#my cowardly beloved

[kozuki-hiyori]

Usopp's character arc between Alabasta and Enies Lobby, my beloved

(Sorry, I've been re-reading OP over the course of the past few months and his progression really sticks out... although, maybe that's just my love of him)

Obvi, he joins the crew as such a coward, we all know that (gotta love him for that too) But after speaking to the giants in Alabasta he really does grow!! The fight with him and Chopper against Mrs. Merry Christmas and Mr. 4 (and their dog) with that first instance of bravery that is really, really him standing up and deciding to be brave for his crew (even if that bravery only lasted a few seconds) You just can't help but cheer for him!! He's so joke-y all the time and his sudden instances of conviction are briefs, but they're there all the same!! Through Skypeia and Long Ring Long Land, he does at least try to fight and support his crewmates!

And then, of course Water 7!

How all of this bravery he can't find in himself, but is still there, comes crashing down, because he knows he's the most scared and cowardly and is still, truly, weak, and how he worries about being dispensable because of that. How he's the one who gets beat up, again and again, and how his strong connection to the Merry brings this all out. And although he is brave in his persona of Sniper King, he can't quite find the bravery to face his crew without that mask. At least not until he finally asks to rejoin.

It's just so good!! God, I fucking love him!!

[maiko-coy]

More angry vengeful dogday AU but now with a bit of lore because yall seemed to like it--

[staticstratosphere]

fellow objectums, I'd like to bring your attention to this fella

[comfort-clubhouse]

Comfort post of Katz and Le Quack, my most favourite villains from Courage The Cowardly Dog. I'm really happy that they appeared in the Scooby Doo and Courage crossover film. Seeing the two interact with eachother and teaming up. I really love that their dancing together in the ending, it's so adorable. I even felt sorry for Katz due to his face getting pulled by Fred, Daphne and Velma

[fangirling-and-lovin-it]

The double edged sword of ofmd is that it's literally ruined me for other shows and fandoms lol. Also Severance to a degree.

Both shows, within a few months of each other had canon gay ships (multiple queer relationships and characters in ofmd's case) , when I went into them fully expecting (as usual) to be queerbaited . And when the opposite happened I was elated and shocked . But it also gave me hope.

I'm still jaded enough to know that Lokius won't become canon , but wouldnt it be lovely if disney/marvel realised that making it so wouldnt be the brave, bold, and controversial choice they think it is .

It'd just be the obvious one.

[thecruellestmonth]

...no, I still disagree with you.

i've seen the argument. i've seen you and others restate that argument. multiple times. and it's still no more solid than the opposition. 🤷‍♀️

a factual point is that B has destroyed so much more than W ever has, or ever could.

otherwise. you have no right to label people as bigots for not adhering to your headcanon.

[frownyalfred]

wdym this isn't the direct mando'a translation.

[wanderingblindly]

are you the person who catches the spiders or the person who shrieks and stands on the bed

QUESTION ANONS ARE BACK WAR IS OVER

I feel like I look like the one who can catch spiders, but I absolutely panic and hide whenever possible ((living alone is HELL actually))

[imsorryimlate]

wow….. victor truly is a spineless coward of a man, who endlessly centres his own feelings of misery, even over that of an innocent woman condemned to death. but oh no, victor is apparently the real victim here…

and before you get all up in my business trying to defend him, let me say this: i like it! i like him like this, i find him to be incredibly compelling as a character, more than if he’d tried to play the hero

idk how you others feel, but i can’t help but feel like even if victor could somehow get them to believe him, to take the fall for the murder as he briefly considered, he wouldn’t. so far in his story, he’s been very good at minimising his own responsibility and agency, at the same time that he’s blaming himself. it’s a strange and fascinating combination…

[unopenablebox]

tfw an ellis peters book has not one, but two, and perhaps as many as three, noble and well-meaning but ill-used men who have taken up false names and identities, and subsequently come to seek shelter, comfort, and resolve in the neighborhood of the abbey

[firekitten830]

Also can anyone direct me to aus or fics where the spider demons are alive… I’m still bitter about how stupidly they were killed off

[nyrasproblm]

It's like a fever, I'm burning alive

Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: You discover that Rhaenyra went to King's Landing and things don't go well.

Word Count: 1,3K

Warning: ANGST, mentions of war, mentions of deaths, mentions of betrayal, mentions of child deaths, power imbalance, brief sex, nipple sucking, lesbian sex.

note: this story is new and is also available on my AO3.

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE.

You hurriedly walked through the halls, holding the skirt of your simple dress. Your heart was pounding harder and harder and your anxiety didn't lessen when you saw one of the doors to the Queen's chambers in Dragonstone. Giving a nod of complicity to the royal guard, you opened the heavy door and looked around restlessly, looking for any sign of silver hair, but in vain, the place was empty.

Placing your hands over your chest to try and calm the pounding of your heart, you began to pace from side to side, your vision becoming blurred by the tears that began to appear. This couldn't be happening, she couldn't have been so foolish to consider doing something like that.

She went to King's Landing. Accompanied only by a guard.

The information came from Elinda and you still couldn't believe what your Queen had done. She was not the type to take risks without any reason, she made wise and coherent decisions.

You waited for hours, sitting in a place on the floor where you could hardly be seen if the main door to the rooms opened, it got dark and you only realized it when you heard the sound of the door opening. You stood up abruptly to see who it was and sighed in relief when you saw that it was your beloved queen.

Bowing slightly and approached hesitantly, your eyes passing anxiously and desperately over her entire figure, looking for any injuries, the ones she received when Ser Arryk invaded her rooms in a cowardly attack were enough. She looked at you in a mixture of surprise and relief to see you there, as if your presence was a medicine. You frowned when you noticed the septa robes she was wearing.

"Did you really do what I was told you did?" you asked, the knot in your stomach growing with each word that left your mouth. "Did you go see that snake in King's Landing?"

"I needed to talk to Alicent about the latest events, clarify things." She walked across the large room and began taking off her clothes, throwing them on top of one of the dark wooden chairs.

"To clarify?" you asked, the situation sounding unbelievable to your ears. "And what is there to clarify? She took your throne to give to her son."

"Her grandson was murdered in his bed while he slept and she thought I had ordered such a transgression." She was left with just her thin cloth intimate dress, turned to you and held her hands in front of her, twirling her wedding ring nervously. "I couldn't be at peace if–"

"Peace?!" You widen your eyes slightly, in disbelief. "I was there, Rhaenyra, I saw the procession. She was sitting as she was paraded with the corpse of her grandson, do you know what one of the court members said? They called you cruel, a monster, a defiler of the innocent. There is no peace anymore."

She sighed and sat down on the dark lounge chair, turned her face toward the large fireplace and fell silent.

"Her other son murdered your son, Lucerys was a messenger, this is treason." you keep talking. "Don't you understand yet? It's only you who cares, she doesn't care. Aegon doesn't care."

"I made a promise to my father and I intend to keep it, I will not rule with unnecessary killings and deaths." she finally turned to face you again. "Both the Dowager Queen and I have lost loved ones in recent weeks. I thought we could come together in our grief."

You sighed to contain your rising anger. Rhaenyra was too complacent, the greens wouldn't stop until they had her head to govern without her interference and she still didn't see that.

"You could have been killed." you take a few steps and lean on the wooden back of one of the chairs.

"I was careful and took one of the guards with me, no one knew it was me." she kept her purple eyes sharp in your direction.

"You must think you're so smart, but you were just a fool." you found yourself saying. "A fool who clings to the past, a past with a person who was never your friend."

"It is not foolish to seek all ways to peace!" She raises her voice, a few veins poking out slightly on her neck. "Understand me, you know me as well as I know you, don't be gratuitously hostile."

"If you act like a fool then I'll treat you like one!" you raised your voice too, gripping the wood tightly. "The people of King's Landing believe you are a baby killer, they would dismember you if they knew you were there!"

"I'm still your queen, remember that." she spat.

You felt a violent knot in your stomach and took a few steps back, lowering your head, swallowing hard and clasping your hands humbly in front of your body.

"May I go now, Your Grace?" you asked, eyes fixed on the stone floor.

"No." she replied and got up from the lounger, walking in long strides towards you.

She stopped inches from touching your body completely and pulled your hands into hers, they were warm and welcoming, as always. Rhaenyra leans in and rubs the side of her face against yours, her aquiline nose caressing your cheek, you closed your eyes and leaned against her.

"Stand by my side, I have enough people disagreeing with me, all the time." she pulled back and looked at you closely. "I don't want to have arguments with you either."

You looked down at your joined hands, the symbol of your bond with Rhaenyra. You had been by her side for so many years, you didn't want your close relationship to be ruined. You were afraid of losing her in this horrendous war, the constant search for peace could kill her.

"I got scared." You admitted, eyes still fixed on your clasped hands. "I came running as soon as Elinda told me, I was hoping you hadn't done such a thing."

"If I make a decision in the future that is risky, I will have the decency to ask you what you think first." She said and you looked up, locking your eyes with hers.

"No need to do that, Your Grace." you caress her slender fingers. "Seek peace, if that is what torments you, but do not perish along the way."

She nodded slightly and kept her eyes fixed on your face, smiled slightly and tilted her face even closer to yours.

"I miss you so much, you haven't been here often." she says, voice turning velvety.

She didn't need to say anything else, you tilted your face up and pressed your lips against hers, your eager tongue invading your dragon queen's mouth in a hurry, you kissed your lover hungrily until she ran out of air, your desperate hands tracing the slim curves beneath the almost transparent nightgown. Your mouth didn't stop when you pulled away for air, you continued trailing kisses across her face, down to her neck.

You bit and kissed her milky skin neck, and continued moving down until you reached her favorite part, but she pulled away and you looked at her in confusion.

"Not standing, to bed." she said breathlessly and you hurriedly pulled her towards the bed, laid her down and leaned on your elbows on top of her.

Rhaenyra took the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders, exposing her breasts to you. She lay down completely and looked at you expectantly. You let out a soft moan as you saw your beloved queen expose herself to you.

You leaned forward and pulled her right breast into your mouth, then pinched her nipples with your lips, your tongue grazing against the sensitive, hard nipple. She couldn't help but whimper. She put her hands on the back of your head and pulled you into her chest.

You buried your face in her breasts, you could spend your whole life pleasuring your queen.

[comfort-clubhouse]

AUGHHHH💕💕 I CAN'T HELP BUT LOVE THOSE CUTIES!!! I love absolutely everything about these two lil guys! These two make a perfect crime duo with Katz as the intelligent, evil mastermind leader and Le Quack as the cunning, mischievous second in command. I wanna give them all the hugs and the love they both need

[overly-dramatic-artist]

✨ 👠 🌈 FNAF Wizard of Oz AU 🌈 👠 ✨

The Wicked promos have reignited my deep, deep love for Oz-ian lore, so naturally I had to combine that with my new love of FNAF…specifically our favorite beloved gangly-limbed sunny-dispositioned celestial robot with the sweet and goofy Scarecrow 💖

Aside from Sun and Moon as the Scarecrow, there is Monty the Tin-Woodsman-Gator, Freddy the Cowardly Bear, Chica the Good Witch of the North, Roxanne the Wicked Witch of the West, William Afton as the Wonderful Wizard, and into the deeper Oz lore we have Cassie as Princess Ozma of Oz

[bandgie]

Wish Upon a Genie

boypussy!han x girldick!reader

warnings! MDNI 18+, pussyjob, pussy play (m!), reader and han are virgins technically?, no penetration, handjob, domish reader, subby han, feminization (obvi he has a clit now), PIV implied

notes! intro is inspired by BIG. also im aware some people are uncomfortable with this type of writing and that's okay! just scroll :)

3.6k words

It stares back at you. Unblinking. Unmoving. Out of all the little gimmicks and arcade games at the carnival, it was this one, without a plug-in or light, that called to you. You’re not quite sure why. Maybe it was the silly hat with a feather poking out from it for extra effect. Maybe it was the fact that the machine lacked any sort of light to indicate that it was on. There isn’t a wrong or necessarily a right answer to the question, but the fact that you’re drawn to it remains. 

Jisung clings to your side, using your body as a shield from the animatronic that stares back at you two soullessly. “This is freaky. Can we check something else out?”

You roll your eyes, tilting your head to look at your beloved, but cowardly lover. “Don’t you wanna get your fortune read?” But Jisung shakes his head rapidly. “No! I wanna go on the Ferris wheel and eat funnel cake. Not get cursed by some…genie. That doesn’t even have an outlet, by the way.” Jisung points to the plug-in that isn’t connected to anything. “How are we even gonna play?”

Reaching into your pocket you take out your wallet and peer inside. It only takes a few seconds to find the shiny coin.

You hold it up in front of his face. “With this. It’s probably battery-operated anyway. The cord is just for show.” Jisung eyes the metal worriedly, his eyes widening in fear. “Baby! Don’t do that. Come on! I’ll buy you two snowcones.” Rather than taking his deal, you give him a wicked smile.

“Make a wish, baby.”

“I don’t want to!” His plump lips turn into a pout. Jisung fakes determination against your stare, but it takes less than ten seconds for him to cave into your sick joke. “Fine. I wish you weren’t such a dick sometimes.”

That sputters a chuckle from you, leaning down to insert the coin into the machine’s slot. “And I wish you weren’t such a pussy.”

Magic erupts from the machine. The genie comes to life, light shining from every space behind the glass. Its eyes glow yellow, smoke coming from its mouth as it booms with laughter. “Mwuahaha…”

Jisung squeals, rushing to hide behind your figure as the animatronic, not so fluidly, turns its head left and right before it settles on you two. Even you, who had the idea to play this game anyway, recoils in surprise. Jisung hugs you close to him, breathing heavily into your neck until goosebumps form on your skin.

Ding!

Both of you look down to see a single card sticking out, old and yellowed. You look back at Jisung who only looks back at you. His eyes say it all, don’t read it. But of course, being that pissing off your boyfriend is your favorite hobby, you do.

He whines when you quickly snatch the card from the machine’s card slot. Just as abruptly it lit with life, the animatronic shut down. You adjust yourself until Jisung’s chin is tucked into your shoulder, staring at the slip of paper until you turn it over.

Your wish is my command.

-

The first thing you feel when you blink your sleepy eyes open is pressure in areas you normally don’t feel pressure. You excuse the sensation as two things:

One: you’re still half-asleep and the sun’s not even up yet Two: the carnival was a bust

Jisung must have bought rotten funnel cakes. The moment you two got your dessert, a wave of pain coursed through your systems. It felt like a pounding headache through your limbs. The Uber back home was embarrassing. More than once did your driver think you two were frolicking in the backseat of his car, but every time he turned around, he was surprised to see you two hunched over groaning with pain.

The aching turned into tiredness as you struggled with the front door. You wanted to at least make it to your bed before you collapsed, but black spots began to appear in your vision that made you find comfort on the living room couch instead. Jisung was only a step behind you, whining and yawning before he finally found sleep squeezed beside you on the sofa. 

Now you’re waking up in arms, trying to figure out why your crotch is so stiff.

Fuck, did you piss yourself?

You reach downwards to feel for wetness, but you let out a squeak when you feel hardness. You snatch your hand away quickly as if you’ve burned yourself. No. No, that can’t be right. How can Jisung’s hard-on be on your side? That doesn’t make sense. And you’re sure that insane pressure is coming from you. 

Again, you snake your hand down, slow and steady. Using your stomach as a guide, you trail lower before you feel your pelvis, your thighs, and horrifyingly, a cock. 

Jisung startles awake to your frantic movements. He sees your blurry figure sitting up, staring down at your thighs with your shoulders shuddering as if you’re shaking. “Baby?” He croaks. “What’s up?”

Your dick. Your dick is what’s up. It stands proud, throbbing, and leaky. Even though you could feel your erection through the material of your pants, you still couldn’t believe it. You shrugged off your pants in a haste, uncaring how your flailing limbs woke up your sleeping boyfriend. It was when you saw the head of the cock- the head of your cock easily straining against your underwear that you realized how real this was.

Words are far from you now. All you can do is uselessly open and close your mouth. If you keep blinking, maybe it’ll go away. Maybe all that pre-cum staining your pretty, girly underwear will magically disappear and you’ll wake up from this strange dream. You feel a warm hand on your shoulder, making you jump. Jisung’s saying something. His words sound like static in your ears, but you manage to make out the worriedness in his voice. Then the static suddenly stops and you know he’s staring at the very thing you’re looking at. 

“Is it real?” You just have to make sure. Even if you can undeniably feel every vein and twitch, you just have to. 

Jisung doesn’t say anything. A beat of silence passes before the same hand that rested on your shoulder comes to the space between your thighs. He squeezes your cock, tugging it downwards and back up to cover the tip with the palm of his hand. 

You cry out, hips bucking and you moan pathetically. The pleasure that coursed through your body was so familiar, so used to what you already know, but it’s unexplainably different. You smack Jisung’s hand, hissing as you say, “What the fuck?! Don’t touch it!” But he doesn’t move his hand. Jisung doesn't as much as flinch when you lightly slap him. Instead, his grip tightens. You can’t help but lean down just a tiny bit to allow him access to your new organ, hand pumping you at a steady pace.

It’s been less than a minute, but you feel what you think is an impending orgasm. Your balls - holy shit you have a sack - tense and relax. The tip begins to leak so much more and you briefly think how Jisung was ever able to last more than a minute inside you. You moan, throwing your head back and curling your toes. Just a little longer, just a little tighter, and a little faster and you’ll cum all over your undies and Jisung’s hand. That doesn’t happen though, not when your boyfriend unwraps his fingers from you to reach for himself.

Jisung shrugs off his own pants as you whine, quickly shimmying down his boxers. You can’t help but scoff at him freeing himself, ignoring how much your cock aches from being accidentally edged. “Are you really about to compare dick sizes right now?” However, there’s no tent in his briefs that you’re sure would be there. Not even as he’s nude from the waist down do you see any indication of the cock you’ve sucked on, but a cunt. Between the lower lips, his clit peeks out cutely, shiny with arousal. 

“I woke up before you, just for a little bit.” His eyes are wide. “I…I thought it was just a dream. I went back to sleep and then you woke up and…” He doesn’t need to finish the rest. Turns out this swap of cock and cunt is mutual.

Worried. He’s worried. Even with his hand slick with your juices and his pussy glistening in the dim light of the TV, he’s scared. You brush your nose against his, pecking his cheek soothingly. “It’s okay. I’m scared too.” You take his soiled hand in your dry one. “But we’re together. And safe. We’re gonna be okay. Nothing a quick Google search can’t fix.” You and Jisung smile at your attempt to lighten the mood. He presses a sweet kiss to your lips, and despite seeing the tears in his eyes seconds ago, your cock twitches. 

“I know,” he whispers. “I’m just upset because it’s bigger than mine.”

His gummy smile shines in the shadows. You giggle with him and lean against his shoulder, hands intertwined. 

The sight of your dick quietens you and him. It’s still hard, leaky in all its cocky-ness. Jisung jerking you off was really the only thing that helped make you feel better, literally and figuratively. Biting your lip, you tilt your head up and bat your eyelashes prettily. “You were really good at…touching me.” 

He blinks at you almost innocently. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah. Didn’t know a penis could feel that sensitive.”

Jisung hums, nodding with you. He doesn’t need to hear you say it to know what you want but asks anyway to make sure. “I-I can keep doing it. If you want me to.” He waits for your nod and it’s only a second it takes for you to agree. His hand unlaces from yours and he places it over your thigh.

Weirdly, it feels like you two are virgins all over again. The nervous touches, the uncontrollable moans, and the shy look you give him when he inches closer to your dick. It’s almost endearing but in the crudest way. 

Jisung starts at your shaft, hardly flicking his wrist up and down for friction. He’s warming you up, you realize. The thought makes you smile and you kiss his neck. “You’re so cute.”

With your cock in his hand, Jisung doesn’t understand how that can be so. He blushes anyway and tightens his grip just the slightest. “Am I?” You nod, kissing his throat again and again until he presses his thighs together. Your boyfriend always had a cute, but slightly irritating, habit of getting lost in pleasure. Sometimes forgetting that your pussy was in his mouth when he was too busy jerking himself off. Even with his cunt, he’s doing it all over again.

“You are,” you confirm. You trail your hand from the couch to his hip. Fingers caress his bare thigh until you dance on his pelvis, grazing the hair there. “Can I touch you too?” Jisung’s bottom lip is caught between his teeth. He knows what it feels like to have his dick ooze precum, to leak so much that it looks like he’s stained his boxers. You’ve made him do that countless times. But this feels insufferable. How he can rub rub rub without ever feeling like he’s getting anywhere. 

Shit. How do you deal with this?

He nods, bangs covering his eyes. You hear him sharply inhale when you finally come in contact with his wet cunt. Jisung isn’t sure what to do. He seems almost restless with you sliding one finger up and down his slit. It’s hard to do anything else with his legs closed, but you don’t tell him otherwise. You reason he must be nervous with everything going on.

That changes however when he spreads one of his legs until it hangs off the couch. You look at him for permission to do more and his response is a beautiful moan. 

Now with two fingers, it’s much easier to explore his folds. You ignore his clit for now; he doesn’t need to know how overwhelmingly good that can feel. Instead, you focus on the meaty part of cunt, swirling and flicking until his hand stops pumping you altogether.

“Hannie.” Not baby. Hannie. A little warning you usually give him when he’s being a little too selfish, but it’s hard to focus on anything else but the foreign pleasure. You finally swipe your fingers up until they catch his sensitive nub and his body jolts.

“Ah!” He squeals high-pitched. “S-sorry. ‘m trying but it feels so…so…good when you touch me there.” Those pleading eyes. You might have caved in like you always do and given your Hannie what he wants. However, you’re not feeling so generous at the moment. Especially when the raging hard-on only gives you pain when ignored. 

You use your free hand to swipe against his cheek, steadying his eyes on yours. “You think that’s fair, Hannie? That you get to use your new pussy and ignore my cock?” How foreign those words sound to you, but it feels so right to say them. He shakes his head, giving you a pouty look. “I didn’t think so. Here.” You place your hand on his chest and lean him back. You flip around until you’re facing him on the other side of the couch, pressing down until he’s flat on his back. 

You’re hovering over him like this. A perfect view to see his flushed face and exposed cunt. Jisung’s leg still hangs over the couch, but it allows you room to fit between his thighs. “I can do all the work, like always, but we’re gonna do it my way. Okay?”

A strap is the same thing as a dick right? At least you have some experience fucking your boyfriend, but you don’t know if you’ll be able to take it all the way. Your cock is already throbbing, aching, and begging for a release. You think you’d cum the moment you put it into his wet walls. But you can imagine.

Sliding your tip across his pussy lips, you imagine what it’d be like to slip inside. His hand felt soft and warm. Whenever he squeezed, it made every nerve on your cock jolt. Good, it felt really good. His cunt would be tight. It’s already so wet just letting you rub against his clit. You forget how wet pussy gets when they’re hardly touched. Virgin pussy is-

“Holy shit. You’re a virgin.” It’s a statement. The realization hit you far too late. You should have been more conscious. You shouldn’t have teased Jisung to the point of clawing your stomach and thighs. He’s breathing heavily, eyes hooded with lust as he whines. “O-oh. Are you gonna…” He trails off. Even without the hesitance in his voice, you can see it in his eyes. The arousal mixed with uncertainty. 

You lean down to kiss him. Your lips meet his sweetly, the complete opposite of the kiss your cock is giving is clit. “I won’t. We can stay just like this. Is that okay?”

Gently, you rock your hips. The head of your cock slips past his cunt until it reaches under his belly button. Your shaft grinds on his pussy and the grip on your stomach tightens. “Mmmm! Mhm mhm! Yes! I like it.” Jisung’s dazed look makes you smile. “Good.”

You sit yourself back up and grip your cock. Experimentally, you tap it on his fat clit. You only get two slaps in before he squeals, his hanging-off leg comes up until it bends in the air. Strings of arousal connect your bodies in the crudest way. 

Faster, faster, faster! You smack the head of your cock so quickly that you overestimate how much you can handle. Even with your tip now unbearably sensitive, you grit your teeth and dip lower until his lips wrap around your cock. 

Jisung’s cunt twitches. You can feel his hole fluttering against your tip, almost begging to be used. It takes immense control to ignore his beckoning, to slide up back and pretend that you weren’t thinking about just putting the tip in. 

God, he’s so wet. His juices drench your entire cock and leak onto the couch. You try not to, but you help but smear the arousal on his tummy every time you thrust against him. “Fuck, baby.” You moan. “Your pussy’s so wet.”

He whines, both from pleasure and embarrassment. “D-don’t say that.” 

But of course, it only makes you want to do it more. “Say what? How wet your pussy is? But it is, baby. Just keeps on leaking onto my cock and the couch. You’ve always been my dirty little boy, haven’t you?” Jisung can’t say anything to that even if he wanted to. Whether it’s his ass or cunt, he has a terrible habit of making such a mess.

Without warning, you grip the undersides of his thighs. You easily push them until they touch his chest, forcing his pussy to let you view it in all its glory. Jisung gasps and then tries to use his hands to push you away. You only hold onto him tighter, shaking your head condescendingly. “Nuh-uh. I wanna see what I'm playing with.”

Your words make his pussy clench around nothing. He mewls how he always does when he’s shy, but like the good boy he is, Jisung moves his hands until they’re on top of yours, helping you keep him spread.

You coo at him. “Ooo yes. So good for me.”

It’s easy to find a rhythm to grind in this position. Your cock slides against his pussy like butter, smooth and slick. The heaviness of your sack slaps against his ass with every thrust and the sound only grows louder when Jisung bounces back onto you. Looks like all those times he’s taken the strap paid off as well.

He’s warm, he’s wet, he’s a moaning mess, but you can’t feel the sweet, sweet tightness you once did when he was jerking you off. You look at Jisung and move one of your hands to your dick, a silent command to keep himself spread. He listens diligently, nodding and biting his lower lip as you use your now free hand to add pressure.

With your thumb, you press down just under your tip. It’s slight, but it still makes you two moan out loud. Now you can feel every crevice and crease on his cunt. You’re pleasantly surprised to be able to feel his swollen nub. Not that you should be too surprised, his cute clit is so chubby that it’s hard not to feel. 

Goosebumps cover your body every time you rut against it. Jisung pants at the sensation, head lifting up to see how your lower half moves together. You grin, “You got a cute pussy, huh?” Rather than shying away, Jisung blinks up at you. “You really like it?”

“I love it.” You purr. “Gonna cum all over it. Make it all pretty.”

That seems to do it for him. A loud moan tears through him. You apply more pressure on your cock as you continuously thrust against him. That orgasm builds again, starting just below your dick before your entire body contracts. Your cock feels like it hardens even more and judging by the repeatedly convulsing of Jisung under you, he must be close too. 

His fingers dig harshly on his thighs and his hips just won’t stop moving against yours. They speed up, they lift higher so you can hump against his sensitive spot again. You lean your weight forward and slap against his ass so hard that the sound echoes in the living room.

“Fuck!” You swear you see black dots. “Baby. I’m so close.”

Jisung speaks between his gasps. “Pleasepleaseplease! Give it to me!”

You groan again. Pre-cum oozes so much that you confuse it with your orgasm, but when you feel the tightening and releasing of your body, you know that this is your cum.

It spurts onto Jisung’s stomach, staining his smooth skin milky white. Your entire body shakes with your release. You don’t even notice the drool seeping through your lips even as it mixes with Jisung’s chest. It takes a few seconds to notice your lover trembling with you, tongue out in hopes of catching your drool in his mouth. With a hum, you lean down and capture his mouth in a heated kiss. It’s all tongue and spit, teeth clashing with muffled moans spilling out.

“I-I…I feel so empty.” You swear he looks like he’s about to cry. He speaks with your lips still brushing against his. “I just came. I know I just came but the pus- my pussy just feels so…so…” He doesn’t know the words yet. He can’t describe the restless feeling he’s experiencing. The urge to be full, to be stuffed, to be bred. 

Is he ovulating?

You pout with him, lifting your hips so you can play with his clit at your own leisure. Jisung moans in relief, eyes rolling to the back of his head while he babbles against your mouth. Carefully, you dip your fingers lower until you catch his entrance. The tips of your fingers barely push through his hole. Shit. He’s squeezing so hard that this time, you’re not sure if you can deny it much longer. 

“You want it inside real bad, huh?” You watch as he nods. Any fear he had felt before is gone. You sigh, looking down at your deflating cock. The sun isn’t up yet and you’re not sure how much longer you have with your new organs. You might as well make the most of it.

[bearwithegg]

Fight Like a Girl || B.Blackwood || Part 3

Oh man this part nearly fucking killed any mental capacity i had over the last week (you should see the other guy) probably final part goobers

PART 1 HERE || PART 2 HERE ||

Kieran!Benjicot x f!Reader

Words: 5.2k

Warnings: Blood, Injury, Gore, graphic descriptions of injuries

SPECIAL THANK YOU TO @spider-stark @venomnyx @karlachs-soldier for putting up with my insane ramblings while i took 500000 points of psychic damage trying to write this part difhlrdh

Tags: @nixtape-foryou @roseheart5

***

A swing from behind is all it took to bring you down. Amongst the bleating chaos it was hard to keep one's mind in focus, you were at no fault for that. A yell rips from your throat, but not due to the pain - that came much later - merely from surprise. Body and mind barely register the gash as you plummet into the mud stamped ground, another fallen to join the field of death littered with decimated bodies at the hands of the Green’s Army.

The swordsman, clad in the treacherous sigil of the false King goads you, a reminder of why you even waged this futile plight in the first place. Despite being prone and the bog beneath you seeping into the wound on your back, you do not let up because how could you not go out without a fight.

Distant shouts confirm this, you were on your own, no one was nearby to help you now. Garrus. You think. Where was he? He was only here a moment ago. But you couldn’t think straight. How long had this senseless battle gone on for? Mere moments like the striking of lightning or hours, like a storm brewing? Thank the Gods there were no Dragons to meet, only their cowardly foot soldiers, yet you look into the sky one last moment. No Dragons — only gloomy overcast.

Chest heaving as the pain slowly begins to spread from the wound outward, sharp and hot like the sun had touched you itself.

It would be easier to keep your eyes closed, accept death like one would a beloved and it was difficult to remain awake. Especially hearing the distant call of your brother's voice, you cannot will yourself to go; not yet.

A shaky war cry wrenches from a deep place of emotion, the swordsman while above you to prepare his final blow did not expect such a wordless decree. You will not win. A swift and firm stomp into the knee, buckling it the wrong way knocks him off course with a yelp of surprise. Certain you heard his bones snap or was it the remnants of battle in the distance? Regardless, you rise up and with a dagger unyielding in a firm grip and swipe left, across the neck exposed above his leathers.

Blood soaks you, like a torrential downpour from one of his compromised arteries. His body falls like a tree in the woods, indiscriminate of what it falls on because his body topples right onto yours. The gurgling sounds of him choking on his own blood and clawing at you distract from his limp weight and pressure of being buried beneath bodies.

It’ll haunt you for life, you think, the dying breaths of a man you killed echoing like a deranged symphony.

The pain came in waves, some more intense than others as you lay beneath a corpse, unable to move it off your body. The way your shoulder screams at the slightest movement, there is no room for doubt that the cut is deep, perhaps it was even to the bone.

You stopped calling for help, only until your voice shriveled up. It must have been hours, certainly, the distant sounds of metal clashing had long since ceased, and the only shouting was a mixture of victory and loss. Or was that your brother's voice? Beckoning from beyond the veil? Were you dead? Did mother await you in the whims of the afterlife also?

“Gods be good.” A voice aghast, pulls you from a delirious haze. “Another one!”

It was difficult to open your eyes, despite the dreary grey skies it burned to look up, the boy kneeling over you was smiling with relief, a reassuring hand on your face.

Another voice, further along the field you assumed, drew nearer.

“Send word for more men lad, the wounded will need to be taken back and treated.” That deep punctuating voice, familiar and warm.

“Help me with him first - he's stuck,” the boy grabs the corpse's arm and starts to drag it, the movement only serving to push you deeper into a blanket of mud, sinking you further into the ground and causing you to grit and whine.

“Mordin, leave the boy with me — go.” The command was firm and sharp. Scattering footsteps sloshing in mud indicated his swift departure. Silence followed. Thinking you must have imagined the brief exchange had it not been for a sudden weightlessness. The body that obstructed your movements and inhibited breathing now was moved off you, and you took your first full breath in what felt like hours.

If you simply had not heard him before seeing him, you'd have hardly recognised Benji. Covered head to toe in blood, a stark impression of his notorious namesake witnessed in person. And while this was further proof of how dangerous he was capable of being — his eyes were somber looking down at you.

“Benji,” you wheezed gratefully, with all the strength you could muster to reach out to him, you could barely move an inch.

His eyes widen, recognition flashing across his face and he drops to his knees beside you. It was a safe assumption that he didn't realize it was you under all the gore and viscera. “You were supposed to be in the back lines, what the hells are you doing all the way out here?” He reprimands, eyes flitting over you to inspect your wounds.

“Ambush,” you pant softly, “from the west.” breathing was beginning to get increasingly difficult through the pain. It was deep. His face contorts halfway into panic and guilt, you barely get out an airy laugh, “at least I held onto my sword this time.”

Following his gaze down by your side, your fingers gripped the hilt of the sword with such vigor, it felt like your hand cramped into the position.

His head drops and a bittersweet laugh falls from his lips, “you jest in a time like this? Foolish girl.” Though he did not say the words, the twinkle in his eyes was enough to know that regardless of the outcome he was proud of you.

“It hurts,” you manage to whisper through shaky lips, the silence that followed was louder than the wind that swept across the battlefield. His eyes never leave yours, they search for something, for what, you aren’t sure of but he hardens his resolve and looks up briefly, bottom lip tightly trapped between his teeth.

With a gentle tug, he pulls the dagger from your fingers, they too felt rigid and locked into their grip. Repeating the same motion for your sword and looping them both into his belt. You watch him with care because if you aren’t distracted then the pain will rear its ugly head, which is something you wished to avoid. He unbuckles one of his bracers, yanking hard at the straps before holding it close to you, “bite down on this, I must move you to the others.”

You suck in a breath, eyes partially wide at the thought of being found out due to a measly back wound. Adrenaline or panic, it wasn’t certain but you found enough strength to hold onto his wrist with a vice-like grip, voice shaky through uneven breaths, “find Garrus, he can stitch me up.” With that, your hand relaxes and slips from his wrist, falling slack against your chest.

“Where else would I take you? You dolt,” he smiles, lightheartedly and shakes his brace at you again, a silent push to do as he says.

You relent without further question, trust these days was as valuable as it was rare but you trust Benji — for better or worse. He had kept your secret, trained you personally and now was saving your life. The list of debt you owe the man increased tenfold by the week it seemed. Getting upright was half the battle, though try as he might to conceal his troubled expression upon seeing the wound on your back, he did a poor job of it. It must have been bad.

The pain had soared to such a high intensity, you could hardly remember the journey from battlefield to the safety of your tent… no this wasn’t your tent. Consciousness fleeting as the trees move and the scenery changes; was that the river you could smell? Or was it the lingering scent of death that wafted through the air? Familiar colours of House Blackwood embroidered the interior of the canvas in your surroundings — were you in Benji’s tent?

It held a surprising amount of warmth than you expected, a welcoming embrace disguised as an affirmation that mortal peril was not as close when you were guided by the hands of allies. You awoke on your stomach, needling and sharp pain coursing through the already tender skin of the ugly laceration parted onto you.

“Be still, Little Clover… Just a few more,” Garrus murmurs, his fingers featherlight against the skin of your back. The pressure you felt, merely the piercing of needle and cord, stitching your broken body back together. While painful, the journey ahead for recovery was no doubt going to be longer and harder. Recalling the books and their bountiful knowledge you used to read in the safety of Stylguard, first person accounts of severe wounds rarely acknowledge that pain is often a good sign. You hadn’t lost feeling in either shoulders nor arms, though this was not something you celebrated until much later on in recovery.

“Put me out of my misery,” you grit, a groan expelling from your throat, eyes clamped shut and slightly watering.

His amused chuckles blend together with another, someone else was in the tent – you need not ask yourself who either, “I fear it would make me a dishonourable man to execute another while they are unarmed.” Miscreant, you think, yet smile at Benji’s jab until inevitably wincing as the cord threads through marred flesh. There is a beat of silence but an air of mirth, “you may yet still fight like shit but your aversion to pain is admirable as well as your ferocity. I cannot say the same for the others with less severe injuries.”

You forget yourself, the company around you, because it was easy when Benji was near and scoff lightly, “pain is no stranger for me. None of these men have felt the pain of having a monthly blood, and they would cower at the pain it brings.” Another pause, the amusement in the air ripped from the drop of your words – taboo to speak freely about such delicate and ‘disgusting’ things especially in the presence of men, you clear your throat, “apologies.” But you weren’t sorry and felt as though you shouldn’t have to be. You had heard far worse from the mouths of men during dinner.

Garrus had thankfully finished not soon after, urging you to rest before departing to retrieve food for the three of you. Though your hands and the rest of you reeked of mud and rust from the dried blood, you needed to be clean of today even if the internal wounds will never heal, you could still wash away the stench of a dead man. Rising slowly, you are nearly startled back onto the bed by Benji rushing to aid you.

“I thought you left,” You reprimand, brows scrunched in response to the discomfort and pain. The undershirt you wore back to front for modesty sake, threatened to slip down your shoulders and expose more than what decency desired. The lone tie that kept the fabric together enough to stop it from completely falling threatened to undo every movement you made.

“I thought you were told to rest,” he counters, lips pressed into a frown, eyes looking away. “This is also my tent,” his indignance would have prompted laughter if the situation was different. You weren’t a complete imbecile, understanding that coming to his tent was the best chance at keeping your secret.

You give him a withering look, “and how does one rest covered in entrails and dirt?” Easy for him to enforce Garrus’ words, he had already cleaned the dirt and blood off his face and hands. He pulls a face, conceding at your words and makes no further comment, though flushed in his cheeks. “Thank you,” in your eyes a glint of amusement twinkles, “no need to sulk Benji — it’s merely a bath, not another battle.”

His jaw sets while his hands rest on his hips, eyes narrowed slightly at your jeer, “that is not the point nor the principle — do you intend walking all the way to your tent to wash yourself then?” Now his finger is out, wagging alongside his words as if he was admonishing a child for a minor wrongdoing.

“And you care about principles, now?” Your brow quirks, you have half a mind to mirror his stance if it weren’t for the fact you had been quite literally sewn together not even ten minutes prior. So you don’t. But the thought was enough to elicit a smirk. “If it will cease your pedantic worrying, I will bathe here,” your eye twitches with the jolt of pain shooting up your arm from the lazy gesture across the tent.

His cheeks begin to redden, as do yours at such an improper suggestion, “What is a man without honour and principle?” He huffs slightly.

“Your flair for the dramatic is ill suited for a man of such vicious notoriety.” You hardly suppress a smile, tongue poking into your cheek. Silence follows, either he is grossly offended by your words or has recognised that you are just jesting. Nevertheless, you slowly cross the tent, each step an agonizing shock through the back and shoulders.

You feel his gaze follow you before sighing, a soft chortle slipping in at the end of his exhale, “if you were as well-skilled with a sword as you are with that sharp tongue of yours, I’d fear for our enemy.”

Slowly turning at his words you regard him with a deadpan expression only muddied with a knowing look of your eyes, “stop being bitter and get me some hot water to put in the tub.”

Benji has often looked at you with curiosity, amusement, pride and a varying array of affection but he has never once looked at you with the dumbfounded expression laden on his face like he has just now. Even in times like this, you often forget that situation aside, the two of you were highborn and at this instance you weren’t speaking to a Lord with a matter of reverence but rather speaking to him like a servant.

”Apologies,” you clear your throat, “Lord Blackwood stop being bitter and get me some hot water to put in the tub, please.”

You could almost hear him thinking, the dead air in the tent was more than palpable but the thickness of something else continued to weigh heavy, as it so often did when the two of you were alone.

“You tempt the Gods with that inane behaviour and crass mouth, you are in good tiding with fate for me to not take that tongue of yours,” an empty threat really, he’s told you that before but even if that hadn’t been the case it was clear he wasn’t being serious. Even his jab is futile the second he concedes and goes to the hearth without any more complaints.

“Tongue or not, I would still find a way to torment you all the same.” You laugh and then promptly wince, he thankfully had not seen.

The quiet moments filled with lighthearted ribs back and forth seemed to be a sliver of the heavens placed inbetween unyielding moments of hardship, pain and suffering. A light one might see at the end of a cavernous abyss. Small moments, often menial, were filled with such delight that it reminded you that this is what life was. Yet these intermissions sprinkled throughout a world wrought with its own dark and poisonous acts of undeniable misery also served to remind you of what you were robbed of. A nice life. A happy life.

“Clover.”

An uncharacteristically gentle prod beckons you from thoughts of what could’ve been in a different lifetime. You blink, grounding yourself in reality — Benji, he stands before you, head tilted to the side as it often did, part of the many idiosyncrasies that made him, him. A hand hovering in your space, as if he was conflicted about reaching all the way out or perhaps it was to steady you.

“I am well,” you reassure, offering a smile and slowly make your way to the tub. Though, you supposed it was less a tub and more a misshapen barrel but it served the same purpose. “I assure you I will fare better once I rid myself of this filth.” You grip the sides of the tub, disgusted by your own reflection sullied with blood, dirt and sweat.

The water was not nearly warm enough but you cared more for cleanliness than comfort in this instance. The eyes that looked back up through the rippling water were not the same as the ones that looked in the mirror at Stylguard while hacking at once lengthy locks. That seemed so distant, the memory already thinly covered in a milky haze.

A sigh slips through parted lips, now came the difficult part.

Undressing — that is. Notoriously difficult to do with impaired range of motion in both shoulders. Which is how you ended up in this current situation.

Through burning cheeks, feeling as if you were suffocating from how thick the air seemed to get — if it weren’t for waning patience you’d have an amused smile at the farce the two of you found yourself in. Headstrong and ever the eminent gentleman (despite your often teasing sleights), Benji stared forward, unyielding and pointed to juxtapose the position of his body. The only body part of his remotely positioned toward you was the arm he outstretched behind him, which can’t have been very comfortable and added to the absurdity of the situation.

His fingers quite skillfully disrobing you without the advantage of sight at least meant that the two of you would be rid of such embarrassment sooner rather than later. Though it was ever the difficult feat, you could only raise both arms so high before the tender flesh pulled against the cord that kept you together.

“Oh for goodness sake,” you sigh frustratedly, feeling his hand suddenly stop, fingers barely hovering over exposed skin. The irritation was running deep, seeping through your skin now like an unchecked itch begging to be scratched but it was all over your body, “you would not feel the need to engage in such foolish hoop jumping if I was one of your men, just turn around and do it properly.”

“I would never compromise a Lady’s honour, even by looking,” his answer was immediate.

You’d have strangled him if you were capable of doing so. On the contrary there was part of you, old you, who buckled at the knees at such a sweet admission from a handsome man.

“At this current juncture, this Lady is asking you to,” you huff exasperatedly, patience wearing thin the longer it takes to do such a menial task; not even when you were a babe did it take this long to fret over mere bathing. In an instant the atmosphere has shifted almost entirely, the lighthearted mood sucked out into a vacuum and in its place something else.

The two of you were running circles around each other, a common occurrence that had first reared its head mere days ago. Two fronts whirling like the crucial hours before a violent tempest ravages the skies during a storm, unwilling to acknowledge what brewed in the centre of it all.

He clears his throat, you hear the rustling of his leathers as he shifts his weight from leg to leg, “you have put me in an impossible position by asking this of me – are you certain?”

“I have trust in no one else,” you affirm, quietly.

“Very well,” his footsteps are slow, careful – as though he ought not to startle you. Fearsome as Benji was, he could never frighten you. There was an innate warmth to his presence, so comforting and homely that it was hard to believe that he was capable of such ruthless and vicious acts of violence.

His hands were equally gentle, sliding the undershirt off each shoulder with such delicate handling, it made you feel like an heirloom almost. Almost. The rough fabric grazes over the fresh wound, pulling you back into the whims of reality, a sharp hiss pushed through gritted teeth.

“Apologies,” he murmurs, breath faintly fanning the back of your neck and in tandem sending a jolt down your spine. Not pain. Hackles raised though not engaging your fight or flight, nor spurring on fear. The feeling that had been simmering as a third party in the background of each encounter of late, an unspoken presence sifted between two finally uncovers itself – desire.

Gods, was it not the time for this, you think.

You unlace the trousers as loose as possible, making it easier for him to slip them past your hips. Part of the fabric felt solid, dried mud turned clay with a mixture of blood made it quite the task to peel off your legs.

Behind, you feel him move away, the warmth that radiated from him gone in an instant. The clinking of his belt buckle made your ears prick, but instead of querying, you remained silent, fearful that your voice would not be so steady – you step into the tub. Gooseflesh instantly rippled across your skin from the fact the water was far from warm, though it mattered naught as the dirt and blood slowly disseminated throughout the water.

With both legs in you start to visibly relax, no longer feeling as though you wished to chisel your skin off. By the time Benji has returned by the tub side, your body is submerged. The sleeves of his undershirt are rolled up, no longer wearing his belts or swords, answering the silent question you had mere moments prior.

When you finally look at his face, his eyes are already on yours, golden flecks sprinkled throughout. As if he couldn’t be any more impossibly handsome. His gaze is unmoving, even as he slowly reaches into the water and pulls your arm up by your wrist, thumb and forefinger coiled around it firmly. But not painfully.

“I can wash my own hands,” you find your voice as he begins to knead softly into your hand with the soaked cloth. Blood no longer coating your hands, dirt rubbed from the space between your fingers.

“I do not doubt it,” the outer corners of his lips twitch upward, suggesting a smile. When he was not intently looking at your face, his eyes drifted upward or past you but never down. And despite the frustration it caused in the lead up to this, you were grateful to a certain degree but also incredibly heartwarmed by him keeping his word.

Despite the cold water lapping at your collar bones and encasing your body, every meticulous adjustment of his grip on you or every tentative touch made you heat up. A permanent flush warming your cheeks as he quietly scrubs your forearm, upper arm and carefully washes your shoulders.

Slowly but surely, with every pass of the cloth accompanied by a steady and tender hand, you felt cleaner not just visibly but also internally. The blood that once stained skin, stood as a mark from the gods, a forever blight that threatened your soul for damnation, now had been washed away.

“Does it get easier?” You whisper, staring off into the tent.

He stops, the cloth remaining pressed into the crook of your neck as he exhales in thought. You barely shift, turning almost imperceptibly as your eyes meet his and there’s a flicker of concern? Surprise? Undoubtedly in response to the haunted look all over your face, “killing people,” you clarify before returning to stare back into nothing.

There was a brief stillness in the air, disrupted only by him clearing his throat. As gentle as a breeze, his fingers caress and cup your chin, seemingly holding your head in place as he begins to softly scrub at the dried muck on your face, “no.” His voice was deep yet soft, unwavering as if he’s thought of this question before. “It never gets easier, you simply learn to live with it.”

Live with it.

A macabre way to look at it, you think, but it seems to be a healthier way to deal with such a gruesome act, even if it was honourable to die in battle. You wonder if the Usurper and his family of parasites felt this moral conundrum when they murdered your brother.

You are doubtful.

“How does one live with such blood on their hands?” You ask, perhaps he was the best suited to answer such question, many slain under his own hand but even of your own observation Benji hardly fit the parameters of a well-adjusted Lord in Westeros. No one called ‘Bloody Ben’ could ever be well-adjusted, but it was hard to discern if years of bloodshed fractured him or if it had been there since birth.

Your head is turned, ever so slightly by his guiding forefinger and thumb still perched under your chin, his eyes bore into you but shows no ire or annoyance, “I honour the fallen. At night before I fall asleep, each name is passed to the Gods and if their name dies with them then faces suffice.” He cleans a particularly stubborn patch of dried blood on your forehead.

It was surprisingly pious of him — Blackwoods never quite took to the Faith of the Seven, much like northerners they remained loyal to the old gods yet Benji had never expressed piety like this.

“Even the slain Brackens?” The guileless smile on your face was an attempt to move on from the grim conversation you accidentally started.

The cloth hovers over your upper lip as he drops his head ever so slightly and chuckles, “even Brackens need honour in death. Gods know they lack it in life.” He presses the cloth onto the dried blood over your lip.

Once he’s rubbed it away, as if moving of its own free will, your hand comes up to grip his wrist, albeit weakly. Gaze sticking to your own, exhaling through parted lips as you attempt to get the words unlodged from your throat.

“I must thank you,” You breathe out. For what, you weren’t sure but it was the only way to express gratitude for the endless list of things he has done for you. You would have to thank him for a lifetime alone for what he had done.

The hand beneath your jaw shifts, his thumb runs across your lower lip to your jaw, just the mere action feels like dragging the tip of a hot needle across your skin in the best way possible, “that is not necessary,” he murmurs.

Possessed or merely a complete lapse in sanity, you will never know, but his soft gaze compelled you — no, bewitched you to lean forward and press your lips to his. Searing hot, your body ignited with a warmth that was unfounded until now, as though the barely lukewarm bath was filled with steamy water.

It was short, chaste and quite unexpected for both parties.

You pull away, aware of how hot your cheeks felt, your grip on his wrist loosens. Actions finally sinking in both your own mind and his. Like silt that had been kicked up in the shallow divots of a creek, finally settling into clarity.

Cheeks beet red and an unreadable expression apparent, the hand caressing your face had dropped.

Perhaps you miscalculated. The hammering of your heart was so loud there was no way in hells he couldn’t hear it. It was as booming as rolling thunder in your ears.

The two of you stare at one another, a silent conversation, a silent question hanging in the air between the two of you. Your mouth opens first, the beginning syllables of an apology croaking out before they are abruptly cut off by his own lips. This had been less of a shock than the first, it felt more needy and messy.

His hands came up to hold your head, thumbs grazing softly over your cheeks. He held you firmly as if you were going to disappear in a puff of smoke and you felt as though you might do just that from how light you felt. His tender caress accelerated the beating of your heart and jumbled any important thought crossing your mind, the only thoughts barraging your mind were of him, his hands, his lips, his voice; Him.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, if you had any strength you would have pulled him toward you with a fierce urgency. It’s almost painful that you can’t. The air around you two is static, tempestuous and intense all at once, like two stormfronts finally converging before an explosive storm.

“I’m afraid I could only part with —“

The two of you rip apart at a speed that sends Benji careening backward, toppling onto the ground and you sloshing a large wave of water over the tubs edge. Oops.

“— the…duck stew…” Garrus’ words slowly die in his throat as he stands dumbfounded by the entrance of the tent, two measly plates of stew held in each hand and still steaming. Eyes looking to Benji and then back over to you several times, mouth open and eyebrows raised.

The pause seemed to have gone for a century. And neither you nor Benji would be the first to break it.

“I forgot the bread,” Garrus finally says, putting the plates down on the nearest surface and turning back out of the tent without another word or look.

You shyly looked over at Benji who remained firmly planted on the ground, his cheeks looked as red and hot as yours felt. The thundering of your heart steadily continued partly from the after effects of the kiss and being caught red-handed by the man who was essentially a father to you.

Benji is the first to break, a deep laugh shakes through him before audibly falling past his lips, this in turn makes you suppress a laugh by biting on your lip. Though, ultimately you are unsuccessful and join his symphony of laughs with your own. Not even the pain that pulsed from each laugh was enough to stop you.

The two of you may have plenty to answer for later, but perhaps that wasn’t so bad in the grand scheme of things. A more gruesome fate awaited outside the safety of this moment — of the camp — it would be unwise to not take pleasure in the small mundane moments.

For once it was a kind reminder that maybe, after the conflict ceases, there is room for you to enjoy the life you wished for.