured her eyes, adding that sparkle and depth that seemed to become her. Her hair, the unruly hairs, and the ones always perfectly in place. He colored her skin, his heart skipping as he imagined running his lips over the skin of her thighs. Her star-spangled leotard left little to the imagination, so Steve found other things to imagine. The sound of her moans and whimpers, how she’d look as he took her apart one lick and thrust at a time, and how she’d look with him dripping from in-between her legs.

Steve groaned as he threw down his pencil, running his graphite-stained hands over his face in frustration before closing his sketchbook with a soft thump. He needed a distraction--and a cold shower…

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Today was Lila, Clint’s daughter’s birthday, and all of the Avengers were invited to the festivities. Steve sat next to Bucky, both of them donning bright pink party hats with the words “Happy Birthday” on them in glitter swirls. Bucky was telling Steve about a girl he had recently met at some café or something--truth be told Steve wasn’t listening to his best friend. His attention was elsewhere, across the room, to be exact.

You were in a green tonal dress that perfectly complemented your skin tone, with puff sleeves and floral print. Steve was entranced as he watched you bounce baby Nathaniel on your hip. And he watched as the baby babbled and yanked your hair, making you laugh and wince as you handed him back to his mother. He knew at that moment what he had been missing, what he had been deprived of--what he had deserved after all this time. A family, a white-picket fence… You.

It all suddenly made sense as if he had just completed a puzzle he’d been working on since he woke up from the ice. That was what he wanted--no… It was what he needed, what he deserved. All of his life he had made sacrifice after sacrifice, the world owed him this one thing, and he’d have it. No matter the cost.

You were perfect. A nice girl with a strong head on your shoulders and a good heart, who better to start a life with? There was no question, you’d be his wife, the mother of his children. You’d see it in time, but he couldn’t wait for you. He was a man out of time, after all…

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It had been almost a month since his revelation, but it was all due in good time. He had made the arrangements, he had been meticulous in his planning. He made sure to get every single detail right, his and your future depended on his perfection. The trap had been set, now he just needed to go hunting for his prey.

You were just coming back from training with Natasha, your skin sheen with sweat and kissed with soft purple bruises from sparring with the Widow. You were laughing at something she had said, giving Steve a small wave before making your way to the communal fridge. He patiently watched as you grabbed your water bottle, your name written in sharpie with stickers on the front. He fidgeted as you took three big gulps, smacking your lips as water dribbled down your chin and onto your chest.

Steve watched as you made your way to your bedroom, he smiled as he noticed a slight stumble in your steps. The drug took faster than he had expected. He waited until he heard the click of the closing door, but it never came. Like a silent shadow, he crept down the hall to the threshold of your room. You were splayed out on the edge of your bed, legs dangling, and your hair a mess.

He couldn’t help himself. He nudged your arm for a response and nothing; you were out cold. A dangerous smirk crossed his face as he knelt down above you, his shadow consuming you in every delicious way possible. He touched your cheek, tracing down to your jaw, and up to your lips. They were so soft, so plump, and oh, so kissable. He tasted you then, molding his lips to yours in a one-sided dance. Steve shivered as he explored your unconscious body, he groped, squeezed, and tasted your salty skin.

He stopped himself. He only had three hours to move you, six tops if his hunch about you skipping breakfast that morning was right. So, he picked up your unconscious body and began the next steps to his plan…

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When you awoke your limbs were stiff and mind foggy. You stretched away the stiffness and rolled onto your side, blindly reaching for your bottle of water. When your hand failed to meet your nightstand, you froze. What the hell? Confused, you reached out again; telling yourself you just misjudged the distance. But when your hand once again met an empty space, you sat up with a start. You looked around the unfamiliar bedroom. The walls were striped, the floor a godawful floral carpet, and the bed had a wooden frame and a blue blanket tucked into the corners. You blinked, thinking that this room would magically melt into your bedroom at the Tower, and when it remained the same, you blinked again for good measure. You stood on shaky legs and looked around the room once more, disbelief clouding your better judgment. The bedroom looked straight out of a 1940’s catalog.

When the lock on the bedroom door jiggled, you whirled around with your fists raised to meet your captor. You were prepared to see a HYDRA Agent or some other villain with a vendetta against you. What you weren’t prepared for was Steve Rogers. He stood dressed in his old military uniform, his hair neatly combed, and his face clean-shaven.

“Steve? What’s going on?” you asked.

“What do you mean?”

What do I mean? “This,” you gesture wildly with your hands in disbelief, “Where are we?”

“Home,” he said calmly.

“Whose home?”

“Ours, honey,”

You narrowed your eyes at the man before you. This couldn’t be your Steve Rogers, this wasn’t your Captain or friend. This was… someone else. You took a tentative step forward, searching for an eerie glow to his blue eyes, for an explanation for his weird behavior. This had to be mind-control, some elaborate HYDRA plot to disarm the Avengers. This wasn’t Steve, right?

“Steve,” you said carefully, “this isn’t our home. We live at the Tower, remember? With Nat, Sam, and Bucky?”

Steve’s frown deepened as you continued to speak to him like an incompetent child, “No. This is our new home, (Y/N). I made it just for us.”

You nodded along as you slowly crept forward toward the door. He shyly stuffed his hands in his pockets as he continued speaking, confessing. When you were close enough, you bolted past him. But you weren’t faster than Steve Rogers. He caught you by the ponytail and threw you back into the bedroom on the floor, kicking the door shut behind him. You scrambled to your feet and into a defensive position as Steve made another grab for you. You twisted and threw a right hook to his jaw, the strength of your powered punch was enough to send him stumbling backward, but it wasn’t enough to win against him. The same serum that made him had made you, too. But you’d be a goddamn idiot to think that you were stronger than Steve Rogers.

You made another run for the exit, but you didn’t get very far as Steve caught you yet again by your ankle. You kicked, punched, scratched, and flailed as he overpowered you. The man straddled your wriggling form and placed his hands around your throat. Squeezing and squeezing until the oxygen caught in your throat and your limbs began to relax. Your arms and legs went lax as your vision began to dot and blacken. When you let out the last wisp of air from your lungs is when Steve released you. You wheezed and gasped like a fish out of the water as you struggled to breathe, to fill your lungs with oxygen once again. You massaged your throat and glared up at Steve who was straightening and dusting off his uniform.

“I’ll only tell you this once, (Y/N). If you disobey me, in any way shape, or form, you’ll be punished. Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warned, “Now, get cleaned up. Dinner is almost ready.”

He opened the closet and pulled out a baby blue dress with silver embroidered star details around the off-shoulder neckline, and set it on the bed before you. You sat on the floor, just silently glaring and snarling as he knelt down in front of you with a small velvet box and diamond ring in hand. He grabbed your left hand and went to place it on your ring finger, but before he could slide the diamond on your finger, you wrenched your hand away and cracked him across the cheek. The slap seemed to echo throughout the room as his jaw ticked in silent anger. Before you could react, Steve pulled his hand back and returned the slap. The impact sent your head whipping sharply to the side, and caused your eyes to water with prickling, unshed tears. Your cheek stung when you touched it.

“I told you, (Y/N),” he sighed, “You made me do that.”

“I didn’t make you do shit, Rogers,” you spit.

You flinched as he pointed an angry and threatening finger in your face, “Language.”

He left you then after reminding you of dinner. Alone in the bedroom, you scowled at the dress that seemed to mock you. You threw it onto the floor and stomped out of the room, fueled by anger and hatred.

You found him in the kitchen, knife in hand as he carved a glazed turkey. His smile dropped as he took in your dress-less form. You were still in your gym clothes from earlier. Steve’s nostrils flared as he set the knife down, he stared at the turkey before turning his gaze to you.

“You’re not wearing the dress,”

“No,” you said flatly.

“And why not?”

You scoffed at him, “Why do you think, Steve?”

He moved his head to the side as he grumbled something under his breath. His knuckles were white as he gripped the edge of the kitchen counter. You smirked triumphantly, you didn’t know why, but getting under his skin was satisfying. You weren’t going to make this easy for him, and you sure as hell wouldn’t be wearing that damn dress.

As if he had read your mind, he looked back at you with an ominous smile. He rounded the counter and stood in front of you, his large frame so much bigger than yours. In any other scenario, it would’ve been intimidating--having your Captain looming over you so threateningly. But right now, at this moment, you couldn’t care less. You wanted to piss him off, to knock him down off his pedestal. You’d be damned if you bent to his sick will.

Your eyes darted behind Steve to the counter where the knife waited for you. Before he could track your movements, you made a dive for it. Rolling over the island as you quickly readied the knife. You slashed and stabbed at Steve, growling in frustration as he effortlessly blocked and dodged all of your attacks. In one quick and fluid movement, Steve grabbed and twisted your wrist; forcing you to drop the knife. Your heart breaking with the loud clatter as it hits the floor.

Steve dragged you to the table by the back of your neck and slammed your cheek down onto the wood. Empty wine glasses and plates clattered with the impact. You grunted and kicked out your legs blindly, settling for a shin kick--anything. Steve slammed your head against the table once more as you continued to fight against him. He did it again, and again, and again until your vision blurred and your blood splattered against the polished wood. You weakly clawed at the plates and silverware around you, desperately trying to cling onto something. When your fingers wrapped around on a fork, you didn’t hesitate. You stabbed Steve’s thigh and summoned all of your remaining strength to throw him into the wall.

You fell back as you panted for breath, arming yourself with another piece of random cutlery. You threw a steak knife, missing him by just an inch. Steve growled as he dragged you by your kicking legs, hauling you up, just to slam you down onto the table once more. He held your face down as he growled in your ear.

“You have a lot of fight in you, (Y/N). Breaking you is going to be so much fun, honey,”

Slam.

“I’ll beat that spark out of you, if you make me, (Y/N). So why don’t you just be a good girl for me, hmm?”

Steve took hold of your neck once more as he guided you up the stairs and into the bedroom. He shoved you down onto the bed, and you landed on your stomach with a bounce. Your head was throbbing with an uncomfortable fog that settled over your thoughts. You murmured weakly in protest as Steve began to undress you. You felt the blood from your head drip down to your ear and down your neck.

Panic set your heart in motion as you felt him tug your leggings down your legs. Your brain and body kicked into a desperate overdrive as you writhed beneath him. You tried to shove him away, you summoned all of your super strength and thrashed, but you were simply no match for him--you were utterly powerless and at his mercy. His hands explored your thighs, dipping between them and squeezing that soft, supple inner skin. You scrambled to your knees, inadvertently pressing and grinding your ass to his front. He groaned as he moved his hands to your hips, angling them up as he ground down onto you with a silent promise of what was to come.

His hand dipped down and he held his prize within his hand. He groped and you grunted as you clawed blindly at his forearms, grabbing his wrists as he yanked down your cotton panties past your knees. You screamed as he shoved his fingers inside you, forcing his knuckles past your folds. You kicked and cursed him, hoping your struggle would be enough for him to let you go. You screamed louder than you had ever screamed before, so loud your head ached and lungs burned. With an annoyed grunt, Steve wrapped his thick arm around your neck in a chokehold to shut you up. You babbled breathlessly as you slapped at his arm.

“Steve,” you choked, “Please…”

He gave you one last strong warning squeeze before letting you fall flat on your back, coughing and gasping for breath.

“All you had to do was be good for me, (Y/N). I told you, bad girls get punished,”

He withdrew as he undid his fly. You swallowed thickly, wincing as your throat burned from his assault. You grabbed at his wrists, but he just batted your weak hands away as he held you down with one hand. The other gripping his thick, swollen length. You saw the muscles of his stomach tighten as he parted your legs. His grip on the back of your knees was bruising as he held them apart, lining himself up to your entrance. You tried once more to shimmy away, but he had you where he wanted you; vulnerable and open to him. He bent over you, his eyes black with lust, as he invited himself inside of you. He pushed himself inside, agonizingly slow, inch by inch, just relishing in the grip of you. You were too dry, too unwelcoming, but it didn’t matter to him. You were perfect, warm, and tight. He moaned then, as he forced himself deeper into you, pushing and pushing until his pelvis touched yours.

“Steve, please,” you sobbed, “please, stop…”

He shushed your pleas as his face scrunched in pleasure with every shallow thrust. You gritted your teeth to keep yourself silent, you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. But he didn’t seem to notice as he tilted your hips up, finding his own slow, steady rhythm as he fucked into you. He cupped your face and forced his lips onto yours, his tongue swiping and exploring your mouth. You slapped at his head, but he never relented, never pulled back from his searing kiss. He moaned into your mouth as his hips skipped a beat. You took that opportunity, the falter of his hips, to bite down on his tongue. Then, did he finally relent.

He pulled away from you, his hips stilling inside of you. He carefully touched his tender tongue, scowling as he pulled away bloodied fingers. Steve drew back his hand and slapped you across the face. The smack of flesh striking flesh echoed throughout the room. You sneered at him and he frowned in disappointment before cracking you once more. You yelped as he held you down by your neck. Steve had found a new rhythm, and it was relentless. His tempo was fast, and he made sure to never miss a beat as he hammered into your abused cunt. He put pressure on your throat, but not enough to send you into a pool of cold unconsciousness. No… he wanted you awake for this, lucid, and remembering.

His groans and moans grew louder, duetting with the lewd notes of your squelching pussy and his skin slapping against yours. The repulsive symphony he had conducted finally reached its ungodly climax. You sobbed as you felt his warmth flood within you, as he shamelessly emptied himself deep inside of you. He sat back on his haunches, gently pulling himself from your wet grip. Your body instantly curled in on itself, shielding you from the man before you. The man you had once admired. You lay there, just shaking, whether it was from shock or anger, you didn’t know.

You felt as he dropped the baby blue dress with the silver embroidered stars next to you. You sniffled as you looked at the dress in defeat, silently dressing in the blue cotton. When you were dressed, Steve helped you to your feet, holding you against his chest as he gently swayed you. He caressed your head, embracing you gently as if he hadn’t just used your body, as if he was your sweet and loving husband, as if this was normal.

“Dinner is probably cold by now,” he sighed, “It’s okay, though. You can try again tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” your voice was smaller now, weaker, afraid.

He hummed, “It’s a wife’s duty to cook and care for her husband, (Y/N). I think I’d like meatloaf for dinner, and apple pie for dessert. What do you think, honey?”

You hesitated, you wanted to spit at him, to curse, to smack, punch, and kick, but your body was frozen against his. When you didn’t reply, his grip on you tightened threateningly, making you flinch.

“Yes, that sounds good, Steve,” you whispered. He kissed your head as he gently swayed you, his warm release slowly dripping down your shaking legs.

[takalzuoom]

MY FIRST SAGAU-

Before I hand in my Snezhnaya fluff I’m gonna put some angst on out- ehe

Also I’m writing this in Econ

cw: blood, gore?, not sure how to tag this.

an: might make 2 more parts

Okay okay so just imagine that maybe someone strong and big like Childe is choking you out.

One hand on your neck, feet dangling in the air as your presented like a hunting rabbit in front of his god.

You

But… not you.

Cause you’re also standing in front of the man. A small smirk plays at ‘your’ lips as you comment on ‘what a good servant he is.’

He squeezes your neck a little tighter.

There are people- characters around you. The ones you thought would welcome you. The ones that were promised to treat you like a god. The ones you poured so much love into.

They were killing you.

Air escaped your lungs in pained wheezes.

You’re growing light-headed. Your legs start to thrash lightly as your hands shakenly go to claw at the man’s ironclad grip.

You hear yourself talk before a sharp metal object pierced your back- a polearm by the feel of it.

You couldn't breathe. the already lifeless look in your eyes immediately sparked back as a pained wail came from you. The plaza of liyue harbor deathly silent as the polearm twisted painfully in your back. Digging itself into your stomach and internal organs as it came out the other side.

Blood dripped from your wounds like water. Dampening your clothes as you coughed it out. Tears turned thicker as you felt everything at once.

Your vision grew hazy, but even you could tell that something was wrong- as the blood that decorated the wrist of childe’s arm- was gold. a shimmering gold as the polearm was immediately ripped from your stomach.

In a heart beat hands grabbed at your armpits.

The fatui harbinger had long let go of your throat as he stared in absolute horror as your coddled form was handled with hurried care by Ningguang and Jean.

Barbara was called- no. Forced over as you were laid in the lap of someone. You couldn't make out who. Barely telling the difference between wind and voice as you were too delirious to think.

Your blood echoed in your ears. Drumming of your heartfelt by all as the timer began.

There was a distorted laugh.

A gurgly laugh that emitted from your imposter as black liquid seeped from their lips and bled through their clothes. Tears of the abyss seeped from their eyes as they congratulated everyone for failing. For ‘killing’ their god. Their creator who they worshipped for eons.

They were toppled before anyone could even blink. The adepti (Ganyu and Yanfei) held them down as they continued laughing. Xiao looked at them. No. You couldn't even call it a look as a dance of emotions was scattered upon his face.

Eyes flashing with a vengeance none had seen him wear before. Betrayal. Grief. Denial- all written deep within his eyes as his face displayed an emptiness no one had ever seen before. Your copy cackled even harder, choking on their blood as they start melting in their grips.

The changing to piercing blue eyes forever ingrained in his soul as their blood littered the air. Until they were all on empty concrete.

You were hazy. Like before.

Breathe labored as your fingers twitched.

The spill of glittered gold never once ceased as the adrenaline of your heart started to give way. And they all felt it too.

The clamminess of your skin on theirs, the slowing of your heart was a phantom pain as the sun in the sky started hiding sadly behind clouds.

Anemo joined hydro as they desperately called out your name. Begging for you to ‘hang in there’ as choked apologies from the once mob turned mourners was the only thing anyone could hear.

Though you could only hear the gentle wisps of the non-existent winds. Teyvat mourning softly in the tune of a song only you could hear as the sun goes mute.

The world was desperate. Berries that went a long extent sprouted next to you as doctors and healers alike tried to right their wrongs.

Tried to save their god.

Teyvat would surely punish the mortal fools later, already thinking of excruciating punishments it wants to uphold. But for now. The only thing that they’re able to do is attempt to save you. But they all knew it was futile.

As the color in your face matched your dulled eyes. Breathing close to non-existent as you had long lost consciousness.

The gentle melodies of the winds being the last thing you heard.

[lestwritewhilewaitingforajobcall]

The Odd Rumble of Thunder - Thor x Reader

(A/N)

Hey guys! I wanted to personally thank you all for the kind comments and messages, they really inspire me to continue writing more and the support truly means a lot! Also, I just found out how to access post replies, I apologize I haven’t gotten to reading them since my first story, I’m still trying to figure out the gist of things here on Tumblr! Anyways, recently I’d only been posting more on Poseidon, so here’s a special one for our Norse god of thunder (aka the god I simp for the most). This idea came to me while out on a camping trip, I hope you guys enjoy it! Feedback would really be welcomed and appreciated!

This is for entertainment only. Record of Ragnarok belongs to Shinya Umemura, Takumi Fukui and Ajichika. I also do not own you, the reader.

The Odd Rumble of Thunder

Thor x Reader

Even before the news spread like wildfire, Thor had become under the tyranny of a good habit to bringing his wife with him wherever he may go. It stood to reason that he would never be so careless to invite you over to danger, hence why, at a god’s ephemeral notice, he had stopped seeking direction for his combative side, but when, at last, he had to venture, he made much quicker work of it than when he would have otherwise.

Inarguably, if you’d wanted to lay down and rest instead, it was a surety you’d receive your meals in bed, unbothered. But for Thor there was no guarantee he’d ever have to worry about you, so the whole of Asgard knew by now he’d drop whatever he was doing to accompany you, uncaring about diplomacy in the first place.

Not that Odin nor Loki minded either; especially since the Allfather knew more about the concerns of a father expecting their first child. Moreover, Loki enjoyed shapeshifting into his cousin during days he was absent. It was much more fun to cause mischief legally, as he would say.

Today, Thor stood by his wife who sat comfortably in her rocking chair on the porch, allowing a full view of the hills that sloped gently down to the grand gardens. You were seven months along, approaching the eight month, the swell of your stomach now far more prominent.

At the very moment you had begun to show, you had a companion of whom would almost never leave your side, your husband’s absence in the kingdom gradually becoming more frequent, more lengthened, till at last his presence among his people became an exception. Despite your constant reassurances that you would be fine, Thor insisted on staying, casually sweeping aside your thoughts regarding his habitual sense of duty.

“I would only be gone for nine months to tend to my wife and child, they should fare well on their own lest they are more incompetent than I would’ve thought.” Thor had told you once before, and you’d decided not to question him further on that. You understood your husband’s concerns, to be truthful, you had a few of your own as well, so having Thor assist you alleviated some of the stress and worry concerning your child’s safety.

Especially now that you were nearing your due date. For instance, you were having the toughest time moving, suffering primarily from the weight in your belly and pains in your back and legs that made walking and even standing difficult. What made the physical strain worse too was your child’s eagerness to know you and Thor both, unable to stay long in one position, much like their father’s enthusiasm for battle.

“How are you feeling?” Thor’s question rested upon a rather precise calculation of the last time he had asked the same only a short moment before. It was quite visible in his actions that he did not want to cause any negative feelings if he could help it, though desiring you to avoid stress as much as possible.

You smiled. “Come close. You’ve been standing there for ages just ogling at me.” You opened your arms out wide. “Are you not tired?”

Truth be told, despite Thor’s constant need to remain close to his wife, he felt a real, undeniable fear of touching you, specifically, your abdomen. He closed the distance between until he was right in front of you, staring down at you with hard eyes. Longing leaped like a flame reaching out in his celestial yellow orbs.

“Love, I am always grateful for your concern for me. And I am feeling much better just knowing you’re beside me.” You raised yourself up, pushing against the chair to try to stand. Thor rushed forward, held you then put his hands under your arms to lift you up. Your child was growing fast. “But how about you? How are you feeling?”

You inched closer, your fingers playing with the locks of his hair that you could reach. “Aside from the stress of waiting, I’ve noticed that you have something else weighing on your mind.

“Tell me, what is it?”

At the sight of you through his warworn eyes, his mind was filled with bliss. For that loving glance of yours, he felt a divine presence and holy atmosphere that seemed to pervade everything around you. Having an inkling of what you were hinting at though, he broke your gaze, in an attempt to avert the guilt you conferred on him.

“Please. We’re in this together, I would want nothing more than to help you back as much as you’ve helped me.” Thor felt you shift in his arms, get more comfortable. He felt the bulk of your child across his legs, the weight no doubt pulling you down. Seeing you in pain like that, was sad and unbearable, and the gnawing feeling grew stronger. And since he knew you were always so full of strength and determination, always unrelenting in your attempts to make him feel better, he began,

“I am afraid.” Red eyebrows drew together.

“Afraid of what?”

“That I might accidentally hurt you and our child,” Thor took a deep breath in then let it out in a sigh while taking a step back. “I do not want that to happen, even if I want to be at your side at all times. And this frustrates me to no end.”

Thor did himself a favor by giving attention to anything other than his wife, refusing to be a witness on the sadness and any he may have caused. Dealing with his own disappointment was nothing new, but he had trouble dealing with the fact that he was the cause of yourpain. He wished he could take his troubles which escaped, hanging in the air, and all the bad feelings on himself and let things continue as they were, but he knew it didn’t work that way. You needed to know that he only wanted you and your child safe and protected, even from himself.

He could not understand how the cosmos could play such a cruel joke on the both of you: you, bore so much pain because of one of the greatest affairs of life, and him, the strongest deity in the Pantheon, was powerless against the natural laws of existence.

Strong shoulders slumped, head bowing as stray strands of red hair fell over Thor’s brow. Not again. He did not wish to be reminded of the cautious sympathy his father and cousin had approached him with. His stomach lurched whenever the subject of your frailty came up. Dread and a terrifying fear overwhelmed his soul for the first time, the thought of losing you−

“Hey,” Your voice which lingered on the gentle breeze brushed against Thor’s face, pulling him out of his stupor. He refocused, turning his gaze onto your sweet face.

How were you able to hold yourself up well despite your obvious pain and suffering? Did you not bear the same nervousness as he did? The answer was obvious, practically screaming in Thor’s ears but became deaf following his guilt and clouded instincts. For a long time since you’d first told him about the news, he bore these worries in silence; but when at length he’d been perplexed by your introspection−or seeming lack of it. Why, in fact, did you concern yourself with him at all? Compared to you, there was hardly any threat to his own life posed. Why had you always done more to make him feel better when you were the one who needed it most?

Cutting through the haze he found himself in was the shape of you, or maybe your hair billowing in the wind, a wisp of it across your face, and then suddenly the feel of your skin, the sense of your head on his chest. Even if it were fleeting, that alone brought him the possibilities of comfort that he’d so needed. Oh, how he missed this; you cupped his big callously marble hands around yours, caressing them so tenderly, as if he were fragile and might break, so short it could never be pulled back.

As he relished the warmth of the blaze you gave him for the winter of unease, he’d realized much sooner that the coldness that inched its icy fingers up his spine still threatened to battle your kind words, you, his very own wife, and he detested himself for being unsure whether or not it was of his own doing; was he pushing you away when you’d only wanted to offer your help?

Thor’s immediate impulse was to pull back from you, abruptly halted by your fingers which slipped between his now splayed hand. You wrinkled your nose in a delightfully unguarded manner that caused his breath to hitch in his throat.

“Do you remember the first time we said our vows?” If only you knew the way Thor perceived you: in his eyes, your radiant smile reflected the morning sunlight of Valhalla, for a split second picturing the moment you’d walked down the aisle, that headpiece on your head instantiating the paradox of mystery that once lifted revealed your beautiful face, marking it the best day of his long life. Something warm bloomed in his chest once again and spread its heat out through every vein in his body. He remembered the smooth feel of the veil against his cheek after sealing your promise with a kiss, his lips parting with a breathless sigh.

“Your hands caressed my fit of nerves with light, tender touches and then inspired me with hard, passionate embraces,” With effortless ease, you lifted your intertwined hands to your mouth and kissed his knuckle. Thor watched with great admiration your every move, the desire to distance himself was now but an afterthought. Nothing would ever separate him from you when all you’d ever done was pull him closer than ever.

Then, you sought out his hand, kissing his palm as he stroked your face. You clung onto his arms, gripped at his chest as if you were searching for warmth, as if you needed his touch, and much like him, couldn’t bear to be even an inch away. His mind was still slowing its racing to let him mutter something in response, so he allowed himself to be entranced by how smooth and sure of yourself you were, with nothing to mar the calm serenity of your features. Your smile seemed to be a natural adornment, the utter gentleness in your eyes, reminded him of every morning when he woke up, he would see you by his side, as well as your sleeping snoring face. Right at that moment, the silly scream finally made it to the deaf god’s ears:

He was your haven,

The place you called home and went to find peace.

As Thor immersed himself in your smell, your sparkling eyes, he felt the excruciating cold all melt away in your warmth. No more seeds of doubt with which to sow and seek his destiny. Slowly, he began to see his surroundings from a keener point of view, realizing, then appraising them: from the passing wind your hair messed which he pushed aside, tucking it behind your ear, to how his sash seemed to fit him better indeed, rather than cling onto his skin even tighter as brutally as it had done before. He noticed the minute changes since he’d last taken a good look at you months ago: a little flusher on your skin, lines around the eyes a little deeper, a little increase in body temperature.

He pulled you closer, his actions not arising from calculation instead led by instinct. You let him take more of your weight, your belly pressed against his stomach as you sighed, his fingers working wonders on massaging the muscles that had been much abused in carrying the baby’s weight. A sudden wrenching through his sash struck Thor’s heart and had him holding his breath.

The baby had moved, and he’d felt it.

Bending down, he buried his nose in your hair, closing his eyes as he drank in your scent. Your arms wrapped around his back as he connected in this loving embrace, feeling his heart beat in rhythm with your own.

“Our child would no doubt love to be enveloped in their father’s safe arms,” With a light, gentle touch, your fingers ran through Thor’s hair, making him shiver with delight.

On that day, only the beautiful gardens of Asgard became privy to nothing more than a moment in which husband and wife reached for the same comfort and their concerns met. These gardens were simultaneously the very same place where Thor had first avoided the problems that plagued his mind, but also became exactly the same place where he’d find solace in the arms of his lovely wife.

Resting his hand on where his child was, he recognized that familiar feeling turning up, but upon realizing the bittersweet irony of and within these gardens, the revelation came to him: happiness could also come from the very object of fear.

And as you had an unmovable trust in him, there was an unspoken mutual understanding that he too, should put his trust in you.