#liberating them of their spines

[foxprints]

Not sure who it beat the futz outta but I'm sure they deserved it

[is-the-owl-video-cute]

US politicians are so annoying, this is literally how they handle every conversation about vulnerable people dying or the environmental crisis

Conservatives: actually this was a liberal plot by anti-Christians to turn infants trans and put microchips in your toenails. Thoughts and prayers for the future of America. Also we want to kill everyone who isn’t a cisgendered heterosexual fundamentalist Christian because we’ve turned the country into a theocracy.

Liberals: wow those conservatives are super stinky and we don’t agree with them at all, but don’t worry! We made cute bumper stickers with witty liberal one-liners and we're all going to sing a song about America being good to spread love and hope! God bless!

[joelmillerisapunk]

I'm down bad, fuck it if I can't have him.

Dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Masterlist

Wordcount: 4,425

Summary: In the intimate confines of Joel's home, you navigate the complexities of an open relationship, discovering the liberating power of vulnerability and desire under the watchful eye of his wife.

Warnings: 18+, reader has no physical description, Joel is married and in an open/freeuse marriage and they are also pretty much just nudists, voyerisum, exhibitionism, choking, unprotected p in v, female oral receiving, fingering, age gap, light "daddy" kink, Joel's very respectful of reader. He just wants you to be open with your sensuality. This is not a threesome fic, and Joel's wife (who remains nameless) shows up once or twice. 100% consensual from every party involved. I know these kinks may not read well for everyone, so if you're feeling uneasy about any of these warnings, please scroll awaaaaay awaaaaay. The open nature of Joel's marriage begins right from the start, so proceed with horny caution. There's no adjustment period. Everything's consensual when you're part of a team!

Notes: I learned a new word today, and it made me end up doubling the wordcount. Ty @saradika-graphics for the divider. I hope you enjoy! Your comments and thots are so welcome.

You stand under the warm water, letting it wash away the stress of the day. You'd been staying with your dad's buddy Joel and his wife for a few days now. It was still taking some getting used to. Their open relationship, the free use, the amount of nudity that was on constant display, it was all so different from what you were used to. But they'd been so welcoming, so kind, and you were starting to feel more and more at home.

Suddenly your thoughts are interrupted and you hear the shower door open, and Joel stepping in behind you.

You feel a flutter in your chest, but you try to push it away. This isn't the first time one of them has walked in while you were showering, but it's the first time one of them has come in with you. You're still getting used to this, to the idea that Joel and his wife were okay with any of this. You can't help feeling like his wife is going to walk in at any minute and kill you for being in a shower, naked, with her husband. 

"Hey, darlin," Joel says with a gentle voice. "You okay? You seem a little down today."

You shrug, trying to play it off. "I'm fine, Mr.Miller. Just a little overwhelmed, I guess."

"Call me Joel, please. I get it. It's a lot to take in. But we want you to feel comfortable here, to feel like you can be yourself. And if that means joining us, then we're more than happy to have you."

You feel a heat rise to your cheeks as he gently turns you to face him so his eyes can meet yours. You can see the offer in his eyes, the gentle invitation to explore with him. You feel a spark of curiosity, of desire, and you’re tempted. You're also tempted to look down, god knows you want to see everything he has to offer you but you manage to keep your gaze anywhere else. 

You turn back around and just as you're about to grab the body wash to distract your mind Joel steps closer, and reaches for the soap. "Let me help ya darlin.” You feel a shiver run down your spine as Joel's hand touches yours to grab the bottle. He begins to soap up your arms and chest but pauses just before his hands graze the sides of your breasts. "This okay?"

You nod, and your breath hitches slightly as you give your silent consent. His hands continue, moving with careful precision. As you surrender to the pleasure of Joel's touch, you become acutely aware of the heat radiating from his body, the closeness of his bare skin against yours. You feel his cock, hard and insistent, pressing against the small of your back, it slides between your legs with an ease that speaks of familiarity, the thick shaft glides against your sensitive folds, eliciting a shiver that you hope goes unnoticed.

Despite the initial shock, there's an undeniable thrill that courses through you at the feel of him, so bold and unashamed. You can't help but arch your back ever so slightly, pressing back against him, your body betrays your curiosity and the growing ache between your legs. The moan that escapes your lips is soft, but you know he hears it, he knows the effect he's having on you.

Joel's hands still for a moment, and you tense, worried that you've crossed a line. But then he's moving again, his touch resuming its soothing rhythm, as if the brief interlude never happened. His cock remains hard, a steady presence against your skin, but he makes no move to act on the desire that's so clearly evident.

"You're so tense baby," Joel observes as his hands move to your shoulders, kneading the tight muscles there.

You can't help but let out another soft moan as his fingers dig into your skin. The stress of the day feels like it instantly melts away under his touch. "Mmm, that feels so good," you admit and let your eyes flutter closed.

"I'm glad, why don't we take this to your room? I can give you a proper massage, help you unwind completely."

“I'd like that,” you reply shyly. The idea of a massage sounds heavenly, and the thought of being alone with Joel in the privacy of your room is exciting. 

After rinsing off under the warm water, you emerge from the shower enveloped in a cloud of steam, and your skin is hot and tingling. Beside you, Joel steps out with the self-assured swagger of a man who knows his body is a masterpiece. He briskly towels himself off, each movement causing his muscles to ripple and flex beneath his sun-kissed skin. The towel is quickly discarded, landing in a heap on the floor, as if it were an afterthought—a mere inconvenience.

You can't help but drink in the sight of him; he is raw masculinity personified. His chest is a broad expanse of firm muscle, dusted with just the right amount of coarse greying hair that begs for your fingertips to explore its texture. Every part of him exudes an animalistic grace. There's an undeniable allure to the way he carries himself—completely unashamed and utterly comfortable in his own skin. It's as if he's silently inviting you to admire him, to appreciate every inch of this man who moves with such potent virility.

Joel's hand quickly finds the small of your back as he guides you to your room. Once inside, he instructs you to remove your towel and lie down on the bed, face down. You comply, the soft sheets feel cool against your still-damp skin. You hear the gentle click of a bottle, and then the scent of lavender fills the air as he warms some massage oil between his hands.

His hands are firm yet gentle as they glide over your skin, starting at your shoulders and working their way down your back. Each stroke sends waves of relaxation through you, and you can feel the tension leaving your body.

"Just let go, darlin'," Joel murmurs, his voice is a soothing balm. "You're safe here with me."

You let out a soft sigh, allowing yourself to surrender even more to the feeling of being cared for.

As Joel's fingers deftly knead the muscles along your spine, you find yourself sinking deeper into a state of complete relaxation. His touch is professional yet intimate. He moves down to your lower back and his thumbs press into the flesh just above your ass, eliciting a soft gasp from you. The sensation is intense, but not in a way that makes you uncomfortable. Instead, it's a pleasant mixture of relief and arousal that you haven't felt before. "You're doin great, darlin'," Joel encourages.

Eventually, his hands glide over the skin of your thighs, applying just the right amount of pressure to release the tension in your muscles. You can't help but feel a warmth pooling between your legs from his hands.

The massage seems to go on forever, and when he finally finishes, you feel boneless, completely spent in the most wonderful way.

"How are you feelin?" Joel asks.

"Amazing, thank you, Joel."

"Anytime, darlin'. You know where to find me if you need anything else." He smiles and winks as he leaves. 

You nod, watching as he stands and leaves the room, closing the door softly behind him. You lie there for a while, basking in the afterglow of the massage, your body still tingling from his touch.

—

Later that evening, you find yourself in the living room where Joel is sitting on the couch, engrossed in the work on his laptop. You take a seat next to him, your eyes inadvertently drawn to the sight of his cock resting casually against his thigh. You can't help but stare, your curiosity piqued by the freedom with which he and his wife move about the house.

Joel notices your gaze and chuckles softly. "You can touch it." He says with a gentle and non-judgmental tone. “S’okay, baby. Don't be shy."

You feel a heat creeping up your cheeks, the offer is too tempting to pass up. Tentatively, you reach out and place your hand on his shaft, feeling it twitch in response to your touch. It's a strange sensation, both powerful and vulnerable at the same time.

"That's it, darlin, explore all you want. We're all about discovery here."

With Joel's encouragement, you begin to explore the contours of his cock and your hand begins to move with growing confidence. The skin is soft and warm, and you're fascinated by the way it responds to your touch. You've never done anything like this before, but there's something exhilarating about this newfound freedom.

Joel puts his laptop down and moans as his eyes close, and he leans his head back against the couch. "Just like that."

Your grip tightens slightly as your hand moves up and down his shaft. You watch in awe as his cock hardens, the transformation is absolutely delicious, as is the sound of his soft moans. 

"Does this feel good?" you ask. You're genuinely curious, eager to learn and to please him.

“Mmm - feels a little too good baby," Joel gasps, his hand reaching out to still your own. "If you keep that up, I ain't gonna last much longer."

You pause, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "Is that a bad thing?" you ask, your voice laced with genuine curiosity.

Joel chuckles. "No, it ain’t bad. But I want to make sure you're enjoying this as much as I am. This is about you and your pleasure, too.”

As the words leave his mouth you feel a thrill of excitement at the thought of Joel focusing on your pleasure, a concept that feels new and thrilling to you.

"If you're comfortable I'd like you to let go of your inhibitions and lie back for me," Joel's voice is a soft, inviting caress and his eyes are filled with a warmth that makes you feel safe and cherished. You comply, reclining against the plush cushions of the couch.

"Let me show you just how beautiful you are.” He says as he helps you remove your clothing. You feel the cool air of the room against your skin as you shed the last of your outfit. Joel's eyes roam over you and a look of appreciation lights up his features. He kneels before you, a picture of restraint and desire, his eyes never leave yours. "I want to explore the beauty of your body, to learn the language of your pleasure.” With the utmost care, he parts your legs, his touch is gentle. You can't help but squirm under it, your body instinctively seeking more.

"Relax, baby, let me take care of you, let me take you to a place where only pleasure exists, where you're free to express every gasp, every moan, and every shudder of delight." As the last word leaves his mouth his fingers find the heart of your need, his touch both a revelation and a homecoming. You're lost in a sea of sensation, each stroke, each caress, drawing you deeper into a world of ecstasy. And just as you're starting to lose yourself in the sensations, the sound of the front door opening sends a jolt of panic through you. Your eyes fly open, meeting Joel's calm gaze.

"S’okay, just relax baby," he reassures you, his voice steady despite the interruption. You hear the familiar sound of his wifes heels clicking against the hardwood floor, and then she's standing beside you, leaning on the couch, her eyes widening slightly at the sight before her. You feel a surge of embarrassment as your body tenses under Joel's touch. But Joel doesn't miss a beat. His fingers continue their gentle ministrations, his gaze never leaves yours. "S’okay," he repeats, "We're all safe here."

"Don't let me interrupt," she says, her tone light and playful. "I just wanted to let you know that the Johnsons invited us over for a little get-together tonight. But it looks like you're busy."

Joel chuckles, his fingers still working between your legs. "We can catch up with the Johnsons another time, honey. I'll be a little preoccupied tonight." Joel winks at you.

His wife laughs, the sound warm and genuine. "I can see that. Have fun, you two. I'll be around if you need me."

As she leaves you in the capable, caring hands of Joel, you find yourself sinking deeper into the couch, into the moment, into the expert ministrations of a man who has made it his mission to bring you to the heights of pleasure.

"Let yourself fall, darlin'. I'll be right here to catch you.”

His words wash over you, a gentle command that you find yourself eager to obey. You close your eyes, focusing solely on the sensations that are building within you. The world around you fades away, leaving only the feeling of Joel's touch and the sound of his voice.

"Tell me what you want, baby, wanna hear you say it."

The words feel foreign on your tongue, but there's a part of you that wants to voice your desires, to communicate your needs. "I - I want you to..." you trail off.

"It's okay, darlin'," Joel reassures you, his fingers stilling for a moment. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about. Just close your eyes and say the first thing that comes to mind."

You do as he asks, your eyes fluttering closed as you let your mind wander, your fantasies taking shape in the darkness behind your eyelids. "I want to feel you inside me," you admit.

"Look at me, darlin'," Joel commands, and you open your eyes, meeting his intense gaze. "You're so brave and so beautiful. I'm gonna make you feel so good, you'll forget everything except the feeling of me inside you.” He leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that leaves you breathless. "C'mon let's go to my room," he suggests.

He helps you to your feet, and you follow him down the hallway to the master bedroom. The door is slightly ajar, and as you step inside, you see Joel's wife again lounging on the bed. This woman is everywhere.

"You sure like this one, huh?" she teases Joel.

Joel looks at her with a wicked grin on his face. "She's somethin special, ain't she? Wanna join, or you just gonna watch?"

His wife smirks and takes a sip of the wine she left on the nightstand. "Oh, I think I'll just watch for now," she says, making herself comfortable on a nearby chair. "I won't stay long, just finishing my glass." She holds up her wine.

Joel turns back to you, his hands gently caressing your body as he helps you onto the bed and positions himself between your legs. "You ready for me, darlin'?" 

“Yes, please.” With a voice barely above a whisper, you respond, your eyes locked onto Joel's. "Need to feel you inside me, need you to make me whole."

The raw desire in your voice seems to ignite something primal in Joel. His eyes darken with lust, and he lets out a low growl of approval. "Fuck, darlin', you're going to be the death of me.”

As he positions himself at your entrance, you feel the head of his cock pressing against you and the anticipation building with each passing second. With a slow, deliberate thrust, he enters you, filling you completely. The sensation is intense, a mix of pleasure and a slight sting as your body stretches to accommodate him.

"Look at how well she takes me," Joel says to his wife. His eyes never leave yours, and you can see the effort it takes for him to maintain control, to not give in to the primal urge to thrust hard and fast. 

His wife watches with rapt attention, her eyes dark with desire as she takes in the sight of her husband buried deep inside you. "She's incredible, Joel. You look so good together.” His wife watches for a few moments more, her gaze seems to be filled with a mixture of arousal and satisfaction. She seems to enjoy the dynamic unfolding before her, the way her husband is so attentive and giving, and the way you respond to his touch with such genuine enthusiasm. "You two are quite the sight," she comments. "I'll leave you to it. I can see you're in good hands." With a knowing smile, she rises from her chair and walks over to the bed. She leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then to Joel's lips. "Enjoy yourselves," she whispers

As she exits the room, closing the door softly behind her, you feel a sense of relief wash over you. While her presence was intriguing and added an extra layer of excitement, there's something incredibly intimate about being alone with Joel, about having his full attention focused solely on you and with his wife gone, Joel seems to let go of some invisible restraint. His movements become more urgent, his hands exploring your body with a newfound intensity. He kisses you deeply, his tongue dancing with yours.

"You're so fucking perfect," he murmurs against your lips, his voice filled with awe and desire. "Could stay inside you forever.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him. Joel reaches between your bodies, his fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at your core. He circles it with his thumb, applying just the right amount of pressure to send you spiralling towards an orgasm. "Come for me, darlin'," he commands, his voice a low growl in your ear. "Let me feel you squeeze my cock.” 

The tension within you builds to an almost unbearable peak. The sensation is overwhelming, a tidal wave of pleasure that threatens to engulf you at any moment. You try to hold back, to savor the feeling, but it's a losing battle. With a cry that surprises even you, your body convulses as the orgasm floods through you, your muscles rhythmically clench around Joel's cock and in the throes of your climax, the words slip out before you can stop them, "yes, Daddy, yes!" you gasp, the term of endearment falling from your lips in a moment of pure vulnerability. 

As the waves of pleasure begin to subside, you realize what you've said. A heat creeps up your cheeks, and you bury your face in Joel's shoulder, mortified by your slip-up. But when you dare to glance up at him, you're met with a smirk of pure satisfaction.

"You like that, baby?" he asks, “want me to be your Daddy?"

You nod shyly, too caught up in the afterglow of your orgasm to form words. 

"Say it again," Joel commands softly. "Tell me who I am."

Swallowing past the lump in your throat, you meet his gaze and whisper, "Daddy." 

A growl of approval rumbles deep in Joel's chest as he leans down to kiss you again. With the taste of your shared passion still lingering on his lips, Joel pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he speaks. "You're doin so good, takin me so deep," he praises, 

"Tell me what you want, baby. What do you need from Daddy?"

The words come to you in a rush, born of a deep, unspoken desire that you've only just begun to explore. "Want you to choke me daddy," you whisper, the request barely audible even to your own ears. But Joel hears you, and the smoldering look of approval in his eyes is all the confirmation you need. 

“Mmmm, such a good girl," Joel murmurs while his hand moves to the nape of your neck. His fingers tangle gently in your hair, exerting just enough pressure to tilt your head back, exposing the delicate column of your throat to his hungry gaze. "You want daddy to own this pretty little throat?"

You nod, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as you anticipate the feeling of his hand around your neck. The vulnerability of the position and the trust it requires, only serves to heighten your arousal. With a gentleness Joel applies pressure to your throat, his fingers wrapping around it just tightly enough to make you acutely aware of his dominance over you. The sensation is intoxicating, a heady mix of fear and excitement that sends a fresh wave of wetness flooding between your legs.

“Doin’ so good for me baby.” 

 As Joel's hand tightens around your throat, your heart pounds in your chest, the rhythm echoing in your ears. The world around you blurs, narrowing down to the feeling of his body pressed against yours, the weight of his hand on your neck, and the intensity of his gaze holding yours. 

"That's it, darlin', Let Daddy take care of you."

You focus on the sound of his voice, allowing it to guide you through the haze of pleasure and fear. With each breath you take under his command, a sense of calm washes over you, a trust so profound that it borders on euphoria.

Joel's thrusts become more insistent now, his hips driving into you with an urgency that speaks of his own rising pleasure. The hand around your throat loosens slightly, allowing you to draw in a deep breath before he tightens his grip once more. The cycle of restriction and release becomes a primal rhythm that resonates deep within your core.

"You're so fucking beautiful like this.” His eyes dark with lust as he watches you surrender to him completely. "Such a good girl for Daddy."

The praise washes over you like a benediction, filling you with warmth and satisfaction. You feel yourself opening up even more to him, your body yielding to his every demand without hesitation or reserve.

With his free hand, Joel reaches down between your legs once more, his fingers finding that sensitive bud with practiced ease. He begins to circle it again, applying just the right amount of pressure to send shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins. The combination of sensations – the tightness in your throat, the fullness in your core, and the relentless stimulation at your center – is almost too much. But there's no escape from this exquisite torment; all you can do is hold on and ride out the storm that's building inside you once again . 

"Come for me one more time," Joel commands, “show daddy how much you like this baby.” 

The world around you fades to a distant hum as Joel's fingers continue their mission, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge. The pressure in your core builds to a crescendo.

"Look at me darlin'," Joel encourages, "Look at daddy when you come."

With a strangled cry, you surrender to the waves of ecstasy crashing over you. Your body convulses, muscles clenching and releasing as you ride out the intensity of your orgasm. The sensation of Joel's cock, still hard and buried deep inside you, prolongs the pleasure, each pulse of your inner walls milking him, urging him towards his own release.

As the last ripples of your climax subside, Joel loosens his grip on your throat, allowing you to breathe deeply, the rush of oxygen to your brain heightens the aftershocks of pleasure that continue to ripple through you. He withdraws from you, the absence of his cock leaving you feeling momentarily empty, but the look in his eyes promises more to come.

"You did so good, baby," Joel praises. "Now, daddy's got a special treat for you."

He guides you to sit up on the edge of the bed, his hands on your shoulders to steady you. His cock, glistening with your shared arousal, stands proudly before you. 

"You want to make daddy feel good, don'tcha?" Joel asks.

You nod, your eyes locked on his shaft, you lean forward and tentatively lick the tip of his cock. The salty-sweet taste of him on your tongue is intoxicating, and you find yourself eager for more. You part your lips and take him into your mouth, your hands reach up to stroke the base of his shaft as you begin to suck and lick him with growing confidence.

"Fuck, baby," Joel groans, his hand coming up to tangle in your hair, guiding your movements but not forcing you. "Just like that. Suck on daddy's cock."

You look up at him as you bob your head up and down, taking him as deep as you can. The feeling of his girthy cock hitting the back of your throat is both a challenge and a turn-on, and you find yourself wanting to take him even deeper, to please him in every way possible.

Sensing your eagerness, Joel's grip on your hair tightens, and he begins to thrust into your mouth gently, setting a rhythm that you eagerly follow. The hand that was stroking his shaft moves to cup his balls, massaging them gently as you continue to suck him off.

"Goddamn your fucking good at this," Joel praises, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Daddy's gettin real close. Ready for your treat?"

You nod, your eyes watering slightly as he increases the pace of his thrusts. The feeling of his cock swelling in your mouth, the salty taste of his pre-come on your tongue, are all signs that he's close. With a final, guttural groan, Joel's body tenses, and he floods your mouth with his hot, sticky come. You swallow reflexively, the taste of him mingling with the taste of your own arousal still lingers on your lips.

As the last few spurts of his orgasm subside, Joel gently pulls out of your mouth, his hand still tangled in your hair. He uses his thumb to wipe a stray drop of come from the corner of your mouth, then leans down to kiss you. "You're incredible, baby," he says against your lips  "Thank you for trusting me.” Joel's hand gently cups your chin, his fingers tracing the contours of your jaw as he tilts your head back to meet his gaze.  "So does this mean daddy can have you whenever he needs?" Joel asks, the question hangs in the air between you, an invitation to explore the boundaries of your relationship, to embrace the free-use dynamic that defines his marriage with his wife.

You find yourself nodding before you've even fully processed the implications of your agreement. The thought of being available for Joel's pleasure at any moment is both daunting and exhilarating. It's a level of submission that you've never experienced before, but with Joel, it feels right. It feels safe. "Yes, Daddy can use me whenever he needs." You wink at him.

A slow smile spreads across Joel's face, and he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I want you to know that this isn't just about sex for me," Joel says earnestly. "This is about trust and respect and mutual satisfaction." He reaches out to stroke your cheek gently with the back of his hand before continuing. "You mean more to me than just another body in my bed. You're not just a desire, you're a need," he whispers into your hair, "and I intend to cherish that, every single day.”

With those words, Joel pulls you into a tender embrace. In his arms, you feel cherished, empowered, and ready to embrace the newfound freedom and pleasure that await you in this unconventional sanctuary.

Special @milla-frenchy taglist 😘

[tinkerbelle05]

could you do like a bookworm kinda quiet reader with E42 Miles?????

I Always Got You, Got That?

Characters: E42!Miles Morales x Fem!reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Going on an impromptu bookstore shopping run. (Requested) Thanks for the request sweets 🖤

Warning: none :)

While sipping your coffee, you continued to walk throughout the mall when you spotted the bookstore. It was practically calling your name but you didn’t have enough money and you already took too much from Miles.

You weren’t exactly sure about what his job actually is, but he made a lot of money from doing that. So realistically he wouldn’t have a problem with you asking but you didn’t wanna seem like some gold-digger. Your mama raised you better than that.

“You wanna go in there?” Miles asked you. He caught you eyeing the place but was confused as to why you didn’t go in.

“Oh, no. We don’t have to go on and it’s probably boring for you,” you answer and turn back around.

“Nah, nah.” He takes your hand and starts pulling you into the store. “If you wanna go in, then go in. And don't worry about the price, you know I always got you.”

“But you already spent a lot on me,” you argue. And he has. Last week, he took you on a date to a fancy restaurant and the week before that a concert to see your favorite artist. Both of those were extremely expensive and you felt guilty about it when you searched up the prices.

“Because as my girlfriend, you deserve to be spoiled. It’s how I show my love.” He gives you a playful pout and comes closer to you, “Are you gonna stop me from showing you how much I love you?”

“Of course not,” you're quick to say.

He gives you a smirk, “Good.” He drags you into the store, “Now shop to your heart’s desire, okay?”

You nod and go deeper into the store. You pick up some books that caught your eye and put them back because they didn’t interest you as much as the others. You weren’t that greedy.

Little did you know Miles was behind you and picking the books back up to buy them. He watched as you went around the store, going into different sections; YA, Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Romance, etc.

Miles loved seeing you smile as your fingers glided on the book spines, he loved the way your eyes lit up as they read the summary of the book. He loved how you talked so passionately about the books you’ve read and are planning to read. The ones you loved with all of your heart and the ones you hate with every fiber of your being.

You turned around to see Miles carrying a stack of books that pales in comparison to the ones you have in your hand. When you looked closer, it was every book that you liked but put back.

“Miles…” you narrow your eyes at him and walk back to meet up with him. “Why are you picking up these books? I didn’t take you for a fan of romance.”

“1, don’t put me into a box and 2, you can’t carry all these books so I’m carrying them for you. That’s why you put them back because they were getting heavy,” he explains and lies without any shame knowing damn well that’s not the reason.

“Now Miles.” You say and stare up at the ceiling to combat the incoming headache. He doesn’t have to keep spending all this money on you.

“Hey.” Miles called out to you and lifted your head by your chin to meet his eyes. “Listen I told you this before and I will tell this until you get it through that pretty little head of yours, hermosa. My money is yours, okay. You need something you got, you want something you got. I’ve always got you, got that?”

He was being so intense about this which was unusual for him since he’s probably the most nonchalant guy you knew. You suspected there was more to this issue, but you decided not to push it. With being a nonchalant, Miles is also not the most emotionally vulnerable person in the world.

You give him a smile, “Okay then, don’t come crying when I drain your bank account.” You turn to continue shopping, being more liberal in your choosing. And where do you put all the books you pick up? Right in Miles’ hand.

He chuckles at your response and carries the mounting books with ease, “Trust, you won’t hear a peep outta me.”

Tags: @butterfi, @justbeethings, @jam-skullz, @zomb1te, @dreamxcollide, @shibble, @sleepdeprivationis4coolkids, @somber-starz, @maypersonne, @hoeboat101, @rosebunny, @midnight-the-shadow-wolf, @mur-docs, @eight-cats-in-a-box, @emgavi, @sawi-06, @707xn, @niktwazny303, @nagi3seastorm, @ghostsimp000, @cloudstrifefantatic, @vixqn, @yourtsahik, @angelzira, @im-jisoo-im-okay, @andhdi68a, @itstooearly-its3am, @universallypeanutpizzapersona, @sodapopzds, @sciamachy-after-dusk, @peter-parkers-gf, @liural, @mewzxz, @star-light18464, @gricelovesu, @wraithlueintheirlittleworld, @targaryenstormborn

Taglist & Masterlist & Reqs Info

Reqs are open!!

A/N: Thanks so much for 1K notes guys!! 😊😊

[bibuddie]

buck's favourite thing is when he wakes up before tommy — when the world is quiet and still and there's nothing to come between them. he stirs awake, his eyes opening and landing instantly on the broad expanse of his boyfriend's back. he's mapped the hills and valleys of his spine countless times in countless ways and yet somehow, it never gets old. he draws his own constellations out of the freckles dusting along tommy's back, ghosting his fingers reverently over the scars littering his body, signs of a life well lived before they entered each-other's orbit. but buck's favourite thing is his face. when he's asleep, the crows feet by his eyes are merely hinted at and his lips are parted and there's no sign of the stress they face in their jobs. it's in these moments, in these few quiet fragments of time that buck knows. he's known on some level since he first saw tommy at the hangar, his smile all in his eyes and his teeth peeking out and his gaze sharp. buck's known since the first time tommy kissed him, breathing new life into him that he didn't know he was missing. it slams into buck's sternum, hammering in the intervals between his heartbeats. he loves tommy, and not in the terrifying way he's always felt affection. loving tommy feels like the easiest thing in the world. it feels like something he was always meant to do. he sees a future with tommy, although it's probably too early to think like that. he sees a little house and a yard for planting vegetables and saturday morning coffee dates and hosting dinner parties for their friends. he sees a life with tommy, and instead of scary, it feels liberating. he feels free.

[springwitch26]

hots for teacher (part 2) (melissa schemmenti x fem!reader)

part 1

summary: you've been infatuated with melissa schemmenti ever since you worked under her as a student teacher. what will happen when you meet again a few years later? (part 2: what happens)

warnings: smut, intensely NSFW, praise kink, age gap, squirting, d/s vibes, inexperienced!reader, minors and men please don't touch this post

notes: ask and you shall receive, beauties! thank you for all the love on part 1, it's kinda surreal to be writing my own fics but also super liberating. any feedback is welcome. idk when i'll write again but i may or may not have another little nsfw draft with a more... punishing... interpretation of mel so we'll see! also, feel free to send me asks because i'm lonely. this one goes out to whoever said melissa schemmenti loves sluts, 'cause yeah she does.

the car ride back to melissa's place felt like it would never end. you crossed your legs when you first got into the passenger seat--partly out of habit and partly to get some friction on your aching core--and were quickly reprimanded.

"tsk tsk, baby. guess i'll have to teach you manners, too. keep those pretty thighs apart for me, all the way home. you're gonna wait patiently until i get my hands on you," melissa scolded.

you whined incoherently, and she responded with a dangerous laugh. the trip was short but unbearable. she had one hand on the steering wheel, while the other drew lazy patterns on your inner thigh. you squirmed and writhed, even moaned quietly, but she remained nonchalant.

at one point, when her fingers drew oh-so close to where you needed them most, your thighs snapped shut of their own accord.

"c'mon, legs open," was all she said in response. she tried to act casual, but you could tell from her excited half-smile that she was enjoying this game more than she let on.

as soon as you got in the door, she was on you. you barely had the focus to take in your surroundings as she lavished you with kisses, working her way across your lips and face before burying herself in your neck. her house was cozy and tastefully decorated with gentle lighting. in the soft glow, her slightly disheveled hair and lustful eyes were a sight you'd never forget.

"is there anyone--oh!" you squealed as her fingers began to trace circles on your nipples through your dress. "is there anyone else here?"

"sensitive, huh?" she teased, smirking down at you. "and no, it's just me tonight."

before you had time to consider what that last word implied, she picked you up and effortlessly whisked you to her bedroom. you were dazzled by the sight of her private space--it was simple yet beautiful, adorned with shades of green and twinkling lights. you didn't expect this level of whimsy from her, and it somehow made her even sexier.

she laid you on the bed carefully, reverently. "god, look at you." she whispered, sending shivers down your spine as she positioned herself on top of you and returned to your lips.

by now you were painfully needy from all her teasing, and you just needed her to fuck you senseless. you tried to convey that with your impatient noises, but it seemed the older woman had other plans. she pulled away from your lips to take in your flushed, desperate face.

"soon, sweetheart, soon. i know you're so worked up, but i plan to make this last."

you hummed in acknowledgment, turning your attention to the buttons of her shirt. you thought maybe if you got her a bit more riled up, she would be less inclined to take her time.

melissa groaned, feeling your delicate fingers ghost over her chest, but shook her head in disapproval. she removed your hands from her shirt, grabbing your wrists with surprising force. "i'm not taking my clothes off yet. i'm in charge, and you need to learn patience."

you gave her your best pout, but you knew she wouldn't budge. this was about power, not patience. she wanted to be clothed, composed and in control while you lay naked and vulnerable underneath her.

she started to pull at the fabric of your dress. you lifted your hips, and in one fluid motion, she slipped it over your head and off of you. it was an expert move, and you shivered at the idea that she had done this many times before.

when she saw your body, she paused for a moment, her mouth slightly open and her pupils dilated. "no bra?" she asked under her breath, not looking for an answer. "you're so soft in my hands..." she mused as her hands massaged your breasts. her fingers moved to pinch and rub over your nipples.

you moaned, bucking your hips upward and seeking more contact. she took the hint and directed her attention to your core.

"nice panties, by the way," she said with a cocky laugh, tugging playfully at the soaked pink lace. "who knew little miss gothic had a colorful side?"

"please, mel, no more teasing, i need you so bad," was all you could manage.

"okay, baby, let's get these off ya." she hooked her fingers through your panties and you lifted your hips, allowing her to drag them off. she folded them neatly and tucked them into her front pocket. something cutesy to remind her of you, wet and pliant under her touch.

"mmm, such a messy girl. you must feel so embarrassed, all spread out and naked for me while i'm fully clothed, playin' with you."

you could only whimper and whine, helplessly turned on by her words but pinned to the bed and unable to move. she cooed at you and took pity, moving down your body to get closer to your core.

she placed her hands once again on the insides of your thighs, gently pulling them apart and revealing your glistening pussy. her breath stuttered upon seeing the wetness covering your core and thighs.

"jesus, hon, you're dripping. you're just aching for me, aren't ya? need me to make you feel good?"

"yes!" you finally exclaimed, regaining your voice. "yes, please, melissa, please touch me, i need you," you begged.

"well, since you asked so nicely..." she gave you a smirk and trailed a finger between your puffy lips, gathering the wetness there.

by this point you were writhing all over the bed, so she had to pin your legs down with her knees. neither of you minded, though. you enjoyed feeling completely at her mercy, and she enjoyed watching you squirm under her.

finally, after an eternity of torture, she gave in, slipping a finger into you with ease and rubbing gentle circles over your clit.

"so tight, fuck," she muttered to herself as she began to move inside you, transfixed by the feeling of you around her.

"feels so good, ohhh..." you mewled as her finger quickly found a rhythm, pumping forcefully and curling at your most sensitive spots.

"you're taking me so well, baby, my brave girl," she soothed, relishing in her ability to draw such pathetic sounds from you. "can you handle one more?"

you nodded frantically, almost too lost in the haze of pleasure to hear her.

she grinned and pushed another finger inside you, making you cry out. you were relatively inexperienced, so the stretch was a bit painful at first, but you were soon overcome by the bliss of feeling so full.

"that's new, huh? poor baby, can barely take two fingers," her thrusts got rougher, as if she was trying to break you. "don't whine now, you wanted this."

you were overwhelmed with pleasure and the slight pain of the intrusion. her fingers were long, nimble and skilled, and she seemed to know all the right spots and rhythms to make you see stars. her fingers stroked your clit with more pressure now, making you shake and moan uncontrollably. it was almost too much. you wanted to scream, but you could only produce pathetic little whimpers of "ah, ah, ah!"

she was clearly aware of what she was doing, and she revelled in your pleasure. she would ease up, return to a gentler pace, and then thrust hard into your g-spot just to hear your cries and gasps. she longed to see you lose control.

"that's a good girl, keep takin' my fingers just like that. you're close, aren't you baby? let's see how long you can last against me," she said, her voice deep and her smile mischievous. there was a competitive edge to her words, like making you fall apart was some kind of victory to her.

suddenly she pulled away completely, and you nearly sobbed. your hips bucked up into nothing. your helpless whimpers were music to the older woman's ears, and she snickered to herself as she moved down your body.

for a moment, there was silence. you stared at her, silently pleading for her touch. she cocked her head at you and raised an eyebrow, silently asking you: are you ready? you nodded intently. you weren't sure what she was going to do to you, but you sure as hell wanted to find out.

before you even had the chance to brace yourself, she was thrusting two fingers roughly inside you again, rubbing hard at that spongy spot. for the final blow, melissa leaned down and attached her lips to your clit, sucking harshly.

"not yet, sweetheart. stay with me," she said, grinning from ear to ear as she felt your walls flutter and clench around her.

with her free hand, she reached up and pressed softly on your lower abdomen. between that, the punishing thrusts, and the hot pressure on your clit, you couldn't take it anymore. the sensations overwhelmed you. the world went blank, and all you could feel was warmth. you swam through oceans of white-hot ecstasy, riding wave after wave of pleasure. and melissa was right there, coaxing you through heaven's gates.

melissa's thumbs rubbed soothing circles into your outer thighs, bringing you back down to earth. "come back to me," she whispered sweetly. you opened your eyes.

"there she is," she said, her eyes sparkling with relief.

she gave you a giddy smile and you noticed the wetness all over her face... and fingers... and sheets. you couldn't help but feel embarrassed.

melissa must have picked up on this, as she took hold of your hand and reassured you. "don't be embarrassed, angel. that was probably the hottest thing i've ever seen." she laid down next to you as she spoke.

you hummed and buried your face in the crook of her neck. she was warm and smelled like cinnamon.

"did you know you could do that, hon?" she asked.

"yeah," you giggled, still dazed. "but i didn't know you could do that."

"i'm fulla surprises, kid," she laughed, stroking your hair. "let me run us a bath, and then we'll see what kind of surprises you've got in you."

she carried you bridal-style to the bathtub, and you relaxed into the bliss. feeling the warmth of her arms around your frame. drowning in her.

[lostinforestbound]

It's here after many weeks, the 10k one-shot to celebrate 200 followers, but I suppose it's also to celebrate 300 followers as well! I meant for 300 to be a different celebration but that's okay! I'm sure I'll make something else for the next milestone!

Requested Tags: @dutifullylazybread @heytheresunflower @barbwillbrb

Rolan/GN!Tav

I Shouldn't Love You Like You Are Mine

Rolan has too much to do with so little time. Becoming the new Master of Ramazith's tower is proving more complicated than the wizard have ever thought. On top of it all, he has a deep infatuation with Tav, the hero who saved him and his family many times. He knows he has no chance with them, so he has settled on hopelessly pining and dreaming. One day, Tav rushes into the shop in a panic, and he could have never in his wildest fantasies expect what they request of him.

Word Count: 10k (Don't like Tumblr? Read on AO3 instead!)

Relevant Tags: Rolan's POV, Makeout Diversion, Smut, Lorroakan Bashing

Beta Reader: @el-tur-el (Thank you so much for your help T!!!)

NSFW under cut, Minors DNI

The air is stale, the scent of electricity still strong in the space that surrounds him, the taste of blood on his tongue from when his sharp teeth gashed the inside of his mouth. He's sore, bruised, burned, somewhat electrocuted by the way some of his muscles spasm still, but he's alive. Tav is long gone with their companions, and all that is left is him and a dead man.

When staring down at the body of his spine-broken master, Rolan is not sure of how he's supposed to feel. At first, he felt a genuine joy that he had not felt in many years. The adrenaline was still high at the time, and he proudly remarked that he would turn the tower inside out to find its secrets and share them with the world. He always has been ambitious, that is what got him this far, after all. Tav seems happy for him, and he ignores how it made his heart pound even more.

As he stands alone in the room, he questions whether he's supposed to feel something now that the joy has faded within the span of minutes. Some kind of liberation? Or perhaps his emotions are fighting each other in his psyche, making him feel everything and nothing all at once. The man who tortured him, who beat him like he was a misbehaving dog he didn't even want, who refused to teach him anything about wielding the weave, lays dead by his feet. He can't help but think that he looks pathetic now, face twisted in permanent fear even after death.

He spits on his face as a final 'fuck you'. He hopes he rots in the deepest pits of the hells that he was once dragged to.

Running his stiff hands down his face, he tries to think of what to do first. He has to get rid of this body, it can't stay here lying around. It will decay and stink more than Lorroakan already has. Grabbing a fistful of the dead man's hair, he drags his body towards the balcony. He could throw his body over the railing, it would be insult to injury, but no. He will do something much worse.

He digs into the stray backpack at the edge of the railing and takes out a disintegration scroll, one that he knew Lorroakan hid out here as a backup plan in case a fight doesn't go his way. Without thinking too much on it, he casts the spell on the body, and Lorroakan disappears into ash.

His former teacher was now erased, made into nothing, and no one will remember or miss him. A fate worse than death, in Rolan's opinion.

Almost numbly, he heads back inside the main room and tries to find cleaning supplies. There's so much blood on the floor, and it did not help he made a trail while dragging the body. He wishes Tav was still here so he could demand they clean their mess up, where he wouldn't notice his tail flicking back and forth in irritation. Would they bother listening to him? Maybe not, but at least they would be there, just a little longer. Just enough time for him to pine once more.

Lia is right, he's a very selfish creature.

A couple of mage hands bring a bucket of water and an unused mop over. He is taken aback, as he thought they would have disappeared in Lorroakan's absence. Although, these could have been Ramazith's, wherever that wizard is now. It doesn't matter, either way. They're his now.

He dunks the mop into the water and starts swiping across the floor, noticing how as he cleans, the white cloth of the strands turn red. There's so much godsdamned blood, it will take him forever to clear the mess. There's a lot of blood on him, too. Specks and splatters of blood paint his hands crimson, long dried onto his red skin. His mentor's blood. Lorroakan's blood.

He helped murder a man, today. He killed someone. His blood is on his hands as much as it may be on the Nightsong's. Or Tav's.

An unsuspected shudder runs through his body, and he feels sick. He chalks it up to his adrenaline rush going down too quickly, ignoring the feeling as he swipes the mop across the floor.

The hairs on his neck stand on end as he feels the crackle of the weave, warning him someone is coming through the portal. Part of him hopes it would be Tav; he wants to talk to them again. Maybe they can help him with the cleanup, laughing about how they left him here without realizing it. He would stumble over his words like a fool, trying to be impressive in his pathetic state.

It's not Tav that arrives though, he recognizes Lia's quick footsteps anywhere. She's always been the fastest between him and Cal; they both could never beat her in a race, but he swears he lets her win.

"Rolan!" She shouts, quickly coming up to him along with Cal, whose heavier footsteps are right behind hers. "Finally! You kept talking up this tower and now we get to see it-"

"Wait, is that blood?" Cal immediately interrupts, face falling.

He must look horrendous, Rolan realizes. He got so busy cleaning the floor that he didn't even bother washing up first. Based on when he looked at himself that morning, the bruises should still be very prominent. Shit.

Lia bristles when she cups his face, looking at his injuries. "What is this?"

The silence that falls between them is telling. He knows she figured it out a long time ago, but she wants to hear him say it. "I'm fine, Lia. He was a horrible mentor, but it's not my blood on the ground."

"Tav told us they helped you kick his ass." Cal comments, trying to lighten their moods, "Looks like you did just that if this blood isn't yours."

"You should've killed him earlier, idiot!" She spits.

"I know, I know." He mutters, trying to speak even as Lia turns his face around to see the damage. "It's good to see you two."

"We missed you, brother," Cal says, gently moving Lia away and hugging him. "Please don't do that again. It was hard, without you."

Rolan lets out a sigh he didn't know he was holding, hugging Cal tightly. Lia joins in quickly after. When was the last time they held each other like this? He doesn't remember.

It feels nice.

While it doesn't last long, it is more than satisfactory for him. They help him with the clean up, Lia helping with the blood while Cal sweeps the floor with a broom. They take on more workload than Rolan wants, but he can't argue with them when they practically plead for him to rest. To be honest, he's unbelievably sore, and maybe sitting down for a bit wouldn't hurt.

It only takes his body a few minutes until it's antsy again, so he joins them quickly after.

And then he never stops moving.

He cleans, reorganizes, and keeps walking despite his beaten body screaming at him to stop. He can't stop, because if he does, he knows he will not want to get back up. He'll crash, and he can't afford that.

At the end of it all, he enters Lorroakan's room without thinking and is frozen in place. He's been in here before, but never for good reasons, only beatings. Is this not his room now that the original master is gone? But it reeks of his old mentors stench. He scrunches his nose as he looks at all the personalized decorations. They're hideous, all of the colors too bright to stare at, and most not matching with each other in terms of palette. There's not even a real theme and it makes him irate.

He remembers being beaten on this very floor for messing up a verbal component.

Enraged, he marches up to the bed and tears off the sheets, making a point to dig his claws into them so they would rip. The pillows are next, tossing them across the room and onto the floor. He'll need to replace every damn thing if he wants to use this bed. To use this room.

Unwanted memories start to flood into his mind as he tears the place apart, most of them being on the ground, where Lorroakan said he belonged. Beaten, burned, electrocuted, sometimes poisoned. A place where he was at his most pathetic. He often has nightmares about those late nights, but some of the worst ones were Tav walking in and seeing him like that, utterly broken on floor. They would never see him the same, and he doesn't know whether he prefers them to be disgusted by him or to feel pity.

He's close to a breakdown, having trouble getting air into his lungs before Cal and Lia comes in. "Rolan?"

With a slow sigh, he turns to look at them. "Why are you two up?"

Lia's eyes trail around the destroyed room, seeming to note the claw marks on the bed sheets discarded on the carpet. "Couldn't sleep." She says simply, giving a knowing look.

"Can we sleep with you?" Cal asks, rubbing the back of his neck, "Like when we were kids? Just for one night."

His jaw moves to start a pointless argument, but then snaps shut. They're both not children anymore, they can sleep by themselves. He can sleep by himself. However, he cannot deny that he craves the affection it would bring. He hasn't been this long without them, no matter how much he complained about them being clingy before.

"All right." He says quietly after taking a deep breath, "Not in here, though. Come."

He quietly leads them to the comparatively bland room Lorroakan gave him in Sorcerous Sundries. It isn't terrible, but he realizes that the bed is way too small for the three of them. Thankfully, he had a remedy. He adjusts an enlarge spell and makes the bed wider, and they all settle down on top of it easily.

Lia makes him stay in the middle while she settles on his right side, Cal climbing over carefully to lay on his left. Honestly, he misses having them so close.

"Rolan?" Cal speaks up as Lia pulls up the blanket.

"Hm?"

"Can you make a light show for a little bit?"

Rolan can't help but smile, slowly closing his eyes before opening them up again and raising his hands. "Any requests?"

"Make it look like flowers blooming." Lia says instantly, draping an arm around his middle.

He huffs before murmuring a few words, a burst of colors appearing in the air. Like asked, they take form of flowers blooming, petals falling near them gently. It's gorgeous.

It fades after a minute though, the exhaustion finally catching up to him as he falls asleep. If Cal and Lia were bothered by it not lasting, they don’t say a word.

For the first time in years, his night is not plagued by nightmares.

---

As soon as he wakes, Rolan does not stop moving.

He's the new master of Ramazith's tower, there is so much to do with so little time. The Absolute's army is on its way and he needs to gather everything he can to protect his siblings, and to protect Tav.

Tav doesn't need protecting, he knows that all too well, but he needs to do something. Anything at all. He needs to prepare the arcane cannon, but there is so much research to be done. On top of it all, he wants to be able to focus on his studies, but then run a shop at the same time.

He barely eats the toasted bread he haphazardly made for himself, too distracted by the logs Lorroakan left behind. There's so many customers he needs to take care of, including deliveries. Maybe he could repurpose the animated armor to make the deliveries, but that could be shaky as they're unstable. Well, Lorroakan's magic was always weakly done...he could rework the sigils. He'll have to rework everything in this place, actually.

Gods, everything is such a fucking mess. He knows he needs help, but respectfully, he wants everything a certain way and his siblings won't be able to give him what he wants. Tav would be able to understand-

He stops reading, surprising himself with his thought. Tav? Why would he think Tav would know how he likes things? It's ridiculous. But he can imagine it, them carrying books around with whatever means and placing them in alphabetical order, then by subject. They would tease him about being so stingy with what books go where on the bookshelf.

And they would laugh. Not quite at him, but laugh nonetheless. It's such a perfect sound in his ears, and the thought of it makes the tip of his tail flick about. Damn it all!

He's been thinking about them a lot, unfortunately. Ever since the Shadow Cursed Lands, where they succeeded in saving his siblings where he could not, an infatuation began to settle in his heart. He had half the mind to possibly confess, but immediately pushed it out of his mind. There was no possible way they would feel the same. He's too bitter, too arrogant, and he saw the way they looked at Gale, someone who is much more accomplished than he is. It is a fondness that he never received once in his life, and certainly not by them. He was jealous of it, but jealousy is an ugly little trait to have, so he gave up on dwelling.

The feelings never went away, no matter how much he wants them too.

He wants to say more to them, especially after they saved his sorry tail again during the fight up in the tower. They left before he could, he was too dazed staring at the mess the Nightsong made of his former master. He regrets being too out of it to say anything proper.

What would he have told them anyways? He doubts anything worthwhile. Probably a weak apology and an even weaker attempt to express his feelings. In the end, they would reject him, no doubt. He messed up too many times, back in the Shadow Cursed Lands, even if they accepted his apology for lashing out.

So he continues on and tries to forget, organizing the scrolls at the front counter of Sorcerous Sundries. His nose scrunches in irritation at the disorganization of it all. Was Lorroakan always like this? They aren't even categorized in the right sections, its horrendous. Diabolical. A sin on this shop.

Frustration straining his brow, he lays them flat on the counter to decipher where they should go, ignoring the ache that sits subtly in his bones. He hasn't had the chance to heal himself, so the bruises are still very prominent. It doesn't matter, he can take care of it later.

He knows deep in his heart that later will never come.

In the middle of his thought, one of the front doors burst open. Someone runs in and...well, he doesn't recognize them, but he does see the illusion aura that surrounds their figure. He's about to yell at them about their audacity, but their disguise instantly fades when they close.

It's Tav, in all of their wonderful glory.

"Tav?" He asks dumbly as they rush the to the counter.

They urgently hop over the counter and grab his wrist, and he actively has to suppress a wince by the force. "I need help. Hurry!"

Without a chance of responding, they drag him along towards one of the rooms along the side of the shop. They practically throw him in there.

The door slam briefly echoes in the room, and he barely has time to react before the back of his thighs meet the desk inside. He hisses, the bruises still fresh, “What in the hells are you doing?”

“I need a diversion. I was disguised but the Flaming Fist followed me.” They state, starting to open up the front of their tunic to make a mess. “Let me kiss you.”

He hates how the tip of his tail stands at attention, and thank the gods they don’t notice it. “What.”

“We’re kissing. Now. Just-“ They groan, loosening their shirt more to make themselves look like a mess. “-I need to make it look like I was busy. Rolan, please?”

He should say no. Everything is screaming at him to say no. But he is a weak man, and he’s dreamed that he could have them in his arms. Or be in their arms, it didn’t matter to him.

As soon as he gives a nod, they grab the front of his collar and pull him in, kiss searing. It takes everything in his being not to moan at the contact, especially when they loosen his hair properly to make it fall past his ears. They don’t touch them, much to his relief.

Pretending to put on the same act as them, he presses into them enthusiastically, letting their tongue in when it pries at his teeth. He fell out of control so quickly that he doesn’t know how to pick himself back up. He had half the mind to let them have their way with him. Blood rushes down south when their hand slides up his clothed stomach, sweat beading on the back of his neck as the muscles tense and quiver. Their touch was firm, demanding, and the voice in his head screams at him to not deny them for a moment. How long has he been waiting for something like this to happen?

Before he could panic about his dick twitching in interest at their ministrations, the door flies open. It startles Tav enough to where they bite his lip on accident, making him jolt.

A group of Flaming Fist freeze at the door, taking in the scene before them.

Rolan reacts quickly with his typical sneer, sitting up straighter and trying to ignore Tav being between his legs. “Do you mind?”

“Well, sir-“ One starts but the other, a commander most likely, cuts them off.

“There’s a suspected thief that we believe ran into here.”

“So you decided to almost break down one of my doors?” He questions, making a show of magic to fix his hair up. Tav moves away with their arms crossed in front of their chest, looking annoyed.

“We apologize, sir, but this thief is-“

"Excuse me?" Tav states, putting on an offended face. "How dare you! I am not a thief! I've been in this shop for a while now, unless you are accusing me of stealing from here?"

Rolan comes in before the Commander starts to retort. “My partner, no, my associate could not have been a ‘thief’ as they have been here with me for the past fifteen minutes. And this chase happened how long ago now?”

One of the other Flaming Fists glances up at the clock in the room. “…Five minutes.“

The man to their right smacks them upside the head.

“And what did they look like?” Rolan continues.

“A pale half-orc, short hair with a blue blouse, but-“

He raises a hand to silence them, as if they were misbehaving children. “Then I believe we are done here, as my associate is wearing nothing of the sort and does not look like what you described. Now, unless you are here to buy something or set a donation for the rebuilding fund of the shop, you will kindly leave the premises of Sorcerous Sundries this instant. I expect a formal apology by the end of this week.”

In all honesty, it's funny how lost these Flaming Fist look. They seem unsure of what to do. As Tav scoffs and looks away, it seems as though they're trying not to laugh. He has to fight the smile that's teasing the corners of his mouth, staring at all the blustering Fists as they figure out what to do. Reluctantly, frustrated and angry, they exit out of the office and leave the shop with their tail in between their legs.

He brushes himself off when the heat dies down, finally able to compose himself. “What the hells were you doing? Are you mad?!”

They finally let out the laugh they were holding, straightening themselves out. “I blew up a Fireworks shop. An Absolute Cultist was running it! Who knew? To answer your second question, maybe a little bit. It's been a tough day.”

"And you thought you could just run in here while I was working? Making the Flaming Fist dirty my floors after I just had Cal clean it?!"

"I'm sorry Rolan, I panicked. I wasn't thinking." They say, seeming genuinely apologetic.

He could barely focus, mind still catching up with the events. Is he truly this easy? All they had to do was demand a kiss and he would follow them, like a lovesick puppy? He's ashamed of himself, and he didn't even notice them speaking again.

"Rolan?"

"What?"

"How are you?" They ask sincerely.

He straightens himself up and gets back into his usual facade. "I am well enough. This shop and the tower is a horrid mess, so I've already been spending time reorganizing the texts. Lorroakan barely knew his alphabet. They were not even organized by subject!"

They laugh at that, and gods, the sound makes his heart pound, but afterwards they frown at him, eyes scanning to his face. "You're still bruised."

"I haven't had the time to take care of them. There is too much to do."

They dig into their pack and hold out what he recognizes as a superior healing potion. "Here. If you're going to work, at least heal up. Did I hurt you earlier?"

He slowly takes it, perplexed, "It is nothing I can't handle."

"I'm sorry." They murmur.

"I appreciate your apology, and I forgive you." He states, uncorking the bottle and drinking down the potion.

Instantly, the deep set ache and soreness of his form fades to something less painful. Its like a warm hug, and he feels energized.

They give him a soft set smile as he places the bottle down on the desk. "You look a lot better."

Gods, if he could, he would crush the fluttering feeling the compliment gave him. "Excuse you, I always look better. Now, besides that whole mess that you created, was there anything else you needed from me?”

"I want to make purchases...and barter?" They squeak out.

He sighs heavily, opening the door back up for them, "Of course you do. All right, what do you have for trade then?"

They head out to the counter with a skip to their step. "I promise it's worth it!"

---

Tav ended up having plenty of things to trade, including heavy set armor, rings, and magic items they don't need anymore. Thankfully not all fortune is lost, as they give some coin for high level spell scrolls. A Globe of Invulnerability...how interesting. He knows they are out and about adventuring, but what would they need that kind of spell for? How do they even have the gold to afford it??

They were out the door before he can ask them, clearly in a hurry to get somewhere. "Thank you Rolan!"

A little defeated, he continues on with the rest of his day. Organizing, organizing, and even more organizing. This place is such a shit show, it will take him ages before everything is how he wants it to be. Cal always teased him about having his socks color coded in his drawers.

He plops onto a fresh bed at the end of the day. This was Lorroakan's bed, but Cal and Lia helped him out with cleaning the room. New mattress, new sheets, new blankets, and even new pillows. They tore down the hideous tapestries and paintings he had, and he plans to change the wall into a new color. He still needs to personalize the room to how he likes, but now it was his. No trace of Lorroakan is found here. He idly wonders how Tav decorated their room, or if they have a home to go back to. They're still a mystery to him.

As he lays there, staring at the patterned ceiling, he finds it strange he has a room to himself. It's nice, and he's never had more privacy than now. Sometimes Lorroakan entered in his room at odd hours to start a lesson at his leisure. If he wasn't a light sleeper before, he is now due to the man's random visits. Now here he is, laying his bed, with his nights uninterrupted for the most part.

He has privacy.

...He’s pent up, isn’t he?

Through all the beatings and stress, he never took time to himself and get off. He was worried about getting caught by his mentor. On top of it all, he was too exhausted and hurt to even do much for himself, some nights barely having energy to bathe. But now…

With a sigh, he summons a mage hand to grab a book for him. When was the last time he read a smut book? Half a year, maybe more? Even then, he wouldn’t indulge too much as he never had a lot of privacy. With this large bedroom, the walls being silenced, and the time he now has, he will indulge for a little bit. For one night.

As he reads, there’s not much to go off. This one is poorly written, but he can at least give himself an idea. His mind sketches out a neutral form, no identifying…parts, yet. He’s indecisive, but he’s sure he’ll come up with someone satisfactory for the night.

Usually, his fantasies contain anonymous people with no face, or they wear a mask. It’s less embarrassing than thinking of someone directly. Sometimes they take him from behind, pinning the back of his neck to a table while they rail into him. Others he has someone under him, thrusting into them and littering bites on their neck.

For now, he imagines a person of no specific gender yet, holding him close in a crushing grip and devouring his mouth. It leaves him no room to breathe as he’s pinned to the wall, their thigh between his legs pressing up against his growing erection. Heat gathers south embarrassingly quickly, the tent of his pants tightening. What is Tav like in bed?

As soon as that question pops into his head, the blank person he tried to fantasize about turns into Tav. It shocks him how vivid it is, and he immediately sits up, book falling flat on the mattress as he drops it. No no no, absolutely not. They’re a friend.

A friend who pulled him in by the collar to kissed him with reckless abandon. A friend that was ready to pin him down on his desk. A friend who stroked a finger along his jaw to help him relax into their mouth.

Hells.

His fingers trail down his stomach and into his trousers, taking himself in hand. What’s the harm of indulging in this? They kissed, after all. All of their wonderful features are fresh in his mind. As he teases the underside of his shaft, he imagined it was their hand instead of his own. Precum was already beading at the tip, and he uses it to slick up his cock. He still feels their hands on him, pressing and demanding. He wonders what they would’ve done if they had more time. Are they gentle or rough when they stroke? He’s not sure whether he prefers one or the other yet.

None of this would happen, they have many suitors at their disposal. But damn it all, he could dream that they chose him, in the end.

Gods.

He covers his mouth tightly with his free hand, almost painfully as he thrusts up into his other one. This room is covered in silencing sigils, it’s not like anyone would hear him from the outside, but even he doesn’t want to hear his shameful sounds.

He feverishly switches to a different fantasy, this one containing Tav once more, though this time he isn’t complaining.

They’re both deep in the woods, away from the Tiefling party. They saved them all from the goblins, they deserved some compensation, did they not? Tav is pressed against his back, one hand putting two fingers in his mouth, rolling the muscle of his tongue between them while the other jacks him off. He’s utterly helpless, Tav taking control of his pleasure for him in the best ways as he helplessly grips the bark of a tree. They would tell him how good he was, how much they wanted him, how lovely his moans were. That he was handsome, strong, and worthy.

That they loved him-

Strings of white decorate his stomach, his climax coming with a stuttered gasp. It came more quickly than he thought it would, and his body spasms with how intense it is. The cry that climbs up his throat stops short by his hand.

He massages himself through it, feeling dazed and utterly pathetic. How dare he think about Tav in this way, as if they were an object for his pleasure? They’re not his, and he’s not theirs, no matter how much he wants to be. What would they say if they saw him like this, desperate and lustful even after his orgasm?

Gods, he wants them so badly, and he knows he can never have them.

Catching his breath, he feels disgusting. Filthy. He shouldn't think of them at all, he hasn't earned that right to them. It's pitiful.

To remedy his sin, he gets out of his bed and heads to the washroom. It's grand in comparison to his lowly basin in the shop, and he's unsure where to start now that he has access to it. Firstly, he takes out a Create Water spell scroll and casts it, filling the entire tub with water. He then modifies the Produce Flame spell to heat up the water. That will do for now, he'll figure out how to make the process a lot quicker later.

He takes off his soiled nightwear, stepping into the water with a slight hiss. All right, maybe he made it a little too hot, but it's nothing he can't handle. Lorroakan has burned him worse. As soon as he gets to the hip line, he pours lavender oil into the steaming water and sinks in completely. He's heard of the scent being beneficial for sleep, mostly from Tav. He wonders if they are an herbalist- no, no, he isn't supposed to be thinking about them.

Emptying his mind is proving harder than he thought. No thanks to his previous transgression, Tav's face plagued him. Questions pop up without him wanting them to: how does Tav look when flustered? Are they experienced with intimacy? Do they like pain? Are they sweet? What is their perfect date? How do they show their love-

He dunks himself fully into the water before the thought could finish, and he feels the sting of the hot water against his face as he sits under the surface. Finally, his mind is silent, so he holds his breath as long as he could. It's oddly soothing, just being alone under the water. A perfect escape to everything around him. He may just have to do this more often.

Unfortunately, he has not done any training to hold his breath, so he has to come up for air within thirty seconds. Perhaps he should practice, but that's for another time.

Now that his hair was thoroughly wet, he begins washing and conditioning his hair, giving himself a scalp massage while he was at it. He didn't trust the mage hands to do it for him. They were floating in the corner, waiting for a command. Can mage hands pout? It feels as though that's exactly what they're doing. Why are they so eager to help anyways? He should dismiss them when he has the time.

After dunking under the water again to wash out all the products, he exits the bath carefully, using Prestidigitation to instantly dry himself. Ah, what would he do if he didn't have that spell on hand? It is incredibly convenient. Can Tav use magic for mundane tasks?

He pauses as he slides on a robe. Gods damn it, it's happening again! That didn't last too fucking long, now did it?

With a groan, he marches back into the bedroom and towards the balcony, pushing the doors open. The night hair hits him immediately, sending a brief chill through him before calming. With a heavy sigh, he goes to the railing and leans against it, watching the silent city of Baldur's Gate. The lanterns have long burned out, and the stars are blooming above him, but he can't relax. He's desperate for Tav, and it's pitiful.

Pressing his forehead on the cold stone, he realizes what a miserable, selfish, wretched creature he is. After all of those things, he's somehow still hopeful. Why else would they kiss him like that? Is he reading too much into this?

Though, perhaps, instead of dwelling on unwanted thoughts, he should just let them go. Lia always did say he thinks too much. Cal mentioned it could be quite damaging on one's psyche.

So he lets the thoughts flow. All of the domestic ones and all of the lustful ones, too. He flickers through memories of he and Tav's interactions, thinking of what could have been and where he went wrong. The shouting, the aggression, the drinking. Gods, the drinking. He hasn't touched wine in a while because of it.

Then he lets it all go.

He raises his head, taking a deep, long breath of the fresh night air. He's in Baldur's Gate. They all made it. The Absolute's army is about to knock on their door, but just for tonight, at least in this moment, he's calm. He's okay.

Maybe he'll be okay later, too.

After an hour, he makes it to his bed and lulls himself to sleep, pulling up the thickest parts of the blanket to hold. It manages to lull him to sleep. A success, in Rolan's tired mind.

There's so much to do with so little time.

---

A tenday has passed and Tav has not returned.

It's for the best that they don't come, as they continuously plague Rolan's mind. He can't stop thinking about them, no matter how much he distracts himself. Most of them are lustful and depraved, some of which make him feel utterly ashamed. He has no right to think of them in this way.

Though, it's the other thoughts that confuse him the most.

They're domestically blissful. He imagines waking up in bed with them, nuzzling into their hair as they convince him to stay a few more moments. He imagines dates, lacing his fingers through theirs while telling them how stunning they are. He imagines it's their body that he pulls close late at night, and not a spare pillow he squeezes to his chest.

He hates these thoughts more than most, as it makes him silently grieve what could've been if he weren't such an arrogant prick. What if he was nicer to them when they first met? Would they have approached him a third time at the party and invite him to their tent? Embarrassingly, he's been losing more sleep than usual over the what if's, and it's making him sloppy with his work. Papers were scattered, he keeps losing his books, and ink stains have been appearing on his robes more and more lately. Unacceptable.

Is he truly this pathetic, losing sleep over domestic thoughts with someone unreachable? Is he that lonely? Does he crave company that badly? It is a wizard's curse, surely.

He thought he got over this, but it seems he needs more than one night to 'let go' of them. Damn it all, why can't this be easier?

He shakes his head, regaining his focus of the task at hand. Rearranging the scrolls once more, he stands onto his feet again and brushes the dust off of his robe. He proudly places his hands on his hips. Finally, after so many days, he has the counter exactly how he wants it. Everything is organized, not a speck of dust in sight, all of it is beautifully-

One of the doors slam open again by a gust of wind, and rage fills him to the core. Why, oh why are the gods so against him? Now there's dirt of the floor, he just made Krank sweep it all out!

The anger disappears instantaneously when he sees Tav rush through the door, sweat beading on their brow and their face flushes from exertion. Extremely similar to how they appeared last time-

Oh no.

As they rush past the counter to the same room they both in before, he starts following them without thinking. What in the hells was he doing?! This can only lead to something terrible for him, even if Tav would be none the wiser. Why does he torture himself like this? He finally has everything he could ever want, yet he greedy for more. For the one thing he can never hope to have.

But they need him, and he could never deny them.

He quickly enters the room after them, shutting the door on his way in. Thankfully this room is more presentable this time around, but he doubts Tav will notice it. They have never been one to look at the finer details. At least from what he has seen, it's not as if he spent much time around them. That thought makes jealousy swell in his chest.

"I need help again." Tav states, rustling up their clothes.

"I can see that," He sasses, but Tav is already pushing off the mantle that sits on his shoulders before pulling him into a kiss, hand fisting the front of his robes.

What has he done to deserve this punishment? Are the Gods testing him by dangling his one desire in front of him? They should know he's too weak to resist their touch.

He gasps into their mouth when they pin him to the wall, free hand grasping the back of his thigh. They easily put their leg in between his, which puts him in a daze. Is this truly an act if they would go this far, or are they testing his boundaries? The worst part about this is he never wants them to stop. He wants them to keep going and reduce him to a pitiful, breathless mess.

They're already succeeding in that, it seems.

When he feels them try to pry his teeth open, he lets them, tangling his tongue with theirs. The noise is so lewd in his ear, a blush immediately rising to his face at the intimacy of it all. He thought about this situation constantly, both through the actual memory and then to his fantasies. Though, fantasy is nothing compared to their real hand tracing the skin of his exposed neck, mapping out the dips and curves of his adam's apple. Images flash through his mind of them choking him, not to hurt, but to claim. He honesty hopes they would do so, but alas, their hand trails up to cup his jaw instead.

This action only made him more flustered, and while he doesn't understand why, he accepts it all the same and leans into their hand. No one has ever touched his face like this in many, many years. Usually it was hit or slapped, no thanks to his teacher. Even when their touch is as gentle as a dove, he can't help but flinch when their thumb strokes along his cheekbone. They pull away from the kiss, catching their breath with a question on the tip of their tongue.

As if the world is playing a joke, those same Flaming Fists burst the door open. They look surprised once again.

"Again?!" He shouts at them, bristling and baring his teeth.

"Do you fucking mind?" Tav yells after, giving them a hard-earned glare.

The Flaming Fists do not bother arguing again, turning heel and leaving the shop without another word. They look foolish, doing their walk of shame. At least they were quick about it, Rolan did not feel like giving them another lecture.

"How do you do, Rolan?" They tease, a hand still fisting his sleeve.

It is a miracle how he keeps his composure. "Well enough, I suppose. Now, as I said earlier, again?"

"There's a perfectly good explanation."

"Then?"

"They were assholes so I stole their money."

"I'm inclined to agree. They are quite intrusive in their searches. Though, must have you lead them here again? I just had Krank clean the floors of the shop from bottom to top!" He complains, running a hand down his face as he stabilizes his footing, "Now I'll have to command him to do it all over again. At least the bottom part."

"I know, I'm sorry to do this to you again. I can make it up to you!" The say quickly before taking a pause. "Wait, you reanimated Krank?"

"Despite being Lorroakan's, he still had his uses." He drawls, suddenly feeling trapped in their space. "Clearly weaponry is not the armors calling, so I have him clean the floors in the morning and at night. There hasn't been any complaints."

"It's animated armor, Rolan. It can't complain."

"I meant complaints from the customers, you absolute dunce!" He snaps and immediately regrets it, but Tav bursts out in a fit of laughter at his insult.

Never has he understood what was so funny about them being insulted. Does he look like a fool doing so? Are they laughing at him? He should be angry over it but he most likely deserves it.

"Well, I feel terrible for dragging you in here twice," They giggle, wiping a stray tear from their eye. "So I want to make it up to you."

"And how do you suppose you'll do that?" He challenges.

"Well, we already got the first part of it started, if you're interested." They tease, voice low.

Oh gods.

"We could take it further. I can feel your little friend down there, and I'm more than happy to help." They murmur in his ear.

A cold sweat hits him in that instant. This is his worst nightmare. He wants it, gods does he want it so badly, but if he accepts it there will be no turning back for him.

They attempt to cup his cheek but he turns his face away, gently pushing them.

“Rolan?”

“I can’t do this.” He says, unable to look them in the eye, but he feels the way they tense.

Before they can start apologizing, he continues, “I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since the Shadow-Cursed Lands, I think. I adore many things about you. But you keep holding me like this, kissing me, and it's starting to make me believe that there will be more than this, one day. When The Absolute is gone, and Baldur's Gate is safe, you would do me the honor of considering me as a...companion."

"Oh, Rolan..."

"I refuse to be a side piece, someone who will be at your beckon call whenever you're bored. You’re tugging at my heart as if it’s your plaything, and while I know you have not done this on purpose, I can't handle it anymore."

He exhales sharply, tilting his face up when he feels tears sting his eyes. "Please, do not torture me like this and just go. Leave."

When he’s met with silence, he swallows and blinks away the wetness of his eyes. He knew that he never had a chance, and that their affections were never real. How could his savior ever look at him like he looked at them? But that diversion of theirs was so wonderful, and for at least a temporary moment, he felt wanted. Desired.

Loved.

He knew he couldn’t continue. It is selfish of him and he would’ve been setting himself up for heartbreak.

Tav leans in close, eyes tender as they tilt his chin back down. “Rolan…I’ve been a fool. I thought I was being obvious.”

He finally can look at them in the eye. “What?”

They can't help but chuckle, but it is a good natured one, “I’m in love with you too, idiot. Why do you think I would keep seeing you in this way?” They ask, tucking some hair behind his ear. “I'm so sorry, I should have been more forward with you. I never meant to hurt your heart like this, you mean too much to me."

He must be dreaming, he has to be, but he can feel the of their body pressing against him. They want him too, and it makes his heart want to burst out of his ribcage. He isn't aware of the blush that rises in his face at their confession, making his already red skin grow crimson.

They carefully cup his face again, pressing their forehead against his, being mindful of his horns. "I'm sorry Rolan, truly. Could you ever forgive me?"

His adam's apple bobs with his swallow, but his face remains a stern look. "...Your apology seems genuine, and I forgive you."

"Well good, I was worried that I just fucked up my chance." They huff with a smile, gently pinning him against the wall once more. "Now, would you like me to try this again and kiss you?”

“Please.” He whispers instantly, tail coiling around their leg.

It was unclear who pulled in first, but what mattered is their hands were all over each other as they kiss fiercely. He felt one of their hands move back and grip the base of his tail. A pathetic whimper escapes his mouth, pleasure shooting up his spine. Tav happily nips his bottom lip in response before pulling away. “I want to see your bedroom, Rolan. Now.”

"As you wish." He responds breathlessly.

Using Dimension Door, he teleports the both of them to the top of the stairs of Sorcerous Sundries, pulling them through the portal and into the tower. This is a totally inappropriate use of one of his higher level spells, but his mind is in a sexually charged place. He'll chastise himself for it later.

His grip on their hand is tight, sweat gathering there as he teleports them again to the bedroom. It isn't customized to his liking quite yet, but it at least has the colors he wants. Deeper blues mixed with other calming colors to help him sleep. He doubts Tav is admiring the features with the way they pull him onto the mattress.

When they both settle in the bed, Tav quickly gets undressed, unclipping the armor and ripping off their under clothes in one fell swoop. Whatever he though their body looked like in his dreams, the real thing is so much better. Any little scar or texture change, he either wants to trace with his fingers or with his tongue. As they lay back and spread their legs, he reaches for them.

They gently smack his hand away when he tries to touch their chest, smirking. “No. You will sit back all pretty and watch.”

His mouth goes dry, surprised at the sudden command, but would he truly be a student of the Weave if he did not know how to listen to directions? He does as told, sitting back on his feet.

"Do you have oil in here?" They question.

"Right side, top drawer."

They crawl over and grab it, settling back into position as they drizzle the product onto their fingers. They make a show of it, too, playing with the substance between their fingers before their hand trails down in between their legs, locking eyes with Rolan.

He swallows as he watches them open themselves up, all for him. It sends his mind reeling with lust, and he’s still not allowed to touch. Torture, is what it is. They have him exactly where they want him, and he is not complaining one bit. Not in his wildest imagination could he have though of this scenario. It's incredible. They're incredible.

As they go on languidly slow, he starts feeling hot all over. His clothes feel too suffocating around his body, his trousers unbelievably tight. It takes everything in him not to palm his growing erection, biting a lip to stifle a small moan that threatens to escape his throat.

“I want to watch you take all those layers off, Rolan. It’s not fair if I’m the only one naked.” They demand, hooking their fingers inside of themselves and groaning.

He responds by finally taking off that mantle that sets heavy on his shoulders. They watch him unblinking as he instantly gets his robes off, seeing the tent in his smalls that expresses his want. It looks painful. He throws the robes, shoes, and smalls off somewhere in the room, his cock now in the cold air, leaking.

They smirk at the sight, now curling three fingers in with a long winded moan. “Gods, I can’t wait to have you in me. I bet you feel so good, look at that…”

Have they always been this good with their words? They always have in his pathetic fantasies, but the real thing makes him twitch in need. He wants to touch them, feel their skin against his in a blaze of pleasure.

Alas, he has to wait.

Finally, they take their fingers out of themselves and sit back up. “I’m ready for you.”

“I want to touch you, Tav.” He admits, fingers twitching on the top of his thighs.

They crawl over to him and sit in his lap, breathing hard as they wrap their arms around his shoulders. “You may.”

He takes some small amount of comfort in that they’re as hot and bothered as he is, watching their flushed face before they crash their lips into his own.

He whines into their mouth, his cock trapped in between their stomachs. The friction is positively divine and he already thinks he may be close with the way their fingers trace the ridges on his back. They're mapping them out, pressing against the wing impressions on his shoulder blades and then trailing them down his spine. As soon as they reach the base of his tail, they tug on it once more.

A gasp shudders out of him when they grind against him. “Tav, if you keep doing that, I won’t last much longer.”

They hum in approval, sucking a hickey into the base of his throat. “What if I promise to make you come again?”

“Tav, please—”

“Okay okay.” They relent, moving back a little to give him some breathing room.

They stay in his lap as they pull him in for another kiss, and he joyfully obliges. Their tongues dance as he gropes their chest, mostly wanting to feel the unique textures of their skin. They’re perfect, to him. He wishes they were some sort of god, because at least then he would have an explanation for his need towards them. This unrelenting desire that he has pleaded for every night when he dreamt of them.

He has so many dreams, one that wake him in a sweat and painfully hard in his trousers. He made a theory that indulging would help the process of forgetting his desires, but it seems as though his hypothesis was wrong. Dead wrong. His dreams of them only became more vivid, some tricking him into thinking it was real. He mourned when he woke up those mornings, wondering why the Gods were torturing him with their image, their body, their face, their laugh.

Hells, he hopes he's not dreaming right now, they feel too real. He can feel them biting and tugging his lower lip, so he concludes that they were, in fact, here with him. Making him feel so much better than his wildest fantasies. Their nails bite into the back of his neck as they briefly deepen the kiss, before pulling themselves away, a string of saliva connecting them. For at least a moment, he catches his breath.

With a solid push to his chest, he falls back onto the bed with a soft thump. He pushes himself back up onto his elbows quickly, breathing harsh. At first, he’s worried he screwed something up. Did his nails hurt their skin? He should have blunt them this morning. But then they straddle his waist and take hold of his drooling hard-on, ready to sink onto him. “Hold still.”

As they lower themselves, stars burst behind his eyes as he takes them fully, their walls squeezing around him so deliciously. He bites back a moan that tries to work its way up his throat. Squeezing his eyes shut, he manages to hold himself together when they seat themselves onto him.

“Gods, you feel so fucking good Rolan.” They moan, clenching briefly around him until they finally relax. They do a test grind, and he knows he's hitting all the right places within them with the way their eyes flutter.

“So do you.” He says breathlessly, a light sheen of sweat already decorating his skin, pupils blown wide as his tail flicks about. The appendage instinctively reaches for something to hold onto. Anything at all. In the end, he settles with wrapping his tail around their waist, keeping himself grounded. They smile down at him when they feel it squeeze them.

He tries to reach for for their sides shakily, but they are more put together in this moment, and much faster. They take his hands, lacing their fingers through his, and pin them each besides his head. He’s only met with a grin before they start riding him with reckless abandon, gripping his hands unbelievably tight.

A groan that trails off into a whimper escapes his throat, hips subconsciously thrusting up into their tight heat. It felt positively divine feeling their walls clench around him, purposely teasing. They’re grinning, even when they toss their head back and moan. He squeezes their hands for dear life, already losing himself as their skin meets his. “Ah— Tav—“

“That’s it baby, I want to hear you.” They pant, leaning down and kissing him soundly. He lets their tongue pry his lips with ease, begging for a taste.

“I won’t last if— gods—“ he cries against their mouth, toes curling in the sheets.

“I don’t care, let me feel you. I want it.”

He curses when they clench around him again, clearly wanting to milk him dry, but he manages to stave his orgasm off. At least for a little bit. This felt so fucking good, he never wants it to end. But with the way they roll their hips, he’s not going to last. He wishes he could have last longer, giving them their pleasure the way they deserve after all of their hardship. They saved him, saved his siblings, saved the tieflings. Twice. Then they saved him for a third time. They did not have to, they could've walked away and let him lay with his poor choices. They didn't, and he's never seen them more angry than when they saw his bruised face.

His stomach suddenly tightens, giving him that impending warning he knows all too well in recent days. “C—Close, I’m close—“ he rasps.

“Me too. Fuck, you feel so good love.” They murmur thoughtlessly.

That nickname teeters him over the edge, and Rolan came with a cry in his throat. Tav was not far behind, fluttering around him as they came as well.

They breathe hard, resting on top of him and letting go of his hands. They instead use them to hold his heated face and kiss him gently. With his hands free, he wraps his arms around their back to pull them closer. He’s spent, exhausted, but he’s never felt more content as he kisses them.

Before they both could feel uncomfortable, he murmurs the words of prestidigitation and cleans them up as they rise off of his softening cock. They plop next to him on the bed, smiling tiredly.

“You were amazing.”

He laughs at that, wiping sweat off of his face. “I should be saying that to you.”

“Then we’re both amazing, hm?” They tease, scooting closer to his side. "Where did you learn how to fuck like that?"

"Must you be so vulgar?" He exasperates with a groan, making them laugh, "But if you must know, I have done extensive research on the subject."

"Ooooh research! What, did you study anatomy books?"

He groans, covering his face with his hands.

"Wait a minute, you have a smut collection?! This I have to see."

"Absolutely not!" He shouts, his face, neck, and ears now a deep crimson.

They burst out laughing, and as much as he wants to chastise them for it, he ends up laughing with them. He's never felt so light before now, as if he's finally feeling relief for all the trouble he's been through.

Gods, he's truly in love with them, isn't he?

"I can go for a round two, if you're up for it." They say after calming down their laughter.

He snickers at that, pecking heir forehead. "As much as that sounds wonderful, you've exhausted me for the day."

"Then how about some cuddling? Karlach always said I give great hugs."

He hums, pecking their cheek next as they wrap their arms around him. "I think I would like that, very much."

Letting out a deep rooted sigh, he feel all the tension in his body finally leave him. He should be disgusted by all the sweat gathered around them in the aftermath of their activities, but in this moment, he wouldn't have it any other way. There's time to complain about it later. Perhaps he can show them the bath he now uses. Would they be impressed by it? It certainly is better than whatever they have going on in the Elfsong Tavern. He wants to do everything to impress them, make himself worth their while even with the chaos that is their lives. But for now, he's calm.

For the first time, Rolan felt truly free.

"Does Krank know how to clean bed sheets?"

Snorting, he looks at them again. "I haven't made him try. He's decent at mopping and sweeping...somewhat. Why?"

"Just curious. It's cute how you just have a little servant now, cleaning the place."

"Krank is not a servant, he is an employee of my establishment."

"You don't pay him!"

"That is not the point! He works, does he not?"

They laugh, pressing their forehead against his. "Fine, fine, but why not make him clean your room, including the sheets?"

"He will mess them up! I know how to properly smooth it out and make this room look highly presentable."

"Oh, I'm sure you do...anyways, do you have a bath in here? I stink and feel sweaty." He barks out a laugh, reluctantly getting out of their arms and shuffling off the bed. "I do, it's in the next room over."

When he offers his hand to them, they happily take it as he leads them to the side room. The large bath presents itself, though it is empty right now. He should figure out a way for it to be ready automatically in any time of the day, but he'll work out the kinks later. He wants to show them that his fingers have talent in ways they wouldn't comprehend. All of it in the form of a heavenly scalp massage.

[fluorynn]

💙 — 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬 !

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : Valentine’s spent with Neteyam, Kiri, and Lo’ak !

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 : @aristocolourway @deadgirlrin @missisaz @faintfill @honeycinnamon @by-bananant @lauren1523 @xobridgertonblues @hungrynessforfics @dananannanana @innercreationflower @angie-1306 @cozybubble

𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐲 : @cafekitsune !!!

a/n : It is love day, everyone !!! To those Avatar lovers still out there who adore these characters — these are for you ! Please enjoy, and happy Valentines Day!<33

Valentines Day with Ao’nung, Tsireya, and Rotxo !

— Neteyam !

Anchored. Unrelenting. Sizzling. Neteyam’s mind was anchored, his heartbeat unrelenting, and his body sizzling over your dampened frame. The propinquity he shared with you allayed him, the water’s ambience soothed him. Shallow were Awa’Atlu’s pristine oceans for each gentle wave covered you both lying within it, complying to the silhouette of his body lithe and tendered into yours.

A rarity of a sight it was to witness him, Neteyam the strong and mighty warrior, in a state of relaxation, for he habitually carried a solemn countenance, resolute in his duties. As not only the eldest son but older brother, the golden child, he adhered dutifully to his responsibilities. And you, trainee under your mother, Tsahik, in hopes to become your Clan’s future Tsahik were in freedom from its worries for the time being, in freedom of being the eldest child and daughter, something that had drawn one another together. The profound joy derived from sharing tranquility with someone who served as the paramount source of it marked an unparalleled and cherished experience, and you liberated him all those titles as he liberated you, giving each other the simplest and most valuable one yet: your Neteyam, his Y/N.

Tucked beneath the outline of your jaw was his head, the wet entwines of his hair grazing your turquoise flesh with every movement of his burrowing deeper into your neck. The shore’s aroma was strong from the current breeze laced with the currents, the aromas you’ve inhaled, embraced and adored your entire life; but Neteyam’s potent fragrance was the single one that inebriated you in this moment. Pandora’s multicolored fluorescence illuminated the ocean’s vibrant blues, clashing breathtakingly with both your distinct tones under the night sky. This felt right, this felt nice and tranquil. Something you knew he needed far more than you ever did.

You felt the brims of his lashes fluttering, hearing him breathe in the pure essence that is solely yours, and this dragged a shuddering sigh from your lungs. You raised the three of your fingers and let them trace down his spine, tips soon straying from its path to outline his endearing stripes, to memorize the star-like specks shimmering upon his rich blue contours. The lingers of your ascend elicited a shiver from the young warrior, an elicit you hoped for.

“That feels nice…may you do it again?” You couldn’t help the giggle bubbling up your throat at his request, so sweet, so polite in asking even when eager for your touch, so Neteyam. Not a second of the day goes by without the lightest of contacts with you, always savoring each and every touch you gave his being and you could never ever deny him the privilege, so of course you more than willingly agreed. There it was, that sound of acceptance, that feel of content that you chased when with him, it is what you savor; to gratify him, to fortify him.

“I have made you a gift for you, ma ‘Teyam,” Your soft utterance brought his head to lift from its haven within your warmth while his lips twitched. “You did not need to do that, my love. I can conform with the gift of your presence. That is all I need and want.” His fingers rose to softly thread through your dark tresses, chuckling at the pretty purse your lips now formed despite the flush pigmenting your cheeks.

“Rutxe, Neteyam ( please ). I did it for you out of my love. Please allow me to show you, and please accept it because it took some time to make it.” He knew denying you was a task he had never done, and Neteyam knew he could never even comply with it when it came to you. Those alluring swirls of blue orbs you carried relished him to let out a deep sigh but reluctantly agreed, for he did not want your efforts to go to waste, much less when it was made from the affections you held for him.

You lightly tapped his shoulder and he pushed himself away from you, much to his dismay, though he was genuinely intrigued as to what you have made for him. Your fingers reached behind your neck, unclasping a necklace above one he had given you with, though he hadn’t been aware of though the way it was woven had been familiar, and his golden hues brimmed confusion at how there was another similar with its design like the one now in your palm, displayed for him to catch the way the one you held carried a vibrantly blue stone in the middle, assisted with 2 tiny stones accompanying each side.

“It is a necklace.”

You nodded happily, bringing his wrist out of the water and had him splay his fingers out to place the jewelry there. Your translucent gaze caught his own and smiled at how curiosity colored his beautiful features. “Would you like me to put it on, pretty boy?” His eyes resisted from rolling at the nickname given, but he would admit it had grown quite noticeable on him; his ears batted bashfully from the sound, his tail swaying in anticipation, creating cute splashes against the ocean that made you giggle beneath his playful glare. “Yes, please.”

He settled himself in front of you as you kneeled, carefully moving the longer length of his single braid before it was assisted by the myriad of his much thinner ones. You smiled to yourself at the way he exhaled deeply from your feathering touches, and you knew that he was waiting patiently for you to elaborate the reason for your gift. “I know how much you miss your home, so with the help of your sister and mother, I made this out of the material you used back in the Forest.”

He turned back with a softness in his eyes, and he caught onto the similar lace accentuating your neck had, the one he’d given you; the middle being an oval-shaped, light blue stone while assisted by soft colored stones. He stayed quiet, knowing there was more you wished to say, but his heart couldn't help but feel concerned at the way your ears so very slightly flattened alongside your head. “I know my father said you are Metkayina now…but I am sure that if Eywa gave you the chance, that when conflict is over, you’d like to go back with your People–”

“If that ever were to happen, I would not leave you, if that is what you are thinking. I will come back to you, Y/N.” He was in haste to reassure those doubts, those fears, not wanting to think or continue a life without you by his side, without you as his future mate. Neteyam did not know anymore what path has been set for his family or himself, but he much rather it be one with you in it and him in yours. To which is why he paused for a moment before he reached to take his necklace off. His fingers then slithered between the long cascades of your locks and to the nape of your neck without tearing his eyes from yours, and unclasped your own necklace.

“Neteyam, what–” Unaware you were to the exchange he’d done, the necklace made for him now adorning your neck while yours adorned his. Your eyes shyly peered up, chest blossoming a rareness of warmth as he gave you a precious smile and interlocked his fingers within yours. “We now wear each other’s, so we carry a part of the other everywhere. No matter how far away we are from each other, no matter the time, no matter the People, I am and will forever be yours, Y/N.”

Gleaming and utterly gorgeous was your smile, and he took in the purity of your beauty, of your love. “And I, too, am and will always be yours, Neteyam.” He kissed you, sweetly and delicately yet enough to have your mind and heart soaring higher than you ever thought possible. “Wherever, whenever.”

He gave you one more of his precious smiles before settling back down into your neck, soft kisses brushing and accompanied by the water’s light current across your skin.

— Kiri !

There was noise, some semblance of it at least, you thought. Yet Pandora’s outside world was reduced with every word spewing from Kiri’s lips. You decided then and there that no other melody could vanquish the one she created, not even your songcord – of course, you’d never say that aloud to anyone besides her.

Kiri, the Na’vi girl with humanistic features that everyone in Awa’atlu thought to be odd, even you. Yet not the bad kind, never the bad when it came to the Sully girl. Beyond compare and contrast was her beauty, alluring was her smile. It was easy to get lost in it, so effortlessly to overawe its brilliance.

Kiri’s feet very lightly whirled within the translucency of the waters, the glittering light of Pandora’s tiny fishes circling her motions. You scrutinized her every expression though, smiling at the way her eyes brimmed with thrill down at the little creatures while your focus remained solely on your Kiri.

Something then fell from her lips – a subtle tug down following afterwards when she turned to look at you. Her once lax-hold on your hand was quick to direct and persistent, and this time your gaze fell to your twined fingers and smiled even more at the sight. But to reassure her, your thumb grazed over the back of her palm lovingly and gave a small nod. Kiri protested your dissociation for she was not indulgent with it in this second, not amused of your dazing irises. If only she could know one did not – couldn’t or shouldn’t ever be allowed to dissociate when around her existence. If anything, the only possibility for you was to associate with her. Kiri, despite the silent and rather be reserved with her thoughts and emotions, was so worth listening to, so worth being able to associate with the way her eyes twinkled brighter the the fluorescence Pandora had to offer, dimming every light encasing you as you sat at the edge with your feet dangled in the water, life wavering you as the night’s stars shimmered.

“I don’t think my family believes that I can feel her, Y/N.” She rolled her eyes with a soft scoff, the act that anyone else would believe as disrespectful and angry but you knew her; you knew this facade, how much this tethered her heart with hurt and sadness. And you also knew – witnessed the strong connection Kiri had with Eywa, and even if you hadn’t you believed in her word with no doubts, no hesitations. Of course, she was reluctant in how you quickly believed her but you reassured the Omaticayan girl. You gave her the closest thing there was to feeling like she did belong, like she did have something – someone to emotionally open up to and depend on. She then smiled softly, “But as long as someone believes me, that someone being you, I think I can settle with tha–”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

The sudden blurt of your declaration halted her words. The rareness of a blush pigmenting beneath those glittering star specks across her cheeks. You didn’t see it because her face dipped down as quick as it came, yet you didn’t need to. You knew Kiri, purely and confidently. “I made you something, by the way.”

Her head lifted at your words and her nose scrunched. “Why, out of all days, today?”

“Your brother had told me something about … a festivity Sky People have. One your father said they had back on their planet.” You paused, eyes averting. “He asked me for help in making something for Tsireya and while I did…I was convinced to make you something.”

Her eyes squinted as if trying to recall this holiday before realization settled in and a groan erupted from her throat. “That festivity is so cheesy, I swear. Why would you make me something?”

You shrugged, a bit confused as to why she thought this, “The way he spoke about it intrigued me… you do not want the gift then?”

Her eyes widened and mouth pursed. “But I didn’t get you a gift.”

“Having you is more than a gift.”

She groaned once more, but it was a mirthful sound. “You need to stop hanging out with Lo’ak. And my dad maybe. But okay, fine…let me see it.”

You grinned widely and brought your legs out of the water to retrieve the gift and returned with it hidden behind your back as you settled down, “Give me your feet.”

“Perv. Why out of all things my feet?”

“Kiri, please just listen! – What is a perv?” You shook your head before bringing one hand to her knee. “Never mind – Come on… it is nothing bad.” Her brow was hitched up high, letting a few beats go by until she sighed and gave in, propping both her dampened feet over your thigh. “Now what?”

You goofily grinned at the glare she gave you when you squeezed her foot. “Close your eyes.”

She narrowed her eyes even more , trying to inspect and unravel what you were up to. “If you tickle my feet, I will personally end you.”

“Everyday in your presence, you end me by taking my breath away.” That brought out a groan and laugh, her eyes crinkling beautifully. “You’re so corny, I swear. But fine, let’s get it over with.”

You chuckled but continued, fingers very lightly curling around her ankle and wrapped the piece you had made for her, occasionally letting the tips of your fingers stray the heel of her foot. “Stop! Y/N, that tickles, stop it or I will open my eyes!” She’d huff at the whispered giggles you would let out, trying to keep the deep furrow between her brows and yet with every joyous sound you made, she could no longer contain the warm smile curling her mouth. You adjusted the piece on the other ankle then, smiling proudly at your work. “Open them.”

Kiri’s lashes fluttered as she complied and very quietly gasped. Her feet had been embroidered with incredibly crafted barefooted sandals, the color scheme assisting browns, yellows, and green tiny fragments of trinkets, and she recognized the patterns to be similar to the necklace around her neck, the one that once belonged to her mother.

Her head snapped to you. “W-what, how did you—”

You smirked, “It helps hanging out with your brother and dad.”

Golden irises broadened in awe as she retracted her feet from your lap, her leg bending as her fingers brushed over the fine jewelry. “How did you even make this?”

“It took time…and a few minor injuries with the beads, but nothing my mother couldn’t fix,” She looked down at your hands, tiny and faint cuts scattering your digits and palms and she frowned. “You skxawng,” she lightly hit the back of your head but reached for your hands, bringing them close to her face and placed a soft kiss over each scratch. “You beautiful, considerate, lovable skxawng.”

“Don’t know if I should feel insulted or flattered,” you chuckled out. She giggled, bringing one of your palms to her cheek and the pads of your fingers stroked her bangs, giving her that heartwarming look that always mollified her insides. “Thank you, Y/N…but I still didn’t get you anything.”

You waved her off, “Do not worry about it… though I do have another surprise.”

“Again, I didn’t get you anything!”

“You didn’t need to! Look –” You outstretched your leg over her lap revealing your ankle being bejeweled with a similar patterned anklet. “I'm matching with you now!” She grinned widely and feathered her touch over it before wrapping her hands around your leg and tugged you closer. “I love it. I love you, in fact.” she didn’t give you time to respond because her complete enamour with you led her to kiss you soft, firm, lovingly.

— Lo’ak !

“My dad had told me of a celebration the Sky People once had on their planet — a celebration that included gift giving.” Gift giving that included the special gift in a pocket tied to Lo’ak’s loincloth, unaware to you.

“Really?” You smiled, a wonder and intrigue morphing your features. “That seems like something we do here when courting your future mate! Is there a name for this celebration?”

“Valentines Day. That is its name…but it’s not only about the gift giving, if not the motive behind it.” The swaying motions your interlocked hands created slowed down as the tips of his fingers pressed deeper into your skin. “Oh? And what is that, ma Lo’ak?”

He smiled briefly at the nickname given, a reflection of what his mother called his dad, and the love they shared swelled his heart of the love he shared with you. “To celebrate any sort of connection with your loved ones. Preferably friendship, admiration…love.”

“Lo’ak, what is this?” The melodic sound of your giggles normally mesmerized him, eased his nerves with the soft joyous sound. Today, under the setting eclipse should be no different, for this is how you spend your evenings together; hands clasped together, swinging through the air while the both of you strided through Awa’atlu’s sands, the winds astoundingly tousling through the rich ringlets of your hair, and you’d both soothe each other’s struggles of the days with sweet words and gentle touches.

But today, his nerves could not be tamed by even you, his sweet girl, as he stopped his steps indicating you to do the same, and stood in front of you with a shell-made case in his tight grasp, his saffron colored eyes looked anywhere but those cerulean ones he adored endlessly. The points of his ears flitted from his resistance of emotions while his tail lashed, and your smile faltered with the final sign that indicated his nervousness; the way he practically chewed off the corner of his lip, incisors puncturing into the flesh.

“Lo’ak, what is wrong — are you okay? Is something the matter?” The soft tone and light touch of your hand on his clenching one brought his gaze up, and his brows knitted in awe at the delicacy of your features, of the ocean pools you carried. He swallowed hard, briefly smiling with a nod.

“D-do you know what a ring is?”

A subtle quirk resided between your eyes but nodded. “I do not wear them…but I do know what they are. A type of jewelry worn on the hand, yes?”

He nodded, thumbs tapping over the shell’s thin dents. “What does it mean to you? I-if I gave you one? For this celebration of love that Sky People have?”

Your lips parted and the corners threatened to lift into a smile, but kept quiet as you observed his expression. “I would be more than happy… especially if it came from you—”

“But do you know the purpose of a ring? What would it mean to you?” He felt the pulsing of his heart, practically heard it and wouldn’t be surprised if you too could, for the way its wild and profound beating hammered against his chest with each pump of blood in and out of the organ.

You thought for a moment, trying to connect a response that would somehow calm him. The three of your fingers fiddled over the five of his, smiling at the way his deeper blue tones contrasted with your aquamarine ones, coming together as one. “It will be an act of affection on your part if you did. And I would cherish it very much. Though I do not know the…actual significance of a ring.”

His father had told him of the ways humans bonded to each other for eternity without the intimacy of tsaheylu, of how all the things tied to love were forged into a single promise, a single piece of jewelry such as a ring.

“Why did you never get mom a ring then?” He recalled Tuk questioning, and he would only chuckle while scratching the back of his neck. “Your mom isn’t fond of human things and the Na’vi’s got their own thing for marital acts, baby… besides you need five fingers for this to work.”

But that did not matter to him, not in this case, because when he heard and unraveled the details behind a ring, he found it to be beautiful and significant. You had been one of the greatest things that have ever occurred to him since the Sky People returned. Since he had to flee from the only home he’s ever known. Since the death of his big brother. And in the months that he has known you, in the months living in uncertainty and fear only for it to be washed away by those ocean eyes of yours, he found a firm certainty in something after a long time; about the love he felt for you, about you deserving something that beautiful, that significant. “Why do you ask?”

Because within this shell, the shell you and I happened to catch from the bottom of the ocean and you praised me for it, is a ring that isn’t exactly for marriage but as a promise to you of my undying love and promising future I will make sure to have with you. Because I am certain that I do not ever want to lose you, because you have seen me at my worst when he died. I cannot risk going on without you.

Another bob motioned up his throat before his shaking fingers opened the case in his palm, catching onto the soft gasp emitted from your lips.

“Dad told me the meaning, and I learned that it signifies an eternity of love; no beginning, no end. That the hole in the middle, it’s a gateway that leads to things and events known and unknown.” His accent was increasing its thickness as he spoke, internally cursing and hoped that you could still understand him. “The marital ring means forever, and I know that I want forever with you,”

It took you a moment to recognize the chiseled figure over the twig-like band — a single pearl in the middle, twinkling and impressively tiny trinkets embedded around the band. You knew it must’ve taken the Omaticayan boy quite some time to create this. Though you then caught a glimpse of a new necklace around his neck, one that assisted a pearl similar to the one upon the ring .

“But in the meantime, I want to give you what they call a promise ring, a-and when the time comes, I can….if you’ll take me, be your mate. Forever.”

Tears glistened the vibrancy of your irises, threatening to fall down your cheeks, clogging the words within your throat. All you could do was create a wobbly smile as he took ahold of your hand and slipped the ring around your middle finger, sliding perfectly into place.

“And as soon as everything gets cleared out, as soon as we hit that age, I won’t hesitate in making this the real thing, h-how does that sound to you?”

The sudden wrap of your arms around his shoulders and the soft pecks meeting his face spoke the answer, and he chuckled against your lips. “Happy Valentine's Day, baby.”

[sailoryooons]

King of Tides | KSJ | Drabble

☾ Pairing: Pirate!Seokjin x Sea Demon!Reader 

☾ Summary: Seokjin meets a ghost of his past when he and his crew stop to celebrate for the evening. 

☾ Word Count: 1,969

☾ Genre: Pirate AU, Angst, Lovers to Enemies 

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: References to smut, explicit language, weapons and mentions of murder, betrayal, vague world building, Seokjin is an Asshole, brief references to childhood trauma, angst. 

☾ Published: Friday, January 5, 2024

☾ A/N: Drabble 2 of the 100 Drabble Challenge is prompt #67, pirates! I had no idea what I was doing with this until I wrote it. It is obviously inspired by Pirate of the Caribbean with the whole Davy Jone’s chest thing, but I very much put my own spin on it. The ring is inspired by Solomon’s Ring, which is a Christian-centric mythology that Solomon had a ring that could summon the forces of Hell. So I did that but like… sea hell hahaha. I hope you enjoy this! I’ts very different for me!

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Main Masterlist ☾ 100 Drabble Masterlist ☾ Ask ☾ Song Inspiration

Seokjin is used to the occasional knife in the dark. As one of the most notorious captains and thieves on the seven seas, he’s even been the knife in the dark himself. 

When he feels the pressure of a blade against his spine tonight, he’s not surprised. His crew is too drunk to see the threat standing behind their captain, and Seokjin has made the ridiculous mistake of letting a pretty woman lure him to a dark table in the corner, away from the noise and celebrating. 

Seokjin immediately feels like a fool for letting his guard down, the worst mistake he could ever make. 

The pretty girl in front of him grins and looks at Seokjin’s assailant before nodding her head and slipping from the chair. He grits his teeth, realizing she is in on it. He clenches his fist as he starts to turn, but the knife digs into his ribs. A hard push would send it right between the two of them and into a lung. It would be a slow, gross death.

The raucous noise of the tavern buzzes in his ear as a hand taps his shoulder, signaling for him to stand. He does so slowly, looking around the tavern to see if there’s anyone he can appeal to for his plight.

No one pays him any mind, hands going up dresses or down pants, wine flowing, and crowd singing. His crew is too busy celebrating. And why shouldn’t they? They’ve just stopped at their favorite port after a successful three years of hunting a timeless piece of treasure. A power that puts Seokjin on edge.

The ring sits heavy in Seokjin’s pocket. Only Yoongi his firstmate and Namjoon his chronicler know of the power in Seokjin’s pocket, too dangerous to be left on the ship with the remainder of the treasure. He doesn’t enjoy hiding the ring from his crew, but he hasn’t quiet yet decided what to do with it. How to explain what it is that it does without scaring the loyal members of his crew.

Slowly, a hand turns Seokjin around and walks him toward the stairs, still at knifepoint. He grins as he goes, leaning his head to the side to see the person who holds him captive. The knife digs harder into his back, a warning that makes him chuckle and turn forward, holding his hands up in defeat.

“If you wanted to lure me to your bed, you just had to ask,” he says, going up the steps. His boots are heavy on the creaking wood as he goes. “I am the most handsome of pirates, but I’m also quite liberal with my affections.”

His captor says nothing as they reach the second landing. Doors line either side of the hall. Seokjin can detect all manner of lovemaking and laughter beyond each closed door. He does not typically favor staying upstairs or renting rooms for whores, preferring the rocking of the ship in the harbor and the canvas of the night sky. It makes him unfamiliar with the second floor, but he counts his steps as they go. 

They turn and go down another hall and stop at the last door of the right. It’s not a far run to get to the stairs and sound the alarm. Once he disarms his captor, he just needs to sprint and scream. He’s pretty quick on his feet and-

The knife prods him and he realizes the door to the room is open. He steps over the threshold into the room, glancing around. It’s simple enough. A single bed stands in the corner with a chest at the foot, a nightstand to the left, and a candle burning, smoke drifting toward the ceiling. 

When the door shuts behind him, Seokjin’s muscles coil. He prepares to spring, hand sliding into the front of his jacket pocket, inching towards the small knife there-

“Don’t bother,” the voice says, knife ever-present. Seokjin’s hand freezes, recognizing the rasp of your voice anywhere. “That’s not the right knife, Captain.” 

You’re right. The knife in his jacket pocket would do nothing against you, but the knife in his boot would. He’d grown lazy, no longer keeping the adamas dagger at his hip or within close reach. Three years haven’t made him feel safe, exactly, but he had started to think that you were still captive in that little home he’d left you in.

Evidently, it’s a mistake that will cost him. 

Now he’s nervous. You push him further into the room with your palm but remove the knife from his back. He doesn’t reach down to the weapon in his boot, stuck between fear and the desire to see you - to talk to you again. 

When he turns, his heart cracks open and starts to bleed. 

The last time Seokjin saw you is fresh in his memory. You’d been chained to the bed you shared in a small island home off the coast of the Americas. He remembers the smell of your skin, like salt and driftwood. The cool touch of your lips against his burning skin. You always felt like the depths of the ocean, every part of you fluid as you’d fucked him last night, your breath sea breeze against his mouth, cries a haunting siren song.

And your eyes. Seokjin sees the inhuman blue-green glow of your eyes every night. 

Now, those same eyes are staring at him, glowing in the dark. You stand so far in the shadows that it’s hard to make out any of your features or expressions, but Seokjin has your face burned into every part of his memory. The bow of your mouth, the slope of your nose, the roundness of your cheeks. It’s all there along with the knowledge that he’d betrayed you. Chained you. Loved you. 

When you step into the light, Seokjin holds his breath. You’re so beautiful. It’s what lured him to you in the first place, a sailor to a siren, but he knows you’re so much more than a pretty face and glowing eyes. You’re also incredibly smart and wicked, a ruthlessness in you as brutal as the sea running in your veins, an unpredictably like a storm destroying the tropics. 

A pirate by trade. Daughter of Leviathan by nature. 

“You must be talented to get out of those cuffs. We should have used them more” Seokjin doesn’t know what else to say. You’re not advancing further into the room, and he’s worried reaching for his knife will startle you. 

Behind him, the candle casts an orange glow on your face. It makes the sneer much more twisted, the furrowed brows as you glower harsher. Your features are sharper than he remembers, your eyes burning with the unnatural glow of a demon of the deep. You are murderous.

“I’m the favorite daughter of Leviathan, King of the Depths, Destroyer of Seas, and Maker of Tides. You think he would leave me to rot?” 

“No, I suppose he doesn’t want that pretty face to wilt.” He tries to appear casual, spinning and tossing himself on the bed. You don’t move, eyes tracking him. “I suppose you’ve been following me all this time, then?”

“I have far more important things to do.”

“Perhaps, but you’d always loved revenge.”

“I loved you.” 

There. You said it.

Seokjin doesn’t say anything for a moment, shocked to silence. Usually, you like to spar with your words, dancing around what you want to say with quick barbs and turns of phrase. Tonight, you cut right to it, leaving all playfulness out of your voice.

It makes his heart squeeze painfully. In the years that you sailed together, he cannot recall a time that you’ve ever been so direct. Even when you loved him most. Even when you were at your most vulnerable. 

Perhaps you are here to kill him after all. 

“So you’re here to win me back over?” he tries, desperate to get on familiar ground. Desperate to goad you. To make you snap back, to throw an insult. “You’ll need more than a knife to do that.”

“Give me the ring.”

“What do you want with it?” 

“The likes of you shouldn’t have the power to summon the demons of the depths.” 

“What if I’m in peril and need to call you?”

“You had me!” You roar, the force of your voice shaking the room, the candle almost guttering, the window panes shaking. He hears the scream downstairs, the entire building rattle with the rage of the ocean in your voice. 

Seokjin drops the act, sitting up and squeezing his fists to fight the nausea of guilt twisting his stomach. He can feel your rage fill up the room like a solid thing, a cold pressure pressing on his skin as the candle on the nightstand flickers. 

“Humans are not made to command Leviathan and his children” you growl, stepping further into the room. Standing closer to the light, Seokjin realizes your eyes are watery. He sucks in a sharp breath. He’s never seen you cry. “You are weak and petty, your lives but a speck of sand in fathomless oceans. You are selfish and greedy and cruel.” 

“Are demons not the same? Do you not fight amongst yourselves for power? Do you not cause chaos among the seas? Do you not hunger for power, lust, and riches?” 

“Those things belong to us.”

Seokjin stands abruptly. “Now they belong to me!” 

“Seokjin.”

“Now I will command the seas. I will have the power to rein in the monster of the depths when he wants to destroy innocent ships. When he wants to send storms against islands. When he wants to swallow the souls on the sea. He will bow to me, now.”

“This is madness.”

“This is fair.” He feels his heart rate speed up. Feels rage pumping through his system. Feels like the little boy clinging to a piece of driftwood as the sea destroys the ship he and his family were sailing on, feels the burn of saltwater in his lungs as the ocean drags him down, feels-

“You’d risk the world for a sense of vengeance for your lost childhood?” your voice is barely audible, a sea breeze. “The infamous Captain Seokjin of the Blue Moon, Scourge of the Seas, so afraid of losing control of the tide that he’d dare assert his dominance over it.”

“Captain Seokjin, King of Tides has a better ring to it.”

You glance at his pocket where you know the ring sits heavy. He can feel the power ebbing from the cool metal as thought it senses you in the room. Like calling to like. A tool to control Leviathan and all of his demonic children of the sea sensing one of those very creatures in front of him.

“The sea will bow to no one.” 

A blade glints in your hand. Seokjin finally realizes why you refuse to jest. Why there are tears in your eyes. You’re not here to negotiate or to let him loose. He truly has fallen out of your favor, and you’re here to take what he used you to steal. 

He slowly bends down, watching you all the while. You let him remove the knife from his boot, kind enough to offer him a fair fight. “The sea loved you, you know?” 

He knows you’re not just talking about the oceans he sails. His throat constricts as he nods. “I love her.” 

You appraise him once more, uncanny eyes flickering. If his admission that there is still warmth flickering for you has an effect, it doesn’t show. 

“Your love means nothing. You betrayed her and now you will meet your death, King of Tides.” 

He grips his knife firmly. The ring is heavy in his pocket. “I welcome the attempt.”  

[victoryverse]

Hiii! I've had an idea pop into my head, but maladaptive daydreaming only gets me so far, and i cant write for my life, sadly :( ive turned to the great authors of tumblr, id live to see how u'd interpret it!

How would 141 (either poly or like any of them, im not fussy 《huge Gaz fan tho》 take ur pick) to a reader (preferably fem) who like doesn't make any noise in bed? Like could be having the most earth shattering orgasm but not a single moan. Would they see it as like a challenge to compete to see who could get her to make a noise?

You can feel the weight of his body pressing down on yours, his lips crashing against yours with an eagerness that sends a shiver down your spine. Gaz's hands wander over your body, eliciting moans from you as they trace over every sensitive spot.

He pulls back slightly, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, 'Make some noise for me, love.'

Your heart races at his words, knowing that he is determined to make you break your silence. But you can't help it – it's just the way you are, quiet and reserved in bed.

Gaz's hand slips down between your legs, his fingers tracing lightly over your wet heat. He leans in close, his lips brushing against yours as he murmurs, 'I want to hear you scream my name.'

His words send a jolt of electricity through you, and you can feel yourself starting to unravel under his touch. His fingers move expertly, finding all the right spots that make you weak and breathless. And still, you can't bring yourself to make a sound.

Gaz's lips trail down your neck, nipping and sucking at your skin. 'Come on, babe,' he whispers, his voice dripping with desire. 'I know you can do it. Just let go for me.'

You try to hold back the moans that are threatening to spill from your lips, but Gaz's skilled fingers and sinful mouth are too much for you to resist. He presses harder against your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You can't hold it in any longer – a loud moan tears from your lips, surprising even yourself.

'That's it, baby,' Gaz groans, his own control starting to slip as he moves faster and harder within you. 'Let me hear how good I make you feel.'

Your moans become more frequent now, the pleasure coursing through you as Gaz's thrusts become more urgent and desperate. You can't contain yourself any longer, and you start to scream his name over and over as you ride out your orgasm.

Gaz follows right after, his own release washing over him as he collapses against your trembling body. The room is filled with your ragged breaths and his satisfied groans, a symphony of pleasure and passion.

As you both catch your breath, Gaz turns to you with a satisfied smirk. 'See?' he says, running his hand through your hair. 'That wasn't so hard, was it?'

You laugh breathlessly, feeling a sense of liberation and freedom that you've never experienced before in bed. 'No, it wasn't,' you reply, a newfound confidence filling you. 'And I have a feeling it won't be hard to make some noise from now on.'

Gaz grins wickedly, pulling you in for another kiss. 'I can't wait to put that theory to the test.' And with that, he sets off on a mission to make you scream his name all night long.

~~~

feedback and requests are always welcome!

[theres-a-body-here]

more demo

Territorial

The Demogorgon x Reader

Reader is GN but is AFAB

After a long, losing trial against the Xenomorph, you decided to forgo cleaning up at camp and instead decide to head directly to the Hawkin's realm to be with Demogorgon. You were exhausted, covered in acidic blood, and cold.

All you want is to be with Demo and get some rest. You make your way through the fog and eventually find the gates to the Laboratory, opening them and walking towards the main room you guys have turned into a nest.

Upon entering the dimly lit chamber, you spot Demogorgon waiting patiently for your arrival. His eyes light up (figuratively speaking), and he lets out a delighted chitter as he sees you enter.

Quickly, he rushes crawls towards you and pulls you along into the makeshift nest. He starts grooming you tenderly, running his claws through your hair and inspecting every inch of your body for signs of injury.

But then he stopped.

Sniffing the air cautiously, Demogorgon picks up an unfamiliar scent lingering on your clothes and skin – the acrid odor of the Xenomorph.

Jealousy fills his heart, causing him to emit a series of plaintive whines and moans. He presses his muzzle against your neck, taking deep breaths as if trying to reassure himself that you belong solely to him. Despite finding the situation humorous, you can't help but feel flattered by his possessiveness

“Don't worry, Demo,” you say softly, reaching out to embrace him tightly. “I just had a trial with her.”

His whimpers subside momentarily, replaced by soft rumbling coming from his chest as he feels your warmth enveloping him. Slowly, he pulls you deeper into the nest, covering your bodies with discarded fabrics and blankets.

It becomes apparent that he wants nothing more than to eradicate all traces of the Xenomorph from your body, replacing them with his unique musk instead. You wrap your arms around him even tighter, allowing him to nuzzle and rub against you as he pleases.

Demogorgon parts his flower-like maw, revealing the abyss of teeth within. He brings your head close to his mouth, swallowing it whole in one swift motion. Then, you feel something wet and slimy brushing against your face – his tongue. He proceeds to lick and caress every inch of your features.

It's his version of a makeout sesh.

The feeling of countless razor-sharp teeth pressing against your skin sends shivers down your spine, but you trust Demogorgon completely, knowing that he wouldn't harm you.

Eventually, he withdraws his face from yours, leaving your head covered in his viscous saliva.

His petal flaps twist into annoyance as he takes a deep sniff, attempting to detect any remaining trace of the Xenomorph's presence.

It remains stubbornly persistent.

Frustrated, Demogorgon lets out a low growl before turning his attention towards your garments. With careful precision, he starts nipping at the cloth, slowly tearing them apart piece by piece. Understanding his intentions, you hasten the process by removing your clothes voluntarily.

"Okay, okay, I get it," You chuckle out as you undress completely and sit back down within the nest.

As soon as you strip bare, Demogorgon wastes no time in getting to work.

Without skipping a beat, Demogorgon dives straight for your most sensitive area, encasing your genitals within his five-petaled mouth. His tongue works tirelessly, probing and licking every fold as your moans fill the air.

With each lap of his tongue, your juices flow freely, mixing with his copious amounts of saliva.

Your hands grasp his head firmly while bucking your hips against his face, desperately holding onto him as he devours your pussy. His claws dig into your chest as he holds you down. He leaves faint marks as he keeps you in place, unwilling to relinquish control.

After a while, Demogorgon retracts his face, leaving behind a sticky trail between your thighs.

His fat cock slithers forth from the slit between his legs, excreting pre-cum liberally as it quivers with anticipation. He crawls over you, peppering your face in rapid, wet pecks, as he lines his cock to your cunt.

Wrapping his gangly arms around your waist, Demogorgon pushes his cock inside you with excruciating slowness. Each inch penetrates further, stretching your inner walls to their limits.

Your moans echo throughout the room as Demo tries to bury his cock even deeper inside you. He trembles violently at the sensation of your tightness, letting out a series of pleased whines.

As his excitement grows, Demogorgon begins to ram his cock into you with increasing ferocity. The sound of flesh slapping together fills the air as he pounds relentlessly, muffled only by your mingled moans.

Your body jerks uncontrollably underneath him, your moans cracking in pitch. Demo continues to lick at your face as drives his cock deeper into your cunt.

It gets harder to stay quiet as he stirs your insides. "Fucccccckkkk, Demo!" you cry out, voice warbling with every thrust.

As his massive cock slams against your cervix repeatedly, you cry out in bliss, your voice growing hoarse from all the shouting.

With each brutal thrust, Demogorgon's growls intensify, indicating just how close he is. His claws tighten their hold on you. So hard they start to draw small droplets of blood.

One final plunge sees him embed his cock deep within your womb, spewing gallons of hot seed directly inside.

Collapsing on top of you, Demogorgon's cock slips out of your pussy with a wet squelch. As his seed drips down your leg, he burrows his face into your shoulder.

Inhaling deeply, Demogorgon picks up traces of the Xenomorph's lingering scent, much to his annoyance. He lets out a low growl.

It seems like there's more work to be done…

Feeling his cock stiffening once more, you realize he won't stop till he ensures that only his smell remains on you. You let out an exhausted sigh.

it's gonna be a long few hours.

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

Need | Din Djarin x Cobb Vanth

This blog is a 18+ space, Minors, do not engage. If you are under the age of 18 you are not welcome here. Please heed these warnings and the warnings put in place on each individual fic and chapter.

Warnings:  Porn with Feelings; Porn With Plot; Anal Sex; Anal Fingering; Anal; Anal Play; Blow Jobs; Prostate Massage; Oral Sex; Lube; Cobb Vanth deserves his own warning; Din Djarin being an anxious idiots; Idiots in Love; Pet Names; mesh'la used liberally; uncut Cobb; Helmetless Din Djarin; the helmet doesn't stay on; set between s2-3; Yearning; Pining; a splash of angst.

Summary: Set post-S2 but pre-BOBF Din can't stop thinking about Cobb, it burns a hole in his chest brighter and hotter than a Supernova. He just needs a taste of intimacy, just a small taste. That'll be enough, right? My first proper M/M fic and I'm so nervous, I hope you enjoy it! Dedicated to my dude @immarocketman, I love you so much <3 Thank you @for-a-longlongtime and @angelofsmalldeath-codeine for beta'ing for me <3 Wordcount: 5.5k Read on AO3

Take it off, or I will.

The words had slipped out of the Mandalorian’s mouth without thought. But the way the marshal’s eyebrows twitched up, followed by the swipe of his tongue over his bottom lip made Din’s insides churn. He’d repeated them the night of the Krayt Dragon’s slaying, when Cobb was naked but for his briefs perched atop Din’s naked form as he lay back on Cobb’s bed. The helmet stayed on that night, but all Din could think about was doing the unthinkable.

He wanted to put his mouth on every inch of the marshal’s body, he wanted it more than anything in the galaxy.

~*~

It’s been over a year since the incident with the Krayt Dragon, and all Din can think about is Cobb. He’s alone in one of the bunks Peli keeps spare for him. His cock is achingly hard as he lays naked, sheets crumpled at the foot of the bed. Peli knows not to disturb him. Ever since he landed on Tatooine with Shand and Fett, he’s been in a slump. Without Grogu things have felt off, wrong, lonely.

Loneliness is not something Din is used to feeling, he hates it with a burning rage that violence can’t seem to quell. Loneliness is something Mandalorians of The Watch steel themselves against, it’s a distraction, a flaw. Wandering alone in the galaxy, providing for the Covert, taking on some of the most dangerous cretins in the universe. None of it leaves room for loneliness.

Loneliness gets you killed.

Take it off, or I will.

The words rattle around Din’s mind as he finally relents, his thick fingers wrapping around his length as he slowly jerks his cock. Cobb’s smug grin is burned behind his eyelids as his hand becomes slick with precome. He squeezes his shaft harder as he imagines Cobb’s lips wrapped around his cock instead of his hand.

He remembers the hot, wet, heat of Cobb’s mouth, the brush of his beard against Din’s thigh. He fixates on the memory of trying to pull out before he came.Cobb instead gripped his ass and held the heft of Din’s cock on his tongue as he erupted into the marshal’s mouth.

“Kriff,” Din hisses into the silence of his room.

His orgasm hits him like a blaster bolt, he comes with a strangled groan that echoes off the walls of the small guest room. His balls tighten and throb as he feels the spike of pleasure burst from his core and up his spine. His breath comes in jagged gasps as white splatters of come coat the dark curls at the base of his cock. His spend leaks down his length, pooling hot against his abdomen as the oppressive heat of Tatooine holds the moment in obscene stasis.

Din lies there for some time, letting the haze of post-orgasm euphoria roll through his body. He doesn’t know what he expected, but the loneliness persists. It gnaws at him as he tries to find the energy to get up and clean off.

~*~

Even in the low light of dusk, the buzz of the thoroughfare speaks to the change in the small town of Mos Pelgo as Din makes his way to the cantina. He slips in, making his way to the back of the bar. He doesn’t want to draw attention, but he needs to see him. Even if it’s just a glimpse. He tells himself that it’ll be enough. It’s a lie, but a convenient one.

It doesn’t take long for Cobb to saunter in, checking in with the bartender. It’s a brief conversation, punctuated with a nod in Din’s direction from the barkeep. Din’s blood runs hot then cold as Cobb makes his way to his table. He has a bottle of something golden in one hand and two short cups in the other.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Cobb says with a smirk as he stops just short of Din’s table, “This seat taken?”

Din grunts in assent, not finding the courage to speak as he nods to the chair on the other side of the table. He’s sweating through his flight suit, and it has nothing to do with the desert planet’s atmosphere. Din knows fear, he knows how to manage something as abstract a concept as fear. But what he feels right now is dread. Dread is a weight on his chest that anchors him in place, trapping him without a means to escape.

He should never have come.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favourite Mandalorian. How’ve you been?” Cobb asks as he eases himself down onto the seat opposite. He eyes Mando up and down as he notices the way Din shifts in his chair.  

Cobb pours two measures of the spirit before raising his cup in toast. He expects Mando to decline, as always, but his eyes widen as he watches his friend lift the cup. In a slow, purposeful motion Mando pitches his head back in the gloom of the bar. His free hand shifts his helmet up and he brings the drink to his lips, tipping back the liquid in one swift flick of his wrist. In the low lighting Cobb can’t see anything but the act in itself unsettles the marshal.

“Been better,” Mando answers as he reseats his helmet, “You?”

“Things are fine here, thriving since you last visited, we’re working with the Tuskens more and more, it’s a mutually beneficial arrangement,” Cobb says with a guarded expression, he’s trying to figure out what’s eating at his sometimes-friend, sometimes-lover.

“Good,” Din nods, his visor flashing in the low light, “That’s good.”

“Want to tell me what’s on your mind?” Cobb presses as he pours another measure in both their glasses. Mando doesn’t drink this time, instead holding the small container between his thumb and forefinger.

“Nothing,” Din grunts before swirling the liquid around his glass, his helmet dipped low as he avoids the topic. They sit together in silence for some time, Din’s gaze is fixed on Cobb’s face.

He takes in the way Cobb’s beard is fuller than before. His forehead bears deeper lines, crow’s feet crease at the corners of his eyes. It’s been just over a standard year, but the harsh binary suns of Tatooine have taken their toll. However, Cobb’s eyes are brighter than ever, his swirling light brown irises still sparkle with the fire of arrogance but hold a softer glow. Contentment, a wealth that cannot be measured in credits, but in fulfilment.

“As riveting as this is,” Cobb sighs as he stands up, “I’m going to head home, it’s nice to see you Mando, bottles on me.”

“Wait,” Din grabs Cobb’s wrist with lightning speed, his thick gloved fingers firm on the other man’s arm.

“You ready to tell me why you’re really here?” Cobb’s eyes sparkle with challenge, he knows why, he just wants Din to admit it.

“I came to see you,” Din says softly, his voice only just picking up on the vocoder in his helmet, “I missed you.”

“You missed me?” Cobb purrs and Mando’s stomach twists as he feels something like shame flood his system.

“Forget it,” Din snaps as he pulls his hand away, already on his feet, “Enjoy your evening, marshal.”

But Cobb squares up to him, blocking his path out of the cantina, he pushes him back against the wall. Din’s breath hitches in his throat as he watches Cobb’s broad hand flatten against his chest plate. Din’s hands hang limply at his sides as he finds himself startled for the first time in a very long time.

“You missed me, Mando?” Cobb’s voice drops a register as he repeats his question, a sly smile twitching at the corner of his full lips.

“Yes,” Din breathes as he watches Cobb’s eyes drift down to the growing bulge in Din’s flight suit. He can’t help but hold his breath as the other man steps closer, his lips but a hair’s breadth away from the Mandalorian’s helmet.

“Didn’t think you were allowed to miss people like me, Mando,” Cobb says as he looks up into the inky blackness of Din’s visor, “Does it help to know I missed you too?”

Din’s jaw goes slack as he feels the tight knot of negative emotions in his chest unravels. It’s like he’s broken free of a garotte, he feels lightheaded, dizzy, and so very aware of how close Cobb is to him now.

“Cobb,” Din says softly as he scans the room, conscious of any prying eyes to what has turned into such an intimate moment.

“Come home with me,” Cobb says softly as he steps back, giving the Mandalorian some space, “Unless you think you can’t live up to last time.”

“Are you sure?” Din asks as he practically vibrates as he holds himself back. His fingertips itch with the need to touch Cobb’s bare skin again.

“Never been surer of anythin’ in my life, now come on, we’ve got lost time to make up for.”

The pair exit the cantina together, close enough that their fingertips brush as they walk. Pinky fingers touching every few steps. It’s like a silent exchange of intent, flirting wordlessly as electricity sparks between them with every caress of bare skin against textured leather.

Din angles his helmet subtly, letting himself drink in the slight form of the marshal. Cobb unknowingly mirrors the action and his lips curve into a wide smile as he catches the Mandalorian checking him out. Neither say a word until the door to Cobb’s home hisses shut behind them.

There’s a shift in the air between them as Cobb brushes past Din, his hips swaying as he enters the central room in the small hut. Din watches him go, salivating at the deliberate change in the marshal’s gait. His dick strains against the tight flight suit as he tries to control himself. He doesn’t want to spoil this, not with eagerness, not with mindless pleasure.

He wants to do this right.

“Do you want a drink?” Cobb calls over his shoulder as he reaches the far side of the room, reaching up to grab earthenware cups from a high shelf. Din treads lightly as he comes up behind Cobb, his Beskar barely making a sound as he moves. There’s a thrill in this, moving soundlessly in Beskar is no easy feat, it’s something usually reserved for quarry.

“No,” Din says softly as Cobb yelps, Din’s firm hands find purchase on Cobb’s hips.

“I see, right down to business, never struck me as the desperate type Mando,” Cobb laughs but Din growls in response as he grinds his clothed cock against Cobb’s ass, pinning him to the counter.

“I don’t want a drink,” he rumbles as one hand snakes up to grip Cobb’s neck from the front, thick fingers framing Cobb’s jaw, pulling him back against Din’s armoured form, “I want to taste you.”

“I like this side of you, Mando, so bold,” Cobb purrs as he abandons his quest for mugs, he turns in Din’s grip, “How do you propose going about tasting me?” He asks as he leans forward, Din’s thick fingers are still wrapped around Cobb’s neck and the marshal leans into the pressure as he rests his forehead against the cool Beskar of Din’s helmet.

“Going to put my mouth here,” Din glides his hand up over Cobb’s jaw, gloved thumb brushing over his lower lip, “and here,” he trails his fingertip back down his chin, lower, lingering over Cobb’s sternum, “and here,” Din growls and his cock aches at the intake of breath from the marshal.

“Wish I could see you,” Cobb breathes, and he flinches, the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. Cobb is about to say something, anything to walk back from his slip up. Din smirks beneath his helmet, it’s a twisted grimace turned smile as he realises there’s no point holding back any longer.

“Take it off,” Din commands as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of Cobb’s pants, “Take it off, or I will.”

“Mando, what are you-?”

“Take it off, or I will.”

There’s a charged silence as Cobb tries to move, his body is frozen in place as he fights against the voice in the back of his mind. He knows this is forbidden, he knows it’s a big kriffing deal, but that makes it all the more enticing. His dick twitches in anticipation.

“Are you sure?” Cobb’s breathing hitches as Din’s free hand cups his face, gloved thumb rubbing through his thick, silvered beard.

“Please.”

It’s a plea brimming with desperation, filled with an unspoken need. It’s exactly what Cobb needs to hear.

“Seein’ as you asked so nice,” Cobb smirks with bared teeth and Din’s stomach twists as he feels the flutter of anxiety gnaw at him. He drops his hand from Cobb’s face, both hands move to Cobb’s waist and Din holds himself steady.

Cobb brings both hands up to cup the concave cheeks of Din’s helmet, fingers splayed across the angular Beskar as he holds the object of Din’s Creed in the palms of his hands.

“Close your eyes,” Cobb says softly as he presses his forehead to the Beskar in front of him, “Trust me.”

Din does as instructed, his eyes clamp shut as he tightens his grip on Cobb’s waist. The hiss-click of his helmet depressurising has him shuddering, there’s no going back now.

“Keep ‘em shut,” Cobb coos as Din feels the helmet lift away, the thick, humid air of the evening hitting his skin like a smothering blanket. He gasps as he forces his eyes to stay closed. Tension twists through his whole body as he hears his helmet being set down somewhere to his right.

“You’re beautiful, Mando,” Cobb’s voice is breathless, awestruck and filled with deep reverence that makes Din’s lips part in desire.

“Kiss me,” Din commands and he cringes as he hears Cobb chuckle.

“So needy,” Cobb whispers as he places his hands on Din’s face, just like on his helmet, he spreads his fingertips under Din’s jaw, thumbs pressed into his cheekbones as he takes him in. He studies the neatly trimmed facial hair, with clear patches where it refuses to grow. He salivates at Din’s plush lips, plump and so full. His eyes are still closed, his brow furrowed, and Cobb wants nothing more than to see those eyes open.

“Cobb, please-,”

Din groans as Cobb’s lips brush over his own. Cobb smiles at the guttural sound as he takes Din’s top lip between his own, pulling on it lightly before bumping his nose against the strong plane of the Mandalorian’s own. He releases his lip gently, their short breaths mingling in the space between them as both men pant from the brief exchange.

“Wanted to do that since the moment I saw you, Mando,” Cobb whispers, lips brushing over one another once more as he speaks, “Didn’t care what you looked like under here, just knew I needed this.”

Din’s grip is unwavering on Cobb’s pants as he leans forward and presses their foreheads together. Slowly, Din opens his eyes and groans as he sees Cobb’s flush cheeks, plump lips, and striking brown eyes for the first time without a helmet on.

“Stars, you’re gorgeous,” Din growls as he leans back, looking up into the marshal’s hooded eyes. There’s a moment of charged silence where neither is sure who will make the next move.

“You sure this is ok?” Cobb asks as he looks down, abashed at finally being shown Din’s face. It’s Din’s turn to cup the other man’s face.

“I wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t sure,” he promises as he tilts the marshal’s head up to look at him once more, “I’ll explain everything later, but for now?” Din asks as he presses his lips to the corner of Cobb’s mouth, lips brushing his silvered moustache as he speaks, “Let me taste you, all of you.”

It’s Cobb’s turn to moan as he turns his head to kiss Din once more. This time there’s an urgent hunger to it, their lips crash together, mouths ceding to tongues as they waste no time in consuming each other. Din’s tongue dips into Cobb’s mouth as he backs him towards the bedroom. His hands are on the marshal’s shirt, pulling at it with thick, eager fingers.

The back of Cobb’s knees hit the bed and he flops backwards, pulling the Beskar-clad man down on top of him. Din plants his hands either side of Cobb’s head as he lands, softening the blow of his heavy, armoured form from crushing the marshal.

“That was reckless,” Din growls, but his face is alight with desire as he sees his lover’s face flushed and needy beneath him.

“You make me reckless,” Cobb responds with a wink and Din fists the bedsheets with both hands as he drops his head low, nudging the other man’s head to the side with his nose. His lips brush against the thatch of silver hair that lines Cobb’s jaw, and Din smiles in triumph as the marshal arches up against him.

“I want you to strip for me, can you do that?” Din whispers as he grinds his cock down onto the other man’s equally hard bulge. The friction from Cobb’s pants and Din’s flight suit makes both men groan, Din’s breathy and desperate, Cobb’s low and thick with desire.

“Sure thing, handsome,” Cobb groans as he watches the Mandalorian retreat a few steps, hands already making quick work of his armour as his dark brown eyes never leave the marshal’s. Cobb kneels on the bed, removing the stained red bandana from his neck as Din drops his cape. The pair can’t stop smiling as they undress.

Cobb removes his overshirt, off comes Din’s pauldrons, his chest plate. Cobb kicks off his boots and Din’s vambraces are placed in a pile of ever-growing Beskar. Belts come off in unison and the rumbling chuckle around the small room is infectious.

“This is a lot slower than last time, Mando,” Cobb quips as he works at his pants, shoving them down as Din removes the last piece of his armour. He sets the boots to the side, clad only in his dark flight suit now.

“Please, Cobb,” Din says as he unzips the top half of the suit, “Call me Din.”

“Din,” Cobb says as he kicks off his pants, discarding them as he sits in just his tight black briefs, “I like it, punchy.”

Din shakes his head, his cheeks burning from how hard he’s smiling at the flirtatious man before him.

“Did you talk this much last time?” Din growls affectionately as he shrugs off the top half of his suit, baring his tan skin, adorned with tattoos that range from dark inky blue to luminous icy tones. Cobb licks his lips as he maps the inked, scarred, tapestry before him.

“Last time I didn’t get much time to talk, I recall my mouth was otherwise occupied,” Cobb flutters his eyelashes playfully up and Din and the Mandalorian shakes his head in disbelief.

“Well, that won’t be a problem this time,” Din says with a wolfish grin as he strips the last half of his flight suit off, “On your back, briefs down marshal.”

“So bossy, where’s the romance, the wooing Mando?”

“Din,” he corrects Cobb as he frees his cock from his briefs, kicking them off with the flight suit, “And if you wanted to be wooed, you wouldn’t have let me fuck your pretty little mouth so easily last time.”

“You’ve got me there,” Cobb says as his cheeks flush bright red before he pulls his briefs down. Din groans, palming his cock as he strides over to the bed. Cobb leans forward, eager to touch Din again but he’s reprimanded with a gentle shove to the sternum and a tsk from Din.

“On your back, mesh’la,” he says as he gets on his knees in front of Cobb, “Let me return the favour.”

Cobb does as he’s told, but he props himself up on his elbows, he doesn’t want to miss a single second of Din’s handsome face now he’s had a glimpse. Din parts his lover’s legs slowly, palms flat, fingers digging into the firmness of his muscular thighs. He places soft kisses to the inside of Cobb’s left knee, chaste, teasing brushes of his plush lips and stubble that make Cobb tremble beneath him. There’s a soft tang of sweat on Din’s lips as he makes his way up the inside of Cobb’s thigh, he laves soft swirls of his tongue over his lover’s skin as he makes his way up to the apex of Cobb’s thighs.

“Such a gorgeous cock,” Din mutters, almost to himself as he settles his torso between Cobb’s legs, keeping him open wide. His one hand cups Cobb’s balls, the other wraps gently around the base of his dick. Din’s own cock throbs at the way precome beads pearlescent at the tip as he pulls Cobb’s foreskin back a little to reveal the ruddy head.

Din eases his lips around Cobb’s cock, flattening his tongue as he hollows his cheeks to accommodate the marshal’s length. The bitter, musky taste of precome coats Din’s mouth as he groans around the thick weight of Cobb’s cock in his mouth. He eases himself down to the base, the telltale tightness in his throat from the panicked thrill of being so full, so close to gagging, has Din leaking over his own shaft.

“Kriff,” Cobb lets out a soft, breathy cry as Din worships him.

Din eases back as he runs the tip of his tongue over the ruddy head, suckling gently as Cobb shudders and whines beneath him.

“I could listen to you all night, mesh’la,” Din hums softly as he runs his tongue down the underside of Cobb’s shaft.

“Din, please,” Cobb whines as Din slots his mouth over one of his lover’s balls, rolling his tongue over it as he hums.

“Said I wanted to taste you,” Din says as he dips his tongue lower, his palms pushing on the backs of Cobb’s thighs as he angles his ass off the bed, “I’m taking my time.”

“Patience isn’t one of my virtues, Din,” Cobb says, voice light and breathy.

“Hmmm, then what do you want from me?” Din asks, hoping beyond hope it’s what he’s been thinking about since he fucked his fist only last night.

“I want you to fuck me,” Cobb says through gritted teeth as Din dips his head lower, his hot tongue inching lower to Cobb’s taint, teasing just shy of his asshole.

“Kriff,” Din groans against the soft weight of Cobb’s balls, “You want me to fuck this tight hole with my cock, marshal?”

Din brings his middle finger to his mouth, soaking it with his saliva before he slides his hand underneath Cobb. He teases his slick finger over Cobb’s exposed asshole as his balls reast heavy in Din’s palm. Cobb groans and bucks his hips up at the sensation, a soft series of pants follow as Din presses the pad of his fingertip to the puckered ring. Din licks a slow stripe up Cobb’s shaft before flicking his tongue against the head of Cobb’s cock.

“Quit with the teasing,” Cobb hisses as Din refuses to breach his hole, the wet heat of the Mandalorian’s mouth on his tip only drives the pitch of his voice higher.

“Not doing this without lube. You do have lube, right?”

“I’m not some inexperienced pup,” Cobb huffs indignantly as Din looks up at him from between his knees. The Mandalorian’s dark eyes are addled with lust as he wraps his lips around Cobb’s cock before sinking down to the base, “It’s in my nightstand,” Cobb’s head falls back at the way Din sucks his cock, mouth tight and tongue unrelenting as it massages the underside of his shaft.  

Din bobs his head up and down torturously slow as he savours the weight of the cock in his mouth. He finally releases it with a wet pop before sitting back on his heels, watching how the strong man before him twitches and pants for him. He knows Cobb is close, and as much as he wants to know what it’s like to have the marshal finish inside his mouth, he has other plans.

“On all fours, facing the headboard.”

The command is curt and without fanfare, Din’s own restraint is running thin. He wants to bury himself inside Cobb, carve a space out inside the other man that no-one else can fill. He wants to lay claim to his body and soul, the way Cobb – knowingly or not – has already claimed his own.

Cobb watches Din over his shoulder as he makes his way to the nightstand. Din rifles through the drawers to find an assortment of plugs and dildos nestled amongst different containers of lube. One large black dildo catches Din’s eye, and he relishes in the challenge of meeting the marshal’s expectations.  

“Adventurous,” Din says absently as he looks over his shoulder to see Cobb grinning wolfishly at him.

“This isn’t my first rodeo, handsome.”

The pet name stirs something in Din’s lower belly, a tight twist of desire that has his balls throbbing and his dick twitching. He says nothing, grabbing the open container of lube from the drawer before squirting a few pumps into his hand.

Din glides the liquid over his cock and shudders at the way it feels. It’s wet, sensual, filled with promise as he kneels on the bed behind Cobb. He bites his lip as he runs his free hand over the swell of Cobb’s ass, cupping and kneading the firm skin. His fingertips brush over Cobb’s asshole and Din can’t help but smirk at the way his lover’s body reacts.

Din squirts some lube onto his fingers, making sure some of the liquid drips over the puckered hole before easing his middle finger inside Cobb. The lube lets Din slide in with little resistance, the tight heat of Cobb’s asshole is divine as Din gently feels for his prostate.

“Dank Farrik!” Cobb cries out, his body stutters and Din wraps a supportive arm around his waist, holding him up as he nips at the curve of Cobb’s ass.

“There it is,” Din purrs as he varies the pressure on Cobb’s prostate, “Want me to fuck you here, nice and deep?”

“Din, please, I’m so close, please just fuck me,” the marshal begs and Din smiles as he feels heat stirring at the base of his cock, he knows he’s going to blow his load in seconds the moment he’s inside Cobb.

“Alright,” Din growls as he eases his finger out, “Tell me if it’s too much, ok? Didn’t give me much time to work you open,” Din says, without a trace of humour in his voice as he squirts some fresh lube over Cobb’s needy little hole. It gapes ever so slightly from Din’s thick finger and the sight makes Din squeeze the base of his cock to try and calm down.

“I’m a big boy, Din, I can handle-,” Cobb starts but a deep snarl catches in his throat as Din lines up the tip of his cock at Cobb’s tight hole before he can finish his sentence.

“Relax, mesh’la,” Din says softly as he grips Cobb’s hips lightly, his thumbs soothe over his lover’s skin as he holds him steady, “I’m going to take care of you, ok?”

Cobb’s face is pressed into the bed now, his arms giving out on him as Din eases the tip inside him. He still manages to convey a muffled “Mhm!”.

“Kriff,” Din groans as he lets the lube do the work, he eases into Cobb at a painfully slow pace, but Din promised Cobb – and himself – he wouldn’t rush this.

Cobb writhes as Din presses deeper, his skin slick and his whole body consumed by the feeling of being split open. It doesn’t take long before din is fully sheathed inside Cobb, his brow furrowed and his mouth agape as he feels the way Cobb’s walls clamp around his cock. It’s heaven to be buried so deep, to be so close to his lover, but it’s not enough.

“Din,” Cobb tilts his head to the side, cheek pressed into the mattress as he looks sideways at the Mandalorian, “You’re gonna have to move, I’m desperate here.”

“I can’t say no to that,” Din grunts as he slowly eases back out, the tightness of Cobb’s ass is like a vice. It makes Din feel lightheaded as he starts to ease back in, the tightness is blinding as he fills Cobb over and over.

Din rolls his hips forward with every thrust into Cobb’s tight ass, grinding against his prostate as he drops a hand to fist Cobb’s cock. There’s no more burn or stretch for Cobb, the only thing he feels is the tightness in his balls as he feels the sudden rush of his orgasm approaching. The slow, firm pumps of his cock driving him to the edge as he feels so utterly consumed by Din.

“Din,” Cobb mewls as the sound of skin slapping skin fills the air.

“I’ve got you,” Din breathes as he leans back on his thighs, pulling the marshal back against his chest, cock buried deep inside him as he changes the angle, “Come for me, mesh’la, let me see you come undone,” he presses his nose into the sensitive skin behind Cobb’s ear as he pants against his jaw from behind.

“Maker,” Cobb groans as he leans back on Din, he’s so full.

Cobb feels his dick twitch as Din’s cock fucks up into him, nudging his prostate with every upwards snap of the Mandalorian’s hips. Cobb comes with a cry as Din thumbs the head of his cock while rolling his hips up, grinding up into his ass. Hot spurts of come explode from Cobb’s cock, covering his abdomen, coating Din’s fingers as he shudders through overstimulated aftershocks as Din picks up the pace.

“There you go,” Din snarls as he takes the marshal’s lobe between his teeth, nipping at the skin as he feels the coil of pressure in his abdomen snap. He falls forward, pushing Cobb back down on all fours as he fucks down into Cobb’s ass with fervour. He manages another few hurried, stuttered thrusts before he’s coming hard.

His vision blurs at the edges as he empties himself inside Cobb’s ass. He lets out a soft groan as his fingertips dig into Cobb’s hips. He stills finally as he rests his forehead between Cobb’s shoulder blades.

Din’s thighs are weak, and his grip is slipping as the only sound in the small bedroom is the heavy panting coming from both men as they come down from their high. Din eases out of Cobb slowly, making sure not to pull out too quickly. Din’s breath hitches at the sight of his come leaking out of Cobb’s tight asshole. The viscous, pearly spend dribbles down the marshal’s balls, Din has to fight the urge to lean down and lap it up.

“Come on,” Din wheezes as he struggles to keep the marshal from falling into the come soaked sheets, “’Fresher.”

“Yessir,” Cobb slurs happily as he lets Din manhandle him upright.

“How was that for you?” Din asks with worry tinging his voice as he regains clarity, concerned he had gone too hard.

“You kidding?” Cobb laughs, his voice sounding less floaty by the minute, “That was the best fuck I’ve ever had Mand- Din,” He corrects himself as he stumbles over to the toilet to relief himself. He flops down onto the toilet seat and grins up at Din. Din feels like the sound of Cobb relieving himself should make him feel bashful, but there’s something oddly comforting about it. It feels domestic and familiar, like they’ve done it a thousand times before.

“I’m glad,” Din says, still in awe at the sight of Cobb’s face, he reaches out and cups his lover’s cheek gently, “Thank you.”

“Thank me?” Cobb scoffs as he stands, cupping Din’s jaw in a perfect mirror as he really looks at him “Thank you,” Cobb says softly as he presses his forehead to Din’s, “Thank you for coming back.”

Din pauses, unsure what to say as emotion overwhelms him, tears pool in the corners of his eyes as he leans forward to kiss Cobb. It’s a slow, gentle series of lips sliding over one another, with no intended goal, no meaning or fanfare.

A stolen moment, an unspoken admission, a silent promise.

“Now clean up and get your ass to bed,” Cobb murmurs against Din’s lips, “I’m beat.”

Din laughs as Cobb grabs his ass affectionately before slipping out of the Refresher.

The Mandalorian crawls into bed minutes later, nestling into Cobb’s side as he loops a strong thigh over the other man’s waist.

“Promise not to wait so long next time?” Cobb asks, already falling asleep, his lips pressed to the crown of Din’s head as he speaks.

“Promise.”

Din lets his eyes fall shut as he finally feels the knot in his chest unravel, leaving only one thought in his mind.

Home.

[crisiscutie]

Angry Sephiroth + nsfw + "On your kness. I want you to beg for forgiveness." + prideful darling.

Please?

Something about Sephy domming the darling gets me swooning. Enjoy a Crisis Cutie Collection fic starring AC Sephy. Also, a HoS episode.

Pairing: AFAB Darling/AC Sephiroth (HoS AU)

Word Count: 2.3k

Content Warning: NSFW, Dubcon/Noncon, Fighting, Blood, Sadomachism. Mind Control. Mind Break.

You and Sephiroth were surrounded by silence, broken only by the evening wind. The Sephiroth you were with was usually intense towards you and had been unpredictable in the past. However, recently he had been showering you with love. He had been there for you during your sudden and mysterious illness, giving you reassurance with every touch. He listened intently to your worries and aspirations for the future, without ever saying a word. Even now, he was spoiling you by taking you on a stroll. You were so far away from the house, it filled your adventurous heart with joy. You wondered if this newfound tranquility was because he was finally at ease with the other Sephiroths, and with the reality of sharing you. Suddenly, you felt a slight pressure from his grip on you. His gloved hand was firm and secure as he placed it just underneath your right breast. He began massaging the flesh slowly and methodically, as if he had a purpose in doing it.

This wasn't his sole oddity; this particular Sephiroth had been quiet during your time together. While you were busy studying the trees and taking in the natural beauty around you, he was silently observing you. It was strange how he had been so quiet. But, there was no point in worrying about it at the moment. Instead, you allowed yourself to be enveloped by the dreariness of the gloomy woods. It was such a liberating feeling to be away from that confining ethereal house. Through, you knew that you would eventually have to return.

As you walked alongside the river ravine, you felt mesmerized by the cool air that blasted up from its depths. However, as you continued further, you noticed that the water was becoming shallow and the river's depths were dwindling. Suddenly, Sephiroth came to a halt, his fingers digging into your delicate flesh as a signal for you to stop as well. You studied him, sensing the prickling energy around you two as you waited for his response.

“This could be our future together,” he murmured, pushing your petite body closer to his chest. As he looked up, his words continued to flow, you couldn't help but be captivated by his beauty. In the gloomy light from the clouds, his sinister nature was almost overshadowed by his angelic appearance.

"And what of the other Sephiroths?" You innocently asked, anxiety bubbled within you. He chuckled, his strong hands kneading into your soft flesh. It's starting to hurt a little bit. Why is he so insistent on gently stroking that area of your body!?

"They will join this planet's Lifestream. Girdle the planet — choking it; corroding it." His cool, deep voice echoed in the air. You muffled a sob, your gaze growing more frightened as he looked at you. Those words. It's as if you heard them before. And the other Sephiroths, you don't want them to go... You treasure them as much as you cherish this one. Why can't they just get along!? Sephiroth grasped your jaw firmly, digging his thumb and index finger into your soft cheeks.

"When you and Mother become one, our dream will be realized," his eyes narrowed and his lips twisted into a sinister and sadistic grin after his last words. When his slit eyes met your own, a chill ran down your spine. "It seems I won't have to do much after all... You already have her eyes..." He spoke in a low, sultry whisper. When you heard his last sentence, you were filled with dread. You had no more interest in talking to him, so you quickly turned your head away. But with his punishing grip on your jaw, he made you stare back into his piercing eyes.

"No, not yet! I need to know who I am..." You spoke, your voice becoming choked with sorrow and fear, but with a tinge of resolve. Sure, your hands were trembling, but the strength of your words was unmistakable. Your resolve will eclipse your dread.

"And for what? To learn of your past betrayals and your broken promise to join her? Your mission is fruitless. Make new memories. With me." His free hand rested it on your lower belly, where your womb was at.

Part of you felt drawn to his offer. The loving and familiar tone beneath his mockingly affectionate words was almost too tempting to resist. Yet a bigger part of you was consumed with an intense rage. No one will force you into this decision, not even him. You don't care, even if his lie about your consent to join Jenova is somehow true. That's a decision you won't be making for a long time, if ever. You may not be able to choose your fate of being confined in the house, or how the Sephiroths and Jenova view you, but you can always choose your identity.

This next move of yours is certainly foolish. But with every ounce of strength you had, you wrenched yourself out of his grasp and gave him a swift kick as a parting gift. You only saw his face for a moment, but you could tell your sudden show of resistance surprised him. He quickly regained his balance as his Masamune manifested from the air, and a twisted, wide grin crept across his face.

You won't last long, but at least you're defending your honor. You luck out as you narrowly miss a swipe of his blade, feeling the chill of the metal as it rushes past you. That swipe would've wiped your head clean off. Your adrenaline firing up as you watched some of your hair cut away from that. He then lunges his blade towards you again, forcing you to employ the evasive technique another Sephiroth taught you, the one who rarely visits the ethereal house.

"On your knees. I want you to beg for forgiveness," His voice was low and sultry, but the underlying anger was unmistakable. You shook your head, feeling the heat of your rage and the intensity of your arousal. You could feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you faced the danger. This is a nice change of pace, but why are you so energized? Perhaps it's the thrill of flirting with danger? Or asserting your identity?

A searing pain erupted when he dragged his long blade across your left abdomen, making you yelp in agony. His slit eyes constricted as he inhaled the strong, metallic smell of your blood in the air. You could tell by the intensity of his gaze that he was tiring of this mock battle.

You kept up your facade of resistance, evading his strikes with good effort, but each one made it harder and harder to stay standing. You attempted to charge forward, but his blade piercing your body forced you to come to an abrupt halt. His facial expression suddenly softened to a loving one, yet you could still feel his dark pleasure as he languidly lifted you up with his long blade. You forget that despite his lean appearance, he's as muscular and strong as the other Sephiroths underneath his trench coat.

"You've never looked so beautiful..."He uttered in his trance, as if this moment of cruelty wasn't really happening. You grimaced, but still managed to give him a triumphant beam. He may have wounded your body, but he hasn't wounded your spirit yet. After his loving expression wavered, his furious snarl came back, flinging you from his long blade. You plummeted into the shallow ravine with a loud thud, the hard ground sending shockwaves through your body, but your adrenaline rush made it easier to stomach.

You sat up on your knees and peered into the water's reflection, but you couldn't bring yourself to look into your own eyes. Your exhilaration quickly disappeared when a sudden, searing pain in your head took over. You saw a vision of yourself and Sephiroth. In it, you could almost feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek and see the curl of his lips as he smirked.

"You're just a broken doll, existing to be filled with whatever I choose," His voice was like a spell, calm and sadistic, it lingered in your mind. An unbearable sensation began in your right abdomen, even though he hadn't hurt you in that spot. You whimpered, the pebbles in the shallow water clattered against each other in your fists. You then ripped your dress open, observing the flesh of your skin underneath your right breast.

After it was gone for some time, you couldn't believe it. Your mysterious illness made its unwelcome return known, the symptoms making you weak in the knees. Could this Sephiroth be the cause of this overwhelming force? You reached to touch the flesh, but your hands recoiled. It's a thick, oozy blackness on your skin. Is that why he was kneading, probing, and squeezing this exact spot? You let out an agonized moan as another vision invaded your throbbing head. It was one of him tenderly holding your naked form, his gloved fingers stroking your enlarged clit as he murmured sweet nothings in your ear.

A gloved hand cupped your jaw, forcing you to gaze upon your own reflection in the glassy surface of the river. There was a faint glow radiating from your vivid pinkish-red slit eyes, just like hers.

"You were never in control... All you are is a broken doll," He said, now directly behind you. Those last two words bounced around in your head like a pinball. He gracefully lowered himself to your level, mounting your petite body. His lips were like velvet against your earlobe, while his other hand caressed the blackened, gooey flesh beneath your right breast. He used his thumb to tease your nipple.

You moaned, feeling both pain and pleasure, the goosebumps rose up on your skin. You should not be taking any pleasure in the suffering he's causing you... But maybe he's right. Maybe you're really just a broken doll, waiting for someone or something to breathe life back into you with a few strokes of a paintbrush. With the past behind you, why not create a brighter future with him? But these thoughts... AREN'T YOURS! ...right? His arousal pressed against you, igniting your body with desire as he filled your mind with increasingly sensual visions. The sky shifted from its once light and gloomy hue to a deep, inky darkness, leaving the two of you enveloped in shadows. Your hand instinctively finds his gloved one, clasping it beneath your right breast.

"W-what is this on my body? Why hasn't her cells cured me?!" you shouted, struggling to get the words out before the overwhelming sensations consumed you.

"Who knows? I'm delighted that my test run was successful. I wonder how far she will let me go this time..." He said it in a stoic yet joyous tone. His cock rested at your wet entrance for a moment. You waited with bated breath for him to just plunge into your depths. Instead, he goes for your ass, eliciting a surprised gasp from you. He filled your tight hole with his entire length, taking no mercy. The set pace was languid, but every slow thrust had the force behind it, like a hammer hitting a nail. It's a good thing that the water from the ravine eased his entrance, but no matter, you're still clutching onto the pebbles in the water for dear life. He still traced circles on your oozing, dark flesh, the sensation filled you with pain.

You almost want to reach for your neglected cunt, but his menacing gaze bore into the back of your head, daring you to defy him by pleasuring yourself. You then let go of all resistance, allowing your beloved Sephiroth to claim you. His pleasure is paramount, not yours. How can you be so selfish and forget your bond with him and the others? You will always have a special bond with the Sephiroths, as you are their beloved darling.

With his powerful thrusts, you can feel and hear your tight hole squelching, the sound of smacking flesh resonating. His languid pace is driving you insane. Like the other Sephiroth, he had already located your sweet spot that made your body quiver with delight, but he maintained a slow and steady rhythm. You know you've been a bad girl for him, but your body is aching for more of his touch, begging for him to increase his speed and attend to your cunt. He leaned down, his warm breath tickling your ear.

"Don't you see? Even Mother knows you belong to me," His composed tone was louder and more forceful. His thrusts increased in intensity as more of his passionate words filled your mind and his voice vibrated in your ears. You feel your knees shake, but his forceful presence behind you presses onward, refusing to give you a moment of rest. You are to sit there and take him, like the ungrateful traitor you are. His fingers dug into your jaw with increasing force while he slammed his hips into you.

After some time, your body shook with intense tremors as his corrupted seed infiltrated your guts. The overwhelming ache in your knees caused them to give way, and you fell face first into the water's icy embrace. He pulled out of your ass slowly, his seed still dripping down his member. When a few moments passed, you weakly lifted your head from his commanding voice in your head. Your clit was still erect and your needy cunt was still unfilled. You won't be able to reach your climax this time.

You gazed back into the flowing water and saw your reflection ripple back. You looked the same, but your eyes had an even more intense glow this time. A terrified whimper came from your lips when you spotted Sephiroth's reflection alongside yours, his sinister smirk on his face as he nuzzled against your warm cheek. Why is this your fate? Your eyes stung as a single tear fell while a strange, different voice reverberated in your head.

"Because...you are a doll."

doll. Alternate title: AC Sephy Manhandles His Precious Doll. This is a pretty important entry in HoS, so I figured to make this into a fic. Also, I thought this would be a good opportunity to expand on the "doll analogy" for the darling. I love it so much... Thank you to the wonderful anon who first brought it to my attention. And thanks to the anon who requested this prompt!

[her-satanic-wiles]

Masterlist ⛧ Lost in Translation Masterlist ⛧ Ao3

Words: 10.3k.

Reading Time: 41 min.

Warnings: None, omfg??? Me??

Taglist: @zombiesnips-blog @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @ellenokumura @thew0man @sodoswitchimage @the-real-eggplany @deathmimedream @love-is-all-you-need-13 @kadedoesthings @rosyerato @xshadyladyx @popiaswife @perpetratorwithaquill @punkiy50 @onlyhereforghost @kaijukimchi @copiaspet622

As the newly appointed Cardinal Copia struggles with the weight of a looming prophecy, a resilient scholar challenges the narrative, uncovering a conspiracy that reaches beyond the walls of the Ministry. The emergence of a forbidden love ignites a rebellion against a power-hungry Sister, whose thirst for control threatens to reshape the very foundations of the Church. Will the revelation of those schemes lead to liberation or plunge the Ministry into chaos?

Previous Part ⛧ Next Part

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As you stepped into the ancient Gothic library, the heavy wooden door creaked behind you, sealing you within the hallowed halls of knowledge that had stood for centuries. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and the faint mustiness of time, a fragrance that wrapped around you like a shroud as you navigated the labyrinth of towering shelves.

Dim, flickering candlelight cast long, dancing shadows on the walls, revealing the solemn architecture of the almost 2,000-year-old building. The ceiling arched high above, adorned with intricate, time-worn frescoes that seem to watch over the countless tomes below. The air was hushed, broken only by the occasional rustle of pages or the distant echo of footsteps.

The shelves, made of dark, polished wood, stretched endlessly in all directions, each one bearing the weight of centuries-old texts and forbidden knowledge. Some books seemed to sag under the burden of their age, while others stood tall and proud, their leather-bound spines cracked and weathered. Dust particles floated in the air like eerie specters, catching the magical glow of the candlelight, like tiny pixies living in a forest of learning, where they kept silent track of the branches most chosen, and the branches that hadn’t seen sunlight in decades.

You ran your fingers along the spines of the books, feeling the rough texture of ancient leather and the smoothness of well-worn pages. The occasional draft sent a shiver down your spine as you uncovered volumes that seemed to emanate a mysterious energy, their covers adorned with symbols that sent an excited chill through the very core of your being.

The library became your refuge in the middle of the never-ending chaos of Ministry life; a place where the noise of the world outside was subdued by the unhallowed whispers of long-forgotten histories and forbidden knowledge. The weight of the powers that be and the pressures of the everyday world evaporated as soon as you crossed the threshold, to be replaced by the warm embrace of worn books and the ageless knowledge that had endured countless tragedies and disasters.

Compared to the hectic world outside its doors, the library’s air felt like a bubble of peace and quiet. There was something almost sacred about the ambiance induced by the flickering candles and the ethereal glow of the old books. You knew you were leaving the busy Ministry hallways behind when you heard the heavy wooden door behind you creak. This was your second home’s unholy atmosphere, and in it you were its queen.

Surrounded by soaring shelves that appeared to extend forever, you effortlessly made your way through the intricate web of knowledge. The books whispered secrets only those tuned into their complex language could understand, bearing witness to the growth and fall of civilizations. As you wandered among the literary treasures, the smooth oak flooring reverberated with the gentle rhythm of your footfall.

The volumes were bound in leather and some had symbols on them that suggested powers beyond this world. They were waiting for you to touch them, begging for attention that they hadn’t received in Lucifer knew how long. Turning a page felt like travelling through time, and as your fingers danced over the antiquated bindings, you were deeply connected to humankind’s collective wisdom.

The library was not merely a repository of books; it was a living entity, a companion in solitude, a guide through the vast tapestry of human history and the mysteries that transcended it. The ambient sounds of turning pages and the occasional distant murmur of scholarly discourse became a symphony that orchestrated your moments of introspection and revelation.

In the dead centre of the library, atop a reversed pentagram, stood a statue of a snake made from white marble, sat upon and winding around a black, marble pedestal. The snake’s jaw was unhinged enough to comfortably hold an apple between its sharp fangs, the apple itself had been painted the most delectable shade of richly dark red, and polished as though it were a real apple, so shiny you could see yourself in it. It represented the most famous of His triumphs: presenting “God’s children” with the knowledge they’d need to withstand his criminal behaviour. Standing in front of the snake, you very much felt how Eve would have: curious, enraptured and tempted.

The pentagram the snake lived upon was also a marvel to behold. The pentagram itself was carved into the pentagonal shaped stage, each of the corners of the star lining up perfectly with the points of the pentagon. Each straight side leveled out the different heights of the flooring using two, wooden staircases separated by a thick ramp - the ramps themselves covered in artistic portraits of all animals associated with Him, showing goats, cats, bats, owls and crows - all animals that have been demonized by the bible. All incredibly intelligent animals, no wonder the Catholics feared them. In a circle surrounding the pentagram were intricately carved atropa belladonna flowers and vines, floral representation of His existence. The petals of the belladonna were subtly stained a purple hue to replicate their natural colours.

The front desk sat in front of this statue, a ways back from the large, Gothic doors but in their line of view. You hated when you had front desk duty, because you could always feel the snake’s eyes burning through your soul, tempting you to dive into the shelves and devour more knowledge, as if Lucifer himself were watching you and guiding you toward salvation.

The library was your first job since joining the Ministry all those years ago, and you had fought tooth and nail to stay there for as long as possible. Every other job within those unhallowed halls required human interaction, but in the library and the Ministry’s archives, any interaction you had with fellow humans was always about books and knowledge. You didn’t have to worry about petty small-talk with strangers, you could just share what you knew or point others in the right direction and you’d fulfilled your social quota for the day. The Siblings you worked with, Sister Aisha Banerjee and Sibling Riley Martinez would often berate you for your quietness, but they were more than happy to take a more social role as you went about your business organising the shelves and staying out of the clergy’s way.

The front desk was an enjoyable distraction from the maze-like bookcases, and with you, Sister Aisha, and Sibling Riley gathered around it, there was an undeniable feeling of community that sprang from shared experiences among the old books. You heard Sister Aisha’s laugh as she saw you hobbling from the shelves excitedly with another new book she hadn’t seen.

Sister Aisha, her warm smile illuminating the dimly lit room, looked at you with a playful twinkle in her eyes. “Alright, our silent guardian, spill the tea. What fascinating secrets have you unearthed today in the depths of the archives?”

You chuckled, appreciating the good-natured banter and slamming the heavy book on the front desk. You cringed a little at the sound. “Oh, just ancient prophecies and forgotten alchemical recipes. You know, the usual light reading.

Sibling Riley, sipping their tea with a mischievous grin, chimed in, “I’m convinced this one here has memorized the entire contents of the library. Probably knows the Dewey Decimal System in her sleep.”

You playfully rolled your eyes. “Maybe I should add that to my resume. ‘Expert in organizing, cataloging, can speak multiple dead languages and decipher Satanic codes, and can recite the Dewey Decimal System in a hypnotic whisper.’”

“That’s hot.” Sister Aisha said. “What’s that, though?”

“Ah! Thisparticular book just so happens to be the lost diaries of Papa Indesiderabilis.”

Sibling Riley, “The infamously ugly one? He kept diaries?”

Sister Aisha, “What I’m more concerned with is why he called himself Indesiderabilies?”

You grinned at Sister Aisha’s question, she’d asked the right question and she only had herself to blame. “Well, turns out Papa Indesiderabilis wasn’t just concerned with dark arts like we thought; he was also quite the poet. Seems he had a penchant for self-deprecation.”

“A penchant for personal poetry.”

“Try saying that five times fast.” Sibling Riley challenged.

Sister Aisha nodded and wet her lips, cracking her knuckles and beginning the challenge. She failed.

Sibling Riley chuckled, setting down their tea. “So, what secrets does the infamous ugly poet have to share with us mortals?”

Flipping through the aged pages, you scanned the text. “Poetry mostly, surprisingly eloquent for someone with such a gloomy alias. But here’s the kicker - he wrote about the beauty he found in the ‘undesirable.’ Called it a reflection of the soul that society deems unworthy. It’s oddly poignant.”

Sister Aisha raised an eyebrow, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Papa Indesiderabilis, the poet with a flair for the dramatic. Who would’ve thought?”

Sibling Riley leaned in, their eyes glinting with curiosity. “And the Satanic codes? Anything juicy?”

You winked, running your fingers over the text. “Oh, the codes are there, but decoding them might require a bit more than just wit. Maybe a dash of the supernatural.”

A mischievous gleam sparked in Sister Aisha’s eyes. “Well, if anyone can summon the supernatural, it’s our quiet library guardian here. Maybe you can ask the spirits for a decoding key.”

You chuckled, “I’ll add ‘Ghost Whisperer’ to my ever-expansive resume.”

Sibling Riley leaned back, swirling the remnants of their tea. “You know, this Papa Indesiderabilis might have been onto something with that whole ‘undesirable’ perspective. It’s like finding beauty in the shadows, isn’t it?”

Sister Aisha nodded in agreement, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the ancient desk. “Some people’s beauty should remain in the shadows, I fear.”

Sibling Riley rolled their eyes. “She’s back on her Cardinal Copia bullshit again.”

“Listen, it’s not my fault the leader of the Satanic Church isn’t as hot as they used to be.”

You picked up the book with both of your hands, as they continued to argue. “I’m leaving before Sister Imperator comes and tears you a new one.”

“Look, we had Papa Terzo before and he was the epitome of dreamy. Now we have this random ass Cardinal who looks like the arse-end of a baboon!”

Sibling Riley picked up the defense, “How are you still out here riding the dick of a dead guy?”

“He shouldn’t have died, though.”

The argument about the aesthetic preferences of the Satanic Church’s leaders continued as you swiftly made your exit. The atmosphere at the front desk shifted from decoding ancient texts to decoding the mysteries of Sister Aisha’s particular brand of humour, or rather, her taste in men.

The sound of Sister Aisha and Sibling Riley teasing each other echoed in the air as you navigated your way back through the maze of shelves. As you walked, the atmosphere seemed to carry the warmth of camaraderie, an intangible presence that wrapped around you like the scent of ancient parchment. The occasional teasing and lively debates reached your ears, creating a symphony that harmonized with the hushed whispers of the books.

You couldn’t help but smile as their voices faded into the distance, the library itself seeming to absorb the energy of the shared moments at the front desk. The sacred space, filled with the echoes of laughter and banter, became a living testament to the unique camaraderie that flourished among those who sought solace in the company of ancient tomes.

With each step, you felt the library envelope you, not just as a guardian of its secrets but as a participant in the ongoing narrative of those who found both refuge and joy within its hallowed walls. The laughter and teasing were threads woven into the rich tapestry of the library’s history, making it more than a repository of knowledge—it was a living, breathing entity that thrived on the human connection forged within its silent halls.

Monday’s Black Mass was one of your favourite events in the whole weekly calendar. Your Ministry life was routine and conventional, but the excitement of this ceremony provided a little something extra to the ancient tomes and sacred halls.

A faint energy began to fill the air as the day went on, indicating that the Black Mass was coming. When 6 p.m. hit, you became acutely aware of the shadows created by the dimly lit hallways and flickering flames had an enigmatic charm that matched the covert activities as you made your way to the Basilica di Lilith.

The Ministry had multiple places of worship, but only one that was open for anyone at all times: Basilica di Lilith, named after Adam’s first wife before Eve was even thought about. A beautiful woman who was cast out of the Garden of Eden for asking for equality and dared to disobey Her husband. ‘Our mother who never was’ cursed to live the remainder of Her life as a demon and feared by all of humanity forevermore, unwelcome and unwanted by all except the Satanic Church. To honour Her and give Her the respect she truly deserved, the main space of worship was dedicated solely to Her, and was largely decorated and maintained by Her daughters.

Lilith’s basilica was the largest and one of the most beautiful buildings the Siblings had ever built. Pristine, white stone stood tall and proud over the congregation, carved into Gothic archways and propped up by filigreed Italian columns on either side of the dark wooden pews that outlined the centre aisle. The ceiling was cream coloured with pointed arches that connected to the three storey tall columns in both the nave and choir loft.

There were four rows of pews that extended far back - almost the entire length of the church. Gothic arched windows had been created specifically for the church, the three main ones that decorated the sanctuary depicted Lilith’s time in Eden, Her fall and Her demonification.

Right in the centre of the sanctuary was a statue of a disrobed Lilith with Her arms outstretched, fair hair blowing in the wind and cloaked by Baphomet, standing behind Her with one hand over Her stomach and one on Her shoulder. This was created to represent Her significance in the Church, and reminded them that though they worshipped Lucifer, Lilith was just as important as Him. The statue was placed in a small, dark wooden alcove built in a Gothic exterior style, including steep arches, a small gabled roof and turrets. In turn, the statue was a bright, white marble to really pop out against the alcove. It stood approximately two meters tall and weighed more than humanly comprehensible.

You took your seat at the aisle with both Sister Aisha and Sibling Riley to your right. This was your seat because it had a perfect view of the pulpit. A perfect view of him.

Shrouded in secrecy, the Black Mass promised something out of the usual. A spirit of rebellion against conventional standards permeated the environment as the Ministry members discreetly glanced at one another and whispered quietly to one another.

The complex and dramatic ceremony, along with the ritual’s grandeur, left an impression on the senses that went beyond the typical respect one has for knowledge. The Black Mass’s forbidden charm was in its departure from tradition and the unholy rituals that characterised the remainder of the week, and even the holy rituals of the Church’s righteous counterpart.

The entrance of the Clergy Officials, adorned in their striking black and red regalia, created a palpable sense of awe among the congregation, signaling the imminent commencement of the Mass. With a collective sense of respect, everyone rose to their feet, including you and the rest of the congregation, acknowledging the solemnity of the moment.

You observed with a profound admiration as these figures, each a pillar of the dark hierarchy, took their seats, their presence casting a formal and commanding aura over the gathered worshippers. Their eyes, veiled by the mysterious depths of their Cardinal makeup, seemed to hold a captivating gaze, as if they could perceive the profound depths and innermost sanctuaries of those in attendance. The air was filled with a sense of reverence and curiosity, as the congregation awaited the unfolding of the sacred rituals led by these enigmatic figures.

Following closely behind the officials, with an air of regal authority, came the figures you found most intriguing: the Sister Imperator, and the charismatic Papa Nihil. Their commanding presence exuded an aura of formidable power, their very essence a testament to the captivating legacy that had entrenched itself within the heart of the Church.

The subtle smile etched across Sister Imperator’s face as her gaze met yours sent a shiver down your spine, her confident expression contributing to the enigmatic atmosphere. She radiated assurance and authority, a leader who had navigated the complexities of the Church with unwavering confidence. You felt a warmth of excitement, a potent mixture of anticipation and curiosity as you observed the central figures of the congregation.

And then, there he was, entering with a confident stride. The cardinal’s robes were a symphony of rich, deep crimson, a color that seemed to capture the essence of devotion and authority. Crafted from the finest silk, the fabric cascaded in graceful folds, accentuating the dignified stature of the wearer. Each stitch, meticulously placed, whispered of skilled hands that had labored to create a garment befitting its esteemed purpose.

The robe’s skirt, adorned with intricate gold and black embroidery, depicted sacred symbols and religious motifs that told tales of faith and tradition - the Grucifix mostly. The golden threads shimmered in the ambient light, casting a subtle glow that highlighted the reverence with which the garment had been crafted.

A matching red sash, elegantly tied across the cardinal’s chubby waist, bore the weight of centuries-old wisdom, but also hid the many buttons that ran the length of the garment. Its edges, crisply pressed and perfectly straight to show his precision and need to look as clean as possible.

The Cardinal’s sleeves, were straight, yet too long for him, as was the rest of his attire. As tidy as these lines were, as much care went into keeping it pristine, it was far too big for him like it had been handed to him from someone else that used to wear it perfectly. The cuffs, ended up creating “sweater paws”, and ending midway down his palms, which, themselves, were hidden beneath leather, black gloves.

Underneath the bellowing short cape, emblazoned on the cardinal’s chest in shiny, gold chains, the scarlet robes bore the distinctive pectoral Grucifix, a symbol of faith and authority. The Grucifix, adorned with jewels that glittered like stars in the night sky, reflected the divine significance of the cardinal’s role within the Church.

A majestic cape, cropped to above his elbows, flowing like a river of cardinal red, cascaded down the cardinal’s mid-back. Its edges framed the figure with an aura of spiritual majesty. As the cardinal moved, the cape danced in silent rhythm, a visual hymn to the sacred responsibilities carried by those who wore such garments.

Atop his head sat a typical cardinal’s hat, unfolded at the front into a bat wing, a traditional element of the Satanic Clergy.

The cardinal turned and his gaze stopped you dead in your tracks. An all-too familiar face looked at you with mismatched eyes hidden beneath the traditional, dark black, circular paints surrounding them. His face was long and rectangular, weathered with age and displaying all the signs of a life long lived. Long? Perhaps not. He was only in his early-fifties after all. But his face had wrinkled gently around his forehead and eyebrows as if to announce the world that he was wise beyond his years. His nose was large and pointed at the tip, creating a striking profile that you could have spent the rest of your life looking at if you were allowed to. A pencil moustache adorned his upper lip, a mousey-brown strip of hair that was offputting to most, but to you it added maturity to his character. His top lip was painted black, again, another traditional piece. His strong jaw met at his chin, creating a “butt chin”, another quirk that made the Cardinal, well, him.

Cardinal Copia entered the hall, his visage a captivating blend of charisma and authority in your eyes, as though he effortlessly accepted his position. As he ascended the dais to lead the congregation in the unholy proceedings, you felt a surge of fascination, a potent mixture of respect and curiosity directed at the figure who now wielded power in the name of the malevolent forces that governed the realm of darkness, and his lineage who had taken a comfortable seat on the wooden pews of the front row.

Cardinal Copia had always seemed somewhat enigmatic to you, a character whose uniqueness and charisma had once been palpable, but it appeared that he had undergone a transformation of sorts, now imbued with a newfound confidence that emanated from his position as the leader of the dark congregation. He was introverted and possessed a unique charm, which made him a target for some members of the Ministry. Rumors about him spread like wildfire, and all of them were more captivating and mysterious than the last. Rumours you wouldn’t give the time of day to. Given how much everyone loved Papa Terzo, the idea of him being succeeded by a Cardinal who had his own distinct identity was an intriguing prospect. Cardinal Copia often stumbled over his words and spoke quietly, had a unique posture and a gaze that always lingered for moments too long. A leader tasked with taking command of a congregation, he defied conventional expectations. He never should have stood a chance, yet there he was, captivating the audience with his speeches and reading dark texts, challenging the conventional norms with a voice that echoed with an enigmatic resonance.

The congregation, an eclectic mix of followers, now hung on Cardinal Copia’s every, captivating, word, their devotion to the sinister doctrines palpable in the reverent silence that pervaded the hall. As he intoned incantations and recited dark liturgy, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of fascination, a thrill that mingled with your respect for the man who had once been a mysterious figure but now held a position of dark power.

You were engulfed in a world where the lines between the known and unknown dissolved as the Black Mass took place and the murmurs of long-forgotten secrets became more audible. Your comprehension of the mystical arts was enhanced by the forbidden knowledge that was shared at these meetings; knowledge that extended beyond the text of worn books.

You saw Monday’s Black Mass as more than just an occasion; it was a meeting with the enchanted, a trip into the dark where the unusual and the forbidden came together. And a chance to see the Cardinal who lead you all down the path of dark righteousness, a man whom you admired wholly and fully. A man whom you daresay even loved - but he didn’t know you. He barely even knew that you existed.

There were times that he would enter the library and ask for assistance when you were on the front desk, and you’d always stutter over your words and talk so quietly from the nerves that he could barely hear you. It got so bad, that when you saw him enter, you’d run from the desk and fetch another Sibling to deal with him, while you hid in the shadows like a coward. You didn’t want him to forget you, but sometimes it felt like him forgetting you would calm your nerves entirely. Sometimes, during Mass, he’d make eye contact with you and give you a small smile, or acknowledge your presence, and you’d feel your heart skip a beat. You reveled in the possibility that, just for a fleeting instant, he recognized you as more than a face in the darkened congregation.

But those were just dreams for the books that held your company. Words on pages that had no business in the real world. The distance between your heart and the truth of your commitment grew with every page you flipped and every muttered chant you heard during Mass. A bitter realisation gnawed at your spirit as you stood in the shadows, watching the Cardinal lead the congregation with a compelling presence.

The quick looks and disappearing smiles were like fragile ghosts, stalking your dreams with the painful awareness of love that was never returned. Your feelings appeared to dwindle into the background the more you hid in the shadows, like a ghostly presence that hovered but was never acknowledged.

The books were your lonely companions, silent witnesses to your silent yearning, the weight of unspoken confessions weighing down their ancient pages. In stark contrast to the terrible reality that played out behind the black halls of the Ministry, you frequently found comfort in their stories and sought sanctuary in the worlds they presented.

The gloom that crept into your heart persisted as the Black Mass went on. What was always a joyous occasion to honour the dark had joined into an agonising and bittersweet reminder of the unfulfilled bond you so desperately sought. The Cardinal’s voice reverberated across the auditorium, every word a sharp reminder of the gap that existed between your quiet respect and the recognition you so desperately wanted in the real world.

The final act of Gratiarum fell upon the proceedings, indicating the end of Mass and the sinking of your heart. All clergy members lined up in the aisle, taking their position in the queue and moving forward to receive their final blessings. The Catholics would usually call this part “Eurachrist”. Whereas the Satanists called it Gratiarum.

The word Gratiarum wasn’t a standard Latin word, rather, a bastardisation of “gratia” that translated to “grace” or “thanks” in English. “Gratia” was often used in expressions of gratitude or to convey a sense of goodwill, and thus transformed to the closing ceremony of Black Mass where one would kiss the statue Lilith’s cheeks to thank Her for bringing life to you, for holding you in Motherly comfort, for giving you all the knowledge and courage you could ever possibly want. You’d then receive a final blessing from the Head of the Church, usually a Papa but in this case, Cardinal Copia, before he bids you farewell and sends you on your way.

As the congregation progressed in the queue, you couldn’t shake the heaviness in your chest. The air became thick with a bittersweet mix of reverence and longing. Each step forward echoed the inevitable end of the ritual, a departure from the sacred space where your unspoken emotions swirled in the shadows.

Finally, it was your turn. You approached the statue of Lilith with a mixture of solemnity and yearning. The cold, carved features seemed to hold the weight of centuries, and yet, in this moment, they embodied a profound connection to the divine. You softly kissed Lilith’s cheeks, sensing a momentary warmth that hinted at an ethereal connection.

“Thank you, Mother.” You whispered into her stone ear. “For everything.”

Then came the pivotal moment. Cardinal Copia, the enigmatic leader of the dark congregation, stood before you. His eyes, veiled by the dark makeup, held a depth that seemed to pierce through the shadows. He paused, briefly, staring at you for some reason you couldn’t comprehend. Your brain, of course, now overthinking and feeling the pressure of the silence, forced a whispered, “ciao” to fall from your trembling lips, an action you regretted immediately when you realised he’d heard you.

The Cardinal’s face changed from dutiful to flooded with warmth, eyes sparkling with adoration - the kind of look you’d give a puppy when it did something cute or particularly hilarious. “Ciao, bella.” His smile grew wider, eyes brightening as your cheeks heated at the sound of his voice speaking his beautiful mother-tongue. He paused for a moment, drinking you in, before a clearing of the throat pulled him out of his brain.

“Your Dark Eminence,” called one of his Ghouls from seemingly far away, but as it happened, he was immediately beside the Cardinal, “the blessing?”

“Ah, sì, grazie.”

As he extended his hand in blessing, the ache in your heart intensified. The brief touch felt like an electric current, a conduit of unspoken emotions that lingered in the air.

The final blessing resonated like a melancholy melody, and as Cardinal Copia bid you farewell, you felt a pang of sorrow. The Black Mass, a weekly sojourn into the mystical, was ending, and you were left with a heart heavy with unfulfilled desires. The shadows seemed to close in, casting a veil over the sacred space that held the echoes of your silent devotion.

You left the hall, the weight of unspoken words and unfulfilled dreams accompanied you like a silent companion. The Gratiarum had concluded, and you were left to carry the lingering ache of longing as you stepped back into the mundane world, where Lilith’s statue and Cardinal Copia’s fleeting acknowledgments remained confined to the sacred space of the Black Mass.

Sister Aisha and Sibling Riley, your companions in the Ministry, were astute observers of your unspoken affections toward Cardinal Copia. They possessed an uncanny knack for teasing and never missed an opportunity to poke fun at the not-so-subtle nuances of your feelings.

Their banter echoed in the dimly lit corners of the library, creating an atmosphere of playful mockery. Sister Aisha, with her warm smile and mischievous eyes, often led the charge, while Sibling Riley, known for their quick wit, contributed to the good-natured ribbing.

“Look at our silent guardian, blushing like a schoolgirl whenever the good Cardinal so much as glances in her direction,” Sister Aisha would remark, a playful twinkle in her eyes.

Sibling Riley would add, “I’m convinced they’ve written sonnets about Copia in their secret diary. ‘Oh, Cardinal, with your mysterious gaze and awkward charm, won’t you ravage me in the night?’”

“‘Won’t you enter upon my chambers and live out my wildest fantasies?’”

“‘Oh, Cardinal, your nose is so big, may I use it to rest a while?’”

“‘Won’t you hold me on this frosty, winter’s morn, dear Cardinal?’”

The two would share a laugh, their camaraderie evident in the banter that danced around the ancient shelves. Despite the teasing, there was an underlying warmth in their jests, a testament to the deep bonds forged within the Ministry.

You, on the other hand, would play along with a good-natured eye roll, attempting to deflect the attention. “Oh, please, I don’t have wild fantasies.”

Sibling Riley scoffed, “Baby, we’re all librarians. We live our lives surrounded by books-”

“Non-fiction, mostly!”

“None in this Ministry are more depraved than us.”

“Besides,” you jabbed a finger into Sibling Riley’s chest, being careful to avoid any of their scars, “I’m just appreciating his leadership skills. It’s not like I have a shrine dedicated to him hidden in the darkest corner of the library.”

Sister Aisha, never one to let an opportunity slip by, would respond with a sly grin, “Sure, sure. Just leadership skills. And the way you stutter whenever he’s around? Classic admiration, my friend.”

Sibling Riley, “Ciao.”

Sister Aisha grabbed hold of Sibling Riley’s hand, and lowered her voice, “Ciao, bella.”

Sister Aisha and Sibling Riley revelled in their playful banter, the lingering embarrassment from your verbal slip during the Gratiarum weighed heavily on your shoulders. You attempted to regain composure, shooting a playful glare at your companions.

“Alright, enough with the fantasies. Can we get back to the Dewey Decimal System and ancient prophecies, please?” You retorted, hoping to shift the focus away from your unintentional confession.

Sibling Riley smirked, looking at you with a mischievous gleam in their eyes. “Oh, don’t worry, we won’t judge. Cardinal fantasies aside, we’re still a team.”

Sister Aisha, with a chuckle, added, “Besides, it’s not every day our silent guardian reveals a hidden shrine of adoration. Who knew our dear librarian had such a passionate side? A passionate side that gets her worked up over ugly, middle-aged men.”

You feign a dismissive wave, attempting to downplay the comment. “Worked up? I assure you, it’s merely an appreciation for his leadership skills. I’m here for the dark knowledge, not a beauty contest.”

Sibling Riley raises an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in their eyes. “But you can’t deny, he’s got that awkward charm going on. It’s like watching a cult leader struggle with small talk.”

Sister Aisha nods, her warm smile persisting. “And let’s not forget the nose. A real showstopper. Perhaps that’s what captivates our silent librarian’s heart.”

You roll your eyes, knowing that attempting to defend yourself against their banter is a losing battle. “You two are relentless. I’m getting back to work, and I suggest you do the same.” You turned to walk away, waving them goodbye as you headed to your stack of books that needed organising.

Sibling Riley, still grinning, raises their tea cup in a mock salute. “To the mysteries of the Ministry and the enigma that is Cardinal Copia.”

Shooting them a middle finger seemed appropriate under the circumstances.

The days turned into weeks within the confines of the ancient library, the world outside continued its relentless march through time. Seasons changed, and winter descended upon Rome with a ferocity reminiscent of a freight train on icy tracks. The city, once bustling with life, now wore a quieter demeanour as the chill settled in.

The library, insulated from the external world by its towering walls and centuries-old secrets, became a cocoon shielding you from the biting cold of winter. The scent of ancient pages and the soft illumination of candlelight provided a comforting contrast to the frosty breath of the outside world.

With each passing day, you continued your duties as the guardian of knowledge, organizing shelves and deciphering cryptic texts. Sister Aisha and Sibling Riley, your companions in this sacred space, brought warmth with their laughter and camaraderie. The front desk, where banter and conversations flourished, became a refuge from the winter chill that had gripped the city.

Outside, Rome transformed into a winter wonderland, with frost-kissed architecture and the occasional snowfall turning the historic streets into a serene landscape. Yet, within the library’s hallowed halls, time seemed to follow its own rhythm—a rhythm marked by the turning of pages, the soft murmur of shared conversations, and the enduring presence of ancient wisdom.

As the Ministry’s only archivist, you found yourself being inundated with work to be done, that took you away from the main library life. A welcome change, but a cold one: holed up in one of the offices, surrounded by ancient, indecipherable texts that hadn’t seen the light of day in so, very long. This time you were translating some Akkadian texts from Ancient Babylon. The weight of responsibility lay heavy on your shoulders, yet there was a sense of excitement and purpose in deciphering the cryptic symbols and long-forgotten languages.

The chilly atmosphere within the office felt like it was mixing with the echoes of old Babylon, taking you back in time. The long-mysterious story was revealed by the Akkadian manuscripts, which included elaborate ancient letters.

Warm light streamed from the burning candles onto the parchments, revealing snippets of a civilization lost to the pages of history with each brushstroke. The language that you once heard in Babylon’s bustling marketplaces and opulent temples now whispered its secrets to you in the calm of your office.

You found yourself acting as a bridge connecting the past and the present while surrounded by the stillness. The tales of ancient Babylon painted themselves onto the chilly desolation, bringing to life the traditions, convictions, and dreams of a people long since extinct.

The beat of the language became into a wordless chant as you dug further into the nuances of Akkadian grammar and syntax, a melody that spoke to the wisdom of ages past. The books brought to life stories of kings and gods, conquests, and trade that had lain forgotten for generations, transporting you to a world long since forgotten.

That was, until, there was a knock at the door.

Disturbed, your head shot up to the source of the sound and you cleared the surprise from your throat. “Come in!” You called, eyeing the door handle as it turned and the door was pushed open.

Sister Aisha stood there. “I’m so sorry to bother you, Sister. You’re needed at front desk.”

“No bother at all, Sister Aisha. What’s happening at the front desk?” You inquired, your mind quickly shifting from the mysteries of ancient Babylon to the present demands of the Ministry.

“C-” She paused, or rather, it was more of a hesitation than a pause. She clearly thought you didn’t pick up on it, but you did. “Someone needs your expertise. They’re asking questions we can’t answer, and Googling it is too much hassle.”

You sighed, trying to think your way out of this as quickly as possible. “But, Cardinal Whitman said this was urgent, I really shouldn’t-”

“Sister, this is far more important than anything Cardinal bloody Whitman has to trap you with. You’re needed… now.”

The urgency in Sister Aisha’s voice caught your attention, and her candid revelation about the nature of the situation raised an eyebrow. As you gathered your most important belongings, a sense of curiosity mingled with a tinge of apprehension.

The weight of responsibility settled over you, and you couldn’t help but acknowledge the gravity of the situation. The front desk, once a place of banter and camaraderie, now beckoned with a sense of urgency and mystery. You followed Sister Aisha through the twisting corridors, the rhythmic echo of your footsteps matching the pulse of anticipation that gripped the Ministry.

Sibling Riley stood there, keeping their guest entertained - though the look on his face made it seem like he was less than enthusiastic about the company he was forced to keep. A man stood to the side, his face hidden to you as he was deep in conversation with Sibling Riley - a cardinal, by the looks of their attire.

“Ah, here she is now, Your Dark Eminence.” Sibling Riley said, gesturing to you and Sister Aisha as you approached.

You stopped dead in your tracks as you realised who it was - Cardinal Copia. The unexpected presence of Cardinal Copia at the front desk sent a shiver down your spine. You exchanged a quick glance with Sister Aisha, who wore a knowing smile, as if she had orchestrated this rendezvous herself. There was an air of secrecy about the unexpected encounter as the mystery surrounding the library seemed to deepen.

Sibling Riley, with a mischievous grin, introduced you. “Your Dark Eminence, may I present our diligent librarian, Sorella ______.”

Cardinal Copia turned toward you, his dark eyes meeting yours. The air seemed to crackle with an unspoken tension. You cleared your throat, struggling to maintain composure in the presence of the enigmatic leader of the Ministry.

“Sorella ______,” he greeted, his voice resonating with an odd blend of formality and charm, and then he recognised you. “Ciao.”

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and the Cardinal quickly regained his composure. Sister Aisha and Sibling Riley covered their mouths and turned away from you, but it was obvious they were laughing.

“Ah, no. Chiedo scusa, Sorella.” He cleared his throat. “I find myself in need of your expertise. A matter of considerable importance, sì?”

You nodded, trying to conceal the flutter of nerves beneath a facade of professionalism, but words wouldn’t form.

“I am in search of information on a relic of great significance to the Church. Its history and location remain elusive. I trust you can handle this matter with the discretion it requires.”

You nodded once more, your weight shifting from one foot to the other. Despite the initial awkwardness, the weight of responsibility settled over you, and you steered the conversation toward the mysterious relic. With a newfound determination, you led the way into the depths of the archives, the shadows of ancient tomes casting a cloak of secrecy over the unfolding mission.

“Please follow me, Your Dark Eminence.” You told him, your voice hardly above a whisper.

Apologizing profusely for the perceived mess in your office, you led Cardinal Copia through the twisting corridors to the intimate space where your work unfolded. The dim light filtered through the ancient windows, casting a soft glow on the cluttered but meticulously organized shelves. The scent of old parchment and the mystical atmosphere of the room created an ambiance that seemed to intrigue the Cardinal.

“I’m terribly sorry for the state of things,” you said, a hint of nervousness in your voice as you tried to tidy up a few stray sheets of paper. “I didn’t expect such esteemed company.”

The Cardinal, however, waved off your concerns with a gracious smile. “No need to fret, Sorella. I appreciate the authenticity of a working space.”

His curiosity got the better of him, and, for a while, you watched as Cardinal Copia roamed around your office. He picked up sheets of your work, his gloved fingers delicately handling the pages. His eyes scanned the intricate details, and a contemplative expression crossed his face.

“You have a remarkable mind, Sorella,” he remarked, his gaze still fixed on the contents of your desk. “Your dedication to the Ministry’s knowledge is evident in every stroke of your pen.”

A mix of surprise and gratitude washed over you. The Cardinal’s acknowledgment held a weight that transcended the typical interactions within the Ministry. You took a moment to observe him, the way he seemed genuinely interested in the details of your work. It was an unexpected turn of events, transforming the routine nature of your duties into a rare moment of connection.

As he continued to peruse your writings, you couldn’t help but wonder about the relic that brought him here. The air in the office seemed charged with the anticipation of uncovering a hidden truth. With a newfound sense of purpose, you joined Cardinal Copia in examining the intricacies of the Ministry’s mysteries, the boundaries between librarian and Cardinal momentarily blurred in the pursuit of ancient knowledge.

“What relic are you looking for, Your Dark Eminence?”

The question lingered in the air as you joined Cardinal Copia in inspecting the contents of your office. His gloved fingers traced the lines of your work with an almost hesitant touch, and his gaze seemed to dance between the papers and your eyes. The room held a quiet tension, as if the weight of the ancient knowledge and the mystery of the relic were too much for even the Cardinal’s composure.

The Cardinal, displaying a touch of awkwardness that was endearing, began to explain his quest. “I am in search of an ancient text, written in Hebrew, of course, because they usually are. Well, not usually but our texts are either Hebrew or Latin… or Greek.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I am in search of this text depicting the original story of the Garden of Eden. It is said to have insights and perspectives not found in the widely accepted accounts of modern-day Catholicism.”

As Cardinal Copia explained the gravity of his task, your curiosity was stirred and you paid close attention. The weight of the request seemed to shimmer in the office. The Cardinal was looking for a version of the Garden of Eden story that went beyond the well-known legends.

“Why this particular text?” you ventured, your mind already racing to recall any relevant volumes within the vast archives of the Ministry.

The Cardinal hesitated for a moment before responding, his gaze fixed on the unseen horizon. “There are whispers, Sorella, of a deeper truth concealed within the ancient Hebrew, uh… scriptures. A truth that challenges the current understanding of our origins. I believe this text may hold the key to a different perspective, a hidden narrative that could reshape our perception of the Garden and its forbidden knowledge. And perhaps, it may benefit the Ghost Project in some way.”

Cardinal Copia pondered the question, his gloved fingers awkwardly tapping on the edge of a nearby shelf. “Well, I mean, it’s a thought. The Vatican’s got these archives, right? All hush-hush, keep Mama quiet.”

What?

“They might have stashed away things that didn’t quite fit the Sunday school narrative. Hidden truths and all that.” He cleared his throat.

The idea of rummaging through the Vatican’s records imbued the mission with an unusual thrill, and the clumsy charm of the Cardinal appeared to heighten the sense of adventure. Maybe the whispered mysteries of the Garden of Eden were hidden in a dusty corner, just waiting to be unearthed.

You sighed. “But, Your Dark Eminence, they’re not going to let two strangers go poking around the archives in search of a text that makes the enemy look good, let alone two Satanists.”

You sighed, a tinge of practicality creeping into the conversation. “But, Your Dark Eminence, they’re not going to let two strangers go poking around the archives in search of a text that makes the enemy look good, let alone two Satanists.”

The Cardinal shifted awkwardly, his gaze momentarily fixed on the worn carpet beneath your feet. “Yeah, you’ve got a point there. I mean, it’s not like we can just waltz in and ask nicely, huh?”

You recognised the difficulties of the effort with a nod of agreement. “Exactly. It’s a bit, you know, delicate. They might not take kindly to our little excursion.”

Cardinal Copia scratched his head, a sheepish grin on his face. “I’m not exactly the best at, uh, delicate matters. I tend to… stand out, no?”

The thought of the flamboyant Cardinal trying to blend in within the hallowed halls of the Vatican brought a faint smile to your lips. “Yeah, subtlety might not be our strong suit. We’d need a plan.”

The Cardinal’s eyes brightened with a hint of mischief. “A plan, huh? Well, I’ve never been much of a strategist, but we can give it a shot, can’t we?” He thought for a moment. “Perhaps you could go.”

Your eyes widened in fear. “Me?”

“Sì! They’ll let you in - you’re pretty.”

Somehow your eyes widened further.

“Well, no.” The Cardinal began to panic. “I mean, no, aspetta, you are pretty but they might not let you in just because you are pretty.”

A mixture of amusement and disbelief played across your face as you processed the Cardinal’s stumbling attempt at reassurance. “So, you’re suggesting I charm my way into the Vatican’s archives? That’s the plan?”

The Cardinal scratched his head awkwardly, a sheepish grin appearing. “I mean, they say beauty has its advantages, right?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of the proposal. “Sure, Your Dark Eminence. I’ll just flutter my eyelashes, and they’ll hand over the secrets of the Garden of Eden. Easy.”

“Ecco lo spirito! You sneak in, take the text, voilà! The text is ours, we convert people. I don’t die.”

“Sorry?”

“Oh, non importa. So, what do you say, Sorella?”

“I mean, we don’t even know for sure that the texts are in the Vatican archives. They could be elsewhere.” The uncertainty in your voice mirrored the practical considerations that lingered in your mind.

The Cardinal shrugged, his expression reflecting a mix of determination and hopeful anticipation. “True, true. But, hey, it’s worth a shot, right? We won’t know until we try. Plus, it’ll be an adventure!”

“I don’t know, Your Dark Eminence. I think we should research this before we go charging into enemy lines.” The caution in your voice carried a weight of practicality, a desire to approach the quest with careful consideration.

The Cardinal nodded in agreement, though a subtle hint of dejection shadowed his features. “Yeah, you’re right. Research is good. I just got a bit carried away with the whole sneaking-in-and-taking-the-text thing. Old habits, you know?”

A small smile played across your lips as you appreciated the Cardinal’s honesty. “Old habits die hard, huh?”

He chuckled awkwardly, his demeanour lightening. “Apparently so. Let’s dig into those books and find out what we’re dealing with, Sorella.”

The Cardinal took off his hat for the ease of the search, and extended his hand in a kind and cooperative gesture. The library was waiting for you to explore, filled with old books and the smell of knowledge permeating everything.

Grinning, you pulled your hair away from your face, and took the Cardinal’s hand, feeling the warmth of the shared objective and the excitement of the journey to come. You entered the enormous library together, eager to solve the secrets that awaited you on its sacred shelves. The age-old walls, keepers of ageless stories, observed the unlikely pair set out on a voyage that combined the holy and the forbidden, constrained by the search for the truth and the whispers of information that was only known to a select few.

Within the sacred walls of the old library, you and Cardinal Copia leafed through the vast array of books, the air heavy with the odour of old parchment and the accumulation of wisdom. The Cardinal, for all his showmanship, addressed the assignment with unexpected concentration, his gloved hands slowly skimming over the book covers.

“Let’s start with texts on ancient Hebrew literature and biblical interpretations,” you suggested, leading the way towards a section dedicated to the rich tapestry of ancient languages. The Cardinal followed, his eyes scanning the titles as he navigated the labyrinth of shelves.

The Cardinal copied you as you took out books and started leafing through them, murmuring under his breath some Italian words now and again. The common spirit of your studies seemed to hum in the library, a mute testament to centuries of inquiry.

Whispered discussions and pages turned into a haze of hours. Every now and again the Cardinal, who was remarkably well versed in old languages like yourself, would give insights that even you found surprising. It became clear that there was a curious mind hiding behind all the showmanship and theatricality.

As the hours went by, the library engulfed the two of you in an enclave of research. Occasionally, the Cardinal would erupt in an animated exclamation or a lighthearted giggle, his facial expressions capturing the peculiarities of the old tales he had come upon.

“Listen to this, Sorella,” he exclaimed, drawing your attention. “Apparently, in the 15th century, there was a clandestine group of scholars who sought to preserve forbidden knowledge. They hid texts in secret locations, protecting them from prying eyes.”

Your eyes widened with intrigue as you leaned in to read the passage he pointed to. “That sounds… convenient. Do you think our text could be among those hidden treasures?”

The Cardinal scratched his head, a habit that seemed to accompany moments of contemplation. “It’s a possibility. Let’s keep digging.”

You searched through the library’s maze-like passageways as day gave way to night, travelling through different eras and fields of study. The Cardinal never wavered in his enthusiasm, his charisma being apparent despite the library’s impressive collection.

Nestled among stacks of old language books in a quiet nook, you came upon a mention of a Hebrew manuscript that described a different account of the Garden of Eden. You both felt a surge of excitement as you discovered a possible lead.

The dim light of the library accentuated the excitement shared between you and Cardinal Copia as you uncovered a potential lead in your quest for the alternative narrative of the Garden of Eden. The mention of a Hebrew manuscript held the promise of hidden truths and forbidden knowledge, tantalizingly close yet shrouded in mystery.

“That’s it, Sorella! We’re onto something here,” the Cardinal exclaimed, his eyes gleaming with a mix of anticipation and determination.

You took great care of the Hebrew manuscript’s specifics, noting its author, title, and any other characteristics that would be useful for the search, writing them on the palm of your hand with a ballpoint pen. The whispers of scholars spanning generations seemed to reverberate off the library’s ancient walls, pointing you in the direction of a revelation that had been hidden for a long time.

“Let’s cross-reference this information online,” you suggested, glancing at the Cardinal. The two of you gathered your findings, an eclectic mix of historical accounts and tantalizing clues, and made your way to a computer terminal situated in a secluded corner of the library.

The Cardinal drew up a chair next to you as you got comfortable in the swivel chair, his curiosity unrelenting. As you browsed the digital world, the excited smiles on both of your faces were lit up by the gentle glow of the screen and the hum of the computer You were incredibly aware of his presence beside you, the feel of his breath on your cheek sending shivers down your spine. From this vantage point, you could smell him, his cologne dancing in your nose and nearly distracting you from the task at hand.

You typed the Hebrew manuscript’s details into the search engine and waited impatiently for the results. The screen blinked, revealing a list of entries that each provided a potential location for the illusive text.

“There it is,” you breathed, pointing at a specific entry that seemed to align with your discovery in the library. The title read, “Eden’s Veiled Chronicles: A Hidden Perspective.”

The Cardinal leaned in, his eyes scanning the screen. “That’s our text! But where is it now?”

Your fingers danced across the keyboard as you refined the search, hoping to unveil more information about the current location of Eden’s Veiled Chronicles. The search engine yielded unexpected results, leading you to a digital catalog that cataloged private collections worldwide.

“I think we’ve hit the jackpot,” you said, excitement lacing your words. “The manuscript is listed in a private collection in London. Of course it is, the English have everything.”

Cardinal Copia’s eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and satisfaction. “London? Well, that’s not too far-fetched. What’s the collection called?”

You continued typing, uncovering the name of the esteemed collection that housed the coveted manuscript. “The Crimson Archives. It seems to be a repository for rare and ancient texts, and they have Eden’s Veiled Chronicles in their possession.”

The Cardinal leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “So, we need to get our hands on this text. Any ideas?”

The library appeared to pulse with the energy of exploration, a quiet witness to your journey. A wordless understanding developed between you when the Cardinal’s eyes locked with yours. Obtaining the manuscript from The Crimson Archives emerged as a concrete objective, a first step towards deciphering the secrets contained in Eden’s Veiled Chronicles.

“We’ll need a plan,” you mused, your mind already whirring with possibilities. “Perhaps a diplomatic approach to begin with. Let’s try not to spend money if we can help it. A letter expressing our genuine interest in the manuscript and a willingness to make a fair purchase.”

The Cardinal nodded, his eyes reflecting confidence. “I like it. Let’s compose that letter and see if we can secure an audience with the head of these archives.”

As you delved into drafting the letter, the library’s ancient walls bore witness to a new chapter in your quest—a chapter that extended beyond the confines of its hallowed shelves. The digital realm became your ally as you navigated the complexities of acquiring forbidden knowledge, and the pursuit of Eden’s Veiled Chronicles took a decisive turn towards the intriguing possibility of securing the manuscript from The Crimson Archives in London.

Negotiations took far longer than anticipated. The man in charge of the Crimson Archives was burdensome to say the least. He dragged out proceedings, and made it abundantly clear that he wouldn’t part with the Chronicles, at first. You weren’t even allowed to see them. Then he changed his mind, and would be willing to let you go and see it, but no touching. Then you could copy it, but it wouldn’t be allowed to leave the archives, then it was able to go for a hefty sum. Every new suggestion put forward by the Ministry ended up costing more and more.

The Cardinal wasn’t an impatient man, but even he was having difficulty finding the patience to deal with the Crimson Archives. Every day for a month, he would come into the library and ask for you, give you updates to how the Ministry’s lawyers were dealing with the guy and ask about you - how your day was going in comparison and if there was anything he could do to help you.

One day, he arrived as you were stacking the shelves, and watched as you placed the books in their proper places. Your voice, as quiet as it was, still sounded like an earthquake in comparison to the deathly silence of the shelves surrounding you. At first, he thought you were humming, a tune that he couldn’t quite place. But as he got closer, he was able to make out the lyrics.

I don’t wanna end like this

But the sting in the way you kiss me

Something within your eyes

Said it could be the last time

‘Fore it’s over

His heart leapt in his chest when he realised you were singing one of his songs from the Ghost project. He’d heard siblings sing along to Ghost, of course. They’d been doing so since his father created the band back in the 50s, so he’d grown up hearing his peers sing along to his father’s voice, then the voices of his brothers in his adult years. But there was something about you singing his own lyrics that had him enthralled by you - almost bewitched.

Your voice was beautiful, even more so than the Ghoulettes who had joined his team. You were soft with your tone, gentle with each lyric that melodiously fell from your lips. You were perfect. He couldn’t bring himself to interrupt you, purely for the fact that he just didn’t want to. With every passing second you sang his song, he found himself becoming more and more infatuated with you.

As the last note lingered in the air, he found himself applauding softly, unable to contain the genuine admiration that welled up within him. “Bravissima, sorella,” he praised, his voice carrying a blend of awe and appreciation. “I must confess, I didn’t expect to hear my own songs sung so beautifully by someone within our sacred walls.”

“Y-Your Dark Eminence!” You turned, a subtle blush painting your cheeks as you realized the Cardinal had been an unintended audience to your impromptu performance. Your words were stammered out of nervousness, not just because of your present company, the fact that you’d been caught, or even that he’d been watching you for Lucifer knew how long, but the radiant Cardinal had travelled to your side and had begun dirtying his hands with ‘peasant work’, as Sibling Riley called it, but if Sister Imperator saw this, both of your heads would roll.

The Cardinal just shot you a polite smile, “Buongiorno, Sorella. I hope you’re well.”

“I was. Your Dark Eminence, I appreciate you helping but I-”

“Alphabetical by author’s surname, sì? Then by language? Anything else I should know?”

He was a bit too perceptive, that or you were too predictable. “No… that’s it.”

“Eccellente!” He picked up each book individually, carefully and with kindness - no different to your own movements. You watched him for a little while, partially to make sure he was doing it correctly, but also because you were still in disbelief. Unlike the Papas before, the Cardinal had taken it upon himself to help you out unprompted, something like this, at least not that you could recall - especially in your own lifetime - had ever happened. Yet, there he was, rolling his sleeves up and getting on with it, emulating you completely. It was astounding. “Sorella, I don’t mean to be rude, but, uh, you’re making me nervous.”

“Sorry!”

“Have I made a mistake?”

You turned back to your own duties and continued. “No, Your Dark Eminence. No mistake.”

Copia chuckled. “‘Your Dark Eminence’. You’re very polite.”

“Th-thank you.”

“It’s a mouthful, isn’t it? You know,” he trailed off for a moment, his voice getting low, “you could call me Copia. Much less trouble, no?”

He made sure to keep heavy focus on the books, not wanting to see your face. You could see his brows furrow in… fear? Nervousness? You couldn’t quite pinpoint it exactly, but he certainly wasn’t relaxed.

He asked you to call him Copia. It certainly wasn’t something he was supposed to do. He was head of the Satanic Church, for all intents and purposes, he was Papa just without the title. He should be given the utmost respect at all times. You wanted to call him ‘Copia’. You wanted to hear how his name would roll off your tongue. You were very close to doing so, but you stopped yourself just as you were about to. If anyone heard you, you’d be in serious trouble - it would make trouble for both of you. You shouldn’t. You expressed as much to the Cardinal, ending with a soft and genuine, “thank you.”

He smiled and finally looked at you. He wasn’t sad, or disappointed. There was just warmth in his eyes. “I think, Sorella, you may be the kindest soul I have ever met.”

You forced yourself to turn away from him, lest he see your bright red cheeks and your heart on your sleeve. Your face was warming at the feeling of his compliment, and something else was, too. You had to tighten your stance and clench your thighs to stop your core tingling at a mere compliment. Up until that point, you had no idea just how whipped you were for the Cardinal, and just what strength of an affect he had on you.

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[lazydoodlesandfanfic]

Double-Agent (Avengers X Reader) *PLATONIC

Characters: Avengers X Reader

Universe: Marvel, Avengers

Warnings: Talking about torture and experimentation (HYDRA)

Request: Avengers x (22) reader. The reader is has been working for the team for 4½ years being able to use their teleportation, telekinesis, and healing powers to help. They capture Rumlow before he's able to damage in Sokovia and harm anybody. Later while being interrogated he request for the reader. Upon entering the room Rumlow reveals that the reader use to be with Hydra as their parents (mutants) were Hydra agents. He even reveals that the reader used to bring down bases and ruin shield. Later after that conversation the Avengers confront the reader. The reader tells the Avengers that when they saved them from that Hydra prison he was put there for betraying Hydra for Shield.

It was hard for you to focus on anything in moments like this. Knowing that there was a HYDRA agent nearby always made you hyper focus on everything they were doing, watching their every move, making sure they didn’t do anything. You were usually good at hiding your anxiety, tucking yourself in the corner to be out of the way and rolling a rare coin Steve had given you a while ago between your fingers. However, your team knew you well enough to know what it meant when you did those things, and would try their best to handle the situation themselves and make sure the HYDRA agents never addressed or even looked at you. 

You were thankful for their understanding. They tended to do the same thing for Bucky, though he preferred to not be in the room at all, but you did, just to be there just in case and watch like a hawk. The team never questioned your quirk, because they partially understood. You were a past experiment of HYDRA that they liberated a few years prior, and after some healing, you joined the team as a valuable asset. You could gather information with your telepathy and telekinesis, and could provide immediate on-site medical care if anyone got hurt due to your healing abilities. You were important to the team, and the team always found themselves thanking you for things you did for them, so letting you stand in the corner and monitor any HYDRA agents they captured and interrogated was the least they could do. 

This was another one of those situations, but while you would often look away and listen to what was being said, trying to appear unbothered and simply there as backup for your team, this was different. Because they had Rumlow, and you were the one to capture him. 

It was in no way intentional, more like you saw an opportunity and took it, and it was definitely a good decision- finding he had several powerful bombs on him that he could use at anytime. You stripped him off all weapons, and gave him over to your colleagues, only speaking when necessary. You stayed in the corner, playing with your coin, though whenever Steve glanced in your direction to check on you, he saw you glaring at the man, and the coin was actually floating in your palm, turning rapidly. He could tell you were stressed, and he had no doubt in his mind you had a history with Rumlow, though he didn’t say anything. 

Rumlow was handcuffed to the table in the small interrogation room, and for the most part he just glared straight ahead as Natasha questioned him, Steve behind her, and you in the corner. There was a pane of one sided glass where you knew the rest of the team was watching, Hill and Fury on their way to also monitor- this was a big deal after all. Everyone had thought Rumlow had died years ago, yet here he sat, badly burned from the collision with the helicarrier and the building, but breathing, which you personally found insulting. 

“You sure you don’t want to tell us anything?” Steve asked, leaning on the table, trying to tempt the man to speak. He didn’t say anything and first, but then his eyes moved, and they met yours. The coin stopped dead in the air as a chill ran down your spine, though you didn’t break eye contact. 

“Now that you mention it… Y/N-” He started. Natasha moved to stand in front of you, arms crossed, glaring at him. Steve turned and looked at you, motioning his head for you to leave the room. You didn’t budge. You had to be here- control the situation. 

“Y/N. Out. Now.” Steve ordered, voice low and quiet, but demanding. You swallowed, grabbing the coin from the air, and leaving the room. You took a step to join the others, but you felt the bile rising in your throat, and instead you turned on your heel, going to find somewhere quiet, and the first place that came to mind was the bathroom. 

The rest of the team remained focussed on the interrogation, their intention peaked since he started speaking. “How well do you know Y/N? You sure you should just let them walk around?” He teased them, making eye contact with Romanoff, whose arms were still crossed and presented unphased. 

“We’re here to talk about your crimes, not for you to try and re-traumatise our friend.” Steve scolded, pasing across the room slowly.

“My crimes? What about theirs?” He laughed. Silence fell on the room. 

“What does he mean?” Bruce inquired in a whisper from the other side of the glass, glancing at his friends, who seemed just as confused. “Weren’t they an experiment?” 

“Yeah, they were, that’s how we found them.” Clint confirmed, eyes focussed through the glass. 

“Elaborate.” Natasha demanded sternly. 

“They never told you?” He teased her with a grin. “They’re one of ours. Always was, always will be. Our ears from the inside. Our own Agent Garbo.”

“You’re telling me Y/N is a double agent?” Steve asked. Rumlow only grinned, leaning back in his seat. Him and Natasha shared a look, before they made for the door. “Someone get agents to watch him. Where’s Y/N?” 

You sat on the floor of the stall, trying to calm yourself. You already had an idea on what Rumlow was cooking, knowing if they didn’t let him mess with your head, he’d mess with theirs, pinning you against each other, and you didn’t know what would be the best way to deal with it and resolve the manipulation. This could permanently poison your relationship with your only friends. Your only family.

You heard the door open to the bathroom, and you held your breath, knowing this was it. You tucked your legs closer to you, squeezing your calves, as several footsteps were heard on the tiles. “Y/N?” You heard Tony’s voice call, and you gulped. You hesitated for a moment, before reaching up, unlocking the stall door, letting the door fall open, and it wasn’t long till the entrance to the stall was surrounded by your teammates staring down at you, their expressions ranged. Confused, sad, hurt, angry… “We need you to come with us.” 

You didn’t fight them, standing up, letting Clint grab your arm and escort you through the base, surrounded by the other Avengers, no one speaking, and you knew quickly they were leading you to a holding cell. As you got closer, you turned to Steve. “What did he tell you?” Steve didn’t face you at first, but as Clint shoved you to keep moving, he did, but you didn’t get a chance to read his expression before you were put into the cell, void of any windows or view of the outside, and you looked up at the camera in the corner, before taking a seat on the harsh bed. 

It wasn’t long till you heard the team arguing. It was mostly muffled beyond comprehension, but every so often someone, usually Tony, Thor, or Steve, would raise their voice loud enough to be heard. “Betrayed” “Double agent” and “Liar” Were words you heard frequently, as well as other mumbles, and you were able to gather an idea of what Rumlow had told them. That you were a double agent, a backstabber to the Avengers, the most successful plant and informant that HYDRA had, and for the last few years you had been playing them like fools. Your chest felt tight, trying to figure out what to do, getting up, pacing back and forth as you listened to them argue. You didn’t know who hated you, wanted you dead, or who wanted to hear you out or straight up was on your side. You weren’t sure if any of them were, and if it was just an argument of how to deal with you; a trial or an immediate execution? Was Natasha going to simply walk in and shoot you dead? If a trial is held, what court would hear it? What can you do to defend yourself? It’s Rumlow against you. 

The yelling stopped, and you immediately noticed. There were faint mumbles, but nothing concrete, and then your door opened, making you flint. In stepped Fury. “Agent.” He greeted stoically. You straightened up, head lowered, hands at your side. “Would you mind if we speak alone?” 

“Sir I don’t think-” You heard Vision start, before Fury turned to face out of the door, a glare enough to silence them, before he turned to you. 

“Or would you like them here?” 

“Just us please.” You requested quietly. You didn’t know why you didn’t want them here, force to listen to your side with Fury keeping them under check, but as he entered the room, closing the door behind him, you realised why. You knew you were going to have to talk about what happened, and you didn’t want them to know. 

“Rumlow’s spun a story depicting you as a double agent.” He commented. 

“I heard.” You confirmed, remaining stiff, though you now looked up at him. He met your eyes, before glancing up at the camera, not moving his head, a silent comment. They were watching. 

“Would you mind going over what’s true and what’s not?” He asked you. You nodded, trying to relax your shoulders, though your fists were clenched, along with your jaw. “Are you a double agent?” 

“I was previously.” You admitted. 

“When was that?” 

“Several years ago.” You responded, keeping eye contact with Fury. 

“Can you elaborate for me?” 

“I was a civilian at the time, but I kept up with what was happening with the Avengers and their enemy, HYDRA. I did my own research into them, and after a lot of digging, I found a way into their ranks. I took it.” 

“So you worked for HYDRA?” 

“Correct.” 

“Why did you join them?” Fury asked, moving to lean on the wall, and cross his arms. He was calm, relaxed, his voice monotone and calm, though you understood- you two had had this exact conversation many years ago- when he questioned you after the team pulled you from that HYDRA base. It didn’t make it any easier for you though, your hands shaking, reliving everything in that moment. 

“So I could give information to SHIELD.” You responded, your voice starting to shake. 

“So you were a double agent, a spy, but a spy for us?” 

“Correct, sir.” 

“Even though we didn’t hire or train you to do so? You went in without a back up or team behind you to swoop in, in the case you were found out?” He asked. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak as you nodded. “What information did you provide us in that time?” 

“I leaked details on experiments and projects. The Forest Project, the Kingston Project- that was me. I supplied SHIELD with the names of cover groups they were using to hire people- the same way I found my way in, so they could be stopped to weaken their numbers… I helped roughly 70 prisoners escape… the number passes me, I didn’t keep documentation so there was no trail.” You admitted. 

“82, actually, I had Romanoff track them down and get a status update on them to make sure they’re safe. They are. Several have families now. I didn’t tell Romanoff who it was who freed them, just told her it was an anonymous agent.” Fury confirmed. You smiled to yourself at that, even though knowing Fury just on purpose let slip that he already knew all this information about you, that you’d already discussed this a long time ago. Still, he continued. “Then they found out what you were doing.” 

“That’s right.” 

“What did they do to you, Y/N?” He asked. This was the hardest part. It always was, even back then. It took several hours for you to admit everything to Fury from that hospital bed, and while you were stronger now, more mentally healed, being able to tell your team bits and pieces over the years, dropping it all at your feet right now was just as hard as it was back then. 

“They turned me into their experiment. I’d freed several of their guinea pigs, so all those tests that were prepped for them was used on me, all at once… it hurt. A lot. Sometimes I’ll still feel the needles, the incisions, the burning, the effects like when it was really happening, even years later. After they were done, those did their usual torture techniques- I later found out it was the exact same techniques they used on James to break him. Eventually, the effects of the experiments showed. Some were a failure, but some succeeded… its how I ended up like this.” You expressed, pulling the old coin Steve had given you long ago, letting it float in your fingers, before you placed the coin on the bed, and hugged yourself. “With the healing factor… the torture became worse… knowing they could rip me apart and I’d grow it back and be ready for the next round in just a few hours… there was no point to it. No end goal. They were just punishing me for what I did. For crossing them… I think they probably had goals of breaking me like James and making me another weapon, but that was several years down the line… several more years until I broke.” 

“But that didn’t happen. Because we raided the base and found you there.” Fury finished, and you nodded, only now feeling the salt in your mouth from your tears, sniffing and trying to rub away the tears, your whole body shaking. “And despite it all, you still wanted to do the right thing, and decided to become an official agent for us, and eventually an Avenger. The only person you’ve told exactly what happened to you to being me, since it only matters that I know the full story, until now.” Fury moved from leaning against the wall, walking over and standing in front of you, resting a hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry you’ve had to relive that experience to prove your innocence and loyalty to your team. Hill is waiting outside, she’ll drive you home. You take as much time as you need to heal from this again. I’ll handle the team and make sure they don’t cause more damage.”

“What about Rumlow?” You asked. 

“I’ll make sure he pays for what he did to both Barnes, and you, everyone else he’s harmed. He isn’t seeing the light of day for the rest of his life, I promise. You’ve done good kid, now go rest.” He told you. The door opened, Hill stepping inside. You silently walked to her, head low as she guided you out, passed your silent team who stared at you, not even knowing what to say as Hill escorted you out. When you were out of the room, Fury stepped out the cell, looking pointedly at the team. 

“You knew this the entire time?” Natasha asked. 

“That I did. I know all your secrets, and it never should have happened that I had to expose Y/N’s biggest secret, especially like that!” He snapped at them, making several flinch. “Why would you believe Rumlow in a situation like this? In the middle of an interrogation? When he is known for being good at causing inner conflict in the team, pitting people against each other, and getting into people’s heads. The second he tried to put attention on an agent who you knew had a history with HYDRA- especially one which involves torture and trauma- you should have shut him up, not heard him out!”

“We know. We’re sorry.” Tony apologised. 

“Not me you should be apologising to, Stark.” Fury reminded. Everyone at that point looked like a kicked puppy, heads low, uncomfortable, but mostly upset and disturbed at what they’d heard. “Do not, and I repeat, do NOT, go and bother Y/N, they were talk to you when they’re ready. They don’t trust you right now, and I don’t blame them. I’m temporarily taking them off the Avenger’s initiative until they feel like they can work with you again. In the meantime, you lot better think of the best way to make up for all of this for when they decide to come back.” 

“IF, they come back.” Thor corrected.

“I would say if, but I know them. Like stated in there, they still want to do good and help SHIELD. They’ll come back, it might not be back to the Avengers, but they’ll come back to SHIELD at least.” Fury told them. “Now stop moping around and deal with Rumlow- and don’t believe a word he says unless you can fact-check!” He ordered. The team nodded, forcing themselves back into work mode, and trying to continue with their work, even if they were all haunted, though now they were a lot more angry at the smug man in the interrogation room. 

Hope you like it! If you have any questions, please send them in!

*Not my gif

TAGS: @klanceiscannon14 @marvelhoeingismyhobby-blog @bellamyblakemorley @dummiesshort  @freyathehuntress @abbybills22-blog @mutantjediavenger @theoraekensnotsosecretlover @alicedanganh @sleutherclaw @sleepy-coffee-bean @stawwpp @hello-love-youre-pretty @werosemagic  @courtneychicken  @graysonmalfoy @bellero @originalpottervengerlock @supernatural-pan @esoltis280 @lady-of-lies @lenaswritingandstuff @macbetheliza @mandywholock1980 @cdwmtjb8 @caswinchester2000 @determinedpines@huntheimpossible @automaticbakeryfreakshoe

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An Empty Vessel pt.2 (Dabi x Fem!Reader Dark Angst)

A/N: Happy holidays my lovely toes. I am so sorry for this delay, my laptop broke down 😃😃. I urge you all to read the TWs and CWs because I have delved into dark topics. As always, my Ask Box is open for any requests or just a conversation. I absolutely adore all of you, and I want to take this time to thank you guys for your support. Seeing your comments and messages motivates me to write :) <3. Please remember to take care of yourselves, and enjoy. As always, I would love to see your thoughts in the comments :). TW: Vague sexual harassment, substance abuse (weed, alcohol, smoking), death and bleeding. CW: SPOILER: Season 6, Dabi’s backstory, PFL, AFO and Shigiraki plot, swearing, vague mentions of intimate acts. Taglist: @marlenemckinnonsleftfoot @sukunasleftkneecap @istoleyourmanho3 @witherfag Masterlist Edit: Part 3 😼😼 Word Count: 2919. Summary: In the stories Rei used to read him, heroes always won. Reality wasn���t a story though. The villains won the Meta Liberation War after 6 years of fighting. With the death of Pro Hero Endeavour, and the reign of All For One, Dabi could finally leave his past as Touya Todoroki. He no longer had family. But what about the past that haunted him to this day. A family that belonged to Dabi, not Touya? One that escaped unborn?

——————————————————————————————————

Musutafu, Japan– it made international headlines. 

The Paranormal Liberation Force finally did it. 

The nation observed a minute of silence for the fall of Pro Hero Endeavour. 

Musutafu was now all for one. And the entire nation would soon suffer the same fate. 

Dabi stretched his neck to the left, stretching his right shoulder as he fought the growing tingles in his body. Chills ran up and down his spine as his eyes followed the tears of rain flooding the dimly-lit road.

He loved how empty this street was: no cars, no news reporters. There were no signs of nagging parents and their brat children, and there were no heroes patrolling the streets, strutting up and down like they owned the place.  

It was just him and the soft sound of the rain which seeped into his socks, staining them with the remains of what was now All For One’s headquarter city. 

Dabi wished to hear the familiar croak of Tomura’s voice: the back and forth banter, the late-night clicks of the video game console. Back when it was just them, the League of Villains. Tomura, Kurogiri, Toga, Twice, and him. Back when he didn’t ruin everything. 

Dabi never told anyone, but there was a tiny part of his soul that withered away when he was near All For One. 

Dabi felt small. He was 5’9; he never felt small. 

But that thing would always tower over him. His slimy touch was forcefully ingrained into Dabi’s skin— that thing touched him like he owned Dabi. 

And Dabi hated the way his mind memorised the way All For One used his crooked fingers to tilt Dabi’s head up to inspect him. 

“Oh he’s a little doll isn’t he, Tomura? Where do you find these pretty boys?”

He hated the way All For One laughed after; it was a broken wheeze that rang murder in Dabi’s mind. 

He watched as All For One forced Tomura to laugh with him, and Tomura’s apologetic eyes wavered when he looked back at Dabi. 

He hated Tomura for laughing that day. 

But he hated that laugh much more; the laugh that tainted the fresh air they stood in. 

Now, Musutafu’s entire air was tainted by that laugh. 

Now… Musutafu belonged to All For One. And Dabi could only hear that broken wheeze. 

It would follow him everywhere. 

So despite the rain’s destructive nature, Dabi allowed the weeping drops of the sky to fill the emptiness inside of him. The cool drops were better than the air. 

Dabi was just an empty vessel. Nowhere to go, no one to go back to. 

-

The Meta Liberation War quenched everyone’s thirst for blood. The dirt was saturated with the blood of heroes and villains alike. 

He found it amusing, he really did as he bore his vacant eyes into the rusting ground. Dabi watched as everyone’s blood mixed together under his foot. 

He raised his eyebrows, and chuckled.

‘All it took was death for them to stick together’. 

Dabi travelled further away from the battle ground, quite deliberate about the steps he took. He counted underneath a shallow breath.

“Fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven,” until he reached the sixty-second step. 

His heel pressed against the seeping soil surging scarlet. 

And the world was still. 

So still and silent that the gentle wind snuck up on the thin man, and he let out a broken gasp as his knees gave out. 

The ringing in his ear struck a bitter note. His chest heaved up and down, up and down, and his eyes were blankly fixed on the ground beneath him. Thick, warm blood oozed through the thin cloth that covered his knees. 

Enji Todoroki finally died. And Touya Todoroki was responsible for it. 

Touya Todoroki, after 7 years of persistent efforts, was officially fatherless. 

Finally, it dawned upon him: after 30 long years, Touya Todoroki couldn’t chase him anymore. He could finally find solace in Dabi. 

And Dabi was alone. He had no family. 

-

As the joint finally caught up to him, after four or five rookie puffs, the raven man started asking himself what he was doing here. 

Surrounded by a group of homeless men who he caught rummaging in the dumpster, they were huddled away into the darkness of a dimly lit alleyway. It smelled like shit, offending his heightened state of smell. Flies picked on the waste scattered below them, their constant buzz creating a monotonous flow. 

Dabi peeled his lips open as he felt each individual cell respire on his skin. His heart felt like it was growing inside of him, puncturing his dry lungs, getting louder and faster with each beat.

As a young boy, he saw Enji drink every evening for two years. Dabi used to sneak a sip when he was alone. Dabi was often alone. 

He caught Enji with a lit cigarette in his fingers. Dabi stole one and showed it to his friends. Dabi coughed a lot that day. 

Enji never touched drugs. He was against it. 

Dabi never took drugs; the thought of it never passed him. 

“How does it feel kid?” 

Dabi’s consciousness was dragged back to reality, the bleak colours of his surroundings painting a vibrant picture. 

“I can feel my skin breathing,” he responded, his lower jaw hanging open as he struggled to keep his neck straight. 

Howls of laughter echoed in the distance, but the scarred man took no notice. 

The joint was held to his lips, and Dabi took another puff. 

Dabi wanted to individually itch the surface of his eyes with his nails. It was miserable. 

But the ripple of the individual muscles in his cheeks felt so warm and happy when he smiled. That was less miserable. 

So he kept on smiling, jaw still gaping. His staples pulled against his grafts, but the molecular traces of marijuana in his bloodstream shielded him from the pain. 

Dabi was taken aback– gravity was working exponentially harder against him. A man touched the corner of his lips, the thick and coarse pad of his thumb sending him back, seven years ago.

Oh he’s a little doll isn’t he, Tomura?

“Boy”, the man slurred, “you’re bleeding.”

He shoved his bloodied thumb in Dabi’s face. 

Dabi struggled to focus his gaze on the thumb in front of him, switching between double and triple vision. 

“Can’t feel it,” he mumbled, his reactions delayed as he scooted away from the stranger. 

“Everything’s breathing except these.”

Dabi was mesmerised by the feeling of his grafts against the pads of his fingers. It restored the faint twinkle in his hollow eyes.  

“Why are you all fucked up everywhere, boy?”

It took a few moments to register, but Dabi did respond. 

“Useless mom, dick dad.” 

A unison of delayed ahhhs followed, and Dabi began to feel a knocking pressure trapped in the inner corners of his wide eyes.

“I was never his first choice,” Dabi chuckled. He wasn’t sure if they could hear him. They sure as hell couldn’t understand him, but he was fine with that. 

“I was his first born son. No fuckin’ use. Dropped me like I was a waste of time and money.” 

The offensive smell of the blunt dug him further away from reality. Dabi was content with his own company. 

It would always be just him, forever and always. Because after everyone leaves, you’re left with yourself– your only support. 

The more he delved into his loneliness, the louder he heard his skin breathe, it was deafening. And so the silence on his graft became even louder. 

For a man who was considered dead all his life, Dabi wasn’t used to his living body. Senses upon senses, he was bombarded with the constant reminder that he was still alive. Even his dead, unresponsive skin felt alive. Because it was the absence of feeling that felt different. 

-

Many people would describe euphoria as extreme feelings of bliss and joy. It was this boxed definition that led Dabi to believe that he could never feel euphoria. But in this moment, whilst Dabi sunk deeper into his conscience– his doubts finally quiet, time finally stopped. 

And his body finally let go. 

The familiar bud of the joint met his mouth again, and he inhaled the noxious fumes until he smoked his fears away into the midst of the neverending clouds in the night sky. The full moon gleamed down on his pale skin, bathing his grafts in a lunar embrace. 

Unlike the sun, which beat its scorching rays on his sensitive skin, the moon shyly kissed it, leaving trails of beautiful markings that soothed his aches. 

Dabi’s heart was working overtime. Blood rushed to his scalp, and his body completely shut down. There was one name that his heart called for. 

A name that belonged to the past. The moon shyly casted a glow on that face too, but it averted its lunar eyes when Dabi defiled his past, leaving trails of burns that caused her aches. 

He was wrong. 

Touya Todoroki, after 7 years of persistent efforts, had no family.  

But Dabi? 

Dabi had a family. 

-

Dabi woke up to blue skies and a gentle sun peeking behind the stained curtains. His body was sprawled on the tiny bed, his limbs spilling out the sides, here and there. He blindly groped for his phone in the midst of thin sheets, switching it on to check the time. 

09:23 AM. 

He groaned and threw a dark shirt on top of his eyes, blocking the obnoxious sun as he squirmed to find his sleep. 

Moments passed and all he could focus on was the neverending tick of the clock in the corridor. 

“Fuck it.”

Dabi slipped on some shirt, and put on some shoes, and slammed the door when he left. 

09:36 AM. 

No wonder he could hear the tick, the corridor was ghost-quiet. 

Routinely, Dabi heaved himself over to the bar, scanning the counter for a quick shot.

09:41 AM. 

Toga walked inside the lair, her hands hidden inside the cuffs of her cardigan. Dabi nodded at her as he let out a yawn. 

“Everyone die or summin’?”

Toga stared at him, her eyes glazed. 

Dabi immediately straightened up. 

“Wait, did they actua-”

“She’s gone.”

09:49 AM.

Dabi’s jaw tensed up, gripping the shot glass tighter. 

“Who’s gon-”

His body was jolted back into the counter, the loud glass shrieking as it fell from his hands. 

“Don’t you dare Dabi. Don’t you fucking dare.”

Her eyes were red. Her fist was clenched around the loose cloth that hung on him. 

Dabi averted his eyes from Toga, releasing a shallow breath. 

Toga’s chest hiccuped underneath her cardigan, and she hid her face into his chest, staining it with stale tears. 

“She’s gone,” she repeated, a broken record.  

Dabi clasped his arms around her, his hands patting her head. 

09:59 AM. 

“She left.” 

-

Dabi reached for the flask hidden in his inner pockets. Bony fingers struggled to open it, fine tremors running through his bones. 

‘Twenty-one, twenty, nineteen, eighteen…’ 

Door number eighteen. A few strides away. But the growing feeling of heaviness in Dabi’s feet warned him: it was going to be a marathon. 

Countless strangers pointed at the lone man in a tattered, thick jacket. Dabi grasped at the wire fence that separated the long stretches of the park and pavement, muttering something underneath his breath.

The sight of free cars strolling past him caught him off guard every single time. He had no sense of time, no sense of direction. 

He was far, far away from Musutafu. 

Here, the air felt fresher. 

It wouldn’t be long before it was infested either. 

But he had to owe All For One some credit. 

His reign of terror gave the PLF members a huge leverage when it came to accessing government files. 

Dabi flipped through piles of kojin bangō, particularly scanning through documents of 27 year-old mothers, registered births and quirk-hybrids, and a certain family name. 

He found everyone’s name, everyone’s identity; no one was safe. 

Yet the name his eyes yearned for was nowhere in sight. 

Countless days and nights were spent silently begging for a lead. On day 18, Dabi finally left the building, clutching onto a piece of paper close to his heart. 

Saira Uchiyama. 

Names didn’t match, but it was the only name that he could trace her back to. 

Dabi took the final steps up the road, feeling lighter than he had in days. 

It was on his right. There was but a sliver of road that separated Dabi and door number eighteen. 

His fingers started picking at the ripping cuticles on his nail bed, and the grown man started to track his breaths. 

He took a step. 

A car honked at him. 

“Watch where you’re going!”

Dabi didn’t draw back. 

He took another step, and another, and another. One more, maybe two. 

He could feel the gravel underneath his boots. Dabi lifted his broken face and a perfect house stared down at him. Pristine brick walls stood proud; the bright toned paint complimented the thriving flora in the yard. It fit in so well with the lines of houses, strong and shielded. 

This was someone’s home. Bonsai trees armed the right side of the yard, some trimmed, others growing wild. 

There were two floors and a garage; more than enough for a perfect family. 

Dabi was stopped by the fence gates that guarded the perimeters. He struggled to get past. 

Encrusted in metal, his eyes laid upon the name beside the door. 

Engraved in gold letters, it read Uchiyama.

He was a step away from Saira Uchiyama’s front door. 

Dabi’s hand reached towards the door handle, but he stopped when he felt the unwelcoming chill of it. 

He eyed the doorbell instead. He fisted his hand that was itching to press it. 

The drowning noises of children’s laughter bled through his skull from the park that was behind him. The drones of parents buying ice cream, and husbands holding their wives’ hands. This was the type of neighbourhood he was in. 

And someone told him. Since when did Dabi develop the need to preserve this? 

He was a lone man, half dead. He was disgusting. He couldn’t find her name. Now he was outside some poor woman’s house. Saira Uchiyama. How would she feel seeing a decaying man waiting outside her front door? How would her husband feel if some uninvited scarred freak asked to meet his wife, hands empty? 

He felt a thick substance roll past his cheek and drip onto the clean welcome mat. 

Dabi pushed his raven locks out of his eyes, biting onto his knuckles as he struggled to maintain a steady breath

His nails moved to pick at the staples underneath his eyes. 

He couldn’t do this. 

‘I can’t fucking do this.’

Through his bloodied waterline, he looked at the doorbell one more time before turning around. 

He couldn’t fucking do this. Dabi didn’t belong here. 

He tried to move forwards but his legs were shackled to the pebbly footpath. His rhythmic heart couldn’t let go. His twisted mind forced him to go. 

His desperate eyes latched onto the bed of perfect flowers on his right. 

Like an open flame, the flowers stole all his attention. Dabi stilled. 

Their indigo petals mirrored the deep colour of his dead skin. He was entranced by the bold opening, the beautiful colour bleeding out and reflecting the glimmering hope that built up in his cerulean eyes. 

-

“What’s your favourite flower Dabi?” Toga asked as she played with her blunt knife, running her thumb across the blade. 

“Typ’a fucking qustion’s that?” 

“God Dabi, don’t you know how to have a civilised conversation with someone. I’m just trying to get to know you better!”

“And asking my favourite flower’s gonna do that?”

“It’s called small talk, Dabi.”

He scoffed, pushing past the young girl to rummage through the cabinets. 

From the corner of his eyes, he picked up on her amber eyes intently pressing him for an answer. 

“For fucks sake. Fine. I’ll do your little small talk”, he gave in, evoking a small squeal from the blonde. 

Dabi considered her question for a minute, pressing his tongue against his cheeks. 

“I saw these flowers once,” he gulped. “They were blue, kinda like flames. My flames. I saw ‘em in one’a those gated areas. I guess they were pretty nice.” 

Toga pursed her lips and tilted her head to the side as she tried to paint a picture in her head. 

“Do you know what they’re called?”

“The fuck would I know? Probably one of those fancy rich flowers grown by fancy rich people,”, he shrugged. 

“I’ll ask the newbie, she’ll know what they are.”

“Have fun talkin’ to lil’ miss know-it-all,” he scoffed, happy as Toga skipped away, leaving him alone. Finally. 

A week later, Dabi found out what they were called as he was sharing a cigarette on the roof. 

“By the way, they’re called Rindou flowers.” 

Dabi quirked up an eyebrow, his lips curled in a sneer. 

“Those flowers you like, they’re called Rindou.”

Dabi’s ears perked up at the small giggle that followed. 

“I guess I could say being ‘miss know-it-all’ isn’t the worst thing, huh?” 

-

Dabi’s chest heaved as he turned around, his pace fast as his hands inched closer to the doorbell. 

Ring. 

The wind stilled. 

He could hear footsteps run down the stairs. 

Click. 

The handle moved. 

The door creaked open. 

It was 09:59 AM. 

——————————————————————————————————

Keep a look out for Part 3, my angst-loving toes. If you would like me to add you to the taglist, please comment or message me :).

Edit: Part 3