#fic: enlightenment

[valiantstarlights]

Enlightenment

CW: angst

If there's one thing that Hob's Stranger taught him that night in 1889, it's that he, Hob, has never had a single friend in his entire life.

Oh, he's had fellow mercenaries and comrades-in-arms, a wife and a son, torturers and shipmates and people he'd occasionally fuck, but he doesn't have friends.

And Hob, after a few months of being devastated after his Stranger leaves, finally gets it.

After 500 years, he finally gets it.

He is simply not friend material. That's all.

His fellow mercenaries from 1389 want him with them because he's good with the blade. The people he apprenticed for in the 1400s kept him on because of his good work ethic. The courtiers who flocked to him in court do so because he's polite in his savagery, and it amused them.

His purest relationship had been with the stray cats of London in the 1600s, who sometimes give him dead rats to eat, and who only used him for his warmth during winters.

And then it's back to being used by people again. His fellows in the shipping business like him because he doesn't ask questions and keeps his head down. And in 1889, Hob realizes that his Stranger is also just using him for the stories he tells. Not that he's any good at telling stories either.

Gods, but his Stranger must have been so bored, alone in his godly realm, that he'd stoop to listen to a dumb human go on and on about chimneys.

At least he found Shaxberd interesting.

In fact, why didn't his Stranger make Shaxberd immortal? If he had, the world would have been blessed with so many more wonderful plays. But instead the world gets Hob, who hasn't contributed a single good thing to society, and even took part in making good people suffer a lifetime in chains.

Hob thought about it, and the only reason he could think of why Shaxberd hadn't been made immortal is simply because he refused. His Stranger must have also offered him the chance to live forever, but unlike Hob, Shaxberd has the good sense to remain mortal, have a normal life, and die when it was time.

And when he refused, his poor Stranger had no choice but to continue meeting with Hob.

If only Hob had even the smallest bit of Shaxberd's storytelling prowess, his Stranger would have treated him better. He would have touched Hob's shoulder and walked close to him as the two of them exit the tavern, their heads bent together, already in deep conversation.

Shaxberd wouldn't have subjected his Stranger to shallow, meaningless talk about how the Queen stayed over.

Hob goes through life like a ghost, those first few weeks after he realized all this.

He would have had friends, he realizes, had he been less himself, whatever it is about him that made people not want to be friends with him.

As it was, he is only a tool for people to use. His skills, his money, his reputation--all of those make him someone worth tolerating. And stripped of it all, he is worth nothing.

Hadn't he learned from the 1600s? Why did it take for his Stranger to walk out on him before he realizes all this?

Then again, Hob has always been incredibly stupid.

His sham of a marriage with Eleanor proved that.

He thought she loved him. Or at least, liked him enough to want to spend the rest of her life with him. But she was using him, too.

She had been pregnant with another man's child when they wed. Hob hadn't known. Not then, anyway. He was too elated with the prospect of being married to a beautiful lady to even count the months when they had been wed to the month when Robyn had been born. No wonder Eleanor said yes to his proposal quickly.

And no one, not even the most gossip-loving servant, told him about their suspicion. What good would that have done? And anyway, they were probably too busy laughing behind his back.

The poor Sir Robert Gadlen. He has everything in the world but the good sense that God gave a turnip.

Hob thinks of all this, collects all the evidence, and eventually reaches an irrefutable conclusion: he is simply just a tool to be used, then quickly discarded after his usefulness expires. There is no redeeming quality about him. He is not smart, interesting, or good enough to be considered anyone's friend. The fact that he even thought he's worth befriending is laughable.

Of course other people would pick anyone else over him. Didn't his Stranger prove that when he left Hob for Shaxberd?

--

A hundred years later and true to his word, his Stranger does not show up.

A hundred years later and Hob finds out from the current barkeep that the place he and his Stranger have been meeting in is going to be torn down and renovated to something better. Something more useful.

'Finally,' Hob thinks. 'It's about damn time.'

The White Horse Tavern, like him, has ceased to be of use.

Hob doesn't even know why he thought to wait. Of course his Stranger wouldn't come back after he walked out on Hob in 1889. Why would he?

Hob is nothing to him.

[chodzacaparodia]

It's frustrating that you can come up with the plot of an entire fic in just a few seconds, but writing it all down can take anywhere from never to forever.

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: Fluffy Savanaclaw Rook thoughts.

CHARACTER: Rook Hunt

WARNINGS: None!!

COMMENTS: a lil gift for @v-anrouge!! there is no occasion you've just single-handedly made me abnormal about pomfiore ^^

Savanaclaw Rook who leaves little wooden carvings of your favorite animals and plants at Ramshackle’s front door. The first time he did this, you almost stepped on it and felt terrible about nearly ruining such a pretty gift. He assured you that it wasn’t a big deal, that you would have hurt yourself more than the wood, and that he’s so glad your precious skin wasn’t harmed.

Savanaclaw Rook who climbs the trees right outside your dorm room’s window so he can knock on the glass and snatch your attention. He basks in it, like the sun’s glow that showered him in freckles, and finds himself swooning when you drag him inside and complain about the splinters he has in his hands. They aren’t pleasant, but being touched so tenderly sets his heart ablaze.

Savanaclaw Rook that lets you trace the freckles on his face, shutting his eyes as your fingers brush pretty shapes and letters across the marks. You spell his name, you draw the sun, you spell I love you, you draw little hearts. At some point, he doubts you’re even following his freckles anymore, but when you’re seated on his lap and your face is so close to his, he doesn’t dare disturb you.

Savanaclaw Rook that has his fixation on beauty awoken with you. It’s obvious Vil helped spur him to action, but anyone that knows Rook well enough knows that your beauty was the starting ember of his fiery passion for all things beautiful. And everyone knows that you will forever be special to him, whether they know well him or not.

[marblemoovt]

Waterfall - Guts/Reader

Masterlist

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.9k

Warnings: Smut, Fluff, A sprinkle of angst, AFAB Reader, Porn with a little bit of Plot, Oral Sex, Fingering, P in V Sex, Edging, Aftercare (Let me know if I'm missing any)

Summary:

Months after the eclipse, you're still grappling with it all. But at least you're not alone. You might as well get railed to ease the burden of living.

------

“I’m ok,” you repeat, smiling more easily now. His brows furrow and he rests his forehead against yours. 

“I could have lost you,” he whispers, his eyes sheen in the light. You click your tongue and pinch his cheek. Guts scowls but doesn’t move away. 

“But you didn’t. I’m right here. I’m standing right in front of you, so why do you keep looking back?” There’s a slight tremor in your tone. You unclench your fists, pushing him back to create some distance. There’s a brief flash of emotion across his face, but it dissipates with the heat simmering your blood. “I’m right here,” you whisper against the roar of the waterfall. 

Note:

Hello! I know I disappeared for like, almost a year. No freak accidents or anything of the like. Life has just been busy and I have poor time management. But I missed writing, even though it did not miss me ;-; The writing gods did not bless me with inspiration for a long while, not to mention I have a stubborn habit of only having one wip at a time (I have multiple ideas, but I only work on one fic at a time).

In any case, I hope this brings joy to somebody. I am frankly tired from editing this monstrosity so I'll leave you to enjoy :)

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

Note: This does take place in the same universe as Love Triangle but this can be read as a stand-alone.

Water cascades down your body, beating into your skin. The temperature was freezing earlier, but now it’s numbed into a slight chill. You stare at the rock wall, trailing along the cracks and crevices that crater the surface. Sprinkles of minerals sparkle throughout, reflecting rainbows when the moonlight hits them just right. 

The cold bite of metal stings into your shoulder, and you jerk away from the contact. Whirling around, you come face to face with Guts. He stares at his hand, clenching it into a fist before it drops to his side. 

“You’re gonna freeze to death,” he says. You notice the gray towel peeking out behind his arm. 

You drag your fingers through your hair, shaking off the water droplets. A few stray drops trickle down your chin, and Guts watches them drip along your collarbone. “I’ll be done soon,” you say. The phantom blood still sticks to your raw skin, the scent of iron lingering while your body becomes a collage of self-inflicted wounds. You scrubbed and scrubbed, but it’s not enough. Not even an entire ocean can wash away the atrocities you witnessed. But maybe that’s the burden of surviving the eclipse, for living when you were marked for death. 

“You looked done 20 minutes ago. Skin’s gonna start peeling if you don’t stop,” he says. You look away from Guts and pick at the dead skin underneath your nails, grimacing at your wrinkled fingertips.

“I don’t feel done. I don’t think I ever will,” you admit in a hushed whisper. Guts doesn’t say anything, offering his hand for you to take. Accepting the gesture, you’re tugged into his chest. The soft towel gently pats your skin dry and tousles your wet hair. He pauses, eyes scanning your face. “I’m okay, as okay as one can be in our situation.” Your lips twitch into a small smile, but this seems to only frustrate him more. 

Guts growls, his jaw clenched shut. “I’ll kill him.” There’s no room for questioning who ‘he’ is. You bring a hand up to cup his cheek, and his posture relaxes. Your thumb traces the bags underneath his eyes. 

“I’m ok,” you repeat, smiling more easily now. His brows furrow and he rests his forehead against yours. 

“I could have lost you,” he whispers, his eyes sheen in the light. You click your tongue and pinch his cheek. Guts scowls but doesn’t move away. 

“But you didn’t. I’m right here. I’m standing right in front of you, so why do you keep looking back?” There’s a slight tremor in your tone. You unclench your fists, pushing him back to create some distance. There’s a brief flash of emotion across his face, but it dissipates with the heat simmering your blood. “I’m right here,” you whisper against the roar of the waterfall. 

“I’m not…. ”He sighs and finally meets your gaze. “I’m not angry at you.” Guts fiddles with the towel in his hand. “I wasn’t strong enough to save you.” His touch drifts towards the bandages wrapping his torso. 

You walk up to Guts, enveloping him in a hug. “Can we pretend for once that everything is ok? That spirits aren’t hunting us, and a bunch of Apostles won’t fuck up the world?” When he doesn’t respond, you look to see him staring at the ceiling. “Guts?”

“Clothes,” he stutters. “You’re not wearin’ any.” You look down at your naked body pressed against his. 

“You weren’t shy earlier when you were drying me.” Leaning in further has the desired effect when you feel a bulge against your lower abdomen. “Looks like someone has no complaints,” you say with a smirk. 

Guts groans and shudders when you roll your hips. He wraps an arm around your waist, palm splayed against the curve of your back. His hand slides to squeeze your ass, and he whispers into your ear, “Don’t provoke me.” It’s a similar tone to when he shouts orders on the battlefield. You take it as an invitation to tease him further. He notices the glint in your eyes and clicks his tongue. “Brat.”

You know he’s soft beneath that tough exterior. You can see it in how he brings you something warm to drink when it’s cold, how his hands naturally gravitate to your waist or the small of your back. Guts doesn’t like saying it, but you just know. Currently, he’s scolding you for being in the water too long. You won’t point it out, but he grabbed the softest towel to dry you. 

“I love you,” you say. His hands freeze, and the lines on his face soften. 

Guts sighs, “How can you be so lovely and infuriating at the same time?” He cups your cheek but quickly recoils upon noticing the gleam of metal contrasting against your skin. 

You grab his wrist and press a kiss onto the palm of his prosthetic hand. “It’s one of my many talents,” you reply, pressing another kiss to his lips to prevent him from biting them. 

“It’s strange,” Guts mumbles. Your other hand slides down his chest, trailing along his abs to the waistline of his pants. His breath hitches, and he nips your earlobe in retaliation. “Sometimes I still feel it when you touch that hand,” he says. 

“Do you feel this?” You trace the outline of his growing erection, eventually rubbing your hand against the bulge in his trousers. He bucks his hips into your touch, and a low groan escapes from his lips. “Or what about this?” Slipping your hand beneath the fabric, you’re surprised by the lack of an additional layer. “Expecting something, are we?” You grin impishly at him, inching your fingers closer to his cock. Your skin is still cold from the water, and Guts is blazing beneath your touch. 

“Not at”—you firmly grip his shaft and begin stroking languidly—”all,” he forces through gritted teeth. You can almost hear the creak of his jaw as it strains under pressure.

“So you weren’t expecting to find me still naked at the waterfall and indulge in some intimate acts?” You stop stroking to tease the head of his cock, running your thumb over the frenulum. Thick precum coats your hand, and you reluctantly pull away, but only to see the frustration grow on Guts’s face. “Then I guess there’s no need for me to continue.” You wade through the pool and use the waterfall to rinse your hand. 

As you’re flicking off water droplets, a broad chest presses against your back, and thick arms wrap around your waist. The sudden force pushes you into the rock wall, your hands flying up out of instinct to lessen the impact. You turn your head to see Guts, completely bare, his clothes lying in a forgotten heap by the pool. That explains what’s twitching against your lower back. You grind slow, lazy circles against his stiff cock, grinning at how he trembles with the slightest rock of your hips.

“Stop,” he pleads, squeezing his arms to constrain your movements. It’s cute; he’s pretending to stop you, but his hold is too lax. 

You hum and redirect one of his hands to your breasts, sighing at the contact. “If you really wanted me to stop, you wouldn’t be enthusiastically rutting like a dog in heat,” you say. As if to prove your point, a low whine pitches in the back of his throat when you press against him to hinder his movements. 

“So maybe I don’t want to stop,” he admits. “Maybe I want to rough you up against the wall until you can’t walk the next day.” The imagery sends a gush of slickness between your thighs, and you rub them together to ease the ache. 

“Then why don’t you?” You spin around to face him and hook one leg around his thigh, tugging his hips closer. The sharp exhale followed by a groan is music to your ears. Your arms drape over his shoulders, sinking your nails into his broad back. You have him trapped. Or is it the other way around? He could effortlessly pry you off, but his dark eyes hold no intention of letting you go. “I don’t break easily, you know,” you whisper against his lips, his breath fanning your face. 

Guts bites his lips, fingers bruising your hips, marks he’ll kiss in the morning when you’re bedridden. “I—“

You cut him off, and his Adam’s apple bobs. “Let me make myself clear, Guts. I want you to fuck me.” His breath hitches, the click of his throat silenced by the rush of water. “Fuck me so damn hard I don’t remember a thing about this shitty world we live in.” You want to spend at least an hour free from the waking nightmare that plagues your daily life. Maybe this isn’t the best way, but it is the most pleasant. 

You know you’ll go to bed and dream of crimson skies and shrill screams. A world where the tang of metal never leaves your mouth. Where rot and decay fester in your lungs, smothering you alongside the scent of burning flesh. And then you’ll wake up, touch your face to feel the wet streaks streaming down your cheeks. Guts will be sleeping beside you, faring no better in his dreams, relaxing only when you hold his hand and lay on his chest.

Yeah, the world is fucked up, and so is your mental state. You might as well get railed to ease the burden of living.

But enough about later. What’s happening right now is important. And what’s happening right now is Guts pleading with his eyes to please you. He has one arm hooked underneath your leg to support it, the other still wrapped around your waist, hand dipping to cup your ass. He grinds his erection against your clit, and you bite your lip to hold back a moan.

Guts kisses behind your ear, sucking on the spot. Your blood thrums through your veins, buzzing with electricity. “Guess the waterfall will be useful,” he says.

“How so?” you hum, closing your eyes as he trails his lips along your jawline. You tilt your head back, and he peppers your exposed throat with kisses, playfully nipping but careful to avoid breaking the skin. A tingle shoots up from the base of your spine when his teeth scrape over your pulse, tongue laving over your racing heartbeat.

“Others won’t hear any of your screams.” He hoists you up, and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. “I get to have you all to myself.” Your back thuds against the wall, the rough rock leaving a light sting on your skin. There’s a hunger in his eyes that threatens to devour you. He always gets that look when he’s determined to spoil you rotten.

You ignore the throbbing heat in your core, focusing on the slanted curve of his lips. “Ooh, confident are we?” you tease, dragging your nails across his back, grinning at the shudder it elicits. 

“I’ve always been skillful with my hands,” he says, lowering your feet. At the shallow end of the pool, water laps at your knees. The chill heightens the burn of your skin, and the slickness between your thighs becomes impossible to ignore. Guts sinks down, kneeling in front of you, hands parting your legs gently. He tuts and gazes at you with mock scorn. “You cleaned up earlier, but now you’ve made a mess again.”

“And whose fault is that?” you reply, inhaling sharply when his fingers rub circles into your thighs. 

He hums and plants a kiss on your kneecap, lips skirting up closer to the source of your dripping cunt. “A man should always take responsibility for his actions.” His warm breath is like a spark of flint on kindling. It starts a blazing heat that crawls up and pools in your stomach, spreading throughout your veins until your entire body is engulfed in flames. 

A thin veil of fog blankets your mind. For a second, you almost forget how to breathe. He looks up at you from between your legs, tongue swiping across his bottom lip. He looks eager to taste you; it causes you to clench tightly, gripping around nothing but air. And you want him to fill you up, to replace the void the eclipse left behind after it tore almost everything from you. 

Your body seizes up. A cool jet of air against your clit catches you off guard. Guts looks you in the eyes, trapping you in their dark depths. “If—at any time—you want me to stop, tell me,” he commands. His lips are pressed into a thin line, and he holds your gaze. He won’t continue unless you agree. 

You wrack your brain together, drumming your fingers on the wall behind you to form a coherent thought. But all you can focus on is his warm breath against your skin, the burning ache in your core that beckons for his attention.

Guts sighs, drinking in your scent deeply. He licks his lips, and his fingers dig into your flesh. “I don’t want this to be like the other times,” he admits. 

You stare at him quietly, observing the clarity in his eyes. This isn’t the first time you’ve sought each other’s company. After all, who better to seek comfort from than someone who’s been through the same traumatizing event? Overcome with grief and guilt, you found solace in the warmth of his body and vice versa. It wasn’t always sexual, but sometimes you crave the shelter of having no other thoughts besides pleasure. To know nothing else but pure bliss for a brief respite.

Guts mistakes your silence for rejection. “Let me cherish you,” he pleads. “Let me worship you the way you deserve.” And you recall dark nights of clashing teeth and tongues, scratches and bruises made just to feel something—anything. There’s still a tinge of purple around his collarbone, the imprint of your teeth long faded. The harsh lines on his face are nonexistent. His touch is light, revering. 

You don’t think you’ve ever felt this important. Guts doesn’t treat you like glass. He looks like he would raze the entire world in flames for you, and all you need to do is ask. Cupping his chin in one hand, you stare into his earnest eyes. Guts pulls away to plant kisses along your knuckles. The corners of his mouth curl up at your sigh when he nips at your fingertips. It’s hard to describe this feeling. All the tension and worry in your body building up like a brick wall suddenly crumbles to dust. 

And how can you say no when he looks so eager to please—to love you? A brief taste of copper coats your tongue, and you ignore the phantom claws dragging down your lower abdomen. You focus instead on Guts’s soft touches, the steady gurgle of water, and the moonlight filtering through the pockets of sky in the ceiling. 

You are safe. 

“Ok,” you whisper. Slowly, you spread your legs apart and cool your burning cheeks with the back of your hand. “Please touch me.”

Guts plants a kiss on your inner thigh, trailing upwards. He wants to drag this out and tease you until the anticipation has you dripping with need. With one calloused hand resting on your pubic mound, he licks a long stripe through your folds, groaning at your intoxicating taste. A jolt of pleasure crawls up your back before slamming into your core. 

Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head when he eats you out messily. Obscene slurps and groans bounce off the rock walls. Guts slings one of your legs over his shoulder and focuses on your clit, inserting two fingers into your dripping cunt. Spots of light dance across your vision when he crooks his fingers to stroke your sweet spot. It’s a wonder how you’re still standing. 

Just as the band in your stomach goes taut, Guts pulls away. The pleasure building in your body drops and transforms into a sharp ache that has your body screaming for release. 

“Your legs are trembling,” Guts points out. 

You press harder against the wall and try to remember how to stand. “No, I’m not,” you say. 

Guts hums and plants a kiss on your clit, the kind that fills your veins with lava and sets off the butterflies in your stomach. “You can be so damn stubborn.” He stands and carries you with ease, wading towards the edge. 

“What are you doing?” you ask. 

“Some underwater training,” Guts replies, refusing to elaborate further. He stops and sets you on the ground. The water reaches just below your chest in this position; the sudden coldness shocks your skin. It makes you hyper-aware of your sensitivity. 

Gus parts your legs, and you lean back slightly, using your arms to support yourself from behind. His touch radiates familiarity, hands caressing all the spots that work you up. You lick your lips and part then to ask another question. “Wha—“ 

“Always wanted to see how long I could hold my breath,” Guts cuts you off, petting your clit gently. He gazes at you through hooded lids, a grin ghosting his lips. “They say the average is 3-5 minutes. Let’s set a new record.” His words send tingles throughout your body, and you clench at the thought. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, distracted by the circles he’s drawing with his thumb. If you time it just right, you can buck your hips and have him stroke your swollen clit. 

“Don’t worry about it.” And the next thing you know, his head’s underwater and his tongue is prodding at your entrance. Your fingers immediately thread his hair, tugging his scalp when his nose brushes against your clit.

The water and walls blur into blobs of colour, your heartbeat thundering in your eardrums. The throbbing between your thighs quickens, and that band in your stomach threatens to snap and give you whiplash. Guts brings a hand up close to your clit. You squeeze your eyes shut, dangling on the precipice of an orgasm. 

He surfaces from the water. His shit-eating grin only widens when you vocalize your discontentment. A flick to your clit shortcircuits your brain with a jolt of pleasure, eliciting a scream from your lips. One of your hands slips, and suddenly the world is careening backwards—or is it forwards? 

Strong arms wrap around your body, and suddenly you’re face to face with Guts instead of the ceiling. Water splashes and drenches both of you in the crossfire. You try to stand up, but Guts digs his fingers into your hips. Something warm brushes against your bare cunt. 

This new position has you straddling Guts. Even the most minuscule movements cause some degree of friction. The look in his eyes tells you that he’s barely restraining himself. Since his hands hold your hips in place, you lean forward and attack his neck with bites and hickeys. Guts hisses and immediately stands up, hoisting you with him. 

“Let’s move to land. Wouldn’t want you to drown,” he rasps, shuddering when you lick over his racing pulse. 

“I can think of other ways to leave me breathless,” you whisper, lifting your head and baring your neck. The perfect place for his hands to wrap around. 

“Another time. Right now, I want you to sit on my face,” he says, setting you on the ground. Your cunt throbs in response, and you crawl—a little too eagerly—into position. You stop mere centimetres from his face, hovering in your hesitation. Inklings of doubt blot your thoughts. What if you’re too heavy? What if you smother— “Too long,” he grunts, interrupting your inner monologue. Guts grips your thighs and pulls you down, wasting no time ravaging you with his tongue,

You suck in a breath, hips rocking at a steady rhythm. Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head when his mouth latches around your clit and sucks greedily. He pulls away with a pop, the bottom half of his face glistening with your arousal. He licks his lips and groans, “Fuck, you taste amazing.” 

“Less talking, more licking,” you say.

“What, no please?”

You don’t humour him with a response and take matters into your own hands. You lift your hips and grind against the ridge of his nose.

Guts swears under his breath, inhaling your intoxicating scent. “What am I going to do with you?” he groans. 

You huff in frustration at the loss of stimulation. “What you should have done ages ago. Now shut up before I make you.”

Guts doesn’t move. “Not until you say please,” he says.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” you moan, wriggling your hips to no avail since his hands have barred you from moving any lower.

“I just want to hear you beg for it.” He spreads your lips and admires how wet you are. When you remain silent, he massages the area surrounding your clit. “No? Not gonna cave in?”

You narrow your eyes and scrape your nails against his broad chest. “Fuck, you.” It comes out through gritted teeth. 

Guts chuckles. A low sound filled with mirth. “Oh, love. You wish.” His thumb probes your entrance, pulling out to slide along your slit. “I do have to praise you for holding out this long. It must feel unbearable.” And it does. Your skin is about to burst at the seams as the pleasure threatens to drive you mad. Never given enough to bring you over the edge, but just enough to stimulate the ache in your core—the desire to be filled. 

“Not. At. All.”

Guts clucks his tongue, drawing circles around your swollen clit. “Liar.” He slowly pushes a finger into your cunt, adding another when he feels how wet you are. It doesn’t take long before the squelches reach your burning ears. His fingers curl and stroke that sensitive area on your walls. The pace is agonizingly slow, and it only deepens the ache. You bite down on your bottom lip, almost hard enough to draw blood. 

Your body trembles when he plants a kiss on your clit. Ah, to hell with playing hard to get. You might die if he doesn’t give you an orgasm right now. 

“Guts?” you groan, clenching when he pets your clit in response. 

“Yes, my love?” He sounds so smug. You don’t even need to look to see the smirk on his face. 

“…Please,” you whisper, hissing when he stops his ministrations. 

“Didn’t catch what you said. Gonna need you to repeat that.” He slowly resumes his movements, rubbing his fingertips against your walls. 

You grunt and try to focus, blinking to clear the fog in your brain. “Please. Fuck. Me.” You punctuate each word with a thrust of your hips. Guts’s fingers immediately retract, and you whine at the loss, only to throw your head back when he eats you out like a man starved. 

His hands hold you in place, only allowing enough freedom to ride his face, which you do—greedily. He runs the flat of his tongue across your slit. Every so often he comments on how good you taste, normally ending with how he can never get enough. You don’t know. You don’t really care.  He’s drawing patterns on your clit, each stroke bringing you closer to climax. 

And you’re so close. You can almost feel it. Guts must sense it, too, because he focuses on your clit, hands locking you snugly against his face. With his unrelenting tongue, you cum with a scream. Your entire body buzzes with electricity, clit throbbing in time with your clenches. Guts doesn’t stop, and soon the pleasure borders on pain. It’s too much. You jerk away, but he keeps you trapped in his hold. 

You can’t think anymore. You can only incoherently babble for him to let you go. And then it creeps up on you. The aftershocks of your last orgasm, combined with the continued stimulation, tighten that band in your stomach again. Tears sting the corner of your eyes, blurring your vision. It’s too much. You want it to stop. 

But it feels so fucking good. 

Guts swaps his tongue for his fingers, filling you up once more. Your back arches when he brushes over your g-spot. You mewl and beg him to do it again. 

“One more time. Cum for me one more time,” he orders. And how can you say no when he uses that tone? Guts pays special attention to your previous request, fingers curling with practiced precision. “I want even the gods to hear you scream my name.” 

He doesn’t need to convince you. Liquid heat pools in your stomach, bubbling like a pot about to boil over. His name is the first sound to leave your lips when you come undone. Guts is gentler this time; he draws out your orgasm slowly, careful not to overstimulate you. Your vision burns with tears as your body curls up before sagging bonelessly. 

You heave a sigh and crawl to the side, shuddering when the cold air hits your sensitive skin With a content smile, you stare at Guts in a daze, fuzzy warmth blanketing your mind. 

“Good?” he asks.

“Mhmm.” Your eyes drift to his erection; it twitches under your attention. Suddenly you’re aware of the heady scent of musk in the air. Licking your lips, you look back at Guts. He doesn’t say anything, but his pupils are blown. “Can I?” You inch closer to him, and he nods. You spread the precum leaking from the tip with your thumb. On an impulse, you lick the remainder off your finger, smirking when you hear his sharp intake of breath. 

A bitter saltiness greets your tastebuds, but it’s milder than you anticipated. You well up some saliva in your mouth and use it to lubricate your hand to begin stroking. Slow, firm pumps have him twitching against your palm. 

“Faster, please,” he groans, jerking his hips upwards to match your strokes. 

“Ooh, so you do know how to be polite,” you say as you tighten your grip and increase the pace. Guts’s chest rises and falls faster than before.

His face distorts in a mixture of disbelief and pleasure. “Shut the fuck up,” he grunts, nose scrunching. 

You laugh and rub his thighs soothingly. “Just this once,” and you take as much of his length into your mouth as you can manage. Running your tongue across the underside of his cock, you widen your jaw to avoid scraping him with your teeth. Anything you can’t fit gets stroked by your hands. Glancing up, you notice him watching you with a tenderness that’s been rare as of late. 

He’s been worrying and training almost to the point of obsession. You want to ease that ache in his chest and have him forget momentarily about all you’ve gone through together. Although, judging from how his eyes are starting to glaze over, your objective doesn’t seem that far away. 

It started out small, but now the walls echo with his moans and breathy whines. Each sound is like a lightning bolt between your thighs, burning you with strikes of pleasure. You bring a hand down to play with your clit, hoping to ease the ache. 

His cock pulsates in your mouth. His entire body starts shuddering, and you know he’s close. So you slow to a halt and chortle at his frustration. The look he gives you could wither the low-level spirits that hang around. Taking a breath, you inch slowly down to take more of his cock, chest brimming with pride at how his body immediately tenses. 

“You’re going to kill me here, my love,” he groans, hips stuttering between pulling away and pushing further in. 

You slide your mouth off his cock and lick your lips, massaging his balls with your hand. “I want to milk as much of your cum as I can and drink it all,” you say, rubbing your thumb against the tip. You feel a twitch against your fingers and smirk. “Seems like you’re on board with my plan.”

One of his large, warm hands is placed against your head, stroking your hair. You close your eyes and lean into his touch. “Not the only place I’d like to fill you up,” he says, and you can hear the grin in his tone. 

“Are you sure you can last that long?” you ask, and his fingers cheekily tug on your hair. The gesture draws a chuckle from you. You open your eyes to see him full of amusement. 

“You’re underestimating the stamina of a great swordsman,” he boasts.

You raise a brow. That’s a big claim. “Hm? Then why don’t you show me what your sword can do?” You straddle his hips, your drenched cunt seated against the shaft of his cock. It twitches against you, and you bring a hand down to tease the leaking tip.

“Change of plans?” Guts asks, tone wavering as you slowly pump his cock.

You hum, “I’m feeling a little impatient today.”

“What happened to milking me for all I’m worth?” The cockiness in his tone returns. “Going back now on those big claims?”

You chuckle and flick the head of his cock, watching Guts writhe in response. “You’re trying to rile me up, but it’s not working,” you say.

“Can you blame me? You’re irresistible when you get all fired up,” he says, 

You line up the tip of his cock with your entrance, slowly sinking down until his entire length is inside you. “Sorry to disappoint, but the only one losing their cool today is you.”

You start bouncing your hips, finding a steady rhythm to keep. Angling your body, his cock drags against your walls in all the right places. Guts begins aiming his thrusts when he notices how you cry out each time he hits the mark. 

Guts groans, face screwed tight in concentration. “You’re gonna squeeze me to death,” he moans.

You smirk, running your hands across his chest. “It took you this long to realize my intentions?”

He responds with an airy laugh. “You always were a damn good strategist.”

“And you’re living up to your title, General,” you say, feeling a twitch inside you. “Oh? You like it when I call you that, don’t you?” 

Guts looks at you with a sheepish grin. “If I say I do, will you call me that more often?” he asks. 

You hum, tracing his abs with your fingertips. “I’ll consider it, but it would have to be sparingly. Don’t want to inflate your ego too much,” you tease. A spank smarts your ass. The sting is quickly soothed by a gentle massage. You retaliate with slow, deep thrusts, grinning when Guts curses and loses his ability to form sentences. 

His cock throbs inside you, swelling up in preparation for his release. Guts’s fingers are bruising your hips, and he’s rutting into you. Slamming yourself down, you remain seated.

“Fuck, I was so close,” he groans, cock twitching in your warm cunt. 

“I know. That’s why I stopped,” you say. 

Guts looks at you with betrayal. “You, my dear, are a cruel lover.”

You tsk and clench tightly around him. “I may be a bit mean, but never cruel.”

“If this isn’t cruelty, then wha—“

You cut him off with a roll of your hips, successfully speech-jamming him. “You’ll see,” you say. 

You continue drawing out his release, bringing Guts near the edge only to wrench him away. You’ve lost count—not that you were even counting in the first place—of how many potential orgasms you’ve robbed him of. But from the sour gleam in his eyes, a few too many.

Any of his attempts to take over the pace are thwarted when you turn into an immovable object. The loss of friction is not deemed a worthwhile risk because Guts soon lets you have your way after only a few attempts.  

“Good boy,” you purr, a chuckle tickling the back of your throat. “Look at you, getting turned on when so much as a compliment is awarded.” You drag your fingers down his chest, sloping along the defined ridges of his muscles. “It’s kind of cute,” you admit. 

Guts watches you through hooded lids, mouth parting as incoherent pleas spill between his lips. You tsk and twist your lips into a mock frown. “Oh no. Did I wear you down already?” You cradle his face in your hand, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “I can feel you throbbing inside me. Do you want to cum?” you ask, receiving a shudder in response when you roll your hips. 

“Mhmm,” he grunts, nodding in fervour. Guts runs his hands along your thighs, gently squeezing the soft flesh. “Please,” he adds politely. 

You hum and slow your movements. “Do you deserve to?”

It’s borderline hilarious to watch the gears in his head turn. The vacant look in his eyes shifts as they widen. “I do,” he says, but the slight wobble in his tone is tinged with nerves. 

You can’t stop the grin forming on your face and opt to kiss his damp forehead to hide it. “Relax,” you hush, “I’ll let you cum……

“…eventually.”

Guts groans and slides a hand between your thighs, fingers searching for your clit. You clench tightly around him when he taps it gently with his thumb. “Looks like the blood’s starting to rush back into the right head”—Guts slams his hips upwards, nearly winding you—“Ow, fuck! Ok, ok. No more jokes during sex.” You wince from your sore abdomen. “I’ll cut you a deal,” you pause to gain his attention. “If you make me orgasm within the next ten minutes, I’ll let you cum.”

“You can’t take back your word,” he grunts through gritted teeth. You squeal, arms flailing to wrap around his neck when he flips you onto the ground. There’s a pregnant pause as you stare into each other's eyes. Warm. There’s so much warmth in his gaze for you. “Beautiful,” he says, running his fingers along your face.  

Your chest squeezes tight. You turn your head, feeling the cool stone floor press against your burning cheeks. “9 minutes,” you say. Guts clicks his tongue and lifts one of your legs over his shoulder. He angles his thrusts, ramming into the deepest parts of you. The inferno consuming your body melts your bones to liquid.

“With the sounds you’re making, it won’t be long,” he grunts. You clench tightly around him like a vice. Every well-aimed thrust sends your walls pulsating around his cock. The familiar tightening in your stomach takes hold and threatens to tear you asunder. “Fuck you look so good like this, I don’t think I can hold out much longer.”

You feel calloused fingers brush against your clit, and a bolt of electricity strikes the base of your spine. He chuckles at the way your body curls open like a flower, eager to meet the sun’s rays. When your hips raise to meet him halfway, who is he to deny you of more pleasure?

He brings a finger to his mouth, groaning at your lingering taste on his skin. Before you know it, the building pleasure threatens to burst. He rolls your clit between his fingers, applying constant pressure. Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head. 

How much time was left? Gods, you don’t remember anymore. All you can think about is how you’re a second away from release. 

The intensity drops. Guts’s thrusts remain deep; his cock drags along your walls in a sweet, slow torture. The flames licking your body from the inside are dying, but the embers are stoked just enough to keep the fire going. “You wouldn’t dare,” you seethe between clenched teeth. The muscles in your jaw are almost as tense as the knot in your stomach.

“Who says I wouldn’t?” Guts remarks calmly. A slight chill creeps up your spine, and you begin to sweat for reasons other than physical exertion. 

“But then you don’t get to cum,” you say, trying to build a counterargument to sway him. You were so close;  you needed just a little more to get there. In all honesty, both of you knew that if he really wanted to, Guts could easily ignore the bet. But that would mean destroying the mutual trust you spent years building. And you know both of you would rather die than betray the other.

“You said within the next ten minutes, I still have two left.” He slaps your pubic mound lightly, fingers resting above your swollen clit. “It’s not like you specified a time, only a period. So it doesn’t matter if there’s only a second left as long as you cum before it’s over.” 

You shudder. What have you done?

Guts begins mumbling to himself. Between the grunts and groans, you can just barely make out a decreasing string of numbers. He’s seriously counting down the seconds he has left before the bet is over??

You arch your back, fingers fisting the stone floor with nothing to ground you. “Fuck me,” you sigh, lifting your hips to feel his cock brush against that sensitive spot. 

“Already am,” Guts rasps, wiping the sweat from your brow. “Any other requests?”

“Yeah, fuck me harder.”

He leans down to plant a kiss on your damp forehead. “As you wish.”

And fuck you harder he does. You swear you must be above the clouds with all the stars you see. The slap of flesh echoes in your ears, filled with strained grunts and moans. You like it when Guts is vocal; it makes you feel like you’re doing a good job. One of the quickest ways he can turn you on is by moaning your name, which he’s doing right now. His breathy sighs as your name slips out of his mouth repeatedly like a prayer… it drives you crazy.

There’s only one thought in your mind; it overtakes all the others. You’re on the brink of an orgasm, standing at the edge of a cliff as you wait for the final push. “M’ close,” you say. Your clit throbs, and you feel a tug in your navel as the pressure builds.

“Then let’s bring you closer.” He slowly increases the pace, and your nails claw his back, leaving scratches in their wake. “I want you to look at me when you come undone. Can you do that for me?” You nod, eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head when he rubs your clit. “Good.” His fingers maintain pace, and he consistently rams his cock against your g-spot.

Your body thrums with pleasure, ready to come undone at his command. Guts wraps a hand around your throat and squeezes gently. He wasn’t affecting your oxygen supply, but fuck did it do things to you. His thrusts become deeper, pounding into you at a steady rhythm. 

That was all it took to shove you off the edge. Your walls spasm around his cock in a toe-curling orgasm. All you can focus on is the waves of mind-numbing pleasure crashing into you, the force of the undertow sweeping you away. 

Guts continues to thrust, helping you ride out your orgasm. As you come down from your high, dizzy and lightheaded, you feel his cock swell inside you. He pulls out, pumping his cock as his warm seed spills onto your stomach.

You laugh a breathy chuckle, staring at the mess he made. “I think I need another bath,” you say.

Guts kisses the top of your head and says, “Then let’s get cleaned up.” He scoops an arm underneath your knees and wraps the other around your back.

“Guts!”

“Don’t worry. I won’t drop you,” he says, walking towards the pool. Wading in, he brings you to the stream of water. Already, the spray of droplets is freezing against your skin. You shudder and cling closer to Guts and the heat he radiates. “I’ll help you wash up,” and he lowers your legs, a hand still resting on the small of your back. 

“I am capable of washing myself,” you say. Hopefully, the rising sun made the water at least slightly more tolerable. But from how it feels like your feet are encased in ice, you don’t have much hope. 

Guts cups some water in his hands and pours it onto your shoulders. “I know you can, but I want to,” he says, kissing the side of your temple. “So stop being stubborn and let me help you.”

You roll your bottom lip between your teeth. “I don’t kn—“ Guts flicks water at your face with a smirk. You pause, your brain struggling to process what happened. “You!” Your eyes narrow into a glare. 

Guts bolts, his laughter reverberating the cave walls. You run after him, but it’s difficult despite the water reaching only your calves. Guts is somehow brute forcing his way, but you adapt a weird mixture of hopping and running to catch up. 

Once you’re within arm's length of Guts, you kick up the water, successfully splashing him. The smug grin on your face falters when he turns around with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He moves only a single step before your flight instincts take over. 

Your heart is thumping against your chest, thundering in your ears. His fingertips brush against your spine, and you squeal, dodging to the side. Large splashes grow closer and closer. But they suddenly stop. And amid your confusion, you stop running.

Looking over your shoulder, you see no sign of Guts except a few ripples in the water where you expected him to be.

“Got ya!” Big, strong hands wrap around your waist, and the ground disappears beneath your feet. The world spins in a whirlwind of lights and cool shades of blue and purple. As your surroundings grind to a halt, warm arms pull you into an embrace. Your laughter is dampened by his hug, and you blink to quell the dizziness. 

You stare into his eyes, watching black swallow brown. He brings a hand up to cup your cheek. “Shower?” you whisper, unwilling to break the stillness. If the universe would let you, you would spend every day like this with him. To wake and sleep together, sharing the mundane moments of life and experiencing the little pockets of joy as they occur. But that’s not the kind of world you live in— not if Griffith has anything to say about it.

Guts leans forward to plant a kiss on your forehead. “Yeah, let’s get cleaned up.” He guides you back to the waterfall, fingers intertwined. You follow him without resistance. All the running around has warmed you up, but that only makes the water feel colder. Guts is careful as he washes you. “I know it’s cold, but you’re being so good for me,” he coos. His hands firmly glide across your skin. You feel him pause to trace the scars on your body, gently tracing the thin lines on your lower abdomen. His touch dips down between your thighs, and you part them. 

He does nothing more than clean up the mess he made, but you’re still sensitive. Little tremors run through your body, the aftershocks of your ground-shaking orgasm. Guts surprises you with a kiss on your neck. You swear this man is trying to kill you with his affection. With the uncomfortable slickness gone, you lean against Guts and relish in him pampering you. If only you had brought more soap. You could have asked him to wash your hair.

“Done?” he asks, to which you nod. Guts picks you up again and carries you to dry land, where he dries you off with the towel again. “Arms up,” he commands. And before you know it, a shirt is pulled over your head. The fabric still smells like him. Smoke from a fire pit and the medicinal scent of herbs from his ointment. You glance over and watch him put on his pants. Your eyes trail along the scars on his body. Most of them have healed nicely, but they’ll always remain to remind you how close to death you were that night.

Your fingers absentmindedly rest against the area of your brand. Before you can slip into a spiral, Guts calls out your name. His brows are furrowed, and his eyes are focused on where your hand is. “I’ll be fine,” you insist. You’re unsure if he believes you, but he nods and doesn’t pry further.

Your eyes begin to droop, and a big yawn escapes your mouth. “I think it’s time to rest,” Guts says. Luckily, your sleeping arrangements aren’t too far. With Rickert’s help, Erica was able to find a larger bedroll for you and Guts to share. You never voiced the thought out loud, but you liked the closeness it forced. Something about sleeping in his arms brought you a sense of peace and security.

When he holds you at night, the nightmares leave you in peace. The screams quiet, and the stench of iron is replaced with cedar and smoke. The arms around your waist are tender. Guts is like a kiln; you’re dry clay—fragile at first but robust after exposure to his warmth. 

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” Guts asks, petting your hair. You’re lying in bed, limbs tangled like vines wrapped around a tree. 

The corners of your lips curl up. “Like what?” 

Guts leans his forehead against yours. “Like I’m everything to you. That’s my job,” he says. 

You’re smiling so much your cheeks ache. “I love you.”

Guts mirrors your smile. His hand slides down to cup your face. You can feel his breath tickle your skin. His eyes dart to your parted lips before closing the gap. 

The kiss is slow and tender. Soft, pliable lips that leave you panting for air. Guts trails his mouth along your jawline, leaving a path of fire as he moves to the hollow of your throat. 

You can’t help but let out a content sigh when he pays attention to the sensitive area. Your cheeks tingle at the thought of waking up and being greeted with a new mark. Guts plants one last kiss on your collarbone before drawing you closer to him. 

“I love you so much,” he mumbles into your skin. You snuggle into him, wanting his scent to envelop you. His next words are so quiet you almost miss them. “Promise me you won’t leave, too.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. You look into his eyes and see a reflection of what you’ve become. His dark circles fare no better than yours, and that vengeful spark has dulled, having been weathered over time by grief. 

You lost your friends and family, but so did he.

With the brand carved into your skin and the spirits waiting around every corner to devour you…. “You know I can’t promise you that,” you say, and you hate how your words feel like a punch to your own gut.

“Then lie to me and promise anyway,” he whispers, staring at you through glossy eyes.

You bite your lip but refuse to look away. Raising a hand to wipe his tears, you say, “I promise to stay for as long as I’m able.”

Guts nods, soothed by your response. “Rest. I’ll keep us safe.”

Us. The word sends your heart a flutter. You shift into a comfortable position and drift into darkness, dreaming of campfires and starry skies for once. 

End Note:

It's like I can't decide whether I want the fic to be sad, happy, or horny. So why not all three?

I also decided to bite the bullet and get image dividers, because trying to get center formatting and having it stay consistent across platforms is tiring. Do they look ok? I got them from a Tumblr post by @/saradika if anyone wanted to know.

I have no idea when my next work will come out. I already have some fics queued up and knowing myself, I'll either speed right through them, or drag them out too long and lose interest lol

I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Reblogs are appreciated!

[oh-no-its-bird]

Today's flavor of crackship is Kakashi (Naruto) x Hawks (bnha)

[feyres-divorce-lawyer]

*claps and rubs hands together* alright you miscreants, behold! epic literature provided by moi

~ You Might Be King Of Half The World, But You’ll Not Own Me As Well by WickedTheRedHorse (a literal masterpiece, i’m being so serious rn. when i say i only ship fanon darklina, this is what i mean)

~ the reports associated with my existence have been significantly misconstrued by davidstennant (multi-media fics aren’t usually my jam, but this, this is good jam. exquisite jam. would gladly slather it over some challa bread and feast) [note: hasn’t been updated since may last year]

~ Liar’s Waltz (based on the poll) by @sunlightsage (first rhysta fic i ever read🤌🏾🤌🏾)

~ House of Mirrors by ae_neon (love a widow whose husband died under mysterious circumstances — @ae-neon)

~ Burial Rites in Crepuscular Hours by Existential_Teatime (badass alina rights, badass alina wrongs, when she makes the darkling question his intelligence>>>)

~ #8024 by SimplyAnotherWriter (marinette in arkham. that’s it)

~ The Journey to You by Thisishowitbegins (responsible for my resolute belief that timinette is the superior maribat ship, can’t believe this the author’s debut fic) [note: updates may be long as author grew incredibly busy]

~ Feylin Oneshots by Bookish_Gal (let’s be honest here, it’s by @bookishfeylin, need i say more. if you haven’t read it, what are you doing? alexander and adora live on my heart. also dragon tamlin, like hello???)

~ A Court of Frost and Embers by Midnight_Wishes (i made a whole, 6 minute long tiktok abt this on my first acc (that got banned because that clock app is so damn sensitive) really took my feycien obsession from brainworm to brainrot. the absolute longing and devastating angst because lucien knows feyre needs to break the curse yet falls for her anyway, but feyre doesn’t know so she just thinks lucien’s avoiding her for no reason. crushes my heart in the best way. and their calanmai scene, whew) [edit: @goforth-ladymidnight is the author’s tumblr)

~ heaven can’t help me now by disarmed (completed, perfect, there aren’t enough feycien infidelity fics out there)

~ The Girl and the Wolf by MythNinesevenine (miss janet dreams that she was as good at writing as @longsightmyth, DREAMS, i said)

~ A Court of Family Secrets and A Court of Flames and Shadows by flamesandshadows (feyre not going back to rhys after she finds out, nesta not going on that stupid hike, feycien friendship revival, eris and elain sibling relationship, elucien, azris, feyre ruling hewn city. literally all i could ask for)

~ Riddles in the Dark by flamesandshadows (feyre never gets sa’d utm. that’s it)

~ Sacrifice by flamesandshadows (rhys doesn’t get his powers back in acowar)

~ Reputation by flamesandshadows (nyx learns that his family isn’t as innocent as he grew up believing, especially his father. my favorite part, he goes absolute ape shit and deadass almost kills rhysand when he finds out what happened utm)

~ The Great Ikea Game by IcedAquarius (have you ever played hide and seek in ikea with your brothers and then you meet a girl that helps you with god-like magic because she’s bored? well that happens to damian wayne) [first work in an incomplete series but this work itself is completed]

~ Second Best by stormpill (Second Best Cinematic Universe is an actual collection with 75 works across 15 fandoms, Inspired by Second Best - stormpill is an actual tag. SB was a cultural reset. two sun summoners? genius. fjerdan barbie is the best inside joke i know. this shit was so good y’all, i’m so sad it was deleted)

~ Dragonlight by Anonymous (tgt/asoiaf crossover. alina lands in king’s landing (ha, get it) and ends up in a sacrifice by that mad king dude to bring back dragons, except due to her small science, it works. so now alya’s a dragon mama to six firebreathing cuties. alina and that rhaegar dude (that’s his name right?) marry to protect alina from his father cuz bro is called the mad king for a reason. political intrigue, yum.) [sporadic updates]

Veiled Wings and Shattered Panoramas — A Series by Dragonfly08 (@dragonfly0808 S4 REWRITE IS TOMORROW🥳🥳. best winx rewrite like ever. netflix wishes, WISHES, that they could ever be as good as writing winx as dragonfly is. btw A Withering Pretense is the best rewrite, argue with your mother)

if you don’t read at least one of these, i will cry🙂

[kkangkkangie]

I j remembered that Sherlock Holmes canonically doesnt remember the solar system. But Professor Moriarty is know for liking mathematics and astronomy, right?

What if the entire rivalry started because Moriarty heard that this one consulting detective never remembered the solar system b/c it didn’t pertain to a case and he was like ‘I’ll show you a case mf—solar system and planets are important’

Idk just smth that made me lose sleep

[repressedqueen]

Buddie readers please tell me there is a fanfiction with army Eddie coming back from the army with a surprise reunion with Buck. A 'soldier coming home' video popped up on my TikTok with two best friends reuniting and I can't get the idea out of my head 😭

[necrotic-nephilim]

Do you have any fucked up babscass headcanons? This is vaguely for the ask game but I’m curious. I’ve also had a vision of dick being drawn into their dubiously consensual mommy kink thing, probably unwillingly. I just love the idea of babs being her teacher for everything normal, like yes on some level it is grooming but cass knows everyone’s intentions automatically, could babs really make her do anything she didn’t want to do?

for the ask game!

GOD YES. i love BabsCass. just. so dearly. they're so fucked up. and adding Dick to the mix is *also* so so fun. the concepts of how consent plays into it all when Cass knows everyone's intentions and feelings (sometimes before they themselves do) but Babs still holding clear power over Cass and how vulnerable Cass is emotionally it's just. good soup i tell you.

so, i think it's fun, if in a way, Babs has always been slightly jealous of Bruce. after becoming Oracle by means out of her control, she works with other heroes sure, but she doesn't have a protege. she watched with Dick and Bruce, how close of a bond Batman and Robin is. how Bruce got to shape and mold Dick into the hero he's become and the reverence Dick has for Bruce. there's such a nuance to that relationship, and Babs wants it for herself. the first person to carry on the Batgirl torch is Helena, something she violently disapproves of. so for her to give Batgirl to Cass, that's significant. it's both a sign of acceptance, and a sign of ownership. it's basically her way of saying to Bruce "this one's mine." and thus, their relationship reflects it. because it's easy to seak out a close bond with Cass, who's never had anyone show her love and affection with no strings. Babs' love is unconditional. and Cass wants to bury herself in it. she knows it's romantic and possibly sexual, but Babs doesn't sexualize Cass the way men do. there's no leering comments or objectification. Babs is kind and respectful, so Cass doesn't mind. she even leans into it. there's something nice in being appreciate for something other than how good of a weapon she makes. and Babs' touch is just. something Cass craves. Babs wants to respect boundaries, but Cass is practically crawling into her lap after certain rough missions, just for the companionship.

i think it's fun if the mommy kink starts with Cass. sure, Babs has been carefully guiding Cass toward being comfortable with sexual things. Cass is regularly naked around Babs with no problem, she lets Babs touch her anywhere. but it's when Babs is holding Cass that Cass talks about how she doesn't know who her mother is and she wishes she knew what having a mother felt like. and sure, Cass knows that Babs isn't entirely motherly. not when her hand is resting inside of Cass' pants at that very moment. but this is the closest thing she has. i enjoy the idea of Cass knowing that this isn't normal. sure, she doesn't fully understand relationships, but she knows mother/daughter and dating are different. but it's a two birds one stone kind of thing. she's so convinced she's not going to find enough people to love her to fill all the "roles" in her life, why not combine the two. after all, Dick and Bruce are doing it. so when Cass brings it up, Babs lets Cass call her mommy. it's a soothing thing, more than a kink thing. and it delightfully plays into Babs' hand for how she wants to groom Cass, giving her more control and trust over Cass. it's easy to get Cass to side with her instead of Bruce when she just has to stroke Cass' hair and praise her whenever she does what Babs want. Cass is so used to negative reinforcement that she'll take any kind of positive reinforcement, even if she knows it's slightly manipulative. sometimes, what matters to her the most is just that someone wants to protect and take care of her in the first place.

i love the idea of Dick getting dragged in unwillingly so much. Cass has very high standards for what a mentor/partner/mother figure should look like because of how reverently Babs treats her. and Cass is known for being critical of Bruce's methods. so when Bruce is particularly cruel to Dick, or that have a nasty argument that Cass witnesses and Bruce possibly even hits Dick, that's when Dick gets dragged in. it starts with Babs inviting him to just eat dinner and chill out with Babs and Cass in the Clocktower. then he's being invited to stay the night more and more often so he doesn't have to crash at Wayne Manor when he's in Gotham. the first time he wakes up with Cass sleeping next to him, he doesn't comment on it. he knows what it's like to be so tired you just crash on the nearest bed. it's when he notices that he's being more and more separated from Bruce, that Dick starts to notice something is off. he's never commented on what's going on between Babs and Cass bc well, he's one to talk. but now he's caught between them. Cass and Babs don't even have to talk, they just wordlessly know they're on the same page about bringing Dick into the fold. for Cass, it's genuinely to protect him. she's happy with Babs, and she wants Dick to feel happy in that way too, with someone who's not as emotionally closed off as Bruce. and Cass just wants as many close relationships as she can get. and for Babs, there is genuine attraction there. she and Dick almost flirted with dating before, and nows her chance to have him and finally beat Bruce. and as unwilling as Dick is, it's hard to say no when they're being so gentle with him. he keeps telling himself he's going to set hard boundaries and tell them no, eventually. but Babs has the manipulation down pat, and Cass is so gentle and loving, Dick just gets swept in too deep. they both know he's unwillingly, but to Cass, that's just how love works. you have to be talked into it sometimes because you don't realize you deserve it.

Babs teaching Cass about sex my *beloved*. first, it's just Cass and Babs. Babs showing Cass how she can feel good, how she can make Babs feel good. but now with Dick, they have a whole new person for Babs to see to teach Cass about sex. Dick has to be talked into it by Babs, who paints it as a learning opportunity for Cass. I just. I love throuple dynamics where one person is basically being used as a toy for the dom to tell the third person to use, and that fits them so well. Dick is just a toy, a prop basically. and Babs is guiding Cass through it, teaching her how to make Dick feel good, how to ride him. I like the idea of Babs edging both of them until she feels like Cass has "learned" enough. which is clearly just part of the kink, corrupting Cass. and they all know it, but it's an unspoken thing. even more fun if Babs gives Cass some token form of control, letting Cass control when Dick can come. and to Cass, edging is a natural part of sex, so she also tortures Dick like that, bringing him to the edge and holding him there no matter how much he begs. sometimes, Dick just watches Cass and Babs have sex and learns what they like through that. he learns Babs is a sadist, but she has to be careful with it. Cass views pain strictly as a very negative punishment and the last thing Babs wants to do is lose the trust she has built up with Cass. so she avoids pain for the longest time. it's Dick who notices Babs itching to hurt someone, so to make sure it's not Cass, Dick offers himself. and Cass watches as Babs hurts Dick, and Dick *likes* it. maybe impact play, maybe some CBT, that sort of stuff, just testing the waters of how far Babs can take it with Dick. it makes Cass curious enough to try it, both sadism and masochism. she finds it takes a lot for her to enjoy masochism, but in the right applications, it's nice. there's something about letting herself feel pain, which she was never allowed before. pain is something to be compartmentalized and worked through. so there's something nice about turning her brain off and just feeling. especially if she's being hurt while she's in Babs or Dick's arms, bc she knows she's safe. both of them have become her safe space to explore new things during sex.

eventually, Dick comes to mostly accept being part of the relationship. he realizes he's in too deep when Cass casually calls him her boyfriend in front of Bruce just to make Bruce stutter. they're all adults, so it's not something Bruce can fight too hard. and Dick does have to admit, Cass has a point. there's far less arguing and fighting in this relationship. the grooming practically works better on Dick than it did Cass, bc now he's just accepted it and is going along with everything. he starts initiating sex, with either of them separately or together, just bc he likes giving up control to them. he likes the way Cass is gentle when she's domming, taking control from him without even asking and just taking care of him. and when Babs is in control, she's a little meaner, a bit rougher, but sometimes, he needs that too. sometimes he just likes to watch the two of them, see Cass call Babs mommy while she's crying and begging for anything. it's carnal and just fascinating to watch, even if he doesn't get off to it. seeing how much they love each other and how much they love him makes his head spin, because being with Bruce was nothing like this. Bruce rarely talks about his feelings, rarely said he loved Dick. meanwhile Cass and Babs will say it about a dozen times a day. maybe it's manipulative, but they make it sound so genuine, he can't bring himself to care. and Cass is pleased Dick is finally giving him, letting himself be loved. Babs is pleased to have control of both Dick and Cass. all of them are getting something out of it so really, what's there to complain about?

[valiantstarlights]

[Enlightenment] Chapter 2: Boundaries

Chapter 1: Realizations

Dream goes to The New Inn in 2022 and is met with a polite but distant Hob.

CW: angst

In the wake of The White Horse Tavern closing not even after a year after his and his Stranger's centennial meeting, Hob decides that he should just stop trying.

It has been made clear to him that no one wants to be his friend just for the sake of being friends, and so he does the sensible thing and stops inserting himself needlessly into other people's lives.

He starts to categorize people based on how he knows them: co-workers, bosses, students, small business owners he buys his food from...

But never friends.

It's freeing.

He doesn't have to be anything to anyone anymore. He can fulfill his duties without expecting something foolish like friendship in return. It's a somewhat lonely existence, but it's a better one compared to the way he did things before.

And besides, he has been alone for as long as he can remember. Even before he became immortal, and even before his entire family died of the plague, he has always been alone.

Why didn't he see it before?

Hob as a child wanted to have friends too. But he was too him, and so his playmates always 'forget' to look for him every time he plays hide and seek with them.

It's funny, looking back on it now. He thought he was just so good at hiding that no one found him.

And so he stayed hidden. Past sunset, past curfew, past midnight, and until the sun rises again, child Hob sits alone in his hiding place, waiting for someone to find him.

No one does. And no one comes looking for him either.

His parents had far more important worries than wondering where one of their many children is, like actually finding enough food to feed them all.

For all Hob knew, they were thankful when he doesn't go home. One less mouth to feed and all. For all he knew, they had been the ones to tell his playmates not to go looking for him.

Six hundred year old Hob pities himself as a child. He should not have tried so hard. All he did was waste his time.

--

Winter of 1991 is when Hob realizes that he does not blame his Stranger for leaving as he did at all.

He must have been at the end of his patience with Hob, and Hob callously telling him that he thinks he's lonely would have been the straw that broke the camel's back.

Looking back on it, he deserved his Stranger's angry reaction.

What does Hob know about his life? For all he knows, his Stranger could have friends and family waiting for him to arrive as soon as he concludes his centennial meetings with Hob.

In fact, they were probably the ones who dared him into making Hob immortal, so they would get endless entertainment out of him.

Hob waxing poetic about chimneys? Amazing. He's such a hilarious little fool. Venison pasties being the best thing ever? Classic peasant Hob, only now he's masquerading as a lord.

It's fine. Hob knows he can be unintentionally funny sometimes.

But now that his Stranger has obviously and very definitively moved on, Hob hopes that wherever he is right now, he has already gotten himself another Shaxberd.

If he has, and Hob is certain that he has, then he is happy for him. For them.

He hopes that whoever his Stranger's new immortal is, they'll take care of him as he deserves, and tell him better stories that would survive through the ages, like Shaxberd's did.

He hopes he meets them someday. Not to be friends, of course. But just to thank them for taking care of his Stranger when Hob had been too incompetent to even have a meaningful conversation with him.

--

The old barkeep from 1989 builds the New Inn in the year 2000, just a stone throw's away from the White Horse Tavern, and Hob invests in it.

He has too much money now. And while he's adamant in keeping himself apart from other people, he still likes helping those in need.

He gives to charities, supports worthwhile endeavors, and funds the schooling of the kids who have aged out of orphanages. Sometimes he even helps them get their first jobs if they need it. Those he helps occasionally end up taking part-time jobs in The New Inn, and they never know that they were serving the person who funded their college education.

It's fine. Hob doesn't mind being anonymous. He would rather be anonymous nowadays, anyway. Just plain old Mr. Gadling with his plain looks and his plain life, studying to become a professor of history.

Maybe one day, far off into the future, he would manage to atone for what he has done during his years as a slaver.

He knows he never would, but he tries his best anyway.

--

The old barkeep dies in 2016 and wills Hob (who has remained anonymous) The New Inn.

Hob has no wish to deal with the minutiae of running an inn, however, and so he promotes a couple of folks to run the Inn for him, and gets them to hire more helpers if they need it.

He doesn't know whose idea it was to spray paint the sign in front of The White Horse Tavern pointing to the New Inn, or who keeps repainting it, but he lets it slide. Business is business, after all, and if it gets the inn more customers, then who is Hob to complain?

Most of the regular customers are locals who have been getting pints from the old tavern, but tourists also come by, and students from the nearby university where Hob teaches frequent the Inn as well. The tourists come for the good food, the students come for the free wifi, and Hob welcomes them all.

He arranges all of the customers neatly into their own categories (student here for the wifi, office worker here for lunch, food blogger, artist looking for a quiet spot, Thursday Game Night LARPers) and ignores the numbers occasionally slipped his way with free drinks.

He has no need for one night stands, and would rather not create a new category for them. He's found, over the years, that he likes having his own space, with no one bothering him, and he will not let anyone disrupt the peaceful home he has managed to build for himself.

If he wants to be pleasured, then he has his own hands, and online shopping sites to buy sex toys from.

He likes it better, he thinks. Being the master of his own pleasure and not needing to make the effort of pleasing anyone else. If he wants to go to sleep right after cumming, then he can. No more need for pillow talk or immediate clean up. And if he wakes in the middle of the night and wants to pleasure himself more, then who is there to stop him?

He might miss the words of praise given by his past bedmates, but he can easily conjure up similar words in his mind, in a variety of voices, making themselves repeat the same words over and over again without feeling guilty or needy, and he does not feel bereft.

He's already had enough of people. And no good ever comes from having lovers, especially if it's only him that loves and his feelings are never requited.

--

In 2022, when Hob sees his Old Stranger again, he smiles.

It's nice to see a familiar face once in a while. Just last week, he saw his neighbors from the 1960s selecting vegetables in the farmers' market. They are still together and looking as in love as they had been when they were younger. Hob avoided them because he doesn't want to be recognized and asked uncomfortable questions, but he's happy that the two of them could legally get married now.

"You're early," Hob tells his Stranger. Were he still hoping that the two of them could be friends, he would have said something stupid like, 'You're late,' and then his Stranger would get pissed off all over again, and it would just make Hob tired in the long run.

"Early?" His Stranger asks. He takes his seat in front of Hob. He looks skinnier than usual. Hob raises his hand so one of the waitresses would come over.

"Yeah, for 2089," Hob says. To the waitress, he says, "Hey, Dani, can I get a fry up, please? And a glass of fruit juice."

Hob is ordering for his Stranger not because they're friends, but because he looks like he needs it. He would have done the same for any homeless person he saw on the street.

And if his Stranger doesn't eat it before leaving, then Hob will. Hob doesn't order two plates because what would be the use of that? He knows his Stranger would be turned off at the sight of him eating. He has before, in 1589, so Hob knows not to do it again.

Dani the waitress, one of the kids he put through college, nods and goes to tell the cook to prepare the meal.

When Hob looks back at his Stranger, he is looking at Hob oddly.

"What?"

"I am not early for 2089, Hob," he says. "I am late for 1989. I meant to come, but was unable to." A pause, and the tiniest bowing of his head. "I apologize."

Were Hob still thinking they could be friends, he would have asked about what happened to make him miss their meeting. But he knows it's not any of his business, and he'd hate for his Stranger to leave without eating.

"Oh, it's fine," Hob says. He has already put his Stranger into the 'old customer from the old tavern' category, and it's never any of his business to ask about the customers' personal lives. He would help, if they ask, but he won't go out of his way to be an irritating person and pester them to let him help them. "Water under the bridge and all. How have you been?"

There, see? Hob can be polite without being friendly.

"I'm fine," his Stranger says. There was a brief pause before he answered. Hob noticed, but he ignores it. Hob from before would have obsessed about that tiny pause, but not this Hob. This one has learned his lesson.

"That's good," Hob says, smiling. "Listen, I ordered for you, but it's alright if you don't eat it. I'll just take it to-go and eat it for dinner. No pressure at all."

"I will eat it," his Stranger says.

Hob smiles wider. "Wonderful. It will take about 5 to 10 minutes before the food arrives."

Niceties out of the way, Hob resumes checking his students' papers. It's so nice to not make an effort at conversation. It had opened up his time for other more important matters. He wishes his Stranger had taught him that. Or maybe he was meant to learn by observation.

Ah, well. Hob has always been slow on the uptake.

"Hob."

He marks where he is on his student's essay with a finger and looks up. "Yes, Stranger?"

His Stranger visibly hesitates for a moment before he says, "My name is Dream. Dream of the Endless."

Dream of the Endless.

After 600 years, Hob finally gets a name.

He thought he'd be ecstatic. So over the moon with joy that he would jump to his feet and let out an exuberant laugh at finally knowing.

Instead he feels nothing.

He doesn't know what an Endless is, but it sounds pretty important and very much none of his business. He takes the information his Stranger provides him, and says with a smile reserved for new acquaintances, "Hello, Dream of the Endless. Pleasure to put a name to the face."

Hob asks nothing else, and says nothing else. He waits a couple of seconds for his Stranger, Dream, to say something else if he wants, but when nothing comes, Hob goes back to checking his students' papers.

Midway through reading another essay, Dream asks, "Have you been well this past century?"

"Hm?" Hob marks a student's wrong answer. "Oh, well enough, I suppose. Two world wars, moon landing, the internet...but otherwise it's the same old life. And yes, before you ask, I still wish to live."

His 1489 self would have been so excited to talk about the moon landing and the internet. He would have made powerpoint presentations, bought memorabilia to show off, and be such a nuisance that he'd get kicked out of the Inn.

This Hob knows better than to make all that effort, however, and so he doesn't elaborate. It's just like seeing someone reading a newspaper on the Tube, reading the headlines, and exclaiming, 'Did that really happen?' And the person reading the newspaper saying, 'Yeah. World's fucked nowadays,' and the conversation would end there.

"The moon landing?"

"Yeah," Hob says. "Americans went to the moon and planted their county's flag there in 1969. You can read all about it on the internet if you want. Too much history for me to summarize."

"I am not familiar with the internet."

Hob blinks at that. "Oh." He doesn't ask where Dream has been to not be familiar with the internet. For all he knows, Dream's new storyteller friend is from another planet. "Well..."

Then, quite unexpectedly, Dream says, "Will you explain it to me?"

Hob scratches his neck and looks at the dozen or so papers he has yet to check. "I suppose?" It wasn't in his plans to explain the internet to a supernatural entity, but for the sake of their centuries old deal, Hob supposes he can spare the time. "If you're sure?"

Dream nods, and so Hob starts talking.

--

Dream eats his food as promised, and when he polished that one off and still looked hungry, Hob orders another dish. And then another. And then another. He always waits for Dream to finish his meal before ordering again, in case he gets full midway through a plate.

Dream does not volunteer information about his sudden hunger for mortal food, and so Hob does not press him. Dani, thankfully, is the quiet sort who just does her job well and doesn't stick her nose where it doesn't belong.

For this reason, she is one of Hob's favorite employees, being smarter than Hob himself when he was her age.

As Dream eats, Hob explains the internet to him like how he would explain the internet to a time traveler from the 1800s.

Dream listens to him raptly. It's a little unnerving how focused he was. 1589 Hob would have loved to have him as his audience. 2022 Hob is just a bit weirded out, especially when he notices Dream's shoulders relax against the seat's backrest, like he's listening to his favorite radio station, at ease in his own home.

When Hob finishes explaining, Dream (surprisingly) has follow-up questions, and so Hob answers them too.

(He had to ask for water so he could soothe his throat after a lot of talking.)

If Dream doesn't ask, then Hob doesn't explain. It's that simple. He volunteers no information about his life, and certainly no personal anecdotes to accompany his explanations, because they're not close enough for that.

--

More than a couple of hours pass, and Hob starts gathering his things and packing up. It will be a while before The New Inn closes, but Hob still has laundry to do, papers to check, and plants to water. He tells Dream that it has been good seeing him and walks out of the Inn.

Dream follows him.

"Hob."

"Yeah?"

"I wish to bid you good night."

Dream...has been weird today. He has never bid good night to Hob before. Not even a goodbye, come to think of it. "Oh," Hob says, feeling wrong-footed. "Sure. Good night. Take care going back home."

He doesn't ask if their next meeting will be in 2089 or in 2122. Dream will show up whenever he wants to show up. Hob isn't going to wait for him. It's even only a coincidence that Hob went to the Inn on this date.

In fact, he hadn't even known that today was June 7th. He only saw the date when he looked something up on his phone for clarification.

"I was hoping we could meet again," Dream says, when Hob says nothing else and was turning to leave. "Perhaps same time next week?"

Hob mentally reviews his calendar. "Sorry, I have a whole day of lectures and a practical exam to conduct then."

Dream is not deterred. "May I ask when you will be free, then?"

Hob scratches his cheek. "I mean, I guess I'll be free on Friday, just after 5 PM?"

"Then I will see you," Dream says. "Here. On our table."

His statement makes Hob laugh. "There's no our table, Dream. But sure, I'll see you." He turns away and walks the short distance to his house.

He is sure that Dream will not show. But it doesn't matter, because Hob is gonna go to the Inn on that date and time to buy dinner anyway. Dream could decide to surprise him and show up outside of their centennial meetings, but it wouldn't affect his schedule at all.

--

Dream watches Hob walk away, and his heart breaks.

Is this what Hob felt when Dream walked away from him in 1889?

No. He must have felt worse.

Dream had walked away in anger, after saying words that he has regretted ever since they left his lips, leaving Hob uncertain if they'll ever meet again.

Hob had walked away just now after agreeing to meet with him.

But his manner is distant. Has been distant, throughout the day. He doesn't care if he sees Dream again. If Dream does not show up at the appointed time next week, he would stay and have dinner on his own. But he would not question Dream's absence. He would just put it down as yet another instant of Dream blowing him off again, like he did last time.

Dream should be pleased.

This is what he wanted, isnt it? For the two of them to be no closer than casual acquaintances? Because Dream had been too prideful to consider being friends with a mortal.

And now Hob is granting him his wish. He had taken Dream's words to heart and is now holding himself distant from him.

Just as Dream realizes too late that he doesn't want that after all.

After his stupid pride hurt Hob in 1889, after his lonely imprisonment when his most constant thought, the only one that gave him hope, is the memory of Hob's beautiful smile, and of seeing it again once he gets free...

He wants Hob to look at him how he has always looked at him before today. With friendship, and perhaps with something more. Except that might not be possible anymore.

Dream doesn't know what to do. He fucked up the one good thing in his life, and made Hob believe that he is nothing, when all along, he has been everything to Dream.

[hypertic]

Avatrice - neighbors AU

[and Beatrice has 2 kids]

Ava knocked on the door, shifting her weight from one foot to the other while she waited. Hearing the steps from the other side becoming louder with each passing second was almost enough for her to turn around to leave.

Almost, had it not been for the door opening right before she could run back to her apartment, revealing her neighbor greeting her with a small, polite smile.

Beatrice Xin.

Her next door neighbor that, though she’d moved in a couple of months after Ava, she knew almost nothing about.

She knew that she left too early in the morning and came back too late in the evening, but somehow managed to have enough time to take care of two little girls that, if Ava had to guess, were between five and two years old. She didn’t know much about the girls either; she assumed they were her daughters, even if Beatrice seemed far too young and far too busy to have kids, it was not her place to judge.

She also knew, from the few times they’d crossed paths, that Beatrice always managed to offer her a small, but genuine smile, despite how tired she seemed. If Ava was being honest, Beatrice smile was disarming, and she vividly remembers her legs going weak the first time she saw it.

That was another thing she knew: Beatrice was painfully attractive.

However, that was as far as Ava’s knowledge on Beatrice Xin extended, hence why she felt so awkward standing there.

“Hi.” Ava greeted shyly, already unable to stop her hands from fidgeting with a lose thread of her shirt. Beatrice kept her eyes on her; unreadable. “I’m Ava Silva, your neighbor from the other side of the hall.” In her head, Ava was thanking every deity she knew for giving her enough confidence to introduce herself without stuttering.

“I’m Beatrice Xin.” She offered her a hand for Ava to shake, who took it immediately, giving her a bright smile as she squeezed it gently. Beatrice smiled back, wider this time but still small, and Ava could do nothing but stare.

Beatrice let her, her own eyes scanning over her neighbor’s features to commit them to memory. Suddenly, she became aware that she was still holding Ava’s hand, the smaller girl’s grip loose around her own firm hand. She let go, maybe too quickly and too awkwardly, but Ava didn’t seem to care.

“Right so….,” Ava trailed off, her nerves getting the best of her. “There’s no way I can say this without sounding weird or stupid or straight up crazy and I completely understand if you just shut the door in my face-“ Beatrice’s amused yet slightly threatening eyebrow raise was enough to get Ava to stop her rambling and take a deep breath. “Can I borrow your kids?”

Any trace of amusement was gone as soon as Beatrice heard the word ‘kids’.

“Excuse me?” Ava took notice of her british accent and wondered how someone could grow more attractive by the second. She quickly pushed those thoughts aside, feeling herself grow smaller in front of Beatrice’s threatening eyebrow raise and her suddenly closed off demeanor.

Ava fought the chills crawling up her spine, suddenly aware of the small height difference in Beatrice’s favor that made her all the more scary. Still, she took another deep breath, desperate to at least get her neighbor to hear her explanation and not think she’s completely insane.

“I… I kinda told my ex that I couldn’t go out with him today and meet his new girlfriend because I have to babysit, when I really just don’t want to go because even if we ended on ‘good terms’ and we’re friends, it’s going to be so awkward and I’m not sure I’m ready to put myself through that but I-“ She cut herself short to catch her breath, giving Beatrice a sheepish smile.

“What do you need the kids for then?” Beatrice asked before she could continue. “You said no, so why do you need my kids?” her voice was stern and demanding, like a high school principal, her face unreadable as ever.

“Well,“ Ava sighed, preparing herself to blurt out the second half of her explanation. “He said they could come to say hi while I babysit, because he lives in another city and wanted to stop by, since they’re only here for the weekend and it’s the only time he’s available. I couldn’t backtrack with the babysitting lie, because that would make it too obvious that I don’t want to meet them so…”

Ava looked up from her fidgety hands to the woman in front of her, who stared back at her with what Ava thought -hoped- was maybe a small glint of amusement in her dark, expressionless eyes.

“I know it sounds insane but you’re the only person I know that has kids and they really won’t stay for long; 30 minutes at most.” Beatrice frowned, and Ava couldn’t believe she actually seemed to be thinking about it. “I swear I’ll take good care of them, please!” Ava pushed, ready to beg on her knees if she had to. “I’ll owe you anything! I can clean your entire apartment!, or take down your trash for as long as you live here.” She decided to finalized with her offers, and Beatrice let out an annoyed sigh.

“Are you really willing to go this far to save yourself the embarrassment?” Beatrice questioned, and Ava wasn’t sure if she was making fun of her or if she was genuinely curious.

“Yes!” Ava answered, too sure of herself. Beatrice rolled her eyes at the answer, but couldn’t hide the small smile making its way to her lips.

Ava felt a spark of hope grow in her chest at the reaction, and decided to give her the best puppy eyes she could muster.

God.

At that moment, Beatrice genuinely felt like she couldn’t say no. For some reason, this complete stranger that seemed to put all her faith in her, hoping that Beatrice was just as insane as she was and would aid her in her stupid lie, was actually managing to convince her.

Beatrice took her time to study the girl, who seemed just a couple of years younger than her and knew nothing about. Just by their first interaction, she could tell the girl was like an open book, all of her emotions easy to label just by taking a look into her eyes. She didn’t seem like a real threat and, if she truly wanted to kidnap or harm her children in any way, Beatrice didn’t think she would be to borrow them like they were a cup of flour.

“Fine.” Beatrice stated, and Ava let out a relieved yelp, jumping around to celebrate her small victory.

It could be good to get to know her neighbors anyways.

“Really?” Ava asked, buzzing with energy.

“Yes, but with one condition.” Ava became serious all of a sudden, ready to obey whatever this woman said as long as it would spare her the embarrassment of being caught in a lie. “You have come to our apartment, and I get to stay.” Beatrice stated firmly.

“What?” Ava frowned, slightly confused. “What’s the point of babysitting if their mom is here?”

“I can just stay in Oli’s room.” Beatrice answered, getting a puzzled look from Ava. “The baby.” She clarified, regretting her decision already.

“Ok, yeah. Sounds fair.“ Ava nodded, and for the first time since she got there, she caught a glimpse of Beatrice’s apartment.

Unlike hers, it was spotless, furnished with simple furniture in white and grayish tones. Beatrice gestured for her to come in, allowing Ava a full few of the apartment. Despite most of it being grey and white, the place felt warm and homey, with the evening sunlight shining through the windows and a couple of scattered, colorful toys in the fluffy grey rug of the living room.

“When is your ex coming?”

“Shit.” Ava muttered, as she checked the time on her phone.

“Language.” Beatrice scolded, and Ava had to bite her tongue to keep herself from giggling.

“Sorry. He said they’ll be here in 20 minutes.” She answered sheepishly.

“That’s not a lot of time.” For some reason, Beatrice seemed to be worried about her, even if she clearly disapproved of the entire plan. “You should hurry and get my kid to like you if you want this to work.” Ava was momentarily shocked at how invested Beatrice sounded, but didn’t hesitate to follow her to the kitchen.

“Willow.” Beatrice called as they entered, and Ava was met by wide brown eyes staring at her with a mix of surprise and curiosity.

The little girl stood up, her pigtails swaying from side to side as she ran to meet them at the door, her bangs slightly disheveled. Her hair was a lot darker than Beatrice’s and her skin paler, but otherwise they looked quite alike.

“This is Ava, our neighbor.” Beatrice introduced, and Willow extended a hand for her to shake, just like her mother. Ava shook it gently, giving the girl a smile as she introduced herself.

“I’m Willow!” She replied with excitement that Ava didn’t hesitate to mirror.

“It’s such a pretty name! What were you doing there, Willow?” Ava said pointing at the kitchen table, and after some hesitation the girl dragged her by the hand she was still holding to show her.

“I was coloring the animal book auntie Cam got me.” She sat back down, and Ava stood next to her, appreciating Willow’s attempt at staying within the lines.

“Willow, “ Beatrice voice echoed from behind the pair, making them both turn around with wide, attentive eyes. “Would you like Ava to play with you for a little while?” The young girl furrowed her eyebrows, trying to push her bangs aside.

“Why?” She asked innocently. Beatrice knelt down in front of her daughter, fixing her messy bangs for her.

“Well, since Ava lives next door, I thought it would be nice if you get to know her, don’t you think?” Willow nodded, because everything her mom said made sense; most of the time. Beatrice gave her a smile and gestured for Ava to sit on the chair next to Willow, while she sat in the one across from them.

Though the little girl was quite shy and closed off at first, taking hesitant glances up to her mom after she spoke, it didn’t take long for her to warm up to Ava. She always thought it was a lot easier to talk to children rather than adults, and really enjoyed taking part on their own little world.

“You’re doing it wrong!” Willow giggled as Ava colored outside of the drawing instead of inside, which was absolutely on purpose, and not because she got distracted by her small talk with Willow.

Ava felt her phone buzz, and typed a quick reply to JC before making gestures to Beatrice that she needed to go.

“Willow,” Beatrice spoke, gentle as ever but still commanding all of the little girl’s attention. “Would you like to help Ava with a game?” Willows eyes went wide at the mention of a game, going from her mother to Ava as she nodded excitedly.

“What is it?”

“Ava is playing pretend with a couple of friends, and they’re coming to see her.” The girls mouth formed an ‘o’ that Ava couldn’t help but mirror. “She’s pretending to be taking care of you while I’m gone.”

“But… you’re here.” Willow frowned, her eyes going from Ava to Beatrice in search of an answer.

“That’s why we are pretending I’m not here.” Beatrice explained patiently.

“So you’re in the game too?” Beatrice nodded, and Willow copied her, seeming to understand. “What does the winner get?” She asked, a confident smile on her face.

“Do you like waffles?” Ava asked, and if she noticed the angry look Beatrice shot her, she chose to ignore it. Willow let out a happy yelp, standing from her chair and jumping up and down.

“Willow,” Beatrice called, and the girl jumped all the way to her. “Remember, to win the game, you have to stay with Ava and her friends, and pretend I’m not here, capisce?”

“Capisce.” The little girl replied, making a motion of taking off a hat.

Before Ava could comment on their vocabulary they heard the door bell ring, and Ava felt her heart shoot up to her throat. Beatrice just gave her a reassuring nod before disappearing into the small hallway.

“Let the games begin.” Ava said to Willow solemnly after hearing the door of the room click.

###

The game lasted a little over 20 minutes, seeing that JC had made a dinner reservation for them and was really just stopping by.

It was nice to see him, Ava admitted, even if it was awkward at first, the conversation managed to flow nicely just like before they dated. She even managed to make small talk with his new girlfriend, who was really sweet and allowed their conversation to go uninterrupted by engaging with Willow and her Lego tower.

As soon as the door behind them closed, Ava let out a sigh of relief, realizing it wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. It was nice, actually, and it gave her a weird sense of closure to see JC after so long and meet as friends.

“I win!” Willow chanted, jumping through the living room as Beatrice came out of the room, holding Olivia in her arms.

Ava gave Willow a triumphant high five and a bright grin to Beatrice, who seemed both surprised and relieved that it’d actually worked.

“You didn’t have to bribe her you know?” Beatrice whispered, seeing the little girl run to the kitchen in anticipation of her prize.

“I kinda did.” Ava giggled, cooing at the baby in Beatrice’s arms. “I had to bribe you too.” She added with a wink.

Beatrice rolled her eyes, walking ahead of Ava to hide the light blush creeping up her cheeks.

“You don’t have to do anything, by the way.” Beatrice said, after putting Olivia down on her chair. She opened the fridge to take out the ingredients for the waffles, while Willow searched for the largest pot she could find to make the mix. “You just… owe me one?” Beatrice said tentatively, feeling her heart warm at the sight of Ava’s bright smile.

So, Beatrice found herself spending the rest of the evening with this stranger, Ava, and her old waffle maker, far more entertained than she’ll ever admit.

Though she scolded Ava more than she ever did her own child —for not measuring the ingredients, for mixing the batter so energetically it got everywhere, including Beatrice’s shirt, among other things— she couldn’t help but smile all the same, seeing Willow laugh carelessly and enjoy her tower of waffles covered in syrup.

After Olivia had eaten all of the broccoli mush that wasn’t on her clothes, and Willow had long forgotten her waffles and devoted herself to watching her favorite show in the living room, Ava took it as her cue to leave.

Beatrice couldn’t hide her surprise when she came back from putting Olivia to bed, and found the kitchen as spotless as it had been.

“What? It was as only fair I cleaned up my own mess.” Ava said with a teasing smile.

“Thank you.” Beatrice said with the widest smile Ava had seen from her.

It was easy to smile around Ava, Beatrice noticed.

“Thank you.” Ava said, taking a step forward. “You really saved me from a lot of…”

“Explaining? Questions? Embarrassment?” Beatrice offered, and Ava gave her a shy nod, but her smile never seemed to leave her. Not like Beatrice wanted to.

“Yeah… thanks.” Ava said as she walked out the kitchen, waffle maker held firmly between her hands.

“Willow, say bye to Ava.” Beatrice called once they reached the door and, despite how entranced the little girl seemed by the colorful cartoons in front of her, she ran up to Ava and almost tackled her with a hug. Gently, Ava wrapped her arms around the little girl who mumbled something unintelligible.

“Can Ava come back to play?” Willow asked Beatrice after separating herself from Ava, her tiny hand still clutching Ava’s shirt.

“You should ask her, Lou.” Beatrice placed a gentle hand on the girls hair, staring down at her with so much love Ava felt her heart melt.

“Can you come back to play?” Willow asked her, lightly pulling Ava’s shirt.

“Of course!” Ava promised, shooting an anxious look at Beatrice to confirm she was actually ok with that that. “I’ll see you around, ok?” She said, messing up the little girl’s hair with endearment.

“Bye!” Willow waved, and Ava mirror her, but aimed her wave at the girl’s mother instead.

“Bye, Ava.” Beatrice said, offering her a final, polite smile before closing the door.

Ava let out a sigh, her chest filled with warmth and contempt and hope of seeing Beatrice, and her kids, again.

[shiemori-writes]

OK IMAGINE MEETING AZULS MOM THO!! MAMA AZUL!!! SHES SO SWEET I HC HER AS A VERY LOVING WOMAN

(but still vv tactical ) ( like mother like son ofc)

I THINK SHE'D BE RLLY SWEET TO MC IF SHE FOUND OUT THEY WERE DATING AZUL LIKE "aww sweetie! my boy found a partner <3" then cue blushing azul pspspsos AUGH I NEED A FIC

[savnofilter]

LOLLLL mc if you see this don't jump me

[turtleduckmocha]

i NEED to start he/him-ing leonie and she/her-ing lorenz more

[wanderingblindly]

I have my WIP where Lando has some tattoos and I don't wanna spoil too much, but there might be some chrysanthemums on him...huh (does it even matter if I never finish it?)...

I feel like he would not shy away from motives that would usually be considered feminine. Or I can imagine some neat snake motives on him too, like on his Vegas helmet.

And Oscar? I have a clear vision of his hairy calves all inked up and ugh, can I call dibs on this idea? :D He would definitely get something to remind him of his homeland, but not too obvious, just a hint that would have a meaning for him.

It’s actually a SHAME that more of the drivers aren’t tattooed, and we’re only human for attempting to rectify this. Glad we’re on the same page 🥰

VERY intrigued by the idea of lando embracing more feminine tattoos, that just lit a ‼️⁉️ in my brain holy fuck wait you’re so SO into something with this ((collar bones,,,,,, hnderbust,,,,,,))

You can SO have leg tattoos because I, for some reason, literally cannot conceptualize anything below the hips. Is that why only my upper body is tattooed? Shut up.

HARD AGREE on Oscar going the meaningful route!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Especially i the characterization in picturing, he seems kind of…. Reserved and dedicated with a hint of insecurity? Perhaps.

((Pls give me opinions thx))

[cpcposting]

@cursed-princess-club @deldeldel90 @oyasumination I reread that cpc chat fic and it made me want to draw this.... this is her moments after creating the clubhouze