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winnie1emon · 5 months ago

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✧.* what happens when theodore nott encounters a sweet girl in the forbidden forest?

chaser!theodore nott x fawn!reader (fem pov)

word count: approx. 2.7k

c/w: MDNI!!, smut, sexual language, piv, unprotected sex, outdoor sex, fingering, creampie, one line of google translated italian (IM SORRY), chaser!theo is mostly for the intro, doesn't have significant impact on the plot

a/n: hi this was supposed to be a two-part story, but heh... thank you + sorry to everyone who was patient with me!! this is not proof read i fear꒰(˶◞ ‸ ◟˶)꒱ also also!! ive stopped procrastinating and set up my obx blog @rafesdearest <3

A large breeze entered the pitch, and the crowd cheered as Slytherin's seeker finally caught the golden snitch. Descending off his broomstick, Theodore wasted no time rummaging through the oncoming crowd to find the pitch's exit.

No, he didn't need heaps of Slytherin girls running their hands up and down his arm; no, he didn't need the glory from scoring 70 points for Slytherin; and no, he didn't need to hear the complaints of the opposing team. All he needed was a good fucking cigarette.

"For fucks sake," Theodore huffed, pushing through the rowdy waves of people, scowling as he caught a glimpse of a girl with one of his teammate's names written sloppily on her forehead.

With a final shoulder bump through the crowd, he found himself in the broom shed, tossing his broomstick carelessly inside and opting out of heading to the locker room for a quick change and shower.

He let out a large exhale, beginning to take large strides towards Hagrid's hut, ultimately nearing the Forbidden Forest. Contrary to popular belief, the Forbidden Forest wasn't all that scary; the woodsy smell filled Theodore's nostrils, making him scrunch his nose as the rainwater scent from earlier that day lingered.

Allowing the soft crunch of the leaves to take his attention away momentarily, he hadn't noticed the figure standing at his usual smoke spot, deep in the forest.

Fumbling with his pocket, his carton of cigarettes flew out, landing on the dirt with a soft thud. A frustrated groan escaped his lips as he took a few steps forward, reaching for the fallen pack as he saw another hand pick it up.

Startled, Theodore looked up, only to be met by what seemed to him the most random girl ever. He had never seen her before, despite her appearance suggesting that she was in his year, much to his surprise; he knew most of the people in Hogwarts-- a testament to his popularity.

"Thank you," he said, his voice laced with skepticism.

“You’re welcome,” you replied. “You just win?”

He was somewhat surprised that you knew, or even asked. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

“You always come here after you have a game. When you lose you usually talk to yourself…” you trailed off, remembering the times you’d hear him cursing himself or his teammates under his breath whenever he lost. You idly gazed around the forest, eyes landing on a small flower by your feet. You crouched down to admire its pretty purple color.

As you did so, Theodore was still confused. “What? How do you know that?” he asked, his tone teetering over being curious and accusatory.

"Sorry, what?" you asked, missing his question as you were momentarily distracted.

Theodore rubbed his temple. Seriously? "I said, 'how do you know that?'"

"Oh! What- I'm always over there," you pointed out, your finger directing his eyes to a small pond about half a dozen yards away. "I come every day at the same time. Usually I start leaving once you arrive though." You stood back on your feet, taking his wrist as you airily led him there. "Here. The deer like to come usually, not anymore though."

You then realized you were just grabbing some guy's wrist without permission-- Theodore Nott's wrist. Letting go, you turned your head in the other direction as your face heated up.

Theodore raised a wry eyebrow as you dropped his wrists, averting your gaze from him before seeing the pretty area. "Why don't they come anymore?"

You had felt the color comfortably return to your face before saying, "There's just been a lot more litter lately. I don't think they like that."

He grimaced, unbeknownst to you, recalling all the cigarette butts he had casually dropped on the ground in the past few months. "Right..."

Unable to find anything else to talk about, you thought it was best to leave. "I'm going to head back."

You turned to leave, awkwardly stepping around a few of the stones on the ground before Theodore spoke. "So soon?" He looked at you teasingly, faint traces of arrogance on his face. "Thought we could get to know each other."

"Well I-- I told Hagrid I'd help him judge his new crop of pumpkins," you told him lamely.

"Mm. Sure."

His eyes followed you as you attempted to leave once more, weaving through the trees, eventually small enough to fade out of sight.

Cute.

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The following day, Theodore returned to the forest even though he didn't play a game that afternoon. He remembered you telling him that you would go there every day at the same time.

As he walked deeper into the woods, he spotted your form from afar, walking up to you as nonchalantly as possible.

"Hey."

You were currently tending to a few of the insects on the dirt, startled by his sudden greeting. Whipping your head around you saw him again-- Theodore and his gorgeous blue fucking eyes.

"Ah- Hi!" you exclaimed, giving him a large smile before quickly dropping it, subconsciously beating yourself up for being overenthusiastic. "There isn't a game today, what are you doing here?"

"Just you know, thought I'd come and get some fresh air. Didn't know you'd be here," he shrugged.

"I told you I come here at the same time every day," you told him, brows furrowed and lips quirking in a small smile.

"Forgot."

You were a bit suspicious at first, but he said it with such indifference that it simmered away.

This happened for the next few days; you'd constantly come to the forest, only to see Theodore already there, or him arriving shortly after. You both made conversation with each other and oddly enough, he was good company. Of course, you couldn't help but glance at his face for a moment too long from time to time, somewhat admiring his chiseled features or his captivating eyes. Sometimes you'd swear that his gaze would linger on you, tracing you from head to toe, but you swatted those thoughts away immediately.

The two of you grew much more comfortable with one another, even beginning to confide in one another about the teachers you didn’t particularly love or the embarrassing moments you guys had before locked away to never tell a soul.

About a week since your initial introductions, you went back to the pond as always, expecting Theodore to come soon after. Of course, what you weren't expecting, was to see a small herd of deer nearby. Your face melted into that of wonder, eyes glassy, having missed the deer during their disappearance.

Shortly after breaking out of your marveling trance, you noticed how most of the litter near the pond was gone. There were no cigarette butts, no chocolate frog boxes, and only one stray and empty bottle of butterbeer.

You heard someone approaching and by this point you knew it was Theodore. You scuttled over to him, interlocking your fingers before hastily dragging him over to the delightful sight.

“Look, look, look!”

He let you, allowing his body to be pulled by you, a quizzical smirk on his face. "Yes?"

“Theodore- look! The deer! They came back, the-“ you gabbed.

“I know,” he said gently.

“No, seriously! Theodore they’re back! There’s no more mess, so they came-,” you spoke incontinently before pausing. “You what?”

“I know.”

“Oh.” You were crestfallen for a moment, disappointed that you couldn’t have him share your excitement at the same time. “Did you already come here this morning?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Then how do you know?”

“I came here last night,” he said. You eyed him curiously, releasing your fingers from his before he spoke again. “I cleaned it myself.”

He shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal, like it was something he got done in a second.

“Huh?” you questioned, almost unbelieving.

“Come on, do I have to repeat everything for you sweetheart?” he simpered.

You were a bit daunted by his use of a nickname. Sure you two have gotten close over the past few days, but you didn't know you guys were that close...

"No sorry-," you apologized quickly. "It just sounded like you said you cleaned the whole thing yourself. But you wouldn't. I know you," you tried to tease, but his face , just moments ago coy and smug, was now unamused. Of course, you started to prattle as a last resort to not make things weird.

"Not that you're like lazy or anything! I meant that you just don't seem the type, -- er, you probably have better things to do with your time than clean and stuff."

The expression on his face was unreadable, and you could feel your soul wilting away with each passing moment.

"But if it was you then great! That's really, really great and uhm, kind of you!" You forced yourself to bring a finger up to your mouth to shut yourself up, a bead of sweat forming on your head.

Theodore leaned a bit closer, and he looked off. You couldn't tell if he was bothered or annoyed with you, or if he was just pulling your leg.

"You really don't get it, do you?"

Were you supposed to laugh...?

You opened your mouth, prepared to let out another incoherent string of apologies and nonsense, before you were interrupted by the feel of his breath on your face, followed by the soft landing of his lips onto yours.

It felt gentle, patient, almost like he was giving you the chance to pull away. But you didn't. He noticed, beginning to bring his hands to cup your face, and your hands found his hair, his tongue beginning seek entryway into your mouth and you granted it to him.

He became a little sloppy, his breathing ragged and his hands bringing your face impossibly close to his own. He got rougher, like he was was a man trapped and you were his first ray of sunlight in years. Somewhat overwhelmed, you brought your hands up to his shoulders, and he took it as a sign to pull away.

His hair had become mussed, his chest heaving up and down as he gasped for air.

"Sorry, sorry," he apologized sheepishly as he gave you a gap of space. "I got too... too," he huffed, catching his breath.

"No, you didn't do anything," you reassured him. "Just needed to- to soak it all in."

He gazed at you, face flushed and his embarrassment slowly fading. You granted yourself the ability to let your eyes travel down, stopping at the very obvious tent in his pants.

The sound of your heart beating filled your head, excitement and arousal about to pour out of you. You closed the gap between you both once more, pulling him into another kiss. You savored the small sound of surprise he made, your hand roving down to cup his erection that was straining against the denim of his jeans.

You heard him groan, pushing you a few steps back to place your back against a large tree, hands snaking down to flip your skirt up. He fondled your ass, lips detaching from yours to scoff a smile.

"Not chilly in this?" he asked you, fingers tracing the delicate lace of your underwear.

"Wanted to look cute," you defended.

"For me?"

You looked like you had been hit with a confundus charm, but that moment was short lived as you felt him lower your underwear, the air hitting your exposed cunt.

You ran a finger against the straining denim, making him twitch slightly. He lightly rubbed over your pussy, your arousal coating his fingers. He slipped a finger in, another one quickly following.

Your knees buckled for a moment as he pumped his fingers in and out of your cunt, finding a quick pace. You dropped your hand from his erection, now using it to hold onto the tree from behind for support as you let out a string of moans and whimpers in his ear.

He curled his fingers, finding the spot that made your eyes roll back, watching you with the most impish look ever. You were so close to orgasming quickly, and right as you were, he pulled his fingers out, releasing multiple incoherent mewls from you.

"Così dannatamente carina." (So damn cute).

Before you could complain about your lost orgasm, he had discarded of his zip up sweater, pulled down his pants, freeing his erection from his boxers, and lined up his cock with your cunt. Theodore lifted one of your legs up, supporting it with his hand to spread your legs. He pushed inside slowly, your pussy time to adjust to his thick cock.

"Shit, you feel so good," he whispered by your ear.

Each thrust of his hips would pressure your back harder into the tree, but the pain was unacknowledged as you could only focus on the pleasure currently pumping in and out of you.

"T-Theo," you mewled, looking at him with wide eyes, maintaining eye contact.

"Hm?" he asked, using his hand that wasn't supporting your leg brush a stray eyelash off your cheek.

You wanted to speak, but instead let out a strangled whine, the erotic noises of his cock entering in and out of your sopping cunt growing louder. You bit down hard on your lip, immensely stimulated because your cunt was getting the stuffing it needed, but because of how gorgeous he was.

He was otherworldly, the beautiful scenery visible past his face, no doubt only complimenting his features. You stared so hard, to the point that your brain had gone fuzzy and your moans and whimpers slipped out more frequently.

Theodore was clearly sharing the same feeling, beginning to bury himself deeper into you, his hips slapping against your clit each time.

He peppered kisses all over your neck, sucking on your skin until it left marks. Soon, his movements grew frantic-- much more than it already was, and his groans were shaky.

"Fuck, I'm- I'm going to come inside you," he panted.

Your cunt clenched against his cock, much like how you clung onto his shoulders, desperately wanting him to get impossibly closer to you.

"P-please," you begged. "I'm so close. M' gonna come."

He moved his head away from your neck, a string of saliva connecting his lips to the fresh hickey left on there. Gently putting down your leg, he used both hands to now cup your face, staring into the eyes, both of your irises dilated, pure lust on display.

You couldn't hold back any longer, your legs shook, your vision went blurry, and your walls tightened around his cock as you came. He followed shortly after, and with a final thrust, he shot warm, thick ropes of cum into your pussy.

He pulled out shortly after, breathing heavily. The remnants of his leaked out of you as you pulled your underwear back up, patting down your skirt.

Theodore returned his boxers to fit around his waist, zipping up his jeans quickly.

You both stood for a while, unsure if the silence was comfortable or not.

"That was," he spoke first, face flushed and hair disheveled.

"That was good," you said, hopeful that he would agree.

"Yeah. Yeah, it was."

The sun seemed to die down, grey clouds coming in, and you took it as a sign to go. "Should we go back into the castle?"

Theodore nodded in agreement and you pushed yourself off the tree trunk, taking wobbly steps back before he grabbed your wrist from behind.

"Wait." He retrieved his neglected zip up from off the leaf-filled ground, holding it near you, signaling you to outstretch your hands. You did, and he slowly helped you wear the sweater, zipping it up before flipping the hood back to it's intended state. "It's cold."

It was an unusual gesture-- not that it was out of character for him. Just because it was so kind and light, almost as if he didn't fuck the thoughts out of your head just moments before.

You gave him a small smile, allowing his arm to drape over your shoulder as you both started your trek back to the castle.

―――――――――ʚ♡ɞ―――――――――

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momokan-kawaragi · 3 months ago

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In early celebration for the HSR x F/SN collab:

I hate Mihoyo however I couldn't stop myself from drawing this.

I am the heart of my swords. Sharp is my body and fiery is my blood. I have swung a thousand blades Not once fleeing in war, Not once acheving glory, Withstood pain sparking against coarse stones, shining before great shadows. I have no uncertainty, this is my chosen path. I was always Unlimited Blade Works.

List of every sword:

Honkai Star Rail weapons: Yanqing's sword, Blade's sword, Jing yuan's glaive, Dan Heng's spear. Firefly and Kafka's swords (in the far background), Sword of Strife, Yunli's sword, Acheron's sword, Hoolay's sword, Fei Xiao's gunblades, hunt 7th's swords and Sushang's sword.

Honkai Impact 3rd weapons: Senti's weapon case (to the left), Judgment of Shamash (orange one with smoke on it), Kiana's Flamescion and Finality swords (far off in the background in low detail)

Genshin weapons: Dull blade, Lumine's sword from intro cutscene(hidden in dull blade's shadow), Kagotsurube Isshin

Fate weapons: Kanshou and Bakuya (the dual black and white swords), Ea (the golden one with the red glow in the background), Caliburn (the yellow and blue sword), and one of the generic swords from the UBW CG.

Misc weapons: Sol's fireseal from Guilty Gear, the buster sword from FF7 (shadow on the far right), Dante's Rebellion from Devil May Cry (The shadows next to it are the silhouettes of the Force Edge, Yamato and Red Queen) and theres also a generic zweihander because why not?

#digital art #my art #velaposting #hsr #honkai star rail #fate series #fate stay night #fsn ubw #hsr fanart #honkai star rail fanart #drawing #if you're asking why ea is there despite the fact it objectively can't be in unlimited blade works i put it there precisely #to be annoying #hsr fate collab

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ll7esxs · 21 days ago

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𖦹 ˚₊‧꒰ა 𝑶𝑪 𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑹𝑶 — 𝑽𝒆𝒏𝒖𝒔 𝑻𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒓 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ My ever first one, feel free to know her! Honestly don't wanna rumble a lot about her here! just an intro for yall :)

✦ NAME: Venus M. Turner ✦ RANK: Corporal ✦ D.O.B: April 3rd, 2002 ✦ AGE: 25 (as of 2027) ✦ BIRTHPLACE: Colorado Springs, Colorado, USA ✦ AFFILIATION: United States Army | Ghosts ✦ SERVICE STATUS: Active Duty ✦ PRONOUNS: she/her ✦ MBTI: ISTJ — "The Logistician" ✦ ALIGNMENT: Lawful Neutral ✦ ROLE: Tactical Reconnaissance, Field Intel Extraction ✦ SKILLS: Stealth navigation, high-accuracy marksmanship, rapid terrain ops

⟡ personality:

Venus is persistent, quietly fierce, and unshakably focused. Her strength lies not only in action but in deep conviction — she’s courageous, dutiful, and honorable. Thoughtful but never timid. Driven but grounded. She’s a strategic thinker, not one for small talk, but will protect what (and who) she believes in with relentless intensity. Empathetic beneath the grit. She's ambitious, yet doesn’t seek glory — only purpose.

⟡ appearance:

A striking figure at 175 cm, with golden-brown hair (recently dyed from her natural black), warm hazel eyes, and fair skin marked by long field days and early loss. Broad-shouldered and sharp-lined — her inverted triangle frame mirrors her presence: strong and unwavering. Uniform crisp, boots always laced tight.

⟡ backstory:

Raised in a quiet town by her father, John Turner — a decorated police officer — Venus grew up in a world shaped by structure, service, and subtle grief. Her mother passed from illness when she was five. Despite the pain, her father's fierce love and belief in her built a quiet fire within. He raised her to be brave, gentle, and relentless in her goals. She joined the military young, fast-tracked into the Ghosts after proving herself in intel coordination and special ops support. She's not in it for glory — but for meaning.

⟡ relationships:

— John Turner: father, her grounding force

— Logan Walker: teammate; trusted, quiet camaraderie

— David "Hesh" Walker: romantic interest; complicated but deepening bond both of them did not confess

— Keegan P. Russ: higher-up; quiet respect and unspoken trust

— Merrick: captain; she follows him without question, and he values her insight

— Elias Walker: Ghosts captain ; strong mentorship, she admires his steadiness

— Kick: teammate; mutual jokes + field efficiency, bonded through shared missions

⟡ Random facts:

✦ Always ties her boots the same exact way before missions — left over right, double knot. She believes it’s bad luck otherwise.

✦ Terrified of open water. She can swim, but deep sea gives her anxiety. She keeps this hidden, even during missions.

✦ Keeps a tiny notebook in her side pouch. Filled with quick thoughts, coordinates, quotes her dad said, things she wanna do after, or names she doesn’t want to forget.

✦ Her favorite time of day is just before sunrise — not quite light, not quite dark. She calls it “the breath before the world starts talking.”

✦ Prefers knives over guns in close-range combat. Silent. Fast. Personal.

✦ Doesn’t drink caffeine. Instead, chews cinnamon gum during ops to stay sharp.

✦ When she was younger, she wanted to be a detective — she still reads crime novels in her free time.

✦ Keeps a small patch of her mom’s handwriting (from a letter) stitched inside her uniform lining. No one knows it’s there.

✦ Despite being quiet, she has a dry, deadpan sense of humor. When she speaks, it’s often followed by a subtle laugh from the team.

✦ Hates being called a hero. Believes she’s just doing what has to be done. ("so down to earth" ahh oc forgive me chat)

✦ Wears dog tags tucked in—never out. She considers showing them “too loud.”

✦ She’s left-handed, but shoots ambidextrously due to training.

✦ Venus is non-religious, but lights a match before every mission and blows it out after. She says it's to "mark time."

✦ Secretly keeps a Spotify playlist of classical music and gritty ambient soundscapes— it calms her between ops.

✦ Her call sign among the Ghosts is often unspoken, but unofficially: "Viper." Silent, fast, strikes once.

✦ She’s the kind of person who watches the weather like it’s a language. Says things like “the sky feels heavy today” and means it.

✦ Eats slow. Thinks before every bite. Not because she’s nervous, but because she was raised to never waste a meal.

✦ Has a faint callus on her left ring finger — from clutching her rifle grip too tight during her first tour.

✦ She once said:

"You don’t get used to war. You just learn how to move inside it without losing your shape."

✦ When she takes her boots off after a mission, she sits in silence. She doesn’t speak for a few minutes — she just listens to the world again.

✦ Her favorite sound is tires on gravel. It reminds her of home. Of her dad coming back from late shifts at the station.

✦ Her smile is rare, but when it happens, it stays in the room longer than she does. (source: please believe me officer)

✦ Sleeps with one arm under her pillow and the other under her ribs. A half-defensive position. A childhood habit that never left.

✦ She once spent 4 hours patching up a stray dog she found limping outside base. Didn’t tell anyone. Left food by the fence for 3 weeks straight after.

✦ She hates unnecessary noise. Her room is dead silent. If a clock ticks too loudly, she removes the battery.

✦ Favorite quote her dad used to say:

"People show their truth when no one's looking. So keep looking."

✦ Has a strange affection for deers — especially red deers. she just think they shapre the word "leadership" which this is what she admires in a person.

✦ Her handwriting is small, sharp, and angular. Like her thoughts don’t waste time finding shape.

✦ Doesn’t celebrate her birthday. But she remembers everyone else’s.

✦ When someone she loves is hurt, she doesn’t panic. She goes silent, like everything inside her narrows to a fine point.

✦ She doesn’t say “I love you” casually. She says things like:

"I got you. Always." (ok gahook)

✦ If she had one day off with no war, no weapons, no mission—she’d drive into the mountains, sleep in the sun, and not speak a word until sunset. Lol sorry if they sound corny BYE

𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒

Loyal to the bone — once you earn her trust, she’s unshakable in your corner.

Protective — especially over teammates and younger soldiers; she notices when someone’s not okay.

Resilient — she has survived loss, war, doubt, and still moves forward without asking for applause.

Quietly intelligent — she watches before speaking, and when she does speak, it’s intentional and sharp.

Grounded — she doesn’t get swept up in ego or fantasy; her head and heart stay real.

Brave — not reckless bravery, but the kind that comes from choosing to stand her ground even when it hurts.

Empathic but guarded — she feels deeply, even if she hides it under layers of stillness.

Disciplined — both emotionally and physically; she controls her fear and never acts on impulse.

Symbolic — she assigns quiet meaning to small things: a deer, a name, a date, a constellation.

𝐍𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒

Emotionally withdrawn — she bottles things up, rarely asks for help, and sometimes distances herself even from those she loves.

Stubborn — once she believes in something, it’s hard to change her mind — even if she’s wrong.

Harsh self-critic — she carries guilt heavily, especially for anything that feels like failure.

Doesn’t forgive easily — betrayal or dishonesty cuts her deep, and she rarely gives second chances.

Blunt — while not mean-spirited, she speaks her mind in a way that can feel cold or too direct.

Difficulty expressing affection — her care shows in action, not words, which can make her seem emotionally distant.

Isolates under pressure — instead of reaching out, she tends to disappear into her own head or get overly mission-focused.

Control issues — she needs structure and predictability; chaos makes her reactive or overly strict.

Dislikes vulnerability — she sees emotion as something to be managed, not shared, even though she just hated when there are these times to lose all her emotions. (she has Alexithymia)

Over-identifies with duty — sometimes forgets who she is outside of “Ghost” — just Venus.

idk why you wasted your time reading this but sigh thank you so much for caring and feel free to ask anything😔💔 ✦ Face claim: Ashley judd.

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#𓂃 ࣪⋆💿˚ ༘ cod ghosts oc: venus #sigh my dear...#i wish i can draw her in the future!#call of duty ghosts #cod ghosts #cod ghosts oc

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chasedeys · 3 months ago

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HI OKAY so like. in honor of these boyfriends sticking together by the grace of god and just sheer fucking stubbornness and taking matters into their own hands (sooooo sexy and also incredibly leaning to the power-of-friendship ass of them btw) and also because i feel sooo shitty for disappearing all of the sudden and ignoring a whole bunch of you </3 (thank you truly for all the sweet messages in my inbox asking me where and how ive been god yall are so sweet) and also it's such a fucking waste of 7k word vomit if i do end up not finishing this thing and i really do want to finish this but im lacking creative juices and honestly just shit time management but anyways. i present to you the mess of joeteemarr fic in its barely finished glory:

(DOOOO PRAYYY THAT I FINISH ITTTTT (i am on my knees) in spite of all the spoilers (?) you'll read through so it'd be like why the hell would you read this again kind of deal but well ahahahah just let me post this and look away okay 😭♥️)

all on his mouth like liquor —joeteemarr

intro — you came, you saw, you conquered // i couldn’t take my eyes off him, i think i heard a spirit call my name (banana yoshimoto, kitchen)

They’re both still in their leather ensemble—’so, did you coordinate the outfits, or?’ ‘ja’marr copied me.’ ‘excuse me? bitch, i’ll kill you.’—like they zoomed their way to Tee’s place immediately right after the game, after stopping by Judith’s for their usual order of burgers and fries.

Tee pokes at his own order of bacon burger, double helping of cheddar cheese and extra garlic, a wobbly little smile poking through when he spots the lovingly sharpied good game 5! the extra pies are for you!!!! don’t let uno eat them!!!!!!!!! on the crinkly wrapping paper. Judith, Cincinnati native, 57 years old and never takes money from Tee’s mother. Thinks Ja’Marr is the funniest man-child on earth and Joe the sweetest.

Ja’Marr has his jacket off now, tank top stretched tight over his shoulders as he slumps over his burgers snarling at Joe to stop stealing his fries. Tee carefully turns his gaze away from dark of his tattoos, the curve of his shoulders, the flex of his biceps when he tries to smack away Joe’s hand right over his burger.

But the thing is, if he looks away, he’s looking towards Joe—Joe, who’s leather jacket with nothing underneath is zipped down to his navel for some godforsaken reason, miles of pale skin and abs and golden hair and pink nipples flashing everytime he twists his torso to try and take Ja’Marr’s entire dinner or avoid his retaliations. Tee has to take away Ja’Marr’s plastic fork before he stabs Joe with it.

(They didn’t coordinate the outfits, by the way. They just ended up wearing something similar again with their weird otherworldly connection that Tee still tries to wrap his head around even now.)

—----------ja’marrs drops. sensitive,dfksdfkapoeskfo

Ja’Marr skirts his eyes away, mouth curling down, “I don’t wanna talk about it. I’ll deal with it Monday.”

Tee breathes out, extends his knee and presses his socked toes to the younger man’s calves. Ja’Marr twitches his leg against his feet, flicking his eyes at him and shooting him a small smile. He’ll be alright.

“No,” Ja’Marr says evenly, staring right at him even as he slams a hand at Joe’s over his plate, “but you were really fucking sexy.”

Tee startles, several clumps of mashed up potato slipping out of his mouth in surprise—real sexy, there. Ja’Marr really has no filter sometimes, calling any person he finds attractive to their faces with zero shame even in front of his boyfriend of however many years. Joe, ever so possessive, rarely even gets bricked up over it, from sheer assurance of his place in Ja’Marr’s heart. Hard not to be, really, with how steadfast and loud Ja’Marr is with his devotion to him. Tee has been called straight up ‘hot as hell’ by the other man for the past years that they’ve known each other and he still gets flustered over it, mostly because. Well. Whatever.

Joe turns his gaze to him as well, pausing his one-man crusade of pilfering his boyfriend’s fries. Tee slows his bites as he stares back, feeling weirdly caught like a prey in a predator’s gaze, a gazelle looking through the tan of the savanna landscape trying to find the glint of a lion’s eyes lurking in between the blades of grass. Joe’s piercing blues flick between his eyes, then slides down, slow, deliberate, purposeful, over the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones, the curve of his lips, the turn of his chin, the hinge of his jaw still clenched from chewing the meat they bought for him, his—neck exposed by the stretched cotton of his ratty t-shirt, the tangle of his beard, the slight of his Adam’s apple, the nearly healed scar on the left side of his jugular from last week’s razor incident, even the loose hang of his faded clemson t-shirt over his shoulders, the dip of it showing off the skin over his collarbones, not too much to show his pecs, but the sheer force of the older man’s leer makes him—makes him push his fucking tits out like he can’t fucking help himself; shoulders, drawing back; spine, straightening; nipples, pebbling, fucking tingling; goosebumps and hair rising over his arms; toes, curling in—he knows each and every part of his body Joe looks over because the man’s so fucking methodical with it, everything else below his chest hidden beneath the table thank fuck, he thinks, of sorts, maybe, a blessing, a curse, who knows, he’s still trying to chew on his fucking bite of bacon burger the fuck.

Tee chokes on his late swallow—and drinks the puply orange Ja’Marr offers him with an obvious smirk holy shit what the ever living fuck.

Joe goes back to eating his burger like he didn’t just. Undress Tee with his fucking eyes. What the fuck. What the actual fuck was that. Holy shit did he just experience a junior high schooler’s fantastical imaginary eighth grade period axe body spray doped up version of sex daydream or is he just. Insane. Was the burger spiked. What the fuck was that.

Tee feels his lips twitch. Wow. They’re really—unsubtle. But, are they, really?

“

—And Ja’Marr growls. Tee startles, laughing up at him, but it’s all cut off short because, wait, holy shit—-

He’s got a lapful of Ja’Marr Chase, situating his ass snugly all over Tee’s thighs with his own folded on either side of his hips, arms up so he can press his palms on his cheeks, wrapping all the way to the back of his skull because they’re so big, and kiss him.

“Jesus Christ, Ja’Marr,” he hears through muddied ears. Joe, he knows his voice, always, but—everything is—muffled, dark, consumed to a single person over him

He flutters his eyes open and gasps out trying to push air into his lungs and Ja’Marr’s face is right there in front of him—eyes piercing into his own as he purposefully bumps his nose to Tee’s and breathes into Tee’s gaping open mouth.

Fucking hell.

“Ja’Marr,” he breathes out, panic mounting—and: dick hardening in his sweatpants because Ja’Marr fucking Chase is all over his lap grinding down, arms around his shoulders, pretty face right up to his with deep brown eyes staring him down intently—hands trembling, acutely aware that his boyfriend of six fucking years is staring right at them from across the room, still stealing said boyfriend’s fries. That fucking heifer, jesus, his diet always goes out the window in the 24-hour window of post-game leftover adrenaline rush.

Ja’Marr—his best friend, the prettiest motherfucker he’s ever had the pleasure of—doesn’t even do him the honor of replying, lips stretching wide into a pleased smile and keeps bumping his nose to Tee’s over and over like it’s a little game to him. It’s ridiculously cute—the minute touches, the way Tee has to go cross-eyed to see it, the weight of him all over, the heady scent of warm wood basking him, it calms him down, lowers his heart rate, settles his breathing, makes his eyelids flutter, trying to keep himself from closing the distance and kiss the man again, seems terribly unfair to just—only have a single chance in his life to kiss Ja’Marr Chase once when he’s still inches away with his body language so open and willing. Joe, to the side, still fucking eating, not even acting offended even the slightest past the minute exasperated jesus christ, ja’marr, shoots him a weird dorky thumbs-up. The hell.

“You’re—“ Tee chokes out finally, acutely aware of every point of his palm pressed against the cotton wrapped around his best friend’s waist. Acutely aware of how his fingers are twitching, wanting, aching—to grip tighter, to drag downwards and under the hemline and then roughly up the warmth of skin, scrub at the expanse of it available and feel it shiver against the skin of his own palm. The only reason he doesn’t is because every joint, every muscle, every tendon in his body is locked up in, what, fear? Sheer desperate want? A man collapsed inches away from an oasis appearing out of nowhere in a once barren desert, heat pouring over his body and making everything wobbly and blurry—his vision actually going a bit blurry because—

Fuck it all to hell, if he cries in Ja’Marr Chase’s face just because he kissed him he’s killing himself and taking everyone with him.

Ja’Marr coos, pretty face closing in again and Tee automatically flutters his eyes shut just for the other man to press his lips softly against the thin skin of his left eyelid, keep dragging them along his lashes, letting his liquid tears seep into the crevice of his lips and pool around the corner of his lips, over the bridge of his nose, again to his right eye, and down to the highest point of his cheek—just to press harder and leave a wet imprint from his own tears.

God, Ja’Marr fucking Chase.

“You really gotta say something,” Tee squeezes out harshly, eyes squeezed shut tight and trying to breathe through his nose.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” is what Ja’Marr says, thumb brushing away the wet spots on his cheeks. Which. Well. Maybe Tee should’ve just told him to shut the fuck up and get off of him before he does something he’d regret, like—like kiss him again. And again. And again. Again, again, again, again, over, and over, and over, and over until he drops dead because he’d never grow tired of it, he doesn’t think.

“I see,” Tee says, not really seeing. He knows he’s ’fucking gorgeous’ but come one now, really.

Ja’Marr grins bright right up against his face, of course knowing what Tee’s not saying.

Joe leans down, nudging his boyfriend to the side, hunching over the two, tucks a palm to the side of Tee’s neck, all nine inches of it spanning across his skin like a hot brand, and kisses him too.

Tee breathes into his mouth, doesn’t even know how to kiss back, flabbergasted as he is, weighted down by his best friend on his lap, a hand on his neck that might as well feel like a noose, buzzing in his ears, a match of want being struck in him and he doesn’t know if it’s by him or if it’s actually the people he wants.

Joe hums against his mouth, lips turning down, “you’re not kissing me back,”

He’s actually fucking pouting against Tee’s mouth, Tee realizes. He doesn’t even want to let go of the kiss to speak, doesn't want to pout away from Tee’s lips. Oh god. What is Tee doing.

Tee surges up, arms clenching around Ja’Marr’s waist, teeth tugging at Joe’s bottom lip, and kisses his quarterback right this time, feels him stretch his lips to a smile even as he licks into Tee’s mouth and sighs into the kiss. He’s relaxing his shoulders, drooping down, evening out—he was tense, he was worried, neck veins slightly popping, Tee realizes. This was important to him. Tee kissing him back—was important. To him.

Oh.

Tee sighs into the kiss, too, relaxes and licks into the space he’s being granted access into, for the first time ever.

Ja’Marr gets handsy, apparently pleased as a peach at the grip Tee has on his waist. He presses his knees harder to the sides of Tee’s hips and grinds his hips down on his lap, palms exploring his torso all over, nails dragging across his nipples over the cotton of his shirt, face all over the skin exposed by the stretched elastic of his t-shirt’s neckline, tonguing his neck, his collarbone, biting his pulsepoint and making him gasp into Joe’s mouth.

next steps — i swell like a late summer jackfruit; my skin roughens, the pulp of my body so thick; i wait to be speared and wanted; if squeezed, i’ll leave my color on your hands (hồ xuân hương, jackfruit)

Joe pushes his back firmly and he follows through blindly. It’s his house, but Joe knows exactly where eveything is and he trusts literally anywhere this man leads him to, and, also, he’s really fucking distracted by this:

Ja’Marr bites at his chin, right by his beard, and Tee gasps—he’s a freak, what is with him, why is that so fucking hot—and he keeps tugging on the strings of Tee’s sweatpants, fingers brushing deliberately over the tent in his pants, then straight up cupping and squeezing his dick through the cotton when Joe makes them stop to turn a corner. Tee has to just shove the little shit towards the wall, press his head hard against it, and sloppily kiss his mouth to teach him some sort of lesson of some success god what is Tee trying to accomplish here Ja’Marr is so fucking—

An arm—Joe—circles his waist, pushing forcefully between the miniscule space between his belly and Ja’Marr’s and wrenches him back from the other receiver. He whines, fingers scrabbling at his best friend—”Wait! No!”—while Ja’Marr is just laughing and tilting his head back into the wall as he grins teasingly at their quarterback, “what, jealous?”

Joe reaches out and twists his left nipple through his tank top. Ja’Marr yelps and starts yelling expletives at him. Tee, leaning back into Joe’s embrace, sighs exasperatedly. Of course they’re doing this, even now.

Ja’Marr steps closer, trying to smack at Joe through Tee, and Tee puts his hands on his biceps to stop him—gets distracted, starts sliding his hands up and down the length of them because, fuck, how can he not, and then just grabs them and tugs him closer to kiss him all over again with Joe’s arm between their bodies. Man, whatever.

Joe sighs exasperatedly, pressed up all against his back, but he really can’t be all that pissed, because he’s mouthing all up Tee’s neck—what is with him and necks, jesus,

He’s shivering, caught in the middle, Joe in front, Ja’Marr behind, hands all over him, standing up but he’s falling, stumbling but he’s being held up. There’s a boy in front of him, and there’s a boy behind him, and who is he but another boy asking to be loved and held.

He’s leaning back to Ja’Marr’s chest now, tilted to the side so he can turn his face and kiss him still, the other man’s hand spanning across his face pinning him to place as he presses his tongue into his mouth and moans into it, as loud as he always is anywhere else. Another mouth is all over his chest, tonguing at his nipples, teeth scraping over the dark of his tattoos, panting all over him like a dog, god.

He doesn’t wear boxers at home, and the two know that precisely, Joe stroking his cock through the cotton of sweatpants like it isn’t even there, the grey fabric getting soaked through. He lowers his mouth over it, eyes looking straight up at Tee and asks if he could. Tee nods frantically, not even knowing what the fuck he wants but it’s Joe Burrow, he could do whatever he wants to Tee and Tee would lay in his arms like a supplicant and rip his chest open all pretty and bloody and let Joe Burrow dip his chin in and lap it all up.

He whimpers into Ja’Marr’s mouth, fluttering open his eyes, eyelashes clumpy with tears, sweat, he doesn’t know, and Ja’Marr coos, brushing kisses over his eyes as he drags his palms all over Tee’s belly, scraping nails over his pubes and pressing down in time with Joe going down on him like he knows the exact rhythm of Joe’s every move and plan, even here, even now, even over the sweat and smell of sex of Tee’s body—especially, Tee thinks, over his body.

that’s one — makes a cathedral, him pressing against me, his lips on my neck, and yes, i do believe his mouth is heaven, his kisses falling over me like stars (richard siken, crush)

Ja’Marr breathes into his ear, biting at the helix and scraping his teeth over it like a dog. Tee whimpers, turning his head to catch his mouth in his and clack their teeth together, a shock of pain grounding him to earth so he wouldn’t float up to the heavens too high. Ja’Marr huffs out a laugh against his lips, “Knock it off, dickhead, I know what you’re doing.”

Tee scowls at him, hands tightening on Joe’s hair instead of reaching out to twist and pinch on his skin, like punishing one of them is the same as punishing the other, really, an extension of a singular subject. Joe groans around his cock, extremely pleased, of fucking course he is, and Tee keeps tugging at his roots in exasperation. Fucking masochistic little shit.

Ja’Marr snickers, dragging his tongue all over his neck, “See, natural Joe Burrow knower. Made just for him—to be his receiver, just like me.”

Ja’Marr, honestly, why the fuck is he like this—

Joe and Tee both groan in unison, Tee coming off it in a whine because, fuck, Joe’s mouth is still all up around his dick, the vibrations traveling up straight to his brain and fucking him up beyond repair.

Joe pulls off with an actual wet pop! and twists a hand harshly around his cock—which feels really fucking good, the fuck—like an apology that he isn’t sucking Tee’s dick continuously since he got the chance to, and pushes his torso up to prop his face by Tee’s head, cheeks pressed up against his, chin digging into his shoulder, and he can feel him kiss Ja’Marr rough and wet, with tongue and spit and biting at his lips.

Fucking helllll, they’re trying to kill him.

The man still twisting his hand around his cock like he’s getting paid to presses his cheek harder against Tee’s, and he’s jawing at Ja’Marr, Tee realizes with a breathless laugh—”Would you quit saying shit like that so shamelessly midsex it ruins the fucking vibe.” “What fucking vibe? If anything I’m adding to it, bitch, get back to sucking his dick, the fuck.”—and Joe slinks back down right after like he didn’t just stop mid-blowjob to argue with Ja’Marr over the receiver’s uncensored prattling.

Tee whimpers, Joe’s mouth enveloping his cock again like it’s made for it, all heat and tightness and perfect

how do you write people getting their dick sucked. exactly. no really.

ja'marr lets him breathe but he's instantly kissing down his neck and biting his collarbones and pushing him down and dragging a tongue over his chest tattoos he's /relentless/ and when he looks to where joe is its to him grinning down at him with a hand guiding ja'marr /down/ 'that's one. you got me three right?'

“That’s one,” Joe says, his little impish smile Tee has recorded into his brain countless of times before shining down at him, lips dark red, chin and mouth all wet with Tee’s spunk, “You gave me three.”

“Three what,” Tee asks, stupidly, ears still ringing from the force of his orgasm. He’s still so focused on the bright wet glint of liquid decorating Joe’s lower face, his come, staining his skin. Joe isn’t wiping it away, letting it dry on his skin, flaking and caking and clumping against the corner of his lips. Tee wants to lick it away, drag it into his mouth with his tongue, switch it up and leave bite marks all around his pretty lips. All the red in the cold, now red from his teeth. Would Joe let him. Would Ja’Marr let him. Would he let himself mark that pale skin up, leave parts of himself all over his quarterback in ways he’s never had the guts to even finish the thought of before tonight?

Joe leans closer, mouth over him, damn the fact that Tee’s own come is all over his mouth now. Three, Joe murmurs as he kisses him filthily, sliding his tongue through the gap of his teeth, over his papillae, staining his breath with something of his own. Tee wants a shot of Joe’s own come down his throat, drenching the lining of his esophagus. The thought makes his moan, makes him choke into Joe’s throat, and the older man swallows him whole.

Fuck, three—do they—are they trying to get him to come three times, the same amount of times he caught Joe’s pass for a touchdown? Christ. He’s getting lightheaded.

He laughs incredulously, flicking his eyes down to Ja’Marr mouthing incessantly at his navel, teeth scraping along the black lines of his tattoos, exactly like he said he wanted too. Makes Tee woozy with want, how Ja’Marr gets needy and desperate for it, thirsting over Tee’s body. How many times has he stared at him naked? Tattoos bared and thought to put his mouth on him? Drag a finger down the lines of stars on his stomach? He has never once caught Ja’Marr’s eyes on them—how sneaky had the other man been?

Joe’s hand is right on the younger man’s head like a brand, like he can’t bear to let go. on his head guiding him

, then back to the blond still staring him down. His smile is just as mischievous as it always is. Are they going to take turns, now? That’s the hottest shit he’s ever thought of, probably.

“What,” he can’t help but say, scoffing and teasing Ja’Marr, reaching a hand to tug on his ear and scratch at his cheek because he’s so fucking fond of this man he can’t keep it in, really, “you looking to suck me off too?”

Ja’Marr tugs on his dick, his sensitive dick—bitch—and Tee hisses at him, stopping his loving scritches to outright pinch at his ear because never the fuck he minds, this man is such a fucking brat, he can’t put this guard down at all.

The younger man jerks his head away, laughing. He grins up at Tee, teeth bright and eyes even brighter. “Nah, I don’t like shit down my throat. Wanna fuck me instead?”

Tee chokes on his spit. He blacks out, he thinks, by the question alone. By the idea alone. By the thought alone. His brain tries conjuring images and then it just short circuits. Where is he. Who is he. Why is he.

His head gets cradled, pulled to the side by a hand and he’s being kissed by a smiling mouth, pulled back down to earth slowly and surely until he’s kissing back voluntarily instead of on autopilot. Joe, hand pressed to his cheek and eyes wide open even as he’s stealing Tee’s breath away by kissing him sweetly and thoroughly. What a freak. Who kisses with their eyes wide open. Joe Fucking Burrow, that’s who. His quarterback who threw him three touchdowns and tried biting his neck on national television. Posted on every NFL official social media accounts and sent to him by his high school friends with the words bruh u fucking ur qb??? Which he apparently is, now.

“He asked you a question,” Joe murmurs against his lips. Right. Sure.

Tee looks down to his lap and, damn, what a fucking image. Ja’Marr Chase, laying belly down on his bed with his torso half over Tee’s thighs, a hand curled loosely around his sensitive dick, the other holding his hand—when did that happen, Tee is squeezing it tight unconsciously and now he can’t let go even if he tried—cheek pressed to his left thigh looking up at him with his pupils blown wide open waiting patiently for Tee to look at him.

Right.

“You get to choose,” Ja’Marr says when he notices he’s got Tee’s attention. He tugs at Tee’s soft cock again—

“It’s not a toy,” Tee yelps, his unoccupied hand automatically curling around the other receiver’s hand around his dick.

Ja’Marr just grins wider up at him, unsticking his cheek from his thigh to press a kiss on the hand wrapped around his wrist.

“You get to choose,” he says again, “Fuck my ass or my thighs?”

Tee lets out a sound only audible to dogs and dolphins and aliens 900 billion light years away, probably. Ja’Marr smiles up at him, looking so shily pleased that he can reduce Tee to such a state by just asking a simple question. He has no fucking business looking so sweetly enamored up at Tee after asking if he would rather fuck him in the ass or his thighs.

He’s jostled around again, Joe tugging at his hips to the side so Ja’Marr can haul his ass up to sit by them. This seems to be a theme, with these two, pushy on the field and off the field and in the bedroom—he can’t even say he’s never even thought of it, Burrow-Chase dynamic duo, in whatever form, whatever shape, whatever way he can have them. In his dreams only, he thought, but. But.

Ja’Marr is spreading open the hand he’s kept on holding since god knows when—like an emotional support hand holding he’s got to keep a hold on to get through sex and that thought genuinely fucks Tee up in ways he’s never even thought of—and he drops a whole packet of lube he procured out of fucking nowhere.

Tee stares blankly down at it. Holy shit.

“Bro, you’re taking too long,” Ja’Marr says. Tee flicks his eyes up to look blankly at him. “I want you in me, like, yesterday.”

He’s trying to fucking kill him, Tee realizes. Calling him bro, asking to fuck him in the ass, the fuck is wrong with him.

“You gonna finger me open or I gotta do it myself?”

NggGgRrrHff.

Tee doesn’t even know what came out of his mouth, surging his torso forward and bringing his hand up to tug at Ja’Marr’s skull, palm all over the back of his head so he can tug him closer to his face and lick his mouth open and just shut him the fuck up.

Ja’Marr whimpers, the cocky slope of his shoulders slumping down like a puppet with its strings cut, hauling closer near desperately to settle over Tee’s lap and press his palms over his shoulders for support—kissing Tee right back, breathing hot haaas over Tee’s mouth as he tries gasping for breath.

Tee tugs on his lips with his teeth, presses wet kisses to the side of his cheeks, drags his own lips over his skin back to the tender spot of his jaw, bites over it, pecks a little kiss in apology, then presses his cheek over Ja’Marr’s hard so he can tug roughly on his earlobe with his teeth—thinks he can devour the other man whole, really, from the sheer hunger in his gut built up from day one of over-familiarly dapping him up and hauling him in for a hug under the then-flickering lights of Paul Brown Stadium in 2021.

The lube’s gone from his fingers. He realizes this because someone is tugging Ja’Marr’s hips up so he’s kneeling over him, then pressing a finger in without so much as an ’excuse me’.

Christ, Joe is so fucking.

Tee can't even find the words, really, to describe his quarterback.

Ja’Marr yelps, gasps, clutches tighter at Tee’s shoulder, eyelashes fluttering close as he tries to keep kneeling but Joe is apparently ruthless when he's opening someone up because the younger man just collapses all over Tee, Tee letting his weight down him as drags both hands over the other man’s back to soothe him.

“Want—” Ja’Marr chokes out against the skin of Tee’s neck, “—want you.”

Joe huffs out a laugh as he mercilessly twists two fingers inside his receiver’s ass. Tee feels dizzy looking at the

“Oh I see,” Joe says, dangerously amused, “I see how it is, can't even settle for me no more, huh, when you got Tee Higgins at your beck and call?”

His fingers slip out, shining under the dim lighting of Tee’s night settings, and then he slaps a hand over Ja’Marr’s ass like every part of him is for him to toy over. Tee is still so fucking woozy from the image of it all, his hand rubbing at Ja’Marr’s back sliding lower to smooth over the sting from Joe’s palm.

(god, what an ass. tee can't help himself, grabs a handful of it and tugs it to the side to show his hole, shining wetly from joe’s fingers, a whole invitation for him. tee wants to put his whole mouth on it. lick him open nice and easy. press a finger in and watch as his entire body tremble and shake.)

Joe grins at him, wide and a bit mean, cocky and soooo full of himself, precisely like every other time he makes an insane throw, a run further than his usual short stops, a little overtime nail-biter win like just hours ago: his ice-in-my-veins shot that Tee paused and contemplated jerking off to hours before this.

He reaches over Ja’Marr's body between them, kisses Tee like he’s giving him his approval, then turns and presses the sweetest kiss to Ja’Marr’s nose, damn the fact that the other man is glaring and outright pouting at him.

“Bro,” he croaks out, talking to Tee but trying to shoot daggers at Joe with his eyes, “let me up, let me take this bitch down for one second then we can go right back.”

Joe giggles bright like an actual child, keeps pressing kisses over whatever parts of Ja’Marr’s face he could reach until the younger man’s lips stretch out wobbly for a smile that he can't help, still whining at Joe to shut the fuck up, would he, just for one day.

Tee grins wide in spite of himself too, hands still all over his best friend’s ass and lips still tingling from a kiss from his quarterback.

He drags his arm up so he can cradle Ja’Marr, fingers reaching over to grip at his jaw and twist it until he's looking right at him and putting all that focus on Tee, murmurs low and raspy: “you said you want me?”, and shamelessly delights in the way the other man’s pupils dilate wide and gorgeous.

“Fuck you,” Ja’Marr says, jaw working against Tee’s grip, “Get your fucking fingers in me before i force myself on your dick, damn it.”

that’s two — from the base of her neck, to the arch of her eyelids, her beauty made a slave of me (adonis, transformations of the lover)

Ja’Marr nestles himself on his mound of pillows—Tee’s pillows. The pillows Tee sleeps with. His favorite pillows. The dark maroon sheets caressing his bare skin as he lounges on his self made throne, as he spreads open his legs, slipping one more pillow under his hips so he can present his ass to Joe and Tee and look expectantly at them. Tee is still so fucking lightheaded. How did he go from scoring three touchdowns to scoring a whole other touchdown? Ja’Marr—his best friend—who ducked his head to grin slilly up at him not four hours ago, telling him the next round of WR room steak dinner was on him.

Joe pours lube all over Tee’s fingers,

Joe’s plastering himself all over his back, but he isn’t pushing him at all. He’s just—there. Pressed up all over him, moving with him, breathing over the skin of his neck, nosing behind his ear. He’s letting Tee control how he wants to fuck his man, Tee realizes with a jolt, trusting him with Ja’Marr.

joe plastered all over tee's back, cock nestled against his ass but he's not pushing tee around he's just following his movements, letting tee control how he wants to enter ja'marr and that also fucks tee up because joes trusting him with ja'marr!! with how he treats ja'marr at his most vulnerable!!!! telling him he can go harder, ja'marr likes whatever, can take whatever, joe leaing a hand in his belly and pushing to add in extra sensation of pleasure when tee pushes /in/ for the first time and he just collapses all over ja'marr and they're all groaning hoarsely in unison because fuck tees in ja'marr and he just pushed his ass back all over joes dick

Joe snickers at the other receiver. Tee feels him lift up an arm, nails scratching at his scalp. He’s murmuring softly at him, but Tee doesn’t think Ja’Marr is really computing any of it.

��Aren’t you being so agreeable tonight? Some Tee Higgins magic keeping you all pliant and malleable?”

Ja’Marr whimpers, lifting his chin and biting at Joe’s fingers. Joe huffs, chest vibrating against Tee’s back, and every square inch of Tee’s body is filled with warmth.

calls him baby

ja’marr gets fucked up when tee calls him baby because joe calls him baby btw so

that’s three — to love someone is firstly to confess: i'm prepared to be devastated by you (billy-ray belcourt, a history of my brief body)

He’s leaning all over Ja’Marr now, gazing down the man who’s grinning woozily up at him

Joe, nosing the back of his neck and palming his ass cheeks asking him if he likes to be fucked. Ja’Marr, hands still shaky coming up to drag over his sides and settle over his ribs like a key settling into a lock and clicking into place. Tee himself, chest expanding with breath and skin bristling with want from so deep within him it feels like it’s bursting out and changing the hue of his skin to red, to blue, to orange and black, purple and green, magenta and cyan, a kaleidoscope of colors like the big bang theory—he’s a new universe stretching and expanding and these two are his first and only planets, never to be let go.

He feels stripped bare in front of these two—is his every thought and want obvious in his face and every motion now? Do they see, now, how much he wants them? How much he—loves them? Is it obvious, now, that when he speaks to them he’s speaking like there’s a lodge of do you think of me when you’re alone without me wanting to burst out from his throat? That he aches alone in the center of a crowd when he doesn’t have them beside him? When he has them beside him, even, because they’re not really his to have? Does it show? Do they know? Do they care to know? Does he care to show them?

Tee breathes out loudly, ragged and deep. Joe shushes him, blows air against the curve of his C7. Ja’Marr surges up, presses kisses against his wet cheeks and babbles unknown words to him like he’s speaking through his shitty mic on stream. Tee would miss it, if their randomly scheduled streams were ever to peter off. Tee would miss them, if they were ever to fade away from him.

“Baby,” Ja’Marr coos, “sweetheart, my sweet, my love, my heart, my gorgeous,”

Tee shudders away against his lips and feels the man behind him curve a smile against the skin stretched over his cervical spine.

“My baby,” Joe joins in, voice jokingly grave, “my gorgeous, my sweet—”

“—quit copying me,” Ja’Marr whines, cutting him off, but he’s grinning against Tee’s lips, so he knows he’s just doing so to be annoying—just to put a smile on Tee’s face and it’s working, Tee huffing wetly against the stretch of his grin.

“—my number five,” Joe continues on without pausing, barely a fletch in his voice, “my silly rabbit, best hands in the league, insane body control, prettiest smile in the whole fucking world, favorite receiver to throw to—”

“Hey now,” Ja’Marr whines in earnest now, hands reaching around Tee’s body to stab around blindly at their quarterback. Tee breaks down in laughter for real this time, collapsing fully on the man in the bottom of the pile, letting Ja’Marr find a whole other thing to whine about—’teeeeee you’re crushing me you ass, joe don’t you fucking try it!’—and there was ice creeping from every distal edge of his limbs to the core of him, but there’s nothing but warmth now, chasing it away, clouding his head, keeping him sane.

“But really now,” Joe interrupts, tugging his hips up impatiently, “I really wanna fuck you, do you wanna?”

Right. Jesus. Joe fucking Burrow, everyone.

Ja’Marr hums, peppering his cheek with kisses again, ever so free with his sweet affections. “Ten out of ten,” he says, “would recommend.”

Tee stares sideways at him, still settled with his weight fully on him. “That a full Yelp review for a Joe Burrow fuck?”

Ja’Marr sighs dreamily, scratching at Tee’s sides, “Do you really want one?”

Jesus.

Tee wiggles around, dragging his body against Ja’Marr’s and the man beneath him giggles when he brushes his fingers deliberately against his sides. He twists until he’s peering at Joe, squinting at him and pretending that the man didn’t just suck his dick so good Tee cried and stared at him like a second coming of Christ. Blasphemous, sacrilegious, irreverent, and yet, he has yet to be struck down and smitten—or perhaps he already has, and this is all a byproduct of his imaginary ruin.

“Think you can make it good?” He asks imperiously, already knowing in his bones this man would be as good at fucking as he is at literally anything else, as well evidenced by his previous attempt at giving Tee what was possibly the best blowjob of his life just, what, 40 minutes prior?

Joe scoffs, ducking his head down and pecking at his lips. “I just sucked your dick to incoherency, the fuck do you mean ‘can i make it good’? I got a pretty mouth and a pretty dick, think for yourself.”

Tee chokes in sheer disbelief—heart stuttering a bit at the brief press of lips but what-the-fuck-ever—the ego on this man, jesus. He flicks his eyes to the pink of his lips—shining, distracting, real fucking pretty—then, well, down past the puffy nipples and golden dusting of chest hair and layer of fat over abs to the nice curve of a cock—thick and long, veiny, a blushy pink head, a weirdly sexy little jolt like it’s show-ponying, like it knows he’s watching it and wants to show it likes it—that Joe likes Tee watching him. Yeah, real fucking pretty dick, too, damn it, fuck Joe Burrow.

Tee whines, turning back around to bury his face—knowing damn well it’s burning red even through the dark of his skin—in the curve of Ja’Marr’s neck and tries not to let the dual laughter of the boys who’ve quite literally captured his heart stutter it too much. Failed, but whatever, he’s got way too much practice over the years regulating his heartbeat to normalcy around these two.

Joe goes to scrape his teeth along the top his spine again and Tee shivers, feeling like prey caught in the maw of a tiger, which really won’t do—he’s a fucking bengal too, damn it. He bucks his hips back firmly, makes sure to rub the curve of his ass against the hard of his quarterback’s dick and hides his satisfied smile against his fellow receiver’s jaw when Joe gasps loud and startled, hand coming to grip at his hip hard, probably leaving bruises for him to brush his fingers wonderingly over later on.

Ja’Marr snickers approvingly, pressing his jaw back firmly against Tee’s mouth, “Yeah, tell him who’s boss, make him work for it.”

Tee presses a kiss right to the tender skin below his jawbone, leaves it there for a beat, two, three, feels like maybe he can make out the faint fluttering of his heartbeat against his lips, then lets up to say drily, “Pretty sure all your raving reviews does wonders for his ego. Don’t act like you’re not to blame here, Mr. Joe Burrow’s Numero Uno.”

Ja’Marr just shrugs unapologetically the best he could, pressed down as he is with Tee’s full weight all over him to the bed, never really one to be shy about his near piety to one Joe Burrow when it’s just them three. He’s been circling indistinct little patterns on the skin of Tee’s hips the whole time, but he stops for a minute to reach a hand up and tap a little rhythm teasingly over Joe’s thigh, now kneeling to the side, the only one still hard and with zero orgasms to his name that night, pouting but not admitting it.

Tee very obviously wouldn’t say no to having Joe’s dick inside him but playing hard-to-get just so Joe Burrow would pout and whine about not getting to fuck him is really—really fucking cute, actually, wow. Wow, god, Tee is so gone for him, he should really take a step back and regulate his entire life and emotional capacity, wow. Wow.

and in the end — over a distance of four hundred miles, her yearning and his yearning are intertwined, as though there were no spatial or temporal interval between them (jenny erpenbeck, kairos)

After it’s all done and not said, then, Tee’s left naked in the middle of the hallway leading to his bathroom, unable to take the steps back to his own room where his best friends are, clutching at his towel after having just pissed, and having orgasmed three fucking times by the combined willpower of his two closest teammates, all because he scored three touchdowns for a game—that might possibly be his last home game with them—that had playoff stakes. Fuck.

Heavy footsteps come up to him and he flicks his eyes up to see Joe staring him down—naked, gorgeous, sweat-slicked, his quarterback, his friend. Who had just fucked the bejeesus out of him.

Tee drags a hand down his face harshly. Stupid. So fucking stupid.

The lilt of Ja’Marr’s voice when he says my sweet, when he’s referring to Tee as my heart, when he’s saying Tee as my gorgeous. When Joe says gravely, jokingly, possessively, my number five, he’s saying that about Tee.

Joe catches his hands—both of them—towel slipping away, and holds them and tugs at them until Tee is stumbling into him, lifting his chin up awkwardly so he won’t slam it into Joe’s nose but Joe doesn’t even do him the honor of avoiding it. He just tucks it into the curve of his Adam’s apple and breathes in deep like a weirdo. How many times has Tee just caught him with his nose buried in Ja’Marr’s neck as he hugs the receiver—how many times has he caught the man nudge his nose to the curve of Tee’s shoulder, right at the base of his neck, after a game when he comes to him for a hug. Oh.

“Joe,” Tee breathes out, trembles, wonders how he’s supposed to word this out, how he’s supposed to say how he feels, how he’s supposed to say t

Ja’Marr, breathing in his air and telling him he doesn’t want him to leave.

Tee sees Joe grin down his phone at ass o’clock in the morning and knows he’s reading i love you in between the letters of Ja’Marr’s why the fuck is all of cincy awake at 7 in the morning.

Ja’Marr says hey, all sleepy with the vowel dragging and it sounds like come here, you two. Tee goes, Joe right behind him a half step away.

a little more down the line — the only heaven i’ll be sent to, is when i’m alone with you (hozier, take me to church)

you do like all those pet names

he calls me all that all the time joe says nosing behind tees ear

i like calling you that too tee says, amused. letting his neck bend even more, what even are the words uncomfortable stretch when joe burrow has his nose buried in the curve of it.

you called me baby, ja’marr says then, shy and a little quiet, like he’s saying something he keeps close to him and isn’t sure how he should breach it out of him.

i call him that, joe says next, grin audible even if its not visible from where he’s pressed up behind tee

oh. tee called him baby, told him to come for him, and ja’marr gasped into his mouth and bursted all over tee’s belly, drenching him in white, whimpering as he stared into tee’s eyes with his own watering but still kept it open, didn't even close it because he didn’t want to. couldn't, maybe, tee thinks again.

oh, tee says out loud for real then, bumping his nose forward to ja’marr like he's learning that ja’marr likes to do, okay then, baby, come here, baby, let me see you, baby.

ja’marr laughs, bumps his nose right back. don't wear it thin.

never, tee swears.

my baby, my baby, joe murmurs finally into the back of tee’s neck, pressing his fingers into the insides of ja’marr’s elbows.

i want more thumps. i want more time. i want to waste my love on everything. give me a heart for ohio. —(joy sullivan, instructions for traveling west, an octopus has three whole hearts)

more time together for these three, please.

WHICH APPARENTLY HEY THEY DID IT 😭😭👍👍👍👍 GOOD FOR THEM!!! trey next so help me!! when treys news comes out (🙏) maybe ill post that treymarr unfinished oblivious courting fic idk we'll see that ones more of a mess than this and also wayyy shorter lmao but anyways:::: thank u for reading through this all if u made it to this end note 😇🫶 goodbye see u again whenever i have it in me to show up again akdhsjdjdj love yall bengals super bowl 2k26 Believe! or whatever it is they all say in that 2021 run ��

thank you for every one of you who've come into my inbox to ask how i am by the way!!!! adore and miss you all very much <33

#my writing #ignore the shittiness of format and mess of words that don't cohere to the previous paragraphs i beg #and a whole lot of gaps between some scenes lmao well.#this is unedited and unrefined and unfinished and all those other uns #some of the paragraphs with all the // for italics are what i sent to casey in our chats btw if ur confused 😭 used it as guidance or smth i #joeteemarr #fic: all on his mouth like liquor #oh wait ifeel like i should present some excuse as to why i checked out for a long while here #started my clinical rotations!! currently going through obgyn and dying from it bc if im being honest no one here is sane #i literally have a test tomorrow and am prepared to get yelled at for being a dumbass to my face so #cheers ♥️ would try to be more active but no promisea ahahahahahshhs #and im actually getting ready for my night shift please pray that it goes well so i can study for my minicex through it god i am soo fucked #but i wanted to do /something/ for the teemarr contract extension!! so. well.#god they really said take both of us or not at all thats /crazy/ btw like #tee changed AGENTS so theyd construct their contracts easier and probably added each other to some unspoken clauses or whatever idk how #contract negotiations work but like this is genuinely something you only read about in football au fics thats genuinely crazy of them #ja'marr clinger extraordinaire and tee whos supremely unselfish and clings back bc ja'marr wants him to like thats fucking /crazy/ oh my god #also confessing i do still stalk here sometimes to chat with casey to get my rpf fix and i do send anon messages when i can ahhaahha :")))#hilarious if some of you can guess which ones i sent btw #ANYWYAS GOODBYEN😭😭🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

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katyspersonal · 28 days ago

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Hello, I hope you don’t mind me asking but I’ve always wondered what are your thoughts on Radahn?

I feel like he’s probably the most misunderstood character in the whole game at this point. I constantly see people trying to blame certain events on him (like the Leyndell siege) when there seems to be no evidence that he was even there. There’s the art of him fighting with Margit in the intro but in my opinion that doesn’t necessarily mean it took place outside Leyndell. It could have happened at Stormveil as we do know Radahn had beef with Godrick at one point. However, there is no sign of any Redmane activity on the battleground outside the capital.

This is also why I’m so confused at people who say he wanted to be a Lord when there’s nothing in his lore that says that. He idolizes Godfrey for his battle prowess, but that doesn’t mean he wanted to become a Lord like him. Another thing I see people say is that he was a warmonger, which again I find to be unfair to him as he is never stated to have started any wars. The only war he was a part of he didn’t start and only seemd to be defending himself from Miquella and Malenia who were hellbent on using him against his will. Sorry if this seems like rambling only it annoys me when people try to paint him as a bad person when the game literally tells us he was kind and probably the closest to being a decent Demigod when compared to his siblings

Hey, Anon! Thank you for this ask! I can actually agree with the general sentiment you are expressing! Though there is an idea I feel like actually works!

For example, it makes a lot of sense that he would have attacked Leyendell!

This is the image of Morgott fighting Radahn, right? And this is what Kenneth has to say about Godrick that addresses it:

Yes, it could seem as though this is just Morgott defending Godrick, but there is a seeming plothole as to who was responsible for the Second Defence of Leyendell then! Attack of Godrick and Godefroy triggered the First Defence of Leyendell, and seemed to have been an attempt to strike back after being driven out from their place by right:

Godrick only attempted to invade the capital once, and since then has been crashed! However, not only the 'Fell Omen' became associated with defending the Erdtree, so, the Elden Throne, but also the first time he got mentioned in history was during the Second Defence of Leyendell:

And while it's true that Morgott also defends Godrick, I feel like Kenneth would have made mention of it. Morgott also didn't defend him from Malenia, so everything goes honestly. He might have only started doing so because of the rows of Tarnished that could threaten the weak Demigod

Radahn admires Godfrey and the days of heroic battle glory associated with him, that's for sure! The days by now gone, replaced with a more "modern", scholarly vision of the Erdtree / Golden Order, the days that he yearns for. To think of it, he doesn't really have an ideological reason to attack Godrick, since the two want the same, admire the same and think the same! 🤔 However, he might have wanted to challenge him as he is the true heir to Godfrey, maybe not being aware that Godrick is incapable! Alternatively, Radahn might have simply wanted the Lordship, and getting rid of the competition!

Radahn and Godrick are, however, listed amongst traitors by Morgott all the same, when with Godrick we know he wanted the throne! He is very much what Morgott had wished at least one """proper""" Demigod would do, and yet? So this doesn't exclude Radahn from being like this. I think the "traitor" aspect here comes from the fact that both Godrick and Radahn wish for the Golden Order to no longer be what it is, they want to bring back the glory battle days of pre-Radagon era. Radagon is Golden Order and Golden Order is Erdtree, the seal would not open even if Morgott never resisted either of the attacks on Leyendell and put a red carpet path before them!

^^^ I also definitely don't think that it was Rykard who was responsible for the second attack on Leyendell! If anything, it seems that Morgott has shown the initiative to deal with his blasphemy to himself and sent his army on Mt. Gelmir after him!

So, Rykard was attacked first, Godrick and Godefroy only attacked Leyendell once, Malenia and Miquella certainly had no interest in it... This all only leaves Radahn as a good candidate for the second attack, and the image of Morgott kicking his ass that we see just helps! All in all, it is a reasonable assumption!

As for the "warmonger" part, I believe this must be the culprit:

It seems like it should be a plot twist, a subversion of what we had previously learned of Radahn, right...? But I'd rather say it is an effect of unreliable narrator! If I had to choose who must know Radahn more out of the two, I'd definitely choose Jerren!

Both were very close friends of Radahn, this is certain, and both basically got "adopted" by him from their previous lifestyle. But whereas Jerren was a lonesome, wandering kind of a guy that ended up admiring Radahn so much that he finally found something to hold dear by his side, Freyja already has been a gladiator and Radahn himself wanted such a brave and strong person in his army!

I think Freyja is acting impulsively from what she knows of Radahn. He was cool and he would for sure want to live again so he can keep fighting. She doesn't even seem to realise Miquella's world won't allow him to do endless wars, and says that endless war "befits" Radahn better! She doesn't state this is what he would have wanted, she specifically says it is... simply more badass? Is this it? x) It seems to be just her opinion. It is no much different in Japanese script:

ジェーレン爺には悪いが、ラダーン将軍には、戦いこそが相応しい名誉ある最期などよりも、ずっとな終わりなき戦い、燃えるような戦いそれでこそ、ラダーン将軍。それでこそ、獅子だ

Yes, whereas Radahn values a great fight more than anything, would the proud lion that he is really accept the humiliation of being cheatcoded away from his sworn death in a battle?

At the same time, whereas Radahn had an oath with Jerren of giving each other an honorable death, he also had a vow with Miquella to join him as a consort. 🤔 In Japanese, both the oath in description with Jerren and the vow with Miquella use the word 約束 (so, a promise, or one's word). ( x ) ( x ) If Malenia and Radahn fought, did that mean that Radahn already broke a promise once? Or the intention was that he would only be "reborn" through death in a battle, but it went wrong? But why it took such a long time to make sure he got defeated properly? Or maybe this promise never meant much for Radahn and he was just humouring young Miquella? Or a promise only existed in Miquella's head to begin with?

For example, Radahn started to study the gravity magic just so he could continue riding Leonard, but in the process became hungry for more and mastered it to the point of battling the stars themselves! It is certainly not out of character for him to change his mind in the process, so, to "grow out" of his promise with Miquella! He was younger, after all. But unlike an oath of "killing ourselves and getting married when we grow up :3", an oath of letting his friend die on a high note if something bad happens and receiving the same oath is NOT a thing the guy basing his whole personality on glory and honor would take lightly! I think what Freyja says is just the final nail in the coffin of Radahn's agency, even if she certainly doesn't have an ill intent...

Japanese text says it more like "they did not have" or "that they lacked", as well as calls them weak/fragile rather than afflicted:

幼き日、ミケラはラダーンに王を見た脆弱な自分たちにはない、強さをそして優しさを

The "stark contrast" just makes them sound as if they were opposites of these traits, and it also doesn't work! The twins are far from weak and evil respectively! If anything, original text instead gives an impression of Malenia and Miquella not having this level of strength and kindness! There was a big gap rather than a complete absence, something to aspire to, especially if the twins were still little. It would actually be sweet if Malenia was inspired to grow up a strong warrior and Miquella was inspired to be as kind as possible all because Radahn gave them a good role model back then ;-;

______________________

In general, I think the assumption that he attacked Leyendell too is reasonable! He also certainly loves the battle and is at his peak when he challenges and conquers, as well as admires a guy responsible for a lot of territorial aggressions! Someone who lives to fight can be definitely addressed as a warmonger, and the whole sentiment of "missing good old days" that were not actually good but torn with wars and conquests can be rather uncomfortable for some people! Heck, I addressed him as a warmonger on multiple occasions! This is fair, but just like you said, he is definitely not the worst!

I'd also say that when you discuss fictional characters though, words like "warmonger", "tyrant", "fascist" etc are a good thing! Characters are just narrative tools to showcase a standpoint or to progress a story, and war criminal characters are able to showcase absolutely unique situations and mindsets! That is, it only works as long as the term truly applies to a character, and I am not always sure if it does with Radahn.

He is a good character and is definitely heroic from the internal logic of Elden Ring's standpoint, and he doesn't deserve the negativity he gets in the fandom! Mostly from the Twitbr side; ever since Redditors crowned him as their king, fans developed a reflexive repulsion by this character and kept acting like it was a valid way to engage with the story, and after SOTE he gets additional bashing for "stealing the spot" from Godwyn or Malenia or whatever! This is where acting like the statement of him being kind is some huge contradiction comes from

#elden ring #starscourge radahn #ask replies #elden ring reference #elden ring observation #screenshots

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sordidmusings · 11 months ago

Text

Sweetly Scented Secrets - Intro (Reader x CYOE Various)

Summary: On a stop to a new island, you managed to find yourself at a witch's stall. Despite yourself, you actually bought some things. The purchase that vexes you is a perfume that could supposedly urge confessions out of those it targets.

Word Count: ~1.8k

A/N: this is some good ol’ Nonsense that came from this ridiculous video of a man spraying himself with perfume then seemingly being unable to keep divulging So Much so suddenly 💀 I have been told that he frequently dissociates into a state of info dumping. I will choose to believe the perfume compelled him. And thus it will compel the blorbos. Some will be sfw and some nsfw (and tagged accordingly of course). All will likely be goofy. I will play with which is which and who happens based on my fancy unless requested! This gets out first cuz it was p much done Forever Ago so all I had to do was fill it out and edit it and make a mood board then set it to come out on a Monday cuz Fuck Em

Warnings: gn! reader (I tend to write from afab perspective since that’s what I am so if something slips please let me know 🤍 this goes for all my gn!), a wild OC appears! Take her in all her cringy glory 👌🏻, I just always wanna write witches man, can’t decide if magic (largely in the modern western esoterica sense) being legitimate counts as canon divergence, if so then this is canon adjacent 🤷🏼‍♀️

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

A spiritual crisis was not how you wanted to start your morning.

You were stuck between the deep-rooted desire to believe in magic and every skeptic you’ve ever known talking down their nose at you. It felt like a very unbalanced war between the two. The weight of scorn had tamped down your wish for magic to be fact for years, but a wanting pit in your chest still clung to “what if”. That pit had begun to grow roots and stems as the Grand Line showed you places and life beyond the scope of your imagination. What explanation was there for Devil Fruits besides magic? Though, magic, it seems, was only for Gods to deal out. Earthly life must keep trying to use science to catch up or fight for what scraps the Gods toss their way.

You continued to stare dubiously at the carved stone bottle in your hand. Delicate, swooping letters decorated its soft pink label, spelling out “Affection’s Confession” in deep violet. Gold accents brought out their curves and matched the shimmering golden wax that sealed the bottle’s cork and dripped down to crawl on the translucent fluorite vessel. It sat heavy in your hand, each second passing with it in your palm adding another gram to it then another and another. You sighed and placed it back on your dresser to stare some more. The light dancing through the sloshing clear liquid, bouncing and glimmering through lines of blue and green and purple, only made it more enticing to you.

Your hesitation was exacerbated by the perfume’s seller. Well, maybe potion was a better word? Saying “potion” made you feel silly though, even if it was given to you by a witch. And that brings you back to the whole problem.

The last island you’d visited was known for its strange customs and belief in the arcane. Most weren’t living by the practice; just knew of its validity as yet another mundane fact of life. Finding the actual practitioners was much harder, or it was supposed to be.

You would’ve had to have been blind or willfully, stubbornly ignorant to see that woman and think anything other than “witch”. Feathers and beads were tied in her dark hair, swaying in time with her vertebrae earrings on each turn of her head to watch passersby. You kept your eyes to them as you approached her, feeling unsettled and intrigued by the strange decorations. Shortly after you began heading towards her, her face snapped to you and she zeroed in, making you feel like a rabbit stalled before a fox. When she stood from her seat and sashayed over to greet you in front of her stall, you realized she was barefoot, sporting wood and leather anklets instead of shoes. The music they beat with each of her steps and the open smile that warmed her face eased you just a bit.

“Hello, sweet thing,” she greeted, the cheery tone of her voice ringing out the pet name. “I can help you find just what you need. The coven and I have built a stock to aid any situation, including yours.”

As she leaned forward in a semblance of a bow, you noticed her large necklace of braided bramble (Thorns still on? you noticed incredulously) hung low, holding dried roses in front of her cleavage. The languid way it followed her matched the nature of the scant drapings of deep red and dirty beige fabric, which hung on her in the vague shape of a summer dress. She held out her suntanned arms, palms up to ask for your hands. Having her this close nearly made you step back; something unnatural lived in the air around her and her tawny eyes saw right through doors and walls and words and skin. Feeling hesitant, you continued to meet her gaze and only offered a mumbled greeting.

“Come now, let me have your hands,” she encouraged gently. “They’ll tell me what you need.”

“How are they supposed to do that?” you asked curtly. “And I usually like knowing someone’s name before hand-holding.”

“Call me Pythia,” she chimed immediately, still holding her bent posture and asking hands. “I don’t have the time to explain the hands. I promise I won’t keep them though.” She giggled at her own… joke? You were hoping that was a joke. You eyed the peeks of death behind her (articulated bugs here, bones there, jarred creatures, hides, blood-) that made all the pretty wares around them seem tainted.

Watching her laugh was the first time you noticed the knack her loving smile had for curling into something more impish, cluing you in that she knew something you didn’t. Despite this making her feel even more dangerous to interact with, you put your hands in hers.

“Thank you, lovely,” Pythia said, voice heavy with a gratefulness that didn’t seem to fit the moment to you. While she cradled your hands, you took in the many carved rings and bangles of stone, leather, metal, and bone cautiously.

That caution had rooted itself to you and was very stubbornly sticking to your feelings about her wares. Besides the perfume, you had purchased an herbal pouch to hang over your bed, meant to aid with ease and depth of sleep. The first night, you noticed your mind was much calmer than its usual anxious whirring before bed. The second night, you listened to the first of her instructions and took ten deep breaths through your nose against the sigil-embroidered pouch. Your sleep came mere minutes after taking in the floral and earthy scent. It had you decide to try out the full instructions, adding on asking the herbs for good rest, placing a gentle kiss to the sigil, and sealing it with a long press of your forehead to the marking. You slept like the dead.

The success had you brainstorming on how to make it back to her in a few months, as she had warned you that the effects will fade with use. It has only been three weeks since your first full ritual with the pouch and you can already feel it start to wane just a bit. You mourned this morning when the sun through your window had actually managed to rouse you from sleep. When you were grumpily blinking at the bright light, you had noticed the perfume bottle still sitting untouched next to the beaming light.

If the pouch worked then shouldn’t this?

That hope was what led you to stare over the bottle as you were now, and try to convince yourself that it wouldn’t be so ridiculous to try out. After all, you had felt quite stupid speaking to your herb pouch and that feeling paled in comparison to the benefits it brought you. You took another minute to mull it over then steeled yourself with a deep breath to go through opening up the bottle.

You found and flipped open your pocket knife before settling on your bed with the bottle. As Pythia had instructed, you placed a kiss on each flat side of the blade before cutting around the rim of the bottle, right where the cork met glass. You thanked the blade and flipped it back closed. You twisted the cork out, took a deep breath filled with curiosity, and smelt… nothing?

Pulling the opening of the bottle to press on your upper lip, you took another long sniff. Yep. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

You frowned at the bottle, wondering if the witch had actually managed to sell you snake oil. You sent your narrowed gaze to the herb pouch above your bed then back to the bottle in your grip, mulling over your trust in the liquid. Eventually, a mix of previous success and your burning curiosity got you to continue trying the perfume out. You were also pretty sure you saw actual snake oil in her shop, so that handed the witch a point for gumption and a deduction from trickery.

Her instructions were quite detailed for the perfume to be at its most potent. Things about the meanings associated with fingers and the places on the body and the importance of the order and all of it seemed to jumble together. When you asked if she had anything to write it down, she shrugged and told you what you remembered of the instructions was the act meant for you to take. Maddeningly unhelpful. So you sat on your bed and ran them through your memory until you were sure you recalled everything as clearly as possible. After a good while meditating on it, you were surprised by the detail that your mind let you recall of it. You were ready.

Blocking the small opening with your right ring finger, you overturned the bottle and flipped it back, leaving a drop of the substance on your fingertip. After repeating the process on the other side, you took to dabbing the prescribed spots with those fingers, making sure your right hand touched your left side and your left hand touched your right. You focused on following the list exactly - a dot on the front of each ankle, a dab on the center of the top of the thighs, one on each hip bone, a small swipe along each bottom rib. Each application was made with a whisper of “I can receive”.

Refreshing the liquid on your fingers, this time your pinky fingers, you continued to the next section. You placed a dab at the center of each clavicle, a swipe on the back ends of the jaw, and a circle on each temple, this time muttering “I can hear” with each touch. The liquid placed on each middle finger was rubbed into the opposite wrist to the words “I can unlock”. Lastly, you used your index fingers to draw a star on your third eye. This time right stayed with right and left with left when you flicked the bottom points to aim at your irises (“I can see”) and the side points to follow your brow (“I can know“). Your fingers joined together to draw the final point directly towards the crown of your head. With finality, you voiced a solid and steady “I can understand”.

Once you had finished applying, you noticed a sweet smell start to emanate from your skin. It was quite delicate at first, luring you to lean closer and seek it out. That pull only increased as you also sought more of the pleasant sensation warming your mind with each lungful of the scent. After a good thirty seconds, it leveled out, leaving you feeling boneless and content like you’d woken from a nap basking in the sun. The face of your love smiling down on you during a lazy summer afternoon flashed in your mind with the feeling.

Okay, maybe this will make them confess to me.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

Whose confession do you seek?

(list of who I have ideas for in no particular order) Law, Ace, Sanji, Nami, Robin, Koby, Luffy, Buggy, Mihawk

Other names are not unwelcome, just the juices weren't flowing for others vibing immediately with the energy of this prompt but tbh sometimes the challenge of that makes better fics. If you do want to request, please include sfw or nsfw and whether you want gn, afab, amab, fem, or masc. If you don't then my personal default is afab (female physiology, avoided or they/them pronouns for gender). I'm a bit nervous about writing transfem and transmasc properly, but so long as you're okay giving it a once over and pointing if I've made mistakes so I can correct them then I'm happy to try!

Also I had to fight the urge to start this with a dumbass joke hard lol the other first lines were "There are two wolves within you. Both of them are telling you this is likely a crock of shit."

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pineapples-island · 7 days ago

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Note: personality may be inaccurate but I’ll try my best

~ Intro ~

“None shall dare lay foot upon my sacred domain!”

Welcome to Pineapple Island! This blog is run by Ananas Dragon Cookie, primarily titled as The Golden Dragon!

Please, admire the dragon in all of its grand glory, and be honored you have had the right to meet them…

“Have you Brought offerings for me?”

Mod will answer in pink text

Other info under line

~ Other Blogs ~

@moonfirecookies - main blog

@integrity-and-corruption - Beast + Ancient oc blog

~ Rules ~

Please no extreme suggestive/nsfw asks. While I am ok with certain aspects, please do not go to far.

No Homophobia, Transphobia, Racism, all of that stuff, I don’t want any of that here. (Basic DNI criteria)

I’m ok with shipping! Im a multishipper, please be respectful towards ships even if you personally don’t like the ship.

Do not ask for any personal information!

~ Tags ~

#Dragons Call - In character answers

#Golden Blight - main story

#Falling Stalagmites - side story stuff

#Scales Off - ooc posts

#Dragons Call #Golden Blight #Falling Stalagmites #Scales Off #cookie run kingdom #cr kingdom #crk #cookie run rp #rp blog #cookie run ovenbreak #cr ovenbreak

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britcision · 1 year ago

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Someone on reddit was talking about not liking Laios in episode 6 and all that wasting time with the living paintings and people were explaining about the death mechanics and why they’re actually hurrying for what they’re trying to do, and the Shuro talk later

And like. Yup. Yup those are the none spoiler reasons we have for this episode and taking so much time in the living paintings. And yup it shows Laios’ monster knowledge is not absolute

You know why this was a whole manga chapter though? Why this was such a big part of the episode?

BECAUSE THE LIVING PAINTINGS CONTAIN CRITICAL FUCKING BACKGROUND INFORMATION THAT IS GOING TO BE IMPORTANT AS SHIT LATER ON LIKE WHO THE KING OF THE GOLDEN FUCKING COUNTRY IS AND THAT GODDAMN ELF

That’s our intro to THE LORD OF THE FUCKING DUNGEON

The guy who RECOGNISED Laios between paintings (and holy shit the implication that Thistle just spends his time inside those paintings reliving the glory days???)

It’s almost like there is information about things OTHER than the main party and most basic level of story that could be picked up on with the most basic level of curiosity about anything other than “sister in dragon”

And I’m not making a reddit account about it it is just baffling to me that no one even hinted that these Living Paintings Depicting Important Events From The History Of The Kingdom might possibly contain extra information about the goddamn kingdom

Or The Character That Was In All Three And Specifically Interacted With Laios And That He Brought Up To The Others might just possibly be relevant later on

I just. The lack of curiosity. It baffles me

#delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon anime ep 6 #dungeon meshi spoilers #i guess

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axkirak · 8 months ago

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The Curse of Cassandra [EP : VIII]

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings : Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader) [The Acolyte]

Content waring : Mention of substance abuse and references to suicide. (Be careful when using spice and drinking the Water of Life because it can kill you!)

tags/themes : Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

Summary : In a dream, you return to the planet Arrakis, Where you uncover the terrifying mysteries of an uncertain future. The only way to learn the answers to your impending fate is to drink 'it' But are you ready to know the whole truth, or will you die before you find out?

Status: finished writing this fic! (It will end in Episode 14)

A/N : This is the chapter I think is the best of all the ones I’ve written so far LOL. Can you guess who that mysterious guy is?

Ps.If you enjoy my work, please reblog it. Just liking the post won’t help others discover it.

➡ Intro // EP : 1 // EP : 2 // EP : 3 // EP : 4 // EP : 5 // EP : 6 // EP : 7 // EP : 9 // EP : 10 // EP : 11 // EP : 12 // EP : 13 // EP : 14 (Completed)

Special OS : Phantom Thread // My mother is my enemy

[Episodes 8] Try looking into that place where you dare not look! You'll find me there, staring out at you.

Arrakis—Dune—Desert Planet

The words surfaced from nowhere as your mind sank into slumber.

In the space between sleep and waking, you saw a dim stone cavern illuminated by the faint glow of glowglobes. Every shadowy corner was filled with people—the people of the desert, whose blue eyes mirrored your own.

“Look outside,” a mysterious voice echoed, resonating throughout the cavern. It was a crackling sound, a blend of many voices, young and old at once.

You did as the voice commanded. looking out from the mouth of the cave. Beyond, a vast desert stretches endlessly. a barren and desolate expanse, yet radiant under the faint iridescent haze of pre-dawn mist.

For a moment, a long-forgotten poem your mother once recited came to mind:

My lungs taste the air of time.

blown past falling sands.

The pale white sun began its slow ascent over the edge of the cliff. Its milky light touches the dust suspended over the sands, casting a dazzling blend of yellow and blue sparkles.

A warm desert breeze stirs, carrying with it the faint scent of cinnamon, dust drifting into the cave and filling your senses. Your awareness sharpens.

The dust drifting over the desert—it's spice, you realized. And this was Arrakis, without a doubt.

Suddenly, a wave of longing and sorrow overwhelms you, so intense that tears well up in your eyes, and you begin to sob.

Arrakis—a forgotten planet, long erased from the annals of history. This place was the homeland of the Fremen. It is a past that can never be reclaimed, a place that was both the origin and the final chapter of your people.

At that instant, you hear a low murmur from deep within the cave. It sounds like a prayer, an entreaty, echoing the same phrase over and over: “Lisan al-Gaib.” The name of the prophesied one, the man who once led Arrakis to its greatest glory, and the one who ultimately destroyed everything.

It is said that when Paul Atreides first heard the Fremen call him Lisan al-Gaib, he felt the stirrings of a dark will buried deep within himself.

And that was exactly what you felt now—the seed of a familiar darkness, blooming somewhere in the vision, as if it had always been a part of you.

As you blinked again, the image of Arrakis faded, dissolving into memories of a future yet to come. You found yourself on Tatooine, standing before a young boy with golden hair, dressed in tattered clothes. Deep in your subconscious, a whisper told you this was your descendant, born centuries from now—the second Kwisatz Haderach, another man of prophecy believed to bring balance to the Force, rising above both Sith and Jedi.

You watched his life unfold, each moment passing like sand falling through an hourglass. From a small boy, he grew into a Padawan, then a Jedi Knight, before being consumed by the Dark Side. He forsook the Jedi way and transformed into a Sith, becoming a powerful and ruthless Dark Lord of the Sith, waging war across the galaxy. He laid waste to planets, extinguishing millions of lives—a catastrophe no different from the Jihad ignited by the first Kwisatz Haderach.

In the stream of visions, the name of Paul Atreides had been replaced by a new tyrant’s name—Anakin Skywalker.

"The only way you'll know is if you drink it," the same collective voice echoed once more in your mind. This time, it sounded exactly like your mother’s voice.

You remembered a moment five years ago—the last time you spoke with your mother. Her image remained vividly imprinted in your memory, as clear as if it had happened only yesterday. You saw her sitting across from you at the old, weathered table, her hand offering you a glass filled with a clear, blue liquid.

It wasn’t just any poison—it was what the Fremen call the ‘Water of Life’, a sacred substance distilled from the death of a sandworm. The ultimate test for a Sayyadina[1] and Bene Gesserit seeking to ascend to the rank of Reverend Mother. A trial with only two possible outcomes: pass the test or perish.

What your mother did wasn’t a deliberate attempt at suicide. It was a gamble—a risk she took to prove herself. Over the millennia, countless others had attempted this feat, but they all failed and died. Your mother was one of them. And you might face the same fate if you choose to take on this trial.

There was only a ten percent chance of success.

"Drink it."

The mysterious voice from your dream still haunts you as you wake at dawn.

You jolt awake, cold sweat beading on your forehead. Everything from the dream leaves you shaken, terrified by the future that lies ahead—a fate beyond your control. Your descendant will become a calamity to the galaxy, a tyrant whose name will be spoken with fear—Darth Vader.

That morning, you tell Qimir that you’re not feeling well. The pallor of your face, a result of your nightmares, makes the lie all the more convincing. He allows you to rest while he takes over managing the pharmacy. Once Qimir leaves the house, you return to your bed, sitting cross-legged, closing your eyes, and focusing on your breath. entering the Bene Gesserit meditation state. You probe through the opaque veil of time, stepping into the murky streams of the future that swirl all around you.

There must be a path, you think. A path to avoid catastrophe, a path where there is no second Kwisatz Haderach.

Your mind aches from the strain of using your prescient power, as if you've been staring at a bright light for too long. But what's different is that in your vision, there is no light—only darkness, a suffocating void that consumes every possible path, leaving no trace of the future in sight.

Anxiety grips you tighter. You push deeper, delving as far as your weakened powers allow. Yet, no matter what you attempt, everything remains unchanged—you can no longer perceive what lies ahead

How is this possible? you wonder. It's not that your power has disappeared; it's still there in your body, an inseparable part of you. But why can’t you see anything?

Then the realization strikes. This is an omen, a sign of impending disaster—of evil and death obscured from sight. A forbidden zone in the stream of time, one only a Reverend Mother or a Kwisatz Haderach can break through.

You snap out of your trance, fear swelling in your chest as you remember the cryptic words whispered in your dream:

"The only way you'll know is if you drink it."

You know what you have to do next, but you are too afraid to do it. Not because you fear death, but because you're well aware of the consequences that would follow if you succeeded.

In that case, you would rather die.

“I have no choice,” you murmur, letting yourself sink into a moment of despair. Suddenly, a profound loneliness envelops you—one you’ve never felt before. Deep within your soul, you sense that Paul Atreides experienced the same when he first accepted the name Lisan al-Gaib, fully aware of the terrible fate awaiting him.

Even the Kwisatz Haderach cannot escape the dreadful destiny they foresee.

You can only hope—hope that you won't end up like Paul, hope that there is still a chance to change something before everything spirals into a darkness far worse than you can imagine.

You rise to your feet and step toward the chest of clothes at the foot of the bed, nestled against the wall. Slowly, you lift its wooden lid, a soft creak breaking the silence. Reaching deep beneath the pile of clothes, your fingers brush against something cool, hidden underneath. You pull it out, revealing a gleaming, clear glass bottle containing a bright blue liquid—the poison your mother gave you five years ago. You didn’t drink it then but kept it sealed, hidden away, never once thinking to use it. Until today.

You pull out the wooden stopper, inhaling the scent of cinnamon wafting into your nose. As you raise the bottle to your lips, you recite your mother's teachings in your mind over and over, fighting to quell the rising fear and hesitation.

I must not fear.

Fear is the mindkiller.

Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration.

I will face my fear.

I will permit it to pass over me and through me.

And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path.

Where the fear has gone, there will be nothing.

Only I will remain.

The litany washes over you, bringing a sense of calm. With eyes closed and a steady breath, you focus your mind. In one swift motion, you drink the poison down in a single gulp.

The sweet, effervescent taste of the Water of Life spreads from your tongue down to your stomach. Every cell in your body rapidly absorbs the strange substance. You feel a wave of heat from head to toe, surging through your veins and flowing into every nerve. The poison takes over completely, overwhelming your consciousness, while your white blood cells frantically scramble to keep you alive.

You now find yourself teetering on the fragile threshold between life and death.

Your senses begin to falter. The images in your eyes flicker between clarity and blurriness. Your entire body feels weightless and numb. You don’t even feel the pain when your face crashes hard onto the wooden floor.

And suddenly, everything falls into utter silence, as if time has abruptly frozen.

Your mind and body have completely detached. You are now nothing more than a speck of dust floating aimlessly through the vast, infinite expanse of space. You can feel and perceive everything—everything happening in the present, the past, and the future—all layered upon one another like a grand library. Your essence drifts, brushing against the spines of each book, books bearing your name, the names of your ancestors, and the names of the Reverend Mothers who came before. As you touch them, you see their memories—the vivid images of every one of them standing in a long line across the desert of time, stretching out as far as the eye can see.

A voice rings out from nowhere, gravelly and harsh, belonging to a man. What have you done? The Water of Life will kill you! He barks, his voice sharp with fury, making you jolt and tremble. You’re dying. You’re not ready for this trial!

In the shared awareness, you sense the authority behind his voice, a power that fills you with awe and trepidation. Still, you argue back, There’s no time... you know why I had to drink it. Your voice is so weak, barely a whisper. I need to see it. Please let me see it.

Silence follows, and you feel his concern and tension. Whoever this man is, he genuinely cares for you. His mind races to find a way to save you as your life force flickers, fading with every passing second, and could extinguish at any time.

He’s right—you’re dying. You're too weak to bear the weight of full awakening all at once.

There’s only one way, he says quickly. You must let me in. Let me become one with you. But if you do, you may be consumed. You will never be the same again. Will you accept me?

You know well that you have no other choice left. I accept you answer.

In that moment, your eyes perceive a brilliant light. The dust of another essence is floating towards you, sparkling like stars in the night sky.

Slowly and gently, that dust gradually moves closer until it touches yours, merging with you and blending into one harmonious being.

A warmth spreads through your body, enveloping you in a soft embrace and comforting you like a father holding his beloved daughter. It is a feeling of familiarity and safety you have long yearned for.

You absorb his essence, just as he absorbs yours, sharing your very being with each other. This process allows you to access his experiences. You witness it all through your own eyes—his memories, his life, his love, his losses, his death. All floods into you at once.

You’re utterly astounded when you realize who this mysterious man is.

But there’s no time for questions. Your consciousness is now being pulled toward a massive black hole, driven there by his will. The knowledge unlocked by the Water of Life makes you realize that this is the core of the prophecy you have been searching for: ‘Alam al-Mithal,’[2] the hidden truth of the universe, the mysterious place of time that only the Kwisatz Haderach can access.

The strange gravitational force from the bottomless void pulls you in, drawing you closer and closer until every part of you is engulfed by the darkness

And then, in an instant, you comprehend everything—every moment, everywhere in every universe—laid bare before you.

A torrent of infinite information floods into you, threatening to tear you apart piece by piece. Overwhelmed beyond all limits, your perception is crushed mercilessly. Your mind twists and compresses, teetering on the brink of shattering, pulling you toward the abyss of madness.

In the physical realm, your body convulses violently, internally ravaged by unseen wounds. Crimson blood trickles from your eyes, ears, nose, and quivering lips.

You are on the verge of losing your sanity, and your life hangs by a thread. But at that critical moment, another presence gently envelops you, shielding you. A faint, raspy whisper echoes in your mind. Don't worry. Stay calm. You'll be alright.

The voice is soft yet imbued with immense power, like a cool breeze sweeping across a scorching desert.

Your body begins to relax. Your mind returns to equilibrium, smoothing out all your thoughts into a unified calm.

You become like an enlightened being, observing the endless cycle of all life. Familiar stories and characters swirl in a scene that has shifted from what you once knew.

Amidst the beginning and end of all things, you witness your own tale: before you were just a small life in your mother's womb. Your mother, driven by fierce determination, attempted to create a new Kwisatz Haderach. She consumed vast amounts of spice while pregnant, hoping to birth a son who would be a male Bene Gesserit like Paul Atreides. However, the poison claimed the life of the male child before he could be born, leaving only a daughter to survive.

You—the daughter who was branded as an abomination from birth, the one who drank the Water of Life and rose to become the last Reverend Mother, destined to give birth to a daughter, continuing the bloodline of women through generation after generation, until the first man is born into the family—Anakin Skywalker, the chosen one, the second Kwisatz Haderach.

But on the path leading to the brutal war a century from now, you will face countless deaths along the way. You foresee a vision of Jedi corpses scattered across the ground and a Sith in a black cloak, wearing a cracked metal helmet, towering before you, holding a crimson lightsaber in his hand. You instinctively recognize him as the same man who has haunted your dreams and the same assassin who murdered the Jedi on Orega.

You can feel it in your soul. You and he are destined to meet soon.

This is a script written from the very beginning. Your birth and the story that follows were fated to be thus, like threads intricately woven seamlessly into the grand tapestry of the universe.

The stream of time, past and future, merges into one before splitting into two main paths. It reveals the beginning that leads to the ultimate end, where you will face a pivotal decision that will determine the fate of all life.

To stop it, or to let it happen

The immense weight of responsibility presses down on your shoulders, as if carrying the burden of the entire universe. You cry, but it is a silent weeping, without tears, in the void of your own consciousness.

You and I—we all have our roles to play.

The same voice of the man speaks to you. Now, his memories and essence have become part of you. You aren’t even sure who you are anymore. Are you him, or is he you?

Before you can respond, you feel a pull from the real world, intruding into your thoughts. A voice shouting your name, broken and intermittently, like a radio signal disrupted by interference. It is followed by a flood of emotions—grief, confusion, and anger—from someone else that ripples through your awareness.

Qimir His name comes to you, and you know it is time to wake up.

Slowly, you open your eyes. Your blurred vision finally focuses on the weathered, worn-out wooden ceiling above. Black rings of mold mottle the wood in patches. You find yourself lying on a bed, your clothes having been changed. You try to move, but your body feels completely drained of all strength. The poison has dulled every sensation—no heat, no cold, no pain—until the sound of a familiar voice calls your name.

“Hara. Look at me.”

Hara You mull over the name through the fog of your mind. In Chakobsa,[3] it means 'destruction'.

Finally, you understand why your mother gave you this name. Because my bloodline is that of a destroyer

You blink and turn your gaze to Qimir, who sits beside your bed. His face is much more gaunt than before, and the lines of his bones are clearly visible. His bloodshot eyes are filled with strain, dark circles forming underneath as though he hasn’t slept in days. His large hand grips yours tightly, his intense eyes never wavering from you.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he rasps, his voice shaking with the effort to control his rising anger. “Three weeks—three weeks you’ve been unconscious because of that damn poison. What were you trying to do? Were you trying to kill yourself?”

You shut your eyes, unable to bear looking at him for even a second longer. Not because of hatred, but because of what you have seen in the mysterious realm of Alam al-Mithal.

You feel a gentle touch on your cheek, Qimir's rough hand caressing your face carefully. "Is it because of me? Am I the reason you did this to yourself?”

At last, you open your eyes again, meeting his gaze. You want so badly to tell him it isn’t his fault and that he has no part in this terrible chain of events. But you know that would be a lie, and Qimir would surely see right through you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, seeing the pain in Qimir’s weary eyes, the many tears he has shed for you during those long, silent three weeks. Weeks in which he barely ate or slept, searching desperately for a way to keep you breathing.

The Water of Life has expanded your perceptions, transforming what were once fleeting glimpses into a clear understanding. Now, you can see and know everything. But even without this heightened awareness, it takes no special insight to recognize the depth of Qimir's feelings for you. His love is profound, silent, and undeniable—a truth you instantly perceive from the emotional bond between you and him.

Your heart clenches with the conflict that tears at you. You love him as he loves you, but you are also terrified of the truth that this love will become the spark of catastrophe, bringing destruction to both of you and many others.

You bury your sorrow for the future that hasn’t yet arrived. You lift your hand, placing it over Qimir’s hand, still resting on your cheek. “I love you,” you whisper, the words coming from the deepest part of your heart.

Qimir gazes at you, and you can see the flicker of emotion in his eyes. He nods slightly before responding, “I know.” Then he leans down and places a gentle kiss on your forehead.

You swallow the sob that is lodged in your throat, guilt rising in your chest. You know there is no other choice. You have to do what is necessary to protect something far greater, even if it means destroying the trust and love he has for you.

You can only pray that he will still be able to forgive you for the decision you're about to make.

Footnotes:

[1] Sayyadina (meaning ‘friend of God’ in Chakobsa) was used by the Fremen to describe their lower-ranking priestesses who had not yet transformed the Water of Life and become Reverend Mothers. Their position is comparable to the Bene Gesserit Sisters, as both come from the same religious roots

[2] Alam al-Mithal from the Dune novels is a mystical realm in religious belief where physical limitations vanish and the minds of some deceased individuals reside. This world connects God with His creations, offering communion, revelation, and prophecy to messengers and prophets. Only the Kwisatz Haderach can access this realm.

[3] Chakobsa is a fictional language from the Dune series, used primarily by the Fremen people.

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