#but i hope i did your prompt justice

[erwinsvow]

what if… rafe ever hit shy reader from built up anger like more of an accident? we lowk need some rafe and shy reader angst😢

this kind of slayed me.. i feel like disclosure i do not condone abuse of any sort i just think shy reader would like getting slapped around and being really roughhoused..

but if rafe reallyyy got mad about it, it might be angsty. like if she really messed up and was apologizing a ton if he actually was mad at her her heart would stop. warning rafe is rlly mean in this

being a little whiney, a little too needy and maybe excessively touchy came easily to you as rafe's girlfriend. he was always coaxing you into being more comfortable with him, and you think you'd finally reached that point.

some of your shyer tendencies seemed to have finally abandoned you when it was just the two of you. and just like you had guessed, a smaller, more possessive side of you had recently emerged from the cocoon—wanting all of rafe's attention, all the time.

it wasn't good, maybe a small part of you knew that, but it was easy to play into it, and you liked how you felt these days, more comfortable in your skin and around rafe than you had been even just a month ago.

like today. you had been a little needy all day, not wanting rafe to leave when he said he needed to go to barry's for picking something up.

"ple-ease rafe," you said it a little singsongy, serious but not that serious. "don't go. i want you to stay." it was more just wanting to hang out with him than anything else—when he left, he was usually gone for ages, and things weren't that fun without him.

"i'll be back, kid. jus' stay here, got it?"

"but you said you would-"

"kid." the way he says it, you should have realized he wasn't in the mood for you to be behaving like this.

"yesterday you said you were free all day. and i get bored-"

"yesterday i didn't know i was doin' this shit. just, please. sit tight. i'll be back."

rafe goes, and though a part of you knows you shouldn't, you blow up his phone throughout the day. really, you're not even that bored—showering and getting ready for the day and then curling up with your book after you make rafe's bed, but you played a little too far into it.

when he comes back, you should have realized something was off—but you let everything else cloud your judgement. the way rafe is never mean to you (despite the stories you had heard), how he always reassures you that he's not mad and that you didn't do anything wrong. you were led to a false belief that nothing you could do would change how rafe acts towards you.

rafe comes to sit on the bed near your feet, and you lower your book to look at him, but don't say anything. when he turns to look at you, you bring the book back up so it looks like you weren't peeking.

"c'mon. y'mad now?"

"no."

"kid, i don't have time for this-"

"you didn't answer any of my texts! or calls. and i've just been waiting here all day-" you don't know what you want—attention, quality time, an apology. you just want something other than what you're getting.

"i told you i'd be back. had shit to take care of-"

"well, i just-"

"why're you actin' like this? huh?"

you think rafe's gonna ask you the things he always does—what's wrong? did someone say something? do i need go have a talk with 'em?

but he doesn't this time.

"spoiled your ass too much and now you wanna talk back? is that it?" you're so taken aback, you think all the air has left your lungs. did rafe really think that? he stands up, so you do too, facing rafe while he paces.

"no, i just-" you're being defensive, like always. you feel like crying—you thought rafe knew you better than that, but it's also not his fault. maybe you were acting too spoiled after all, and maybe despite what he always says, he preferred you how you were when you first started dating him.

"you think m'goin out there to paint nails and gossip with barry? we had shit to do. real shit, so i can take care of you. i thought you understood that."

when you start crying, you think rafe will stop—he always does, stopping to apologize and make sure you're okay.

"tears. great. i'm tryna explain this to you. are you gonna cry everytime i get serious? huh?" it comes out a little more like a bark than a sentence—now you're scared.

"i-i'm sorry," you get out, though it's strangled in a sob and sounds more like a whisper. you don't think he heard you, but your feelings are so hurt—the rush from thinking rafe would be happy to be back home with you crashing and burning quickly, the pit in your stomach that doesn't blame him—but rather blames yourself for your behavior.

you had gotten too comfortable, too pampered, thinking that acting like this was okay—briefly you think it's not rafe's fault at all for getting mad, that it's your own fault for this happening.

you think it's best if you leave, dejectedly heading towards the door, but the second he catches you trying to walk away, he rushes over, pushing you against the door before you can even open it. your back thuds against the frame.

"rafe, you're hurting me-" you cry out, but he seems to be lost in his own anger. "please-"

"didn't say you can leave. what the hell are you doin'? you tryin' to make me mad? huh?"

"rafe, m'sorry, i-"

"actin' like this 'cause you wanna get slapped around? is that it? y'like that too much, don't you? you want me to slap you around now?"

your heart feels like it's just stopped beating. the very idea that rafe would bring up something you had just gotten comfortable with liking, only recently convinced yourself—with his help—that it wasn't wrong or dirty to like those kinds of things with him—slapping and spanking and a whole host of other things you had never even talked about, much less actually done, with anyone other than rafe, in this situation, made fat tears slip down your cheeks.

your boyfriend didn't seem like himself right now. and you were so distraught, if you were a little more clear-headed you might realize his bloodshot, dilated eyes and shaky hands. your arm hurts from where he's holding you tightly.

"rafe, please-" you get out through tears, and he lets you go a little. you slide out of his grip and stay against the door, still crying. before you can even think about it, your cheek is stinging.

he does slap you—not in the light, playful way he does when it's just the two of you somewhere or in the slightly rougher manner reserved for bed—this one is harder, everything hurting.

after it happens, you look up at rafe through glassy eyes. your fingers go to your cheek, pressing down where it was painful, like it would help it go away. but you knew deep down nothing could ever erase this memory.

you look up at rafe and he looks down at you. when you try to turn to open the door, he presses down and slams it shut before you can get out.

[heymrspatel]

'"What the fuck is this."

Ian pulls out half a dozen cupcakes, all different flavors, and sticks a candle in every single one. He lights them all and sings Happy Birthday to his husband in the lowlight of their kitchen, his arms wrapped around Mickey’s waist and his voice soft. Mickey’s cheeks turn pink, and Ian pretends not to notice. He makes him blow out the candles anyways.

“You have to try them all,” Ian tells him. “Have to?” “Legally required.” “I don’t remember signing a contract.” “It’s written in between the lines of our marriage license.”

Mickey snorts and picks up the first cupcake—basic, safe, plain old vanilla with vanilla frosting—and takes a huge ass bite before handing it to Ian. He gets frosting on his nose.' - i need you (like cake on my birthday) by @sam-loves-seb

my gift for the lovely @sam-loves-seb 💙✨ prompt - art based on a fic for @gallavichthings gallavich gift exchange

[mirkwoodmunson]

Would you pretty please turn this picture into an Eddie munson fanfiction? I've been searching the Internet and have yet to find anything like this. If you not comfortable, I totally understand!!

me: writing break!

mailbox: 🫶

me: …..umm ANYWAY *frantic typing*

I LOVE THIS PROMPT SO MUCH U HAVE NO IDEA

tw: cursing, angst, panic/anxiety attack, dissociation, night terrors, depressed/anxious reader, post-v2 (fixit)

it takes a long time for your nights to go back to a state of semi-normalcy. a long time of regaining the ability to lay in bed comfortable and calm and eager for sleep, a long time of healing and bandages and pained tears, a long time of struggling for the smallest crumbs of comfort. but you had each other, and that made it easier of course — but it was still an uphill battle for those first few months. there was a lot of heartache, a lot of tears and strain, but far be it from eddie and you to let the darkness come out on top. you were both fighters, and when the battle got too rough for one of you, the other always managed to gather enough strength to keep the both of you pushing, moving forward. persevering.

when the darkness got the better of you, eddie was there to blind it with his brilliance.

nights… you’d come to dread them. during the day the sun could blot out your thoughts, soothe worries with its warmth, and you had things to do and places to go and people to see; the day didn’t give you the time to worry. but when night fell, when it was just you and eddie and the quiet — not that you didn’t enjoy those things, but with the night and the quiet, and the memories you and eddie now shared… nights were still sometimes difficult.

the thing is, eddie doesn’t remember that night. he doesn’t remember anything after the bats.

but you do.

you remember, and you’ve had to watch it again, and again — at first it was every time you tried to sleep, then just when you slept at night, but always sleeping during the day became a problem. then after a while, after nights started to feel somewhat tolerable, it was every other night. every few nights. you were down to once every few weeks now, but even then, the idea of just trying to get some rest had become so stressful it was just a frustrating cycle of exhaustion at this point.

and how could you bother eddie with this? he knew, but you didn’t complain beyond the initial waking up from the dreams. sure he didn’t remember that night, but he still remembered facing the bats. he still had to go through the stint in the hospital, recovery at home. you were both dealing with your individual traumas. he always assured you you were allowed to feel it too, you didn’t need to act tough around him — you’d become so quiet. so tired. he would always tell you the way through was together, that he had your back. but you still felt like it would burden him. far be it from you to be a burden.

really though, there’s only so many times you can say you’re okay when you’re not before it becomes too much to handle alone.

tonight it takes you by surprise. tonight you fall asleep in eddie’s arms, but you wake up and, you’re there. you’re in the wasteland that is the upside down and you’re running but you can’t run fast enough and there’s not enough air in your lungs. the red flashes are too bright, too disorienting, you can just barely make out the swarm.

when they suddenly drop from the air, you see the body they surround and you drop too. it’s too much, too heavy, too real — the little air you have rips from your lungs and you crawl to him, you know you can save him if you just go fast enough but you can’t move any faster, no matter how hard you scream you can’t get to him any quicker, like you’re pulling yourself through drying concrete. you hear dustin crying.

you reach, so hard your muscles pull and you cry, and you grab his vest and drag yourselves together, gripping him tight light you’re about to be pulled away from him again. you try and talk him awake but your lips move slow too, it’s muffled in your ears like you’re underwater, clogged and distant. if you’re loud enough, cry hard enough, scream loud enough, maybe he’ll wake up. your foreheads are pressed together as you beg for him to wake the fuck up —

“please wake up please wake up please wake up,” his eyes snap open and he holds your face, talking to you quickly, quietly, murmuring a pleading song.

you feel like you’re being pulled up through water.

you wheeze deep and suddenly breach the surface, gasping wildly into a dark space, but that voice remains and keeps guiding you from the murky depths; it’s soft, always soft — calling to you with a tender earnestness.

“i’m here. i’m here — you’re safe; you’re awake.”

you start to wail, and eddie leans over to turn on the lamp before pulling you into his lap, into his arms, careful but quick. he tries not to waver, not to show how startled he is — but he can’t help the tremble in the way that he holds you, the break in his voice.

“it’s okay, y/n it’s okay — i promise. you’re not there. you’re home. i’m here.”

“i-i-i — fine — i’m fine — i’m fine,” it almost hurts to speak, takes effort between the deep breaths and hiccups and sobs. eddie leans you away a bit, pushes damp hair from your cheeks and cups them in warm calloused hands that are firm but loving, urging you to look at him.

through the tears you see his eyes are wide but tired, concerned and sad and alarmed, when you try to look away he holds you still, shaking his head firmly.

“no. no sweetheart you’re not okay.”

he looks at you a moment longer before pulling you back into him as you shudder, quaking with the force of it, gripping his shirt tight to ground yourself as you weep into his shoulder.

eddie shushes you softly, holds you so tight his arms tremble and hides his face in your hair.

“i’m here. you’re safe. i’ve got you. i promise.”

“wh-what about you??”

“i’m safe too, baby. we’re safe. we’re home.”

one of his hands slides around one of yours, soothes it open to release his shirt and then guides it down to the bedsheets.

“feel our bed? the sheets?”

he takes your quieting cries as a ‘yes,’ and smiles small, kissing your temple. you’re starting to focus on him, on your surroundings.

“feel my shirt? an’ my arms?”

you nod, running your thumb over the faded black fabric held tight in your fist, full of holes and tears. you’d got it for eddie when he took you to see judas priest, the metal conqueror tour. you guys hadn’t started dating yet. some dude spilt beer on you and shouted at you for the audacity, eddie had punched him in the face, and then you’d started dating.

“hey! there’s a smile!” eddie peers down at you with a smile of his own, and you sniffle but hold it for him through the stubborn tears. “there you go. where’d that come from?”

“you,” you respond simply, tearfully.

eddie laughs softly and pulls you in again, rocking you in his arms, muttering gentle affirmations.

[danganphobia]

Laishuro College AU prompt, and notes:

-first note, we’ve seen in casual doodles in the adventurer’s Bible that Toshiro seems to have an eye/interest for art and aesthetics. My gf for this AU is that he knows how to draw people and plants pretty well, but not animals or buildings. -second note, I’m using a chuck of Lokh’s own college AU idea where Laios is actually a online, novel writer on the side.

Toshiro, less interested in the DM campaign than he is staring at his surroundings, especially when said sessions took place at the old Touden House, he’s always looking around at the family pictures and nicknacks. Half-hoping he’d eventually see Falin’s childhood room, though having the sessions there was as rare enough.

So Toshiro isn’t super happy when the opportunity of exploring the home does arise, it’s to help Laios with his part of their assignment. When Toshiro looks around (reluctantly) Laios’ room, he notices all the bugs inside frames, and shelves full of animal parts like feathers and bones. So much so that even Laios notices Toshiro is distracted, and so he shows Toshiro his rarest souvenirs from going around the forest as a kid.

Toshiro is shaken to see a feather with similar patterns and colors as it was described in one of his favorite indie novels. Inside a rusty lunch box was also a few rocks and ores, but that feather stood out. Laios puts it all away before Toshiro can form the right question, a part of him also thinking it could just be a coincidence. The seed has been planted though, and so he can’t help but seeing the other similarities in Laios and the descriptions in the novel. Even notices his style of narration whenever they have a DM session after that.

Just a slow burn of Toshiro connecting dots and felling super frustrated yet enamored by the similarities, while planing to find a way to figure it out without anyone, especially Kabru (bc he would eventually just make fun of him anyways lol) finding out. So he has no other choice… Toshiro is going to have to get Laios all alone to confirm his suspicions and perhaps even… Admit his admiration for Laios work. If that’s all he’s found himself to enjoy about Laios that’s is.

This got my brain juices going. Drabble under the cut.

It never felt like it was the right moment to catch Laios. It was only fair, he was a busy guy outside of club meetings. So, Toshiro decided to do things the old-fashioned way.

When the class they shared together ended, he turned to Laios, opening his mouth to speak, but then he was bombarded by their peers sitting nearby in the neighboring rows.

Realizing that it was yet again not a good time, Toshiro stood from his chair and grabbed his things, leaving the classroom. As students flooded out of the door, someone else came rushing after him.

"Hey! Toshiro!"

Startled by his name being called, Toshiro turned around, meeting with Laios face-to-face again.

"Sorry it took me so long," he panted, catching his breath. "Did you wanna talk to me about something?"

Feeling put on the spot, Toshiro wanted to flee. Then he remembered, he needed to speak to Laios for a reason; a really good one. But he needed more time to gather his bearings about this.

"Can you meet me at the restaurant later tonight?" Club sessions weren't tonight due to everyone's schedules being packed, so they'd have a table to themselves.

"Sure!" Laios nodded. Another friend of his presumably called after him, catching his attention, but he made sure to properly say goodbye to Toshiro first.

Then, it was back to being invisible again.

Later, Laios met him at the restaurant as promised. He was on time, which wasn't unusual, but Toshiro was expecting him to postpone because something had come up.

Toshiro just had a coffee, because he had assignments he preferred to stay up late completing after this. He let Laios order whatever he wanted, though. He even offered to share some of his food with Toshiro, one of which was a gigantic plate of french fries.

Toshiro gave into trying just one, dipping it into the glob of ketchup on the side of the plate. It was incredibly salty, but it tasted incredible.

"Good, right?" Laios grinned. Toshiro smiled back. Okay, here goes nothing...

When Toshiro vouched to change the subject, Laios picked up another fry. "Try another!"

Seeing Laios dangle the salty fry at his face, Toshiro took it from him, taking a bite. Laios' smiled brightly, and then he began to talk to Toshiro about plans for their next campaign.

It was impossible to get Laios to stop when he was on a passionate tangent, so Toshiro let him. He paid for their check, insisting it was his treat and not Laios', and then they left the restaurant. Thankfully, judging by the silence, Laios must've run out of steam.

"Laios," Toshiro began, ignoring his racing heart as he continued. "Do you... do you remember when you showed me your collection at your house?"

Laios perked up. "Oh. Yeah, I do. Why?"

Toshiro stopped walking. Laios stopped a few steps ahead of him, noticing Toshiro wasn't moving anymore.

"That feather I saw in your lunch box," Toshiro said after, "I noticed, that it was also mentioned in one of your novels..."

Laios was quiet for some time, making Toshiro panic, wondering if he said the wrong thing. Then, he heard a chuckle come from the other man.

"So," he started, hands in his pockets as he approached Toshiro. "I'm guessing you figured it out, huh?"

Toshiro could only blink in utter confusion. "What?"

"I thought I was being subtle, well, kinda." Laios said with a bashful smile on his lips.

"I don't-" Toshiro shook his head, frowning. "Understand..."

"You basically just told me you read my novels, only someone that does would know this at all," Laios said, being more direct this time. "I haven't shown anyone other than Falin that feather."

This must mean Laios wanted to show him his collection, just Toshiro, and only him.

"Are you serious?"

Laios laughed, ruffling the back of his head. "Yeah. Y'know, it really makes me happy knowing you like my work."

Toshiro walked past him, pink coloring his pale cheeks, and it wasn't from the cold weather.

"Wait, Toshiro! Where are you going?!" Laios chased after him.

"Far away from you." Toshiro muttered.

"Just hold on a second!" Laios grabbed his arm, shifting in front of him on his feet. "I'm not trying to make fun of you about it!"

"The similarities between you and your writing made me feel like I've gone insane, and I've been keeping this in for weeks and weeks without saying a word about it," Toshiro confessed. When he saw that Laios wasn't reacting, he came to a disturbing conclusion. "How long have you known?"

"Hmm..." Laios hummed, taking his hand off Toshiro's arm. "I just had a feeling, I guess? Besides, you were kind of acting off since then. At first I thought you were freaked out, but that can't be the case. Then there was the possibility you knew about my work. I didn't want to ask you outright. I thought it was a stretch, so I was hoping you'd come to me about it."

There was no reason to try to fight this. Laios had him cornered.

"I'd have to admit, you are a remarkable writer," Toshiro said begrudgingly. "You and your protagonists have some things in common. Brash, insatiable, oblivious, surprisingly perceptive to other's emotions." And those just happened to be the traits that drew Toshiro to Laios in the first place. "But their resolve..." Laios stared at him intensely as he continued, hoping he could ignore his nerves, "is nothing like I've ever seen, I can't believe I'm saying this, I feel as if if they keep going on they could rule the world someday and succeed."

Laios' smile was warm, hearing Toshiro's feedback. "Yeah?"

He was suddenly closer than before, close enough for their lips to touch if he had taken another step.

"Yes." Toshiro whispered, a breath away from feeling Laios' lips on his, a hand on his chest, tilting his head up slightly.

Just as Laios was about to grant that wish, stirring Toshiro's gut, he snapped out of it last minute, stepping away.

"I should, uh, get home-" Toshiro blurted, eyes darting from Laios.

"Oh," Laios coughed, covering his mouth with his palm. "Okay. Sorry, I know you have an exam tomorrow morning. Can I walk you home?"

Toshiro waved his hand. "You don't have to do that-"

"Please." Laios begged, coming closer again. Toshiro stumbled back, because if he were in the same position as he were in before he was going to do something he'd regret in the morning. "Can I?"

Laios was just walking him home - an innocent gesture of kindness he'd been doing for some time now. It shouldn't mean anything, should it? He practically confessed that he idolized Toshiro and how happy it made him to know Toshiro was a reader of his novels. It was sure to affect their relationship in some capacity; but maybe if they pretended otherwise, it wouldn't make things weird between them.

Toshiro nodded. When he walked, he slowed his pace for Laios to catch up. Somehow, their arms couldn't stop brushing on the entire walk back, but neither of them could bring themselves to look at each other, far too embarrassed to.

Who were they kidding, they couldn't be subtle about their feelings on the situation to save their lives.

[ms--lobotomy]

Could you draft something for primarchs with their feisty s/o? The kind of person who’ll go “IMMA BEAT YOUR ASS UP” to anyone they vaguely consider a threat

Thanks! ❤️

Hi, anon! I feel like this prompt is best done as a full-on oneshot with one primarch, so just let me know next time requests are open if you want a different primarch. Hope you like Vulkan!

---

summary: you need to cool off after vulkan introduces you to his shitty brother

word count: 929

content warnings: female reader, nobody calls curze night haunter like he wants and he malds about it, theres profanity so if thats not your thing then oops

---

"I'll beat your ass up! I'll beat anyone's ass up!" you screamed at the top of your lungs as the man you loved hauled you off, neatly tucked under his large armored arm. You made eye contact yet again with his brother, a gangly, pale man with pitch-black eyes. He was not as big as your lover was, but still far larger than you.

"You'll have to excuse her, Curze," your lover laughed. His voice was deep and his face was scrunched up in a smile, but something in his eyes gave away that he wanted to leave, now. "She can be a little feisty at times!"

"I told you, Vulkan, it's Night Haunter!" cried the gaunt man in between fiddling with those giant claws on his armor. "Is it that hard to remember?!?"

"Nobody calls you that!" you exclaimed before your lover turned a corner with you still in his arm, and you saw the black-eyed man no more.

"Fuck off!" you heard that raspy voice cry out from behind the wall.

Later that evening, you were sat on your lover's bed. The sheets were a lovely shade of orange, brightly colored but nothing too tacky. The walls were decorated with images of you and your lover together, although you did not always look happy to get your picture taken. You smiled in a good few of them, though. The skulls of creatures felled by your lover also adorned the walls. Some of them hurt to look at, but others were more ordinary looking.

Vulkan was focused on brewing himself some tea at the moment. "I honestly thought that you two would like each other," he said nonchalantly, pouring himself a cup of it. Steam rose from inside his ornate cup and he took a sip, locking eyes with you. He was out of his armor now, adorned in nothing but a simple robe.

"Are all of your brothers like this?" you asked incredulously. Your hands were bunched up into fists, your knuckles anxiously kneading the bed.

Vulkan threw his head back in laughter, some of the tea falling out of the cup from the sudden movement. "Like Curze? Don't worry, he's got to be the worst of them. Oh." Vulkan paused to take a sip of his tea. "Please don't tell him that I said that, darling," he said, his face falling.

"Alright," you said, a lump in your throat forming. Uh oh.

You had nothing to worry about. A radiant smile lit up his obsidian face again, and you in turn smiled back at him. "I forget," he said, taking another sip of his tea. "What about my brother even got you so riled up in the first place?"

You laughed, something between a pleasant and an angry one. "You don't remember?" you asked, the fire in your voice from earlier beginning to build up again. "He said... on the Emperor, I don't want to repeat it..."

"You don't have to, darling," he said, sitting on the bed next to you. The bed was the perfect size for him, but it made you look even smaller than you were. You were small for a human, and your lover ever accentuated your stature by being over twice your size. He had put his tea down and his arms were around you in a sideways hug.

"I know I don't have to. I will, though," you said, leaning into the hug with a huff. As you opened your mouth to speak, your lover shushed you. You closed your mouth with a slight pout.

"Don't let him get into your head," he said calmly. "It's so cute that you're protective of me, but..." he trailed off. He opened his mouth and closed it, considering his next words carefully. "But I can hold my own against him, I promise. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

You sighed as he pressed his lips to the top of your head. He positioned you so that you were facing him on his lap as easily as if you were nothing more than an object. You wanted to object, to scream that his brother was not only a danger to the mission but a danger to him, but the words got caught somewhere in your throat. Instead you pressed against him, his hands rubbing your back.

"There," he said calmly. For the next few moments there was silence, and you felt nothing but the rising and falling of your lover's chest.

"I'll do it again," you murmured.

Vulkan laughed. You snickered too before your face fell again, your voice still quasi-muffled against his chest. "I'm serious."

"You're serious, now?" asked Vulkan. "Darling, he's just my brother. I told you that I can handle him on my own."

You looked back up at him. "I know. But I don't want you to handle him on your own."

Vulkan's eyes widened. "You don't... want me to?"

"You heard me."

Vulkan chuckled, pressing your head to his chest. "Alright. I'm going to be careful around him. For you," he cooed.

Whether he was placating you or he was going to legitimately change his course of action, you realized that was going to be the best you were going to get. You relaxed in his arms and he closed his eyes. He laid back on the bed, with you on top of him. His hands moved about on your back, slower and slower before they stopped moving and he started snoring, lightly.

"I love you, Vulkan," you said quietly as you fell asleep on top of him.

[good-beanswrites]

Happy Valentine's Day @artsy-azure ! Here's your gift for the @milgram-valentines-exchange 💖

Fuuta x Minato (oc) ~ The first section takes place right after his T2 interrogation, and then skips ahead to a tiny post-milgram scene :3 I hope you enjoy!

Fuuta thought he would drown. Not sink into water or anything like that; he was worried the voices filling his mind would completely suffocate him. There were too many of them. Too many people, all of them knowing every dark corner of his mind, and shouting into it. It should have been impossible for one voice – one softer than all the rest – to reach him.

Then again, everything about that voice should have been impossible.

“Fuuta… Hey, Fuuta… Are you alright?”

He blinked. He scrambled over to the nearest wall. There were no visible openings in the cell, not a single imperfection across any of the surfaces, yet Milgram’s intercom system functioned just fine. Most days it would just deliver the ear-rattling bell to tell him the time. On bad days, it carried Es’ summons to the interrogation room for his extraction. On worse days, it carried Es’ summons to the courtroom for his verdict.

On the very best days, it would bring him the voice of Hoshizawa Minato.

(Though, seeing as he had just returned from a catastrophic extraction, he wasn’t sure what type of day it was yet.)

He tore his attention away from the chorus of judgements and insults. He pressed his shoulder against the wall, still unsure where the sound was coming from, but knowing it was nearby.

“I’m here,” he said, hushed. More than anything he wanted to yell and scream, but he would never risk it, now. Minato had gone through a hell of a lot to break into Milgram’s systems, and he wouldn’t let his big mouth ruin all that. It had already ruined just about everything else.

“How are you holding up?”

Fuuta pressed his lips together. “Any news on getting us out of here?” was all he said.

Hundreds of miles away (or perhaps next door – neither of them could really know), Minato’s fingers adjusted his headset.

“I’m still working on it. These things take time.” 

“I’m definitely gonna need it after today.” 

“Your interrogation… I know.”

Fuuta pulled his hood down tighter, tufts of ginger hair ruffling underneath. “How much did you see?” 

Minato’s eyes flicked over to another monitor. It displayed the files he’d gained access to a few hours prior. It would crush Fuuta to hear about yet another person peeking into his personal moments, so he opted for a non-answer.

“I don’t have cameras. I don’t see much at all.”

“Tch, I’m not a damn idiot, I know that! I meant, how much did you hear?”

“...Everything.” 

Fuuta squeezed his eye shut. He bit a curse back. There came silence.

Minato actually double checked some of his monitors, making sure they hadn’t been disconnected.

“So then, you know,” Fuuta said at last. “There’s no fucking way I’m getting forgiven this time around.”

“You can’t be so sure. The–”

“No one in their right mind would forgive me after that.” He winced, remembering his harsh cries at the end of the interrogation. What kind of accused murderer shouted “I’ll kill you” as their plea of innocence? When he wasn’t running his mouth with threats, he’d been pleading with Es like some kind of coward. And Minato has heard all of it. Fuuta could only imagine the horrors that the extraction held. Who could forgive him after they saw his anger, or worse, his pleasure? Who could ever look kindly on someone like that?

“I would.”

Fuuta’s eyes widened. He let himself sink further into the wall. A strangled laugh escaped him. He let his head hang down. No matter how much he wanted to protest, Minato was as honest as they come. If he said he forgave Fuuta, he meant it. 

“Yeah, like I said, no one in their right mind.”

Minato cracked a smile. 

“You don’t think I’m in my right mind?”

Fuuta scoffed. “You post pictures of clothes for a living. And in your free time, you plan impossible jailbreaks for murderers. Doesn’t sound quite sane to me.”

“Aw, come on. Do you think it’s impossible?” 

Minato was still smirking, ready for some more of their typical back and forth. Fuuta surprised him by pausing. 

“Well, it should be impossible. But…”

They’d been speaking for some time now. Whether it was quick comments when Es wasn’t around or long conversations into the night. Fuuta had seen many sides of him, and knew that he had what it took. He wasn’t like the vast majority of internet personalities – weak or needy or inexperienced. He’d proved himself time and time again. If anyone could pull this off, it would be Minato. 

“If it’s you… there’s a chance.”

“You’ve got that right. You can count on me, alright?”

Fuuta took a deep breath. The tightness of the uniform and the bandages seemed to lessen.

“Although,” Minato put on a falsely serious voice, “we’re gonna have a long talk when you get out… about that yellow jacket you own.”

“Haaah? What’s wrong with my jacket?’

“There are a hundred stylish ways to wear it and that was not one.”

“The fuck does that mean?” 

“You’ll be grateful when someone who ‘posts pictures of clothes for a living’ helps with your wardrobe.” 

Fuuta could feel his chest release even more. Minato spoke so easily about the future, as if it were something real and waiting for him. 

“As if I’d let you touch any of my outfits.”

“As if you could stop me!”

He took another breath. He smiled. No drowning today.

---

After checking the clock fourteen times, Fuuta thought once more couldn’t hurt. It was still two minutes to noon, just like the last few times he’d checked. His frequent checking hadn’t brought the train to the station any faster.

Minato had told him that he was safe. He’d said this meeting wasn’t that big of a risk. The dust had settled. He just had to relax. 

The announcement overhead signaled the next stop was his. It screeched into the station, a slight murmur rising as the doors opened onto a platform of moving people. 

Fuuta lowered his head. His eyepatch would surely draw attention to himself, so he kept his hood down and his mask up. He just needed to make it to the station entrance. 

He made his way around stiff businessmen and sticky children. He tried to shuffle around a young man, but he seemed to step further into Fuuta’s path. Giving the stranger a quick glance, he started to mumble something to squeeze past. 

“Fuuta,” the man said, gaping in surprise. “It’s me.”

He inhaled sharply.

It was only three words, but it was enough to recognize his voice from a thousand conversations. 

Fuuta’s eye widened as he took Minato in. It was strange to finally see his face. Finally, here was the person he’d spent hours talking to. The person he’d spent days passing the time with. The person he’d spent nights falling for. Here was the one who had saved his life, in more ways than he could count.

His first observation was, fuck, this guy is way outta my league. His next was, he’s shorter than I was expecting. Then, gah, I’m probably shorter than he was expecting. He was in the middle of realizing, he has the nicest smile I think I’ve ever seen, when Minato crushed him in a hug.

Fuuta returned the embrace. His arms tightened around Minato. He was real. He was here. Fuuta’s hands grasped at his clothes and his hair. He was unable to control a laugh bubbling up inside of him. 

“You did it. My god, you did it.”

He breathed into Minato’s shoulder. His chest shook with some laughter, some tears. 

For a moment wondered if people would notice the heartfelt reunion outside of the train, then he realized he didn’t care in the slightest. 

Minato was laughing along with him in that beautiful, familiar voice of his. No more crackling speakers or hidden intercoms – he spoke right into his ear, hair tickling his cheek. Fuuta could have stayed forever in his arms, just like that. All that mattered was he felt safe. At last, he felt happy.

Talk about impossible. 

[waterfallofspace]

Obedience.

Using ~this lovely prompt~ from the incredible @onetrickponi for our dear G/ojo. 

Inumaki Translation Key:  “Bonito flakes” -Negative/Negation “Salmon” -Affirmation “Kelp” -Greeting “Caviar” -Curse/Expletive 

Characters: G/ojo, N/anami, I/numaki, Y/uji, M/egumi, N/obara, P/anda, and M/aki. (All platonic) Word Count: 2.7k

(References to mild coughing, and swearing!)

~~~~~~~

Gojo Satoru is an infamous name in Jujutsu. 

Some of the most powerful curse techniques the world has seen, abilities matched only by his intelligence. Not a sorcerer in Japan would deny knowing of him. Yet, ask what comes to mind when you say his name, and power is not the first word to drip off their tongue. 

The exact vocabulary will depend on which lips you pry it from. Higher ups would call him a nuisance. His students may call him aggravating. Fellow sorcerers have been known to use the term irritant. 

No matter who you ask, however, the sentiment rings true. Gojo Satoru is a troublemaker who dances the fine line between ‘loveable’ and ‘prick’. 

As with everything he does, Gojo is skilled at walking the tightrope of annoyance. Most of the time he’s careful to be as close to exasperating as possible, without actually being insensitive, unless it’s to higher ups. 

Most of the time. Then there are days, like last week, where the line is crossed with someone the students care about, and a little payback is required. It’s Inumaki’s turn to get the honours, which he accepts with a graceful “Salmon,” and a smirk. 

This is how a few students find themselves squished against the school, eagerly peeking around corners to watch the scene unfold. 

“Kelp!” Inumaki calls, gesturing for his fellow second years to gather around. Maki leans against the wall, Panda dropping to the floor and getting comfortable. Standing a few paces away from his target, Inumaki’s careful to measure the distance. Close enough to be obeyed, far enough to stay hidden. 

Down the field, the demonstration is about to begin. 

~~~

“-which leads me to the best part, so Megumi has no idea I’m even there,” Gojo rambles, hands painting spirals through the air. “And I saw him duck into the candy store, which was on my list anyways, so I’m follow-” 

“Satoru, I believe you asked me here for help with a demonstration,” Nanami cuts in, glancing at his watch as he rearranges his glasses. “I clock out in less than an hour. Is this really how you want to spend the time?” 

Nobara chuckles from behind her phone, gesturing towards Gojo. “Pretty sure he’d be thrilled to waste it gossiping. Meanwhile there’s a sale downtown, so if we’re not gonna get to it..?” 

“You people are no fun,” Gojo whines, tilting his glasses to meet Nanami’s eye. “Especially you.” 

Nanami sighs, tapping Yuji on the shoulder and gesturing to Megumi. “Get his attention please.” 

“One of the most boring people I’ve ever met, Nanami.”

“Well then,” Nanami pauses as a whack- sounds out from behind him followed by Yuji groaning. Another sigh raises in his chest. “Good thing my self worth doesn’t rest on what an immature sorcerer thinks of me.” 

Still rubbing his head, Yuji walks back over, Megumi following behind, pointedly refusing to lift his gaze to the teachers. Gojo seems to consider this ‘good enough’, as he begins to get in position, still huffing slightly at the insult tossed his way. 

“Alright guys, and girls~” Gojo adds with a snap in Nobara’s direction, prompting an eye roll from everyone in the group. “Time to get serious. This lesson is about hand-to-hand combat, with no cursed energy.”

Nobara offers a noncommittal hum, clicking away at her phone. Megumi still refuses to acknowledge anything but the bench he’s sitting on. Hesitantly, Yuji raises his hand, waiting till Gojo points at him. 

“Uh- Gojo sensei, didn’t you just teach me how to add cursed energy..?” 

“Correct! However, that’s because you’re already quite strong on your own. Fighting styles will be important for your growth, but it matters less with your brute strength.” 

Pausing, Gojo gestures to Megumi. “Someone like him needs to be constantly polishing their hand-to-hand skills, since he lacks the physical endurance you naturally possess.” 

“Oh, I see! Because he’s not as stron-” Nobara giggles as Yuji massages the back of his head again, Gojo failing to hold back a snicker. Rolling his eyes with another deep sigh, Nanami takes his position, gesturing for Gojo to get on with it. 

“So, for this demonstration I will turn off my infinity so our dear Nanami stands a chance~.” 

“Why don’t you stop talking and get on with it?” Nanami retorts, nodding to his watch. “Forty-five minutes.” 

Finally starting to begin, Gojo lets infinity turn off, placing his hand on Nanami’s shoulder to demonstrate an opening move. Nobara glances up every so often, still typing away at her phone. Megumi stares at the ground, but his lips seem to be repeating Gojo’s instructions. Meanwhile Yuji simply stares, captivated by each new move. 

Just as Gojo leans forward for another exaggerated swing, something hits him. Or more specifically, his nose. 

~”Sneeze.”~ 

Normally a sneeze for Gojo is a slow building process. The itch will start small, just a prickle in his sinuses, before it begins to build into a full blown need. With this one, he barely has time to duck away, pinching his nose shut with a desperate gasp. 

“ah’NXGchh-! hePTTchh-! hh- kNXT’ch-! Oh, ‘scuse me.” Gojo swipes at his nose, frowning at the breathless sensation he’s left with. Normally stifling doesn’t relieve the tickle, but he should be able to do it with minimal effort. 

“You okay, Sensei?” Yuji pipes up, glancing over at Megumi for confirmation. He doesn’t seem alarmed, not bothering to lift his head from his arms, feigning sleep on the bench.

 A few sneezes isn’t usually something to worry about, especially not from Gojo. The man is notorious for his sensitive nose, not to mention over-the-top fits. 

“Yeah, just a bit itchy. Start again. Nanami?”  Nanami gives Gojo a minute to collect himself, then with a nod, takes his stance. 

~”You’re not done.”~ 

“yiEHh’shhieuw-!”

“Watch it-” Nanami jumps back, grimacing as the first one doesn’t miss his sleeve.

“I’m- hH’GNchh-! I’m so- hehh… heptNCH-!” Gojo dives into his hand again, attempting to gasp out what sounds like an apology through the onslaught. “What the he- inchh-! en’gzchh-!”  

The itch is in his nose, but the tingles spread throughout his whole body. As his head dips again and again, he feels each muscle tense. His skin is crawling. Almost like goosebumps, but invisible to the naked eye.

“Woah, Gojo sensei, what’s wrong?” A voice laced with concern calls, but all Gojo can do is hitch, dipping deeper into his palm until he’s practically smothering himself. 

“hedt’chh-! ah’KDNTchh-! God I have… haveto… heh’KNCHh-!” 

While he doesn’t understand exactly what’s happening, he can sense the cursed energy swarming his own. Being aware of every drop overwhelming his system only leaves him more sensitive to the intensely soft feeling burning through his nose. 

“Ew, that’s so gross.” Another voice chimes in, void of concern. Still, Gojo finds himself unable to reply, entirely consumed by the maddening tickle. 

“eh’tnchh-! knchhh-! hahh- DTXNchh’uu-!” 

Every breath brings another sneeze dancing to the tip of his nose, waiting to burst forth. His vision blurs, the stifles not seeming to do anything to stall the exasperating itch. 

~”Enough stifling.”~ 

And just like that, Gojo feels his hand release his nose. A panic begins to seep through his weakened mind as he realizes he didn’t choose to do that. Still, it’s overwritten by the insistent desire that’s not been quelled. 

“hiHyiEShhhiuew-! yishh’hieww-! hh- tnnshh’uu-!”

He manages to get his collar over his face, muffling the bursts into the rapidly dampening fabric. “heh’mPFShhyew-! mmfffshh’iew-! eh’mffshhiueww-!” 

The moisture lining his nose starts to match the oceans forming in his eyes. No amount seems to satiate the tickle. An average fit might last for a while, Gojo’s used to that, but those sneezes feel satisfying. With this tickle, each sneeze that frees itself just brings a new desperation, as if he’s allergic to the act of sneezing. 

And more than that, they’re coming out as his natural ones- “hh’iSHhhieww-! tizshhyueww-!” -fittish and breathy, with a desperate twinge. Much different then the over-the-top presentations he’d normally be putting on. 

“ek’tieshhhieww-! heHh- guhhh…” Only when he can get a breath in does Gojo realize everyone’s staring at him. A heat begins to rise to his cheeks, spreading up into his ears.

Nanami’s hand rests on Gojo’s arm, eyes seeming to study him carefully.  “Satoru, are you alright?” There’s a humour to his voice that Gojo finds quite insulting, despite the kindness of the words.

“I’b ndot-” He pauses, sniffling hard against his wrist. It only serves to irritate his throat, light coughs pouring out. Annoying as it may be, the cough does clear the congestion enough to continue the sentence.

“I’m not sure, but I think… oh wait- hH’yiEShhhuew-! nohhht… notover- ekyiEShhh’shiew-!”

Nobara pipes up this time, phone long forgotten. “That’s disgusting.” 

“ah’KESHhh’yiew-! Wow, thagnks for the sy.. sympa…hahhh…” Making the mistake of opening his eyes, Gojo’s met with the horrifying realization his glasses had fallen off during the fit. The whimper he lets out has even Megumi glancing at him in concern. 

His eyes water again, lashes fluttering against the bright sunlight starting to invade his sinuses. It burns nearly as much as the cursed energy, and Gojo only manages to cast final warning before ducking back into his wrist.

“So itchy… I’mb gonda keep… hh’yIEShhh’yew-! hk’kieww-! ahh’dieuww-! hH’tieww-!” 

The fittish half-sneezes leave him breathless. It’s as if his nose is too sensitive, unable to even form a proper sneeze from the depth of the itch. His eyes snap open, just to plummet back shut as the flash from Megumi’s phone sends him back into hysterics. 

“ihh’kieww-! tchhieww-! ak’tiew-! hh’diueew-!” 

Through the fit, he manages to catch Nanami pulling the phone from Megumi’s hand, muttering something about ‘he has it bad enough’, quickly followed by ‘send me those after.’ The burning in his cheeks deepens, and for a second he considers attempting to warp out of there. 

“ahn’chhuew-! kn’diew-!” That fantasy dies as quick as it was born. 

Grumbling under his breath, Gojo attempts to glare at them, failing spectacularly. “You’re all th- hnn’diew-! ekieww-! ahh’tIEShhuu-! The worst. hK’ENchhiew-! hheHh- guhhh…” 

“For taking pictures when you’re suffering? Wow, I wonder who I could have learned that from.” Megumi adds, taking his phone back from Nanami with a silent glare. 

“Sensei,” Yuji pauses for Gojo to let out another burst before continuing, “Is there anything we can do?” 

Taking a cautious sniff, Gojo manages his first full breath since the fit started. He meets Yuji’s concerned gaze, opens his mouth, and- 

~”It tickles worse.”~ 

-gasps, pitching forward with a full-bodied sneeze. There’s not even time to aim for his shirt, a light mist landing on the ground. He feels his teary eyes flutter, nostrils quivering against the unbelievable urge. 

Before he knows it he’s leaning over, hands against knees- “hH’djZSHhuu-! yiEShhhIHhew-! ahh’knZShhhyeww-!”  -sneezing openly towards the ground. 

At this display, Nanami and Megumi chime in with a matching “gross” as Nobara openly shudders, taking several steps back. Seemingly the only one not disgusted, Yuji steps forward, resting his hand on Gojo’s back as it trembles. 

“Do you know what’s going on, Sensei?” 

Despite having a pretty good idea, Gojo just offers a frantic wave. As his nostrils flare again, he spins away from the group, the attack gaining a harsher quality.

“kNZSHhhuu-! ah’DZSHhh’tiew-! Oh my- hH’EZSHH’uew-!” 

Gojo convulses again, intense sneezes continuing to assault his trembling septum as he wipes the tears from his flushed cheeks,

~~~ 

Across the field, Inumaki mimics the movement, Panda and Maki joining in with their own chuckles. The hilarity of his reaction leaves them almost as breathless as their target. Laughter of this pure a degree had become quite rare for them, and it almost made them feel bad about the torment. 

“Okay,” Noticing Inumaki gearing up again, Panda gives him a gentle nudge.  “You should probably ease up now. You don’t want him actually passing out.”

“Bonito flakes..?” 

Panda sighs, nodding at him. “Yes, you do have to.” 

From her position against the wall, Maki chimes in, “He’s gonna be so pissed.” 

“Caviar… Salmon, Salmon.” Inumaki agrees. Dropping his collar again, he gives one final command.

~”You have one last sneeze in you.”~ 

With that, the three lean back to watch the finale. 

~~~ 

“kshh’diew-!” 

Pausing, Gojo feels something change. The jittery feeling that had been spread across his body honed in on his nose, amplifying the tickle. As his hand begins to frantically fan his face, he feels the world start to fade away. Soon all that exists is him and the itch. 

For the first time in his life, Gojo feels like he might understand what it’s like to be trapped in Infinite Void. Every feeling seems miles away, and yet at the same time it’s touching him. Each breath is too slow, but he’s panting. 

Time seems to stop, nothing but the tickle remaining as Gojo tilts his head back, desperately looking for anything to bring this to an end. Any source of brightness to- there it is. 

If he’d had any vision, the light would have stolen it, but instead, mercifully, he dives into his hands with a final vicious sneeze.  

“heH’DIEZSHHH’kiuew-!” 

 Even Megumi chimes in with an almost concerned, “That was intense.” 

Gojo gives him a vague smile, pale cheeks stained with blush as he sinks to his knees, rubbing his nose with a ferocity that leaves everyone wincing. 

“Do you need to go see Shoko..?” Yuji asks, but Gojo shakes his head, still panting. Nanami kneels down beside him, draping an arm over his shoulders as he pulls Gojo back to his feet. 

Letting Nanami support his weight, Gojo clears his throat, his blush deepening at the congestion that lingers. “I thignk I’ll be fidne ndow. Just godda sleebp this off.”

“You sound awful,” Megumi mutters, grimacing as Gojo winks at him. 

“Awww, are you concerdned about mbee? Thadts so sweedt of you, Megumbi!” 

In response Megumi scowls, the expression slowly morphing into a smirk as he holds up his phone. “Well, I guess these photos just put me in a good mood.” 

As he passes it around, Nobara and Yuji start howling with laughter, even Nanami suppressing a few chuckles. Gojo sighs playfully, attempting to brush off the way his ears seem to burn. 

“I defignitely deserved thadt.” He laughs, before exhaustion deepens its hold, and he leans against Nanami with an uncovered yawn. 

Nanami chuckles again, this time unrestrained. “You probably did.” And with that, begins the walk towards the school, Gojo still unsteady on his feet. Behind them, Megumi joins in on the laughter, and Gojo sighs at the inevitability of those photos ending up online. 

~~~ 

Just before they make it inside, he suddenly pulls away, whipping as far away from Nanami as he can manage. 

“hiH’TIEShhh’diew-! ahhh’kesshhyew-!” 

They’re followed by a low moan as he rubs his nose half raw against his arm.

“They’re right, you know, Satoru. You really are gross.” 

“hah’inKEShhh’yiew-! Thagnks, Nadnambi,” Gojo says, sniffling hard against his wrist. There’s a mild laughter to his tone. “Woah, thadt’s hard to say. hH- oh fuckigg- hh’kiezshh’uu-!” 

“Bless you.”

The western blessing gets a full laugh, which quickly descends into a productive cough. Raising his watery eyes to meet Nanami’s stern gaze, Gojo chokes out, “How- ndice o- of you.” 

“Let’s get you to a couch to lay down.”

“Thadt would be perfegct.” 

~~~

Sure enough, as Gojo sleeps it off, the photos begin spreading. Unfortunately for Megumi, most people seem to share the conclusion that, even while in the grips of a full sneezing attack, Gojo Satoru looks gorgeous. 

By the time the next day rolls around, the post has gotten over a million likes. Megumi attempts to delete the post, but ‘StrongestSorcererSatoru’ reuploads it. 

A week later rumours are spreading through the Jujutsu world. Gojo Satoru horrific sneezing fit, Inumaki force to be reckoned with even for the strongest, but by far the most surprising, Gojo Satoru apologized for going too far. 

Seems even Satoru can take a hint when it’s of that magnitude. 

Inumaki notices a few extra stares being cast his way, but it comes with more than enough pats on the back to make up for it. 

Everyone loves Gojo getting humbled a little.

[devildom-moss]

Happy post halloween!

Anyways, i would like to request some Simeon x Barbatos x MC angst if that's possible!

Have a good day and hope you havent gotten diabetes!

~💘

Thank you for the request. First, I have to add that it's going to contain some comfort bits for plot purposes. It will feel like hurt/comfort at first, but it's going to just fall apart, so the ending is unresolved angst. I hope that's okay. I also hope it's okay that I started the story at the end of a sex scene (I'm so sorry). It's not graphic though, and it's mostly relative to the plot.

"I trusted you."

(Barbatos x Simeon x gn!MC)

(NSFW at the beginning - but nothing too graphic) (unresolved angst) (poly / triad)

Word Count: +2,600

Barbatos bit your shoulder and teased the skin with his tongue. You moaned and focused your mind on the pain as you slowly eased yourself down from your high. Simeon coaxed you back to reality with his sweet voice, “There we go. You’re so good for us. Just let it all out, sweetheart.”

Simeon’s gentle hands eased up on your body so he could lay you down in bed. Barbatos followed and pulled your back flush against his bare chest. His breath was so calm compared to your disheveled panting. Simeon, on the other hand, was a happy medium. He made a more physically demanding contribution towards pleasuring you tonight. The last hour or so had been devoted to helping you unwind.

Simeon leaned over your shoulder to kiss Barbatos – their soft sighs right against your ear sending a shiver up your spine – before he pressed his forehead to yours and kissed you gently.

“How are you feeling, MC?” Barbatos hummed into your ear. “You appeared to be quite tense earlier.”

“Were we able to alleviate some of that for you?” Simeon asked you with hope glistening in his eyes.

“Do you wish to talk to us about it?”

It wasn’t fair for them to ask you that right now – not when you had completely melted for them, when you were uninhibited. This wasn’t simply the first step in their aftercare; they were trying to pull the truth out of you – crying and screaming if they had to, which evidently, they did. Perhaps it was unforgiving to assume that they knew you’d be more open to telling them what was going on after they made you cum. You were just feeling a bit spiteful in the face of their care and affection. Nonetheless, you bit your lip and opted for honesty.

“It was good – you were both. . .” you trailed off, searching for the right adjectives that never came. “Thank you, but now that it’s over, I can feel myself returning to that headspace again.”

“Would you like to go another round, or would you prefer to elaborate?” Barbatos left a soft kiss on your neck, not intending to sway you one way or the other.

“I think I’ve been having a hard time recently. I feel bad most of the time – and when I do feel good, the crash afterwards just doesn’t justify the happiness. It’s not worth it to keep putting in all this effort to feel good if I just end up feeling so much worse,” you admitted, watching the hope slowly drain from Simeon’s face. That was the easier half to admit, too. “I’m sorry. I noticed it last week, but I’ve been turning to bad habits again. I can’t seem to stop myself. I’m returning to behavior that I thought I had stopped, and now, it feels like I haven’t made any progress at all.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Simeon cooed and caressed the side of your neck with his fingertips where he had marked you earlier. His touch was light, as if he thought anything more would hurt you – burst the blood vessels under your skin and turn an innocent hickey into a vicious purple mark. “I’m so sorry. Thank you for being honest with us.”

“Do you know what could have caused the change?” Barbatos tightened his grip around you.

“I don’t know.” You sighed. “Stress, probably. It’s hard to say. It feels like it just happened.”

“You know I’m always here to listen to you, right?” Simeon reassured you.

“If it would help, you can vent to us,” Barbatos added.

“I don’t know. The brothers are how they always are, and studying is the same. There’s nothing new to say, I just feel worn out. I undid all that progress, and I don’t even have anything to blame.”

“You don’t have to blame anything or anyone. How about we focus on getting you to a place where you don’t need those behaviors. It might take some time, but we can start with small changes. Will you let us help you?” Simeon glanced over your shoulder and locked eyes with Barbatos, who nodded in response, before returning his gaze to your precious face.

“I – yes. I would like your help,” you admitted, shame tinting your words with hesitation.

Barbatos began to rub his thumb along your skin in slow, steady strokes back and forth – a soothing action for both of you. “Then you shall have it. Progress is not so linear as time. Trust us. We’ll help you get back on the path.”

Simeon could have expanded on the thought – made up an entire fairy tale for you: There was once a human sorcerer’s apprentice. What they lacked in experience and knowledge – although their skills were hardly lacking – they had more than enough kindness and care to compensate. While the sweet apprentice was traveling through a forest they frequented, they wandered off their usual path. They didn’t have any particular reason for doing so. Perhaps it was just a gut instinct, or maybe they sensed something off in the forest that led them to deviate. At first, the apprentice was certain they would be able to get back to their usual route, but before long, doubt started to creep up on them. Without realizing, they had gotten themselves lost deep into the forest. Scared and alone, the apprentice resorted to anything they could think of to preserve themselves in such a dangerous terrain – even things that would seem destructive in usual circumstances. Luckily for the brave apprentice, eventually, they heard two voices conversing in the distance – familiar voices, at that. An angel and a demon, who both treasure the apprentice, had realized that the apprentice had yet to return home. Overcome with worry, they came together to search for their beloved human. All that the human had to do was call out their names, and the angel and demon would find them. And so, they did. At the sound of the apprentice’s voice, the angel and demon rushed to the human’s side, taking care to leave markers that would help them return to the usual route. When the angel and demon found the human, a disheveled and aching mess, they brought them into a warm, comforting embrace. Together, they would navigate their way back home.

However, the story wouldn’t have reached you. Barbatos’s gentle touch had quickly soothed you to sleep. Instead, Simeon snuck out of bed to get a bowl of warm water and a few rags so he and Barbatos could clean you (and themselves) up before they followed you to sleep.

They were both incredibly helpful over the next few days: taking care of menial tasks that seemed like day-to-day burdens, ensuring that you got proper rest and nutrition, and being extra sweet and accommodating. They even baked sweets for you, hoping to make you smile. Barbatos and Simeon adored doting on you, so it was hardly an inconvenience for them.

It seemed that their efforts were actually helping. Then again, you had also been blessed with an unusually easy week so far. Diavolo made less requests of you than usual. The brothers were relatively well behaved, too. You only had to wake up Belphegor in the morning once, and he barely made a fuss. Mammon hadn’t committed any financial scams that you knew about. Levi attended his classes with only the lightest threat from Lucifer. Beel had even been sweet enough to bring you coffee and a dozen pastries yesterday, and he happily ate the leftovers.

At some point, it started to feel suspicious. However, you figured the time had come for the brothers to do something stupid and stressful when Lucifer texted you, asking you to meet him at the House of Lamentation that afternoon.

When you arrived, Asmo greeted you at the door and pulled you into a hug. “Hey, hun. Got a minute?”

“I guess, but Lucifer asked me to come by, so I should probably see what he wants first.”

“Oh, darlin’, don’t worry about that. It’s related. Come on, follow me.” Asmo took your hand and dragged you into the common room where all the brothers were waiting for you.

“Uhm. Am I getting an intervention or something?” you asked.

“No, MC,” Lucifer informed you. “However, we’re all here to offer you an apology.”

“Yes,” Satan added. “It’s come to our attention that we’ve been quite the handful for you recently. I’m sorry for my contribution to your stress.”

You stared at him, confused, before Mammon spoke up. “I mean, it’s your job to be my servant and all, but I guess ya put up with a lot, and I ain’t gotta give ya such a hard time. So, sorry.”

“It’s devilsitter,” Belphie corrected him, “and MC isn’t yours, you fucking moron.”

“Belphie,” Beel warned him gently. “Anyway, we’re really sorry for causing you so much trouble.”

“Especially as of late. Sorry. Don’t be upset, okay?” Belphie apologized, walking up to you and hugging you. Well, it was less of a hug and more that he was leaning his weight onto you like he was a weighted blanket.

“H-hey,” Levi protested. “That’s enough PDA. Oh! But I’m sorry, too. I know it’s not easy putting up with a jealous shut-in all the time.”

Belphegor leisurely returned to his spot on the couch next to Beel. This was all so strange. Yes, they were all pains in the ass, but you never expected a group apology from them. What’s gotten into them?

“Even though you have Simeon and Barbatos,” Asmo started, taking your hands in his, “you know you can rely on us, too, right?”

It hit you, like some heavy viscous blob falling from the sky, dousing you in something slimy and uncomfortable. Suddenly, you felt sick to your stomach. That sickness was interrupted by the buzzing of your D.D.D. The heaviness of your realization slowed your movements as your hands slipped out of Asmo’s. There was a text from Diavolo.

Diavolo: Just so you know, if anything is troubling you, you can always come to me. I’d be happy to help you in any way I can.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you quickly exited the message.

“I have to go,” you whispered just loud enough for everyone but Belphegor, who was already half-asleep, to hear. You rushed out of the room, D.D.D. in hand, before anyone could stop you. Once you were out the door, you sent a message to Barbatos and Simeon.

MC: Private meeting. Now.

Barbatos: You can both come to the castle. Diavolo is currently out. Shall we meet in the garden?

Barbatos: What’s the matter, sweetheart?

Simeon: On the way. I’m nearby.

Simeon: Sweetheart?

Simeon: MC?

You left them both on read.

When you walked out into the garden where Barbatos and Simeon were waiting for you over a cup of tea, they were startled by your apparent distress. They both shot up from their seats and rushed to meet you.

“What’s wrong?” Simeon was the first to reach you, and he placed a hand on your shoulder.

“How could you?” The fury in your voice made him jump and take his hand back as if he had touched something scalding. His breath caught in his throat with a gasp.

“What do you mean?” Barbatos called your attention – and thus your rage – towards himself.

“You told everyone, didn’t you?”

“He’s my master,” Barbatos admitted, “I had to tell him, but I didn’t tell anyone else.”

You turned your eyes to Simeon, whose face was plastered with guilt. He opened his mouth to speak, found that he couldn’t, bit his lip, and made the effort again. “You deserve support from all your loved ones. I thought it would help.”

Barbatos looked over at Simeon, and they caught each other’s gaze. Their guilt reflected like two mirrors that cracked at the hideous pain of their own image. Although Barbatos felt his mistake was less egregious, his heart broke for Simeon. So, he decided he could bare more of your wrath. “We didn’t know what else to do. You told us you needed help.”

“I needed help from you! I trusted you.” Your anger cracked, and through its brokenness, your pain trickled out. “Why would you go behind my back and tell them?”

“I thought it would make things easier,” Simeon admitted timidly.

“I wasn’t ready. I barely trusted you with the truth.” Your words burned into their skin. They knew you were guarded but hearing that you barely trusted them was painful – a previously unspoken truth that crawled its way out of your throat specifically to cut them open and spit venom into the wound. “It took so much to be honest. I was so afraid of pushing you away, but I wanted to believe in you. I don’t want them looking at me any differently.”

“MC, they don’t see you differently just because you’re having a hard time.” Barbatos made another effort to reassure you, inching closer like he intended to capture you in his arms.

“You don’t know that!” you yelled. “You didn’t even wait to see if we could get through this together. If it was too much, you should have told me. How many days did you try to keep it between the three of us?”

A silence crept up on the garden. There was an understanding that any answer would only disappoint you further. Each of you stood still with open wounds, allowing poison and infection to circulate freely. Like small, injured creatures in a dark, unfamiliar forest, everything looked like a threat. Selfishly, each of you just wanted to preserve your lives.

Barbatos was the first to break the silence, armed with his natural demonic spite. “I told you we should have waited to tell the others.”

“And then you agreed that MC deserved all the support they could get,” Simeon bit back. “You were going to tell Diavolo regardless of what I did.”

“The Young Master has a right to be kept up to date. He has the most power to lessen MC’s workload.”

“Lucifer and his brothers have been better behaved since I told them. You agreed that would help.”

“I agreed because I trusted you.”

“Shut up!” You interrupted their argument. “Fuck you both. I’m going home.”

“Wait.” Simeon reached for your hand and caught it just in time. “Please don’t leave before we resolve this.”

“Please,” Barbatos pleaded. “The castle is large enough. If you don’t wish to talk anymore today, I can arrange separate rooms for all of us. Just stay.”

“No. I mean I’m going home.” You pulled your hand from Simeon’s grasp. “Tell Diavolo I’m returning to the human world. Simeon, you can tell everyone else. Both of you have already proved you’re capable of doing that.”

“MC.” Your name was a tremble out of Simeon’s lips.

“Don’t go.” Barbatos’s words were firm, but when he reached out and pulled you into his arms, you could feel him shaking.

“Try to fucking stop me. Go ahead. Break the last strand of trust. I dare you.”

“Let them go, Barbatos. This is serious. You’ll make it worse.”

Barbatos’s arms dropped to his side, freeing you. He made one last effort to reach you, to hold you close for just a second longer. “I – at least let me open a portal for you.”

“No.”

As you walked away, Simeon grabbed Barbatos’s hand softly. In part, Simeon needed to anchor Barbatos to that spot. They could wait until you were ready to speak. A far more selfish part of Simeon felt himself drowning and had reached for Barbatos in an attempt to keep himself afloat – even if that meant pulling Barbatos under with him. Barbatos let Simeon take his hand, but he couldn’t bring himself to hold Simeon’s hand back.

The entire Devildom turned into a blur as they felt your presence leave.

[ikemenomegas]

Gave my love

Portgas D Ace x Reader || Shooting Stars

a/n: Make a Wish prompt fill for panda-anon. I am crying because my first draft spun off into the void of my own technological mishaps, so I hope the second version is satisfactory. I'm sorry it took so long (it took forever for me to do the rewrite these last few weeks have been a bit hectic) I hope that you enjoy it! I apologize if Ace seems at all ooc, it's been a long time since I last took a deep dive into his character. He reads to me as someone who would be kind of a tsundere about romantic feelings but able to be happy if he told himself it was "just friends" so he could pretend to be normal about it. The boy has so many excuses: Butterflies? he's happy to see you, feeling hot? he's made of fire, jealous of your attention? you were his friend first... (also the linked song aged remarkably well, it's fun and noisy and is where the title came from) Thank you so much to my friend who braved an omegaverse fic to edit for me. I hate editing my own stuff and she did such a good job making sure that things weren't too obtuse. cw: omegaverse, alpha!reader, Ace's canon compliant self worth issues

The trouble with narcolepsy isn't the daytime hours. He'd learned to manage those when he was a kid. The trouble comes at night, when his body is visited with the opposite impulse.

Ace rolls over for the nth time. Now, with the same insistence it had put him to sleep, his body pulls him awake.

He follows that pull with heavy, silent steps. He stretches his arms above his head and feels his back pop. He leaves his hat by his bunk, suddenly eager for the sea breeze through his hair.

He hesitates for a moment. Though he no longer gets cold, he considers wrapping something around his shoulders. His pillows and blankets still smell faintly of you. He looks at the bed.

No one is around to accuse him of something so treacherous as longing, but he still jerks his head away and pretends as if he hadn't spent much too long considering such a thing.

When he leaves the covered floors of the ship a bird - he cannot see where it come from - flutters down and nearly clips his head. It's not a seagull. He wonders for a moment, could it be?, but he quickly casts the thought away. Probably not.

A flash of light streaks across the sky, distracting him.

The worn railing is smooth, almost soft, beneath his fingertips when he leans over it. He folds his arms and lays his head in the cradle of his elbow.

He's been dealing with insomnia for the better part of a decade, either waking in the night or not sleeping at all. He'd see Luffy, sprawled out on the floor of the hideout, snot bubbles and not a care in the world. Even though his little brother didn't often notice his midnight absences, even when Ace would show up with prey in the morning, being unnoticed had not left him feeling unwanted.

Knowing someone was waiting staved off the loneliness. Becoming Whitebeard's son had been the best decision of his life. Yet tonight, he has no desire to disturb the sentries or wake a crew member for company.

A glossy black crow lands on the rail within easy reach. It cocks its head at him, warbling low in the back of its throat. Ace narrows his eyes at it, staring until the crow shrinks back, feather ruffling. This was the bird that had almost hit the back of his head, he's sure of it.

It looks almost sheepish at it places a little bag on the rail between them.

When he doesn't pick it up right away, the bird pushes it closer with one delicate claw, bobbing its head.

He picks it up slowly, keeping an eye on the bird. It tilts its head back and forth, clicking in the back of its throat. It takes him a moment to catch it in the dim light: the reflection of your Eye in the black marble of the crow's.

A grin showing teeth makes its way across his face.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi." Sound comes out of the crow's open beak like there is a microphone in its throat, like there's a snail in its belly. It doesn't move in synchrony with the words, but in an unsettling sort of pantomime.

Your voice is made ragged by the crow, but even with one word he knows it is yours. His grin goes lopsided and he weighs the pouch in his hand.

"Fancy seeing you here, pretty bird" he says.

The crow makes a hacking sort of cough he knows to be its version of your scoff coming from its mouth, but the bird rubs its beak against the gleaming wood of the ship, as though to take the sting from the sound.

"I do occasionally have good timing," it says with your voice.

He leans his head on his arms and looks directly at the bird. His gaze cuts through the animal in front of him and to you on the other side. One side of his bangs falls across his eye.

He has some idea of what you do, but not exactly. He knows it's dangerous, for a certain value of dangerous. You go to places he hasn't seen yet.

When he asks you where you are, you tell him about places you've been, never where you recently were. You don't relent even when he pries, whining low in his throat at your typical evasiveness. The crow speaks the rusted over name of some island he's never heard of.

When he asks you how training is going, the bird does some funny little movements that require it to over-correct when it nearly falls off the rail and imitates the sounds of bo staffs colliding.

The sentry peeks down from a higher level. Ace waves them off, feeling suddenly defensive. He wants to keep this moment a secret.

The bird freezes, looking up from where it's hunched over in an all too human kind of expression that reminds him of the last time you were a guest of the Whitebeard pirates and you'd raided the kitchens with him, sneaking around with unnecessary stealth, pressing back as if to hide him from every passing shadow until he was giggling into your shoulder, you scents mingling as you sweated under the hot atmosphere of a nearby volcanic island.

He snickers as the bird shakes its feathers flat again, giving an experimental little croak and finally straightening up when the noise doesn't immediately bring the sentry back running, looking out for his crewmate. The bird bumps his hand, as if to draw attention to it, and Ace draws his fingers through the soft, smooth feathers.

When you creakily ask him about his own recent adventures, you offer tidbits from the news to get him started, and it warms him in a very strange way to think you've been keeping an eye on him.

Eventually, the late night catches up and a comfortable quiet settles around the two of you.

Ace listens to the crow's low gargly kkqrk as it moves on its perch. He smirks to himself at the sight of the shining black bird shifting against the star scattered, velvet night.

"Are you going to open it?" you, finally ask. The bird pecks emphatically at the rail by the velvety bag.

All of the bird's expressive hopping and pecking for excited emphasis is so very un-human. It amuses him to imagine you puppetting the creature, instructing it to dip and flap for his benefit, even though he knows it is more akin to the bird itself interpreting your emotions.

Even so when the bird, looks at him, he can almost see the pleading look only you can pull off. Truly and delightfully uncanny.

He sighs as if it is all a chore, bobbing the pouch up and down on the string wound around his fingers. The crow follows with the movement with its beak and then its whole body.

"Should I?" he muses. "Suppose I save it-"

The bird all but stamps its little grey scaled foot in expressing your impatience and he laughs at you, at the odd humanity of the motion, as he finally does open the bag, drawstrings tangled in his fingers.

The contents of the pouch glitters, even in the starlight.

"How nice," he says, opening the mouth of the bag wide to reveal an array of crystals inside. "A good bit of shine."

All pirates of course liked things that gleamed. As did crows. The bird tilts its head between his face and the bits of rock in his hand.

He shifts them around in the bag. There are many colors.

"You should try one," it - you - says, shifting its weight. The bird stayed almost perfectly still, head tilted as it took in his incredulous expression.

"I am not dumb enough to eat rocks."

"I know."

The bird, peers up at him, blankly expectant.

Ace looks back in the bag and eventually plucks one of the crystals out. It's orange bleeding into purple like a storm ridden twilight and edged like the inside of a geode.

He glances once more at the bird, at you, but the creature just shuffles its wings to sit more primly against its body. Ace has never been very good at backing down from a dare.

Still he bites down very very carefully.

The crystal cracks apart under his teeth and spills sweetness on his tongue - plum and passion fruit, tart and bright and dark again, like the last touch of a setting sun. The outside is hard and cool like stone, but falls away to jelly by the time his bite sinks to the center.

He cannot help the way his eyes go slightly wide.

"Where are these from?" he asks.

"I made them," your voice slips from the bird's parted beak, almost shy. "The King of Kettles taught me," you add fondly.

He nibbles on more of the crystal, candy he now knows. Rock candy, he thinks as he grins to himself. He's not sure when the last time someone brought him candy of all things. Sugar is expensive no matter its source, and sometimes hard to find among the islands. Even syrups made from fruit would take a long time to make.

"Make sure to brush your teeth!" The crow interrupts his thoughts with a trumpeting, too loud, cackling sort of caw.

He stuffs a corner of the crystal into the crow's beak, interrupting the sound with a choking, fluttering, sputtering.

One thing about birds is that regardless of interpretation, they are sometimes not very good at managing their volume.

The crow hunches over, sending Ace as dirty a look as it can manage. You consider having it play dead, just to get back at him, but the shuffling attention of the sentries has you, the crow, freezing in his shadow.

You are reminded, somewhat guiltily, that your welcome on Whitebeard's territory does not give you unrestricted access, even for stolen moments like this.

But again, Ace waves off the inquisitive sentries, and they go, because he is the commander of the second division.

Ace can tell that they're curious, but this is for him, for now. In the morning if they or anyone asks, he will tell and laugh and tease. And it will be real.

This is real too. He feels protective of this moment, even if it is only a crow with your Eye as a glossy, curved reflection. It's his little secret.

It's not in his nature to keep secrets. Not for long. But for a while, he wants to keep this one. Not out of shame, not like the other, but because this one is warm like a glowing coal.

It is his, to follow the direction of a falling star and have a bird deliver him a gift and a conversation. You can't tell him where you are or where you're going, but you have frequent, funny little names that are familiar enough that you can tell him stories and he knows of whom you speak. The King of Kettles, Catfish, the Forlorn Maiden - all of them people he has never and likely will never meet.

Do you have a secret name for him, do you tell people about him? Something meant to safeguard him from the world?

Will there ever be a time when he isn't the secret? When that secret doesn't drag a darkness along behind it to cover those who know?

Another flash of light goes across the sky - blink and you'll miss it.

He sees it, you don't, going in the same direction as before. It flies away into the night.

Slowly, through the odd technicolor vision of the crow, you see a closed off, thoughtful expression take the place of the easy smile from before.

"What are you thinking of?"

The crow's hissed approximation of a whisper should be unsettling but it isn't.

Ace leans his arm on the railing and looks over at you, at the crow. The corner of his mouth lifts up, but he can't put enough of his heart into it to cover the melancholy.

He finds himself wishing for your scent. Sending a bird is one thing, but if he had not seen the Eye, he wouldn't have even been able to tell you it was you there, and not some well trained pet.

"I wish you were here," he sighs, reaching out to run a finger over the bird's smooth head feathers.

The bird ruffles its wings and says nothing. There is a long moment of nothing, long enough that Ace thinks of going back to bed. Sleep is finally reaching for him, he can feel the chill of it on his skin.

It's through the quiet of the dark that it finds him, a dull sound, almost at the edge of hearing.

He reaches out with his awareness, scanning the sea for any creature stupid enough to attack one of Whitebeard's fleet. A Sea King would be a bit of bedtime fun. Or it might be the distant sound of canons, although intuition tells him that isn't it.

The sound gets closer. It is not canons or the writhing movements of a deep water monster. It is more like someone shaking out sheets, but as regular as a sleeper's heart - the flap of wings.

He sees a shape, black on black, in the distance. It vanishes between one blink and the other, melting into the night. Another shimmer of light falls overhead while the wingbeats suddenly disappear.

Ace remembers owls and the way they hunt, swooping silently down upon their prey. He looks up to see if the watch is at all disturbed, and then to his left. The crow is gone.

The wingbeats return, now soft and so close. Right below him. He looks over the rail and a familiar face rises up to meet him.

This crow upon which you sit is longer than him if he were to lay down, feet and fingers pointed as far as they would go. It drifts upon the shallow eddy stirred up by the ship, drifting alongside.

"Hello," you say. You're smiling. Teasing snatches of scent get caught in the sea breeze.

From behind, the crow that had been your mouthpiece swoops down upon your shoulder.

"Willful thing," you say to it.

It croaks, head bobbing cheekily.

"Hi," he says. His heart feels like it's soaring, light alongside you, every whoosh of blood a wingbeat.

"I heard you," you say, nudging the crow's chest with your finger.

"You do occasionally have good timing," he says, grinning wide.

The enormous bird flaps a few times, slowly, up to the level of the rail.

He catches you when you slide over the side of the ship and step onto the deck. He never feels the flames when they come from him, but your palm sliding over his makes him feel like he's burning.

"I think I'm going to be in trouble with your Father," you say, shrugging a shoulder, "for the bird."

It croaks again, and then caws, as if to prove a point. The both of you wince.

"I'll tell him you came for me," Ace replies. He doesn't bother to keep quiet now, but that's alright. The bag of sweets you brought him dangles around his wrist like a charm.

You're a little breathless when you look at him. He can see stars reflected in your eyes.

"Whenever you want me."

[inkwell-and-dagger]

Ruaridh couldn't ignore it, even if they tried.

An incessant thumping lulled them out from slumber, a repetitive, painful hang against their head like a hammer. The source came from right above them, as usual. Having two heartbeats around them got annoying with time, but they were able to repress their instincts, and from then they had thought that it wouldn't bother them anymore. But, alas, they were wrong.

Being in the dark made it all the more worse. Able to focus on nothing but the heartbeat of their new friend — or, at least, that's what Ruaridh assumed; they couldn't be certain whether he or their saviour were friends or foes just yet — made it all the more difficult to repress the thought of shutting it up themself. And they couldn't hold it back for long.

On one hand, they knew it'd be a bad decision to even move a muscle; they begged their body to remain still, pressing their pillow firmly against their ear in the hopes the noise will subdue. But on the other, Derwyn's words echoed in their mind: "If you hear something you don't like, you get rid of it. Understood?"

And Ruaridh did understand, they really did. They knew for a fact that this noise irritated them, and they didn't like it — fuck, they hated it. It was like a constant headache, and Ruaridh would do anything to relieve the pain.

So they made up their mind. Their body felt like it was on autopilot; they couldn't exactly control their movements, only able to observe what little they could see in the dark. Snaking out of bed, perching up on the railing of the top bunk and lowering their head so their horns don't bang into the ceiling.

There he was; they didn't remember his name, but from what little conversation they could recall their saviour introducing them to him, his name began with a "D". He looked so oblivious peaceful, pristine wings sprawled out over the railing of the bed, hanging down the ladder as he slept. Tired eyes closed and relaxed, loosely clutching some sort of creature in his arms. It looked to be some sort of duck? It was unnaturally big, and fluffy, and it wasn't moving or breathing, and had no heartbeat. Why would he sleep with a big, dead duck in his arms?

They cleared the thought from their mind, a clawed hand reaching out to turn him over onto his back as carefully as possible. There were no signs of him waking up, so Ruaridh proceeded.

They couldn't help but feel bad at the prospect of ruining the lovely jumper he wore; it looked extremely comfortable. But they couldn't stop themself from snaking one hand around his neck to hold him down, the other pressing right over his heart and digging and digging and sinking their claws into—

A scream knocked them out of whatever state they were in, and they drew back and slipped from the railing, landing on their back with a loud thump. Beads of blood coated their claws, and his new friend — and what would've been their meal if he were to stay asleep, no doubt — shot up in bed.

"What the fuck?!"

Ruaridh stammered for words, but none would come out; they wanted to apologize, to plead that they didn't mean to, that they couldn't control themself and that they were so, so fucking sorry. But it seemed as though he wasn't keen on listening, as when they tried to come closer, he shielded his wounded body with his wings, a frightened yelp sounding in the darkness.

"Don't— Don't fucking touch me—"

And sure, this was probably said in the heat of the moment — their friend was, most likely, distressed and in pain, and he had every right to not want them close to him — but Ruaridh suppressed a flinch, lowering themself from the ladder again.

They tried to explain themself. "I'm sorry, I really am, I just didn't— I forgot that you weren't—"

But Ruaridh paused, hearing the faint sound of footsteps thumping down the winding staircase they'd been led down with the promise of a warm meal and a bath not even a day ago.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

Ruaridh knew hiding in the bathroom would just be stalling the inevitable, but they couldn't stop themself from dashing into that small, sterile room.

(TLLR and any other character mentioned belongs to @whumpy-wyrms!! only Ruaridh is mine ;3)

[pen-of-roses]

Darkness

I have good news! I managed to write for the @ockissweek prompt today! I have even better news @concealeddarkness13! It's Coness! Not terribly long or detailed, but still!

Sometimes it was all still too much, too light, too full of care, too perfect, too good. Lying in a bed with evidence of there being something beating behind his ribs despite his best efforts to pretend otherwise, overwhelmed him sometimes. Rather than easing all his worries and fears, it heightened them to extremes he hadn’t thought possible. Dragged up all those questions of what if.

What if something went wrong, what if he did something, what if it was all a trap and a trick, what if he couldn’t quell that dark beast inside him, what if shadows from the past poured out of the woodwork to consume everything they had built, what if what what if.

Because now he had people to lose. And he always would lose.

He carefully detangled himself from the mess of limbs and slipped from the edge of the bed. 

Had any of them ever realized why he still favored that spot? 

The body nearest him made a questioning noise, a thin whisper of confusion started to grow, and he brushed long hair out of the way to soothe it with a kiss on the forehead. A soft sound and that confusion quieted.

Keeping his steps light, he closed the door behind him with a soft click before moving down the hall to his study. He didn’t bother with the lights as he entered, just sank into the chair by the window. His fingers itched for a glass, but that would require more energy than he had. 

It was ridiculous, of course, to be so on edge over having a good thing in his life. That damnable thing in his chest just needed to calm itself, instead of threatening to tear itself to pieces whenever the smallest thing went wrong. And even if everything did? Well, it's not like he shouldn't be used to it.

He took a deep breath, letting his head fall back against the leather to look out at the city.

Naturally, it was still lit up below even at the late hour. Really, what was the difference between night and day between that persistent glow and the usual curtain of clouds? 

And here he sat, shrouded in darkness of his own making, staring at once resentfully and yet wistfully towards the light, just like always. Not knowing how to touch it, if he would even be allowed, if it would somehow burn him if he did, if—

“Conor?”

His body tensed on instinct still, even as he huffed a silent laugh. He would do well to remember that the people he surrounded himself with were just as hyper aware as himself at times, and more observant than he oft gave credit for.

“You should go back to bed, it’s still late, you know. Or early, depending on how you look at it.”

“So should you. Besides, you’re not there to keep me warm.” 

“Ah, but I was just settling into my role as a monster in the dark you see. Even in an apartment overlooking the city for all the villainous flair one could need.” He waved his hand to the window for effect, ignoring the din of frustration at his statement. “And I’m sure darling Gemstone can be a heater. In fact I’m surprised you managed to wiggle out from being their own stuffed bear,” he paused. “Or perhaps a dragon or badger would be more applicable.”

Miraculously, he managed to not startle this time as Chess climbed into his lap, his hands settled automatically at her waist. The dark still kept him from properly seeing her, but his smile softened all the same.

“They’re great, but I want to cuddle with you too.” She pouted and batted her eyes.

He kissed her lightly. “I’ll rejoin you shortly, little badger, but you really should go back to bed.”

“I’m fine. Not even a little tired.” He bit his tongue against calling out the faint thrum of a lie. “In fact, I think you should help wear me out so we both sleep.”

He laughed and held her a little closer. “Ah so that was your devious plan, hmm? Seduce me out of my dark thoughts?”

Leaning in, she grinned, “Is it working?”

He hummed, pulling her down for a proper kiss. “I’ll let you know.”

Despite their words though, they stayed as they were for a while longer, sharing kisses and content to just be with each other for a bit. It was….nice, all things considered.

“Conor?”

“Yes, Badger?”

“You’re not a monster.”

He swallowed, looking back out over the city. A city that had borne silent witness throughout the years to many of his acts, both those born of that dark curling grip on the thing in his chest, and...those of the softer edges of it, especially more recently. “I will try to remember that.”

“I’ll fight anyone who says you are.”

Looking up at her again, he smiled. “Hmm, yes that, I do believe, my heart.” Her smile softened at the endearment. “Now, let’s return to bed shall we? I can’t imagine how the others are fairing in their nights without our wonderful company.”

[eorzeashan]

Snowball fight! Eight, Theron, and whomever else you'd like to join in! :)

Winter Prompts

“Theron, stay behind me.” Eight gallantly stepped before his hiding spot behind a waste bin and fended off a flurry of snowballs lobbed his way, armed with naught but a tree branch held aloft like a blade. He caught them with its noticeably blunt edge, discarding the disintegrating snow with a flourish.

“Is this really necessary…?” Theron echoed, his back pressed against the trash receptacle, feeling his cheeks flush pink from needing to be defended or simply the bitter cold of Odessen’s winter.

Strangely enough for an operative, Eight put himself on the frontlines or in place of others more vulnerable– a trait unseen in most of his ilk, who excelled in the shadows behind their sturdier comrades. Yet Theron learned quickly through repeated battles by his side that such bold tactics were a strength rather than a weakness for the Cipher, whose fragile disposition as an agent acted as a mere cover for the unexpected warrior within.

But in this moment, it acted as little comfort to his dwindling pride that he was being protected by someone smaller than him– Theron checked the enemy position and popped briefly out from cover to snipe Aric Jorgan’s shoulder with a bold blast of powder, causing the Cathar to hiss a curse and fall back– and in a snowball fight, nonetheless.

“This is what you get for getting chummy with other spies, Agent!”

Theron instinctively ducked. Where that voice sounded, trouble soon followed.

Eight side-stepped several snowballs from Kaliyo, most likely filled with rocks, given the menacing way they heavily thumped against the ground.

As expected, the others were out for snow-covered blood.

Theron was stuck in the sinking ship with Eight and his angry acquaintances, for all his sad lack of actual enemies that weren't related to him. Not that Lana and Koth weren't gunning for his head– he could see them whispering tactics in the foreground through his flake-covered lashes, those vultures– but the entirety of Eight’s old crew had chosen to aim for their erstwhile agent as means of revenge today.

Theron was just collateral, or so he incorrectly assumed. Not that it would stop him from aiming for his compatriots himself, and what he wouldn't give to see Lana have a taste of her own snow. Theron smirked at the thought of the blonde Sith shaking off ice like a frozen voorpak, already balling up a fresh set of snowballs in his mitts.

“Eight, cove–ACK!”

Theron yelped as frigid, biting snow touched bare skin and fell even deeper past his clothing into nooks and crannies where the sun didn't shine. He instinctively scrabbled at the back of his jacket, face crumpling into what could be called an excellent mimicry of a paper ball. Betrayal! Stabbed in the back! Unprotected! And…SO COLD. If his skin were a jacket, he would've shucked it right then and there.

His suffering didn't go unrewarded. Two blue arms wrapped around his middle as a delicate chin pressed into his shivering shoulderblades. Theron’s surprise settled into relaxed ease as warmth flooded his center, pooling low in his stomach at the familiar scent of his lover.

Aketho sported a wicked grin as he nuzzled into Theron’s broad back, the telltale signs of snow coating his gloves pointing to only one conclusion. Theron gasped dramatically. “How could you, ‘Keth?” His hazel eyes narrowed in suspicion. “...And how did you get past Eight?”

“A good Cipher never kiss and tells,” Aketho purred. Theron shuddered as his hot breath ghosted past his ear. “You're my hostage now, Agent Shan. I’m afraid your friends won't be coming to rescue you, either.”

Eight whistled innocently as he turned his back to the two spies in love, stick-holding hands clasped behind him as he walked pointedly in a different direction.

Traitor! Theron assailed him mentally, mouth dropping in an O as he watched his faithful defender hand him to the enemy on a silver platter, complete with plenty of snow.

He slumped in Aketho’s embrace, giving up. “Well, I could think of worse people to be captured by.” He smiled, entwining their fingers together. His smirk grew lascivious. “Wanna ditch this place and get warmed up somewhere else?”

“Can't think of anything I’d like more.”

[lepidopteragirl]

c!tubbo/c!cabinetduo centric vegas/mystery/historical au || 6.5k

hi @thequackcity ! im your gifter for the @mcytblraufest!!! hope u enjoy the fic!!

[direwombat]

💭 <3

little au where syb isn't a deputy~ and kind of piggybacking off your little blurb of cal's first impression of syb :)

She'd found Deputy Hartley sitting alone at a campfire in the woods surrounding the Lincoln lookout tower looking like a rebel kicked out of the Eagle scouts, and she's immediately taken aback when she catches his face in the firelight.

When people talk about Deputy Hartley, what they fail to mention is just how young he is. Though, she supposes she should have expected as much based on the stories she's heard. Brash and reckless, without an ounce of self-preservation. It reminds her of the dumb shit she did in her teens and early twenties before the army drilled some sense into her.

But Christ.

Hartley's just a fucking kid. The wispy hair on his upper lip and chin would look more at home on a newborn's head.

But then he asked if she wanted to help him ruin John's day, and she can't help but smile. "Kinda what I was lookin' for you for," she says, circling around the fire to stand across from where he's seated. "Mind if I sit?"

Hartley gestures broadly at her. "Mi fuego es su fuego," he says, taking a swig from the beer bottle in his hand. Once she's settled in the dirt, he asks, "So, what'cha got?"

"Grace n' I've been scoutin' the ranch for a while now. We think we've figured out how to get Donovan and the girl outta there. Thought you'd want in on it."

His eyes widen, but then narrow warily. "Are you able to ensure their safety?"

Sybille shrugs. "I ain't in the habit of makin' promises I can't keep, but I can say with a high degree of certainty that your girls'll make it out unharmed."

He frowns. "And what makes you so sure?"

"Eleven years in the service with a number of those doin' combat search and rescue. Extraction's my specialty and I ain't ever lost anyone. Your girls'll be in good hands. 'Specially if you're there."

The Deputy is silent for a long moment, his gaze scrutinizing her face, searching for any signs of bullshit. Finding none, he pulls another bottle of beer from the cooler resting beside him. He tosses it to her. "Alright," he says. "Walk me through your plan."

Sybille grins. Using the buckle of her belt to pop the cap, she lays out the plan she and Grace discussed. All the while, Hartley's face remains serious and stoic.

Reckless and wild, but not entirely without the ability to be serious -- especially when it comes to Deputy Donovan and her family. Hartley is a loyal man, Sybille thinks. He might even be a good one if the weight on his shoulders doesn't chew him up and spit him out first.

[caesurah-tblr]

so, the scrapyard scene with dylan and kaitlyn

imagine it's dylan and ryan

+ imagine the wolf attacks dylan at the crane and while he is able to fend it off, he isn't left without injury

severe injury

naturally, ryan goes to him

bestie, do you see where i'm going with this

long story short, dylan dies in ryan's arms

✨radioheads angst✨

Ohh I definitely see where you’re going with this. Get ready to cry.

“Ry-Ryan-“

There’s blood everywhere. It’s hard to tell what’s Dylan’s and what belonged to the werewolf. Ryan wants to vomit.

“You’re gonna be okay. We’ll get you back to the lodge. Kaitlyn can get you all patched up.” He hopes his voice stays steady. The look at Dylan’s face tells him he was unsuccessful.

Ryan tries to grab him but his hands are immediately slick with blood. Dylan’s body is a deadweight in his arms as he finally manages to get enough of a hold to pull him out of the seat of the crane.

He drags Dylan’s body down the steps as gently as possible, careful of his wound. Out here, in the light, he can finally see the full thing- there’s splintered bone and organs that should’ve never seen the light of day. It’s so much more gruesome than removing a hand- and he’d fucking know.

“Is bad, huh?” Dylan looks up at him, eyes unfocused. There’s blood running from his mouth. His body twitches like it’s trying to free itself from his grasp.

“You’re gonna be okay.” Ryan says again. Dylan groans in response, the sound much wetter than it should be. It sounds like his mouth is full of blood.

He lays Dylan’s body on the wet ground and sets his head in his lap. Ryan knows Dylan wont make it back to the lodge before he bleeds out. Kaitlyn isn’t even there to even try to patch him up.

“I’m sorry. I had the gun. I should’ve- I should’ve shot it. I shouldn’t have hesitated.” Ryan whispers. Dylan gives him a goofy grin.

“Gonna be okay.” He’s slurring his words. His head rolls to the side suddenly, chest jumping as he heaves for breath.

“Dylan?! Dylan please, not yet!” Ryan gives his body a gentle shake. He’s not ready to say goodbye- not now, not ever- and definitely not without telling him how he feels.

“Number?” Dylan says, and it takes Ryan a moment to realize he’s asking him for his fucking number. Because why wouldn’t he? Stupid Dylan and his stupid fucking grin. Ryan let’s out a sob as he leans down, touching their foreheads together.

“You can have my number, yeah. Then I’ll take you on all the dates you want.” Dylan’s grin spreads across his face even as his eyes begin to dim.

“Sounds nice. Ryan?”

“Yeah?”

“Like you. A lot.”

Ryan can’t help but let out another sob, clutching the shaking body of his would-be boyfriend closer. Would-be because he’s never going to get the chance. He’s never going to get to meet Dylan Dylan. He’s never going to get to meet Dylan’s mom or play with his cat. They’re never going to move into an apartment together and do stupid shit like dance in the kitchen at 2 am because they couldn’t sleep. Ryan will never see him laugh or smile or hear him make stupid fucking jokes ever again. Fuck this. Fuck everything.

“I like you too.” Ryan replies through tears. They drip onto Dylan’s face, cutting lines through the blood and dirt.

“M’ sorry.” Dylan murmurs. “Made you cry.”

Ryan cups his cheek, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles along the cooling skin. He musters up a gentle grin. “It’s not your fault. You kept me safe.”

Dylan’s eyes flutter as his chests heaves. Blood splatters across Ryan’s faces as he coughs.

“An’thin for you.”

Ryan kisses him. He doesn’t care if they’re both covered in blood and dirt and gods-know-what. Dylan deserves this. He remembers their kiss at the firepit. He remembers Dylan’s goofy grin afterwards, and how he’d almost skipped to his seat. He’d never see that again. Ryan would never see him happy again.

Dylan’s gone when he leans back. His eyes are still open, lips upturned in a light smile. Ryan would trade places with him if he were given the chance.

“Fuck!” He screams, uncaring about anything but the limp body in his arms. “Fuck it! Fuck everything! Fucking these stupid fucking werewolves!”

Ryan gathers Dylan’s lifeless body in his arms, cradling him to his chest. This isn’t fair. It should’ve been him.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you won’t ever get to see your mom or your cat or that you’ll never get to go to college. I’m sorry I’ll never be able to tell you that I love you.”

Rain begins to pour down on them, but Ryan can’t find it in himself to move. So he sits, letting the rain wash away the blood.

[ohcaptains]

𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐬.

 pairing. anakin skywalker x f!reader 

synopsis. anakin finds loopholes in the jedi code.

warnings. 18+. this is sexually explicit, do not read this or interact with my blog if you’re a minor. do not copy my shit, i’ll find out. cock warming, p in v penetration but no movement. whimper-y anakin, if you move i'll leave the jedi order type beat.  

an. just a little something i wrote for the kinktober i never did. I thought i'd post instead of letting it collect dust in my drafts. the prompt was cockwarming! hope i did anakin justice<3 pls comment & reblog.

You find him at the window.

Sitting, with his thighs open and chest bare, staring out into the abyss. The night glints at the beads of sweat sliding down his chest, and his fingers drum endlessly against his thighs.

He heard you wake up, so he’s expecting your company, and has leaned back against the chair – thin black gown falling open – ready for you to climb all over him.

It happens often.

It’s not uncommon to wake up without him.

Most nights, you startle out of your slumber – as if even asleep, you’d sensed a shift – and blink at the space on the mattress beside you.

Finding him was easy.

You pad through the living room and wordlessly reach him in his post-nightmare state. His hair is tousled, sculpted chest is slick with sweat -- there’s an energy vibrating off of him, and you can taste it in the air.

Stepping behind him, you gently run the tips of your fingers over his shoulders, and the whirlpool in Anakin’s belly settles for a second. When you move into frame, it’s gone completely, replaced by a warm heat that has roots. He breathes a smile.

“Like clockwork.”

You give him a sheepish grin in return and fiddle with the fabric of your small nightgown. There’s a moment where Anakin gets to look at you – all sleepy and cuddly – and he’s ready to escape with you off of this forsaken planet.

His will holds strong.

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” he asks, raising a scarred brow, and despite your groggy state, you still manage to roll your eyes. Stepping closer, you use his broad shoulders as anchors to slip onto his lap.

“Don’t make that face,” Anakin hushes, and while you settle back onto his thighs, his metal hand comes up. He traces the line of your jaw, “You know I let you do what you want.”

His spare hand steadies your hips, and it’s still warm from his lightsaber. Calloused fingers run over your skin, reminding you of the fight that’s leaving scars – the war that’s brewing, both inside and outside of his mind.

In moments like this, though, there’s a subtle calm.

An impenetrable force that hums over the pair of you.

You lean into his palm and whisper, “Not everything.”

There’s a haunted edge to your gaze, and your words are loaded. Anakin knows what you mean, knows all the intricacies of your subtle dig, and yet, he still manages to smile.

Well, smirk.

“What do you want? Just say the word.”

You wouldn’t, and Anakin knows that. He’s caught your bluff, and you manage a bashful smile before gently leaning forward, dragging your hips against his lap.  

Anakin’s cloth-covered thigh nestles against the thin fabric of your underwear. Your smile falters, lips parting. You push your forehead against his, and whisper, “If I say the words, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“I know,” he breathes, “I know.”

I want more.

A life together, not stolen moments when the sun is down.

An attachment. A bond.

But it’s forbidden.

It’s why it can’t go any further than this.

“What’d you dream about?” you wonder. Anakin pulls his eyes away from you, instead looking to where his thigh sits. The silence is your answer.

“I’ll still ask, even if you never tell.”

He takes hold of your bare thighs, rubbing his hands up and down, and you hum his name, reaching out to push his hair behind his ears.

“Pretty boy.”

“Stop it,” he huffs, cheeks reddening.

But how can you? When he’s all sharp lines and long hair. You run your hands up the bare panes of his muscular chest, feeling the deft of his muscles, and the dampness on his skin.

The air changes – hums electric – and it buzzes as you push his gown off his shoulders.

Carefully, you lean forward and place a chaste kiss against his collarbone.

“That’s better.”

Anakin hums a laugh. His hands snake around to your lower back, dig into the fat of your ass, and using the grip there, he gently rocks you forward once, forcing your clothed cunt to drag against his muscular thigh.

You whimper. It’s quiet, but Anakin can hear it, even if it’s muffled by his shoulder.

“’ S’what you came out here for, huh?” he whispers. The electric flooding through the walls hums, but the room is still eerily silent. Anakin’s voice is a roar.

You lick your lips and drag your face up to see him. “No,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss against his top lip, “I like being with you, even if we don’t do this.”

Anakin has to close his eyes. Words like those are fuel to the fire brimming in his chest, and it doesn’t help that you wrap your arms around his neck and fiddle with the tail end of his hair.

Arching your back, you slowly roll backwards, then forward, teasing the bulge between his legs.

Releasing a shaky breath, you repeat the motion, again, and again, near humping his leg.  

A familiar ache begins to swell, coiling between your thighs and up into your belly. It makes you clench around nothing, and you mewl quietly, wishing for more – always wishing for more.

Still, you continue, slick pooling into your underwear and against his thigh.

Anakin can’t look at you. If he sees your face, his resolve will falter.

His nerves are shot. If he couldn’t feel how wet you are, he could smell it, and it makes a groan bristle behind his teeth.

He buries his head into the crook of your neck and busies himself with kissing at the soft shell of your throat, careful not to leave marks.

Once, you left a mouth-shaped mark against his stomach, and he looked at it every day for a week.

Caught himself with his top up in the mirror looking at the reflection, eyeing the way the mark sat on the firm lines of muscle, fading away with time.

A dark part of him wanted the mark on the slope of his neck.

“Wanna be inside of you.”

His admission rests heavily against your throat, and you’re thankful that he can’t see the way you clench your eyes closed.

Though, he does feel you tighten your grip on the back of his head. Feels you shift up against his thigh, and the warmth pooling in your underwear burns against him.  

He can sense you’re hesitant.

“’ can be like last time. Just – Just --” he stutters, licking his lips and struggling to release the words from the back of his throat. Finally, he manages. “--Sit on it.”

“Anakin.”

He pulls away from your neck and looks up at you.

“We can use it as an exercise.”

A laugh bursts from your throat, “To test your will?”

He smiles, and because you have to, you push your cunt against his crotch, uttering, “Want me to make It difficult for you?” and white flashes through Anakin’s eyes.

He grabs your hips to steady you, tensely pushing his fingers into your skin.

“Hardest challenge I’ll ever encounter.”

“You eager to impress?”

He kisses your jaw, “Don’t I always?”

“Mm,” you hum, cradling his chin. You shift back so he can pull his trousers down, and when you take his cock in your hand, he melts. His commanding aura switches for a moment, and you watch Anakin still his breathing.

You push your underwear to the side, and as you lift yourself to sink onto him, Anakin breathes, “Just the tip – just a little bit, j-just—” and he chokes on his words, gasping as you brush the leaking head of his cock through your folds.

You halt. Whimper. Have to grip his shoulder to steady yourself, or you’ll push him inside of you all at once and hurt yourself.

You inhale steadily.

“Have to – have to go slow,” you spurt, trying to calm your tremors.  

“It’s been a while since…”

You don’t have to finish your sentence. Anakin knows, and he feels a mix of pride and guilt. Only me, he thinks, and then, like a flash, only me, he swallows. And I can’t give her everything.

This. This is as far as it’ll go. He knows he’s pushing it. Knows that he’s come up with some convoluted rule to both have his cake and eat it too.

If he fucks you the way he wants to, he’ll fall in love with you. As if it hasn’t happened already.

Anakin has made lying to himself a speciality.

You push against him once more, and the tip of his cock nudges between your folds, forcing an ache to shoot through your clit and make you dizzy. You stop. Pause and curse yourself.

A slow burn builds in your thighs, and you clench down to try and mediate the burn. Anakin grunts.

“Maker,” he utters. “Sorry—” you splutter, sucking in a tight breath.

Anakin wraps his metal arm around the back of your hips, hoping to steady you. “Lemme,” he mumbles, and gently, he flexes his hips up, slowly feeding his cock into your soaked pussy.  

Your lower abdomen immediately burns.  

He’s being calm about it – using all his training – but there’s nothing calm about the words trickling out of his mouth.

“Oh stars,” he groans, voice wrecked, “You gonna take all of me, sweet girl? Gonna let me fill you up?”

When you finally sink to the hilt, your resolve snaps. The pair of you moan out in unison, loud and high-pitched.

Anakin buries his face in your chest, and the heat of his mouth against your breasts adds to the tension coiling in your belly.

“Don’t – don’t move,” he grunts, and you shake your head, “I won’t – I’ll come on your cock if I do,” and you don’t mean to say it like that, don’t mean for the words to come out like that, but you feel Anakin pulse from inside of you, warm and hard and wet.

He manages to laugh.

“Tryna kill me,” he shakily breathes, shaking his head. His wet lips brush against your breasts, and you want more – want all that he can give you – so you clutch the back of his head, pulling him closer, hoping he gets the message.

His wet kisses make your skin prickle.

You’re full up. Can feel him stretching you out, this feeling something that’s only happened a few times before.

“If you move,” Anakin begins, out of breath, “I’ll leave the Jedi order and spend my days inside of you.”

“Don’t t-tempt me.”

He laughs, and you accidentally clench around him, causing him to groan deep and long against your tits.

“If you do that again, I’ll come inside of you.”

You imagine it. Imagine him spilling out, the wet white of it dripping out of your cunt and back onto his cock, and the mere image of it has your clit throbbing.

Keep still. Don’t move.

But he wraps his tongue around your nipple and begins to suck.

You cry out, and all of your muscles tighten, forcing you to clench tight around his cock. Anakin jolts and whines your name against your tits.

“S’your fault,” you mewl, moaning. You hang your head back, “Stars, Anakin.”

“Try and stay still,” he mumbles, and you stutter a laugh, “Impossible.”

“It can’t be,” he responds, and while he speaks in jest, his words are sincere. The line between love and lust runs thin, and if Anakin is being honest with himself, it’s close to snapping.