#its like a build up of nothingness

[stupidscav]

ok but like why do I keep having panic attacks(or something similar) like every day. what

[starseungs]

after the curtain falls. lmh

lee know x gn!reader — spring was a season welcomed by all. what a pity that the notion of ‘all’ exempted you.

genre/s — angst, fluff, its just hurt-comfort, university au • 2.9k words

warning/s — break-up aftermath, profanity, commitment issues, minho gets called a bad bf (sorry), there's a twist i swear !

note — its quite literally been a year since i last wrote a fic so i would love to know how the quality of my writing is !! feedback is greatly appreciated 🫶

2024 ⓒ starseungs on tumblr. do not steal, repost, or edit.

Spring was never supposed to be this lifeless.

It was a season of new beginnings, where growth is celebrated and life is nurtured back into full bloom. A time of bright colors and freshly scented air floating all throughout the expanse of space, bringing soft smiles of comfort towards anyone who takes it in. Springtime was welcomed by all.

What a pity that the notion of ‘all’ exempted you.

You didn’t know why your spring was so vastly different from the others near you. You’d like to think that your winter started off just as normal as everybody else: watching the crisp fallen leaves on the ground get replaced by a fresh coat of snow, feeling the familiar prick of the icy season’s breeze on your skin as your body tried to suppress a giggling shiver, as well as seeing puffs of steam come out of every warm breath you took, reminding you that despite the cold weather, you still held a warmth inside of you.

Just who would have known that your spring would be the complete opposite, with your heart frosted over despite the rising temperatures? But somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew exactly why. You would never want to catch yourself admitting it, but maybe it was the way your winter ended in a snowstorm of emotions.

It wasn’t every winter that someone had a fight that could completely shatter an intricately built mosaic. It also wasn’t every winter that you would watch your other half walk out of your life without so much of a single falter.

You knew so damn well that it wasn’t every winter that you could get your heart broken.

Perhaps that was why you allowed your heart to get glazed over by ice. After all, it was the only thing keeping it together without requiring you to spend too much effort. Sure, it melted a bit every now and then, but it was easier to freeze liquid than it was to achieve the complete opposite.

It was for the same reason that you found solace in the springtime evenings, where it resembled even half of the winter that was keeping you human. The dimmed atmosphere of the surroundings was able to neutralize all the parading palettes of color, leaving you with a monochrome wonderland that was much more comforting to the eye.

The walk back to your dorm building wasn’t anything special. It really wasn’t supposed to, nor did you expect something to happen. You had just gotten over the hurdles of coursework back in the school’s library when you decided to call it a day, peacefully trek back to your dorm room, and get to sleep the hours away until duty calls. That was how your evening was supposed to go.

Except it didn’t.

When you first saw a figure more or less passed out near the lower steps of your dorm building, you were visibly concerned. Why wouldn’t you be? At this time of the day, it would be dangerous to just leave yourself undefended in public. That, and who in their right mind would be willing to snooze away amidst the midnight breeze?

That was enough for you to start a little jog toward them. Was this person locked out? Were they drunk? Should you help them? All sorts of questions popped into your head as you got closer to the steps the figure took as their bed for the night.

And yet all those same questions vanished into thin air the moment you caught a glimpse of the person’s face.

“—Minho?”

His name came out of your lips so frail, as if any stronger, and the scene before you would shatter into nothingness, telling you once again that it was all in your head. That you had wished to see him again.

It was almost comical just how fast the sight of him brought back the familiar prick in your eyes—the tears fighting the crisp blow of the wind to keep themselves at bay. This wasn’t how your evening was supposed to go.

Granted, the fight between you was a petty one. Well, not more so petty than sudden since it literally blew up out of nowhere. It started off with a question about commitment. Arguably simple one of where you saw each other in a few years. You had gone first after you asked, rambling happily about graduation and living together. Minho chuckled along with your plans, and to you, he even seemed glad to hear them.

Yet, when the topic of marriage was brought up, his smile immediately turned blank.

Of course, you noticed his drastic change of mood right away. What kind of significant other would you be if you didn’t? But when you reached out to ask him what was wrong, he merely brushed it off as being tired.

Except that both you and him had done nothing but lay around the whole day.

Maybe you, too, had a fault in all of this. You prodded him more about the topic, not knowing you were agitating a ticking time bomb running out of time. If you only knew, then it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he eventually exploded, spitting out that he wasn’t too sure about marriage.

In your view, that would have been fine. You were willing to talk it out; perhaps he had other plans for the both of you that would settle just fine in yours. There was no way you’d pressure Minho into doing something he didn’t feel like doing. You had too much love and respect for him to do so.

It was in an unfortunate turn of events that you had to find out the sentiment wasn’t shared in the same way you did, as when he slammed your room’s door shut after expressing that it wouldn’t work out, he took a piece of your heart with him that left you incomplete on the days that followed.

And yet, there he was again. Marching into your life like nothing ever happened.

In a blinding flash of hot white fury, you marched up to Minho’s peaceful figure, blissfully unaware of the chaos headed his way. Your body shook in the repressed burst of energy, trying not to lose yourself in public despite the area devoid of people. After reaching him in less than a minute, you saw no hesitation in leaning down to wake him.

“Minho,” you grasped at his right shoulder, trying to shake him out of slumber. You saw the action as intense in a way that was borderline frantic, not a care for the state of the joint you had grabbed. After all, why would you? Yet, while you’d like to believe you did a great job at expressing your displeasure, a small voice pestering at the back of your mind begged to say otherwise.

It was a mere whisper—directed at the act you just committed, one that shouldn’t even bother you in the slightest. Yet, it did. So painfully so.

That kind of gentleness isn’t reserved for a heart swirling in rage.

The slight squeeze in your heart at the notion only made you grit your teeth further in displeasure. Curse your damned heart for keeping its fondness for the man before you. The same man who was still up in dreamland while you were fighting your own war at the present. You clicked your tongue in building irritation.

“Wake up, or else I’m leaving you out here to freeze.” With one last shove, Minho finally came back to Earth.

You watched as he fluttered his eyes open, ignoring the warmth that seemed to spread over you once you got a glimpse of his big almond eyes. Minho sure took his sweet time to process his surroundings, causing you to purse your lips in uncertainty when his gaze lingered on your figure towering over him a bit too long with an unexplainable emotion.

“Hi,” he mumbled slowly, a small smile ghosting on his rosy lips. “Even in my dreams, you never fail to look so lovely.”

Cold air filled your lungs as you sucked in a breath at his words. You hated the way he easily melted the ice that you had covered your heart in. Without even meaning to, Minho had already managed to tear down the first layer of protection you had set up to keep yourself sane. There were a lot of things you wanted to tell him back, but you held your tongue. This wasn’t the right time.

Nor would that time ever come.

“It’s not a dream,” you opted to inform him of what was left of the goodness in your heart, partly feeling guilty for his disoriented state. “Get up, Minho. It’s cold out here.”

“You’re—what, wait!”

Minho scrambled frantically from his seated position on the dorm building’s steps, clumsily finding his balance to get up. The rush of suddenly standing after a nap came over him like a wave, causing him to stumble with a groan as he let the blood that came up settle. You sighed at Minho’s efforts, turning back around to continue your way towards the entrance.

“You should go back home.”

“I won’t!” He replied in haste, pure desperation seeping over his words. “Not again. Not when I spend every passing hour regretting that I did back then when I clearly shouldn’t have.”

You felt your world still at what Minho had just said. Did you hear it correctly?

“Please, Y/N.”

Minho’s footsteps echoed in your mind, telling you that he was moving closer. But your body had yet to listen to the warning bells you had set off, keeping you still in the same place you had stopped in. You surprised yourself with the small whimper that escaped your lips after feeling warmth radiating right behind you.

“Can—can I hug you?”

And just like that, the dam broke as the first fits of sobs spluttered out of your body in waves, barely getting contained as Minho wrapped you with his arms firmly. You turned to face him just to throw weak punches at his chest. “I hate you so much!”

“I know,” he said, hugging you tighter, as if you would disappear the moment he eased his hold. “I know you do.”

“Do you know how hurt I was? How could you just leave me like that!”

“I don’t know,” Minho answers again, completely giving in to your inner turmoil. He let you dampen his hoodie with your tears without any reference. “I was stupid.”

“So stupid!”

“Very stupid,” he repeats your words without hesitation, finally pulling back slightly to see your tear-stained face, gently wiping the fresh drops that escaped with his thumb.

You cursed the way your body naturally leaned into his touch. You disliked the way his voice soothed your running mind from the horrors it placed upon yourself. You hated the way you felt comforted by his presence, the same way he hurt you with his absence.

And most of all, you despised the way you couldn’t bring yourself to stay mad at him.

“I’m sorry,” Minho said heavily, visibly trying to keep his own tears at bay. “I know that won’t fix all the things that happened, but I still wanted to let you know.”

You exhaled shakily.

“I—I won’t force you to accept my apology,” he continued. “But please—God, Y/N. I don’t think I’d be able to handle you telling me to go home and never fixing us. I wouldn’t survive in this world without you by my side. I promise I’ll do better for you. I’ll reflect on what I need to, just—”

Minho breathed in deeply.

“Give me another chance.”

The two of you breathed in unison for the first time in weeks.

“Cut!”

“Nice,” Jisung’s squeal of joy could be heard throughout the wide space, carefully fumbling with his video camera to watch the scene’s replay. “That was a great take!”

Seungmin groans at the noise level. “Seriously, would it hurt you to keep it down? Some people are already asleep,” he scoffs, really not wanting to deal with a complaint filed against them this late into the night.

The younger of the two only juts his lower lip forward into a childish pout. “But it’s only midnight. We’re in university. Who gets to sleep that early in university?” Seungmin only bites back a retort after sensing genuine confusion in Jisung’s tone.

“Whatever,” he grumbled.

At the sound of their bickering, the late night’s breeze didn’t seem to be as frosty as it was a few minutes ago. You distantly hear Seungmin and Jisung continue to talk, now finding themselves in a heated discussion about the next scene. A light chuckle was heard coming from the man still holding you.

“Well, I’m glad that they’re having fun,” Minho comments, greatly amused at the duo. You felt his gaze drop down towards your head, still resting on his shoulder. “Feeling okay?”

You could only nod at his query, too exhausted from enacting the scene that just finished. He hummed at your non-verbal approach to answering, running a hand through your hair to soothe your dropping emotions.

“What’s going on in that pretty little mind of yours?” You let out a soft giggle at his wording before snuggling yourself closer to his figure. Minho lets you do your thing with a smile.

“Let’s not ever do that.”

“Do what, love?” He asks, requesting that you elaborate. You listened to his heartbeat thump calmly before speaking up.

“Break up,” you said, the thought leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. “I don’t like the feeling. It hurts.”

Minho laughs again, but this time it was aimed at you. “Well, of course it’s going to hurt,” he says with a light tone. “You’re going to be losing me!” You slapped his arm in annoyance.

“You are such an ass, Lee Minho!”

“Ow—hold on!” He chokes out in between chuckles. Minho takes hold of the hand that was assaulting his arm, slipping it into his own and entangling both of your fingers. You couldn’t help the heat that washed over your face at the intimate action. Minho seemed satisfied with your reaction. “If it makes you feel better, it’s going to hurt me too.”

You pull away to raise a brow at his statement. “Why? Since you’ll be single?” Minho pretends to think for a second.

“I mean, I guess?” You shot him an icy glare at his admission, but the tender smile he gave back at you made your angry facade falter in an instant. It looks like on-screen you had the same issues with their own Minho—both being undeniably weak when it came to them.

“Stop giving me that look,” you sigh amidst a smile you were suppressing.

“What look?”

“That look,” you say, almost in a breath as you struggle to chase the words out of your mouth. “The one when you look at me like I’m the only person in this world.”

It was a look you’ve seen too many times. One that he would give you both at the most intimate of moments and the most random of times. You see it when you wake up in the morning to him already awake beside you; you saw it when you squealed in joy after winning a prize from those rigged claw machines in the arcade across town; and you see it especially when he sees you waiting outside his class’ building after an extensive lecture, holding two cups of coffee for both you and him. It was from those times that you realized—it was Minho’s gaze of unfiltered love for you.

Minho pulls you back into his arms, still unable to let go of his endearing grin. Your head finds its way back into the crevice of his neck, finding home in it once again, like second nature.

“That’s because you are the only person in my world.”

“We beg to differ.”

Minho could only roll his eyes at the eerily synchronized voices of Jisung and Seungmin, leaving you to crumble into fits of laughter. He scoffs before replying, “If I lose my beloved darling, then you guys are losing an actor.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be trying to salvage your relationship if you stopped being such a shit boyfriend!” Jisung bites back at Minho’s threat.

“What, so you would rather watch us be all lovey-dovey in front of you? I didn’t take you for that kind of person, Jisung.”

“Seungmin, he’s fighting me again!”

“What am I, your mom?”

The night continued on in blissful laughter and amused smiles, finally fitting for the season of spring. Even with the chilled breeze of the evening air, the warmth exuding from the four of you would remain, defrosting the ice you had layered on your heart for the scene given to you. Deep in your mind, you knew that this was really how your night was supposed to go.

That as much as you loved creating little scenarios for your friends’ films, you’d always prefer the life you had after the curtain falls.

mastertag 🔖— send in an ask if you want to be added ! 🫶

@fairyki @hysgf @euncsace @comet-falls @starlostseungmin @ameliesaysshoo @hyunverse @djeniryuu

sorry for anyone tagged that didn't want to be !! i used my old mastertag from a year ago for this fic. i'll be creating a new one soon, so kindly just tell me if you want to be included still 🤍

[anantaru]

✦ ۫ 𑄼ల۫  ۪ DEC 18TH — WARMING YOU UP

featuring: kaeya, venti, zhongli, kaveh, tighnari, cyno, kazuha, ayato x fem! reader

warnings: n.sfw, dacryphilia (venti), ૮⍝◠ ·̫ ◠⍝ა | event.

✦ 𝐊𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐀

you allowed yourself to lay back into the soft cushions of your bed.

you do not speak, but your breathing was fastened by the blissful wrap of kaeya's arms around your parted legs.

now right here and there, the sheer motion of his face lowered itself into you, the growing heat within your core sank down through your bones, covering the entirety of your nerves with the throb of your soft pussy yearning the touch of your lover.

"there?" from the start, he will tease you, always, tickling the desperation out of your now crumbling body as you mewled sensually, your eyes pulling daggers into his bronzed skin.

your fingers quickly got a hold of his long hair, fondling through the unruly strands to keep him as close to your most desired place as possible. "t-there."

"you're breathtaking when you're so open for me, you know that?"

with your eyes sliding close upon perceiving his warm breath on your tingling clit, you fell back to indulge, time stilling.

for some it might seem like nothingness, but the way kaeya handled your body couldn't be described in its totality.

easy, tender and without added pressure, as if you were to break under him any moment. His eyes were gentle too, the glow of love was visible on his dilated pupils, covering his blue eyes.

"let me take care of you beautiful, it's okay."

before anything, kaeya was gathering enough spit on his tongue, he prodded the wet muscle out to slick around the entirety of your spongy folds, smearing the filth on your pussy.

kaeya treasured your taste, the sweet scent and your hitching noises whenever he pranced his tongue deeper, buried himself past your labia to hit your clit, so close and maddening, you couldn't possibly hold back the desire to forcefully push him down your ache.

the unbearably sensual combination of his wet and skilled tongue had your brain laced in pure ecstasy, building your arousal with little to no control left on your body.

✦ 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈

at first, you barely felt the handiwork venti put you through, after all his fingers were simply stirring over your warm cunt, not doing much.

you could say it was a slight habit of his, he'd always prepare you before fucking you roughly into wherever he had split you open on.

you were aware that your boyfriend was in fact, a little piece of shit, who never knew when to stop annoying and teasing the living hell out of your being.

but even then, even when venti realized you were on the brink of crying from overstimulation, he wouldn't stop himself right away because you see, in a way that sinful expression was what he wanted to be gifted with in the first place.

"your reactions are so cute."

he murmurs into your ear, his voice was so kind and tender, but the menacing tendencies in them made you shake, the complete opposite of his pseudo sweetness was viewable when he used his fingers to relentlessly fuck in and out of your clenching hole.

it didn't surprise you on how skilled venti was with his slender digits, it's as if he had you figured out from the start, letting you grind into them.

how come you didn't even have to show him your favorite spots the first time he had you splayed under him?

this man had targeted them from the very start, fumbling himself deeper within you gooey walls while messily fumbling and touching you with his roughed up finger pads.

"v-venti please, i can't anymore."

his sight suddenly widened, the beginning of one tear, just one, would surely have more follow suit and he knew, he always did.

in a single motion, venti drew himself to you while kissing away the lonely warm tear that drooled down your cheek, gathering it on his lips before messily licking it up.

"come on now darling! i'm almost done and you're doing such a great job for me, i'm truly flattered!"

the brief stilling of his fingers wasn't held long as he adjusted his pace, digging himself to the hilt into your sobbing sensitivity and remembering to curve his digits up whenever he met your desired spot.

he slipped in and out in a chorus of rough strokes with your hips beginning to do circling motions into them, meeting his filthy touch while fluttering and twisting around his thin fingers.

his grin would never slip away, not when you're looking like this, fucked into delirium from nothing more than a mere of two digits.

✦ 𝐙𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐈

zhongli muttered dirty nothings into your ears, things he wanted to do and experience with you and your person alone.

fuck, he needed you right now, his cock was desperately straining his pants and causing him to heavily pant out through his clenched up jaw.

"m-my control is fading." he's grunting, digging his hands into the disheveled sheets to regain some of that long lost control.

it was safe to say that his slacks were already ruined by your slick covering and drenching them in whole. You knew he wasn't done with you yet, not now, not ever, his stamina was out from this world.

but really, it was his fault and not yours!

no one forced him to slowly grind his hips and dry hump into you, rubbing his hard hidden member on top of your drenched swollen pussy.

"i-i need you, zhongli."

you responded weakly, with a husky voice as you propped your hips up to show him your messy pussy, stretching your legs farther apart as he carried on with rutting himself on you.

he was shamelessly grunting and groaning before he forced himself to speak to you, "my hunger for you will never be queried."

quivering in response he had you caged underneath and you were accepting it, maneuvering deeper, zhongli rubbed both his clothed member and the rough material on your drenched nerves, urging you to moan in bliss.

his fingers brushed beneath your chin to hold it up, motioning you to his hungry lips as he captured you in a languid kiss, feverishly pulling his tongue out to bury it into your wet mouth.

on this, you weren't struggling to imagine how the curve of his throbbing member would feel like, the pressure inside your core mounting, cry on cry.

✦ 𝐊𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐇

at a single push forward, you got caught in utter euphoria, sudden tension thrumming through your frame as kaveh dragged himself past you with your swollen flesh capturing him fully.

"f-fuck." his whines were music to your ears, how they were slightly higher than his normal voice, primally to his initial tone, he had now become a cursing little mess.

"h-how are you still so tight for me, hmm?"

how your boyfriend couldn't control himself was gathering your cheeks within a warm sensation.

his over the top dirty talk didn't help one bit, kaveh could overdo himself quite a bit in that aspect but you didn't mind, it was a compliment from how far gone your pussy could make him.

you, of course, couldn't blame him, kaveh prized how tight you were, how you twisted and throbbed on his shaft without a single care in this world. How your sloppy cunt was all the more messy with him stuffing you full.

his little darling surely knew how to drive him into despair, unbearable madness without a way out, not before he cummed at least and covered you in his bittersweet cum.

"fuck baby you're so tight, f-fuck, you want me dead."

and again, your body shook and squealed at his sudden smirk, his before slow hips skillfully working, pressuring additional pleasure into your core.

your spine was curved up now, grimly bending and arching at another punctuated rut from your boyfriend who had nothing else in mind than making you cum first, he had to.

you were so unbelievably ravishing tonight, his loins were on fire from nothing more than your crossed eyed face, chin covered in drool and spit with your cries turning louder each thrust.

the combination on your lower area of both piercing pleasure with faint pain laced around it was addicting, every fiber of your consciousness gathering itself into the depths of your skin before it dissolved into nothing more than total submission to your lover.

✦ 𝐓𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐈

tighnari's interest in you sharpened the moment he had seen you, so for him to have you in all your glory now, bare and beautiful, while bouncing up and down his cock, felt surreal.

was he really not dreaming right now?

truly, he thought he was imagining things, the moment passion took you over, this one time, not one of you was able to walk away, not when the tension flowing through you was as defeating as it, well, was.

"i-is this all you got?"

what a jerk, obviously he was his usual self, even while you fucked his brains out. Tighnari couldn't hold back his filthy tongue, not this time and probably not ever.

his hands were helping you rub yourself back and forth yet they haltered at last, sliding all the way up your bouncing breasts to grab them, catching them in his palms, suddenly squeezing the flesh with a squeal escaping you next.

"fuck, tighnari!"

you mewled at the rough fondling of his hands, arching your back while additionally applying more pressure on your already burning hips. "you're too rough."

it was gruesome, that's what it was, you were certain he was intentionally not helping you out much, he just had to have that last dwindling string of control you both eagerly grasped after.

"let me hear you, come on." he let his hands rub circles and spirals over your swollen nipples before forcefully pinching them in between his pads, catching you off guard.

you could only give him a lost embarrassing smile, his words made you all giddy with your head feeling heavy. All the greater was your work on him now, his slick covered cock was slipping out of you carelessly and the sharp pain from before was barely to be perceived at all.

well, well, you were still a panting mess from the fast tempo and it wouldn't take you long until you practically collapsed your body on top of his from over exhaustion.

before you knew it, you were already met by the thrill of his own authority when he pulled you down to sharply share a hard kiss. His lips were hungrily seeking yours, leaning into your softness with his mouth framed in an annoying smirk.

the result of it was now with tighnari thrusting up your heat, so unbelievably fast and messy, the pain in your legs was surely fleeting but now you could barely feel them if anything, almost as if they had turned numb from the sheer strength behind his sloppy cock.

all the cries and moans were filling the room that had a piercing scent of sex and pleasure, your whimpers were all the more thrilling and archons, tighnari would make sure to have you remember this night.

✦ 𝐂𝐘𝐍𝐎

cyno simply refused to keep his mouth shut while you were suckling on his cock all too well.

after all, he wanted, no, needed you to know on how good you made him feel and how thankful he was for your skilled tongue twisting around his shaft, grating perfectly over his impressive cock.

the blood in his groin was hardening and pulsating roughly throughout his entire length, his hands grew cold from the sensation of your mouth sucking blatant euphoria on the tender, thin skin.

if only you were aware he was fantasizing about this scenario all day while at work. He knew better than this but couldn't stop himself regardless, cyno groaned louder now, shuddering as you massaged his balls in your warm palm.

another swallow lifted off him when he lowered his head to watch you suck, rub your sweet lips up and down his swollen cock, the drool messily blurting over the entirety of his member, without leaving his balls uncovered.

as tired and low lidded as his eyes were, he still didn't once close them, the sight of you on your knees for him, it's certain you were going to feel it in your legs the next day.

he gathered the courage to drag you down further, making your mouth take him much deeper until you physically weren't able to proceed anymore.

"k-keep taking me like that."

his voice was beginning to be raspy now with the additional breaks of his words. You took a deep breath through your nose and gulped a little, flexing your throat while being stuffed full as you proceeded, this time faster.

"a-archons, you're amazing."

your mouth was assembling enough spit and cum together to have it as comfortable as possible for cyno, he craved it that way. As much as he denied said fact, the messier it got, the harder he'd cum in you.

you persisted to keep it going, as always, to get him over the edge and let him cover your face in his white milk you gravely yearned for this night.

✦ 𝐊𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐇𝐀

kazuha's breath was heavy on your collarbone with his teeth nibbling the dampened skin.

you could be such a brat sometimes and he knew, he always did. Yet despite his usual gentle nature, kazuha could be quite rough with you, more so when you obviously displayed traits of a sweet, little brat who didn't know any better.

did you do it on purpose? obviously. But who wouldn't do it if their boyfriend would react the exact same way as kazuha did.

he's barely touched you, at all, only gently nudging his upper leg over your sobbing folds as he watched you bubble with further excitement, that without you knowing, would never get satiated.

"hmm how interesting." his voice was always gentle, but this time it had something menacing to it, something that wasn't able to be looked into, his eyes were glowing with both desire and anticipation.

all the fondling had heightened your senses, had made you more sensitive and salivating at his growing reaction standing up while throbbing in his hand.

his next words were followed with a punctuated rut with his leg on your tingling walls, "hah- it seems like you're close, don't hide it from me now." the grin on his face made you gasp with your spine rolling upwards, your cunt slicking him all up without giving a damn.

it was sort of embarrassing to you, to be placed in a position like that.

the fact he hadn't touched you properly yet and you still were a wet swollen mess, smearing him full and aching at every little pleasure he'd inflict on you.

he had you in such a sensitive state now, both your body and mind, it was as if he had taken over the authority in your entirety, letting you bear the weight of his punctuated ways to make you scream.

continuing to grate his leg into you, sometimes harder sometimes with only a small amount of added pressure to switch it up, your gasps had only gotten louder and entailed.

"i might make you cum if you're nicer to me next time."

✦ 𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐓𝐎

ayato could never deny the fact that eating you out relaxed his muscles and spirit, it's a required daily thing for him to do whenever he saw you.

as luck would have it, he was especially skilled with his sloppy muscle, making sure to gather enough spit on it to plaster it on your folds first, proceeding down to meet your gushing hole.

planting an additional kiss on your heat made you roll your eyes back greatly, the sense of worship each kiss had was mesmerizing.

because, yes, ayato worshipped you, his wonderful darling, your pussy was so fucking hot and ravishing, he wanted to bury it in his cum and claim you in so many more ways imaginable.

the back and forth of both tender suckles and rougher licks on you developed a tightened grip on your stomach with your muscles crying out, it was intimate and surreal, how much you missed him was insane.

ayato was slowly stroking a hand down from your chest to your navel before gathering his thumb over your clit to press right past the flesh of your pussy to hit the spot particularly well.

with your next squeals of his boldness, his eyes met yours in a thrill of hunger, "i'm not done with you yet." a sweet grin laced on his swollen lips as he drew himself back in, working both his tongue and thumb in sync.

his hair strands would fall into his face to hide his intoxicating features with your hands quickly catching them to smoother them back.

you settled on the soft sheets underneath with your eyes pointed to the ceiling until falling close at last, crying out at his electrifying way of savoring your being.

maybe it was due to the fact that the both of you rarely saw each other, but whenever you got intimate with it would turn better the more you had been apart from each other.

the hunger in his antics was immediately to be recognized, so dearly when ayato began to hump the mattress under him with his hands keeping you tightly to his head, groaning breathlessly.

smearing your slick over his cheeks, his warm breath wasn't anything but cooling, the growing mewls he pulled out of your throat had him moan into your pussy, over and over, his tongue now swiping alone your hole to swallow the huge amount of liquids that had sank down from you.

©2022 anantaru do not share, copy, translate

[shidouryusm]

Im not coming home

Gojo Satoru x reader

Content- angsty angst, just a lot of pain, reference to recent manga,

A.N -> i wrote this in a bus all teary faced with a concerned old uncle looking at me. I need my blue eyed boyfriend so bad. This is me mourning I haven’t been able to do it properly all day. Im sorry pls dont kill me. Not proofread this is a heat of the moment writing literally 😭

“See you guys tomorrow”, you say softly before sprinting out of the building. As if your body clock instantly knows when to chime in and draw you back to your nest.

You briskly get out of the room, offering a small wave to Shoko who just entered. Her concerned eyes following your trail.

The sun was floating in the horizon, the ground painted asphalt from the dying colours of the twilight and the air filled with intangible thickness of cold. In the midst of it, you walked. You walk with a rising tornado of emotions bubbling inside you, contrast to the drying winter.

You walked through the bustle of Roppongi. The town was back from the shambles it was two months prior. Always finding a way to bounce back into its original upheaval.

Amongst the skyscrapers decorating Roppongi, you eyes wander to the little sweet shop- selling the ever famous kikufuku — sweet cream filled mochi with Zunda paste. Satoru’s ever favourite.

“baby, this isn’t just a sweet.” Satoru gasps indignantly upon hearing your allegations of getting a cavity from it — “It’s a delicacy. Zunda and sweet cream— a work of culinary that you need to appreciate by savouring it as much as you can”, you roll your eyes as you watch your boyfriend plops another mochi in one bite. “Well that doesn’t mean you can double it up as lunch , Toru. you need to eat some actual meal”

“In that case, I can eat yo— I’m sorry” gojo quickly moves away as you swivel the huge cushion towards him, sweet chuckles erupting from his chest as you look at him poutedly.

The little playback of the memory cracked a little smile on your face — the shop ever so reminiscent of your little late night trips with Satoru whenever you both feel insomniac.

You walk over to the shop, feet reflexively carrying you towards the whirlwind of memories you have with him.

The sun had already settled beneath the darkness when you arrived home. The huge compound of area void of any presence. You enter the room, turning the lights on as you settle on the table. The small bag of kikufuku carefully placed on it.

“I’m home” you say without any conscious thought behind.

How can you? When these words never failed to emerge a 6’3 white-haired nuisance, his large hands encircling your waist, his nose breathing in your scent as you get slightly levitated into the air from the insane height difference. The small whispers of “I love you”s and “I miss you”s exchanged in the small gap between your faces — as if it were eternities since you both met each other. Those cerulean eyes of his mirroring your pools with affection and love that ran miles after miles.

Followed by little kisses pressed to your cheeks, then to your eyes and lastly placed on your lips. Those soft rhythm of his lips like promises of eternity.

Your chest twists in pain like you hugged a teddy bear fashioned with sharp daggers, slicing through your soul.

A sharp throb of your heart against your ribs as if it’s begging to be freed and chase the one it’s destined to beat for always. Your body turns numb, the tears like rivulets against your cheek— while you let them flow freely after a day long facade. Your shaky hands wander aimlessly into the air, pleading to find the silhouette, the comfort, the warmth of his body.

A part of your soul seemed to die everyday since then and today another sliver of it withered into nothingness.

Your voice broken like the shards of mirror reverberates across the large room that no one but you occupy, “im home, ‘toru. Where are you?”

The bag of kikufuku lays on the table as it is but Satoru hasn’t arrived home.

A.N 2 -> Yall pls dont be mad this is my way to cope. Even though I wrote this Im clutching on to the littol hope that he will return. If not then understand gege snuffed the life out of me as well

[idwt-money]

I See Through You.

MDNI 18+

3.2k words

Satan!Noah sebastian x Lost soul!Y/n

Christian/Religious themes, Satanic themes, Corruption kink, Mentions of death, Wax play, Oral sex (male and fem rec), Unprotected sex, Squirting, Dirty talk, Mentions of breeding kink

“The Devil is real. And he's not a little red man with horns and a tail. He can be beautiful. Because he's a fallen angel, and he used to be God's favorite.”

—

Noah's pov.

Fuck. It should be ME. I'm the fucking king.

—

Third person's pov.

He had been banished from the holy scene. His mind had been corrupted. He was God's favorite. The closest thing to becoming a god he would have ever gotten. Until…

His mind would run amuck at night. After the sun had set on the sacred land, laying in bed with his brethren just rooms away.

Day after day he had gotten sick of bowing down for the divinity. Growing like a disease. Growing and rooting itself deep within his bones, the veins that allowed his suborn blood to flow. Spreading deepest in the soul his God had granted him eternal life with.

Submitting himself to his almighty had become a tiring, weakening agenda. His hunger for power burned deep within his mind.

His position as the anointed cherub no longer satisfied his starvation for authority.

His attempt at dethroning God led him to be thrown, tossed, banished from the pearly gates every mortal soul had prayed to enter.

—

One of his now ex-brethren, bestowed a script to him. Curled together like an ancient pirate's map. On the scroll before him was one final message to the unholy individual from the Lord.

“Oh, my poor Samael. Where had I gone wrong? Pride, greed, envy. For how could you let them engulf your intelligence? To cause such rebellion? You, a lost soul, can no longer hold a position in my holy land.”

As he finished the script, he felt his soul burn and shrivel into complete nothingness. Nothing but a black void leaving him falling out of the sacred heaven he yearned to be the king of.

Falling through each layer of the Earth, he could feel his skin burning and aching as he did so. He landed in an unbeknownst hole, passing out on impact with rubble and dust falling upon him. On that cursed day, the eternal fire was born.

—

If you are cast out, what's your next move going to be? Will you return cold? Or will you turn up the heat?

Last thing I sold them, had been my dignity. But, the truth is the devil sold his soul to me.

To me.

To ME.

—

Noah's pov.

I had awoken in a displaced land. A funnel shaped cavern. Aggression and insanity ran cold through my veins. An inferno I was placed in.

If I wouldn't have an opportunity to rule the heavenly kingdom, I shall make my own. For lost souls, for sinners and those of who act upon blasphemy. For those who will not succumb to God. I will be the king of the mountain of purgatory.

For I will create a kingdom, not as its jailer, but as its healer. I will heal every soul that is not worthy of being in heaven. I will create an army, one so powerful that it can take down God and his disciples.

—

Third person's pov.

Noah, as he had renamed himself, had spent years stacked upon years building and crafting his domain. A safe place to heal broken souls that were undeserving of heaven.

He had now accumulated centuries worth of individuals who lost their spot in the promised land. They were all dependent on him as their ruler, their king.

He had rediscovered himself. He no longer was a spirit of God, rather the opposite.

He no longer had soft, white, pure feathered wings. Instead his back was adorned with a set of deep black wings. They were covered with coarse fur, rough to the touch. His once dark honey colored eyes were now pitch black. He had grown fangs that looked perfect to sink into a soft, flawless neck.

He had all he could ever imagine…except a love to sit beside his throne, to rule his domain with him.

His heart desired and thirsted for a true love. Although he had millions of souls in his kingdom, he hadn't met a single one that could give him what he needed.

They were all too much like him. He wanted someone he had coax upon him. Someone he could play a game with.

He hadn't taken a leave of absence since the day he decided to create his own space. Maybe it was time to change that. A trip to the mortal world.

—

Y/n's pov.

I sat upon a bench in the midst of a forest, taking in a deep breath of the midnight cool air. I had no place to go.

Parts of my soul, broken and seemingly unfixable. I was cursed to spend my days roaming the Earth as nothing but lonesome in my own purgatory. I would spend my day and night praying, atoning for my sins. Seemingly little, insignificant sins to anyone else were the reason I was stuck in this temporary state.

My Lord had promised if I could atone for my sins, I would be allowed into the promised land. I wanted nothing more, but my Earthborn body had long turned to dust, my hope slowly diminishing.

—

If God came down from his kingdom, he came down from his throne and we asked him if he'd take us back, he would surely tell us no.

We live and die in vain like treasure on a sinking ship. All in the name of a God we'd just abandoned and forget.

—

Third person's pov.

He had his eyes set on her. A lost soul, set in purgatory. Oh, how easy it would be to convince her to bestow her gift upon him.

She seemed perfect. Her skin having a soft glow to it. He knew if an Earth bound body could see her, they too would fall in love with the sight. Her glow gave off as a blue-ish tone, telling him all he needed to know.

As he moved through the trees, he watched as her panic became prominent.

“No one knows I'm here…unless?”

A small glimmer of hope shone through her sadness at the idea that her Lord had finally decided she was able to step foot into the holy divinity.

Her blood ran cold as a jagged finger ran across her skin.

She was so soft, the panic in her eyes set his body on flames. Her pure mind was one he could imagine 100 different ways to ruin.

—

Noah's pov.

“What are you doing out here by yourself, angel?” My voice came out rough and coarse, while hers was much flowy, softer than mine could ever be.

I took a stand of her hair, taking in her delicious scent.

“Wh-wha-! Who are you!?” Her chest was rising and falling like a scared little bunny, her eyes darting back and forth across my features.

“I know you've heard of me. The Prince of Darkness, Beelzebub, Lord of Flies, The Antichrist. Baby, I'm you're one and only-” I was cut off, her screech throwing her into a fit of madness.

“THE DEVIL!?” Her cry must have been heard for miles, to any other lost soul or angel that was Earthbound at the moment.

I pulled her to my chest, covering her mouth.

“Shut the fuck up. I'm here to make a deal.”

A deal with the Devil.

“I see through you, angel. I know exactly what you are. A lost soul, hoping to atone for your sins. Am I close?” I spoke my words slowly and calmly, not needing a miscommunication.

Her head weakly nodded against my heaving chest.

“I'm going to take my hand away, and you're going to let me talk. Do you understand?”

Another nod was given.

Removing my hand oh so cautiously, I let her sit back down, holding my finger up to my mouth, indicating she needed to be quiet.

“He won't let you in there, baby.”

“You don't know that.” Her words flew out of her mouth, cold and harsh.

“Oh, but I do.” My index finger softly gliding down her cheek. She must have been previously crying.

“I was his favorite, you know? I had more power than any other angel. I was second below God himself.” My hands now placed behind my back as I paced back and forth. I didn't miss the way she watched me like a hawk.

“I wanted more. I needed more. He was far too greedy. He casted me out, sending me falling through Earth's layers, down into the deepest parts of the plane. His sacred, holy land was too much to bear. So, I created my own. My own kingdom.” I watched the starry night sky, all the stars twinkling as I explained my story.

Looking down at her, her face was painted with many emotions. Confusion, anger. I smirked to myself, knowing I had her questioning the almighty spirit.

“B-but God is…is good. He's purity and kindness.”

I scoffed.

“Come with me, my sweet angel. Rule with me. You will have power and you can be your own divinity. I can give you everything he could and more.” I whispered the last part into her ear, letting myself smile against her skin.

“Why…why are you beautiful? I thought-”

“Thought I was red? With horns and an outdated tail?” My eyebrows furrowed together as I spoke.

—

I see through you, I know what you are. I see the devil more than I see God.

—

Y/n's pov.

He was beautiful. Gorgeously put together, with a black suit, dress shoes and tattoos staining his skin. He was so enticing.

My head was dizzy and I could feel my core slowly weakening. This was absolute insanity.

I had no idea why I felt the need to say yes to his offer. His words were smooth like fresh honey floating through my ears.

Although tempting, I had to be strong. He could be lying. I had read the bible 5 times before passing to know this is what he does.

He's seducing, he tempts your faith, your religion. He gets in your head. He tempts you with bad decisions. He had powers beyond man. He was the reason Eve sunk her teeth into the forbidden fruit. He was the snake that left hissing in your ears after you had committed a sin.

“Come with me, I can make all your dreams come true, little one. I can make you belong.”

Belong? Your soul ached and yearned to belong somewhere.

“You can give in to your sins, free of guilt. Free of shame. No worries of fear of punishment.” He made a tempting debate.

Is this what you wanted for yourself?

“He'll leave you alone, you won't see him like you'll see me. Is that what you would like? He'll send messengers to talk through. You won't catch even a glimpse of him.”

I couldn't stand the thought. My mouth spoke before my brain could speak.

“Okay. I'll come with you.”

—

Third person's pov.

A sinister smile spread across his lips.

“This will hurt a little.” He muttered as he tilted her head to the side. He sunk his teeth into her neck, covering her mouth as to muffle her cries. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he felt their minds morphing into one.

Giving her a mark. A mark to tell everyone how easily he had corrupted her mind. How she was now his.

Noah pulled away, licking away the blood that resided on his lips.

As for Y/n, she felt her body burn hot. Aching pain spread through her body, her soft blue glow now turning orange.

She watched as he cleaned up the mess, licking the blood away on her neck.

“Oh, my sweet angel. You've made the right decision.”

—

As the pair now made their way into the kingdom, innumerable souls congratulated their king on his new found love.

They soon after found themselves in the Devil's bedroom. She hadn't taken Satan for one to sleep much.

“It isn't for sleeping, I promise that, baby.” He chuckled at his own comment.

As soon as she took a spot on the bed, covered in soft, red sheets, he was attacking her lips.

—

Y/n's pov.

You weren't complaining. He had promised you an eternal life, free of guilt. What would be the point in worrying about it now.

You let his lips venture your body, his fangs gliding across your skin every once in a while.

He had started leaving purple marks across your neck, close to the freshly marked wound he had given you previously. A way to say you were his.

“Oh, fuck. Baby, I'm going to corrupt your precious little mind. Fill it full with sinful thoughts about me.”

He took your hand, moving it down his shirt, down to where his cock was painfully straining against his pants.

It caused you to ache beneath your own. Your mind went dizzy with the thought of him. He was gorgeous and was about to give you everything you could ever want.

You had taken some initiative and unzipped his pants while he took his tie off, throwing it somewhere unbeknownst to you. He undid the first couple of buttons on his shirt and you, quite frankly, gawked over his body.

He was toned. He had tattoos littering his skin everywhere. His dark eyes watched as you took a long once over of his body.

“Fuck, you're beautiful. Truly.” Your words were quiet, seemingly scared that God would somehow hear or see the activities the two of you were getting up to.

“As are you. You'll be perfect at my side. For the rest of forever.” His hand caressed your face. He did truly find you breathtaking.

Your big doe eyes were something he could find himself staring into forever.

You were now something the holy trinity could never take away from him.

You pulled his pants down, causing his cock to be set free. Something roared in you.

You licked your lips before devouring him.

You swallowed his cock, slowly taking more each time your head bobbed up and down. Soon, he was reaching the back of your throat, causing you to gag around him.

His hands were placed at either side of your hand, using it as leverage to fuck into your throat. You took it so well that he could lose himself in your touch. The way your arms were wrapped around his thighs, helping him go deeper into your throat made him weak and want to crumble.

You felt your cunt wetten for him. The sight of his hair falling out of place and his chest heaving through your teary eyes made you need him. You wanted him to enter your temple and destroy it.

His thrusts became sloppy, faltering here and there. You pulled away from his cock, muttering filthy sins as you stroked him.

“Let me taste you. Give it to me, baby.”

You were forced down onto him once more as he let his seed spray down your throat. Letting it coat your insides felt like bliss.

It was mere seconds before he led you to lay on your back. His hands were clawing and scraping against you, in such need and hurry to remove you of your clothes.

The second your panties hit the floor Noah was nose deep in your pussy, taking in your taste and smell.

Your eyes rolled back as your mouth was left gaped. A hand flew into his hair, pulling and tugging at it, causing his once perfect hair to now be disheveled.

“Oh- oh fuck-” You gasped as he licked and slurped along your clit. No man had ever pleased you as Noah was right now.

He wasn't a man. He was a fucking demon.

His middle and ring finger slid across your wetness before plunging into you.

Something in Noah felt like this is what he had been waiting for. This is what he was made for. He was made for you.

His fingers quickly found the right way to please you. The calloused pads of his fingers rubbing the right spot.

You bit your bottom lip and he somehow knew you were close to toppling over the edge.

“Do it. Let yourself go. Let yourself be mine.” His voice came out as a growl against your cunt as his fingers quickened.

“No- I can't I'm gonna-” You couldn't finish your sentence before your orgasm took over your mind.

Your orgasm left a mess everywhere. You hadn't known until you heard the wet sloshes against Noah's palm.

“Oh my- I've never done that before. How-how did you…?”

“Done what? Squirt? Fuck, angel. I'm Satan himself. Did you doubt me?” He had an shit eating grin plastered on his face.

“Shut the hell up and fuck me.” Something took over you, all you could think about was his cock ramming into you. Destroying every thought you'd ever had of God and those “precious” pearly white gates.

“Look at you, mere moments ago you were trembling with fear. Now you're begging for my fucking cock.” He chuckled and crawled up your body, kissing and licking at your skin.

It didn't take long for him to position your legs over his shoulders, feeling his cock stretch you out as he entered you.

“Your body is a temple. And I'm here to fucking destroy it. I'm here to get in your pretty little head. Corrupt those holy thoughts with distasteful, nasty, sinful thoughts.” His words were venom digging into your brain, making your mind their home.

His thrusts were becoming faster, now that your pussy had gotten used to his size.

He had grabbed a candle that was permanently lit by his bed and watched the wax drip onto your skin. You hissed as each droplet made its spot on your skin.

Slowly but surely, Noah had made an upside down cross upon your stomach. You couldn't care for the dull burn the wax drips had left as they dried.

You could feel Noah's cock pushing its way into your fucking stomach. He was so inhumanly big, you almost forgot where you were and who you were getting fucked by.

Once the wax had set, you pulled Noah into you, clawing your nails deep into his skin. He growled over the feeling of your nails making dents so deep into his immoral skin.

Before you knew it, Noah's shoulders were bleeding and you were both merging into one.

“Noah, please, please harder!” Your words were barely decipherable as your second orgasm was approaching.

“Now. Give it to me now.” His words were enough to send you into a spiral.

As you had your own orgasm, Noah shot hot strings of seed deep into your womb.

“Fuck, ‘m gonna put a baby here one day.” Noah said as he rubbed your stomach.

He took the blood from his bruised shoulder onto his thumb, placing it onto your tongue.

"Forever, we are one."

He finally had a respective queen to be by his side for the rest of eternity.

—

Woke up in the light convinced my life had made it to its end. Burning up beneath the sun, while my father drained of blood.

If he's there, I've got a message for the man that's up above.

Fuck. You.

Taglist: @vinyardmauro @missduffsblog @lma1986 @embracethereaper42 @skulliecadaver-blog @mrscevans @viofcrows @gipsonnikki @philomenie @bloody-delusion-expert @bloodymug @millyhelp @fuckyouimstillstanding @cookiesupplier @concreteangel92 @bruisedleftknee @sprokat @itsafullmoon @darling-millicent-aubrey @eclipseeetop

[hanlimz]

[midnight thoughts: jungwon + bad habits]

pairing: yang jungwon x gn!reader (reader is jake's sibling) genre/warnings: angsty fluff (happy ending) / mentions of alcohol, vomit, some blood / idk it could potentially be a bit suggestive but i don't rly think so? wc: ~2.1k a/n: LOL cass write abt someone other than won challenge pt.2: FAILED!!!! / whtv! this had been in my drafts n then i reworked the idea into that jay drabble i posted but i still rly wanted to write abt motorcycle jungwon so here you go.. (it turns rly soft at the end bc i am incapable of writing hurt without comfort LMAOOO)

as you climb out your window to perch atop your shingled roof, a wave of cold surges up your spine, taking care to freeze each and every vertebrae on its way. your breath billows before you, the white cloud contrasting the pitch black of night. from this vantage point, you can watch all the bodies as they move in tandem, warm from the alcohol and the dancing. it's mesmerizing, the rhythmic swaying lulls you into a state of peace, a state of tranquility. paying no mind to the booming party music or the numbness blooming at the tips of your fingers, you let your eyelids flutter closed. comforted by the nothingness, you take in the scent of wet earth mingling with the air freshener you have in your room as it permeates the air. with chilled bones and a clear mind, you remain a passerby, a shadow, a ghost.

that is, until an unceremonious rumbling breeches the music blasting from your brother's speakers. the people below begin to whoop and cheer as the manmade thunder grows quiet; your brother shouts a greeting, and you're all too familiar with the person who manages to turn heads merely upon arrival. a rush of nerves tingles through your body, and you run over a checklist. heeseung, jay, and sunghoon are all presently dancing, sunoo is watching over the kitchen, and riki has been relegated to the dj booth for the night. with all other options exhausted, you know it has to be him.

craning your neck, you catch a glimpse of his crimson steed. it glints, almost menacingly, in the light of the moon. the chrome accents are like liquid silver as he dismounts and casts a myriad of shadows over his bike. jake claps him on the shoulder as he removes his matching helmet. his hair falls out—deliciously messy, perfectly tousled; it's a waterfall of silky, black strands that somehow look windblown and gelled back simultaneously. save for everyone that has continued to dance, girls and guys alike are crowding around the boy and his bike.

a cursory smile is offered to all of the faces in the crowd, but it becomes real as he turns to look at your brother. friends since they met through soccer practice years ago, friends despite their differing social circles, friends through the thick of it all. they push through the throng of classmates, acquaintances, and strangers—closer to the house, closer to you.

before they disappear beneath the awning, jake pulls him into a hug, and you can see him dig his fingers into the boy's leather jacket. "it's good to see you, man," jake says, just loud enough for you to make out. "drinks are in the kitchen with sun, i'm sure he'll be surprised to see you make an appearance."

and, just like that, the party resumes. you watch as the horde of people assembled around the motorcycle gradually disperses, and they begin to partner up again. despite not offering any physical warmth, a fire builds inside of you; small embers of memory are ignited by the nervousness that rips at your stomach. reliving each one is painful—the images that flash behind your eyes are hot, burning themselves into your mind once more. you guess that there are mere seconds left until he comes to see you, and you are proven correct when a measured knock sounds against your door. it confirms any suspicions and lays any doubt you might've had to rest.

you know all too well who this is.

the slab of wood creaks open, groaning as if aged by the cold. gazing back at him, you notice how young he looks when bathed in the warm, yellow light emanating from your desk lamp. he seems to glow, crowned with a halo of innocence, overflowing with something you can't place. this angelic countenance distracts you from the red solo cup sitting in grasp, distracts you from the fact that he is inching forward, distracts you from the movement of his lips. and, after a few moments, he is settling next to you and fidgeting in an attempt to get used to the frigid air. suddenly, you are stripped of your alien status because he is looking at you, seeing you—just as he always does.

ghosts notice ghosts, you think, daring to steal a glance in his direction. he catches you, ensnaring you with those deep, brown eyes, but he doesn't say a word. it isn't like him, really. he's an obligatory people person, a fan favorite, a crowd worker; he can have you doubled over with laughter one minute and crying the next. this irregularity is not lost on you as he continues to stare. you can almost feel the words waltzing on the tip of his tongue, and it kills you—the waiting game. it's one you always manage to lose.

"thought we agreed to take a break from each other ..." you hum, breaking the silence and turning your head away. "hm, jungwon?"

he mirrors you, and takes a sip from the cup. his impenetrable pokerface doesn't give you any hints as to what he's drinking. peeking over, you watch as jungwon answers with a nod and a sharp clench of his jaw.

"so, why are you here?" you ask, scoffing and shooting him a forceful glare. "why are you here, sitting with me in weather you hate, not saying a word? what—do you care about me, suddenly? about us?"

he prickles at this particularly harsh jab, rushing to defend himself, "i told you, [y/n]—"

"oh, yeah—you told me, jungwon. you told me about sunghoon, about how protective he is of his sister, about how he broke siwoo's nose after he found out about their relationship. you told me that you didn't want jake to get in our way, that you didn't want things to get ugly if jake didn't like us together," your tone is venomous enough to kill as you berate him. "then, after i called you on your bullshit, you told me that it was for my own good. you didn't want me to get hurt, didn't want me to walk away broken ... you talk such a big game with your motorcycle and your leather jackets, but really, jungwon? all you told me is that you're a coward."

the aftershocks of your explosion are still rocking through jungwon as he tries to process all of your words. absorbing your poison, guilt and realization wash over him; he is a coward. and, a fool for letting you slip through his fingers. his mouth gapes as he searches desperately for the right thing to say. jungwon flounders, and you take perverse delight in his struggle. all of the weight that had been crushing you is now his to bear; it feels good, but only for a minute or two. then, this parasitic love you harbor for him squeezes at your heart. the silence starts to suffocate you, balls of cotton begin to fill your throat, and the cold air is making your lungs burn. you turn to see him already looking at you, and the apology you were about to let free dies away.

his eyes are wild, frenzied almost. not in a way that frightens you, but in one that saddens you. jungwon is frantically hunting for a way to make you see how sorry he is, for a way to make you stay. he reaches out to you but flinches away on his accord, unsure of what your reaction might be. taking a deep breath, all he says is: "you're right."

as the admission of guilt hangs in the air, it is almost underwhelming. you sigh, preparing to push up from your seat and head back inside, but jungwon stops you. he grips your wrist before he is able to stop himself this time and wills you to sit once more. his hands are as warm as you remember, calloused and rough and surprisingly gentle.

"you're right, [y/n]. i'm a coward, and i don't deserve a second chance—i didn't even deserve the first one you gave me. but, god—you have to believe me when i say that i care. i care about you, about us. my stupid, fucking thoughts got in the way, and i was scared," jungwon explains, blinking rapidly to keep his tears at bay. "i used jake to hide from you, to hide from how much i loved you. from how much i've always loved you."

jungwon begins to shake—from the desperation or the cold, you're not sure. but, as the conversation dips into a natural lull, you usher him past the threshold of the window pane and shut it behind the two of you. a quietude settles between your bodies, a static that coaxes you closer while simultaneously pushing you apart. gently, you slip the tingling tips of your fingers beneath the leather of his jacket; it is replaced with a fluffy blanket before he can blink, and he relishes in the silken sensation blooming in his chest. enveloped by this newfound warmth, you ask him the same question from before: "why?"

he answers immediately, ignoring the searing pain as his blood begins to flow again, "because, i'm not good, [y/n]. i'm not good ... and, you're perfect. i'm afraid—if we go any further, i'll turn you into someone else. i'll ruin you."

you exhale sharply out of your nose, "selfish."

yang jungwon is stunned to silence; the remnants of vitriol seep like a toxic sludge into the cracks forming in his heart—a heart that he claimed to never have, a heart that you managed to steal for yourself. selfish. you called him selfish. jungwon wanted to protect you from the person you might become after being with him; he wanted to keep you away from the sight of bloodied knuckles and the putrid scent of vomit and alcohol. "i'm ..." jungwon starts, incredulity ringing clear in his voice, "selfish?"

"beyond belief," you sniff.

"wh—how?!"

"how? jungwon—who are you to decide what's good for me? who are you to tell me that i'm good ... that i'm perfect? what do you know about me that i don't?" inhaling deeply, you inch forward; jungwon unceremoniously plops down onto the pillowy cloud of your bed, and you follow suit. in this light, the halo makes a reappearance, and you swear the entire galaxy twinkles in his wide, blown out eyes. resting mere millimeters away, you whisper, "who are you to try and make me believe we aren't meant to be?"

his facade is crumbling bit by bit; walls upon walls of cold concrete are reduced to dust in the wake of your storm. falling back into the soft down of your comforter, jungwon flings an arm over his eyes. stupid, foolish—distracted by the possibility of losing you, he managed to make one of the biggest mistakes of his life. "i'm sorry," jungwon admits once more. "i was selfish. you deserve better."

"sure, i guess. if you think so ..." you begin, interlacing your fingers with his and taking away his hiding place, "but, i want you."

jungwon feels fragile in your hands. the look in his eyes is tentative, almost as though if he were to move, you would fade into a fine dust. in this moment, he is vulnerable—a turtle without its shell, a knight without his armor. there is a certain frantic hesitance you can feel as his heart beats against yours; the rise and fall of his chest is not so steady, and the rhythm is not so sure. having already done so once, jungwon doesn't want to lose you again.

you sigh, and jungwon takes in the sweet aroma of starlight mints and lemonade. "stop thinking so hard, won," you murmur. "i want you. i deserve you. i love you."

"you do?" he asks, uncertain.

"i do," you answer, resolute. "can i show you?"

when he nods, the butterflies flitting in your stomach begin to settle because this is jungwon. pressing into him, the rich taste of butterscotch and tang of beer blooms on your tongue; the sensation of your lips slotting against his is only rivaled by the victorious completion of a huge puzzle. perfect in every way—pieces fall into place, and everything just fits. jungwon is familiar, a home that has returned to you. you make jungwon know your love. so, you kiss his forehead, and you kiss his nose, and you kiss his lips.

i want you. i deserve you. i love you.

[thepeonysbackup]

"Just one round.."

Alastor x Human!Reader

Summary: Part two of your soul binding deal with the radio demon. Will it truly only be once?

Warnings ⚠️: Continued short smut, tentacles, T in V, sloppy Oral🤤, vibrating canes💕, degradation♡~.

Request: Yes/No

By: @emmihara

"So, it's a deal then?" The Demon delightedly chuckled at your honesty, your neediness, your want.. His eyes trailed down your wrapped body, his shadowy tentacles doing their work to overstimulate your haughty mound of pulsing want; labia being teased by merely the tips of two of them, your slick juices dribbling down the inner part of your thigh while you lulled your head to and fro, eyes opening and closing as the sensations tingled and pricked your mind with a whimper. "Nngh♡~ Oh, please-" your voice shook, trembling noises exiting you as he began to walk around, circling you like a vulture does its already killed prey, waiting, watching your moves like a predator. "Ss- S'not– Not f-fair.. Agh- Oh God, fuck- Come onnn!!♡" You blubbered, big thick tears welling in your closed eyes as the appendages, "Now now, we've only just started, and we did agree on a singular round, didn't we?" The red deer like demon smugly hummed, stopping right across from you at your legs, standing between them while tapping his cane on the ground once. "Now, Satan-pray-tell what in the seven circles I may do to you for this time we have with one another. But, first and foremost -" He adjusted his bow tie, twirling his cane as he bowed forward properly. "Alastor, my Darling, the name is Alastor, I wish I could say it's a pleasure to meet you, but.. You and your disgusting needs are the reason I'm even here, how entertaining you'll be, or at least I hope." He laughed, introducing himself as a deal maker and an overlord in the realm of hell. Though you weren't paying attention, because when he had bowed, he leaned his weight on the mic of his cane that was pressed lazily against your clit at the near top of your dripping heat. The attention had your mind buzzing just as the tip was half-hazardly shifted in place to press firmly now, the amount of pressure building up making you rut against his cane, crying out evermore like the whole you were. "Aw, aren't you just the most pathetic little thing? Not even able to speak, and why, this down here is positively salivating for some attention!" He noted the way your pussy throbbed, walls clutching around nothingness as he lifted the cane from off you so he could dip down to your level as the tentacles resurfaced and began to climb back up your legs to your dripping hole. Alastor discarded his cane, rolling the lip of his sleeves up to his elbows as his hands gripped harshly at your hips to adjust them towards him better.

He was so tall, so tall that even with him crouched to your level, it seemed he still towered you by a mile. A mile to far that you were hanging upside down just for him to attach his lips to your own but not before he had used his claws to slowly spread your lady lips apart, either thumb of his hand pulling apart before he lolled his tongue from its heated cavern to plunge deep into your hole, curling into your G-spot perfectly enough to drawl a needy moan from your lips. The wetness of your body, the flow of neediness from your sopping entrance, wracked you to Tuesday. You were a mess, noises inaudible to yourself as they continued, a tightening feeling coiling in your belly as your soul was being eaten from your weeping core. "Please -" He hushed you from below, static becoming louder and louder as you whined for him and writhed at his touch, at his lips, at his thrusts. Never had you believed a tongue could feel so good, nor be able to bring you to this brink. "All in good time dear, patience is key." Your whimper made him grin wider, hole clenching around his tongue tightly as his saliva dripped down his chin. Or was it your love juices..? You couldn't tell, and apparently, neither could he because his hesitance made your hips jut forward against him, gaining a groan from his lips as he disconnected from your core with a pop. "How disgusting.. Such vulgar entertainment you are, my dear.. I'd almost consider keeping you if it hadn't been so easy.." A growl left him at this, hand moving from you to command his tendrils, which coiled and tightened and tugged at your soft human flesh.

"Ahn-!!" You tried to contain yourself, a high-pitched squeal leaving you as your body flipped, turning you to where you were hovering above the sigil with your rear rose into the air. "But since.." His hand gripped your cheeks, claws digging into your face as he cranned your head up to make you look at him. "I'm feeling rather generous," Al's eyes glowed, brighter, red pupils blowing out in delight as you shivered at his words. "I'll allow this once.. I'll let them take care of you." He finished, hand throwing you away from him as he let his shadows do all his work.

The long appendages thrusted harshly into you, one breaching past your lips down your throat as two worked behind you to slam you back and forth from the sheer force of each thrust of every one, the rest of them pooled around you, touching you, edging you closer and closer as you gagged hard, eyes rolling back as your release came so quickly that it honestly disappointed yourself as you hung there limply in the air, the tendrils still going as you blubbered with teary eyes over to the Demon who'd taken a seat on your sofa to enjoy your show, he seemed so enveloped to the point of which his eyes were narrowed intently and he was leaning forward, weight put onto his cane as his forearm rested lazily. His gaze watched as they continued to rake in and out of your now abused tunnels. You had taken so much already, yet so little in all this time. Every bead of sweat, every line, every crease, everything now belonged to him to enjoy, to him to enrapture himself with, for him to do with as he pleased. Just one round, was it? He felt like you needed... So.. Much.. More..

"Very.. Entertaining.. My Dear..~♡"

[certainlynotasimp]

Hii, i think a good idea for a one shot could be that there's a canon event where the spiderperson!reader have to do the iconic Spiderman kiss in their universe, like Spiderman 3 (toby's one) with Gwen stacy or whoever you want, but they are in a relationship with Miguel LMAOOO btw im sorry if there's something wrong with the grammar, english is not my first language <3

Rewrite the Stars

((Miguel O’Hara x Female! Reader))

A/N: A non Sunny x Miggy post? How odd for me lol. I’m so sorry this is super late and to everyone whose requested, I’m working slowly but surely on y’all’s stuff. If you wanna read some stuff in the meantime, here’s the Masterlist and feel free to join my discord.

A/N: I tried doing the you/yours pronoun thing because this isn’t a Sunny fanfic but I really don’t like it lol.

Warnings: Jealous Miguel?, Unrequited/Forbidden? Love, Female Reader/Female Pronouns, Barely use of Y/N, and no Spanish this time ((I’m trying to find a new translator and hopefully an editor))

The universe.

One of life’s greatest mysteries. A mass of stars and galaxies that housed so many lives within its many pockets. The lives of so many people whose lives were already written within its cloudy arms and their ends cemented in its pools of nothingness.

A beautiful cycle of cruelty and destiny.

A cycle that was the reason for your utter misery as you sat at a bar listening to your dimension’s Ben Riley blabber on about some football game you cared nothing about.

His oblivious brown eyes sparkled at the fascination with the game as his dimpled smile accentuates his sharp jawline. The warm lights from above caused a healthy glow to bounce off of his shaggy blonde hair, almost making him look like an angel. You can see why Spiderverse assigned him as your love interest.

In your earth’s canon, you were a typical woman who had gotten bit by a radioactive spider during a high school field trip and you spent your entire high school experience thrashing goons instead of chasing boys. Even helped take down some aliens with the Fantastic Four and the Avengers at times before college finals. Spiderwoman was New York’s beloved hero and the cockiness of being its one and only SpiderWoman quickly got into her head.

That was until six months ago.

Six months ago, you were fighting the Vulture over the Empire State Building when another, more mutated version of the same villain appeared. They both decided in your state of delirium over the doubles that you would be a good plaything.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, I didn’t ask for a combo with my chicken!” A feminine spider’s voice screeches as she avoids the hooked talons of the erratic variant.

The two villains took turns flying menacingly around the scope of buildings to throw the hero off of their location while the other swooped in and tries to rip her throat out.

As she attempts to escape the feathered monster, its companion would come and slice away the web of salvation, continuing the vicious cycle.

Blood blinded her vision as the loud ringing at the base of her skull grew louder. The causes of that annoying alarm grasp their razor claws into her shoulders before sweeping her exhausted body into the air with a victorious snarl.

‘I guess this is the end…’

As the heavens draw closer to her doom, her life hanging up by the slicing of her muscles and bones, a glimmer of fate happens. The warmth of a flash barely registers as the first ache disappears with a startled squeak and a burly force. The sudden change in feeling takes her breath away as she suddenly begins to plummet below.

Her eyes quickly adjusting to the suffocating drop, she can see that one of the Vultures was now fighting an even more prominent blue figure, his howls of pain and unintelligible cursing heard from the stumbling brawl.

As the flash from her familiar foe reaches around the building, she shoots her web at him and used him as a glider.

“Time to ground you, birdie!” She yells as she throws the villain through a window. Catching her grip on the building, she looks at her new foe in the sky and the wind is knocked out of her from the sight.

The man who saved her was in a futuristic spider suit with his mask now off. His dark hair flutters in the wind as the setting sun makes his tanned skin glow. His red eyes glare at the wiggling mutant as his full lips pull back into a snarl. His jaws open revealing a set of large fans before he plunged them into the mutant.

Who the hell is that?

~~~~~~~~~

“(Y/N)?…” Ben frowns as he realizes his date was lost in her thoughts.

You snapped out of your head and fake an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I was remembering something….”

That wasn’t a complete lie. You remembered the day you met Miguel O’Hara. The Spiderman of the year 2099 and the leader of the inter-dimensional Spider Society. The anomaly that had come into your world had brought the two together and you were recruited due to your stubbornness, much to Miguel’s annoyance.

~~~~~~~~~

“No.” His annoyance dripped from these words as he glares down at you. You were caught in wonder at the idea of there being other Spidermen and that they worked together to stop the collapse of the entire universe. The thought seemed too good to be true that you just had to ask if you could join until those red eyes shot your dream through the heart.

“What do you mean ‘No’?” You ask in disbelief. Your own eyes glared deep into his soul as your hands balled into fists. “I’m a Spiderman just like you! How could you-!”

“You are not like me.” He coldly snaps at you, your ranting briefly interrupted as the man towers over you. His clawed hand grasps your face as his glare sets a spark of fury down in your chest.

“You will never be like me and you will never-!” “Is that our new recruit?” A smooth British accent appears behind Miguel as a spiked-headed Spiderman peeks around his bulking figure.

“No, she’s-” The tall punk pulls you away from Miguel with a mischievous laugh as he introduces himself. “Ello, love, my name is Hobie. Hobie Brown.” He leans down with a sly smirk as his mischievous attitude infests your being like a plague. “Just play along, mate. Let’s riffle this wanker’s undies.” He whispers as you giggle.

“Nice to meet you, Hobie.” I allow a sly smirk to slide onto my face as I look back at the now very annoyed Miguel. “My name is (Y/N) and I’m happy to join.”

~~~~~~~~

The distant sound of screams filters through the bar as the distinct sound of a car being tossed into another building.

Looking at my gizmo disguised as a watch, you realized that the canon event was starting.

~~~~~~~~

“You did well today,” Miguel admits under his breath. Looking at him in shock, you realize that he wasn’t scowling like he normally was. He had a softer expression, his eyes shining with approval as his lips quirked into a mimic of a smile.

The mission had almost gone rouge with the escape of a prowler and him hiding low in a crowded dimension. Despite the obvious danger, Miguel opted to go alone like usual, but his lack of spider sense caused him to get caught up in a trap. Talons and Fangs don’t really help if you can’t exactly move around to use them, so he ended up taking serious blows.

Luckily, you managed to get there and tumble with the villain long enough for the others to rescue Miguel, and the team managed to recapture the prowler. Of course all of them looked pretty bad injuries wise, but the look Miguel had as you sat there bandaging up his wounds made it worth it for some odd reason.

“Thanks Boss.”

~~~~~~~~

June 27th : SpiderWoman of Earth 648 will rescue love interest, Ben Riley, from an attack against The Rhino….

The roaring of the mechanical beast fills the panicked screams of the patrons as the sinking feeling falls in your chest. Ben is quick to play the hero like any guy would as he grabs your arm and drags you out towards the emergency exit. Just like the timeline said it would.

You use the chaos to your advantage as you pretend to trip and get lost in the crowd of people struggling to escape from the emergency exit.

~~~~~~~~~

“What do you mean by that?!” I snapped at an irritated Miguel.

Lyla was surprisingly quiet as she watched the duo argue. Miguel whips around at you as his ruby eyes scorched into yours. His talons point at you accusingly as he reiterates your next canon event.

“On June 27th, you are going to be out on a date with Ben Riley. The Rhino is gonna attack that street and you’re gonna save everyone, and afterwards you’re gonna have to kiss him.” His frustration evident as his permanent frown creases.

You stare into his eyes in defiance as you coldly utter, “No. I’m not gonna kiss Ben Riley.”

“And why not? He’s your love interest!” Miguel exclaims, obviously more furious than before. “You’re the Peter to his MJ. You gotta kiss him because you’re destined to be.”

“I don’t love him! I don’t even like his whiny ass!” You snap as you felt your frustrated tears roll down your face.

It’s true. Before you joined this team, you would have been thrilled that you were destined to be with Campus Hunk Ben Riley. He was everything you could ever want from a guy. He was good looking, sensitive, athletic, and social able. The all around good guy you would be proud to bring home to your folks.

But…

Sharp grasp on your shoulder alerts your attention back to Miguel as he slams you back against the desk. His eyes burning embers as he glares down at you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Changing into your spidersuit, you began to fight The Rhino with a distracted daze in your movements.

The memory from a week prior burning in your mind as you sloppily avoided cars and harsh blows. After a few well timed flips and back kicks, the brute decides to throw a large street cleaning truck towards the alleyway. Just like Lyla predicted when she handed you the file.

The Rhino is gonna throw a street cleaner towards the alleyway where Ben is. SpiderWoman will stop the truck before impact and sling it back towards The Rhino ending the fight.

~~~~~~~

“And why is it that you are being so difficult?!” He snaps as his fangs glimmer from his scowl. A cute trait you used to love about him until it was pointed at you. “You are no better than a spoiled child with how you are acting so you better have a good fucking reason!”

You growl back at him with a tear rolling down your enraged face.

He had no right to argue with you about your life, not when he’s the one making it difficult.

~~~~~~~

Shooting a web out towards the buildings, you catapulted yourself into the air and landed in front of the truck. Quickly reusing the web with some enforcements, the truck was bounced back to the The Rhino. The enormous foe gets trampled by the machinery as the crowd cheers for SpiderWoman’s dreaded victory.

“Way to go SpiderWoman!!” A familiar voice joins the crowd as I see Ben on the ground, obviously he either tripped or fell back to avoid the truck. You offer a hand towards him as you thank him softly.

“Thank you.” I faked the smile in my voice as the crowd disappears, leaving the two of you in the alley way.

~~~~~

Finally snapping at him, you yell out in fury,

“BECAUSE HE’S NOT YOU!”

With a frustrated slap to Miguel’s face, you run past him and escaped back to your dimension, heartbroken over how the events to come and what just happened that despite everything you couldn’t change fate.

No matter how many times you fell asleep during long nights talking on his observation deck. No matter how many playful sparring matches turn into flirty comments. Not even the little gestures of bringing the grumpy spider his coffee and him bringing you some sweets during meetings could change that the star already written your path.

You fell in love with a man who isn’t meant to be yours.

~~~~~

It’s been a week since that fight and you still haven’t seen or heard from him. It hurt to know that your confession was brushed aside while you had to continue the continuity. You half at least expected him to be here to make sure you at least followed through with the canon event.

“Would you like a swing home?” I offer just like I’m supposed to. The moment that was meant to be a nervous beginning to a love story felt like the beginning of heartache as I watched a blush form on his face.

“Sure,” he answered before a flash of realization that his date was suddenly not with him. Another trait you wouldn’t have noticed if you were as in love with him as you were suppose to be.

“Hey my date isn’t here…I think she got hurt or lost during the panic.” His concern caused a pang of guilt to stab her in the chest.

Recovering quickly, you shoot out some webbing and playfully hang upside down infront of him. “Well I guess that swinging date will have to be postponed.”

“Wait it was gonna be a-!”

Quickly, you pulled down the mask enough to deliver a quick peck to his rambling mouth. You force out a giggle as he stood looking at you flabbergasted.

“See ya, Riley.” You swing off as the man bumbled to even ask how you knew his name.

Lyla just said it was a kiss, not a what kind of kiss.

With a heavy heart, you swing back home as you tried to remember that this was all for the sake of the canon. That Miguel didn’t care for you the way you did for him. You tried your hardest to tell your aching heart that those past few months were you just making too much out of nothing.

You mournfully entered your apartment through the bathroom window you normally kept unlocked . You stripped away the skin tight fabric before wrapping yourself in the familiar comfort of your robe as you exited the room into a dim lit living room.

You heart stick in your chest as you see Miguel standing there in your living room in his bright blue spider suit and a beautiful spring lily in his hand.

“Miguel? What are you doing here?…” You ask as yoy warily approach him, scared he’s gonna do something to you.

He shakes his head, refusing to answer as he hands you the flower. It’s soft white petals shining in the pale moonlight as you smile fondly at it. They were your favorite flower. Something you told Miguel a million times before.

Before you could thank him for the kind gesture, a soft thump above you alrets you to look up. A spindle of glowing webbing cascaded down the ceiling with the large spiderman now suspended upside down from it. His free hand caresses the side of your face as his eyes stared softly into yours.

“I can’t change the canon, mi amor…” he whispers sadly before mischief lights up his molten gaze. “But we certainly can try to rewrite the stars for us.”

An excited nod from you causes his chest to rumble as he pulls you into a slow passionate kiss.

You were glad this is a canon event for spider men despite it not going as planned.

[narcissistshandler]

𝙋𝙇𝙀𝘼𝙎𝙐𝙍𝙀 𝙏𝙊 𝙄𝙉𝙎𝘼𝙉𝙄𝙏𝙔

✧ 𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦. m!reader x hobie brown

✧ 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲. bottom!hobie, anal beads and slight overstimulation

✧ 𝖠/𝖭. ~nothing~

A round bead is gently pulled out, so slowly that Hobie feels the aching tension in his thighs as his lubricated hole stretches, opening slowly until the silicone object can be released with an audible wet pop.

He takes a deep breath, trying to control his rapid breathing as your thumb grazes the tightly contracted, muscle pulsing. His legs tremble where they are on top of each other, lying sideways on the bed as you take your time playing with his body. Hobie had frantically agreed when you asked to use an anal bead on him and fidgeted every day afterward, waiting for the toy to arrive so you could use it. Now, with his cock softened, a wet spot growing on the mattress after three excruciating orgasms, and you not looking the least bit bored, Hobie was already considering hiding the toy, despite knowing deep down that it was exhaustion talking and that he would agree no matter what if you wanted to do it again; extract every drop of pleasure from him until there was nothing left.

He couldn't say no to you, he didn't even know if he wanted to.

His now-empty hole closed down into nothingness and when the smallest ball, the one it took you a full five minutes to get out of him, crawled back in, his breath stuttered, hips immediately pulling back away. The first bead was the smallest, so small it would go in even without proper preparation, yet shock shook his body, hyperaware of the new weight inside him.

Hobie gripped the sheets, letting your free hand hold his waist while the other placed the remaining beads inside, one after the other, pausing only when the size increased towards the end and his breathing began to quicken.

The weight swelled inside him, making him feel full and dizzy, unable to notice anything but the spheres stretching his hole, pressing against each other and hitting his prostate squarely each time a shudder shuddered through his body. Saliva trickled down his chin, legs now numb as tingles ran across his skin.

Silicone tried to work its way into him, forcing his hole open again. The last sphere, the one that was almost the size of your fist and that you couldn't get inside him before, no matter how hard you tried. The mere realization had him shivering, hole opening and closing, fighting the strain, stomach clenching in anticipation. You didn't look close to giving up, cold lube being squirted against him, onto the toy and onto the sheet, hand holding his waist having come down to cup one of his ass cheeks, thumb tugging at his taut hole.

Hobie was shaking like a leaf, stammering gibberish and groaning loudly. “Fuck- I, fuck.”

“Come on, my love. Just one more." You tried to coax, leaving kisses wherever you could reach his burning skin. But he couldn't, even if you begged.

“You're going to kill me,” Hobie strangled through a dry throat, the words clawing all the way out, a laugh that was purely manic muted by the time it reached his mouth.

“It will feel good, I promise. Take a deep breath for me and relax.”

Against every rational part of his body screaming to the contrary, Hobie did his best to listen to you, after all, he wanted to be good to you, he wanted to please you. You push in slowly, the cold silicone stretching the edge of it, slowly, slowly, slowly, so damn slowly Hobie feels the sphere slide inward in his spine, pushing the others impossibly further in, demanding to fit in. Its walls immediately tighten against the new intrusion, the hole barely closing when the last bead finally slides in and fills it even more, stretching it beyond its limit. Hobie's eyes roll back, vision blurred by tears as an orgasm rips through his body, rising through his feet, building in his stomach, slamming against his spine.

Darkness flickers behind his eyes and Hobie thinks he might have passed out for a few seconds when he comes back to, shivering, muscles clenched so hard it hurts and sensitive cock now half-hard dribbling thin translucent strips of cum onto the mattress.

“That was good, yes? Now we just have to get it out.” Your voice is ghosted close to his ear, your hands roaming his waist and thighs.

Hobie gasps for air, thinking he might be dancing on the edge of insanity, "Give me a... minute."

[coltermorning]

A Christmas to Remember (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: You and Arthur have agreed to meet on the night of Christmas Eve. The evening and the following day turn out to be more than either of you expected.

Author’s Notes: Just some good ole fluff for the holidays! Set a year or so down the road from the events of RDR2, and in this instance Arthur never got sick and rides alone now.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, implied sex, fluff

AO3 Link

~

A Christmas to Remember

Word count: 5994

The firelight flickered, throwing shadows across the wooden walls, shimmers of gold rising and collapsing in the night. The room was warm, comfortable for all the drafty air threatening to cut through it. It never quite managed to get in, like the flames stood guard in their grate, pushing against the inevitable winter.

The room had been decorated for the season with a tree and garland and ribbon and light. This place had likely never seen such decoration until the end of the year, the woody smell seeping into the very walls it was so thick. The source of it, a small pine, was standing crooked in the corner. It was a promise of what was to come. Inviting and, had the room not already held its heat, warm. Perfect for the occasion.

On the night before Christmas, you were perched by the window, ignoring the beauty of the room surrounding you in favor of the company you awaited. Mr. Morgan, a promise to meet you here not having left your thoughts since the moment it parted from his lips. You had your gift, your best clothes, expectation wrapped around you like a bow. And yet, all there was to do was wait. To feel the anticipation for his arrival and let all else fall away.

The minutes passed, and soon there was a horse coming up the path with its familiar white spots flashing in the night. That white would normally stand out more but for the snow, falling thick and slow in the December air. It made Valentine prettier. It made the mud seem less untidy somehow, more familiar.

You felt a smile curve your lips when you saw just the man you waited for approach, his hat slung low, his blue coat fastened tight around him. You watched him encourage his horse onward until he rounded the building out of sight. You wondered if he would stable the animal or not, caring as always or too taken by his haste at seeing you. How that eagerness of his for you made you giddy. To be known and to be wanted anyway.

You left your place by the window and took in the room with a sweeping glance. The lights, the smell, the warmth. It was homey in the same way he was. A welcome respite to come back to, a place to look forward to when things got hard.

You stood closer to the fire, knowing sitting was useless when all you wanted was to embrace him the moment he walked through the door. It had been too long. So you remained standing if a little impatient, feeling the nerves that quickened your heartbeat course through you. You would be parting with more than just a gift tonight, and the very thought made you restless. But you owed it to him. He deserved it.

You fiddled with a piece of ribbon tied on the garland that framed the fireplace when you heard bootsteps in the hall, heavy and determined. They made you smile. But for all his bravado, he knocked softly on the door when he reached it, as if you would whisk away into nothingness the moment he did. Like a dream and nothing more.

“Come in,” you answered, and your gentle words were all it took for him to regain that sense of pride. The door swung open, and nothing could have suited you better than the smile he wore, the light in his eyes when they landed on you.

“Y/N.” It was a happy sound. Not a greeting so much as a satisfied release of breath. Your feet were moving before you could respond.

You hugged the man you had been missing for weeks, wishing like always that the pair of you could make this permanent enough to keep you together for longer than an evening.

“I missed you,” you whispered, sinking into the feeling of him holding you. His coat was cold but his warmth outweighed it, swallowing you in the scent of tobacco smoke and outside air. You had missed that smell so much your chest ached with it.

“I missed you too, sweetheart,” he said. Always so intentional. Always saying just what he thought. You adored that about him.

You pulled back to look at him but remained in his arms. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Morgan.”

“Christmas Eve,” he corrected. “We still have a few hours yet.” Then his eyes were filling with meaning like they always did before he kissed you. The look that said nothing in the world mattered more than this. You tilted your chin up, happy to greet it with all the love you held for him. He leaned in with that enamored look, and his lips met yours with the soft release of anticipation for all the days spent waiting. All the days apart that would be dreadful if not for the knowledge that you would have this again. You kissed him back just as slow and soft, like this was what it took to remember.

The pair of you got a bit lost in each other until you could hear his breathing grow heavy. It always did that, and it never failed to make your heart race in kind.

You pulled away and looked into those ocean water eyes. “I got you something.”

He quirked an eyebrow, running his lips together subtilely like he could still taste your kiss. “Did you now?”

“Yes.” He had told you not to. This was your first Christmas spent with him, the first chance you had to give him a gift. But, just like his birthday that had come and gone without your knowledge, he didn’t want a gift. Just your company. You had already gotten onto him plenty for letting his birthday squeak by. You wouldn’t let it happen again.

You stepped to the side and motioned to the bed, to the small parcel laying atop it. You had done your best with wrapping it, a small bit of twine done up around the paper with a bow.

“It’s two, actually. I’ve been working on one for a while.” When you turned back to him, the small flash of concern on his face didn’t go unnoticed. “Don’t worry,” you assured him. “I didn’t expect anything in return.”

His eyes snapped to you then. “Well, that’s too bad,” he said lowly, and before you could ask why, he was reaching inside his coat and pulling something out. A present, a little battered from his travel, the paper wrinkled and the tie around it crushed. You only loved it more for it. It was endearing in the same way he was.

“Arthur,” you chided with a smile. “You were just going to let me show up without a present when you had one for me?”

“‘Course.” He smiled with his teeth, that toothy grin that reminded you of the boy he had once been.

You gave him an incredulous look, and he laughed, the sound spiraling upward and into your bones like liquid gold.

“Fine then. You open mine first,” you said, unable to shake the high that was being with him.

He raised his hands in mock surrender before repocketing his gift and making for the parcel. You felt nerves flash through you, hoping against hope he would like it. One you knew he would, but the other was…a bit different.

“You didn’t have to spend your money,” he said, picking up the package and pulling the string so the bow slipped apart.

“I wanted to,” you told him. “It didn’t cost much anyway. More time than anything.”

He eyed you, the remnants of that grin still on his face, then the paper crinkled as he undid it. It finally gave way to fabric—his favorite color. He smiled.

“Darlin’,” he said endearingly as he pulled out a new shirt. Nothing special, nothing fancy, just something for him to ride in, the softest blue you could find. You always teased him that everything he owned would be blue if he had his say in the matter. “I love it,” he said with a smile bright enough to make you return it. “Thank you.”

He made to hug you but you stopped him. “Unfold it.”

He hesitantly did so, dropping the wrapping to the floor. He held the shirt up, and the moment he did, a loud thunk sounded—his second gift hitting the floor.

“Shit, sorry,” he said, reaching for it.

You could only laugh. “It’s not breakable.”

He picked it up, and the low light in the room was enough for him to see the wood. To see what you had carved into it.

He flipped it over, examined it from every angle. “You did this?” He met your eyes with such an open admiration in his that you felt your face heat.

You nodded. “It’s for your shotgun. The stock. I made sure it was the right kind to fit your gun if you wanted to…swap them out.” You suddenly felt that was a little presumptuous of you.

He stared at it so long your nerves got the better of you.

“You don’t have to, of course-”

“No,” he said, meeting your eye with sincerity in his own. “I love it. I mean it. Thank you. I’ll get it put on there first thing tomorrow.”

You were beaming. “Really? It’s not too…I don’t know. Effeminate?”

He gave you a chiding look so you kept on. “You’re just…you, and I want you to like it, but you don’t have to use it if you-”

He stopped you with a kiss, sudden and sure enough to melt away your doubt. Then there was nothing but him. No worry about some gift that he ended up liking after all.

Arthur pulled away from you slowly, reluctantly. “Open yours.”

He pulled the parcel out of his coat and handed it to you as he sat on the bed, urging you to sit beside him. You joined him, admiring him as you took it. There was no nervousness about him like there had been in you. His mind didn’t even seem to be on the gift. He was thinking of you and little else. So you smiled when you opened it, knowing you would love it before you even knew what it was.

Sure enough, he knew you well. “A journal?”

He nodded as your smile stretched wider. You thumbed through the empty pages, yours to fill. The two of you had that in common—a need to record in drawing as well as words. He was heavier on the words, journal entries lining the pages of what little he had let you see of his leather-bound book. But you preferred drawing. Mimicking art. It was why you had carved the woodland scene into a gunstock for the better part of a month, knowing upon seeing its inspiration how special it was and that it needed to be remembered. So maybe now, that proud deer on the foreground of a valley would forever be cradled in his appreciative hand just as this journal would be cradled in yours.

“Thank you, Arthur.” You met his eye to show that you meant it then melted all over again at the way he was looking at you. You debated speaking the feeling that bloomed within you but didn’t, not when he picked up the stock again and brushed a thumb over your handiwork.

“This is fine work.”

The words made a blush tinge your face. You couldn’t help it. He always bragged on you in a way that would make any woman blush, much less the woman who somehow found herself on the doting end of this rugged, outlawed man. He was a blunt instrument, violent and determined, yet all he trained on you was softness. Kindness you didn’t know how you had come to deserve.

“I told you you was better than me.” This meaning your artwork.

You snorted a laugh. “Yeah, right. And I told you, maybe I’d be a better judge of that if you let me get my hands on that journal of yours.”

He chuckled, the sound soft and warm as the room surrounding you. But to your surprise, for the first time since you’d found out he carried a journal, he didn’t protest.

“Actually,” he said, reaching around to his satchel. “I got you two gifts too.” And, to your shock, he was turning back to you with said journal in hand, holding it out like a bough of hard-earned trust.

“What?” It came out as a whisper, all you could manage in your surprise.

“Take it,” he said, holding it out farther. “I used up all the pages anyway. It’s nigh time I offload it, and I’d feel better about it being in your hands than lord knows who else’s.”

“You mean…” You looked from it to him. “You’re letting me have it? Read it all?”

He nodded his head to the side, a self-conscious gesture. What it must take for him to trust you this much. What he must feel for you.

You took it from him and ran your hands over the worn leather face. All Arthur. Your heart leapt in fondness for him.

You set the journal down atop the new one he had gifted you and turned to face him fully. You felt so deeply for this man. You had for a while. And you wanted him to know it. The journal was just proof he felt the same.

Before you could utter a word, Arthur swept in close and kissed you on the cheek, then stood. He offered you his hand. You took it, and he pulled you up and against him in one fluid motion, his fingers tangling with yours, his other hand finding your back. Then he was moving back and forth. Dancing. Arthur Morgan, outlaw of the state, dancing.

You laughed aloud. “What’s this?”

He ignored whatever gruffness he would normally have over something so carefree and led you in a soundless dance around the room, the only music the warmth, the lights, the way you felt for each other.

“You know how to dance, don’t you?” he said.

“Vaguely,” you replied. “Do you?”

That really got him going. He gave you a roguish grin and spun you, making you twirl with his fingers alone before pulling you back in. And when he did, he crushed you to him. Then his lips were on yours, and there wasn’t anymore air in the room apart from the love he granted you, how it filled your lungs.

Now. Now, in this perfect moment. It was time. You pulled away.

“Arthur?”

His eyes were closed, his hands cradling your face as he rested his forehead against yours as best he could with his hat. And still he swayed, a subtle back and forth even though it couldn’t quite be considered dancing anymore.

“Hm?”

You didn’t care that his eyes were shut. Didn’t care that he didn’t know what you were about to say or how long you had mulled over saying it. Because you felt it. And it was never more real than it was when you were with him.

“I love you.”

He stopped swaying.

You watched his blue eyes open slowly, like he didn’t quite believe what he had heard. Then his gaze met yours, soft and searching under those eyelashes, complicated as he was.

He didn’t answer. Just held you, watched you. In disbelief, you realized. Or maybe wanting to hold onto this moment like you were, committing it to memory. Too bad he no longer had a journal to draw it in. The thought made you smile. Then words were spilling from you like a flood.

“I’ve loved you since the day I saw what kind of man you really were. I’ve loved you since I saw that page in your journal with the deer drawn on it. I’ve loved you for so long it’s like I was just waiting on you to get here. Like you were made for me.”

His eyebrows drew together in emotion. Still, he did not speak.

“I love you so much it hurts when you’re away,” you muttered, finding his coat in your hands and clutching it, pulling him closer. When you met his eyes again, he was so close you could see every fleck of color in the firelight, the blue and gold that crashed together into green. You kissed him, and this time he was reluctant. Unsure. So you moved back just enough to give him room to breathe, time to think enough to speak.

His eyes never left you as he said, “I don’t know what I did to deserve that.”

It was quiet and vulnerable. So true of him, that he didn’t think he deserved to be loved.

“You’re you,” you said. “And that’s enough for me. Enough and then some.”

He was pulling you to him in less than a heartbeat. Crashing his lips to yours with all the passion of a man born again.

He broke from it for a breath, whispering, “I love you too,” before kissing the words into your mouth.

Nothing would ever be better than this. Nothing. It didn’t matter that the feeling was temporary. That Christmas would be over, and he would be gone, and you would ache at the loss of him again. There was no losing this. This memory would hold on forever as the happiest you’d ever had.

Arthur pulled back, and you were both breathing heavy. Far beyond any arousal or want. This was deeper.

He held your face like he held his life in his hands as he said, “I love you too, sweetheart.” Just because he could. The privilege of getting to say it addictive.

You looked at him and couldn’t keep the smile on your face at bay. He met your gaze and kissed you softly, a press of his lips against yours. A guarantee.

Wordlessly, he led you back to the bed. Your heart started to pound with thoughts less innocent until he picked up his journal, flipped toward the back, and held it out to you again.

“I may not have admitted it until now but…well. See for yourself.”

You took the book and turned it toward you, sitting back on the bed. The page you were met with had a drawing of you on it. Patiently drawn, thought out enough that it truly resembled you. You had wondered that—if he had ever drawn you. And now you had your answer. There were no words inscribed beside it like usual, like he just wanted the memory of you down on the page. Absentminded fondness. It burned you up inside.

“Keep turning.”

You looked to him. He wouldn’t meet your eye, embarrassment keeping his gaze glued to his journal, but it was endearing on him all the same.

You did as he asked and saw drawing after drawing after drawing, a few entries here and there. A few animals, a few towns, and nearly every other page, you.

It amazed you. You had thought you’d fallen first, and hard, but seeing this proved otherwise. Based on the entries, these drawings were done mere weeks after you met him.

“I could never seem to get your likeness just right,” he admitted quietly.

“Arthur, these are…” You wanted to reassure him. That this warmed your heart to him more than anything. You looked at him. “Thank you. I never thought…” You had stopped on a page that drew your gaze like none other. Because it captured a look in your eye you had only ever given to him. It was your admiration for him sketched out on the page, all subtle shades of black and gray. And the entry beside it nearly made you tear up.

I get to see her again.

He had drawn a heart beside it. You sobbed a laugh, a sound so happy it was all you could speak.

“I’ve been pretty damn fond of you from the beginning,” he admitted.

You set the journal aside and rose to meet him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I love you.” You said it on a smile. Because that’s all there was for it.

“Well if it ain’t obvious now…” he started. And he didn’t have to finish. Because you knew he loved you back.

You kissed him slowly then hugged him tight. He was yours.

You had a sudden idea and broke away from him, sitting back on the bed, reaching for the unused journal. “Here.”

“You don’t want it?”

Even the thought crushed you. “No, I want it. But I want you to christen the first page.”

“It’s yours,” he said. Like that would change your mind.

“I know it is. And every time I open it, I want to be reminded of the night I got it.”

He just stared, so you spoke. “Draw me.” Not from memory. Not without your knowledge this time.

“What, now?”

It was true, the pair of you didn’t have long together. But this was more intimate than anything somehow.

“Yes.” You smiled at him. And the look you gave him must have made up his mind, because he took the journal from your hand, the motion subtle and soft in the firelight. He went to the corner and pulled the lone chair over, setting it before you and sitting in it. He reached in his satchel and pulled out a drawing pencil. Then he sat back and looked at you. Really looked at you. He smiled. And he opened the journal, set pencil to paper, and began.

Every time he studied you, you admired him. The way his eyes focused, the way his pencil shaded gently. Such a light hand, easy in the same manner he was to you. A vast difference from when he was holding a gun, just as he treated everyone else so differently. This was the real Arthur. Only yours to see.

Minutes passed, and you shifted as you watched him, the big, tough man hyper-focused on the small journal in his hand.

“Hold still.”

When he met your eye, his were glinting with playfulness. You knew he was only kidding. You had seen him capture birds in flight, fish mid-leap out of the water, animals of all sorts on the run. He didn’t need you to be still. And just being here with him, letting him draw and joke and tease, filled you with such happiness as to make you want to plant this in your memory forever—a warm room and a man who loved you.

When he finished the drawing, he closed the journal and stowed his pencil, standing.

“Let me see.”

He shook his head with a lazy smile as he bound the journal back up. “Later.”

“Why later?”

Then he was stepping closer, the air in the room going thin as his eyes fixed on you.

“Open it when I ain’t here,” he said, eyes full with want. He tossed the journal on the bed and boxed you in with arms on either side of you, leaning in and kissing you slow and lazy. You soared. In this room full of merry light and special occasion, you soared. You hadn’t known what to expect when you first met this man, certainly not the gentle, easy love you had fallen into with him, but as he laid you back and began kissing you like you were the very air he breathed, you were more thankful than you ever had been. He was yours, and you were his, and nothing else in this inconsequential little life mattered. Maybe one day, it would even be enough to make him stay. Or better yet, for you to gain the courage to go with him. Whatever he asked of you, you would do it. For him, you would.

“I love you,” you whispered into his mouth again, eager to be able to say it. And then he was losing all semblance of patience and control, borne on the back of the desire that was having you all to himself for the night, those full words repeating and repeating.

“I love you,” he said, low and true. You smiled.

~

The following morning, Christmas morning, the two of you hesitantly stepped down the stairs of the hotel together, neither wanting to leave the other.

Sure enough, Arthur’s horse stood just beside yours, hitched to the post outside the hotel. He, like you, had been too full of anticipation over seeing you and had refrained from taking the time to stable his horse. No matter. The two animals had always seemed to get on well. Like they knew their owners had something special and got along like old friends, like siblings, because of it.

Arthur stepped up to his horse, giving it a treat and a loving pat. Not saying a word, not wanting the moment to end.

“Want to go get that stock put on your gun?” you suggested, knowing whatever else there was could wait.

He eyed you. Then turned, stepped closer, took your hand.

“Come with me.” He looked down at your hand as he spoke. Like the mere act of holding it was precious.

“Of course,” you said, a smile already forming.

The pair of you led your horses together down the main thoroughfare, the slight worry of someone recognizing Arthur lingering in the back of your mind. It had been a long time since that gang of his stirred up so much trouble here, but not long enough.

You got to the gunsmith without a fuss and offered to hitch Arthur’s horse while he went inside. He just rolled his eyes at you before taking your mount, leading them over himself. Ever the gentleman.

When he returned to your side with his shotgun strapped over his shoulder, he led you up the steps with a hand at your back. He used to be so nervous about touching you. It only made you fonder for him over time, and especially now that he had gotten over it.

He held the door open for you, and you stepped inside, looking over the racks of guns, the counter display, the gunsmith. He eyed Arthur a little when he came in behind you but didn’t say a word about it if he recognized him. He only gave a Christmas greeting and an offer to help.

“Need to change the stock out on my shotgun,” Arthur said, laying the weapon down on the countertop.

“Sure. We have a fine selection of-”

“No need,” Arthur said, holding a hand up and using the other to pull the gift you had carved him out of his coat.

“This is a fine piece,” the smith said upon seeing it laid down.

“She carved it,” Arthur said with pride as he turned to look at you, eyes alight.

“You?” the man said, drawing your attention away from Arthur’s loving gaze. “Well, if you’re looking for work, I could use someone with this kind of talent.”

“Thank you but no,” you said respectfully. “I don’t live around these parts.” Just a passerby, choosing this spot to spend one perfect evening because you knew how the hotel room would be decorated, how homey and worn the town was. Just like Arthur.

The smith nodded his head and got to work, taking Arthur’s gun. When he was halfway finished and Arthur said, “That piece goes on first,” realization hit you like a slap. Arthur never said he needed to go to the gunsmith to get the new stock affixed to the gun, just that he would get it put on. He would. He knew how, likely knew more about guns than most gunsmiths. Including how to take one apart and put it back together. So why had he agreed to come here, pay what little penance the labor would cost?

When Arthur’s gaze shifted from his gun to you, the answer dawned on you. He wanted to spend what little time he could with you. Your whole being melted at the very idea. He was such a sap.

You held his eyes then let the moment pass when the smith announced he was finished. Arthur checked over his gun and smiled when he brushed his hand over the carved wood. “Perfect,” he said. You felt your face heat again, just glad that he liked it. Even more glad he was willing to carry it around like a badge of honor.

He turned to the smith. “What do I owe you?”

“You let me keep this stock and we call it even,” he said, holding up the old one. It was worth more than that, but Arthur let it slide, seemingly favoring his new one too much to care.

“You got a deal,” Arthur said, tipping his hat. “I appreciate it. And uh, merry Christmas.” He shouldered his gun and placed his hand at your back once more, leading you out.

“To you as well,” the gunsmith replied. Then you were out the door and away from any remaining worry that Arthur would be recognized.

The two of you ambled back over to the horses, wordless. Not wanting this to end so soon. Arthur stowed his gun. You stood and watched him. Then he turned and sighed as his breath plumed in the cold air, like he had to remember how to breathe when leaving was inevitable. Maybe one day it wouldn’t be.

He pulled you in for a hug, resting his head atop yours. You nuzzled into his warmth.

“When will I see you again?” The words had more sorrow in them than you intended. He must have noticed, as he moved back enough to place a finger under your chin and lift your head to look at him. The smile under his eyes was sad too, but filled with hope.

“Soon. Real soon if I played my cards right.”

“What does that mean?”

He just shook his head and smiled, that boyish grin. “Just write me when you feel like putting up with me again.”

That was odd. Normally he gave you a time frame. “That’s always, Arthur,” you said. “You may as well stay if that’s the case.”

He laughed. You’d been over this before. He only refrained from asking you to join him in fear of his past catching up with him. You used to want to keep a healthy distance from that past, but now you weren’t so sure. Things were different when love was involved.

“Well, if you’ll have me, I’ll be back then. How’s that?”

That still raised more questions than it answered, but you didn’t ask them. His smile was distracting you. He was normally more solemn than this when he left.

“Why are you acting so funny?”

He leaned in and kissed you, a quick peck on the lips. Then he held your eye, the look on his face smug. For the life of you, you couldn’t decipher why.

Finally, he gave some. “Just take a look in that new journal of yours for me. When I’m gone.”

Your eyebrow raised high. Or even higher. “Why not now?”

“Just…” He let out another long breath. “Trust me. Can you do that?”

The dashing, bashful smile he leveled on you would have had you agreeing to murder.

“Yeah. Of course. You know I do.”

“All right then.” He pulled you in for another hug. This one tighter. This one more like a goodbye. It was a strange place to end things, almost unlike an ending at all. It had you wanting to rip open that journal right now and figure what on earth he was on about.

He pulled away and, with a calmness in his eyes, said, “I love you.” He held it like a breath. “And merry Christmas. I’ll see you…real soon. I hope.”

As suspicious as you were, you let him be. If he wasn’t telling you what was up now, he had to have a reason. So you held onto the hope that the promise of soon was a surety, that you would see the love he had for you made just as palpable as it was right now, stretching across his face in the morning light.

You loosed a breath and gave in to that love. “I love you too. More.” He grinned, color reaching his face. “Merry Christmas, Arthur.”

“Indeed,” he said. Then he was kissing you again and letting you go. Heading for his horse all too soon.

He mounted and turned to look at you. “Remember, don’t open that journal ‘til I’m gone. Long gone.”

“Why? What’d you put in there, a stick of dynamite?”

He let out a happy laugh. “Oh, it’ll blow something up, that’s for sure.” That left you stumped. “Just relax. You can read it as soon as I’m down the way, how’s that?”

You shook your head at him but couldn’t help the smile that turned your lips. “You’re something else.”

“You love me,” he taunted. And he was right.

“Go then,” you said, shooing him. “Go on. I have journals to read.”

“Good day to you too, miss.”

You laughed, and he kicked up his horse, rounding you. He got close enough to duck down and lift his hat, planting one last, brazen kiss on your lips. It had you blushing like a kid.

He straightened and donned his hat, his face the same red as yours likely was, though neither could be contributed to the cold.

“Bye. See you soon.”

“Goodbye, Arthur. It’d better be soon, or you owe me an explanation.”

“It will be. I hope.” There he went again. You just waved him off, and he passed you smiling wide, his horse stepping out into the muddy, snow-logged street. You watched him go with awe. That handsome, proud man. How you had ever won him over, you couldn’t be sure. But you had. And you were pulling out your new journal to find out why before he had even gotten halfway down the street.

You unwrapped its binding in haste, feeling the new pages crack and reluctantly give in your hands. You flipped and flipped and reached the first page and were…struck dumb. Utterly.

On the left was a drawing of you. Subtle and suggestive with its shading, perfect, the way all of Arthur’s drawings were. But on the right, in big, bolded letters: The future Mrs. Morgan. And underneath, May she forgive me for not having procured a ring yet. I’ll make it up to her in kind as soon as she’ll let me.

You could have cried. You couldn’t believe it. The decision to stay apart all this time had been both his and yours, and knowing now that he had changed his mind…

You looked up and found him to be nowhere in sight. You wished he still were. If he were, you would drag him back here and tell him a ring didn’t matter. Of course you would marry him. It didn’t require any thought. The decision was already made the minute he whispered that he loved you back.

The future Mrs. Morgan. Having that down in his writing, on the very first page no less…you could die happy.

You took one last look and shut the journal, stuffing it back inside your coat. And, riddled with giddiness, you faced the street and the daylight, soaking it into your bones. For all the chill the wind held, it couldn’t cut you. For all the months spent away from Arthur, you couldn’t feel sorry that you had needed to be so patient. Because this was real, and true, and unlike anything in the world.

On Christmas Day and for the first time in years, you faced your future with surety. And what a beautiful, merry sight it was.

[theaawalker]

I Will [Finnick Odair x Reader]

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Song Inspo: Meet Me At Our Spot by The Anxiety Word Count: 2,713 Series: 1 | 2 | ? Summary: it's been years since Finnick was reaped. He came out victorious, as you'd prayed he would, but then disappeared from the public eye. It wasn't long before the Capital revisited District 4 for its next competitor. Fast-forward, you're the winner of the 75th Hunger Games, and can barely sleep. When the Capitol unveils its next phase for the Games, you're thrusted back into survival as old habits return... as do old friends. Warnings: cuts, use of blades, surveillance, depression, female rage, mentions of prostitution, mentions of murder, making out, mentions of sex Masterlist: see fandoms (pc-friendly)

You've been back for three weeks now. It feels like three years. You are the victor of the 75th Hunger Games. Your life is even worse than it was before your games, which was not meant to be part of the deal. Your entire family was dead. When you refused Snow's offer to make you a prostitute he killed them all. You thought he was bluffing. You thought he was bluffing. You thought he was bluffing. Now, you spend your days perched on your windowsill looking down onto the bottom floor, watching the other victors live. It provides minimal comfort knowing just because your life has taken a giant halt no one else's has. The only time you move from this spot is to go to the bathroom. Your legs are so stiff from minimal movement that you must hang onto the wall to steady yourself. You haven't showered. You've barely eaten, discounting canned foods. You're still in the clothes you wore when you arrived back. The only difference was a massive woolly blanket, providing some warmth in your cold, depressing room.

Someone comes over twice a day. You don't know who it is because you never actually look at them, eyes glued on the window. It's not because you're purposely ignoring them, but because you're lost in your own empty nothingness. And, as hard as you try, you can't fight your way back to reality. Whoever it is delivers your food.

Today was different though.

You hear them come in and remove their shoes. You hear them ramble through the kitchen for omething. After a while, their footsteps come towards you. You feel them put a hand on your slump, left shoulder. This is unusual but the difference is that you feel the urge to see who it is. You want to know who has been taking care of me. You want to know. So you find out.

"Welcome back to Earth, my dear." They say seductively with, face blurred by your unused vision.

"Finnick?" My voice all scratchy from no use.

"Wow," the blonde man said, "way to thank your mentor. But, fawn away, my dear!"

A wipe of the eyes reveals their true identity. A blonde man, indeed, but not yours. You've seen him on television during the 74th Hunger Games, often at the hip of its victors Katniss and Peeta.

"I know you."

"I'd sure hope so." Haymitch chuckles, stepping away to some stuff on your bed, his back to you.

"You... you've been helping me?"

"Of course. I couldn't let a pretty, little trainee like yourself starve, now could I?"

"Train for what?"

Haymitch paused. "You didn't see the news, did you?" You slowly shook your head, clutching your blanket. "Oh, jeez." The older man sighed. He grasped his mouth and stood silently, contemplating his next words. Having found them, he knelt in front of you as if you were a goner. "I'm sorry, kid... you're up next."

[ time skip - an hour later ]

An hour. That's how long Haymitch gave you to have a meltdown. You exploded with the pain, anger, and power of a thousand nukes. You obliterated your room - never careing for it anyways. You would've destroyed the building had physics not failed you. While you finished off your rampage with a primal scream, Haymitch waited outside the door and checked his watch.

Then he knocked. "Uh, kid. Time to go." You flung your door open and glared at him, eyes low and insides dead. "Hope you saved some of that rage for your combat."

The two of you head to the bottom floor. The elevator ride is quiet, and anyone who hops on ogles at you. Your hair sticks to your sweaty face. Your eyes are sunken and baggy. Your adrenaline is falling but you're still shivering. You look like a wild cat in captivity; tired, bitter, and vengeful. But worst of all, trapped.

You get to the ground floor and follow Haymitch to god-knows-where. Passing by training victors and their mentors doesn't faze you. You've played this game before. You won. You weren't confident you'd do it again, you just didn't care.

"Let's test out that fire on a target." Haymitch brought you to an assortment table of knives, spears, swords, and blades. He waved a finger across them. "Take your pick."

You grabbed the mezzaluna knife and peeked at your reflection. Your eyes... you'd be scared of you too.

You used to be so sweet and naive. You cared about others, maybe too much. You were selfless, self-conscious, and spineless. Killing people in an arena will take that from you. In a way, one of those victims was the old you.

'Rest in peace,' you thought.

"O-kaaay." Haymitch side-eyed you. "You ough to warm up before-" Your knife hit the bullseye with a sharp thud. "...Or not."

You threw the knife over, and over, and over until your palm sliced open. By Haymitch's advice, you took a breather and sought bandage. First aid wasn't a priority in the training hall, so you had to wander to find some proper wrappings. You didn't care if looking around made you appear clueness, or crazy, or weak.

A permanent "vacation" didn't sound so bad.

On your search, you saw Katniss Everdeen talking to someone by the rope stand. All you could see was his back and blonde hair. 'Peeta looks taller than on tv.' You thought to yourself.

Katniss looked over his shoulder, straight at you. You nodded, and she nodded back, a semblance of respect established. Her boyfriend watched her stare for a moment before turning around. By then you'd already looked away.

As you think about heading back, something within you begs you to stay. To look again, for whatever reason. Having nothing to lose or gain, you turn your head, which takes a lot of energy, and actually look and see who it is. You nearly faint as it's the person you never expected to see.

Finnick Odair.

He's squinting as if to make sure it's you. Then his eyes widen. At the same time, you both start for each other. The announcement feedback rings out, stopping you and him in your tracks. You step back and idle by, moving eye contact to the cement ground.

"Attention, victors. Let me be the first to welcome you," you didn't care to listen to the rest. All your mind could think about was Finnick. You hadn't seen him in almost 6 years, when he was torn from you and reaped. Just when he'd learned you two shared a soul mark. You pulled your sleeve down to hide it, paranoid a councilperson will see and tie you to Finnick. "but most of all, make your districts proud. Happy training! And may the odds be ever in your favor."

You try not to cry as the speaker ceases. Biting your lip, you peek back at Finnick's spot. His chest rises as he's huffing and staring at you, begging to be reunited. He looks so much older and buffer. His tan only complimented his gorgeousness. You had to have him.

But you couldn't, breaking your gaze. Not without drawing suspicion. So you bury alive your longing, conjure the numb beast born in your Hunger Game, and march over.

"Either of you know where to find wrappings?" You said, indirectly talking to Finnick but looking at Katniss. This was your way of tricking the cameras.

"I wouldn't, no." Katniss replied, scanning your body for the injury.

"I would." The man of your dreams said. Katniss looked at him, but you kept staring at her. "There's a kit cabinet, corner-east of the elevator. Should hold you down till the day's over."

You swallow the frog in your throat. It would be the first time you'd spoken to him since the day you lost him... You'd pictured that very moment countless times. The worst of circumstances had delivered. You couldn't even look into his eyes. Those beautiful, sea-foam eyes. You couldn't feel his eyes on you either. President Snow had control of you both, despite being nowhere nearby. It was no secret that man loved two things: using people as pawns and tearing people apart. You'd die before you let him do that to you and Finnick. Not again.

"And what if..." you cleared your throat, "what if I need another wrapping later on today?"

Finnick got quiet, picking up your breadcrumb. "There's a storage closet on the second floor. End of the hallway on the left. No one goes up there. Shouldn't be any eyes on you."

Eyes being cameras or guards, you understood. "Thanks."

Finnick started to say something else, but you walked away. Had you'd stayed any longer, you surely would've broken character and gotten the two of you killed.

[ time skip - later that night ]

Night fell and you were longing for Finnick's touch. Haymitch had finally fallen asleep, proved by his obnoxious snoring across the hall. You threw off your covers, revealing your blue, silk pajamas, and creaked open the door. Left, no one. Right no one. Empty hall. 'Thank God,' you sighed and tiptoed down it. The elevator button dinged and you jumped. You checked behind you, expecting your mentor or a guard. Empty hall still.

The elevator ride felt slower than usual. You lived on the 8th floor, so the 2nd floor shouldn't have taken that long. Then you remembered, making your face freeze and heart stop. There were cameras in the elevators. You curse yourself but evade looking at it. You should've taken the stairs. You hoped Finnick had.

'Finnick...'

The doors opened on the second floor. You walked out, almost robotically, and turned to the hall's end. 'End of the hallway on the left. Storage closet.' Finnick's words echoed in your head. You repeated it like a mantra as you headed that way. You finally got the storage closet door, no sign of entry. You reached for the handle when a dangerous feeling invaded you. You hadn't seen this man in nearly 6 years. You weren't the same, and perhaps so was he.

What if Finnick was deceiving you? 'No.'

What if guards are waiting behind the door?' No, he'd-'

What if Finnick was working with Snow? 'No, he'd never.'

How could you be sure? 'I'll prove it.'

You threw open the door and dove inside. Had you Finnick not caught you, you would've crashed into him. It was dark and dimly lit by a dying lightbulb. You saw illuminated Finnick's outline - his shape, really - but that was all. Not ideal circumstances, but they'd do.

"Y/N..." He was still holding you by the forearms. "Were you followed?" His voice read as serious, edging on emotionless.

"No." You said, hiding your dismay. For a moment, you regretted not bringing your knife. He had a hold of you, ambushed in a dark, small closet, in the middle of the night, and towered over you like Goliath.

Then a flashlight turned on under you. Once you saw his face, all the fear and paranoia dissolved.

"Good." He said charmingly with a sweet, gentle smile resting on his tan, god-like face. Suddenly he drops his Capitol self and you see another person not Finnick Odair but just Finnick. "I missed you s-"

You hugged him like you've never hugged anyone before. He rocked you side-to-side and you squeezed him tighter. You both chuckle as you break apart and look at each other.

"Gosh, Finn. You look so different." You gawked at his, well, everything.

"So do you, Y/NN." Finnick observed you with a sweet smile of disbelief. "Guess running for your life will do that to you." He joked, making you giggle.

Then it grew quiet as cruel reality set in.

You were both murderers. Both slaves to the Capitol. Both stuck inside a world you hate. Both surrounded by people you don't like. Even if he hadn't said it, his face told you. It had affected him too.

Your hands caress his cheeks as you mutter, "I wish things were different."

"I know what you're going through. I understand. And I felt terrible that I left without telling what," he sighed, "what you meant to me. I couldn't help you during your games because the Capitol wanted me to… take care of other business and Mags helped me a lot when I came home. So I should've looked for you, should've helped you, should've tried, because you deserve it."

You were too exhausted to cry. You contemplated aplogizing for not telling him about the soul mark. It happened so long ago that you couldn't recall if you'd said sorry then. When he was reaped and ripped away from you. So, you changed the subject. "You know why he killed my family, right?"

"Yes. Yes, I know why".

"You're a prostitute?"

"...Yes."

"To protect your family?"

"At first like you I refused then he killed my mother. The only family I had that was blood. Then he threatened to kill Mags. So I did it."

"I thought he was bluffing."

"I did too." Then Finnick's eyes fell to the ground, riddled with shame and uncertainty. "So... you don't mind? That I, uh..." his brows furrowed in angered remembrance, "that I'm... what Snow makes me do?"

You finally muster the courage to kiss him. His lips are salty and oh so plump. They mesh with yours perfectly. He grabs your face and deepens the kiss. You pull away to breath, eyes still closed and smiling. You licks your lips, relishing his citrus taste before being pulled into another kiss. Your heads move as your mouths devour each other. Your hands explore his back, sometimes tugging at his tanktop. He slides his tongue across your teeth, begging for permission. You open your mouth wide and let him slip it inside you. You suck on his long tongue and listen to his moans. As you suck and savor his slippery glossa, the idea of sex claws as you. You didn't want to soil the moment by [redacted]-ing Finnick.

Plus, you didn't have any condoms.

You let go of his tongue, which he rolled back into his smirking mouth. He dove in for another kiss but you caught his chest.

"I don't want to do it right away." You told him. You watched his face of arousal disappear, replaced by calm, and an understanding nod.

"I get it." He tucked your hair behind your ear. "We can stop here if you want."

Tears you resented stung your eyes. You bore into his chest, thoughts distant. "I don't think we can."

"Hey, hey," Finnick lifted your face, "what's wrong?"

"We're both victors, Finnick." You sniffled. "Do you really think they're gonna let two victors win again?"

It was true. Peeta and Katniss had gotten lucky. You and Finnick wouldn't be so, not if the Capitol could help it. The love you had would be destroyed, killed in the 76th Hunger Games. Not just the love between you, but one of you... one of you had to die.

"We'll find a way. Listen, listen to me. We will find a way. There's 59 days till the Games. We'll come up with a way to survive. Hide till it's over, fake our deaths, escape - whatever it takes. O-okay?" He plastered a weak yet hopeful smile. He brought your foreheads together. "I'm not losing you again. We just have to have faith. Okay?"

"We can't-"

"Promise me, Y/N. Please." Finnick begged, speaking and breathing softly. "Promise me you'll have faith in me. In us. Promise you will."

Every fiber of your being ignites. Faith didn't exist in the Hunger Games. Precision. Skill. Wit. Violence. Vigilance. Survival. That's what reigned. That's what would get you through the day. You hated doing it that way, but it had worked in the past. What Finnick was asking you was to basically abandon the protocol. To go against logic and defy the future, pretty much ensuring your demise. Could you trust what he was saying, or were your prior suspicions accurate? Could you use that against him, trick him as well? You just knew this wasn't going to end well, whatever happened. But for now, you'd play pretend.

"I will."

• ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ •

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[reimeichan]

We don't have an inner world.

I mean, not really. Sometimes we can imagine a place really hard and see it there. The "safe space" we created with our old therapist is one such example. A cool, quiet place for us to visit to calm down and relax and enjoy ourselves when things get overwhelming.

Thing is, I don't really consider that to be my inner world.

I have to consciously think of it to bring it up. The other alters don't necessarily "chill" there. Sure, we can invite each other there as need be, but we're all more like visitors sharing the same daydream.

And we have other places like that, too. Places or scenes we imagine just to facilitate some form of communication with each other. A white room, a library, a forest, a spaceship.

But none of them are really an inner world for us.

No, honestly, any attempt an an inner world has actually made things worse for us. As in, made our dissociation actively worse, not better. For some of us, we would confuse internal experiences with reality too much. Others were basically get stuck in this daydream and experience a lot of difficulty trying to leave. Still others refused to leave; after all, the inner world was so much more pleasant than the external world.

And honestly, it's not too bad. We tried to force ourselves to have an "inner world" like all the other systems we seemed to hear about online. We were told how it could help with communication and having a safe space, or having things for other alters to do when they're not fronting. Even our old therapist originally tried to help build one with us. But honestly.... forcing one on us isn't the right thing to do.

If anything, the void nothingness is more calming and relaxing for us. Our various trains of thoughts are always running anyways, we don't need the hubbub of an "inner world" to entertain us. We don't need internal avatars to know which train of thought is talking to us right now. Just letting ourselves... be, in this chaotic swirl of thoughts and memories, instead of forcing some kind of organization on us, has been a lot better for us. Accepting that this is how we work made our communication stronger. Working with what was already there and trying to understand that made things so much better for us.

So for those of yall who don't have an inner world, who tried to make one but just couldn't: its okay. You're no more or less of a system for having one.

[yggdrasilhypno]

One of my favorite all time induction methods is a pretty classic one: cocknosis. It’s simple, effective, and gives off this pure feeling of submission almost instantly. I mean, if you’re conditioned to fall head over heels into trance at only the sight of my cock, it would make it truly effortless to sink nearly completely down into nothingness. It all comes from the power and pleasure a cock can provide.

But, it’s not about the cock itself really. It’s about what it entails for you. It’s just another hypnotic object after all, swinging back and forth like a pretty pendulum, rocking you slowly into hypnotic sleep. It’s that sinking feeling, that instant submission, knowing that soon enough it’s going to be your entire world. Knees buckled, mouth salivating, completely controlled at only the sight. But that’s only the beginning.

I love to incorporate all the senses into a good trance, using everything to my advantage. Each one another stepping stone, another building block to create the best possible experience. Cocknosis uses all of these perfectly.

Let’s start with smell, my personal favorite. Imagine that perfect scent in the air, a musk unlike any other. Rich with the essence of the days of work under my belt starting to cycle through your nose. It’s almost intoxicating by itself, driving you into a primal urge and need. Losing thoughts with each breath, with each dose of my scent.

And as those thoughts pile out, you can hear your heartbeat slow down. Almost as if it’s being rewritten by the motion of my body, it slows and slows you down, each beat becoming even more important. Keeping you nice and stable in your state, hearing firsthand how my control has set in. Each beat is just another reminder of how deep you’ve gone, and how much deeper you can go.

It’s the sight of the cock that keeps you anchored, though. Watching its motion back and forth, keeping your attention as everything else becomes a blur. It’s what enraptured you at first, the sight of my cock drawing your eyes in as it took you down deep into the suggestible state you crave. The gentle ticks and tocks of my cock rocking back and forth like a clock, enveloping your mind and body into this beautiful sensation of warmth and pleasure.

But touch is even more important however. Just the smallest touch can send shockwaves of ecstasy throughout the body. Your hand becoming the vessel for your worship, your ticket to heaven. Each part of your body that touches my cock becomes corrupted, forever linked to pleasure as you crave more and more. That corruption fueling you further to touch and explore more, giving yourself up into depravity all for that rush of bliss.

Let’s not forget taste however. Just imagining the taste on your tongue, a beautiful mix of ecstasy and sweetness. Like an aphrodisiac, one taste is enough to get you hooked. Each hit of flavor keeps you coming back for more, sending you further down into complete mindless abandon. Leaving sanity at the door, the taste corrupting you further and further into nothingness until you’re on the floor, brainless and unable to process a thought without the slightest idea of my cock.

So finally, let’s combine these, shall we? The sight of my cock, swinging just for you in that hypnotic motion that you can’t help but stare and gawk at. It’s rocking you into a deep trance, and the sound of your heartbeat slowing down only encourages you further on. Getting dizzy off the scent, it seems like you can’t wait another moment before you need it. And so, your hand slowly begins to explore my cock, getting hooked on the shocking pleasure it seems to send throughout your body with only the smallest touch. More touching, more depravity as the scent begins to overwhelm you into complete insanity over my cock. Finally, you decide to take a taste, which proves to be the final nail in the coffin. The aphrodisiac like taste hits your tongue, and you’re sent into an ecstatic frenzy of excitement, nothing holding you back from complete and utter pleasure. All five senses being molded by me, used to send you into a fit of mindlessness where all you seek is bliss. This pleasure overwhelms you, and you can’t help but cum your pretty little brains out. As your body gives way to relaxation and that energy turns into a beautiful afterglow, your mind begins to cycle through once more, becoming nothing but a puppet for my entertainment~

If you’ve sunk nice and deep, feel free to ride this feeling for as long as you want. Until next time~

[vandnana]

Hello! I'd love to see some lo'ak fics! I love your writing

Hope you are having a good holiday xx

hello! thank you so much for loving my writing, i really appreciate you! i hope you’ve had a good holiday as well! 

i’ve been working on a new lo’ak  x reader series and below is a preview of it!

**if you would like to be added to the tag list for this fic, please comment on this post or if you’re more comfortable, send me a dm or an ask!  

In Love With the Enemy (Preview Below) 

Prologue Is Here!

pairing: lo’ak x female human turned na’vi reader

summary: during the time when jake became toruk makto, you were quaritch’s youngest and most valued soldier, the daughter he never had. but, pandora changed you and you died fighting with the na’vi, betraying quaritch and wishing that you had been able to do more. now, you have been reborn again, as a na’vi, tasked with quaritch’s new military avatar crew to kill Jake Sully. taking advantage of this second chance at life, you help the Sullys and fall in love along the way

genre: fluff, angst (wip, more themes to come)

word count (wip): 839

The prologue is now up! You can read it here!

You were the youngest in the regiment back then, too young for war and far too young for what was in store for you in Pandora. But, Quaritch took you in when you were a child. You had no family, no home, and no promise of a real future. He had seen himself in you: cunning, willing, strong, unafraid. You were everything he could have hoped for in a daughter, but you were real. His prodigy. And not a day went by when you didn’t live up to those expectations. You loved being with Quaritch. He had become your father and he always thought that nothing could ever change that. 

But, the more time you spent in Pandora, the more you began to see past the façade you let yourself believe. The mission was never about finding diplomatic solutions or building alliances. It was about destruction, money, and humanity’s wretched twist on glory, a misguided glory that Quaritch was more than happy to fulfill. It was Grace who helped you see that first. She always used to tell you that you were smart and far more capable than any of the trigger-happy morons you were with.

But even you couldn’t prevent Hometree from being destroyed, and although you did what you could to help Jake, Grace, and Norm escape with Trudy, the damage was done. You were an offender of the highest treason by helping Quaritch’s worst enemy, and you knew that you could never go back.

You feigned your innocence until the end, fooling everyone. You watched Quaritch shoot Grace and you cried alone when you heard about her passing. It wasn’t until you joined Trudy in her helicopter that you revealed whose side you were really on. Only for a moment did Quaritch hesitate to shoot you down, but his duty was above all. When he had dealt the final blow, the glass around you breaking with every explosion, you looked at Trudy with a smile. You were happy to be alongside her, dying with her as the sight of the Hallelujah Mountains became the last thing you ever saw, your vision fading into darkness as you descended downward into nothingness.

Then, came light again, invading your shut eyes as you heard voices around you, the sounds distant at first, but slowly heightening as you came to. When you opened your eyes, the fluorescent lights stunned you, your hand instinctively finding its way to the front of your face. Your eyes widened, and you figured you were in hell, punished to be what you failed to protect.

You were blue, a Na’vi, and everyone around you towered with their own blue figures, cooing you awake.

“Colonel, the baby’s awake.” One of them yelled, and you propped yourself up, taking in the appearance of those who had an air of familiarity, but still seemed to be strangers. 

There was Wainfleet, Warren, Zdinarsk, and Zhang looking at you, patting you on the back with satisfied smiles.

Then you saw him. Quaritch, the man you once owed your life to. But it wasn’t really him. He had become his worst nightmare and in seeing him, you were convinced that you really had been damned to hell. He was Na’vi too and a real sight for sore eyes as he looked like he wanted to jump out of his own skin, his movements awkward as he made his way over to you. The only comfort that he seemed to take refuge in was seeing you, his eyes still glimmering in fondness over you, the daughter he never had. 

He hugged you and for the first time, he smiled. “It’s nice to see you kid.”

You had all the memories from your old life, the old y/n that loved Quaritch and saw him as a father, the old y/n who trained endlessly to become that prodigy he loved so much. But you also remembered Grace, the only person you felt really saw you for who you were and who you could be, and it was her memory that really revived you. That was who you wanted to be now, not the monster that Quaritch had conditioned you to become.

Nothing felt real until that point, his embrace making your skin crawl, but it was a comfort nonetheless. you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, a lopsided smile on your face, “Nice to see you too, Q.”

It seemed that you had been given a second chance at life, given the video log that you had filmed so long ago. Among Quaritch and the rest of your team, you were granted an avatar too, stowed away in case the supposed small chance of failing ever came to fruition. Seemingly, it had, and you smiled. Yet, no one else remembered Grace or the scientists, or rather they didn’t really want to remember. It was as if this new team of recombinants were a hive mind with only one mission left to complete, a mission that churned your insides.

Eliminating Jake Sully.

~

Author’s Note:

i hope you enjoyed this preview! i’m so excited to write some more! again, if you would like to be added to the tag list, please don’t hesitate to reach out through this post or through a dm or an ask! 

[syntheticfoxfire]

Strangelove | Niragi Suguru | [A]

Summary: Niragi takes his anger out on you, and all you can do is try to keep yourself from falling apart. Word count: 4.5k Warnings: mentions of dub/non-con and abusive behavior

Emptiness. Nothing else remains. 

You feel hollow, just a shell of a human being - or rather a being with a vaguely human shape. Reduced to nothing. As you lie there, you wonder if this is finally a Borderland experience that will break you. At least you have enough strength to despise the fact that it’s a man’s doing. You find a tiny bit of solace in that.

If only it didn’t hurt so bad. Why do you never learn?

Better yet - why are you surprised? You knew this would happen all along.

You exhale, slowly, until you feel like your lungs might collapse on themselves.

It’s cold. Nothing covers your naked skin and even though a blanket and some clothes are within reach, you can’t bring yourself to pull them over you. As if something is physically preventing you from doing that. You’re shivering with cold and yet can’t do anything about it.

The bathroom door swings open. You flinch. Not that anyone cares. This is not normal. You weakly remind yourself. Staring straight ahead, you don’t see what Niragi’s doing. You guess by the sound of his movements that he has to be dressing.

“Are you going to stay like that?” he scoffs when he’s finished, nudging you with the muzzle of his rifle. Your eyes close. Somehow, a little part of you manages to hope for something, be it death, another strike, anything but this nothingness. You will him to pull the trigger with your mind, but the shot never comes. You’re not sure how to feel about that.

“Well, suit yourself,” he scoffs and without paying you any more attention, he leaves the room.

You listen to his footsteps retreating and as they grow quieter, tension begins to seep out of your body. In the silence and emptiness of the room, you can finally relax. Your breathing calms down too. You aren’t holding your breath anymore, anticipating his next move. Still, you feel numb. Too numb to move, yet your body keeps shivering in a weak attempt to create heat. It’s a wonder it tries so hard to keep you alive after everything you’ve put it through. Your head is empty, everything hurts and the pain is the only thing your mind is able to register. 

A wish keeps bouncing around in your brain until you finally fall asleep - let this all be a nightmare.

You wake up hours later, you guess, seeing as the sky is already dark and filled with stars. You listen to your surroundings, lying motionless for a few minutes before you relax. 

Niragi isn’t back yet. 

Then you begin noticing things - like how you’re freezing and your body is almost too stiff to move. Your teeth are chattering. All your joints hurt. Most of all though, you feel sore. 

Pain has its grip on every part of your body. The obvious parts that Niragi abused so roughly hurt the worst, closely followed by your scalp and the bite on your shoulder. Also throat. And your neck, no doubt bruised all kinds of blues and purples. It hurts like hell and you know it would be painful to speak so you don’t. 

At least some of the lethargy from before has disappeared. You feel angry with your boyfriend. Betrayed. Hurt. A lowly simmering mix of feelings that bubble somewhere just underneath your skin. It’s enough that it makes you drag your exhausted body into the bathroom and run yourself a hot bath.

You don’t want to be a mess. Least of all because of him.

He can’t be the end of you. Not after all the effort that went into building yourself as you are now.

You hiss as the water scalds your skin. Still it doesn’t even compare to the pain you’re already in. You welcome the heat with open arms. It hurts, but it grounds you. Once you’re used to the temperature, you turn the knob to raise it until you feel the burning again. You slide down until the water comes up to your chin.

It’s like lying in molten lava but it feels so right.

Memories come rushing through your mind - Niragi storming into your room, raging, pinning you to the bed, tearing off your clothes. Making you his toy, playing with you until you broke - until he broke you, and then some because he’s into pain and tears.

Perhaps not your pain and tears in particular, you know it’s nothing personal. You know he wouldn’t care any more or any less if it was anyone else. Whether that makes you feel better or worse though, you can’t quite tell.

No, you wouldn’t think about it. Not now. It’s too much to deal with. 

You sigh, contemplating.

Is it even worth living if this is your life? Constant pain, constant fear, and when you finally escape the stress and danger of the games, you willingly embrace a perhaps even worse danger.

Living with Niragi is like playing an eight to ten hearts game on repeat.

Why would you fall for him - and why would he keep you around? You suppose he loves you too, in his own way and in the capacity he’s capable of. Perhaps he doesn’t even realize what he’s feeling. 

No. ‘Love’ is a foreign concept to him. He’s just obsessed with you and your feelings for him and that’s as far with him as you’ll ever get. It’s clear that he’s not used to receiving warm feelings, affection. Sometimes you’d even go as far as to think he’s not used to not being looked down upon. Perhaps this is his own form of therapy - acting like he does because he’s so used to being powerless. Perhaps he consciously forbids himself from loving you to eradicate any possibility of gaining yet another weakness.  

Some small part of you hopes you’re wrong. It believes that he’s just a damaged, broken soul, that he’s able to love - with enough time, patience and effort. The rest is too terrified of him to even think much about him, merely accepting reality and each new twist of it as it comes. Well, it’s pointless to think about it, him, everything anyway. 

To drown out the thoughts and memories, you let the water swallow you. The surface closes above your head and the world disappears. 

It’s peaceful down there. Warm. Safe. Quiet. You wish you could stay there forever. And maybe you could if only you can will yourself not to breathe…

Little did you know that there are heavy footsteps getting closer to your room or that the door has been opened and closed again.

You’re hiding beneath the water unaware of the screaming, a man calling your name. His voice is getting louder and louder, but it can’t reach you. It’s all a dream. A paranoid thought made up by your exhausted brain. So you don’t investigate the faint whisper of noise you hear. 

And so you will never know about how his eyes widened and breath hitched in his throat when he saw you there, lying submerged in the bathtub with no air escaping your lips.

You’ll never know because the emotions are too foreign and complicated for him to explain. Because telling you would be admitting weakness. Would be asking for help. And he can’t have that.

So all you’ll ever know is the feeling of your safe haven being taken away from you.

Water is splashing everywhere as you struggle against the rescue attempts and struggle to breathe in the suffocating hold the man has on you. Your body is limp and heavy but he manages to drag you out. 

Your eyes finally focus. 

Niragi’s dark eyes are boring holes into yours, his jaw clenched as hard as his fingers digging into your flesh. He’s carrying you somewhere, you realize at about the same time he throws you on the bed. In a flash he’s hovering over you, his hot breath fanning your face.

This couldn’t be happening. No, not again.

“What the fuck were you doing?” he spits. 

Your eyes are out of focus again, turning away from him. What’s happening? This has to be a nightmare. You won’t handle that again. He roughly grabs your jaw and makes you face him again. 

“I said, what the fuck were you doing?” he’s pissed - but why? You’re tired and you don’t understand a thing. It’s cold and your naked body is shivering. Again. Just like before. 

You’re confused and hurt and you long for comfort. Any comfort you can get. A warmth of another person’s body, a gentle touch or word, anything. A blanket would be enough.

Niragi keeps talking, loud and angry. Scary. You can’t focus on his words properly but you register the curses and his tone, cold and terrifying. Tears spill from your eyes as you sniff.

He’s here to hurt you again. He will shatter you. He’s like this but still… he’s there, right?

Your horrified mind is too far gone. Without any hope you’d surely go crazy. 

You need to find comfort in something - someone. Even if that someone is Niragi. The one who caused all this. Or the one you came to on your own? Regardless of everything that has happened since, you’ve approached him first.

Maybe this is all your fault.

Maybe you shouldn’t be so hard on him.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to rely on him now.

After all, he came back and he’s paying attention to you. You, his half-broken toy. You wouldn’t get a better deal in Borderland.

So you pull yourself closer to him.

You hide your face in his chest as you silently sob. Your nails drag against whatever you get your hands on, balling in his shirt and scratching his back.

He freezes under your touch, until finally his hands find their place on your back. He lays on his side and you nuzzle even closer, your tears soaking his shirt. He goes quiet and lets his brain catch up to what is happening, a wide maniacal grin spreading on his lips.

This is your breaking point, he realized. Not the reality of your life here, not the atrocities taking place in Borderland, not the many sights of brutal death or hopelessness of not being able to escape. No. It’s him. 

He feels a wave of excitement and arousal flood through him. He’s never experienced a feeling like this before - the feeling of having so much power over another human being without doing much. He doesn’t even have a gun. He isn’t threatening to shoot you and yet you’re so terrified of him. And better than that, despite all that fear you still came to him for comfort. It’s a delicious feeling.

He’s hard, almost leaking, just thinking about how broken you are. He presses his groin against you where your leg is swung across his hip. He would take you again were it not for your current state. He’d definitely break you beyond repair then and you’d be no fun afterwards. 

As much as he’s blind towards all kinds of violence and crimes, that really would be no fun at all. 

You’d just lay there, silent and apathetic. A broken doll. Fuck, he could get off just to the thought alone.

Instead, he bites down on your neck, revels in the pained whimper that slips from your mouth. His kisses are full of tongue. It drags against your skin, laps at the wound on your shoulder and the tender flesh there. As if massaging the area, he pays it special attention. Not gentle, just intense. 

You’re whining and whimpering in between sniffles. His hands roam your back, grabbing at your waist, hips and ass, grinding you into his hard dick any time he gets the chance.

Most bizarre of all that? You found comfort in his attention. It’s not comforting at all. It isn’t even remotely tender or loving, yet feeling him right next to you makes you feel safe. Protected. 

And to be fair that was probably one thing you indeed were right now - protected. Guarded from everyone but him. 

He promised he wouldn’t let anyone hurt you and he keeps that promise probably a bit too well. So right now, you make that your reassurance. Make him your anchor. You’re surrounded by his scent, metallic like blood and the steel of his rifle. 

It’s unpleasant, so why are you breathing it in and thinking of home? Of safety? You’re safe, well not really but enough - is that actually a good thing, though? Even the pain grounds you in the moment, in the cruel world beyond your clouded mind.

Some of your rational thinking returns as you bring yourself from behind the mist. 

You don’t, in fact, like this.

It’s just so easy to get lost in the feeling. To further submit and give up even more control over your life. It’s not like you have a lot of it here to begin with.

But you don’t want that. 

You need to stop him. You have to make him stop otherwise he’s always going to treat you like this. He probably will anyway, but you’ll be damned if you go down without fighting. You deserve better. Whatever standard of better you could get with Niragi.

You push against his hips with your hand while you put the other on his cheek. You succeed in making his actions stop and your eyes meet. There’s a wild madness in his gaze. You sniff and kiss him quickly, grabbing a fistful of his hair. You can do this. 

“Stop it. For fuck’s sake, stop acting like a horny dog for a minute,” you hiss, “Or I swear I will leave and when you find me, I will never respond to you in any way again and will be just a ragdoll.” You know talking back to him is never a good idea but you couldn’t care less right now. You mean your words too - being just a lifeless mass of flesh instead of your usual self, that would piss him off. That’s the one thing he wouldn’t be able to accept. You know it and he knows it too.

“What makes you think I’d let you?” he frowns, growling. He pulls you impossibly close, hands on your ass and his crotch grinding against your again.

Asshole. But what did you expect?

You chide yourself for hoping.

And then, you go limp. You look at him with an empty gaze and one last bitter chuckle.

No matter how hard he goes at it, how much he raises his voice, you remain passive. Just like a doll. He shakes you and you let him, ignoring the pain. Everything hurts. But this is far from the worst he’s done to you. You can cope. And maybe if it pisses him off enough, something will change. Or he’ll kill you, but that might not be the worst thing either.

Niragi punches the pillow just millimeters from your face. Still no reaction. His eyes are burning holes into yours. He’s furious. And desperate. You almost want to laugh.

Surprisingly, he then sets his jaw, swallows. Albeit obvious he’s fighting back the urge to hit you for real, he nods. His hands move to your hips, nails painfully stabbing your skin. He stays still.

“Thank you,” you sigh and hide your face in the crook of his neck. If you were in a better mood, you’d smile at the progress you two made. 

Even if it’s impossible to tell from his behavior today, lately it’s getting more usual for him to listen to your requests, not without a lot of bitching, if they aren’t too wild and if he isn’t too opposed to them. But that’s only because he finally learned that if he compromised with you and gave in to your wishes, you’d then go out of your way to be good for him and please him.

How did your life turn into this?

Why do you think this is good enough? 

“We both know you wouldn’t be able to hide from me for long,” he smirks, always ready with some cocky remark. His own little defense mechanism.

“Yeah, but I might try if you pull something like this again,” you warn as you try to move your sore muscles without much success. You’re drained. Physically, mentally… you just want to sleep.

Niragi pulls away to scowl at you. You roll your eyes at his obliviousness. Is it really necessary to spell everything out for him? You groan and decide to lecture Niragi on why what he did was wrong, now that you’re able to think clearly again. You need to explain, to fight for yourself.

You’re not naive enough to believe it will change anything or that he maybe honestly didn’t realize. You just might be stupid enough to hope, though.  

“Look, I get that you were frustrated when you came in earlier, alright? But maybe next time just beat someone up or something? I literally don’t care. I’m not just some object for you to relieve your anger on! I know we go at it pretty hard like every night-”

“Yeah, so what’s the problem?” he interrupts, impatient and annoyed that you’re bothering him with something so trivial. You can’t believe you’ve ever told Ann to stop calling him a man-child.

“The problem is that when you came in today, I wasn’t in the mood. I didn’t want to do anything with you. But you barged in and forced yourself on me and we talked about how that is not okay already,” you explain, just as irritated but keeping your voice firm and steady. You want to scream, but that wouldn’t lead anywhere.

“But you’re mine!” he protests and honestly it’s hard not to abandon your morals. It takes a ridiculous amount of effort not to punch him.

“That doesn’t change anything. I am yours, yes, but still you need my consent before you fuck me,” you argue back. Bad idea?

In the next second, he flips you on your back, holding himself above you. You whimper in pain as it shoots through your body, tears spilling out of your eyes again. And hell, you miss his warmth.

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean? Are you saying I’m not good enough? Bec-” Not able or willing to listen to his nonsense, you shut him up with a kiss. The only way you know he’d shut up in this situation. You’re generous enough to let him take charge, bite your lips as much as he wants and rule your tongue with his. At least it serves to distract you from the cruel pain in the rest of your body. He pulls away suddenly and puts his forehead against yours.

“Why are you crying?” he asks, confused, as if he only just realized something’s wrong. 

This is getting strangely similar to talking to a bratty child. Though, to be fair, you yourself haven’t realized you’re crying again. Angry as you are, you still long for comfort and you’re not allowed any other source of it than him. You don’t know where this obsession of controlling every aspect of your life comes from, but it’s annoying.

“Just come here,” you whine. It’s pathetic, but that usually works. You pull on his shirt so he’d lay on top of you. It’s too cold in the room to be naked. 

He allows himself to be pulled, crushing you a little as his body covers yours. His eyes never leave yours as he tries to find an answer in your teary eyes. Yet there’s an almost malicious smirk on his lips.

“That’s the problem, y’know,” you sniff a little, “I’m yours and you’re an amazing lover - you know that, I know that - shit I think half of Beach knows that with how loud you make me.” You roll your eyes as his smirk grows and gets cocky. You hate how well praise works on him, keeps him in check. Praising him was the last thing you wanted to be doing right now.

“But you’re not usually like that - like today. You were pissed for real and rougher than you usually are. It hurt - it still does. It hurts like hell, I can barely move. And I was scared, I didn’t want you to touch me at all and yet…” you exhale shakily, closing your eyes. You focus on your breathing. It’s important you calm yourself down or you’d surely fall into that lethargic state again.

He takes that opportunity to look at you, really look at you. Maybe he did go too hard. He didn’t expect you’d be this close to your breaking point, on the thin border between being salvageable and becoming useless to him. 

What does he care anyway?

Your eyes are swollen, glassy and red from crying. There are bruises, hickeys and bite marks on your arms, waist, hips, your neck. He remembers the wound on your shoulder.

With uncharacteristic gentleness, he traces his fingers along your collarbone to your shoulder. You let him, even as you feel his dick getting harder in his pants. You even let him manhandle you a little so he can take a look at the full damage. 

The bite mark on your shoulder is also swollen and red but it isn’t bleeding anymore at least. Still, it’s obviously very painful, he can see that. Can derive pleasure from that. As much pride as he feels looking at his work, however, he also realizes that you aren’t happy about it. He scoffs. 

Then again if it’s only because you got scared and you didn’t enjoy it in this particular case, then he can let it slip without further punishment. Next time though, he’ll make you another pretty mark on the other shoulder. Symmetry and all that.

Why does he care? 

Niragi sighs and kisses your forehead. He doesn’t want to look for a new toy. That must be it. Pure convenience. It’d be inefficient to break you and search for a replacement. He doesn’t wanna do that. Not when he has someone like you, who’s willing to work with him. Who already holds some value for him. Sometimes. Perhaps.

“Tell me what you need?” he murmurs, his protective side kicking in. He wouldn’t lose you. He wouldn’t break you. Yet. He promised he’d protect you anyway.

And you always have the best ideas on how to return the favor whenever he takes good care of you. It has him licking his lips already.

In contrast, you were no fun if you were in pain and from the looks of it, he really messed up.

But now he has no idea how to make it better. He’s not excited about the idea of having to care for you, but you’d like it. You’d be grateful and return the favor. He repeats that like a mantra to calm down. He needs to do that first. Yet he finds it hard.

Why did you look so scared of him? Why does he care?

“Hold me for a while? It’s so cold,” you complain. He snorts but does as you asked. It’s easy enough. He even pulls the covers over you after admiring your well-marked body for a while. Everyone knows you belong to him, of course, but he loves seeing the proof of his ownership all over your body. You’re undeniably his, carrying his signature all over yourself. And you crawled to him so obediently, scarred by his love and yet you craved more. He can’t get that out of his head either, his cock twitching. He needs you.

“You know, it’s really cold. Maybe if you warmed my cock for me, I’d listen to you more carefully,” he coos between kisses peppered up your neck.

“Or maybe you’d just rape me again,” you say without much feeling. Vocalizing it leaves a bitter taste on your tongue. And the mess in your head… You really need to sleep. 

He stops in his tracks and tilts your jaw up to make you look at him.

“But-”

“No buts, Niragi,” you sigh and ease your jaw from his grip to nuzzle into his shoulder again. You really don’t feel like looking at him right now. 

“I didn’t want it, I told you that much, and you didn’t listen. I am yours, true, but that doesn’t make it okay. And you better remember it. If it happens again, I will keep my word and leave - and if you find me, I will be just a ragdoll. I won’t speak to you, I won’t move even if you should kill me,” you warn him, feeling him tense around you, “Or do you really need to have your dick inside something for your ears to work?”

Biting remarks are good. They are normal. 

He scoffs but relaxes, only his arms tighten around you as he hugs you closer.

“I will try,” he groans, irritated.

“Good,” you praise, trying your best to keep the irony out of your voice. In case it was still there, you turn your head to nibble along his neck the way he likes. You have to do something if you want to lower the risk of him just ramming his dick into you.

“I promise if you leave me be tonight and let me heal a little, you won’t regret it,” you breathe into his ear, exasperated and tired. He hums in response, still annoyed but it seems he’s considering your offer.

And he is. Weighting your creativity and previous experiences with these deals, he has to give it to you - you’re worth the hassle.

So he sighs into your hair and lets his body melt around yours. Your lips twitch in a smile unseen.

For now, this is enough. It’s far from ideal, but really, what could you want from a Borderland romance. 

Especially one with Niragi. 

He doesn’t really want to hurt you - at least you want to believe that despite the evidence. It’s not personal. Violence is just in his nature. It’s an instinct. Maybe you could show him he doesn’t need to hurt you - even if it is literally just you. Everyone’s always told you to be more selfish. Maybe this is it.

You really don’t know what exactly made you drop your standards so low that you accepted someone like Niragi as a lover, but sometimes, you’re glad you did. 

Afterall, you could die any day here or take lives to survive so trying to change this abusive piece of shit into a decent human being isn’t the worst thing you could be doing with your life here.

It’s just the most foolish one.

[beesmygod]

one of the consequences of modern webcomicking and the mainstream aesthetics of the medium that focus on "cleanliness" (in terms of readability, not hygenically) is that the worlds of characters trend toward being sterile, plastic, barbie's playhouses dioramas for the cast to be assembled upon unnaturally. both indoor and outdoor settings feel devoid of any proof of human (or whatever the cast is comprised of) life before the characters were called in to take their places on set. it feels as ` ethos "a background is a place to put my character" rather than "a background is a slice of my character's actual life."

uhhh i dont know if that makes sense. its like. there are comics with interior backgrounds that have the exact same strand of bland nothingness to them as the houses you can rent for filming commercials or pornos or whatever. universally, across all locations, there's no fucked up walls or mismatched furniture. there's no broken legs on chairs or cracked dishes. no dishes in the sink. no dirty windows or bird shit on buildings or statues. no gum stuck to the ground. i don't think people need to go whole hog; this isn't an argument for maximalism. but to consider what gets left out when the background is comprised of assets or stock imagery: class signifiers, socio-economics of the locations, local ethnic influences on the region. a little bit goes a long way. or maybe it doesnt and im rambling nonsense. i guess...we'll never know...

but for me my favorite type of backgrounds are steve purcell's. aggressively maximalist tho.