#or fantasy-cut gems ^^;;

[zazter-den]

This is giving me Shiggy day-collar vibes

[Shop]

[realcube]

— GOONER! FANBOY! KENMA

tws & tags ;; headcanons into short fic. nsfw mdni smut. cybersex. sex work. objectification. vibrators + self pleasure. nipple play. squirting.

GOONER! FANBOY! KENMA who has been watching your content since before you had one hundred followers.

FANBOY! KENMA who, despite being a massive streamer himself, lurks silently in your chat and enjoys your cute commentary and novice gameplay without saying a word. he knows that if he invited you to one of his own streams, your viewer count would likely increase exponentially, but he can't quite pluck up the courage to ask you. (and a part of him enjoys keeping you as his precious little secret gem)

FANBOY! KENMA tunes in to every single one of your lives. he'll drop whatever it is that he's doing to hear that dulcet voice, and see you awkwardly prattle on and charm your small audience with your eagerness to please.

FANBOY! KENMA whose heart would skip a beat when you notice him among your small pool of regular viewers, "hi, kudzuken! uh, i hope i'm saying that right. thanks for joining." you'd say into the camera accompanied by the most endearing smile. he'd then promptly donate $10 to your live-stream as a thank you for the jerk material.

FANBOY! KENMA is repulsed when he looks at your chat to see it overrun by trolls, spammers and perverts due to your lack of a moderation team. a bunch of weirdos online sending inappropriate comments on your body and seemingly innocuous statements that somehow read as creepy. ('love ur smile, babygirl..' 'keep sitting just like that!!!') and kenma can't helped but be disgusted, and partially because he knows he's just as perverted as these other internet trolls. his stare is also often stuck to your tits in those low-cut tops, or the inviting glossiness of your cute lips. he could get lost in those sweet innocent eyes for hours, imagining giving you a tight hug and feeling those soft tits pressed against his chest — just the thought alone was enough to cause a tent in his pants. but at least he had the decency not to type out all those lewd fantasies and post them to a public domain. that had to count for something, right?

FANBOY! KENMA who is disappointed but not surprised when you quit your online gamer gig to pursue a different type of live-streaming. your views were never great and hardly improving, and any subscribers you did have made it exceedingly clear they were only watching for your pretty face or hot body. so kenma couldn't blame you for trying to capitalise on your strengths and explore a career path you may be more suited for — in fact, it was a smart business move.

FANBOY! KENMA who was distraught, but still not surprised, when your camgirl account took off immediately and you gained over ten thousand subs in less than a week of creation, and the numbers were only growing steadily from there. every time he checked and saw your subscriber count had gone up, a small piece of him died. he realised it was parasocial and fucked up to be so upset by you, a content creator, receiving the attention of others, but truthfully, he missed when you were just his little secret.

FANBOY! KENMA figures that even though you were popular now, at least you were doing something that was (shamefully) far more appealing to him. he wasn't able to sleep for days before your first scheduled livestream in your new niche. no matter how hard he tried or how many melotonin gummies he ate, he just couldn't. he was too excited. and rightfully so.

FANBOY! KENMA who almost passes out twenty mintues into the stream. he was, of course, one of the first people to join, and the five or so minutes where you just sat there fully clothed and idled while saying, "i'm just gonna wait for some more people to join before i start.." was about the longest five minutes of his entire life. but the pay-off was worth it. he was hard and stroking it before the show even began, and had his first orgasm when you took your bra off to reveal your pebbled nipples. (but he's proud he lasted that long because he was about to nut as soon as you took your top off). his second and third orgasm came when you started fingering yourself on your gaming chair. he feels blessed to be able to behold your sopping pussy that he's been dying to see for who-knows long. it was more gorgeous than he could've ever imagined. in fact, every single part of your delicious body exceeded his expectations — and trust, his expectations were not low. you were nothing short of a idol in his eyes; a beautiful, cock-riding idol.

FANBOY! KENMA who, regardless of how famous you were, will always be your number one fan. he blabbers to himself about how sexy you are as he cums, he watches all your videos and live-streams and donates crazy amounts of money just to see that vibrator stuffed in your snug pussy go that little bit faster.

FANBOY! KENMA who is an og and can always tell when you are fabricating or 'faking' your reactions. he can identify easily when your clit isn't actually as 'sensitive' as you make it out to be for the camera and he most definitely knows when you fake an orgasm. but he can't really blame you. you've been fingering that desperate little pussy for ages chasing your high but you can't quite reach it and your subs are getting restless, so you just need to cave and give them what they want to see. it's business, and kenma gets that. but he swears to himself that one day you won't need to rely on your weak fingers or some shitty dildo, because he'll make you finish so good and so hard around his own cock.

FANBOY! KENMA that will subscribe and pay for whatever vapid, cashgrab content you release. low-quality nudey pics taken in your bathroom mirror? sold for $20. a blurry photo of you dressed as a slutty bunny on halloween? sold for $40. an upskirt you took when you couldn't afford an uber home from a bar? sold for $60. pair of used panties? sold for $100. jar of your bathwater? sold for $400.

FANBOY! KENMA that will always request private shows with you. his income fluctuates depending on how well his stocks perform or the current trends that denote the viewship on his own gaming livesteams. but regardless, he will ensure to put a pretty penny aside so he can offer a deposit for a private show. during which, if you accept, he'll refuse to show his face. he doesn't want you to recognise him as a semi-famous gamer and put a face to his simp account. he won't give you his real name either but it's okay, he gets hard just hearing you coo his username.. ':)

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

"kudzuken.." you tilt your head as you read the familiar username, "did i say that right?" you giggle awkwardly, afraid you may have butchered the name of your private stream donator — who offered $500 just for this twenty minute show.

kudzuken: yes

he replies in chat, and you smile. "perfect." you murmur, pushing yourself away from your desk and hopping out of your chair so you could show off your whole outfit (or lack thereof) for the camera. "i'm a bunny! hmm— wait, what noise do rabbits make?" you do a little spin, and kenma, on the other side of screen somewhere, was sitting utterly stunned. your 'costume' consisted of a furry grey bikini top, some floppy bunny ears on your head and to complete the look, a cute little pompon rabbit tail. and kenma quickly noted that you weren't wearing any panties, so it was almost a mystery how this tail accessory stayed put over your perky ass.

"i decided to dress as one because you said in my comments once that you liked the pic of me in my bunny costume for halloween." you mused, clasping your hands together as you sat back down in your oversized gaming chair. "so, i thought you'd appreciate this."

kudzuken: i do

you actually read his comments and pay attention to them? was this real life or was he having some kind of hyper-realistic wet dream?

you looked like a fantasy, all cute and exposed for him on his monitor — and just for him. your pussy on full display for him. idly fondling your own tits and palming at your cunt lewdly as a performance dedicated to him. albeit, you do show it to other men as well, but not right now. currently, it was only the two of you, and he felt connected to your bare body on a sexual and interpersonal level. the way your eyes bore into his through the monitor and your glistening cunt basically screamed his name. but he craved more. hence, he stroked his free erection while typing out his messages with his other hand.

kudzuken: take the top off

you pout at message, still teasing him by pushing your boobs together as you purr, "you know the rules, silly~ it's an extra fifty for any clothing remo--." and within an instant of the words exiting your mouth, your donation chime went off.

kudzuken donated $100 with the message: get rid of the tail too

you smile appreciatively at the money, and hum, "thank you.. but i thought the tail was quite cute." you giggle, making a playful jab at his eagerness to rid you of your little pompom tail which you thought completed your costume. little did you know, kenma loved the tail too, but he was even more desperate to see how you kept it on.

as promised, you unclasp your bra and make a show out of the release of your tits: pinching your nipples and rubbing them for the camera. you'd even feign a couple of light moans just for him — although, kenma could always tell when you were acting, but he appreciated the effort.

next was the tail. turned over and with your chest pressed against the back of your chair, you spread your ass to reveal the plug that jammed nicely inside your puckered hole, attached to a small rod that held the fuzzy tail. kenma was in awe as he watched you fidget with the plug cautiously, stifling moans in response even the slightest movement.

kenma was in awe, his grasp on his cock subconciously tightening as he increased his pace. he bit his lip from admiration at how sensitive you were in that little hole of yours, and how shy you were too. he noted how you'd face away from the camera or hide your expressions with your spare whenever the stimulation from the toy would elicit any reaction from you.

kudzuken: don't be coy. pull harder.

you sighed. hesitantly wrapping your fingers around the fuzzy part of the tail and inhaling a deep breath, before harshly tugging on the plug. it wasn't quite like ripping off a plaster. no, you had to pull for a bit and feel your ass contort and stretch around the foreign metal as it tried to escape the confines of your restrictive walls. groaning the entire time, body going limp against your chair. "ahh— i didn't think.. ngh.. it would be so— hah— hard!"

eventually, after a concerningly laborious process, you manage to yank it out. leaving it a cute little temporary gape that kenma would pay anything to fill with his tongue. but alas, he's hundreds of miles away and the best he can do is fist his aching dick while you shallowly finger your hole for the camera.

"i've been filming since super early this morning, kudzuken." you sigh, his username feeling a bit strange to utter in casual conversation, but you roll with it away. your fingers slowly graze your exposed ass and pussy lips as you drone, " 'm so tired now. just wanna cum n' relax. think we can do that together?"

kudzuken: yeah

"yay." you hum lowly, lazily shifting so you are sat normally, except you then sling your legs over the arms of your gaming chair, so your entire soaked pussy is on display for him. you rub sloppy circles over your clit while glancing between your cunt and the camera. "my hands are soo tired though," you whine, relaxing your head back, "mind if i grab something to use?"

kudzuken: don't mind

you could shove a lava lamp up your pussy for all he cares, he just wants to watch you cum. perhaps a very selfish an hedonistic view, but his tip is in agony and he just needs to see you writhing in pleasure before he nuts. otherwise, it's physically impossible for him to climax; it's almost a curse.

during the time his eyes were screwed shut and he was begging his body for just an ounce of relief, you had rummaged in your draw and found both your juul and your favourite vibrator. one went straight into your pussy and the other went straight to your lips.

you put it on the medium setting, so the little pink thing wasn't exactly tearing up your insides, but it still brought you an immense amount of satisfaction. like scratching a severe itch that had been persistent all day. it finally felt like you were being taken care of and you could relax.

"mm, that feels so good.." you purr, eyes closed and enitrely absorbed in the moment. hand wandering down your bare body and spreading your folds so kenma could get a perfect view of your favourite toy stuffed into your tight cunt. he could even faintly hear the buzzing noise. "hmm, this is the best way to de-stress after a long day, huh?"

although a part of him wondered what you could possibly be 'de-stressing' from considering you were a camgirl and you probably did stuff like this all day, the majority of him was so deeply involved in the moment that he didn't even have the mental energy to concern himself with his pedantic worries. instead, he drifted off into a fantasy of his own, imagining those slender fingers pumping his cock were yours.

kudzuken: the best

despite the brevity of his messages, you don't take offence. in fact, it suggests you're doing a good job if he's left with only one hand to type with. so you continue, legs spread wide as you gaze longingly into your computer webcam. your fingers rub sloppy circles over your throbbing clit, but for the most part, the pink toy was doing the heavy-lifting and was the reason your face would scrunch with pleasure every so often.

"nghh, feel so good.. want more.." you whine into the emptiness of your room, your eyes drifting shut and allowing your mouth to freely babble whatever cries appeared in your lust-glazed mind. "wish it was something bigger.." you muse innocently, knowing exactly what you do to him.

kudzuken: me too

and the most shameful part is that kenma knows your being flippant and trying to appeal to his perverted desires, but he doesn't care. it just eggs him on further to imagine his cock in the place of that humble little toy — jammed right into your snug cunt, where he belongs. whatever it was: your pussy, your hands, your mouth, he just wanted to feel you somehow.

"mmph, it's so nice to finally let go.." you say as a breathy whisper, eyes entirely shut as the corners of your lips curl into a faint smile, "can you tell how much i've been needing this?"

his eyes twinkled as he watched your pretty hole suck on the head of the toy as it vibrates within you. your walls were twitching yet you looked stunningly relaxed, limbs all spread out across your chair, as your body practically melts into it. your mouth hung open just a little bit to show a tantilising peek of your tongue. what kenma wouldn't give to insert his cock in there too.

his fingers stiffened around his dick at the mere thought, and before long, he had undergone his first climax, making a mess of both his hand and his black sweatpants. but thanks to you, he's got plenty of practise at this and has built up the stamina to go for multiple rounds. it didn't take long of watching your pussy flutter around the vibrating toy and hearing your melodious moans before he was fully hard again, stroking his length.

"mm, i think.." you murmur, legs beginning to twitch and shudder slightly, as you feel the pool of liquid heat in the pit of your stomach begin to stir and bubble. what was supposed to be a relaxing and tranquil experience, was quickling boiling into something far more intense. "i think i'm getting close.."

kenma's eyes light up at the thought, and his hand instinctually speeds up. originally laid back against his chair, upon hearing your desperate mewls about an impending orgasm, he hastily leans forward, engrossed in the screen afore him. paying attention to every little detail: the way your spread legs shake, your pouty and lewd expression, your drenched pussy and the slick gathering by your enterance around the toy, and how it dripped down to ass and formed a small puddle on the seat of your chair.

strands of your hair would fall into your face and poke at the corners of your agape mouth, which you would then have to swiftly brush aside before returning your hands to rub frantic circles on your clit. "ah, ahh— 'm so so close, boutta finish. can i? can i cum? please—" you plea to the camera.

kudzuken: yes kudzuken: cum pretty girl

it's as though his fingers acted on reflex, effortlessly typing the response in less than a couple seconds, all while his other hand still vigorously pumped his cock.

"nngh, okay, thank you, sir.. i— fuck!" you squeal , feeling light-headed as your orgasm overcomes you much earlier than you anticipated. you toss your head back in pure bliss as your knees tremble and you rock your hips against nothing, searching for more stimulation from the stagnant toy. despite it going at the same pace that previously relaxed you, the vibrator now felt like it was ravaging your sensitive insides, and all you could do was lie there and take it while your cunt walls convulse in defence.

"ahh— shit, i think— oh my god.." you cry, a second heat erupting within you shortly after you reached your high, as demonstrated by the fury of fluid that all came gushing out of you, with such a violent force that your vibrating toy was pushed out. "fuck's sake! nghh, 'ts too much! i can't, i can't!"

kudzuken: please

you scream and writhe in your chair as this powerful climax overwhelms your poor tired body, and all kenma can do is sit and gaze up at his monitor in awe. he is so astounded that he forgets to keep rubbing himself but the sight of your perfect pussy squiriting all over your chair and desk was enough to make him cum as well, and he released his second load across his clothed thighs again.

a lot of his semen dripped right back down his own shaft but he didn't care; if anything, it helped and served as lubrication. anyway, he was far to immersed in watching you submit to a blinding euphoria to care about the disgusting mess he was making of himself.

once you were done and your pussy has squirted out every last drop of sparkling fluid, you were left breathless and absolutely soaking. your wide-eyes gaze darted across your wet chair to your damp computer screen. you weren't looking forward to cleaning it all up, but alas, you sigh and relax back into your chair, "that was— so good. thank you, kudzuken." you heave, cute tits rising and falling with each deep exhale, "nothing feels better than cumming after a rough day.. it's like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders, don't you think?"

you were seeing stars and babbling nonesense, but kenma was amused by it.

kudzuken: thank you too

you smile weakly at the chat reply, "anytime." you hum, slowly sitting up and crossing your arms over your chest, "erm, anyway, i should probably start cleaning up and head to bed. 'm so tired, it's been such a long day. but this was fun, we should do it again sometime."

kudzuken: yes

"well you know where to find me." you titter, reaching forward to your mouse and keyboard so you can end the private live-stream, "bye. have a nice night."

kudzuken: bye (y/n)

was the last thing he was able to type before he was disconnected from the chat. and that was certainly not the last time you spoke. it was an expensive habit, but he'd keep paying to watch you cum before bed almost every night for two months straight.

[creature-wizard]

Some ways to recognize AI generated images (other than counting the fingers!)

Hey folks! Since a lot of people out there are still getting taken in by AI images, I thought I'd do a post to help you spot some common tells in AI generated imagery. (All of these images come from Pixabay.) Since this turned out to be a really long post, I've put the rest of it under the cut.

Unnatural shininess and smoothness

AI generated images frequently have an unnatural smoothness to them. Here's a really obvious example:

These are supposed to be blueberries, but they're way too shiny. They look more like glass than actual fruit!

Here's an example that's a little less obvious:

At first glance, it's easy to miss that this is a procedurally generated image. But if you take a moment and look close, you can see an unnatural smoothness to this image. Compare with this real photograph below:

The real photo has a slight graininess to it, plus the berries themselves display more texture.

Here are more images displaying unnatural smoothness:

Exaggerated facial and body proportions

If a person or animal in an image that appears to be a photograph has cartoonish or caricaturish proportions, that's a sign the image is AI generated.

First, we'll start with a really obvious example. While I don't think the person who had this generated meant for it to be taken as photorealistic, it's still a good example of exaggerated proportions.

Now here's the less obvious example:

If you just glanced at this image, you might think this was a real child. But if you look for a moment longer, you'll notice that her head is slightly too big for her body proportions, and her eyes are slightly too big and round. (And of course, her toes are messed up.)

For comparison, here's a real child:

The real child's head is smaller, and the eyes don't have that cartoony look.

Here's an image of a baby that could pass as real at first glance... until you realize the eyes are too big and round, and it's making Dreamworks face! (Also, the brows and lashes are unnaturally smooth and the skin looks plasticky!)

For comparison, here's a real baby:

Melty-looking detailwork

AI images that are supposed to depict fantasy, divine, and historical figures often feature an extreme level of detailing. But if you look close, you'll see that this detailwork is usually a mess.

Here's a very obvious example:

If you look at her tiara, you can see that the center gem is actually floating above the rest, which is a dead giveaway that this is procedurally generated. Also, her tiara lacks symmetry and evenness where it should have it.

Here's another example:

Again, this is clearly a piece that should have symmetry in the metalwork, but has that uneven melty look so common in AI imagery.

And a less obvious example:

This one isn't as extreme as the others, but if you're familiar with the way AI "melts" details, you can recognize its work. (Also, her right earring is lower than it should be, and where her face is clearly meant to imitate an oil painting, her dress looks like a watercolor painting!)

Meanwhile, here's a real photograph of a tiara:

I'd also like to emphasize here that asymmetry on its own doesn't indicate AI! Many people create asymmetrical designs on purpose. The thing to really watch out for is melty-looking shapes and unevenness in things that shouldn't look melty or uneven.

Unnatural crispness and detail

AI image generators often lean toward high-contrast tones, which frequently makes images look unnaturally crisp. Here's a really obvious example:

Let's compare with a real photo of the Sphinx!

Quite a bit of difference, huh?

This faux Greek statue might be a bit harder:

This appears to depict a Greek-styled statue, but - look at the face! The crispness in the light and shadows gives this away as AI generated. (There's also no staining on the face, even though we see it on the next.)

For comparison, a real statue:

This has turned into a huge post, so I'm gonna call this good for now. Not each and every AI generated image will have these tells, but you'll be able to recognize a lot more AI generated images if you keep them in mind. If you'd like to get even better at recognizing AI generated images, you might go to the website I got them from - Pixabay - and search for "AI generated." Load the pictures at higher resolutions, pay attention to the details, and compare them with human-mage images. While you'll find that many AI generated images are very hard to distinguish from human-made ones, you'll start picking up on more of AI's idiosyncracies.

[jjennuine]

LET ME LOVE YOU ( 换句话说 ) they finally show you how badly they yearn for you with a kiss.

❛❛ 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝖿 𝗂𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 , 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝗂 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 ❜❜

ペアリング 엔하이픈 형 & f ! r non idol au fluff yearning skinship smoking suggestive ⪩⪨ ( 档案 ) 1OOO

アイラ ꢾ𓍢ִ໋ i got carried away i fear

LEE HEESEUNG

“Seriously, him?” A flat, disappointed voice pierced through the air, and you recognized it instantly. “Yes, him.” With a deep breath, you turned around to face the man — it being none other than Lee Heessung, the embodiment of your personal nightmare, standing there with an unimpressed expression.

Heeseung's lips curled into a smug grin as he met your glare, fully aware that he was the only one who had the power to make you lose your cool.

“C’mon, princess, you know I’m the perfect guy for you. You just have to accept it” The tall man moved nearer, gently tucking a stray hair behind your ear. Your breath caught in your throat as an electric tension filled the room, leaving you aware of the closeness between you both.

( more under cut. )

“All you have to do is say yes and I’ll give you everything you want” Heeseung’s voice was laced with sultry, and you could hear the smirk on his face. Your heart was beating faster and your mind was full of hesitation — but his hot breath on your skin couldn't make you seem to care.

You breathed out a shaky “yes,” and Heeseung’s mind buzzed with the urge to kiss you. He cupped your chin, gently guiding you against the wall, and at that moment, his biggest fantasy came true as his lips pressed against yours.

His breathing was shaky as his hand slid down to your waist, his cold, long fingers grazing your skin, making you gasp at the sensation. Heeseung had never dreamed of anything more — you were the only thing he had ever yearned for. And now, he had your lips on his.

PARK JONGSEONG

“Jay! Seriously, stop buying me so much stuff! You exclaimed, struggling to balance three bags of designer items. Jay, with an unbothered expression, seemed completely unfazed, making you even more frustrated.

“An expensive girl deserves expensive things.” Jay smirked, ruffling his hair while leaning against the wall. You glared at him, your frustration only making him more amused.

“Money won’t buy me” You clenched your teeth, arms crossed tightly as the bags tumbled to the ground, the thud resonating through the air. “Then how do I get you, baby?” Jay moved nearer, gently grasping your hand in his.

You breathed in, your body tensing — a gulp the only sound coming out of your mouth. “Do I give her all my attention?” He did exactly that. “Do I treat her like a gem?” That too. “Or should I just tell her what I feel?” He hasn’t quite done that.

Tension hung in the air as Jay leaned in closer, a smug grin on his lips. “I think I’ve figured it out,” he said, his eyes locked on yours. He pulled you in, kissing you slowly, and you melted into the moment, returning his kiss with the same amount of fervor he felt, the world around you fading away as you lost yourselves in each other.

Jay held your face in his hands as he pulled you closer, the kiss deepening as he felt his mind go insane from how badly he craved you and the fact that he could finally call himself yours.

SIM JAEYUN

“You’re like a dumb puppy chasing me around everywhere, just bother some other girl!” You burst in anger, and you yelled at the man in front of you. But instantly, you felt a twig of guilt in your chest from your mean words.

You glanced up to apologize, but to your surprise, Jake was smirking at your outburst, appearing more amused than offended by your reaction. “I take pride in that, princess” You frown at him and pout — why is he so stubborn?

“Can’t you be sane for once and leave me alone?”Frustrated, you throw your arms up as Jake leans against the wall, staring down at you. His composed expression only fuels your anger more, walking up to him as you pull him by his shirt.

Jake's expression shifted to a more serious one, causing your heartbeat to quicken, an undeniable tension filling the air around you. “Do I look sane to you?” You gulped as Jake reached out gently, lifting your chin to ensure you met his gaze.

The room fell silent as you both stood still, gazing into each other's eyes. Jake gently brushed his thumb against your lips, causing your breath to hitch. Seeking permission, he looked deep into your eyes, making you hesitantly nod before he eagerly brought his lips to yours.

Jake's kiss was filled with desperation and longing, as if he'd waited for this moment forever. His mind chanted your name like a prayer while he held your hands loosely, then shifted your position, pinning them against the wall. He opened his eyes to look at you, and it was clear to anyone how intensely he desired you.

PARK SUNGHOON

“You’re insufferable” Sunghoon's lips curled into a flirty smirk as he flicked the lighter in his hand, igniting the tip of his cigarette, the soft flame brightening a slight orange glow on his face,

Sunghoon inhaled and puffed out the smoke, his expression completely unbothered by your nagging, which only fueled your frustration “I told you to stop smoking multiple times!” You took the cigarette from his lips and threw it to the ground.

Sunghoon sighed and met your glare. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, tilting his head and tousling his hair. You couldn’t help but scoff in disbelief at how unbothered he was at your scolding.

"I can't stand it, you know. It's causing you pain." You fold your arms, pouting in frustration as Sunghoon raises an amused brow. "So you actually care about me?" Your eyes widen, and you shake your head, trying to defend yourself and deny his assumptions knowing he’s right.

"Help me then" you blink in confusion. "How?" Sunghoon leans in, his gaze sultry as he fixates on your lips, causing your heart to race. “This,” he murmurs, cupping your face with his hand before kissing you eagerly. Surprised, you hesitate for a moment but then find yourself kissing him back, caught in the intensity of the moment.

You shut your eyes as Sunghoon draws you nearer, his large hand tenderly stroking your hair. The lighter slips from his grip, hitting the ground — his desire palpable, evident in the way his kiss feels so desperate and needy.

rbgs are very appreciated ! wanna be updated on all my works? join the taglist ^^

[theharddeck]

do you wanna make somethin' of it (Robert "Bob" Floyd x fem!reader)

pairing: bob floyd x fem!reader (no y/n)

synopsis: turns out, our favorite WSO has a side hustle, as quinn's favorite cowboy.

word count: 10.4k

warnings: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI: audio porn, a truly unhinged amount of dirty talk, overuse of pet names, bob's raging size kink, overstimulation via vibrators (and otherwise), unprotected PiV sex, an unrealistic number of orgasms, some dumbification, as can be expected.

A/N: this is way late bc i had to make sure the people who reblogged the moodboard were legal, thanks everyone for the patience and support! esp thank you @hangmanssunnies for being so encouraging, @sometimesanalice for being a gem and betaing thank you @laracrofted for coming up with bob's (ahem) inspirational reveal, and thank you everyone else for letting me be feral. there were a couple people who reblogged the moodboard but I couldn't tag them, so for the record, if you ask to be tagged, pls do make sure you're taggable AND ALSO THAT YOU HAVE YOUR AGE IN YOUR BIO I AM NOT KIDDING. the title is from Jo Dee Messina's 90s country bop, "Do You Wanna Make Something Of It" -- okay enjoy!

You paused, halfway into your flight suit, looking down at your phone. 

It was probably a bad idea to open an audio erotica app forty minutes before you had to be in the debriefing room with the rest of the aviators in your unit. 

But. 

You were ovulating, your vibrator was charged, and you’d just gotten a notification that BullRiderRhett had posted a new audio.

Before you knew it, you were grabbing your headphones and folding your flight suit by the door, leaving your tank top and sports bra on, but shimmying out of your panties. You set an alarm on your phone, connected your headphones and opened the app. 

Quickie During the Rodeo

After my ride, I don’t have much time before they call up the winners…but you look so damn good in that sundress. We have to be quick, though. [M4F] [Short Audio] [Established Relationship] [In Public] [Strong Language] [Moaning] [SFX]

Yeah, you thought to yourself, that’d do. 

You slid into bed, pulling a muting blanket over the lower half of your body as you settled into your bed and clicked play. 

Immediately, the sounds of a rodeo pushed through your headphones. 

You heard the shuffle of hundreds of feet, a rowdy crowd cheering, and distant country music over a speaker. You could almost imagine the dusty air, the smell of fresh hay and sweat, and the clamor of barrel racing in another arena. 

There was a steady clanking of spurs as a pair of boots walked towards you. 

“There y’are,” a low voice said, the perfect combination of fond and gravelly. You heard a shuffle of fabric, and a soft inhale, like the cowboy was wrapping you in his arms. Your eyes fell closed so you could immerse yourself in the fantasy. 

“How’s my girl doin’?” he asked, his voice muffled like he had buried his head in your shoulder.

You never responded verbally to these things; it broke the illusion to speak to an empty room, but you liked that Rhett paused, as if waiting for your answer. 

“Ah, well, I always ride better when I know you’re in the stands, cheerin’ for me,” he said. He had such a fantastic voice, low and soft, with this drawl that was so unpretentious and alluring. His canvas jacket rustled like he was hugging you tighter. 

“Just let me hold you for a sec, yeah?” he asked, as the ambient sounds of the rodeo seeped back in. You found yourself just listening for the sound of Rhett’s breathing over it, a slow and steady rhythm that was deeply centering. 

You heard when his breath caught, followed by a shuffling sound and a choked gasp from the cowboy.  

“Whoa, whoa,” Rhett’s voice was warm with surprise and delight. “Cut that out, darlin’, we can’t, they’re gonna call me back–”

His voice broke off on a low moan that had you biting your lip. 

Why did guys in real life never moan? 

It was such a pretty sound, deep and masculine, and full of desire. It was one of your favorite things about Rhett. Your hand slipped under the blanket, rubbing over your pussy gently, getting yourself used to the pressure. 

“Darlin’,” Rhett’s voice had gotten deeper, like a warning. “Ya can’t tease me like that, ‘s not kind.”

Your hips shifted at that voice, and Rhett laughed, low. 

“Y’just can’t help yourself, can you, sweet girl?”

It was your favorite pet name he used, just the way he said it. You were obsessed with the gravel in his voice, the melodic twang coupled with a gentleness that belied all his ruggedness. It was like he was being quiet to make sure no one overheard him, like his words were for your ears only. 

His spurs clinked as the noise of the rodeo faded, as though he was leading you somewhere away from prying eyes. A second later, there was a gentle, wet sound, like he was kissing you. 

How would he taste, you wondered. Would his lips be soft? Or would they be chapped? Would he be ravenous, turned on from the adrenaline of the ride, or would he be slow, savoring your taste? 

You turned on your vibrator, on a low and warming setting. You traced it lightly over your pussy,  acclimatizing, as Rhett’s voice and the soft vibrations sent a heat under your skin. 

Rhett’s breathing was heavy, like being near you made him breathless.

“Shameless,” Rhett chided, amused and fond. “I know I can’t stop you, but I’m not about to let anyone see ya like this. You’re mine.” 

Your hips canted up into the vibrator, spurred on by the idea of being his. 

“Oh, you like that, huh, sweet girl?” Rhett practically purred, his voice like a caress, “You like being mine?”

Rhett’s words washing over you, and vibrator’s motions met less resistance as you felt yourself growing wet.

“What if I…” he asked, and you heard fabric shuffling, like he was reaching down and under your dress. “Fuck, darlin’, are you wet for me already?” 

You pressed your lips together to trap in a whimper. 

You knew it was formulaic, but that didn’t make you less turned on. In this fantasy, you were Rhett’s girlfriend, you were already wet for him, you were needy enough to risk being caught to have his dick inside of you. 

“Ya sure about this?” Rhett asked, and you could hear the intensity in his voice. Like he needed you too, just as desperately. “Yeah? Yeah, me too…fuck—yeah, feel me through my jeans. Feel how hard I am for you.”

You turned the vibrator up, imagining the rough texture of denim against your pussy. How hard Rhett would be, how good it would feel to rock up against the dirty fabric. Probably not the most hygienic, but he’d be so hot, even through his jeans, impossibly tempting.

“Go on, take me out,” Rhett directed, his voice a low whisper. 

He moaned in your ear as a belt buckle came undone, and your head fell back as you circled the vibrator over your clit. God, he sounded so good, he sounded unraveled. You imagined the weight of him in your hand, and you shifted your hips, wishing you could feel the heat of him. 

“Shit, okay. We hafta be quick,” Rhett panted. “I know, I know, turn around for me, darlin’. Brace yourself against the wall here…Christ, you look so good like this…ya ready for me?” 

You couldn’t help yourself; you slid a hand down your body, changing the angle of the vibrator so you could run a finger through your folds. 

Rhett held his breath, like it was too good, too much, and you waited.

Then came his strangled, relieved exhale, and you pushed a finger into yourself as you imagined him sliding into you. 

“That’s right, sweet girl,” Rhett praised, his voice breathless, awed. “Let me into that tight pussy, nice and easy...”

Your mouth fell open as you imagined him filling you. 

Would he be thick? Long? Maybe a slight curve to his cock? Cut or uncut? You licked your lips, your mind spinning with possibilities, your fingers a paltry imitation of the thing you wanted so badly. 

“Ah, that’s it, that’s it,” Rhett murmured, and you couldn’t help but add another finger. “Such a good girl, for me, aren’t ya?”

You wanted to be his good girl. 

Rhett was breathing hard, and the rhythm of it was perfect. You circled around your clit with the vibrator, and you were panting now too, your hips canting up as you fucked yourself on your fingers. You could imagine him driving into you, his hips thrusting his cock into you. It would be thick, you decided, broad and heavy. 

“Ah, you’re taking me so well,” Rhett grunted. “You were made to take this fat cock, weren’t you?” 

His breaths were coming faster, and you could hear him slamming his hips into yours. You could imagine his balls swinging, could imagine him driving into you to reach that spot your fingers just couldn’t brush against. 

“This pussy feels so good, darlin’,” Rhett whispered, “the way you’re clenchin’ around me…”

Your thighs fell farther apart as you tried to time your fingers’ thrusts to his cadence. He was grunting after each thrust, this beautiful soft sound of exertion and pleasure.

A faint cheer rose above the sounds of your panting; another event had concluded. 

“Shit, we hafta hurry, they’re gonna–” Rhett broke off, his hips snapping faster. “C’mere, let me play with that clit, let me feel you–fuck yeah, clench around me, just like that.” 

You turned the vibrator up, your fingers faltering inside of you at the increased vibration and his words. Rhett’s grunts were getting higher pitched, a delicate thread of need seeping into them and you were going to lose your mind; it was perfect. 

“Ah, such a good girl,” Rhett groaned. “God, I don’t deserve you, ya feel so good…are you close, darlin? Tell me you’re close, I need to feel you cumming on my cock, will ya do that for me?”

You were bucking into your hand, chasing a release that had come on so fast, so strong and you were so damn close, you just needed–

“There ya go,” Rhett breathed, his voice tight. “You feel–oh, sweet girl, don’t stop clenching me like that. Oh, you’re gonna make me cum with that tight pussy, fuck, are you gonna come with me, darlin’? Please come with me, please…”

You pumped your fingers in time with his pleas, Rhett’s voice growing hoarse as his hips sped up. You were so close, he sounded so good, you were almost there. 

“Feels so good…Ah, I’m coming, I’m there– ah, shit,” Rhett moaned, his voice choking, and you orgasmed along with him, collapsing back into the pillow. 

Your legs shook and you jerked the vibrator away from your sensitive clit, stroking gently over your pussy with your other hand and easing yourself down.Your body felt like it was humming and you turned the vibrator off, sated and pleasure drunk.  

Something about Rhett always had you timing it perfectly, feeling so in sync and so primed, and when he came, it was like your permission to. 

Rhett was groaning softly in your ear. 

“So beautiful, darlin’,” he whispered. “God, I’m so lucky, look at you…so damn beautiful…”

The audio would fade out in another few minutes and you fumbled for your phone to turn it off, and turn off the just-in-case alarm that you’d set. 

There was a bittersweet moment with audio erotica that didn’t exist in traditional porn– aftercare. Instead of just ending a scene, most creators seemed to enjoy winding down with their listeners, saying soft things, silly things, fond things. It straddled the line between soothing and demoralizing, and you couldn’t say you loved the contrast between the care in Rhett’s voice and the emptiness around you. 

An emptiness that was interrupted by a loud pounding on your door. 

“Hey, I can see your light under the door,” Bradley called from the hallway, “you better not still be asleep! If we’re late to Mav’s briefing you know he’s gonna have us doing laps around the tarmac.”

You stuck your tongue out at the ceiling on principle, grateful for the quiet of your vibrator and the distance between the door and your bed.

“Calm your tits, Rooster,” you yelled back, “I’m practically ready.”

“Damn better be,” you heard Bradley say, loud enough to be heard, soft enough to know he wasn’t actually pressed.

You gave yourself another ten seconds to revel in that perfect orgasm, and then swung your legs over the side of the bed. You cleaned yourself off quickly, dressed even quicker, and were out the door in no time. 

Some might even say, with a pep in your step. 

“Told you,” you muttered as you walked by Bradley’s row in the debriefing room, on time, and he huffed. 

You settled into your normal seat, waving good morning to Callie and lifting your chin at Mickey, who grinned back at you. Bob was in the seat next to yours, as you’d all agreed early on that WSOs had to stick together, and you bumped his shoulder with yours as you sat. 

The sweet man smiled, a hidden thing, and looked away quickly. 

Sometimes, you felt like you knew there was more to him than he let on. 

You’d seen him in action, seen him make split-second decisions that kept him and Phoenix in the air. You’d seen him crank out 200 pushups with Jake and Javy like it was nothing. But at the same time, he never seemed to hold your eye for longer than strictly necessary, seeming more comfortable to address the floor (unless someone pushed too hard, and he’d snap something so sassy it’d make you bite the inside of your mouth to keep from laughing). 

When you’d first met him, you’d thought he was cute, in an Old Hollywood leading man kind of way, soft muscles and deep eyes.

You’d wondered if maybe you made him nervous. You’d thought maybe there was interest in those ocean blue eyes, but time went on, and he remained sweet and polite and kind. He was the same to you as he was with everyone else, and you were led to the reality that he was just an incredibly decent person. 

Crushes came and went like water, especially in a group as gorgeous as the one you flew with, so you let him have his secrets. 

The lights clicked off as Maverick strode to the front of the room, already talking and clicking his way through some kind of demonstration. 

The hours in the room flew by.

By the time he finished, your head was spinning with a blur of parameters and calculations and mission expectations. You knew pilots felt the same way about your job as you did about theirs, but you were always grateful that at the end of briefings you only had to worry about systems and odds, not about flying a plane. As you were dismissed, everyone crowded to the center aisle, trying to get out and to the hangar as quickly as possible. Someone sneezed, or someone pushed someone; Harvard dropped his coffee.

It wasn’t full, and you were all in flight suits anyways, but you still startled when it fell, splashing over the row you were sitting in. Black coffee flew over seats and notebooks (thankfully no phones), and someone laughed as Harvard’s attempts to catch it just served to further empty the cup. Bob took the worst of it, on the end of your row.

"Ah, shit," Bob muttered, and you froze. 

It wasn't that Harvard's spilled coffee had ruined Bob's notes, and yours too. 

It wasn't that everyone in the briefing room was looking back at your row in surprise. 

It wasn't even that Bob had sworn, even though you'd never heard anything harsher than "gosh" from the WSO's lips. 

It was that that cuss, in that voice, in that same mumbled tone, had pushed you to orgasm four hours ago. 

“Alright, it’s just coffee,” Maverick called over the clamor. “We’re burning daylight, people, come on.” 

Harvard was apologizing profusely, someone was passing paper towels out, but you felt completely out of your body, in shock. 

Bob was BullRiderRhett.

The WSO who asked for ginger ale when everyone else did shots at the Hard Deck, who cleaned his glasses when he got nervous, who stayed up all night to help Payback’s kid put together a Lego Statue of Liberty last time he was in town …was the guy who had talked you through the last few months of orgasms. 

(Yes, you had an annual subscription).

(Yes, you deserved it). 

When you let yourself back into your room at the end of the night, it still felt surreal. 

In retrospect, you should’ve been a million times more dialed in– you’d had a $73 million machine under your hands, and the only thing on your mind all day had been this revelation.

How had you never noticed before?? 

Now that you were thinking of it, Bob did have that slight accent when he was tired, or when he was mad enough at something stupid Jake said…but what were you even supposed to do with this knowledge?

You moved through your skincare much the same way you’d moved through most of the day – on autopilot. 

A knock on your door startled you. 

“Now’s not the time, Bradshaw,” you called, automatically. 

“Uh,” called a too-familiar voice, “not Bradshaw.”

You winced at your reflection in the mirror, trying desperately to decide if you recognized Bob’s voice from countless drills or from your Favorites list. You crossed your arms across your chest, your sweatshirt dragging against the hem of your pajama shorts as you slouched over to the door. 

“Robert,” you announced, as you opened it, mentally smacking your palm against your forehead. You had literally never called him Robert; what was wrong with you??

Could’ve been worse, you mused. 

You could’ve said ‘Rhett’.

“Hey,” he said, and if he was thrown by the use of his full name, he didn’t show it. 

He looked the same. 

The same, but in the way that had made you catch your breath when you first met him, when you were relieved that he was so unassuming and kind, because if he’d been any kind of authoritative, it would’ve debilitated you. 

Tonight, he’d clearly showered after drills. 

His hair was freshly combed and still damp, darker than normal. A tendril fell in front of his glasses, leaving a small line of fog against the outer corner of one of the lenses. He was in a plain white tshirt and light sweatpants, and you made yourself stop from looking further because you were not about to objectify your friend just because you now knew that he could dirty talk with the best of them. 

And now you were thinking about that.

“Are you mad at me?” Bob asked, and it snapped you out of your spiral. 

He was frowning at the sill, his hands shoved in his pockets, and his chest tight. There was a purse in between his eyebrows, and you really could not understand him, because how could a man who was objectively gorgeous, subjectively sweet, be this adorable? He looked up and the moment your eyes met, you looked away. 

“No,” you said quickly, clearing your throat. “Of course not. Obviously.”

“I mean, not obviously,” Bob said, rubbing a sneaker against the carpet in the hallway. “You practically sprinted out of the briefing this morning, refused to speak to me over comms during drills, and you won’t look at me for more than two seconds, and that’s normally someone else’s line to me.”

It was a weak joke, but it was funny, and you could hear in his voice that he was trying to set you at ease, and that really only made you feel worse. 

So you stepped aside and held open the door, not really trusting yourself to say anything else. Bob looked nervous, and you wanted to tell him it was you, not him, but instead you waited in silence as he stepped into the room. 

You only had the light over the sink on, and the room was in soft shadows, but you thought it might be more weird if you turned on a light, like you were calling attention to it. You shut the door and Navy rooms didn’t really come with guest furniture, so you gestured to the foot of your bed, while you paced. 

“This is going to be awkward,” you warned him, glancing in his direction, and wishing you hadn’t. 

He was sitting on the foot of your bed, as directed, legs spread slightly and his elbows resting on his knees. You could see the muscles of his shoulders through the tshirt, and his eyes seemed especially bright, in the dim light from the room. 

“Okay,” Bob said easily, and you appreciated that he wasn’t rushing you. Maybe he was starting to understand that this was something you were working through, rather than something he had done.

You switched directions, walking the length of the room, and then the length again. 

You had to say it.

You’d just have to say it, and that would explain it, and then it would be out, and then you could figure out how to move forward. Bob was a problem solver, like you, and you were both smart enough to figure this out. You were also both adults. You could just say it. 

You stopped in front of him, and Bob sat up a little straighter, like he wanted to be sure he was being respectful to the weight of whatever you were saying. God, he was such a good person, why did you have to be such a creep. 

“Iknowaboutbullriderrhett,” you said in a rush, clasping your hands in front of you. The words seemed to echo around the room and you stared at Bob, waiting for him to react. 

He didn’t, not really.

He nodded, slowly, and you watched him process the day through the lens of your revelation. 

“So, you’re disappointed it’s me,” he said, like he was clarifying, and you shook your head.

“What?” you asked, confused, and Bob shrugged.

“Like if you were expecting a ranch hand from Wyoming, I get it, it’s weird that it’s just me.”

You blinked. “That…that’s beside the point; I feel guilty, like this is a weird invasion of privacy, and isn’t that what you should be asking, anyways, is if I’m going to tell anybody? I won’t, but–”

Bob shook his head, his expression still pretty guarded. “Whose opinion do you think matters to me more than yours?”

And how the hell were you supposed to respond to that?

“What?” you managed again. 

Bob looked at you.

It was maybe the longest uninterrupted eye contact you’d ever had, and you weren’t sure if it was because he initiated it, or if something was different. But it made you curious, it made you stop rambling, it made you be still, and let Bob look, because you liked how he was looking at you. 

He smiled, that familiar, bashful, expression, and it calmed you slightly. 

It wasn’t like there was a demon possessing your friend, it wasn’t a dark secret, it was just a part of him that he didn’t bring out at work. His smile reminded you that you knew him, that you trusted him. 

Then his head fell to the side, his eyebrows lowering behind his glasses, his expression turning inquisitive as he said, “You didn’t answer my question.”

It was still Bob. 

But his voice was lower, his voice was softer and you knew that voice, but seeing it fall from petal pink lips was a revelation and you shivered. You pulled the sleeves of your sweatshirt down over your palms, hoping you could disguise it, but Bob saw it anyway. 

Of course he did. 

He could calculate projectile trajectories while at supersonic speed; of course he could see when his voice made you shiver. The expression on his face turned smug, and that was new, that was nothing you’d seen before and you were pretty much infatuated with it immediately. 

Objectively, Bob was the best. 

You knew it, everyone knew it. This was maybe the first time you’d seen him look like he knew it, and something like pride blossomed in your chest at the thought that it was because of you. 

“I’m not disappointed,” you said honestly, and Bob smiled fully.

That was how he should always be, you decided, proud of himself, pleased by you. 

He pushed himself off the bed. 

He walked towards you slowly, slow enough that you could tell he was giving you time to back away, or tell him to stop, but you sure as shit weren’t going to do either. 

Instead, your head tilted back as he came to stop in front of you.

“We have two options,” he said, almost conversationally, like you weren’t this close to melting into a puddle at seeing this side of him. “One: I go back to my room; we’ve learned something new today, but we go on like normal. Or–”

“Or,” you chose, not waiting to hear what the second option was. “Whatever ‘or’ is, that’s the one I want.”

It truly didn’t matter; if the choice was him walking out the door or not, you wanted whatever made him stay. 

He huffed an exhale of a laugh, a soft sound that you’d heard a dozen times but it still made your breath catch. You’d grinned fondly when you heard it over comms, after Callie calmly roasted Jake, you’d shivered when you heard it in your headphones, but now that Bob was physically in front of you, you thought this was the best iteration of it. 

“What do you like?” he asked softly, and it felt like a loaded question. 

Like maybe he was asking which audios, or maybe the themes, or if him, in front of you, was enough. The room felt suspended, like someone had paused the film of your life and you could see everything outside of yourself. The heat in Bob’s eyes, the way his fingers, held loose at his side, twitched slightly, like he wanted to reach for you. The way your own breath caught, like you were careful not to break a spell, like you wanted it to never break. 

You kissed him. 

You probably could’ve been more graceful about it, but he was standing just there, and you needed to know, needed to feel him against you. You reached for his arms, your hands grasping above his elbows to pull him down and press yourself closer. 

He was so soft. 

The moment your lips brushed over him, you felt him bending, moving. His glasses bumped into your nose as he adjusted and then his hands were on your waist, spreading over your back and how had you never noticed how big his hands were? They felt huge, and his chest was strong and warm as he pulled you into him. 

You could smell his shampoo, something earthy and sweet, and it was intoxicating how pure it was. He didn’t feel pure. He felt hot, kissing you back with an urgency that stole your breath away. Bob kissed you with certainty, with earnestness, and you were obsessed.

You pulled back, staying in the cradle of his arms, needing to be this close when you answered the question he’d asked. Long lashes fluttered against the tops of his cheeks as you broke the kiss, and Bob pulled in a long breath through his nose. When he opened his eyes, the blue of them was so bright, cutting. You didn’t know how he held it all, his sharpness and softness, gentleness and intention. 

“Can I show you?” you asked. 

He blinked, the motion slow, as he looked between your eyes, trying to focus with you so close. You saw the corner of his mouth turn up in that bashful smile, and his arms around you tightened slightly.

“Show me,” he said, your question but now a command, and your mouth went dry. 

His voice sent a flush of heat over your skin, and whatever he wanted, you’d say yes, for this man who was your friend and your fantasy, and asking you so nicely. 

It amazed you how you didn’t feel nervous. 

This was arguably the most intimate situation you’d found yourself in in a hot minute, but instead of nerves or anxiety, you could only think of how much you wanted Bob to see how much he affected you. From that first moment you’d met him, to the crush you’d packed away, to the voice that haunted your dreams, you wanted him. And you wanted to see how that would affect him. 

You walked over to the sink, grabbing the vibrator from where you’d left it after you cleaned it this morning. Bob walked back over to the bed, taking up his original post at the foot of it, but his eyes never left you. He toed off his sneakers, and you slipped out of your pajama shorts, leaning over to arranging pillows against the headboard. 

You climbed into the bed and rested your back against the pillows, nudging Bob’s thigh with your toes before you bent your knees. He turned himself to face you, his long legs unfolding outside of yours. It was like he was being careful not to touch you, and you liked that this was how it was going to start– just his voice and your pleasure. You hoped once he saw what a tight string was tied between the two, maybe he’d get a little more involved. A part of you wished that you’d deepened the kiss earlier, but it was just as well to have the anticipation of it.  

It was ridiculous that you were already turned on. 

You’d had eight hours to come to terms with the fact that Bob was Rhett, but as he sat across from you, it was like his gaze was scorching you. His bright eyes ran over you hungrily, and you rolled your neck, enjoying being the object of his gaze. 

You’d been bold when you suggested it, but now the silence of the room seemed to stretch. You wondered if you should ask Bob to talk, or if that would be weird. Bob looked at you, his damp hair falling in front of his glasses again, and he brushed it aside absently. 

“Is this where you lay, when you listen to me?” he asked, his eyes tracing over the simple bed, the regulation bedding, the pillows you’d brought in to spruce it up. His voice was low, curious, and now that you were listening for it, you could hear the traces of a drawl, hanging on the edges of it.

You nodded, unable to look away from him, and his nose flared slightly at the confirmation.

“You’re so pretty,” he said, and it washed over you. It was such a simple compliment, but the truth of how he said it, like every fiber of his being meant it, warmed you. 

“God, thinking about you…” he trailed off, “just lying here, looking like this…getting off to my voice…do you touch yourself first? Pet that pussy before you use your toy?”

Your mouth actually fell open hearing Bob Floyd say ‘pussy’ so casually. 

And he said it sitting in your bed, his eyes on you, his voice dropping into a deep drawl and yeah, you were going to do whatever he asked. 

You shifted slightly, a hand falling between your thighs to press over your clothed cunt. You cupped yourself, loving the way Bob’s eyes followed your hand with rapt attention. The kiss, his words, his eyes…you weren’t wet yet, but you could feel your body warming, turning towards Bob. 

“Love that you take your time with your pussy, warm her up, slow. ‘s not a thing you have to rush, not when the building feels so good. And I bet you feel so good, don’t you, so soft and warm…”

It didn’t feel slow, not with how hot Bob’s voice was. How good it felt to have him in the room with you, not just an empty echoing in your ears but physically here. You continued to tease yourself over your panties and you felt when they grew damp, when your arousal slowed your fingers, made the fabric slick.

“Fuck,” Bob breathed, and you whimpered. 

The sound was involuntary, a reaction to seeing sweet, wholesome, Bob swearing over the sight of you. It made you feel regal, and if you had to guess, pulling sounds out of you made him feel the same. At the sound of your whimper, Bob’s eyes dropped to your mouth, and you watched the tip of his tongue push through his lips, as he wet them. 

“Ah, you sound so good, too, I can’t believe–” he broke off, laughing quietly. “Can’t believe I’m jealous of my own damn self. How many times have I made you cum, and I’ve never gotten to see it?”

It was your turn to laugh, not quite willing to reveal how much you listened to BullRiderRhett. 

“That many, huh?” Bob’s voice was smug, and it was such a good sound on him. You ground your wrist over your clit, pressing into the hard bone, craving the friction.

“Take your panties off,” he said, “touch yourself, not the vibrator yet.”

You followed his instruction, pulling up your legs to peel off your panties and resettling. You extended a leg down the bed, pressing inside of Bob’s long leg, as you trailed your hand between your thighs. At the first brush of skin against your sensitive folds, your head tipped back against the headboard. 

It was just your hand, but with Bob here, it felt like it was almost his. It was his bidding at least, and you explored yourself leisurely, dragging your fingers through your wetness.

“Yeah, that’s right, bet you feel so good,” Bob said, his voice so low. “Feel yourself, sweet girl, tell me how it feels.”

You gasped, your hips rising in a pavlovian response to the endearment. It was somehow even more overwhelming when it was Bob who spoke it over you, here, in the flesh. When he could see that your skin prickled, that your breath caught, in response to him. 

“Say it again,” you whispered, hoping he’d understand, and when you looked back at him, the expression on his face was one of adoration and hunger, awe and need. 

“Sweet girl?” he asked gently, but his eyes were so dark. “You like being that for me, don’t you? My sweet, sweet girl.”

You nodded weakly, your fingers suddenly not enough. You rubbed over your clit, trying to stop the truth from spilling out of you as heat fanned out through your body from your touch. 

“Yours,” you corrected weakly, and you scrambled for the vibrator and switched it on, using the intense humming of the toy as an excuse to hide from Bob’s reaction to your admission. 

You felt one of his hands wrap around your ankle, and his long thumb stroked from your heel up to the joint. It was the perfect touch, and just grounding enough to keep you from being overwhelmed by the vibrations. 

“You sound so pretty,” Bob murmured, “those little whimpers you make, fuck.”

Were you whimpering?

You felt like you noticed everything a bit too late, too loud. You realized you were pulling the vibrator over your cunt in a mimicry of the strumming motion Bob’s thumb was tracing on your ankle, and your hips canted up. Pleasure swirled in you, hot and tingling, but you felt something missing. 

“Bob,” you panted, god, how were you already panting, “I need–”

You turned the toy higher and broke off, writhing. 

“Darlin’, love you saying my name like this,” Bob drawled, and it was a proper drawl now, and how he said darlin’ made you feel like you might combust. “Can’t believe I get to see you like this, you look so good…knowing this isn’t your first time working yourself to my voice, makes me so damn jealous.”

You whined, pressing the vibrator more firmly against your skin, your hips starting to grind into it. 

“Tell me,” you asked, your voice reedy, and Bob huffed a laugh, like you didn’t even have to ask. He ran a hand over his thigh, coming to rest at the seat of his sweatpants and you bit your lip as he adjusted himself through the thin fabric. 

“So damn jealous,” he repeated, “thinking how many orgasms I’ve missed. How many times you came when I asked, how those thighs would tremble as you fucked yourself thinking of taking me…fuck, honey, you’ve heard me cum, and I’ve never–”

A moan pushed its way past your lips, as you realized that the groans and grunts and needy noises that you got off to weren’t incorporeal: they belonged to Bob. 

You looked down at the foot of the bed where Bob was watching you greedily. His eyes roamed over your spread legs, the twitches in your thighs, the slackness in your jaw, and you looked at him too. His pale skin was flushed, color in pink splotches high on his cheeks, and his lips were parted. His chest rose and fell as he drew in deep breaths, and when he shifted slightly, you moaned again. 

“Can you touch yourself?” you asked, almost shy, wanting to see him. You felt good, so insanely good, but the thing you’d always loved about the Rhett audios was how much pleasure it sounded like he was getting too. There was something so hot about knowing you were the root of someone else’s desire and pleasure, and you wanted so badly to be that for Bob. 

“You’re gonna have to wait just a little longer, sweet girl,” Bob said, but he ran a hand over the thigh of his sweatpants, adjusting himself again, and your hips bucked up of their own volition. You guessed he was wearing underwear under his sweatpants because you couldn’t see an outline, but the idea of his dick hanging that far down his thigh had your mouth watering. 

“Wanna see you,” you protested, hearing a sound like a pout in your voice and Bob’s hand on your ankle tightened. He looked at you hard, and you knew he was gambling, trying to decide if he wanted to play a card.

“I know, sweet girl,” he said, licking his lips, “but you have to earn my cock.”

Your eyes rolled back and your core clenched at those words. How many times had you heard Rhett tease you with that? But it was different now, because Bob was here. Because he was real, and his cock was real, and however many times you’d wondered about Rhett, your curiosity could be sated in Bob. 

When you lifted your head to look back at Bob, he was slackjawed, watching you writhe. You were practically humping the toy, chasing an orgasm that suddenly felt so much closer. The vibrator felt stronger than normal, or maybe you were more sensitive, but you felt your climax building, and your thighs started shaking. 

“I wanna see you,” you repeated, and it sounded pathetic, but it was true, you did. In a moment, this had switched from getting off in front of your friend to needing your friend’s dick, and you didn’t know how Bob knew it but he did. 

He readjusted his grip on your ankle and before you could react he pulled. 

You slid down the bed, your thighs parting around where he now kneeled; he braced himself over you, and you whined, needing his touch. He kissed you, his mouth wide and plundering, slanting his lips over yours. You moaned into his kiss, so different from the soft gentleness of your first embrace. This was Bob kissing you, and his tongue delved into your mouth and you opened for him. 

“I’m too greedy for that, sweet girl,” he whispered, his lips against yours. “I know if I get between these thighs I’m going to lose myself, and I want to see how much you want it. I wanna be here, fully here, the first time I get to see you cum.” 

He reached down, and you felt his hand trace over yours. You’d nearly dropped the vibrator when he pulled you down the bed, but now Bob tightened your grip, and guided it back to your cunt. You keened as the vibrator pushed between your folds, and Bob followed your lead, wanting to see how you fucked yourself for him. 

It was better with him. 

His strong hand bracketing yours, his other at the back of your neck, holding you steady. His hand was on yours but he brought his face close to yours again, and you drank in the reality that he was here, this close, holding you. His breath was hot against your skin, and his glasses were fogging up from how hard you were breathing. 

“So are you gonna let me see it, darlin’?” he asked against your skin, and that voice, coupled with his touch, nearly had you there. “You gonna come for me, let me see what it looks like when my sweet girl gets off with just my voice and the toy we’re using on her? You’re almost there, honey, I can see it, come for me come on now–”

He sounded so good. 

His voice was perfect and soothing and it felt like a dream but it wasn’t, it was real. He was holding you, feeling you, breathing the same air and working you. You’d never been so aware of your body and how it was tuned towards someone else. You cried out his name as you came, your back arching and your free hand fisting in Bob’s tshirt, reminding yourself he was there, he was there, he was there. 

You felt like you were floating. 

Pleasure coursed through your body and you could feel it pulsing in your fingertips, beating in your heart. You became slowly aware of the room around you. The air felt cold against your sweat-dampened skin, the hum of the refrigerator was the only noise other than your hard breathing. Bob was still over you, and he’d pulled the vibrator away from you, switching it off without really looking, running a soothing hand over your hip. The hand at the back of your neck was firm, holding you tightly so you could feel him. 

“How’re ya doing, sweet girl?” he asked softly, and you felt him press a kiss to your cheek. “Did that feel good?“

You hummed in agreement, words still beyond you. His voice was so gentle, but had a raspy edge, like he was thinking over the last several minutes, holding them in his mind.

“You did such a good job for me,” he murmured, and you turned into his touch.

He was like sunshine, wasn’t he? 

Just warm, and good, and you wanted to bask in him and his light like a dryad. His eyes darted away once he realized you were looking at him, and it made your heart skip a beat, that he could somehow be shy after coaxing you through one of the hottest orgasms of your life. 

You were trying to think of how to say “your turn” in a way that wasn’t corny or cringey, but what you came up with was, “Can we keep going?”

Bob’s eyes snapped back to yours, and the world seemed to pause for a moment, hovering. Waiting, hoping, and Bob’s chin dipped, just slightly, and all was right. 

“Baby,” he said, in the low, perfect, voice, “I’d like nothing more.”

When he kissed you, you were both smiling, somewhat giddy, and any nerves that had gathered during that pause dissipated, as you kissed his smile-thinned lips. 

You shifted slightly, pushing yourself back up the bed and pulling Bob with you. 

He moved easily, his long body spanning over yours, pressing you back into the mattress with the most delicious pressure. His hands were wandering, then, delicate fingers tracing over your sweatshirt, and when he lingered at the hem of it, you pushed him off. You didn’t want to be patient, didn’t want his chivalry, and so you pulled your sweatshirt over your head before you had time to second guess yourself. 

The way Bob looked at you, you wished you’d done it sooner. 

His tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip as he stared at your chest and you pushed yourself off the bed by your shoulders, so you could reach behind you and undo your bra. The moment the garment fell off, Bob’s hands were on you, his wide palms cupping your breasts. Your eyes fluttered shut at his touch, humming in the back of your throat as his fingers explored you. You felt the bed shift as he moved, and you gasped when a warm breath ghosted over your bared skin. 

Bob kissed down from your sternum, wet kisses over you, and by the time he reached your nipples, he was practically lapping at your skin. You whimpered as his mouth closed over your nipples, his tongue swirling over you as his hand teased your other breast. When he hummed, you felt it all over, the soft vibration over your skin. 

“Bob,” you gasped, and he moaned. 

“Ya sound so pretty,” he whispered into your skin, “somehow better than I imagined.” 

Your breath caught as his mouth moved to the valley between your breasts, and he laved the same attention to the other. He couldn’t have meant that how it sounded. As incomprehensible that this was happening, it was wilder still to think that he had imagined this, as you had. 

“You thought of me?” you asked, your own voice sounding nearly breathless. 

“Honey,” teeth grazed over your nipple, and Bob chuckled, that beautiful low laugh. “Who do you think I’m talkin’ to when I make those audios?”

His lips closed over you again, but the swirling of his tongue wasn’t enough to distract from the words he’d just uttered. 

He wasn’t done, either. 

“Y’know how many nights I’d wondered about the taste of your skin,” he murmured into it, “or what your tits would feel like in my hands? What sounds you’d make when I kissed you, how soft you’d be, everywhere? If you’d cry, or moan, or laugh when you came, or how you’d say my name…” 

Your hand wound back into his hair and you pulled him back up to your mouth. This kiss was desperate, so much unsaid between the both of you. So much longing, so much wondering and now it was here. You couldn’t explore each other fast enough, and you were clawing at his clothing, trying to feel as much of his skin as possible. Bob was just as eager as you were, pulling off of you to shuck off his tshirt and sweatpants, and you reached for his glasses. 

He blinked at you slowly as you pulled them off of him.

This sweet man. 

He was so focused on you, his eyes so intent even as he struggled to focus, and you couldn’t believe how lucky you were. You leaned over to place them carefully on your nightstand, and when you came back to the bed, Bob’s arms settled around you in the most comforting embrace. 

You loved the feeling of his skin. 

He was so soft, pale skin covering deceptively strong muscles, and you were obsessed with the dichotomy. Your hands greedily traversed over his broad shoulders, thick biceps, taut stomach, and when you got to the hem of his boxers, you felt his breath catch as he shifted over you. 

Fuck. 

You’d thought it might’ve been a trick of the light, or a trick of sweatpants, some kind of trick, but under your hand, Bob felt hung. Your fingers rubbed over the bulge in his boxers, and Bob’s head dropped to your shoulders. 

“We don’t have to–” he started, and broke off when your touch reached the end of him. You were just tracing the shape of him, but your breath caught when you felt his fat head, the cleft at his tip, even through the thin fabric. 

“We do,” you said, swallowing quickly, not even trying to hide the way your thoughts were racing, “I really hope you have a condom, Floyd, because we really, really have to.”

He huffed, and then he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, pushing himself off you and reaching down to feel around the ground for his sweatpants. You loved that he had a condom on him – not because it meant that he was expecting this, but because it just confirmed for you that Bob was the type to look at birth control as shared responsibility, not just a matter of whether a gal took the pill or felt like risking going without. He fumbled for a moment, and you couldn’t help yourself. 

While he was distracted (admittedly, this was probably a task you could have thought of while he still had his glasses on) you leaned over and traced your tongue over his collarbone. He smelled so good, and you could just taste the salt of his sweat. Bob’s breath grew ragged, and you loved the sound of it, kissing up his neck and finding that tempting spot where you could feel his pulse. You loved how frantic it was, loved the steadiness of him. 

He found the condom.

You shifted back to your elbow, watching with blatant interest as he shoved his boxers down his thighs, tore the wrapper open and rolled the condom onto his dick. 

Holy. Shit. 

He looked like a work of art. 

A beautiful flush had worked its way across his chest and throat, the tendons on his arms and hands stood out in stark contrast, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his cock. He really was that big. 

“What is it?” he asked quietly, and your eyes darted back up to his face to find his brows furrowing slightly, since he couldn’t read your silence or your expression.

You pushed yourself up to kneeling on the edge of the bed, Bob still standing beside it, and reached for him. He stepped into your embrace easily, mollified by the shared warmth between your bodies, as you reassured him with soft kisses wherever you could reach.

“I thought it was a line,” you admitted, somewhat embarrassed at how wantonly you’d just been staring at him. “Just a cliche ‘oh, you want to choke on this big dick’, but…but you’re actually, you know…”

Bob smiled, somehow bashful, as you pitched your voice lower in an approximation of Rhett’s drawl. 

“Is that an offer?” he asked, and oh you liked this side of him– teasing, relaxed, a little cocky. 

And the thought of choking on him…it was a really great fantasy. He’d hurt your jaw something fierce, but you wanted to see if you could draw those breathy whimpers out of him. Figure out what your tongue could do to him, see how much he could take, push him a little further, and make him cum down your throat. 

“Honestly,” you said, and yeah, your throat was dry just from the thought of it, “I really want to try that, sometime.”

At your tone or your words, you couldn’t be sure, Bob’s hips pushed forward slightly. With the height difference of you kneeling and him standing, his cock brushed against your ribs. You were both suddenly so aware of him, his thick cock resting between you, and Bob’s hips pushed forward again. 

“You’re so soft,” he murmured, and his hips slid back, slowly. His hands were on your waist, holding you still as he ground against you. Your mouth fell open at the heavy motion, the promise of it, and the duration of it. 

“You’re so big,” you whispered, another truth that should’ve sounded like a cliche, but instead was just a fact. 

“You’ll fit me,” Bob said, with such confidence and certainty that suddenly you didn’t care if it was in your mouth or between your legs, you needed him in you. 

“Please,” you asked, and Bob groaned, actually groaned, like you asking was the best thing he’d ever heard. His hands were so tight on your waist, like he needed that control and you knew how you wanted him. 

You leaned up to press a quick kiss to his lips, and then turned back to the bed, your hand sliding up towards the headboard, your ass lifting like an invitation. Bob wasted no time, climbing back over the bed and shifting you so you were lengthwise on the bed again, and then draping his long body over yours. Your head rolled between your shoulders; he felt so good. Warm and strong, and all around you, and then you felt his big hand between your thighs. He opened your thighs gently, and then a thick finger traced between them. 

“So wet,” he murmured, so close to your ear, and you shivered. “You’re gonna feel so good around me, aren’t you?”

You nodded, words failing you in your anticipation. But Bob wasn’t in a rush. His calloused finger teased through your folds, smearing the remnants of your orgasm up over your clit, playing with your cunt, until you were shaking. 

You whimpered, your arms trembling as you braced yourself on the bed. You pushed your hips back into his touch, and you felt Bob’s breath shutter from his chest pressed to your back, but he didn’t move any faster. 

“Don’t rush me, honey,” Bob said, his voice low, and you tried to hold still, you did, but his teasing was too much. 

He alternated between spreading your folds, circling your clit, dipping his finger into you just enough to tease you, then pulling back entirely. You felt like you were aching, desperate for him, needing him. Bob spread you open with one hand, and you felt his thick head at your entrance, seeking. You saw the hand that wasn’t playing with your clit drop down to the bed beside yours as he braced himself, and you pushed your hips back, weakly. 

“Ask me nicely, sweet girl,” he said, his voice so low, and you swear you nearly came on the spot. 

“Please,” you managed, your voice sounding entirely too weak, “please, please, I need to feel you–”

You broke off when he pushed into you. 

A steady, overwhelming pressure as that beautiful, enormous cock pushed into you. Your back arched and you gripped the sheets as he stretched you out, the gentle, even pressure nearly blinding. He was so thick, you felt like you could feel his heartbeat, like you’d been lit on fire, and the only thing you knew you needed was more, more. 

Your head dropped to the sheets, even as your hips worked weakly back into his, welcoming him despite the burn. 

Bob’s hand covered yours, his thick fingers tangling with yours on the bedsheets, and you felt cherished, you felt wrecked, you felt perfect. 

Fuck, he felt so good. 

You were full to the point of overwhelmed, and you realized he’d stopped pushing, was fully seated inside you. You felt so connected, so whole, even though you were heaving like you’d run a marathon. 

Bob‘s nose traced your cheek, his soft lips kissed your jaw as his breath tickled your ear. “Does that feel good, darlin?” he asked. 

You nodded, wordless, it felt like a dream come true. You felt every inch of him in you, every inch of him over you, and it was perfect.  

“So,” Bob whispered, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear, “what do you say?”

“Thank you,” you moaned, you’d never been so grateful for anything in your life. “Feels so good, fuck, thank you–”

Bob groaned, and his hips pulled back before he slammed back into you. His thrust would’ve pushed you up the bed, except for his body over yours, holding you steady.  

“Sweet girl, it’s like you don’t want this to last long,” he said, almost angry, and the sound of his voice had your eyes rolling back in your head. He sounded so good, he felt so good, he was so perfect, you were so full… “Like you’re trying to drive me mad with this tight cunt, with those sweet little whimpers, you feel so good, baby.”

You couldn’t do anything. 

You were a molten mess of heat and driving need, your body aching and craving and sated by the thick cock pressing inside of you. Bob was thrusting so deep into you, his fat cock head prodding against a spot you distantly registered wasn’t made up, but might’ve been, for how perfectly he was hitting it. You weren’t aware if you were making sounds or just lying there, all you knew was how fucking good he felt in you, how you needed him to never stop. 

“Feel so full,” you gasped, and Bob pushed into you again.  

“Damn right,” Bob muttered, his voice dark, “full of my dick, like you’re fucking meant to be. Gorgeous girl, bent over, taking my cock like you need it.”

You whimpered, clenching around him. “I do, I do,” you babbled, “need you.”

Bob moaned, and it might’ve been the prettiest sound you’d ever heard. How was he real? How could he be this good, this kind, this fucking hot??

The sounds in the room were dizzying. 

Bob’s hips slapping into your ass, the squelching sounds where you were joined, your gasps and his breathy grunts. It was perfect, and you felt the heat around you condensing in your core. 

He knew, somehow. 

The fingers that had been spreading you for his cock, moved to the top of your cunt, teasing over your clit. Your legs jerked, your mouth dropping open as Bob circled your clit, his fingers tracing over it, gently pinching it and coaxing you higher. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you panted, heat and need rising. 

“Christ, please,” Bob said, his voice so earnest, so dear, as you pushed back into him. “Let me feel it, sweet girl, let me feel this pussy I’ve been dreaming about. Want to feel you milking my cock, so damn good, you can do it, come on…” 

He pumped into you once, twice, and you shattered. Your legs gave out, shaking, and then Bob’s hands were on your waist again, holding you up. You moaned his name, trembling and lost, and he held you, ever steady. He kept working into you, his thick cock pressing into you, like he was the only thing tethering you to this pane, and you felt drunk off of him. 

“There it was, that was beautiful…fuck, you’re so hot, that feels so damn good. You sounded so gorgeous, sweet girl, you did so well…”

You moaned as his words coaxed you back. 

He was still pumping into you, that steady, punishing pace and you were so sensitive but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. He felt so strong, so hot, so close to you and you needed it. Needed him. His thick arms cording around you, his strong grip digging into your hips, his fat cock stuffing you, you never wanted it to stop. 

“You’re so good,” you whispered, needing him to know. Not just how he felt, or how he sounded, but who he was. How he was, and how much he meant. 

Bob’s hips stuttered.

You were aching, you were spent, but you tightened your core and clenched around him. 

“Baby,” he groaned, “I’m close you can’t–”

You rolled your hips. 

Bob grunted, and then he was moving, faster than lightning. He swept your hands out, pushing you down by your shoulders into the mattress, his body draping over yours. You turned your head to the side, and like he knew, he was there, kissing you. 

It was sloppy, it was messy, but your lips and tongue tangled together, like you both needed the sweetness of a kiss to balance the savage way Bob’s hips were fucking into you. 

Each press of his hips ground your pussy into the mattress and the pressure was so fucking unreal. You moaned into him, and Bob seemed drunk off the sound, off of you. You were so overstimulated, so out of your body that pleasure was the only thing that made sense. Only the way his hips rubbed your clit into the mattress, only the way his cock was stroking into the deep part of you, only the way he was panting against your lips. 

“You’re everything,” Bob whispered, just a breath away. “So much better, so much – fuck, you feel too good. Will you come for me again, sweet girl? I want to feel it so bad, need another one from you, can you do that for me?”

You shook your head, wrung out, but you felt it building anyways. Fuck, how was that possible? But Bob’s thrusts, the pressure on your clit, the weight of his warm body, the need in his eyes, it was driving you higher. 

And then. 

And then he got close. 

He broke off from the kiss, his thrusts growing almost frantic. Each breath he drew ended on a gasp, a soft whine that reached deep into your gut and set off something primal. He was fucking into you but he was whimpering, and you knew he needed it, needed you, like he said. He moaned, a needy, beautiful sound, and before you could feel his orgasm, yours broke over you. 

You collapsed into the mattress, Bob covering you, and you distantly heard him getting louder as your thighs shook. He sounded so pretty, those sweet moans and the desperate gasps driving you mad. The world was just molten heat, desperate thrusts, echoes of whimpers and you faded into the vacuity of it. 

When you came back, you were on your side. 

You were drenched in sweat, you both were, and a sheet was covering you from the cool room. Bob had taken off the condom, you noticed absently, and had pulled your sheet up over both of you, tucking you into his chest. His arms were warm around you, and when you exhaled, you watched the blond hairs on his forearms blow back and forth.  

“How’re you doing?” Bob asked softly, and you could weep. It was him, so familiar, so gentle, and so much better than any recording, any fantasy, anything. Your arm swung halfheartedly in his direction. 

“You jerk,” you sighed, “you’ve ruined my subscription.” Bob chuckled, the bed shaking with his deep laugh. “Think you can content yourself with the real thing?”

You shifted, turning to face him. In the dim light of the room, he somehow still managed to look like an angel. His soft eyes were unfocused, his mussed hair was snarled from your fingers, and he was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. 

You leaned over to kiss him, Bob’s lips already thinning on a smile. “I think I can manage,” you said.

//

tagging: @withahappyrefrain @cheekymcgrath @mxgyver @lewmagoo @sebsxphia @callsign-fangirl @callsignspark @sometimesanalice @daggerspare-standingby @rhettabbotts @teacupsandtopgun @attapullman @yuckosworld @skteaiy @yanna-banana @briseisgone @gigisimsonmars @milesmillergf @katiedid-3 @hangmandruigandmav @3tabbiesandalab @marchingicenotes7 @callsignmedusa @ryebecca @tgmavericklover @cottagecori @becks-things @sorchathered @mulletmcghee @straightforwardly @high-speed-r @rcmupout @purelyfiction @fairyheart @sunsetsimpsblog @angelbabyyy99 @cremebruleequeen @marvel-djarin @sgt-barnesveins @supernaturaldawning @echo-ethe @sunlitide @alilstressyandlotdepressy @hughesvolpe @aczhang777 @saltsicklover

chances are high i'll do a part 2/followup with both of them recording an 'overheard' audio...let me know! comments and reblogs are the surest way to make that happen 💙

[im-so-tired-sorry]

MY headcanons of Yuzuya’s Kiribaku fantasy series

a/n at the end

(spoilers ahead):

-i think some small little disadvantages don’t exist in their world. like, for the sake of convenience, i don’t think periods are experienced for those with uteruses. not in like an unhealthy way. they just… don’t happen. (i understand biologically they’re important but this is a magical fantasy land and i don’t wanna spend each month traveling with the two panicking about when my cycle will start)

-to add, your glasses don’t fall of your face or break, like, ever. and there are brewers that sell potions to gain 20/20 vision if you are born without perfect sight. most are temporary effects that have different levels depending how long you want it to last. however, during the potion effect, there is a temporary burning sensation in your eyes that is included in the changing process; the higher the dosage, the more pain is inflicted.

-bakugo mentioned in the most recent episode (ep. 18) that his people have this ritual? tradition? of giving someone who wronged you a cut as their form of an apology, so that it can naturally heal and metaphorically heal the bond. i think that when traveler got kidnapped by hawks and he realized his mistake, bakugo let kirishima cut him. kirishima, though very upset, gave him a small and thin cut (cause there was a guilt about hurting his prince) on his chest. not at the hand for shooing traveler away, or at his lip for speaking of breaking his promise to get them to the alter, but at his heart for creating such judgements and decisions.

-traveler will occasionally have nightmares, and if it’s not about ghoul spiders, it’s about falling into the ocean and drowning down to a siren’s incantation.

-bakugo is a light sleeper but imagine, while sailing across the sea, the gem spoke to bakugo in his sleep, and that’s why he woke up to catch traveler before they fell into the water. he thinks it was intuition but plays it off as “your loud ass footsteps.”

-more of a prediction: the unicorn ring will be used to save kirishima and/or bakugo’s life.

-again more of a prediction than headcanon: it’s been teased since them leaving edolyn (and their talk with the unicorn) that traveler has some type of healing magic. but it’ll only be revealed when one of the guys needs it most.

-it has been on more than one occasion (especially now that it’s getting colder) where bakugo will be first to wake up and notice the three of them had been cuddling together.

-whenever they’re settling in for the night, they’ll play a game where traveler will shoot an arrow to the sky and kirishima will fly to try and catch it, almost like a dog catching a ball.

-only when kirishima is really excited is when the end of his tail wags a bit.

-traveler tries really hard to avoid eye contact when they’re bathing together.

-bakugo had a nightmare once a couple days after traveler was kidnapped. it was their argument right after the events of havenfall, but instead of yelling that their journey was off, he just aims an arrow at travelers heart. he jolts awake right before he can release it. for the next week he prayed to the gods every night, hoping that they were at least alive.

-when they reunited and told the prince and dragon about their experience with hawks and that they were sentenced to be executed by the king of edolyn, bakugo prayed a silent thank you to the gods for protecting them.

-traveler feels the most homesick when they are by themselves/alone while the other two are taking care of other things.

-if they don’t knock out immediately, the three will stay up for a bit talking and kirishima will play with the pendant of the necklace he bought for traveler. now, he does it with his own. it’s his dragon instinct to handle anything sparkly.

-due to kirishima’s constant zoomies, he keeps a copper coin in his pocket to fidget with when traveling on foot.

-kirishima will gladly take leftovers but only if he’s made sure that they’ve eaten enough.

A/n: i understand if someone of these are seen “out of character” but these are just headcanons. and sorry for all the colored text. also i would love to know if yall think of traveler as an oc or as yourself! for the sake of keeping these hcs pretty general, i used traveler with they/them pronouns as they are used within the series.

[paradlselost]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐅 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒

Black Noir II x female!reader

⎨ 𝐀𝐍 ⎬ spent way too long on this; but I kept picturing him in the piledriver position and omfgggg. also I drank so sorry if the ending sounds strange, this isn’t beta-read at all lol

⎨ 𝐂𝐖⎬ 2.9k words , second person point of view , noir II , s4 spoilers , smut : fantasies of sex , oral ( m receiving ) , p in v , piledriver position , mentioned size difference , stomach bulge , cream pie , aftercare .

A few heavy breaths came from behind the mask, his lips outlined by the black balaclava he wore. A few punches here, dodging and rolling there; just like a real hero would. Did he mind the sweat that rolled down his top lip? Tasting the salt from his overexertion?

His gloved hands reached out, one grabbing the wrists that fought against him to pin them, the other grabbing at the exposed neck as he pinned the black clad body against the glass jewelry container.

“Get off me-! Motherfucker!”

Kicking and shouting wasn’t the best tactic now was it? Not when you were attempting to rob the jewelry store. It was so cliche, a cat burglar going after overpriced diamonds and gems. You’d think the stars themselves had been crafted into the finest necklaces by the way you had been shoving them into your bag.

How were you to know he was on patrol when you happened into the closed jewelers? Maybe it was fate, past misdeeds finally catching up to you in the form of this armored reaper. It certainly felt like a dance with death, the knowledge of his super strength in the back of your mind as you managed to wiggle out of the hold he had on you.

Slipping down against the cracked glass case and through the room left to crawl out from under his legs in a last ditch effort to escape. You were graceful, smooth like a cat slinking away with the pickings it had gotten from a dead bird. But his hands caught your legs like a mouse in a trap and your heart dropped in your chest.

A gloved hand grabbed at your hair, pulling you up enough to get you on your knees in front of him, craning your neck to look at his soulless mask as a peasant would look at a god; and maybe in a way you were, was this being that could kill you in a second really a man anymore? What power did a worldly being have in snuffing out a life so fast?

So you sat at his mercy, begging for forgiveness and looking like a sinner at an altar. How small you looked below him, what penance did a lowly criminal like you get? So you waited for the hand that would tear your heart out or the sirens that would wail… but nothing. He simply looked blankly down at you.

“Fucking-… Cut!!” The bell sounded somewhere in the studio, sighs falling from the directing team under the knowledge that this was the best shot they were going to get, and the ‘mute supe’ had forgotten his next line. One job, really.

“Damn it, I’m sorry. You did great, though.” His hand his outstretched for you to take, helping you get to your feet. He’s kind, behind the mask he wore, would you ever get to see his face? Probably not, being just an actor; but it was cool being able to work with a Supe, especially one in the seven.

“It’s no problem, honestly. They’ll probably just go from the shot of me on my knees, anyways.” You watched as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, gloved hands creating an odd sound against his balaclava. His job was on the line; Homelander had told him they could always find a replacement for Noir just as they had with him - but he couldn’t help it.

Had his cup always been so strained against? He shifted ever so slightly, trying not to make his discomfort obvious as an assistant stepped over and handed you both a water bottle. Silently, he was happy his face was obscured as his eyes didn’t leave your lips, watching them part to welcome a swig of much needed cold water.

Was it his fault he had stuttered and broken the immersion? In his heart, he knew it was; but how could he not have? He could feel your warmth radiating through his armor and seep into his skin, how those pretty eyes looked back and then up at him, how your lips had parted ever so slightly. He was being an idiot.

This was your job; you’re an actress so why did he think those looks you gave him were exclusive? He was probably an idiot in thinking your on screen chemistry could mingle behind the scenes. He jumped every so slightly when the bell rang out again.

“That’s a wrap for now. We’ll pick up again tomorrow. Noir, make sure you fucking practice.”

A pointed look from the director was quickly overshadowed by your soft touch to one of his shoulder pads as you walked past him. A shiver running down his spine as his eyes followed you, watching you. Your delicate fingers had not done him any favors as his heart pounded in his chest. Secretly, he was glad shooting was done for the day.

The door to his trailer shut quickly, the lock turning as he leaned back against it. The curtains had already been drawn shut from this morning; is it in Noirs character to like his privacy? It certainly isn’t to sprawl out on the couch and fist his cock to thoughts of his co-star. And yet.

His head tilted back against the couch, helmet taken off but the balaclava had stayed on; he enjoyed the way it made everything a little harder to breathe, how he could feel the fabric against his lips. Besides; he wouldn’t take off his mask to fuck you the first couple of times, anyways, that’s a kind of trust that’s earned.

His hand traveled up and down his cock, slow at first as he traced the veins that pump blood to his darkening head; imagining that this is what it would be like with you the first time. Certainly, you’d take your time in getting to know every intimate part of him. His thumb swiped over his tip like your tongue would.

A groan fell from his lips, wetting them after a moment. He could imagine how warm your mouth would be around him, how you would look up at him as he pushed the head of his cock to the back of your mouth, how your hot breath would feel coming out of your nose against his groin.

He felt himself throb against his hand, desperately needing a release when there was a knock on the door, shaking him out of his private moment. How unlucky he was, thinking he had more time than he actually did. Noir grumbled as he fixed his cup back over himself, his dick uncomfortably straining against the cool metal.

He fixed his helmet over himself and stepped over to the door, ready to snap at whoever was interrupting him like a supe should do. He should be allowed to have a power trip every once in a while; should he? A god against a mortal.

“Hey! Sorry I hope I’m not bothering you, I was just wondering if you wanted to practice? I got a bit of free time.” How could he yell at you when you looked so pretty standing on the steps to his trailer? Head tilted to the side, rubbing the back of your neck.

“Oh uh.” Part of him wanted to say no, to shut the door and hide himself away against his silk sheets and pump his hand over his aching cock, but he couldn’t shut you out. Not when you were the object of his fantasies. “Yeah, sure. We don’t need a lot of space, we can practice in here.”

Noir nodded, moving out of the way to allow you to enter his abode, to get a glimpse of what little the man below the mask could add to a trailer belonging to a dead man. Not that you knew, of course; finding it strange that he could talk but not prying further. It wasn’t your place to ask silly questions like that.

Still, you took in what you could. A picture frame with people you couldn’t quite make out from a distance, a few books and magazines he hadn’t bothered to clean up. The kitchen was tidy, though everything had a black color scheme and it felt a little… draining. Was that really all there was to him?

You snapped out of your thoughts at the sound of him moving the table out of the way to allow more space to practice your scenes together. He bunched up the carpet, just kind of tossing it against the couch before he looked over at you. A soulless mask, but the way he tapped his fingers against his armor was endearing.

“So- do you want to go from the fight?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

God against man, a mortal who had incurred the wrath of a far more powerful deity; you find yourself on your knees once again. No cameras stuck close to your face this time, no lights to make you sweat, just you and the being who could crush your windpipe below his gloved fingers.

The fabric against his hands is audible as it squeezes a bit, your own moving up to grasp onto his wrist; silent pleas for your pathetic life falling from your lips. This is where he messed up before, the sight of you below him being too much to handle. His cock throbbed uncomfortably against his cup.

“You have to handcuff me now.” You look up at him, a different kind of gaze from being terrified for your life. You’re a good actor, he’ll give you that, but he prefers this moment - how you look vaguely confused as to how he could mess up a second time. His dick hurts now, he can feel pre-cum leaking against his armor and god does he need a release.

“Can I fuck you?”

“Huh?”

“I’ve been… thinking about you. I like you like this.”

“Oh.”

You’re quiet for a moment and he fears he’s blown his shot with you. His hand still rests against your neck albeit loosely, and your eyes travel from his crotch up to his mask, obscuring any kind of expression you might be able to make out. Is he messing with you? Why would someone as strong as him decide you’re the one he wants?

“Okay, yeah. Yeah I’d like that.”

A nod is just what he needs, his hand leaving your neck and moving to tangle into your hair, firmly placed on the back of your head while the other moves to quickly undo his crotch armor and throw it somewhere on the couch.

He leaks pre-cum from his weeping slit, far too dark of a color to be comfortable for him. The groan that falls from his lips as you move to place yours against his head is almost heavenly. Like you’re a godsend, the only one who can make him feel like this. His gloved fingers tighten in your hair, an encouragement.

Noir is proved right in his theory of you; that your tongue dances over his head and flattens against his slit, your pretty eyes flutter shut and your hand rubbing the base of his cock. You must think he’s a poor baby the way you hum as you squeeze him slightly, hard and dripping against your tastebuds.

He reaches a hand against the back of the couch you two were beside, gripping it till his knuckles ached below his gloves. He’s swift in his movements, calculated and for the first time he feels closer to the old Noir. Would this be how he would act? Grabbing ahold of a woman like this - like you’re something to be manhandled? He’s usually shy, anxious when with women but you don’t seem to mind so he doesn’t lighten his grip.

Pushing you back against the ground, head resting on the discarded carpet like some sort of pillow below you. You’re an actress; doing your own stunts against him so he’s seen the way your body curves and flexes. He knows you can handle him, even if it takes a few tears.

He grabs your hips harder, shimming sweatpants you had changed into earlier, running his fingers over the growing wet spot in your underwear before he too removed them like they were a barrier to something most precious. His lips press against your thighs through his balaclava, breath hot and fast in anticipation for what is to come.

The angle is awkward and strenuous, but he seems to take great joy in seeing you like this. Not quite missionary, your body is arched below him and your silently grateful for the makeshift pillow because you’re sure your neck would be even more sore tomorrow had it not been for the carpet bunched up. Your legs are pushed back as he moves around you, hand gripping his cock to line up.

Noir inches himself in, letting you take deep, shallow breaths in your position as he tries his best to stay patient and not bottom out. The stretch hurts a bit; you can’t remember the last time you’ve been with a supe in such an intimate display and he’s thicker than most you’ve been with.

His breath his hard and hot against his balaclava; hands resting to keep both your legs out as he finally bottoms out inside of you. You can hear the groan that leaves his lips at the feeling of your walls constricting against him - in such a position they pulse and push around his still aching cock. Your warmth is welcome to him, driving him crazy.

His thrusts are as rough as he is with you on the set; barely giving you time to catch your breath between pumps as the air leaving and entering your lungs is sharp and almost painful. Wanton moans fall from your lips, hands reaching to grasp the underside of the couch in order to keep from moving below him.

“Fuck- Noir…”

“Is that good? You’re such a good girl, staying in this position f’me.”

You barely have the strength to respond, neurons firing in your brain in an attempt to string together words but all that comes out is a few unintelligible babbles. He pushes impossibly deep inside of you; he had reached a certain bundle of nerves quite a few thrusts ago, now he was abusing that spot. It seemed he was trying to get these reactions out of you.

Tilting his head back slightly, he groaned as you tightened around him; one hand falling from your legs to press against your stomach. He took pride in feeling himself inside of you - a large ego boost that his cock was thick enough to create a faint outline inside you. He would certainly have to fuck you more after this, see what other angles could excentuate that bulge in your pretty flesh.

“Gonna-“ Your gasp is harsh, though you don’t need to speak; he can feel it. The way your walls spasm around him as he pulls out and pushes back inside of you. He draws it out, slowing down a bit and cocking his head to the side - blacked out mask taunting you in your state.

“What? Are you gonna cum?”

A nod, breathless ‘yes’s falling from your lips as your hand not grasping the couch for dear life reaches up to grab onto his armor. Tears prick at your eyes, proof of how good he was making you feel. Your head lulls back against the carpet; white toying at the corners of your eyes.

Bliss washed over you quite quickly after that, gushing around him. He can’t help but chuckle at the sight, though it’s marred with a soft moan at how you squeeze. His hips continue to move, stuttering and the trailer fills with the unmistakable sound of sex. Wet, sloppy now as he nears his own climax.

Another thrust, then another before he buries himself to the hilt inside of you and spills his seed against your walls. He could die at the feeling of you milking him, drawing spurt after spurt of hot cum from his throbbing cock. He feels lucky, in his euphoria, that he could have this experience. A god with a mortal, how funny it was.

He pants as he withdraws himself, letting your legs lay back down as he colapses beside you. Head spinning, body aching from the position and the ceiling of his trailer suddenly looks as beautiful as the starry night outside. You two share the air, share your breathing and as you lay there for a moment longer; you can feel him get up.

He’s as silent as a ninja, but you know his presence is no longer beside you and honestly? After the position you had just kept? You were far too tired to move to see where he happened to go. Besides, the sound of the faucet running is enough of an indicator that he’s just moved the kitchen.

He returns after a moment, crouching in front of you as you finally move your head to look at him. He hasn’t taken his top helmet off; not allowing you a peek at the face he was hiding behind the balaclava, but the gentle kisses he places to your trembling legs are more than enough to take your mind off whatever he might look like.

“ ‘m surprised you don’t wanna watch your cum drip out of me.” You earn a chuckle from him as he moves the now wet and soapy washcloth he had gotten in the kitchen over your thighs and, gently, over your sensitive core. Cleaning you up as gentlemanly as possible.

“I’d rather see you tangled in my bed sheets, if we're being honest.”

“Sounds nice - even though I should be heading home after this. Guess you’ll have to fuck me again to be able to see that.”

“I was planning on fucking you again regardless.”

[wheneclipsefalls]

Grovel Part 3

Pairing: Aged up Lo'ak x Fem Omatikaya Reader

Grovel Masterlist

Warnings: aged up characters, past cheating, angst, mentions of blood, trauma, nightmares, description of injuries and death, war flashbacks, fear, swearing, drinking, etc.

Summary: Lo'ak is everywhere all at once.

A/N: Sooo...a little unsure about how the writing quality of this turned out but I hope you enjoy anyways. oh also I really don't know how or why I made this chapter so long haha

“And that speech…” Talu paused to give a wistful sigh. Words were not necessary to convey how romantic she thought Lo’ak’s courting proposal was. “Sister I can only hope for the same from Neteyam soon.” The sparkling grin she threw your way proved to be anything but envious, cheeks tinting into a happy shade. 

Your own returned smile was mediocre at best, fingers still running over the mysterious pieces of your new top. No, of your new courting gift. That would never stop feeling strange, especially knowing it had come from a man that you had written off as a memory so long ago. If Talu sensed your apprehension, she didn’t show it. Nothing could stop her giddy babbling as she went about straightening your shared kelku. 

“I admit, I would not have guessed Lo’ak to be the first of the two to profess such feelings but then again this is my sister we are talking about.” Her eyes shined with pure admiration and love. “He would be a true skxawng to not tuck away his childish hesitations in favor of chasing such a gem.” 

“Talu-” You go to reprimand her dramatics but it falls on deaf ears. 

“And just think, with any luck our matings could coincide and then before you know it our children will be learning to hunt together. We could even create a connected kelku. I’ve seen a few families do it before!”

“Is that not a little much?”

Talu squealed, feet kicking like a small child. It was hard to cut off such ramblings when she was in this state. So truly disconnected from the judgments of others, letting her joy flow from her without reserve. 

“It is like becoming sisters all over again. Double sisters even. Or…” She paused thoughtfully. “However you say it.” 

“I don’t think there is such a term.” You muttered, tucking away the healing ointments into a basket. That sparkling top still lay across the floor of the marui. It had no place in your home, or at least you didn’t know where it would be. Even heaped across the floor it felt far too grand in this humble abode. 

“How have you not tried it on?” Talu gasped, kneeling down to carefully collect the garment as if handling a rare gem. “Go on! It will look dazzling on you, I know it!” 

You reared back, fingers twirling nervously away from where she offered it to you. 

“I don’t know if I will.” 

“Why not?” Talu’s head tilted to the side, tail dashing back and forth in anticipation. “Don’t worry about breaking it. I can help you get it on carefully.” 

A small smile curved at her kind invitation but you no longer knew how else to respond to her new enthusiasm. You had no interest in explaining and consequently reliving the events of you and Lo’ak’s history but neither did you want her fantasy of your twinned mating to blow out of proportion. 

“What I mean is I don’t know if I will wear it at all. Lo’ak’s courting…well…I don’t think I will accept.” 

Her ears dropped immediately, eyes widening as her tail came to a halt. Talu didn’t wait for an explanation. 

“I do not understand. Was his presentation not…sufficient?” 

You were shaking her head before she even finished. Scrambling back down to your knees to meet her at eye level. 

“No, of course it was but…I am not sure whether or not I would like to accept his courting in general. Lo’ak can be very…” You paused, searching for the right words that would get her desperate attention off of you while properly masking the past. “Annoying,” you finished lamely.

“Annoying?!” A laugh of disbelief coated the word. Her tail swooped up slightly and a spark of hope surfaced again. “By Eywa, what are you talking about?”

You knew it was the wrong choice of words the second they left your mouth. Hoping to conceal your heated blush you hastened back into straightening the room. 

“What do you mean by that?” She rephrased.

“Well Lo’ak has always been a little headstrong and…loud…and….oh he always called me names and pulled at my tail-”

It was difficult to continue now with Talu’s rampant giggling filling the room.

“All of those reasons are from when you were children. Of course he was not great for the nerves, no boy was at that time, but it has been years.” Amusement danced in her eyes, that level of disappointment already washed away. It’s not as if you could blame her truthfully. Your reasoning was lacking at best. 

“Give the male a chance to show he has changed. If his appearance is anything to go off of then we know at least one thing has changed-”

“Talu!” You hissed, chucking a woven blanket at her. Your sister’s laughter did not subside as it made contact and she dramatically rolled to the floor. Despite her suggestive joke you couldn’t help but find her joy contagious and before you knew it both of you were bursting at the seams until your stomachs ached. 

“Lo’ak has his work cut out for him. It will take more than pretty words and a few tattoos to win my sister.” She finally spoke once you were starting to catch your breath. There was no mistaking the pride in her tone. “As it should be.” She reassured you, placing a hand atop her head before exiting the kelku. 

Neteyam’s proposal came mere days later. You wondered if part of the rush was due to being upstaged by his brother but that theory was set to the side when you witnessed Lo’ak’s helping hand in the festivities. He had been the one to set off the glowing plants at the end of Neteyam’s speech, painting eclipse in a vibrant glow that washed over the smiling couple. And when Talu had given her joyful, yet contained, acceptance, Lo’ak had smiled at you from the bushes. 

Gifts came pouring in left and right, your front doorstep littered with fresh kills, baskets, berries, and woven ornaments every other day. Each gift was specifically marked from each brother, obvious that neither wanted the credit for their work to be placed on their sibling. It was almost humorous were it not for the guilt you felt in disposing of your gifts hastily. 

Talu had given you a fair share of glares when you had passed off the neat meals to some neighboring families or tied small trinkets into some of the little girl’s hair in the village. No one knew that they were from the youngest Sully son but Talu’s disapproval was enough to make you hesitate at times. And yet, that first beautiful garment remained draped over your table at home without being touched for days. 

Despite her common persuading, Talu often brushed off your resistance as your way of playing hard to get. The looks she would exchange with Neteyam when Lo’ak was brought up had your intuition sparking. You wouldn’t put it past your older sister to conspire with the eldest Sully son in the ways of helping Lo’ak woo you. 

Those suspicions were borderline confirmed as the gifts switched to very specific items and fruits that caught your fancy. One morning in particular you had woken up to your mouth watering at the smell of peanut butter coming from the entrance. Such a rare delicacy that the Sully’s had introduced you to so many years ago, your senses had become quickly attuned to its pull. 

So you ate it.

Tucked away in the corner of the marui where you could shovel it into your mouth without judgment, but you had eaten it all the same. And as the last glob of strange texture stuck to your tongue it was becoming harder and harder to feel guilty for indulging in the pleasure. 

So you stopped.

From then on out when the gifts came you sorted them into trinkets that would be shoved away and repurposed to treats you would allow yourself to enjoy. Lo’ak dropped off meals so often that it became almost unnecessary to join communal dinner. Although you would never admit it, you couldn’t resist the slowly cooked meat or even the fish that he had seasoned and prepared in such a unique way you could only associate it with him. All the same, you let yourself have it.

After all, if he wanted to waste his time hunting and foraging for your delight every day that was his prerogative. And what you did with those free offerings was yours. 

A bitter part of you couldn’t help but feel satisfied by the constant effort he was putting in. Perhaps this is what he truly deserved after breaking your heart. He could race across the forest every day trying to win your affections without result and maybe that would finally teach him to handle people’s hearts more carefully. 

In any case, this obsession would subside sooner or later and he would be chasing after another girl. Until then, it seemed logical to enjoy the splendors while you could. 

However it became increasingly more difficult to avoid his presence as the gifts poured in, especially in the company of others. Some days it felt as if Lo’ak was everywhere all at once. Helping a clan member move into their marui, joining the afternoon hunting party, taking notes at his father’s meetings. The list went on and on. It was more than you expected for the youngest son of the Olo’eyktan to have. 

And Lo’ak never missed a day. You never woke to an empty threshold and he never stopped averting his attention your way no matter the situation. Even if some days all he could afford was a loving gaze, one that made your stomach turn itself inside out. 

Your fingertips had grown wrinkly under the river’s current as you continued to scrubs at the cloth viciously. So many to get through cleaning for the healer’s tent before you could sufficiently rest from today’s labors. Still…you remembered a time where it was worse. So much worse. 

It was never too late to count your blessings. 

“The orange would look good!”

Your ears perked, recognizing the voice although it had changed over the years. Sweet Tuktirey emerged from the treeline, her older brother in tow. It was difficult to wrap your mind around how much the girl had grown since the Sully’s departure. Where once skipped a tiny optimistic child of sunshine now bloomed a beautiful young woman on the precipice of adulthood. Still only a teenager, Tuk had seen more than most people should in their early years.

It was a relief to find that the trials of war failed to dim her light. 

“I don’t need another one.” Lo’ak insisted.

Your scrubbing intensified but your breath held. Perhaps they wouldn’t see you. 

“Just a small one right here.” Tuk halted her brother sternly before carefully selecting a stray braid to bring forward. “It would look so pretty!” She giggled and Lo’ak scoffed.

“Pretty? What type of vibe do you think I’m going for?” Hands on his hips and eyes narrowing it was still easy to see the glimmer of teasing there. It only made Tuk laugh harder. 

“Whatever it is, it's too late to save you from it now.” The words barely left her lips before a shriek followed and she was racing away from her brother’s chase after her tail. The edges of your lips curved upwards. “Lo’ak!” She screeched, now trying to elbow her way out of his grasp. 

They wrestled along the rocky shore until his younger sister was gasping for a truce. Dopey grins matched as the two finally broke away to collect themselves. Your eyes refused to be diligent as you kept forcing them back at your task. 

Their laughter died down suspiciously quick and through the gentle breeze you could just barely pick up on whispering. The weight of their attention bore down on you. The scrubbing picked up tenfold. There are still three rags left but maybe-

“Y/N!” Tuk called, practically skipping your direction. There was no hope in hiding now.

You flipped over in mock surprise, a warm grin naturally taking place as you saw her rush your way. 

“Hi Tuk.” Infusing friendliness into your tone and body language you tried to keep your eyes pinned on the younger Na’vi and not her shadow that followed behind. 

“What are you doing?” She immediately swooped in to kneel beside you. 

“Tuk, don’t bother her.” Lo’ak called, gently jogging to catch up. His hair was down today, decorated braids swinging with every step. 

“I’m not bothering her!” She shot back with a huff as he came to a halt before them. Lo’ak’s dark eyebrows dropped, giving his sister a doubtful look. 

“She is fine.” You gave a firm assurance but purposefully veered your attention back at the sudsy rag. Otherwise you were sure to notice insignificant details like the return of his battle band and the way it gave a further optical illusion of his slim waist. 

“Are these from grandmother’s tent?” Tuk gestured to the pile of rags. 

“Just giving them a quick wash.” 

“All by yourself?” Her surprise at such a thing warmed your heart, even more so as she reached to grab one of the rags.

“Oh no, Tuk. It is alright. I can manage.” Your concerns are quickly shushed as she swats your hand away. “I don’t want to make you late.” 

From the look on Lo’ak’s face that is exactly what was going to happen. Whatever engagement they were currently going to was sure to be starting soon. 

“Well…” She dropped the rag, pausing for a moment. “I can’t really stay long…”

“Do not worry.” You laughed softly, placing a hand on her arm but there was a flicker of mischief in her smile. 

“But Lo’ak can help!” Within one yank to his arm she had her older brother falling to his knees. 

“Oh no Tu-”

“He’s great at washing rags! Best in our family, actually.” 

The bizarre lie almost had your panic melting into humor. You expected Lo’ak to intervene again but despite the roll of his eyes and reprimanding look shot Tuk’s way, he was already shifting to get comfortable and reach for the next rag. 

“No, really.” You caught the rag from his fingertips and alongside it his gaze as well. Pools of gold studied you with a diligence that made your skin burn. 

“I can walk myself the rest of the way.” Tuk happily chirped, rising to her feet. Ripping the cloth away you scrambled to gather the rest of the supplies. It didn’t help when two four-fingered hands gently helped you gather the mess silently. 

“I appreciate it, Tuk, but I really should head back as well.” 

Her shoulders dropped. Within a stride Lo’ak was in your space. Instinct almost had you reeling backwards before you realized it was to simply hand over the rest of the supplies. 

“We can walk you.” He offered, voice warm and smooth like falling molasses. 

“No thank you.” Two steps backwards and your lungs could finally fill with air not drenched in his essence. 

“But you’ll be at the party tonight, right?” Tuk perked over his shoulder, eyes wide and already on her toes for an answer.

“Party?” 

“More of a small get together, near the old shack.” Lo’ak corrected. 

“Anything but small. There will be food and music and an excuse to dress up.” Her hairless brows wiggled, a glee that was intoxicating. 

“I don’t know I-”

“Oh you can wear that new top! I’ve been dying to see it on someone! Lo’ak would barely let me look at it while he was making it, let alone try it on.” Supple lips formed into a pout.

“Okayyy,” He drawled, slinging an arm around her shoulders. Tuk shrunk under the weight, squirming as he began to pull her back. “I think you’ve bugged the poor woman enough.” 

She hissed back at him, ducking under his arm to be released. A few comments shot between the two in English but Tuk reluctantly began to inch away. 

“We do hope you can make it.” There those eyes were again, studying you for any change. Perhaps he was waiting to see if you would shout, run off, even raise a hand at him. If so, it would be a relief to see him finally catching on to his standing with you. “Call for me if you need help. I will come.”He promised and Tuk quickly ran up to wave goodbye.

 Just as you thought the coast was clear, making your way upshore, footsteps came up fast. You turned and startled slightly to find Lo’ak so close again. He held something wrapped in leaves. 

Lo’ak held it up with a half grin. 

“Lunch, paskalin [honey].” Before you could shoot back your protests he had it tied to your bag strap and was jogging away. You watched his retreat longer that you would have cared to admit. Not your fault. Lo’ak had a way of catching you off guard. That’s all it was, you told yourself. It had nothing to do with the way sunlight danced across his shoulder blades. 

Lo’ak made it seem like attending tonight’s party was optional. A stance that Talu clearly did not share as she braided small flowers into your hair. You could try to convince her otherwise, maybe even make up a lie but you knew better than to underestimate Talu’s ability to shackle you into social events. When she had an idea in her head nothing would sway her away. 

Yet another reason your theory of her aiding the younger Sully son concerned you. Although you’d hate to believe it, it would surely only take witnessing a few of her conversations with Neteyam to confirm such meddling. And with how often Neteyam swept her away, there was simply too much time for scheming to take place. 

“Don’t you think it is a little rude not to wear it?” Talu huffed, holding the sparkling top out to you. The same one a certain Sully had gifted.  

“Seems more rude to give him false hope by wearing it.” 

“Oh come now, you can’t seriously claim there is no hope for him to cling to.” Talu rolled her eyes, carefully turning each piece of the top so it laid in the right direction. When faced with your deadpanned expression she let out a sight, shoulders dropping. “I’m just saying it would match nicely with the flowers.”

“I’m wearing the purple vines.” You reiterated, eyes narrowing.

“Alright alright,” She carefully laid down the garment and turned to show her surrender. “Have it your way.” 

It would be foolish to believe that her acceptance would be anything more than short lived. Bracing yourself for the night ahead you carefully dressed and began crafting a game plan. Anything that would keep Lo’ak off your back and therefore sail you through the party swiftly. 

Tuk was right. This ‘small gathering’ was anything but intimate. While it was clear that not all clan members were not invited, it was obvious which demographic they were catering to. Almost every young single warrior, healer, and gatherer had shown up with dazzling garments and the motivation to whisk the night into a frenzy. Frankly it was surprising that Tuk’tirey was allowed at this party at all. 

Then again, she came with three taller, older escorts flanking her sides. 

You could practically feel Talu’s grin, although she strategically turned to hide it. She had a way with men that seemed to serve her well. Never reveal your cards too early. 

It was a success for as far as you could tell because the future Olo’eyktan barely made out simple greetings as his eyes were drawn back to your sister like a moth to flame. It was starting to get uncomfortable. And although you couldn’t be more happy for your sister, it became clear that taking your turns around the gathering would serve you better. 

The old shack was something you had never ventured to see. As children with the Sullys you had refused to get anywhere near it. Even now as it was almost entirely swallowed by Eywa’s forest and your friends served drinks from inside, it felt as if hallowed spirits still drifted through its ugly halls. There were too many memories held in that strange kelku. And while none of them were yours, the familiar RDA symbols had it feeling all too personal. 

Steering away from the looming structure you found solace in a circle of young females. Most were warriors that you had little interaction with but you had spent enough time Penyau in the healer’s tent to consider her a friend, so her presence was sufficient. You were only half listening as the topic flowed from upcoming gatherings to new gems found in the nears caves. Nothing that you were interested in chiming in on but the circle of females were your armor against Lo’ak. And that’s all that mattered. 

At least, that is what you assumed until a finger was tapping you on the shoulder. 

A flurry of golden eyes immediately snapped to the space behind you. It was clear who stood there even before you turned around. 

“Good evening, sisters. Do I mind if I borrow Y/N for a moment?”

“More than a moment if you’d like.” One female responded with a suggestive smirk and that earned her a series of giggling laughter. It gave Lo’ak more than enough courage to lead you away. 

Once out of their ear shot there was no more reason to play nice. 

“Dinner.” Lo’ak said simply, gently handing over the leaf of meat. 

His gentle expression was met with a scowl.

“I can get my own food, Lo’ak. I am in no need of being fed like a child.” Although, the food was currently being served inside of the shack and you would rather starve than set foot in there. However, that information was none of Lo’ak’s business. 

“Of course you do not need it, paskalin.” His deep chuckle was accompanied by a smile that was far too resilient. “But I have committed to courting you and part of that is proving my ability to provide. So as far as I’m concerned I will treat you as if that responsibility has already fallen on my shoulders.” 

“Well, it’s not.” Sharp words and a quick shove had your hands empty once more. Although his tail drooped there was an indistinguishable flame of determination present in his countenance. This man was going to be the death of you. “And I’m not hungry.” 

“Too full from the peanut butter?” He guessed with a crooked smile. It cracked your composure for a split second. Both of those dark eyebrows raised. They taunted you because one way or another Lo’ak had come to figure out the truth and he knew there was no way to refute it. 

Jaw clenched and arms crossed, your eyes flashed back with that same fervent challenge. Even as that handsome face threatened to melt you into a puddle you held your ground. How arrogant could he be to still dare showing his face at you like this after everything? Those white teeth on display as if he had won the prize. Beaded braids pulled up into a neat bun to show off his defined shoulders and chest like a true whore. Wearing that frayed tewng that danced like true seduction in the wind as if he would be getting anything close to lucky tonight. 

It was baffling to try and understand where he got such nerve. 

“Well if you are so persistent on making yourself useful then maybe you should shift your efforts towards getting me a drink instead.” It wasn’t often that you partook in strong drink. The idea often felt childish and pointless. Tonight however….tonight it sounded like an Eywa-send in getting through these interactions. 

Anything that would soar you through this nightmare would be welcomed with open arms. 

“Of course, tanhi.” Lo’ak shook his head with a fond grin. 

Before he could depart however, you caught his arm. He halted immediately. 

“From there.” You pointed towards the furthest corner of the shack. A small gaggle of Na’vi were sprawled out across the floor in giggling fits. It was clear from the look in their eyes that not a single worry could fall upon them. Their drink was strong, no doubt about it. 

“You don’t want that.” 

“And how do you know?”

Lo’ak set the food down to mimic your stance, arms flexed as they crossed. 

“That shit will knock you into next week.”

“And you somehow know that is what I don’t like?” You challenged. “Who's to say I don’t drink it on the regular? Unless you somehow had ways of stalking me all the way from Awa’atlu.” 

You expected him to sigh and admit defeat with reluctance. Maybe throw in a few claims to battle your own but Lo’ak was never one to meet your expectations. He took two strides forward. He had no right to invade your space but somehow the idea of stepping back looked like defeat. 

“That, paskalin, is from Awa’atlu. I should know because I brought it. And I will tell you honestly that pxir [type of alcohol] is nothing like the sweet drinks we make here. It is mostly drunk by men two times your size.” Lo’ak tucked a curl behind your ear. “It will fuck you up.” 

It was not the first time Lo’ak had your teeth grinding to the point of your jaw aching, and you feared it would neither be the last. Even as children he had a way of getting under your skin, tugging at your hair, making teasing comments that had you hissing back at him. That special skill had not been lost, but now…now you knew how to deal with cocky Sully men. 

“I don’t remember asking for the lineage, skxawng.” Your nimble fingers drew your thick hair over one shoulder. “But if you don’t want to get it for me, I’m sure I could find another capable suitor that will.” 

To his credit, Lo’ak’s mask stayed in place. It was the rising of his shoulders that gave away your success. A deep breath was drawn into his lung and that smile waivered like grinding gears that had grown rusty. It shifted into something resembling more of a sarcastic grin. 

“Fine.” He huffed, his show of pearly whites demonstrating anything but joy. “Have it your way, tanhi.” 

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when he went to retrieve a share of pxir. He couldn’t return soon enough. If you had to endure his intoxicating scent and teasing grin for one more moment without aid, the night would end in violence. Lo’ak kept his own small bowl of drink after handing you one. 

He waited, watching you closely. Perhaps he thought you were going to back out. A small voice in your head said that it might have been best but it was too late to retreat now. So with the best mask of confidence you could muster, you held the bowl up in cheers and took a large gulp. 

The taste was fowl!

Absolutely horrific as it seethed your throat with fire. How did any of the Metkayina chose such a drink in full consciousness? Lo’ak patted your back as you choked on the few remaining drops that had gone down the wrong tube. The gesture was quickly swatted away. Your own annoyance only rising as you looked down to see that he had already finished his bowl in silence. 

“It’s a shock to the system I know…no Y/N don’t-”

Three more gulps and that scorching fire was settled in your stomach and the bowl empty. Your nose tingled like it was about to erupt as your eyes squeezed shut. 

“Woah hey, easy there.”

“Another.” Your tone came out like gravel as you handed him the bowl. 

“Uh yeah right.” He scoffed, taking it away. The liquid only spiked your courage, pushing you to face the male head on but then…it unfortunately had you sense of gravity shifting as well. Lo’ak quickly wrapped a securing arm around your waist as you stumbled a few steps. Shit, this stuff worked fast. “Here, eat something.” 

He brought a piece of yerik meat to your lips and that made you squirm to get away.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You snipped.

“Pxir is worse on an empty stomach, trust me.” 

“That easy huh?”

Lo’ak sighed, bringing the food down. “Okay I deserved that but-”

“I don’t want your food, Lo’ak.” There was still enough coordination left to wiggle yourself out of his grasp and stomp to the other side of the gathering. In all fairness, the ground did move side to side with every step but you managed just the same. 

Unfortunately, you couldn’t escape him even while dancing. Toruk Makto’s youngest son remained leaned against a tree on the outskirts, eyes pinned on you diligently. It felt as if you could never get a break from his weighted presence. Why was he not enjoying the party like everyone else? Was it really worth skipping out on getting drunk with old friends just to babysit you?

Walking, let alone dancing, was a struggle but you made a crooked path to him as fast as you could, one hand pushing against his chest. Lo’ak barely flinched.

“You’re watching me.” You accused him. 

“First experience with Metkayina alcohol requires supervision.” 

“And you have to do it from the shadows like a stalker?” Your words were already slurring together but it was hard to tell if that was how it sounded out loud or simply the distortions of your inhibited brain. 

“I’d be more than happy to keep a closer eye on you but it seemed like you wanted space.” He shrugged, eyes darting to where you swayed back and forth. 

“You’re right. I do.” One pointed finger stabbed at his chest with each word. Eywa, he was so warm. 

His mouth opened to treat you to yet again his annoyingly low baritone but then….

“Your sister is calling you.” 

Your claim had his brows raising before slowly turning around to look. It seemed that Eywa was on your side tonight after all because Tuktirey was in fact trying to get down one of her beaded chains from a high branch. How it got up there was a mystery to you but one that you had no interest in solving. 

A forced breath puffed from his nose before he turned back towards you.

“Just,” His lips pressed into a thin line, ears tucking back. “Stay here. Eat something.” That leaf of meat was tucked into your hand before Lo’ak was stalking towards his younger sister. 

As if.

You carelessly flung the leaf away, taking in this new breath of freedom. Eywa only knew where Talu was and conversing with the girls once more no longer seemed appealing but there was still one thing on your mind. The same thing that would erase all other thoughts and help you survive. 

Lo’ak had taken his share of the pxir with him so you were forced to find your own means of acquiring some. Going into the old shack was still not on your agenda but surely you could think of some plan before getting there. And just like that an idea hit you.

Quite literally. 

The male let out a small grunt as you incidentally knocked into him. Immediately strong arms were steadying you back into place with a half hearted laugh.

“Apologies, sister. Woah hey, you got it?” The male was tall and strong, a wall of muscle with a battle band meaning he must have been a warrior. His features held a flame of familiarity but you couldn’t recall his name. However, looking down at the bowl in his hand you realized he perfectly met your two requirements. 

He wasn’t Lo’ak.

He had pxir. 

“Irayo [thank you], I’m just a little…knocked off my axis.” 

He had a pleasing smile. And his braids were shiny. A few clumsy bats of your lashes and the male was already rising to play the hero. He guided you carefully to a stump where you could sit, saying another quiet apology and offering his services. 

“There isn’t anything I can do for you?” At first you figured he was nothing more than a sweet gentleman who somehow got his hands on the strong drink by luck. However, when your eyes locked with his you could see the faintest tremble of a smirk wanting to take place. 

Not too well behaved after all. 

Just what the doctor ordered. 

“Well, I am a little thirsty.” You couldn’t quite remember what a seductive expression would look like and doing that while riding the line of innocence and suggestive was nothing more than a train wreck. 

He wasn’t picky though. 

Neither was his price high as he brought you bowl after bowl of strong drink. The two of you began to make games out of it. Seeing who could drink the fastest. Seeing who could still stand up straight. These little contests became funnier with every sip, although this mysterious man had size on his side and therefore started to smoke your ass at every game. 

You couldn’t remember how you made it back to the dance floor. You weren’t even sure if you were doing anything more than swaying in place but it didn’t really matter when you had him to cling on to. The drinks kept coming even as your head grew heavy and eyes blurry until the scene was just pretty streaks of color. You couldn’t remember the last time you saw him take a sip but he never asked you to stop, making trip after trip for more.

A wave of victory washed over you upon spotting Lo’ak’s scowl from the sidelines. This was the perfect plan indeed. So perfect that you must not have been that drunk after all. You had the Sully boy off of your ass and a handsome male keeping you from falling down as you drank away the worries. 

At some point in time you recalled heated voices coming from above. Another taller frame pressing against your opposite side until you are sandwiched. The heat of wandering hands. Your giggles that rang in your ears in such a funny way it had you laughing again. 

It was warm. Oh so warm.

And his hair danced in the breeze beneath your fingertips, shells and beads clinking together.  

And fragments…the night only existed in fragments.

Ones that trickled off into nothing. 

The nightmare had come on fast. Like a strike from the sky then suddenly you were transported back into that heated tent. Blood spilled from seeping pools along the floor to small clumps that might just never come out from under your nails. Tendons and bone and metal balls. Things that were never meant to be together but time after time you were forced to dig out these demon bullets from warm bodies. 

You hit the floor with a thud. Footsteps scrambled across the space. 

The explosions continued in the background. Like fire in the sky that these demons had somehow figured out how to harness. And as you frantically stitched up a gushing wound you couldn’t help but wonder where it had hit. Who it had hit. Your work was getting messy. Not only from your shaking hands but the squirming of the man beneath you. His cries would never leave you.

Arms wrapped around you but they couldn’t stop your shaking. They couldn’t stop the endless line of battered bodies they came through the tent. 

Rumble and crack, sounds that rattled in your chest the same way it shook the ground. You stopped looking at their faces, afraid of who you could see. Had you already stitched up a friend? A child? Your sister…no, she was on your left. She never spoke on these days, covered in blood up to her elbows. 

How long had it been? 

How much longer did you have to go?

Your fingertips were becoming slippery but you wouldn’t look to see what they were covered in. Not when another person was carried to your feet. Not when…not when those screams sound far too young to be more than a child. 

No more.

No more no more no more no more.

Please no more!

“Mawey, tanhi. I’ve got you.”

Another crack. Another vibration. The lump in your throat was sure to be a sob but no one would hear you even if it were to bubble up. It would be drowned in the sea of anguish. Just the way no one would see your shaking hands through the mist of teary eyes. Your throat knotted. You couldn’t get oxygen through just in the same way the chest beneath your hands couldn’t. It heaved and heaved before halting. 

His heart had stopped.

Would yours stop too?

It didn’t matter. There was no time to think about your own oxygen. Just keep going. Don’t stop. Never stop.

“Open your eyes, sevin, please. Open your eyes for me.”

And you were a coward for shifting away but how could they ask you to look? How could they expect you to see the carnage that was once your friends and family? How did war have a way of turning passionate souls into nothing more than fractured skin and bone? It was all you could see now. 

Just blood.

And bone.

And your crooked stitches from cowardice hands. 

“Y/N!”

In a snap you were met with a different view. A canopy of fabrics above, not the same as the healer’s tent. A firm chest pressed against your back and sweet words that resembled nothing of screams. 

The explosions were here though. And each rumble of power was followed by a strike of light and that sharp rippling sound. 

“Please.” You whispered.

“I know, I know. I’ve got you.” A voice soothed and you could only drown in the wetness along your cheeks. Rocked back and forth side to side but the explosions never stopped. 

New sounds accompanied the first and it was only the throb in your throat that revealed it was your own sobs being let loose. Warm skin pressed against your forehead, lips that weren’t outlined in blood. 

“It’s over.” The voice promised. 

You wanted to tell the truth. To say that it would never be over. It could never be over. Not when the memory infiltrated every space in your mind, corrupting what little light was still there. 

You didn’t have enough air to say it, however. Your own cries were what filled the night as the voice whispered soothing promises. Fingers ran through your hair and a heartbeat was beneath your cheek. 

Your eyes gave out before the rumbling did. 

The gentle sway was relaxing. The sound of rain doing even more to calm you slumber as you snuggled deeper into the soft blanket. Fingers grasping at the material, you breathed in the scent with eased contentment. The essence alone was enough to tempt you into falling right back asleep.

Perhaps you could stay here forever. Snuggled in your bed.

That way you would never have to open your eyes because doing so was sure to spin you off your axis. The pounding in your head could only be blamed on last night’s overindulgence but Talu hadn’t come to wake you up yet, so it was fine. 

The branches of your top dug into your side upon turning over and you squirmed to shift it. Much less soft than the usual tops you wore to bed. Did you not change before falling asleep?

Sifting through your memory, however, all you could retrieve was the sound of a calm heart beat and a fresh fragrance that wrapped around you. The same one that filled your lungs from the blanket. 

Your eyes snapped open. 

This was not your room. You could tell from the first glimpse at the overhead marui structure. And with one more inhale that essence led you to believe you knew exactly whose home you were in. Head aching and body feeling like it has the strength of a rag doll you slowly turned to observe your surroundings. With a cringe you held your breath. One look over had your apprehensions confirmed. 

Sprawled out across the kelku floor on the opposite side of the space lay Lo’ak, sound asleep. 

He had one arm tucked beneath his head with a small blanket thrown over his lap that barely covered anything. Long legs strewn messily along the woven floor, his soft lips were parted with just a whisper of breath passing. Glossy braids outlined his chiseled features into something softer. Something that had you turning away abruptly. 

The action only rewarded you with a spinning room, lifting from all sense of reality as you tried not to hurl your guts on his floor. Taking deep breaths you eventually calmed your head and stomach enough to start thinking through your next course of action. 

You hadn’t even attempted to stand up and it had already been a close call, so sneaking away gracefully seemed like an unlikely feat. Still…Lo’ak was asleep. And if his heavy breathing was anything to go by, he was well under.

Rain still trampled the scene outside but the thunder and lightning were gone, at least for now. Your eyes pinched shut, cheeks heating as you tried to to push away the memory of Lo’ak rocking you in his arms. 

All the more reason to get out of here without having to interact. 

Lo’ak’s groan made you freeze in place, one leg already reaching outside of the hammock. He shifted, propping one leg up before letting out a sigh. You prayed to Eywa he was a heavy sleeper. 

It wouldn’t have mattered in the end, however, because when both feet were planted and you went to stand it only resulted in a collapsing with a screech that would have woken up the neighbors, let alone the male sleeping a few paces away. 

Rushed footsteps sounded before two hands tried to help you back up.

“Hey, take it easy.” The tone of his voice had dropped to a rough rumble, thick with the last string of sleep. 

You gulped.

Shoving him off was too much of an effort at this point and to your dismay it seemed that the only way back on your feet was to accept his help. He didn’t give you a chance to try running again, instead helping lift you back onto his bed. With a groan you threw your arm over your eyes. 

It felt as if your head had been trampled beneath a Bone Helm Rhino’s feet. 

“Lo’ak,” You said slowly. “What am I doing in your home? Or more specifically, in your bed?” 

“You really should drink some water.” You could hear him shuffling, mostly likely going to get you some.

“Lo’ak.” Tongue wielded like a knife you took the little energy you had to muster up some remnants of intimidation. 

He sighed. 

“Don’t worry. Nothing like that happened last night. I promise.” 

Despite your frustration, you believed him. Your clothes were still in tack and it appeared that Lo’ak had spent the entire night sleeping on his floor so you could take the bed. Another part of you was more frustrated by the gesture. He was being such a gentleman it was borderline sickening. Why couldn’t you be left alone to hate him in peace? 

“Oh really?” You countered. “Then what did?” 

Although you could feel his stare, the arm over your eyes added a false sense of protection from his intensity. 

“Exactly what I said would happen. You got drunk off your ass and needed someone to take you home.”

Your arm dropped sharply, heating rushing to your face.

“And you thought that meant taking me to your home?” The sound of your own raging voice caused a ringing in your ears. Lo’ak remained unfazed, a leaf of water already waiting in his other hand. 

“I would’ve walked you home tanhi but…” He cringed slightly.

“But what?” You pressed, eyes narrowing. 

“Well it was my horny brother that would have kept you up all night so I figured it was my responsibility to help you find some place more…comfortable.” 

Your nose scrunched. So many tiny pieces of information yet nothing was coming together to create a true picture of what had been your prior night’s experience. 

“He stayed over?” It shouldn’t have surprised you. Talu and Neteyam were progressing at such a fast rate you sometimes wondered if mating was only a few weeks away. Staying the night was only bound to happen before then, especially with those secretive looks that you were forced to witness. 

“Still is.” Lo’ak urged the leaf forward, which you reluctantly accepted. Even the cool water burned your battered throat. “I didn’t want them waking you.” 

“Sure.” You deadpanned.

“He is not the quietest-”

“Ew! Lo’ak, I don’t want to hear about that.” You reeled back, desperately trying to erase invading images of your sister and the future Olo’eyktan as fast as possible. You loved your sister but hearing about her sex life was not on your list of priorities. A sentiment you wish she had in common with you but there were far too many times that she pushed for information on your end.

Lo’ak laughed and leaned back onto his haunches. 

“Well neither do I but it’s information I am burdened with.” His fingers ran through his braids. “Shared a marui with him in Awa’atlu for far too long.” Lo’ak muttered. 

“So it’s a good thing you’re here. Won’t have to witness it for yourself.” He patted your knee with a smile before rising to refill the water. You scowled at his back, amiss that he couldn’t properly see your disdain. 

With the clouded sky it was difficult to tell how long you had been there but you were ready to suffer the physical strain of walking back in this horrid state if it meant avoiding addressing the elephant in the room. 

“Well excuse me if I’m not quick to thank you but I really should be getting back now.” 

He eyed you cautiously from across the room. Putting on a tough facade was difficult when your limbs would hardly coordinate as your head pounded relentlessly. You didn’t manage to swing your legs over the hammock again before Lo’ak had crossed the room and was handing you more water. 

“One thing I know about Neteyam is that he likes to take his damn time. It’s going to be a while.” 

“Oh please, all men claim that.” You scoffed, taking the water from his hands. “Surely even the walk back would be enough time.” You scoffed after downing the liquid. 

“Tanhi, you are brutal.” Lo’ak said with an amused chuckle. 

“No, I’m realistic.”

“Pessimistic.” He corrected, eyebrows raised in a challenge. 

You tapped a finger against your chin as if in deep thought. “Hm let me guess, you are the great exception then? Your claim to a woman's pleasure being sincere for once.”

Those golden orbs darkened slightly, his tail swishing in a slow rhythm. “I don’t have to claim anything. Actions speak louder than words.” 

That glimmer of mischief sparked just the same as it did when he was a child. However this time it held promises of things far less innocent. You wondered how many Metkayina women had fallen prey to that vibrant spark. His appeal was undeniable and yet another reason the sight of him made your blood boil. 

When were you ever going to catch a break? Your racing heart could surely use one. 

“Typical.” You scoffed, finally relenting to being trapped, flopping onto your back. 

Lo’ak chuckled and rose, towering over where you laid. From this angle you could see far too much, every chiseled muscle in his body contrasted by the low light. 

“Well if you ever want to examine the evidence up close yourself, I am at your beck and call.” He tucked one stray strand away from your forehead and retreated before you could reprimand him. Heat sparked down from your face until reaching your collarbones. 

He was such an asshole. Thinking there would ever be a day where you would want that. You were not another doe eyed female he could win over. Even if your eyes strayed far too long as he began adjusting the waterproof fabrics to hang from the marui’s openings. That superficial attraction meant nothing but that you were in the prime mating season of your life. Hormones were a powerful force but not enough for you to forget what he had done. 

If any other typical warrior were to take his place the effect would have surely been the same. In fact you remembered feeling that pull to another male last night.

Your tail curled around your thigh. What had happened to him? Flashes of dancing and drinking with the warrior were strong enough to be real but beyond that everything else was a blur. All you knew is that he was more than willing to bring you drink after drink. 

Did he see you leave with Lo’ak at the end of the party? There may not have been any true long term interest for the male but you would still feel bad if running off with Lo’ak had snipped him in some way. Especially when getting further entangled with the Olo’eyktan’s youngest son was the last thing you desired. 

When Lo’ak scaled the side support beam to flank down the next cover, you caught sight of scabbed marks along his knuckles. 

“You hit him?!” 

“What?” Lo’ak casted you a glance from where he hung from the beam, thighs flexed around the base to keep him in place. 

A fiery glare was shot at his hand.

“Oh this,” He peeled the hand from the bar, casually using one arm to keep a grip. “Yeah I met your special friend last night.” The frown upon his lips showed that he had anything but fond memories of the interaction.

“What a character he is.” Lo’ak grumbled lowly, more so to himself than you. 

Like lightning a flash of anger coursed through your veins. Clenched fists and wobbly legs scrambled to push you back into an upright position. 

“Lo’ak te Suli Tsyeyk’itan you had no right!”

His legs unfurled and he hung from the bar with one hand, the other out in form of surrender.

“Now wait a minut-”

“You think that just because you want to court me that it puts me off the market for all other men? It’s not their fault that you are too stubborn to let me ignore you peacefully! So what now? Are you going to punch every male that looks in my direction?”

“That’s not what happened.”

“Can’t even handle the slightest bite of competition?” 

His eyes narrowed, ears pinned backwards as he leveled you with a fierce stare. It was too late. You were on a roll. 

Ignoring the swirling of the room you stomped over to him, finger poking aggressively into his chest as you spoke. “If you don’t like seeing me with other suitors then I suggest you skip to the inevitable outcome and find yourself another woman to annoy! Maybe she will take your constant nagging as a compliment.” 

Your chest heaved from the effort, lungs filling with oxygen rapidly as silence fell. An eerie silence that made you shudder from the drafting wind. Lo’ak watched you, voice stoic of emotion before fixing the last flap and dropping to his feet with a thud. Towering over you like a shadow in the night, it was difficult to force yourself to keep from stepping back. 

Two more steps and he was close enough to feel the heat of his skin. 

“Napau is a crook and disgrace to the title he held. Any man that schemes to take advantage of a woman under strong drink against her will does not deserve to breathe the air Eywa gives. He is lucky that I only had time to get a few hits in.” Lo’ak’s voice dropped into a low register that burned with seething fire. 

“He knows what will happen if he crosses my path again. Or Neteyam’s for that matter.” Dark promises whistled in his words, an intense sincerity that had your own nerves rattling. You could only imagine how Napau would have fared under that same intimidation last night. 

And then Lo’ak was gone, calmly walking to the other side of kelku to secure the next flap. 

A mixture of embarrassment, regret, and dread swirled in your chest. If what Lo’ak said was true then last night could have ended so much worse than it did. A million possible scenarios crammed themselves to the front of your mind until you could feel nausea settling in. During the party you couldn’t even remember Napau’s name and yet that was almost the man taking you to bed. 

“You…You told Neteyam?”

“He saw enough to confirm the origin of my actions. Napau won’t bother you again, tanhi.” He didn’t turn to face you, pulling on the rope tight to keep the fabric in place. 

“What does that mean?” A part of you was reluctant to ask but you needed to know what became of him and even more so what had almost become of you. 

It seemed Lo’ak was even more reluctant than you to talk about it when his tail dropped and he let out a heavy sigh. He remained diligent in waterproofing the marui despite the heavy topic. 

“It means he got off with more mercy than he deserved. As I said he was not worthy of the warrior title he held so that was remedied and now he knows better than to come within half a mile of you or me.” 

“His title was revoked? How is that even possible? Without the proper authority-”

“Neteyam will be Olo’eyktan soon enough. One word to my father from him will be enough, trust me.” He peeked over his shoulder, watching the way your eyes ran from side to side as you processed the information. It was too much to sort in your hazy mind, too many emotions that couldn’t be felt separately. 

Lo’ak softened.

Leaving the flap aside he made gentle steps in your direction, careful not to scare you away. 

“Don’t let this weigh on you, tanhi. It has been solved.” Voice smooth and tender, it didn’t matter because it was clear your mind was somewhere else. 

“What did he do exactly?” 

That struck Lo’ak into a posture as stiff as a board. His tail froze and eyes melted back into that stormy gold color. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Well I do.” You insisted, catching his arm when he went to turn. His whole body froze this time, eyes darting down to where you clasped his forearm. Lo’ak had grown tall, taller than most Na’vi thanks to his father’s Avatar genes. It therefore required your neck craning backward to stare up at him properly. 

“I am grateful to Eywa that you do not have to remember such events.”

“But-”

“However, I can assure you that he got no further than a few unwanted kisses and squeezes before I stepped in.” Lo’ak stayed in place, no longer in a rush to fix the kelku as you let his words marinate. It was harder to feel the true wash of relief when your own shouts against the Sully son had been reframed into something more brutal. Apologizing felt like the last thing you wanted to do, especially since a part of you could not let go of your lingering anger towards him. 

Lo’ak had saved you. 

Why couldn’t you have saved yourself?

All because your stupid pride and spite towards the male had clouded your judgment into behaving foolishly. This is not who you were. Never before had you indulged in such reckless behavior and yet within the first couple weeks of the Sullys returning this is what Lo’ak got to see of you. What type of sorcery did his mere presence hold to shove you into madness? 

Lightning struck from above, thunder falling far too quickly after. 

Nails digging into Lo’ak’s arm, you watched the sky carefully through the front entrance. 

“It bothers me too.” 

His voice snapped you back to attention as hard as the crackling lightning. 

“The storm.” He clarified, meeting your startled gaze with a soft composure. “The sound is all too…familiar.” 

There were no further words needed to understand what he meant. The Sky Demon’s erupting fire had been relentless. Always taking. Always destroying. Crumbling your land before you in a matter of blinking. Awa’atlu no doubt had not been exempt from such cruelty.

“Should I feel sorry for you then?” The cycle of storm started up again and with the next crack of lightning your voice came out shakier than intended. 

Lo’ak’s shoulders fell.

“No tanhi,” He sighed, pausing for a moment. “I’m not telling you this to gain your sympathy. I only want you to know that I would never judge you for feeling that fear too.” His eyes flickered down to where you still dug into his arm as the storm carried forward. 

You quickly snapped away, taking a few steps back for measure. Veering your attention away from the entrance, you hoped the lack of visual would keep you from crumbling further in terror. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You mumbled.

“And we don’t have to.” 

Such a different tune than the one Lo’ak often sang but one look at his expression showed that he was not lying. 

“But you know where I am if you ever do.” He gave a half smile and crossed to put the last flap over the entrance. You weren’t oblivious to the occasional glance he casted from the corner of his eye to check up on you. 

Having the marui enclosed completely did aid in dampening your anxiety. It gave you a moment to look around and fully take in your surroundings. It had only been a few weeks since the Sullys had returned to the forest so you were surprised to see his living space so thoroughly crafted. Small candles lit a soft glow that seemed to fill the area with warmth. 

Thinking of Lo’ak you would have expected his space to be covered with a messy floor and toppled gear but what you found was quite the contrary. Neat baskets held smaller household items while his weapons were securely kept in hanging shelves. Spears, bows, knives, and other Sky Demon weaponry. Your eyes were caught on the ominous guns before getting snapped away by the sound of thunder. 

Your arms snaked around your own waist, willing your heart rate to slow. 

Soft lips threatened to break beneath your sharp teeth. Although exhausted it felt as if your body was on a buzz, a vibration that would have you shattering to pieces. 

“How do you deal with it?” The question sprung without thought. 

“With what?” You had his attention now, his hands swiping at the rain covering his arms. 

“The storm. If it bothers you so much, how do you manage?” Although initially embarrassed by your impromptu question it did help to shift the weight over to Lo’ak instead of you. Anything to avoid bringing up the way you had cried in his arms. 

Lo’ak surprisingly lit up at the inquiry. A smile curved at his lips and the air of a secret you were not privy to filled his aura. 

“I have a secret weapon.” He said proudly, motioning for you to follow him as he quickly dropped to his knees and shuffled through baskets. At the mention of weapons you were already hesitant, stiff as a board. However, for as far as you knew everything that could do harm was on the other side of his marui, so you slowly dropped to your knees beside him. 

Lo’ak pulled out on those glowing squares that the scientists were always tapping on. You’d seen them many times in your trips to the outpost but never were interested in becoming familiar with it. This one was smaller, though. So small it fit in the palm of his hand. Then he pulled out another metal object that was an oval shape. 

With a few taps on the tiny pad the oval began singing. You shuffled backwards, almost hitting the hammock behind, as if the small device would attack. When it made no other movement you relaxed and awkwardly crouched back into place. To his credit, Lo’ak tried to hide his laughter. 

Sky Demon music is strange. So different from the lively drums that accompanied their ceremonies. From the foreign words to strange layers of sound it was always too overwhelming. But this song stood apart. 

No language to throw you off but whistling of high and low that would meld into perfect harmony. Lo’ak watched as you creeped ever closer. Despite its soft essence the music gently floated over the sound of thunder and lightning until it felt like the only air filling the marui.

Your tail curled lazily along the floor. Hands bracing yourself forward you drank in every note and phrases that formed together. There was no way of predicting which message would sprout from one to the next but somehow it maintained that perfect fluidity. Like the roots of the trees that intertwined all greenery together, this song was its own habitat. 

“Beautiful.” Lo’ak murmured, like a whisper of a secret. 

“Beautiful.” You couldn’t help but agree, but when you looked up his eyes were only set on you. Warmth crackled through your veins. 

He rose to his feet second after and you craned to look at him. 

“I will go drag my brother out so you can go home. At least make sure he’s decent.” His right ear twitched as a glimmer of amusement snuck through. “But you are free to stay as long as you like.”

The rain was still coming down in sheets outside. When Lo’ak pushed the cover aside you could see another flash of light from the sky. He stepped out into the shower without hesitation, braids becoming shiny in the rain. For a moment you considered protesting, insisting that he wait until the storm had passed, but you feared the contradiction. Only a mere moment ago you were stumbling to return. 

“Tanhi, you were right.” Lo’ak called over the pounding rain. “It did bother me to see you with him.” 

There and gone within a flash. You were left to sit in his kelku with lips parted and head more dizzy than ever. Despite how much there was to unpack you allowed yourself to sink into the sweet melody. Curling up with the blanket that had fallen to the floor you decided that you didn’t have to go back, not just yet. 

“Kaltxi [hello], traitor.” You huffed after breaching the entrance. There was no sight of Neteyam but you could still smell his specific essence in the air. Talu’s ears twitched up at the sound of your voice, pausing from where she was cleaning her room. 

“Oh come on, don’t be like that.” She chastised you but a smile was already forming along her lips. She tugged the trunk from the corner quickly and sat down atop it. Elbows resting on her crossed legs and eyes shining with interest, her keen attitude was far too much for your hungover state to handle. “Tell me everything!” 

“Where would you like me to start? Waking up today in another man’s bed? Or maybe I could tell the story from when you decided to toss me off to him so you could entertain a certain prince last night.” Your arms crossed and nose scrunched as you glared down at her. 

Your agitation only increased when Talu let out a short laugh. 

“Toss you off? Tsmuke [sister] I could not have pried you away from him last night.” Her correction was accompanied by her own body language mimicking yours, lips tempted into a playful smirk. It made your own countenance falter. 

“What are you talking about?” Narrowed eyes pinned her into place but Talu already wore a giddy grin. 

“I tried several times to take you home last night but you would not have it. You were glued to Lo’ak’s side, kept talking about how good he smelled.” Her smile only grew as fire burned into your cheeks. “He even offered to walk you home but it was you that insisted upon staying with him. You were absolutely smitten.” She giggled.

“I was absolutely drunk!” You hissed, tailing coiling around your own ankle. You ran your fingers through the root of your tangled hair, eyes squeezing shut in horror. This is not how Lo’ak had told the story. Why would he have spun it differently? “And you just let me fall all over him? Let him take me back to his place so you could fuck his older brother?!”

“Mawey tiyawn [calm down love],” She urged, voice far gentler than your own as she stood and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Lo’ak promised nothing would happen and I believed him especially after…” That usual soft composure sharpened into something fierce. You knew exactly what she was remembering. You were confident that Talu would snap Napau in half herself were it not for Lo’ak getting their first. Despite her sweet and tempered demeanor your sister could be vicious once provoked. She had a protective streak that no one could dampen. 

“Yes yes I know.” You groaned. 

“So then you know that it’s all handled then. Neteyam is on his way to talk to Olo’eyktan right now.”

“Don’t remind me.” You spoke on an exhale, arms dropping to your side. This headache was never going to go away and now it had more ammunition to swirl it into chaos. Was it really as bad as Talu described? How were you ever going to face him again? And yet Lo’ak had not spoken of your clinging once. 

“He was quite heroic.” Talu smiled, finger moving to start releasing the knots in your hair. “I thought after how scared you were with Napau that you would want to return home immediately but you melted so easily in Lo’ak’s arms. A few minutes of playing with his hair and you were happy as a clam.”

You covered your heated face, stomach twisting as you imagined the scene. 

“Bury me ten feet under.” You whined, slumping into her arms. Talu shushed your worries, nimble fingers doing wonders for your chaotic hair. 

“Oh now don’t be so dramatic. I’m sure Lo’ak would never hold it against you.”

And he didn’t. In fact, he went out of his way to spin another story with the omission of your embarrassing desires. Why would he do that? He had been given the perfect ammunition. The perfect proof that you were interested in him and yet he had done nothing with it? Threw it out before even utilizing it. 

Surely there was some leverage to be gained after all of his courting to now find you falling all over him. 

None of it made sense and perhaps the remnants of pxir were stronger than you anticipated. It seemed as if the world had been spun on its top. You were nowhere closer to unwinding this web now than you were a few hours ago so you might as well rest. With that in mind you unclasped yourself from Talu’s arms and told her you were going to lay down. 

Hallway out the door way she stopped you. 

“You aren’t mad, are you? Truly?” Her voice wavered with hesitation for the first time since your arrival. “It wasn’t my intention to bring him home but once you were in such good hands….well, the night was so perfect and-”

“It is fine.” You reassured her, hand lazily landing on her shoulder. 

“Thank you.” Talu whispered, her eyes melting into a warm honey hue. You shrugged it off. 

“I hope he was worth it.” You snorted but one look at the Talu’s sneaking grin and swatting tail told you so much more about their night of fun than you would have liked to know. 

Thankfully the storm did not continue much longer. Rain continued to wash over the forest but thunder and lightning had taken its absence. It allowed you to fall head first into a deep sleep, although your dreams were riddled with passing memories. Glimpses of Lo’ak’s hands coming up to wipe away tears. The stretch of blue skin along his shoulder and throat that you snuggled into until his essence was clear. Even the deep rumble of soothing praise as you let yourself fall back into his chest. 

Hours later a shuffling of footsteps by the door pulled you out of sleep. Feeling much stronger now, you slowly padded to the entrance with pinched brows. Lo’ak was already gone but another cooked meal was left in his place with a homemade umbrella perched atop to keep it dry. 

You thought nothing of it, although begrudgingly grateful for something to fill your stomach. But then you saw something else neatly fold into a leaf, a note tucked at its side. 

To keep the darkness away

-Lo’ak

And left behind were those two objects that had played such sweet music in his kelku. His secret weapon, now yours to wield.

Any and all feeback is appreciated! It makes a huge difference for motivation and updating<3

Part of taglist: @hauntingvenus @yawnetu @baybaybear1 @affinity101022 @tsireyasluvr

[foone]

So here's how the story goes. Four young adults are teleported away from 1940s earth, where it turns out they're the last descendants of the great sages who defeated evil all those years ago, but with his last breath banished the sages to earth. Now, 200 years later, evil has risen again: a vile sorcerer has raised an army and is threatening the peaceful kingdoms of a fantasy world, and only the Divine Bloodline can weild the Weapons of Light and defeat the rampaging hordes. The heroes take up their weapons and fight the good fight, leading the armies of man and elf and dwarf and beast against the evil orcs, who are vaporized by their touch. They cut a path through the horde and defeat evil's greatest champions, who were guarding the Gem of Control, an ancient artifact that gave the terrible wizard control over the orcish population. Just as one of them swings their hammer to shatter it, the wizard intervenes, and uses the last bit of his control to destroy his army, lest they join you in their freed state. As the pieces of the gem hit the floor, already losing their sickly green glow, they see the attacking orcs fade into mist. They'd killed hundreds in your crusade, sure, but he just killed all of them. They later learn, against all fervent hopes, that this extended to the orcish homelands. Men, women, and children, cooking in their homes, planting the crops, raising brutecows and hunting in the dark forests... All gone in an instant. The scouts report a silent land with tools lying in workshops, food left uneaten at dining tables, and bursting into tears at entering a house to find it was a schoolhouse: Quills lying in all the seats, with rough parchment next to it showing the first few letters of the orcish alphabet.

They redouble their efforts, now fueled with genuine hatred for the evil sorcerer. He shifts his tactics, relying on darker magics to summon undead minions, which don't need the Gem of Control. They don't go poof when a holy weapon touches them, but are still no match for the divine warriors. With a skeleton the size of a zeppelin smashing down towers around them, the warriors reach the wizard and drive a broadsword of light through his chest. The skeletons collapse back into their eternal slumber in little piles on the floor.

The warriors put aside their weapons as they're received with great cheer. They're invited to join the royal families of the four kingdoms, marrying into the human, elf, dwarf, and beast royalty. They spend the rest of their long reign ensuring peace returns, monuments are made for the fallen orc nation, and the remaining undead who fled are not allowed to prey on the peasants, only taking up arms again to fight a den of vampires left behind.

In their old age, the wizard who brought them here reappears. It's taken him decades to develop the right magics, but he can finally send them home. They abdicate, letting their hybrid offspring take control, certain in their ability to run a kingdom with wisdom and justice. They leave behind their holy weapons, in case evil rises again. The wizard warns them that much may have changed in the world they left, as 80 years has passed there while it was only 40 for them, but they still want to see if London still stands and if their families or their descendants are alive.

They appear in the modern day, 2024. They're amazed at the technological progress, of course, but then there's a bigger shock. This isn't just an isekai story: this is a reverse-isekai story.

The holy weapons were forged using the same magics that brought them to the fantasy world in the first place. When they vaporized orcs, they didn't die, they were teleported. Teleported here. Every mind-controlled orc warrior that tasted their blade woke up uninjured... in Portsmouth.

And when the sorcerer tried to wipe them all out as the Gem of Control shattered, all he did was transfer that magic to every one of them. None of them died, except for a few elderly orcs who dropped dead from shock at ending up in England, Earth, 1943.

It's now 2024. The Orc population of London is 3 million. There's twelve orcs in parliament, and another in the house of lords. The world has changed a lot since they left, for the better, the weirder, and the greener.

[taeaura]

Hi Tae, I was wondering if you could tell us how Thomas would react if a victim (reader) who's cornored or meets him for the first time stare into his eyes for a moment, taking all the details in, to then tell him that he has beautiful eyes. It dosen’t matter if he looks at then angrily or with a dark gaze. They still thinks they are beautiful. Like a gem or the sky on a sunny day.

I figured you could answer this easily since you know the Hewitt family so well and it's pretty much an easy question.

oooo I love this!!

I think he'd be very confused and taken back which would cause him to pause for a bit - He's in his own head a lot. This gives the victim more time to escape but as soon as you move he's right back in the game. (Or..with a little "family motivation")

__

"You're beautiful." You don't know why you said it - Why you felt it. All you knew was that it's true: He was beautiful, at least to you.

The cannibal paused. Beautiful? Such words were never used to describe him, not even once. The most praise he'd gotten was on his work ethic, never on his appearance.

His expression tightened, what was left of his nose wrinkled, his eyes squinted as his eyebrows closed in. It doesn't make sense - You're lying. You were just trying to catch him off guard, break down his walls; Escape.

Don't be tempted, son. These women are something else.

That's what Charlie had told him one time - Back in what were supposed to be his high school years. There were always pretty girls with infectious smiles and loud laughs that made him turn his head. He liked the way their hair was done, how creative they could be in accessorizing. He liked their lips and the way they framed their smiles. The fantasy would break as soon as they saw him. He'd be staring at them, distracted from his work at the slaughterhouse or at the community center his momma worked at. The girls would stiffen - They were disgusted with him. Afraid.

Why're you staring? - Can I help you?

He didn't have the tools to answer those questions. His answer wouldn't make anything better; In fact, it'd make it worse. They weren't asking out of genuine curiosity, they wanted to deter him. His freakish nature and abnormal behavior. Momma taught him not to stare, but, why could they stare? No one told them not to, he was a macabre one, that's for sure.

In a matter of seconds, his head replayed the compliment you gave to him. Beautiful. He was beautiful.

It felt good. Odd, peculiar, abnormal, but so damn good.

Say it again. Just one more time; Please?

Of course, he couldn't say that. He didn't say that. And he didn't want to.

Thomas restarted the chainsaw, revving it loud enough to drown out his irrational thinking. You didn't mean it. You couldn't have.

You jolted back, frightened, but yet, still determined.

"Beautiful, beautiful eyes." You whispered shakily.

He threw the chainsaw to the ground, frustrated and confused. If you didn't mean it, stop fucking saying it!

"What's taking so damn long down there!" A voice called out from upstairs. "Tommy, stop stallin' and cut her up already!"

Hoyt stomped down the stairs, his eyes meeting the corner you were trapped in. "Oh, Christ, Thomas. Get a grip on yourself."

"What? Did she butter you up all nice and sweet, huh?" Hoyt called out condescendingly. He didn't view Thomas as "ugly" necessarily, but Hoyt knew a thing or two about survival. Never let your guard down. Ever.

Tommy looked between the two of you, frustrated, confused, overwhelmed. He wasn't teary-eyed but he was damn close. Still, his anger shadowed his confusion as he picked up the chainsaw once more, starting it up as the two of you locked eyes.

"There you go...attaboy, Tommy. Finish the job like you always do."

____

Sorry this is kinda short. I was in the mood for a mini oneshot lol

As always, if you have more requests, questions, or I misinterpreted an ask, please let me know!

[erens-heart]

aki hayakawa ft. toji fushiguro

word count: 5.5k

synopsis: you’re aki’s subordinate and partner. feelings are misconstrued on a drunken night out. you reconcile with aki after more drinks, and indulge the feelings you’re so ashamed of.

content: angst, hurt/comfort, slight smut with fem!bodied reader, makeout session w/ sloppy kissing, sooo much alcohol, reader is slightly insecure, miscommunication and…toji.

playlist: i like the way you kiss me by artemas, bathroom by montell fish, i was never there by the weeknd.

there were often times at work, where aki would lament the choices that had landed him there. everyone at work was an idiot, and if they weren’t a complete idiot, they weren’t far off. apart from you.

you weren’t at all an idiot and, crucially, didn’t get on aki’s every last nerve. you clicked with aki as soon as you started in public safety. you were cut from the same fabric.

you were all the things he admired in a colleague: impeccable, smart, dedicated. you already had a repertoire of devil kills on your application before starting, and for that reason he could trust you to get the job done. you were both capable and strong.

soon enough you were conciously deciding to take the same smoke breaks and grab each other coffee. after your first quarter, you had successfully committed aki’s coffee order to memory: black, with no sugar.

technically, he was your superior, and you were his subordinate, he was also older than you. you were always mindful of not crossing the line, even though his unruly top knot was fucking gorgeous and you’d already fallen in love with his half-assed smirks. you respected the position you were in, and ultimately, put your job before any of your trivial feelings.

you’d learned to survive thus far by compartmentalizing your feelings, you weren’t about to let a man ruin that, or get in the way of your goal.

that being said, it was comforting to know that you and aki were on the same page.

—

20:00pm.

aki took one last drag of his dying cigarette, and put it out. it had just turned 8pm, and you would surely be waiting for him. it was the night of your division’s bi-monthly gathering - this time at a local bar.

aki normally never bothered showing up, but a few months ago, you had successfully convinced him it was good for team morale. you would generally rendevous there, but this time aki had offered to walk there with you and agreed to meet with you outside his apartment at 8pm.

aki opened his front door to find you waiting outside for him. you looked freezing, just as he’d suspected. you were clutching a tiny purse infront of a thin dress that was completely impractical. your dress was small and black, embedded with gems. you looked nothing less than ethereal. aki cared deeply about his appearance and, like you, always kept himself tidy. he had changed out of his work suit into an identical suit for the evening, excluding the tie. you were unintentionally matching and the heat of this revelation made it’s way into aki’s pale cheeks.

“aren’t you cold?” he interrograted, already lighting up another cigarette in his mouth as he locked up. he always spoke with his cigarette in his mouth, he was always so nonchalant. that’s what you liked about aki, his indifference, it meant that he was easy to talk to, and share your secrets with. he rarely expressed any bias towards the things you said.

you shook your head, smiling at him. “just a bit, but it’s fine. the bar’s only a block away isn’t it?”

you snorted, “you know, if you’re worried about my hands freezing you can always hold them, aki.”

he rolled his eyes, skillfully feigning annoyance. aki was truly a liar. he loved it when you teased him and made jokes like that - they played into his fantasies. he would happily hold your hand, hell, he would carry you if you asked him nicely.

“don’t be ridiculous.” he said.

and that was that.

the sky overhead began to clear, revealling the universe. you watched the sky, walking aimlessly beside aki as you made your way to the bar with him, paying no attention to the racing cars, and even less attention to the pedestrains bustling around you. you wobbled on the kerb, nearly falling off.

aki opened the door for you once you’d arrived at the bar. it wasn’t out of character for him to treat you like that, like nothing below royalty, he even pulled a chair out for you as you went to sit down before naturally claiming the seat beside you. you wouldn’t have it any other way.

the bar was warm and dimly lit with candles. as you shrugged your coat off, aki couldn’t help but notice the different things you’d done with your makeup that night. your face looked dewy and shimmery, your lipgloss was glittery.

“what are you drinking?” he mumbled next to your ear, already sick of everybody else.

you hadn’t given it much thought yet. “um. maybe a lychee martini? i don’t know.”

the rest of the division were already engrossed in their own conversations. despite the numb chatter, it felt like the two of you were alone. you wouldn’t mind drinking alone with him, you thought, watching his thoughtful eyes.

“okay.” he nodded, and raised his hand to call a waiter over.

“i don’t know. i just want something sweet i think. decide for me?” you suggested, drawing circles on the menu infront of you with your painted nails.

to be honest, you hadn’t come along to drink, you had come to spend time with aki. he sat beside you, blasé, with his arm slung over the back of your chair, cool as ever. the air around him was confident, and heavy with the scent of his cologne, making it difficult for you to focus on anything else.

“you really think that’s a good idea? me deciding for you?” aki chuckled, “i’ll get you a lychee martini. that sounds sweet enough.”

you’d forgotten how quickly one drink could turn into five, soon enough you were slurring your words.

aki was always careful not to drink too much, incase you needed his help, and paced himself. also, he didn’t want to forget the time you’d spent together.

you laughed inbetween hiccups at a joke he’d made. he chuckled at you endearlingly, and steadied your hand as your 6th lychee martini sloshed around and threatened to spill over his lap.

“guys! guys!” you shouted, commanding the attention of your division. “did you know…that mister hayakawa here…” hiccup. “has never…ever…had a girlfriend!” hiccup.

the table errupted with giggles and aki scowled at you. “hillarious. now shut up.” he scolded, and teasingly confiscated your glass, dragging it over to his side of the table. he held the neck of the glass between his two fingers.

aki only bothered telling you that because you’d been prying. earlier that night, you’d asked him why he never brought any dates along, which is when he revealled that he’d never dated before - ever. he never had enough time, he lied, knowing all too well that he was simply holding out for the right person. aki would never admit it, but he believed in soulmates.

it wasn’t completely untrue that he struggled for time, his days would begin at 5am and finish at 10pm, sometimes later, 7 days a week.

he wouldn’t have time for a girlfriend, let alone dates and sex, these would always be things of little consequence to aki, unless it was you. he might’ve been able to find the time to spoil you, and take you to fancy restaurants. he’d move mountains for you, if you asked.

“hmph fuck you.” you whined, licking your lips and coating them with saliva.

you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, not quite recalling your superior’s name, you were too tipsy for that. you reached for your glass and he dragged it away from grasp again, smirking at your deplorable attempt at a rebuttal.

“fuck me?” he lowered his voice and narrowed his darkening eyes at you. you narrowed your eyes back at him, and leaned forward, resting your chin in your palm. you watched him for a while and he watched you in return, pulse rising.

your eyes were drunk, pupils blown, mascara starting to smudge. aki thought about your dishevelled beauty, and how much he would’ve liked to taste your lips in that moment. his eyes feasted on you whilst, in his head, he mapped out routes to your soul.

truthfully, for as long as he could remember, aki saw you as his.

“aki?” you whispered softly, interrupting his racing train of thought.

“yeah?” aki’s heart started thumping. you watched his adam’s apple rise nervously in throat, albeit your eyesight was blurry.

“you’re staring at me.”

“am i?” he asked, bluntly.

aki cleared his throat.

—

12:09am.

through thick cigarette smoke, you blurted out “can i stay at yours tonight?” followed by, “shit…sorry, i shouldn’t that said that.”

why were you asking him that all of a sudden? were you tired? did you want something? did you mean platonically, or in the same bed? you were drunk, clearly, and didn’t know what you were saying, but he could hardly say no.

after it had taken aki more than 30 seconds to culminate a response, you slumped back against the railings with a defeated sigh. it was worth a shot, right?

“you don’t even need to bother asking to be honest, y/n.” he stated simply, staring up the sky.

you quickly perked up, leaning in for a smoke. aki’s pulse started racing again, he could smell the alcohol on your breath as you parted your lips for a tug on his cigarette.

“gimmie.”

your legs were wobbly and he instinctively opened his arms to catch you, but you managed to stay upright without them. his pale hands continued to hover over your waist as you hung onto the collar of his shirt. you were too cold and tired to give a damn, meanwhile the proximity of aki’s body kept you warm. you’d been close, even accidentally brushed hands before, but never this close. your heart fluttered, you could feel his muscly legs become entangled with your own.

“but you hate it when i smoke.” he mumbled, glancing down his nose at you.

“well i’ve changed my mind.” you retorted. you were being a brat.

with the little energy aki had left, he rolled his eyes at you, exhaling a cloud of smoke in your face. “no. let’s go home, get you some water.” he summarised, putting his cigarette out on the railings behind you. “if you smoke, you’ll regret it when you’re sober.”

you nodded and took aki’s arm without a second thought, trying not to stumble and disgrace yourself.

the walk home was giddy. you should have felt cold because you weren’t wearing a coat, but the alcohol kept you comfortably numb. you recognised aki’s subdued apartment, scarcely lit by street lamps, and groaned in utter relief as you approached the entrance. he supported you up the stairs, through the hallway, stopping patiently with you every time you needed to collect yourself.

“you okay?” he whispered, your noses practically touching. you could only manage a nod as the world outside aki’s apartment door spun crazily.

once you were inside, aki got down on one knee to relieve you from the tight heels you’d been wearing all night. once he’d losenend the straps, you kicked them off and they landed halfway across his kitchen. thud.

your concious thoughts began to drunkenly blur into one and you were fighting the urge to throw up.

aki needed to process what was happening so he let his hair down and dragged a hand through it to get rid of any knots. you were in his apartment, and you were going to be there when he woke up as well. he was stressed, you could tell, despite not being able to form a coherent stream of thought otherwise. you could see the tension in his brow and tight jaw.

he got up and flicked the kettle on to boil, his footsteps padding against the cold floor as he shuffled around in the dark, already making up the couch for you. making you comfortable was his priority, his hot drink would come second.

the only light in the apartment came from his bathroom door that was ajar, you realised he must’ve forgotten to turn the light out before leaving, which you found strange because he was usually meticulous. little did you know, he’d been too busy preening himself earlier in the evening.

you were still stood in the doorway, using the walls either side of you to stop yourself from falling face-first into the rug, growing increasingly impatient.

“aki. water…” you groaned, swallowing a burp that might’ve turned into something else.

“just be patient. maybe don’t get yourself so drunk next time.” he snapped.

“couldn’t help it.” you groaned again, ever louder this time, the left strap of your dress beginning to slip off your shoulder, revealling even more of your delicate skin.

aki stormed over with a glass of water and held it against your mouth. “you definitely could.” then pulled the strap of your dress back over your shoulder. he stared at you exhaustedly, compelling you to take a sip of the water infront of you.

“no…would’ve been too nervous otherwise...” you admitted, taking small sips.

you felt suddenly small, cowering between aki’s chest and the closed door behind you. you were almost half the size of him. this wasn’t supposed to feel so intimate, but it did. a blush crept up your chest, colouring in your cleavage, and your cheeks. with the little reserve aki had left, he fought the urge to stare down at your pretty tits.

you were so pretty. all night you’d been so silly and clumsy, it made his heart swell. aki gulped, the way your eyes glowed up at him from beneath your fluffy lashes made him feel hot and throb between his legs.

aki’d had sexual thoughts about you before, in fact, he often thought about you in the middle of the night, with his hard, dribbling dick in his hand, but the thoughts he had were purely the work of his lucid imagination. he could really see you now.

“nervous?” he breathed.

yes, nervous. you nearly shit yourself when you received aki’s text that morning, inviting you to meet at his apartment. it was a bold move, even for him. you were used to spending all of your time together at work, lunch was no exception, but this? it felt different, maybe even slightly unprofessional.

you quickly broke the heavy gaze between you and your superior, brushing past him and making a beeline for the couch.

aki was suddenly able to breathe again and he followed you, placing the glass of water on a coaster next to you.

“i’m going to get changed. please try not to puke anywhere.”

as he turned to leave for his room, you grabbed his wrist. aki’s heavy breathing resumed. he paused and thought seriously about his choices, and what he wanted, about how pretty you looked sat on the couch beneath him, and how badly he wanted to ruin you.

every fibre of his tortured being wanted to tear that sheer dress off your body and make you wet, but you were drunk, and that would be questionable.

“y/n. you’re drunk. stop it.” he shut you down, shrugging your hand off, and left you sat on his couch in a pool of shame.

this was for your own good, aki convinced himself, ignoring all of the horrible feelings that started to bubble within him. it physically pained him to shut the door on you and leave you alone in his dingy kitchen.

that night, you lay a healthy distance from aki’s bedroom, tucked beneath a spare duvet of his. the duvet, and his pillows, smelled familiar, a scent you had learned to recognise with your eyes closed. you had learned to detect him at work, using only your nose. a blue light, you assumed from his lamp, glowed from underneath his bedroom door. all night it gnawed on your mind how inviting that light seemed, and how nauseating it felt that aki didn’t fucking want you.

everything felt hopeless. all that hard work, all those months of winning his trust, and thinking you might have had him wrapped around your finger, had amounted to nothing. you knew aki was complicated, but you thought it would’ve been easier than that.

aki frowned on the other side of the door, pulling his pillow frustratedly over his ears. you cried quietly, muffling staggered breaths with his spare duvet.

“i’m a terrible person.” he thought aloud. it wasn’t a revelation, he already knew that he was a jerk and, despite having your best interests at heart, had managed to ruin you. he could have laughed at how ironic it sounded.

this would go down in history as, potentially, one of the worst days in aki’s adult life.

—

10:34am.

aki opened his bedroom door, doubtful that you would still be there, and scanned the room for signs of your presence. just as he’d expected, you’d already left, and his apartment was empty, not even the scent of you remained.

he squinted, the morning light crept in from the balcony and stung his eyes. you had folded up the spare duvet on his couch imperfectly before leaving, and the glass of water was still half empty.

aki didn’t regret the choices he made last night, he was protecting you if anything. he checked his phone for a shitty message from you, but there was nothing, and that was somehow worse. he chewed the inside of his cheek uncertainly, remembering how sweet you’d been, tugging him in between your legs, and inviting him into your heart with an alluring smile.

he felt the sudden urge to vomit and ran to the toilet, slamming his hand into the wall for support as he let it all out. he hadn’t had that much to drink the night before, so it must have been something else upsetting his stomach. maybe guilt was symptomatic, he thought. he’d never felt like this before.

aki continued to check his phone all morning, the anxiety beginning to cannibalise him. he guessed you’d deleted his number already, and that work was going to be extremely awkward on monday.

you’d gathered your belongings at 7am, and left in a futile attempt to get some sleep in your own bed, but it hadn’t worked. you eventually gave up, and decided to ride the day out with coffee.

you were so busy feeling sorry for yourself, that you hadn’t stopped to consider aki’s reasons for turning you down.

nevermind that, things wouldn’t have worked out anyway. this is what you told yourself. firstly, aki was a busy man, he never would’ve been able to make time for you outside of work. secondly, aki had never dated before, and his inexperience was a slight deterrent. thirdly, aki was complicated, he had a plethora of unresolved traumas, you figured it would be healthier not to bare the weight of those on top of your own.

despite telling yourself this, it didn’t make things any easier, save for potentially fucking someone else.

—

monday.

aki actively avoided you on the way into work on monday morning and, for the first time, showed up late. you felt his cold presence as he walked into the office. aki sunk his feelings that morning with a coffee and a cigarette before work, and you were determined to continue compartmentalizing yours, just as you’d always done.

you’d hoped to be subtle but everyone at work could feel the change and the increasing tension, especially on thursday when aki allowed his seamless character to break after denji kept goading him with insensitive questions.

“just shut the fuck up.” aki spurned, almost spat, scrunching up the ends of his papers, before storming out of the room. your heart sank to the bottom of your stomach and fell into irretrievable pieces.

after watching aki disappear for a smoke, your eyes settled on the paper infront of you. you held next week’s schedule in your trembling hands.

“what the hell was that about.” denji snorted.

“not sure.” you dismissed quietly, noticing that aki would no longer be your patrol partner. you had been pencilled in to patrol with denji instead. you looked down so that no one would notice the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

you were no longer in the picture, you realised. you lied to yourself every day after that, persuading your heart that it was possible to co-exist as strangers.

denji’s eyes softened when he noticed your unsteady hands.

“y/n, don’t stress it. you know i won’t let us get killed.” denji leaned forward, in an attempt to intercept your thoughts, as if that was your only concern - you wished that was your only concern.

“i’ll bare that in mind.” you laughed, without smiling, and stood up to take your break.

you would have died for a coffee, if it came to it, because you hadn’t slept all week. you missed your friend and you were sad, although it was favourable that your favourite café was so busy that morning. your lonely thoughts would become distrupted by the crowd’s chatter and for a brief amount of time, you would find yourself distracted by the smell of coffee and cake.

you wondered lifelessly through the door, recalling all the times aki had stopped you from falling off the kerb along the way, offered to take your heavy bag or stomped his cigarettes out on the pavement outside.

you wouldn’t normally give the barista your order, because she’d conveniently memorized it, but that morning you could have cried.

you’d unconciously paid for two coffees instead of one, and realised when it was too late, as she handed you an iced vanilla latté and an americano: black, with no sugar.

“thank you.” you croaked weakly and carried the drinks back to the office, hoping that you and aki wouldn’t cross paths - indefinitely.

—

saturday.

the best way to alleviate your pain would be by drinking, you thought. in hindsight, it wasn’t the worst idea. you made yourself look effortlessly sexy, it genuinely didn’t take much.

you glanced one final time in the mirror before leaving your apartment. tonight you would let yourself become unravelled and forget the past week. you would saturate your feelings with alcohol and find a stranger to spend the night with. you hoped to project all of your anger onto that stranger, so the week that ensued wouldn’t hurt so much.

everything was alright to begin with; the club you’d chosen was the perfect combination of cosy and tireless. the dj played songs behind a tacky smoke machine, silencing the hum of adolescent voices, underaged teenagers and over-aged mothers.

you threw back a shot of sour apple vodka, hissing. you felt ridiculous drinking alone, hopefully one of the dilfs in the bar would find you mysterious and agree to take you home, fuck you, if you were lucky.

you circled the rim of another shotglass, fingers glistening with diamond rings, when you felt a hand on your arm.

“what are you doin’ drinking here alone, sweetness?” a hot voice rasped against your neck, “need some company?”

“sure.” you welcomed the stranger’s company, patting the bar stool beside you without looking at him first.

you inferred that he was much older than you, and probably came from a difficult line of work. based on the calloused pair of hands that lay on the bar beside you, it was probably something physical, and demanding, which is why he sounded so tired and in desperate need of a drink. the arm in your peripheral was thick and muscular, not something you were used to, particularly the force of it curling around your delicate waist. you gasped softly.

“the name’s toji, by the way. fushiguro.” you didn’t care for introductions, and nodded, skulling another shot before ordering two more: one for you and one for your new friend.

he could sense that you weren’t willing to co-operate, not easily at least, and smirked. toji didn’t mind, he was used to girls that played hard-to-get, they were all just as sad and easy in the end.

“i reckon that it’ll only take two more of those things,” he gestured to your shot glass, “to get you talking.”

“bet.” you sighed, your head already beginning to feel fuzzy.

you didn’t trust your new friend, you didn’t trust anyone, but especially not him. no one felt like home apart from aki.

aki.

your heart did ‘the sinking thing’ again, and left a sour taste behind in your mouth, causing you to inadvertently frown at your drink.

“somethin’ bothering you?” toji questioned, downing a shot of his own, before ordering something stronger. he struck you as the type to drink heavily and wake up with no regrets because he was certainly big enough to handle it.

“yeah. a friend. ex-friend actually.” you replied. toji’s eyes raked down your body whilst you spoke to the tumbler in your hand.

“ah, there we go. so she does have a tongue in her head.” he teased in a ragged voice, which lead you to face him. you confirmed your suspicions by inspecting his face; he was indeed older, with a scar on the corner of his smirking mouth. he was the type you would happily fuck, but not trust.

to say that you had low expectations was an understatement, you didn’t have any at all. men like this were unpredictable, you would need to switch your emotions off if things were going to work according to plan.

“did he toy with your heart or somethin’?” he asked.

“not even. i was just - nevermind.” you shrugged.

“what did you do?” toji continued intuitively, swirling the drink around in his glass.

“stupidly thought my feelings were reciprocated.” you laughed bitterly. you had intended to forget about him, to dance the night away, but your feelings for aki were inescapable.

“god, all you females are the same.”

you were under the impression that your plan was failing already. every time you looked at toji, you were expecting to see aki smiling back at you, haunted by the nostalgia of drinking together last weekend. you sighed angrily, slamming your glass down on the bar next to you. “excuse me.”

you stumbled quickly to the bathroom, not realising how drunk you were until you stood up and tried walking. you pushed impatiently through the crowd, muttering expletives to yourself.

you locked yourself in a bathroom stall and sat on the toilet. you didn’t need to use the bathroom, you just needed space to breathe.

normally you’d be sending aki memes at this hour, or complaining about having to go into work on monday via text, too shy to ever call him. it was routine that aki would deprive himself of sleep just to talk to you, and hear about your day, now he had to wait for any sign of life from his phone.

you pulled your phone out of pocket and stared longingly at it, at the wallpaper of you and aki. he wasn’t smiling because you’d unexpectedly shoved the camera in his face for a selfie on your first day as partners. you leaned against the wall beside you. you wouldn’t need to dial his number…you had him saved in your phone…

fuck it.

aki rolled over with wide eyes as his phone buzzed on the table. he already knew it was you calling because he didn’t have a social life. he’d never answered the phone so quickly before in his life, he hadn’t even had time to rehearse an apology.

“i-“ he started.

“shurrup.” you slurred in a small voice. hearing him breathe was enough, you’d still be satisfied if he hung up after that.

“y/n. what the fuck. are you drunk?” he snapped down the phone. he wasn’t mad at you, he was just concerned, and had a terrible way of showing it.

“maybe…” you nearly giggled, your phone sticking to the makeup on your face.

“i’m coming to pick you up.” aki stated, already reaching for his trench coat. “fun’s over.”

“no you’re not.” you testified, shouting so that you could nearly be heard over the music in the bar.

aki bit his cheek. you were being difficult on purpose, but to his relief he could tell you weren’t nearly as drunk as last weekend. “tell me where you are.”

“rudi’s.” you blurted, hanging up the phone immediately. “shit.”

“stupid girl.” he laughed shortly, getting into his car.

rudi’s was a bar in the heart of the city. aki tapped his foot impatiently at every set of traffic lights, clicking his tongue. he dared to think what you might be up to, or what you’d already done in the 20 minutes it took him to get to you. he sought you desperately in the crowd, swearing under his breath at every person that stood in his way.

it relieved him to eventually find you at the bar intact. he grabbed you by the wrist, spinning you into his chest.

“home time.”

“no.”

“yes.”

“no?”

“shut up.”

aki’s hand cupped the back of your nape and brought you in close. you searched his eyes for answers, to try and understand why things had happened this way, but you couldn’t find them, you couldn’t bypass the guilt in them.

you gulped, feeling toji’s eyes on you, boring a hole into the back of your head, as your hands rested upon aki’s collarbone. he looked dog-tired.

all you could come up with was, “don’t tell me to shut up.”

aki could have cracked a smile, but decided against it and leaned down into your neck, whispering, “care to explain why the guy behind you is staring at us?”

“just get us out of here, will you.” you mumbled, fiddling nervously with the buttons on his long jacket.

aki didn’t waste any time escorting you outside; dragging you away from your new friend and your abandonned drink. he threw you into the passenger seat of his car, and slammed the door shut behind him as he slid in next to you.

“you have some serious explaining to do, y/n.”

“likewise.” you replied. aki observed your broken eyes.

“i can’t explain it.” he started, squeezing the steering wheel infront of him. “i guess i didn’t want you to think badly of me.”

“think badly of you?” you asked, suddenly confused.

“for taking advantage of you.”

“oh.”

you watched the man infront of you, mesmerised, your mouth forming the shape of a surprised ‘o’. he chuckled at your reaction. you’d missed that warm sound, it made you feel so giddy. you tried pulling your eyes away from him, but you weren’t able to resist his jaded looks.

“aki?”

“hm?” he hummed, and met your gaze with a matched intensity.

you licked your lips, wetting them, preparing for a kiss. aki glanced down at them.

in a voice that was barely above a whisper, he asked, “want me to kiss you, y/n?” and held you gently by the chin. he coaxed you in, contemplating your lips with his cold eyes.

he knew exactly what you wanted and the way you wanted it. he’d listened to you when you told him what you were looking for in a lover, during a work night out. you wanted a dominant man, a boyfriend like a dad, someone to make you weak.

“i’d do anything for you to forigve me.”

aki caved and sighed before kissing your open mouth. your heart erupted, and you let him blindly guide your hands around his neck. this would remain a well-kept secret between colleagues.

he slowly kissed you, swallowing your pretty moans, and licked your tongue each time before pulling back, only to lean back in and repeatedly do the same. he consoled you with his warm tongue, simultaneously exploring your waist with his hands and brazenly reaching up to squeeze your tits.

you kissed him back sloppily, noisily, moaning underneath big hands. the butterflies he gave you were so intense that you felt sick. you felt his hungry eyes all over your body, scalding you - you were on fire.

“is this what you wanted?” he purred against your ear, before dragging his mouth over your neck and smothering it some more with hot kisses. you whined.

“well?” aki teased in a soft voice, kneading your big tits, watching them bounce around in your dress. he wanted nothing more than to rip it open, and get on top of you, in all the animalistic ways he’d imagined, meanwhile he watched your nipples harden underneath your dress.

he repeatedly silenced you by pecking your mouth, muffling your voice each time you tried to answer his question.

you whined, squeezing your thighs together. it was overwhelming - he was overwhelming.

“aki…” you began, pushing him back using the little strength you had left, so that he was at arm’s length.

“i’m sorry about last weekend.” he admitted quickly, tucking a lose strand of hair back behind your ear. his lips were red and swollen.

“it’s okay. i’m just confused. i thought i’d misread things, but now you’re saying you wanted this after all?”

he removed his hands from your chest, and studied your changing expression, predicting that you would soon start blushing. he loved it when you blushed in front of him, proudly showcasing your vulnerability.

“yes.” he said plainly, panting, still catching his breath.

“i’ve always wanted this.”

@erens-heart 2024, reblogs welcome !!

[anika-ann]

Faithless - S.R.

Type: one-shot, dark medieval-ish/fantasy setting, this-could-be-a-prologue-instead-I-guess-but it-is-not

Pairining: Steve Rogers x reader      Word count: 13,9k

Summary: As one of the priestesses to a temple harbouring the rebels undermining the brute rule of self-proclaimed King Arwin, you are confronted first-hand with just how blood-thirsty his men can be. All you can do is to serve and hope to be rewarded a favour of your choosing.

All you can hope for is to be able to protect what you hold dear: your Steven, one of the rebels, who might not even know he matters to you enough for you to try and bargain for his life.

Warnings: 18+ for referenced dub-con/non-con/rape (not too graphic, off-screen, not Steve, Steve is a sweetheart), references to voyeurism; blood, violence and death; self-loathing and medival-ish views of virginity; spoils of war (technically), vulgar and briefly obscene language, strong religious elements (paganism, vaguely Christianism), feels and angst (with a happy ending)

A/N: divider by @firefly-graphics; more than ever in my fics, MIND the warnings

Hope is the winged child of a broken soul and a faithful heart. Let it fly up to the sun. – anonymous

You were shivering.

There was no breeze in the tent; there were all the walls closed as to keep the warmth in; there was the fabric of your tunic, protecting your legs from the cold grassy ground, as you kneeled; there were your sleeves, reaching mid-forearm. And yet, goosebumps had risen on your skin.

And you were shivering.

You were shivering under his gaze, unable to look up to meet his eye, well-aware you shouldn’t anyway should you like to keep your life.

You were looking at the ground then; and yet, you saw it.

Saw him.

He was observing you with a smile worthy of the demons of the underworld; a servant of the king of the lawless, faithless land.

A year ago, Anwir the so-called True, had led his army of mercenaries and taken the land, murdering all the loyalists he could find and declaring himself the King. His men, armed to their teeth with swords and gold, had ravaged the kingdom, stealing gems, land, homes and lives, just like they always had back when still called outlaws rather than fake nobility.

Men more savage than animals; less merciful too.

Your temple, having been harbouring a few rebels, had been taken two days ago.

Under the watchful eyes of the gods and goddesses you served, you had witnessed two days of agony, hunger and death. Bloodbath. Harsh laughter in the face of life leaving the eyes of many, driving the sword deeper, more blood oozing out and soaking the holy ground, returning back to earth where all life was born.

Good women of fairness and faith.

Good men of bravery and justice.

All gone to keep the survivors docile; all gone on cruel men’s whims.

You were not sure whether to consider yourself lucky to be among the survivors, forced to bear witness to the bottom of humanity crawling out and play. You knew the names of all the fallen; you almost wished you didn’t. You prayed for them to find peace anyway. If you prayed for a piece of their souls to return and haunt their murderers too, no one needed to know.

You were not sure whether to feel lucky to have survived and bear witness; but you did thank the gods for being able to see Steven alive at least.

A good man, your Steven; not strong of body but so kind and fierce of soul, a brilliant mind helping the rebels not by swinging a heavy sword, but by building strategy. Not that his predicament had ever stopped him from picking fights he could not win, even as sometimes he had, his spirit more powerful than his own or his opponent’s muscles.

You’d know of all his fights.

He had been around; you had treated his wounds. Cuts and bruises, swollen knuckles on hands barely bigger than yours, delicacy roughened by hard work; always prepared to help, day or night, even if he risked nearly coughing out his lungs when straining himself too much.

He was still alive; and perhaps you could only thank your prayers for that. Your diligent prayers, your service to the goddess, service of a pure woman even as the longer you spent in Steven’s company, the more impure your thoughts were turning, the longings of your heart aligned with those of your body.

But Steven was kind, sweet, brave and determined to fight for good of others; were those not values of a man worthy of love?

Were those not values of a man worthy of protection?

“What is it ya’ want, little priestess?” Cassius’s rough voice reached your ears, bringing you back to the present; the cold, lonely present in the company of four rugged men, three of them idle in the chairs lined with fur and a goblet of wine in hand as if watching a fool’s performance during a feast. “Ya’ held your end of a bargain… and I’m a man of my word.”

Another shiver ran along your spine.

Cassius was not a man you knew well; he was not one of the rebels, but of the outsiders. He was one of the enemies; anyone who spilled blood of innocent people, your people, no less, was. You did not know him – but you had already seen his soul. He was not a man worthy of love nor protection; in fact, he was not worthy of your trust even.

He was most certainly not a man of his word.

And you would have not believed him to be a smidge of sincere had it not been for your prayers. You wouldn’t have believed him had you not been touched by the divine.

Two days ago, in the modesty of your room, praying at the sacredly designated time commanded, terrible cries had reached you, rattling your temple and your soul.

Your prayers had turned frantic and urgent upon the ruckus – and that was when a whisper had soothed you; a holy image materialising in front of your humble human eyes. With a face of an angel of the new teachings and the raw beauty of goddesses of your religion, she spoke to you gently as your lips continued moving soundlessly, pleading for lives and short suffering of those who were to meet their death. She stilled you with a touch to your forehead, strict eyes with wilderness of the powerful ones and a benevolent smile.

You shall be approached with a bargain, little one. And you shall accept it. Accept all the bargain offered, all his conditions; and then ask one in return. Ask him to swear on his life, to swear on my name.

Be faithful, little one, to me only, and I shall fulfil your deepest desire, protect what you hold the dearest. Accept all bargain offered and your service shall be rewarded at last.

Her lips barely moved but her voice was the clearest, purest thing you had ever heard.

And so you had listened. Of course you had.

You had lent your helping hand and healing skill to Arwin’s men; to Cassius’s men. You had betrayed your faith in rebels by doing so – but not the faith in the gods you served, not in the goddess.

Be faithful, little one, to me only.

And so you had been.

And true to the goddess’s word, you had been promised a favour – a reward for your service. A favour of your choosing.

There had never truly been a choice to make. Your decision was as clear as the days before the mercenaries arrived and stained daylight with the crimson of good men’s blood.

Your voice was shaking as much as your body was; but the conviction behind your plea was as firm as the ground under your knees.

“Spare a life, good sir. Please.”

You dared to look up briefly upon the silence following your words, met with a raised eyebrow and a wolfish smirk in the corner of the man’s lips. You dropped your gaze in an instant, eyes slipping shut at the rustle of fabric as Cassius took a step closer with a chuckle.

“Oh, little priestess, ya’ should know by now that I’m no good, but all the more of a sir… but don’t ya’ fuss, pretty flower. I won’t kill ya’. I like ya’,” he hummed, the feigned warmth in his voice causing your skin to crawl.

You took a deep breath, your own words tasting foreign, praising and submitting to a man unworthy of respect, let alone of having a human being kneel by his feet.

“Thank you, good sir—sir. I… am not pleading for my life.”

“Oh? And whose life, flower?”

You gulped, his curiosity having a morbid edge like that of little boys tearing away a fly’s wings to see if it’d survive. Your voice wasn’t louder than a whisper.

“The rebel’s—at least one. Sir. Please.”

The sudden boisterous laughter made you wince, sharp like knives and coppery like the blood they had spilled for their own amusement. You did not dare to look up, but you could feel Cassius exchange amused glances with his henchmen, laughing as well, before he turned back to you, still kneeling humbly despite your heart quaking in fear, humiliation and anger.

“Oh my sweet little priestess… I offered ya’ a favour, not a fuckin’ treasure,” he spat, another burst of laughter shaking the tent. “I meant a good warm meal, a bit of wine to light up your stuck-up pretty ass. A soft, warm bed, maybe with a man to keep ya’ even warmer… a life? You’ve barely done nothing at all.”

You gritted your teeth, blood boiling in your veins as you resisted curling your hands into fists at his mocking and blatant lies.

You had done plenty. You had saved at least two lives of his wicked men and improved another three. You had saved them despite the fact it went against your loyalties and any common sense, treating them with careful healing touch and kindness they did not deserve.

The images flashing through your mind at his sneering were unholy and downright blasphemous; spitting into his face, nails digging into his skin, fingers pushing against his eyeballs to make him feel a fraction of you felt – and yet.

All you could do was to swallow your outrage.

Be faithful, little one, to me only, and I shall fulfil your deepest desire, protect what you hold the dearest, the goddess had said.

And so you kept your voice humble, eager even, the tremble in it perhaps easily mistakable for shyness or fear.

“I can do more, sir, I— I can keep healing your men-“

“Oh ya’ will, flower. Favours or not, ya’ will keep serving us if ya’ wanna live,” Cassius said, a barely hidden threat. “But… I gotta say – ya’ got my attention. I’m curious now. Who’d ya’ have in mind?”

Your heart, already having been racing, thundered in your ribcage.

… and I shall fulfil your deepest desire, protect what you hold the dearest.

You had one single person in mind, selfishly so; yet you waited for a beat, casting your glance aside, now truly shy.

You opened your mouth, no sound coming out, worried of their reaction; but you had to be brave.

Steven was brave. He was the bravest man you had ever met and being worthy of him, saving him, meant you had to borrow some of his strength in the face of evil.

Quite literally.

The rustle of fabric clued you and yet, you startled when rough fingers slipped under your chin and pushed, forcing you to meet Cassius’s piercing eyes, his face mere inches from yours, stale breath stinking of beer and wine and sweat washing over you. 

“Who, pretty flower? Whose life ya’ came to bargain for?”

He inhaled deeply at your silence, licking his lips as his gaze flickered down to your mouth as if he wanted could pull at your lower lip and suck the name straight from your tongue. The imagery made your stomach churn, his predatory eyes a promise he would do exactly that unless your spoke.

“Steven, sir. He-“

Cassius dropped your face with the loudest bark of laugher yet, almost hysterical, head thrown back.

“That bag of skin an’ rattlin’ bones? Bit a waste, ain’t it, flower? I let him live, the next winter takes him!” he chuckled darkly, nausea tickling your stomach at the very suggestion, tears prickling your eyes, casted down – in humiliation and genuine worry.

Steve had had issues during some of the harsh winters in particular. He’d come to your temple or you’d come find him to help. Bucky, his closest friend, was usually already there, trying to tend to him, always saving a warm smile for you despite the worry written in his features mirroring yours.

“Why him, mm? What’s a pretty thing like ya’ care ‘bout ‘dat bastard?”

You stared at the ground with intent, lips pressed tight. The answer was obvious, to everyone – it must have been. You had been stupid to come here, setting yourself up for their judgement; but you had had faith. The goddess herself had advised you, a touch of divine feeding your trust into this evil in the form of a man having the ability to do you a favour.

You had to persist. You had to; one did not serve the gods for rewards, but for their favour to be given to others. Like your Steven.

Dirty rough fingers pulled at your chin again, harsher than before, eyes of a demon staring into your soul and reading the answer it was looking for with a dark glee.

“Well fuck me. Ya’ sweet on him, pretty flower? Damn, they really teach ya’ to be merciful, huh?”

Something burned inside you, flames licking your insides; for Steven, for the mocking, for the disrespect for life and for your calling – and yet. The voice of the goddess gave you strength to withstand the rage that threatened to tear you from within.

You held Cassius’s gaze even as your own swam in angry tears. “Please, sir. Please, spare him-”

He scoffed and snapped your head to side, walking away, exchanging a wordless conversation with his right-hand man.

You dropped you gaze again when they looked at you, folding your hands in front of your lap, a gesture of submission; if it wasn’t submission for him but for the goddess, he did not need to know.

Your faith would carry you through; it had to.

You sent a soundless, wordless prayer, your eyes slipping shut.

Accept all the bargain offered, all his conditions; and then ask one in return. Ask him to swear on his life, to swear on my name.

Be faithful, little one, to me only, and I shall fulfil your deepest desire, protect what you hold the dearest. Accept all bargain offered and your service shall be rewarded at last.

Patience. Patience was a virtue.

This godawful man awoke sinful thoughts rather than virtues ones, but one must preserve. One must-

His dark chuckle had your eyes snapping open, your heart trembling.

“That’s a lot to ask, flower. What’d ya’ offer in return?”

Breath hitching, your hopes rising, you supressed a smile, sending a silent thank you to forces beyond human, mind whirling with ideas even as you had already offered plenty.

“I-“

“No, no, you’re in no position to bargain. I’m gonna choose for ya’…” he interrupted you, the glee in his voice revealing he had never had the intention to give you the luxury of choice. You held your breath. “I think I choose you.”

Your heart skipped a startled beat, the most filthy implication in his voice twisting your insides with disgust and icy terror all at once.

You prayed to be wrong. You were wrong. Surely, your thoughts had no doubt been infected by the poison these men spread all around them, twisting the path your mind went in attempt to understand the chaos they caused, the blood they spilled. Surely, he did not mean-

“S-sir?”

“I want you,” Cassius repeated, approaching you once more, the smile in his voice careless and whimsical just like the one he wore when he had driven his sword through your sister in servitude when she had refused to help his men. “You’re a pretty little thing, all pure and all… faithful. Bet ya’ never had a guy have his way with ya’, did ya’?”

Blood crystalised in your veins, your chest filling with lead, every beat of your heart painful. Words stuck to the roof of your mouth along with your tongue, lips turning numb as you tried to protest.

“S-sir-“

“Answer me, pretty flower,” he ordered, his touch terrifyingly gentle as he ran his hand over your scalp, before he gripped and tugged painfully, forcing you to meet his animalistic lust in eyes. “Did ya ever have a man claim ya? Split ya’ open on his fat cock?”

You couldn’t swallow the small cry of pain as he tugged again, could not supress the tremble in your jaw as you stared into the perverse, hungry void of his wide-blown pupils.

“Tell. Me.”

“N-no.”

He smiled, dark satisfaction on his face as he pressed the thumb of his free hand to your cheek, following the wet trail of the tear that had escaped.

Your skin crawled, every single nerve in your body screaming to try and pull away, to rush to the nearest body of water to cleanse yourself of the mere touch of the filthy animal that called itself a human being. But he held you firmly; and he had a pack of monsters just like him at hand.

Even if you had tried to fight, you’d have lost hopelessly.

“Good. Looks like I can already make ya’ cry real pretty, flower… and I will,” he promised, the little air you allowed yourself to inhale burning like acid in your lungs. “That’s my bargain then, little priestess. His life for your cunt. Take it or leave it.”

You churned at the coarse language alone, let alone at the idea of allowing him to touch you any further, let alone-

The NO was never so desperately loud in your skull, in your skin, in your blood.

And yet. Yet. 

Accept all bargain offered.

Be faithful, little one, to me only, and I shall fulfil your deepest desire, protect what you hold the dearest.

Was that truly the price to be paid? Was that truly what a goddess, a celestial being, would ask of you? To give your purity to this… sad bloodthirsty caricature of man? Could she?

But what of Steven? What of faith? What of your innocence, sacredly kept for the gods, which you might have, might have in your sinful thoughts, been considering giving to sweet Steven, a good, beautiful man, a fighter, a protector at heart. Your Steven, who watched with soft eyes and tender smile as you carefully treated his wounds, who’d brush over your knuckles in thank you, his split lip hovering over the back of your hand-

“But ya’ should know, pretty flower,” Cassius hummed, his fingers releasing your hair, brushing over your throat, moving the hem of your tunic lower to press against your collarbone, down to your sternum, his touch like a disgusting brand you weren’t sure you could ever erase, “now that you’ve told me… if ya’ say no… he’ll be dead by mornin’.”

“No!”

You were moving before you knew how, leaping to your feet, rage bubbling over, fresh tears springing.

NO!

They would never hurt Steven, you wouldn’t let them in hundred ye-

Sharp pain exploded in your arm and shoulder, your knees hitting the ground again, your free hand barely steadying you as your fingers dug into the ground, another cry torn from your lips; your other arm was twisted behind your back and pulled up to cause the most pain possible, tugged at to have fresh tears stream down your cheeks.

The scene was rewarded by chuckles from the audience as Cassius snarled into your ear, like a wild animal snarling at its prey to scare it into submission. 

His mouth was on your ear, a flicker of tongue tasting the salt and sweat on your cheek, causing you to shudder in his violent grip, your prayers urgent and empty for you knew not what you were praying for anymore.

“Careful, little priestess. I can be a good sir, or a real bad one. Be a good little flower and maybe I’ll spare that pathetic child of man… be a bitch and I’ll treat ya’ like one. Will fuck ya’ like a bitch in heat right on his dead body.”

You shook your head, biting your tongue so hard you tasted blood, frantic heartbeat in your chest, in your temples, in the centre of your pain. Your chest heaved with sobs at his mocking ‘no? Well then-‘ and you shook your head harder, a plea for him to stop, to wait spilling from your lips as your mind cursed.

Cursed at the goddess who had chased you into the claws of a merciless animal.

Be faithful, little one, to me only, her whisper echoed in your head, kind and almost mocking now, and I shall fulfil your deepest desire, protect what you hold the dearest. Accept all bargain offered, all his conditions; and ask one in return.

Ask him to swear on his life, to swear on my name.

I shall protect what you hold the dearest.

You turned your teary gaze to the heavens, your sight obscured by the roof of the tent, the pain from your arm shooting up your neck.

Usurper. Animal. Monster.

What other bargain should you have expected? They seized and wrecked and spilled blood in gallons. Had they been any less wicked, they might have offered you to fall on their sword in exchange of not forcing the same on Steven.

Gods, Steven.

Should you accept, Steven might live.

Should you refuse, he was dead for certain; his body probably displayed for the crows to feed on, an example of what happened to those who denied the will of Cassius’s men.

Where were gods and goddesses while you little humans faced that?

Ask him to swear on his life, to swear on my name.

I shall protect what you hold the dearest.

Lips trembling, shivering all over, you squeezed your eyes shut; and begged, barely audible.

What else was left for you?

“Will you swear?”

You cried out as he tugged at your arm again, puling you closer to him.

“What’s that, little priestess?”

“Will you swear, on your life, on the goddess Velessa, that you will not hurt him if--- if I give myself to you?” you rasped, swallowing the nausea at what you were even suggesting.

He eased the grip on you a bit, allowing you to take a deep breath even as waves of agony pulsed through your arm.

Gaze swimming in tears, you caught a glimpse of Cassius’s right-hand man looking at his leader with a smirk.

“I dunno, pretty flower. Ya’ in no position to bargain… though ya’ will be in real nice positions later.”

The four men, still simply watching as if it was performance for the gods themselves, sipping their godsdamn wine, laughed crudely.

Your body could no longer shiver.

You swallowed loudly; your pride, your dignity, your cries of outrage.

“Please. Please, I will be good.” Rage burned through your very soul as much as your humiliation. But you knew your position. You knew there was no escape; a single, sad attempt on a bargain, the most important one; for if you were to be damned, you might as well make sure you got what you had come for. “I can be truly good, sir.”

“Hm… and ya’ want me to swear, d’ya’?”

“Yes, good sir. Please.”

He dropped your arm with a sniffle on your part, the waves of pain and relief crashing down on your very being, your free arm cradling your injured one to your body with tender touch.

Cassius clicked his tongue.

“Alright, I will. I will. I am a man of faith and of my word, after all.”

You could scoff and wish for the man who shall lie to choke on his own tongue; you did not believe him to be either of those.

But you let your cursed faith guide you. You had been touched by the divine, a gentle press of fingers to your forehead shining like a light within you. May it protect you in the darkest dark times – you had to believe in that.

What else was left there to do?

“But I have a condition too.”

The wickedness in his voice; the wicked excitement in his gaze, shining like gold that tempted men to sin.

Accept all bargain offered, all his conditions; and ask one in return.

What else what there?

“What is your condition, sir?” you whispered, resigned.

He smiled; and you shivered again.

You had never seen a smile so purely evil in your life; and in the past two days, you had already seen all too much.

He leaned all the way to your face, wet lips touching the sensitive skin under your ear, a flicker of tongue to taste your skin again.

“He’ll watch.”

Air left your lungs at once, absolute terror seizing your already weightless body barely keeping steady.

“W-what-“

“He’ll watch your pretty teary eyes glaze over when I ruin ya’, when I spread that tight-”

“No-“

Cassius pulled back, shrugging without care in the world; but his eyes glimmered with dark satisfaction.

“No, then. The offer’s off the table. Sharpen my sword, boys-“

“NO!” you cried out, shaking all over, all strength having left you as you thought you might jump to your feet – but gave up before even trying.

You knew what would follow; you had seen it already. The result was the agony still pulsing through your arm all the way to your fingertips.

The despair, disgust and pain had drained you; your body, your heart, your soul. Your faith.

Accept all bargain offered, all his conditions.

Goddesses were all-knowing, all-seeing. Had she seen this? Could she have truly asked this much of you?Was this a trial of your faith? One that would save Steven but took away your everything, your chance to serve to your faith and him all the same?

“Make up your mind, pretty flower. We’re wasting time here. I’ll count. Five, four, three, two-“

“Yes.”

You breathed the word before you could think twice; what else was there to say?

One word. Three letters. Hollow. Just like you bodily vessel. Worthless; but all you could offer.

“Oh?”

“Yes. If you’ll swear on your life, on the goddess of Velessa, that you will not hurt Steven, then yes. I accept.”

He cocked his head to side, breathing in deeply, licking his lips as his gaze trailed over your body; you did not shiver.

Not anymore.

His dark smile did not faze you anymore.

You were not sure anything could.

“Smart little thing,” he praised, eyes locked on your rising and falling chest. “Go wash yourself, pretty flower. Wear something nice and white… I want him to see. Meet ya’ in half an hour, right here.”

You nodded, a puppet on a string of a higher power. A pawn.

You rose to your shaky feet, the pain in your arm dull, and walked away, knowing that the next time you’d enter, the true horror was to start.

There was ache.

There was numbness.

They came like waves crashing into each other at shore as you lied curled on the ground, bloody and boneless. Ruined. Soul trembling in the maze of your mind, blank like a canvas of horror stained entirely in red.

There were windows in your temple, a masterpiece fabled to be a work of a glassmaker so talented he must have been gifted by the gods, having been whispered the formula beyond human understanding, his hands led by too mighty of a power to comprehend a mere mortal. The stained windows casted such intense red light over certain parts of your temple that the sculptures erected in honour of the deities and the floor seemed to be dripping with it. The day you had seen the temple’s floor dripping with blood instead, you had foolishly thought there was no red darker than that.

You had been wrong.

Crimson was all you could see, the darkest shade of red.

A shade perhaps otherwise only known to gods, should you ever think such blasphemy.

But had you not earned at least a fraction of the right to curse the deity you could no longer serve? Had you not earned a moment of being arrogant enough to think you had been offered a twisted divine sight?

You had decided to give and to serve; you had been ripped apart instead.

Stolen innocence. Stolen dignity. Stolen purpose.

A stolen life.

The world was stained in the darkest red not even your tears could dilute and with the irony of fate, you were grateful for that – for the bloodlike darkness and tears made your vision blurry, shaky and nearly blind.

It was better than to see a single part of your wrecked body. It was better than to see Steven, unable to meet your eye.

You wished Cassius had not spoken a word. You wished he had not revealed your bargain with such wicked glee in his voice, wished you couldn’t hear Steven’s breathless no.

But Cassius had told him. And he had taken as much pleasure in it as he had taken in—

You wished Cassius would have choked on his own tongue before he could have spoken; because then Steven might simply loath you, think you evil or disgusting and judge Cassius all the same.

Instead, the last he had been able to look you in the eye, teary and full of murderous rage as two men built like mountains held him on his knees while the third one pressed a blade right to his throat, all you had seen was regret and loathing aimed at himself.

He wished you hadn’t done this to spare his life.

But you had.

You had and he bore witness along with Cassius’s henchmen and his right-hand man merely sitting there and watching like it was the most amusing performance of his miserable fucking life; four monsters and one man witnessing your humiliation, blood and mud now seeping into the white fabric of your tunic.

Stolen innocence. Stolen dignity. Stolen purpose.

A stolen life.

And for what?

You were trembling as Cassius walked to your no-longer-secret love, not having bothered to tuck himself back into his pants; the manic indulgent smile on his lips was painfully clear in your vision as he licked his fingers still coated in your slick and blood, causing Steven look away. He too, seemed to be shaking; or perhaps that was merely your world quaking in its very basis was shattering along with you.

You let your eyes slip shut, tears cold on your feverish face.

“Sweet like fuckin’ honey, your little priestess. Bet ya’ wish ya’ were me… did ya’?” Cassius stated rather than asked, a shuffle of fabric and a hiss followed by his voice dropping lower. “Answer, you little bastard. Did. Ya?”

“No.”

“Really?” the monster in human skin cackled, voice dripping with the very crimson you saw all around you. “‘Cause lemme tell ya’, you’d talk real fuckin’ different if ya’ felt that snug little-“

“I’d never do any— no. I didn’t. I’d never hurt her,” Steve snapped, words shaky – but not with weakness, you realised, your lower lip trembling at the fierce honesty in his voice. It was anger; it was anger so fiery Cassius might burn in the eternal fires for all the wrongs he had done in life and would consider it mercy in comparison to the scalding heat and devastating sincerity of Steve’s rage.

You found a little light flickering through the bottomless void of crimson of your world; there was no mistaking whom Steven hated at the moment, hated from the very bottom of his otherwise gentle soul. Not you.

Gods, not you. Never you.

“Fuck, you’re even more pathetic than I thought… ‘never hurt her’,” Cassius echoed mockingly, scoffing. “Bullshit. And too bad… ‘cause I have. I will again. And again… and again. Should get cozy where ya’ are, ‘s gonna be a long day ‘n night.”

With a sharp intake of breath, your dull heart jumping with a jolt of terror, you snapped your eyes open. You met Cassius’s glance from where he stood directly against still kneeling Steven, his exposed manhood inches from Steven’s face, distorted with a mix of emotion so vile your shame easily swallowed the rising tide of horror at Cassius’s promise.

“I mean, she’ll be less sweet, less tight too… but a flower so pretty... She needs seed to fuckin’ glow-“

Steven tried to spring to his feet the very same moment you recoiled on instinct, your boneless limbs protesting and failing.

Much like you, Steven moved but two inches up before he was slammed back to his knees with twice the vigour, arms locked behind his back, a snarl so animalistic you’d never imagine it leaving his lips twisting his mouth.

Cassius clicked his tongue; a sound as ominous as a cracking formation of rocks about to bury alive the unsuspecting innocent soul walking by.

Your sucked in a startled breath as Cassius cocked his head aside, one corner of his mouth, still stained with your blood, rising up in violent delight as he leaned forward, face inches from Steven’s.

“Fierce baby lion, aren’t ya, boy? Too bad… wild animals gotta be put down.”

Your silent apathy broke the moment his right-hand man rose almost lazily to his feet, reaching for the sword laid on the table, pulling it from its sheath and taking three long strides that shook the ground under your knees to pass it over to his master.

Your heart leaped to your throat, the choked single syllable uncomprehensible as you tried and failed to scramble to your wobbly feet, ending up on all fours, tangled in your own tunic, shocked by how painful it felt to move when all that mattered was now at stake despite everything you had just endured.

No.

No, no, no, not on your watch, not under the eyes of all the cursed gods and goddesses who had PROMISED, who had-

“You promised!” you rasped as you pushed to your feet again, succeeding to crawl at best – so, so far, the distance miles long as Cassius straightened and tested the weight of the sword in his hand as if it was the first time he ever carried it.

And had you not seen with your own eyes that he had ripped away a human life before, you might have believed that was the case; the greatest cowards always had others do their dirty work, sitting in the luxurious seat in the front row to oversee the destruction they had commanded.

“Oh pretty flower, the promises I’ve made and broken,” he hummed with a gleeful smile as he glanced at you before curling his wrist, the sword making a terrifying circle as he took a step back.

A blinding rage flushed your veins with enough strength to keep you upright at last, to have your voice be heard all the way to the gods themselves perhaps, a scream to all the mighty deities who must intervene, for you, you alone, you were too slow, too weak, too-

“You swore on your life! You swore on-”

“And death can come fuckin’ take me if she wants,” Cassius spat, “I’d like to see her try.”

“NO-!”

In a world where those who’d died merely turned to eternal sleep, your scream would have been piercing enough to wake them, a battle cry begging them to come to your aid.

It this world, under the eye of cruel gods and wicked goddesses, it was only enough to burn raw through your throat and nearly tear your eardrums.

And yet it didn’t hurt.

That didn’t hurt.

Because your scream was not a battle cry; it was a wail forceful enough to bring you back to your knees as the sword was driven straight through Steven’s ribcage, instantly staining his shirt with blood, the sticky gurgly sound something you’d never forget no matter whether you’d continue to walk the Earth for an hour or a decade.

The broken wet gasp leaving Steven’s lips as Cassius pulled out the blade out with vigour and his henchmen released Steven at last was cut off when he did not have a moment to support himself on his hands and the blade pierced him a second time.

The sob tore your chest apart but it did not matter; your heart was already in shreds, beating all over your body, every beat an agony unknown.

Steve’s eyes were on you as he fell limp to his side, all tension leaving him; and the look in his beautiful blue eyes with the sweetest drop of green had your violently trembling hand cover your mouth.

There was no accusation. No blame. No loathing nor disgust.

Only forgiveness.

An undeniable prove of the kindness he carried in his heart, even as it stopped beating, a prove forever etched into his features as his gaze misted over; a soft statue in its eternal beauty, the most sacred deity of all, a depiction of a virtue the filthy demons standing above it were not even worthy to look at.

But neither were you.

This was all your fault.

You had been foolish. So incredibly naïve in your blind faith; faith in a goddess who might have as well had been the messenger of the demons themselves, leading you astray, tempting you with personal gain and punishing you for giving in, ripping away what you held the dearest.

What good was your faith now?

You squeezed your eyes shut but it didn’t erase the image burned into your mind for eternity, the sheer terror to haunt you for the rest of your days.

The sobs torn from your ribcage hurt. Your muscles were spasming and you couldn’t stop it, you couldn’t breathe, because it burned and burned and burned and you should be praying.

Praying for Steve’s sweet soul.

But all you could do was to curse, with every fibre of your useless worthless being, to curse the deities and demons and humans alike, nails digging into your scalp so hard you thought you might be drawing blood.

Blood, blood, blood, everywhere, at Steve’s lips-

“The fuck?”

Your eyes snapped open on instinct, a little spark of life in your bones at the naked surprise in Cassius’s voice.

Your ragged breath stuck in your ribcage, a choked sob hitching in your throat. Your lips parted, head spinning as the ground beneath your knees seemed to evaporate, reeling mind coming to a halt.

Oh gods.

She was here; in all her celestial beauty, wildness and pulsing power which only a fool and faithless bastard could mistake for a an Earthly woman.

She stood there almost motionless above your Steven – above your Steven’s body – looking straight into Cassius’s face, an unnatural jerks to her movements as she cocked her head to side at his surprised smile.

“And where did ya’ come from, pretty thing? Who are ya’?”

Her smile sent a violent shiver through every fibre of your being, the righteous rage erased all at once, replaced by fear of power much greater than you; fear of the Gods you had cursed over and over, the worst blasphemy of all, thoughts of a worthless little human, nothing more than an ant under their boot.

How the monster standing toe to toe with her could not see what she was was beyond you.

Even with your gaze drowning in tears, even with the humility commanding you to lower your gaze, you could not tear your gaze away from the scene – a perhaps perverse need to watch whatever was to unfold. The unmatched hunger in his eye, the wicked glee at more flesh appearing to be claimed by him, another pure thing to rip apart; the ice-cold deceiving calm, a touch of a benevolent smile on her lips.

“Why, little man,” she spoke softly, Cassius’s protest silenced by another jerky but tender touch to his cheek as she straightened again, the colour of her irises beyond what you could describe, hypnotizing him and all his men alike as they did not dare to move. “I came to collect my bargain.”

Barely a second for a breath of hope for you – and then a sickening wet crunch.

Horror struck you like a lightning, hand flying to your mouth as the shriek rippled from your lungs.

Cassius was no longer smiling; in fact, he was no longer moving beyond a pathetic twitch of his limbs, eyes wide open and unseeing, his mouth tragicomically hanging open.

The entirety of the goddess’s forearm was stuck in his chest as she had punched her way through as if it was feeble cloth and not flesh and bone, her small feminine hand sticking out of his back soaked in blood and clenched in a fist as it gripped on a suddenly still heart.

“Oh gods-“

One effortless move of hers and Cassius had been turned into a heartless soulless caricature of man he had always been on the inside.

You whispered a breathless prayer as you lowered your head in submission at last, your peripheral vision stubbornly focused on the gory scene. The men who had witnessed your humiliation stood frozen in mute horror as they, too, bore witness to blood dripping down their leader’s torso, soaking the unholy ground.

All the while the goddess continued to simply stand there with terrifying calmness, her almost sweet smile slowly twisting into a snarl as she leaned closer to Cassius.

“You, you inane little rat, swore on your life. On my name. And you broke your promise,” she hissed, eyes sparkling with violent delight outmatching that of Cassius’s by eons, “and the moment you did, your own dark priestess’s protection cracked like your funny little ribs and veins just now. You’re mine.”

She jerked her hand back with another sickening crunch, the lifeless body falling to the ground already soaked with Steven’s blood; the heart – gods have mercy – swiftly followed suit.

Your stomach churned, bile rising to your throat, an unvoluntary wince to your neck as you were sure you could not unhear the wet smacking sound in all your lifetime; no doubt very short lifetime you’d be given before the all-knowing all-seeing goddess moved to punish you for all your shortcomings. For having lost faith, for blasphemy, for all the curses you had sworn on her name and those of her fellow deities.

But she had promised to protect him! a small grief-struck voice in the back of your head protested desperately, a prayer leaving your lips at last, for Steven at least to find peace in afterlife. If you did not grant the same courtesy to the demon who had taken your beloved’s life, well – it was but a little sin to add to a long list, wasn’t it? What more did you have to fear?

What was fear anymore? What did it matter?

Ruined for your temple, ruined for your love; the man for whom you’d given it all up lying lifeless on the nature’s floor. Death like Cassius’s might be a mercy for you.

Mercy.

Gods have mercy on Steven’s soul.

Gods have mercy on a priestess who had once believed too much and let herself be led astray.

Gods have mercy, please, oh please, have mercy-

The space of the tent turned so impossibly still it distracted your prayers.

The monsters among men forged by war stood frozen at the imagery as bloody as those their own hands had once committed; stood unmoving but straight and tall like soldiers. Until, as if in response to your thoughts, they dropped to the ground with a deafening snap of the bones holding them upright, their bodies suddenly as twisted as their minds and souls.

Fresh wave of horror and humility swept over you, your eyes squeezing shut. You pushed your head lower in a bow as you heard a shuffle of fabric out of this world approaching you, your hands trembling as they hung connected in your lap, shielding your stained tunic.

You did not dare to speak.

You were not sure you’d be able to find your voice even if you knew what to say.

“Look at me, little one.”

The unearthly bright fabric of her skirts with deep crimson ornaments stilled in front of you as she stood and slid her hand under your chin before you could as much as wonder if the command was yet another trial, an impossible one, as one must listen to the orders of gods and goddesses – but must also display humility and submission. She tipped your head back, her unnatural gaze boring into yours, her smile vile and kind at once, the touch of her other hand tender.

A shiver rocked your whole body, tears streaming down your face as she cradled your cheek with her blood-soaked hand. Drawing four lines down your skin all the way to your throat, barely avoiding your trembling lips, she cocked her head to side; the visceral fear at the memory of how she had done almost the very same to Cassius before driving her hand through his chest was a funny feeling as it reeked of relief and mercy indeed.

“I am merciful, little one. But I am a goddess. I can give and I can take. Your dedication might be to healing, but we were once warriors walking the Earth. And your war has only just started…” she softened her voice into a whisper, with benevolence the powerful ones, in your experience, tended to lack.

She leaned closer, almost crouching to your level, your gaze trapped in hers until her eyes slipped shut and her forehead touch yours lightly, an air of the divine you breathed in growing suffocating in your chest, your own eyes fluttering shut, heavy with tears and all the pain witnessed and withstood in the past days. And yet, you felt hollow.

Hollow and so, so godsdamn exhausted.

“But you are tired now, aren’t you? You did so well, little one. You must rest now.”

All life seemed to be sucked out of you as she breathed in, her lips so close they were almost touching yours; she whispered a command.

And your body, a former priestess, a mere human body, obeyed.

Your trembles subdued, your muscles losing all tension. Your limp body slid to the ground, gingerly so, curled on your side, chest rising and falling with peaceful breaths in an instant.

The goddess rose to her full height and smiled gently at your serene expression, before her gaze moved to Steven’s motionless body.

The corners of her lips curled up; had you been conscious, you would have not been able to tell whether in a smile or in a smirk.

To serve the gods and goddesses was what one should assume was a calling. It was – your calling. The higher purpose of life – for you were a woman of faith.

Being a priestess, however, your role among nobility or commonfolk alike reached beyond praying, sacrificing and healing – you were also meant to serve as a guide.

In the times of darkness, it was your mission to heal both body and mind, to help navigate the lost souls out of the maze of their thoughts and to ease their suffering. In the time of new teachings emerging, it was your mission to learn and understand, to help navigate the lost souls through their confusion, to build bridges and reconcile the old and the new, to bring peace to the minds of those who struggled with guilt and fear.

As a priestess of goddess Velessa, you were naturally all but loyal to your religion, but as a healer and a guide, you took interest in the new teachings. In those of love and forgiveness, of virtues and sins, of rewards and punishments for eternity and of atonement. In those not effortlessly reconciled with the ideas of the past.

It was not an easy path to walk; but by gods, such was the divine calling of your life.

Or at least it had been.

The musings on your faith reemerged slowly; and yet not slower than you returned from the strangest sleep of your life.

Your hazy mind was flickering with confusing images; your aching body a cruel reminder that those images – some of them at least, those of horror, pain and losses so profound your heart still felt as if it laid shattered in many pieces in your heavy ribcage – were true.

A reminder that one was not touched by a deity without consequence; one was not turned from mere human into a god simply by being blessed enough to encounter a god walking the Earth.

Much like old teachings, the new ones, too, spoke of rare occasions of encountering the divine; in the new teachings, those often took form of angels – messengers, servants and warriors of God, creatures of human form with the power near that of the old gods.

As you were pulled back into the waking world, opening your eyes with lashes heavy with tears, you came face to face with a manlike form which must have been one of those messengers. An angel. A golden halo of hair softening his sharp robust features, a strong jaw as if carved from marble, an elegant slope of his nose casting shadows easily overshone by the sky-blue of his irises with a minuscule but all the warmer speckle of greenery. Large in frame, his shoulders would have likely barely fit the doorway of your modest chamber, his waist strikingly narrow in comparison, strong thighs all but inches from your still lax hand as he sat by your bedside.

With such sight, you thought – as arrogant as it was of you to think that you, in your sins and blasphemy and curses spilled, would be graced for the second time – that he must have not been a mere messenger. All about him whispered of being a warrior. A guardian angel perhaps, watching over you with a gentle wrinkle of worry between his brows, the soft furs against your back and the covers over you doing little to disguise the true warmth radiating off him; warmth, kindness and vague familiarity one felt if they began to recognize the landscape surrounding their home upon returning from long travels.

The strangest thing was that this man – this man-like vision – seemed to be watching over you with profound sentiment.Watching you.

Air stuck in your throat at that realization, your heart stumbling in your chest.

You scrambled to sit up swiftly as you blinked away your tears, shame filling your very soul at the idea of what an image you must have made for; unjustly sharp memories of how you had been turned into such pitiful sight sliced through your body like a knife.

And yet. Yet.

The pain seemed so meaningless compared to that in your shattered heart.

The angel’s frown deepened as you gathered the covers with haste, realizing that not only you had been brought to wherever you were, but also had been changed into a clean tunic – and likely bathed. Neither of which you could recall.

“Are in much pain? Should I call for a healer?” he asked gently, an air of a kindness of strangers one was barely-ever met with anymore hovering around him. “You’re safe now. I promise.”

“Where am I?”

Your voice was raspy from misuse or perhaps from the dryness settling in your mouth. You licked your lips absently, noting the man’s frown deepening with concern, his tender gaze making you shiver, your heart hammering achingly against your ribcage – but no longer from fright.

As your frantic gaze roamed around the room, you understood why your companion would be concerned if you didn’t recognize the space; where his voice and his eyes whispered of something safe and only vaguely familiar, the environment you knew like the back of your hand. It was one of the chambers in the housing of your temple, used for isolating those whom you and your sisters tended to and whom you believed to be taken by infection and fever.

Your shoulders slumped a fraction, even if for a brief moment.

Perhaps your sisters had brought you here; perhaps the angel-like man was not a divine vision as much as he was a dream produced by your fever. You had learned a long time ago, however, that even those illusions tended to be messengers, ones of mind and soul, little blessings to guide the wounded and ill – and one would be wise to hear them out.

This dreamed figure, whoever he was, was bringing kindness – and while he had said that you were safe, it was not his words that convinced you of such. It was his soothing presence, his aura of a protector, deeply ingrained into his flesh and bones and those sincere eyes that made your heart ache and flutter all at once.

“I—thank you,” you whispered, your greatest aches but an echo for a moment, giving way to reluctant curiosity. “Who are you?”

Your question charmed a sad smile on his handsome face, the same emotion reaching his eyes. His voice softened further.

“I do not blame you for asking,” he muttered, gaze casted down as he reached to brush a non-existent strand of hair off his forehead, the all-too-familiar gesture like a sharp twist of a knife in your stomach. “I can barely recognize myself. Even Buck nearly tripped over his own feet when he suddenly needed to look up when talking to me and walking.”

Your chest stilled with a wild stumble of your heart, pain and hope exploding in your lungs. Your lips parted, fresh tears springing from your eyes, your mind sent reeling.

Impossible.

This was impossible.

He was but a fever dream, he must have been, but even as that – this was not your Steven. He couldn’t be. This was--- but the gesture, ‘Bucky’, his softness and his voice, even if with an unfamiliar depth, yes, but-- your Steven—your beloved had a large spirit and a kind, enormous heart, but he was little in frame, and he was--

-dead.

Your Steven was dead.

You had seen it happen with your own eyes, seen it happen with your own regrets and the profound realization that in your misguided attempt to save him, you were the very cause for the sword piercing though his--- gods, there had been so much blood, and he must have died in so much pain and yet he had not seemed to blame you, not blame you even now, in a foreign an yet familiar form-

Was this what Steven’s spirit looked like, residing in his sickly body all along?

Was that what he would have been should the gods grace him with better health and not only brilliant mind and the most beautiful of souls, which were gone, almost by your own hand?

“Gods, please don’t cry-“ the man whispered as if he felt your suffocating pain and all-consuming guilt himself, his hand quick to reach for yours, engulfing it easily, its warmth instantly seeping into your skin, a sob bubbling up your throat as your head spun with all the things you had loved about your Steven mirrored in this man. He even looked like Steven indeed, even if he did not. He was some form of Steven, you had no doubt, as surreal as it was.

And his touch felt so, so real, too tangible to only be a conjuring of your, even if perhaps feverish, mind. His presence was undeniable.

Had he come to haunt you?

Or was this your afterlife?

“S-steven? What--- did I… am I dead?”

He winced, shaking his head quickly, his other hand too moving to hold yours, now enclosed between both of his rough but gentle palms.

“No, no, acushla, you live--- your faith carries you through… and it saved my life too,” he whispered, meeting you gaze once more, the warm blue irises you should have recognized at once boring into your eyes with emotions so deep and so tangled you only seemed to recognize one, the one least probable to appear in anyone’s eye when looking at you, especially now.

Especially after what you had bargained, what you had lost, what Steven—

A violent shiver ran down your spine, your mind stuttering as your voice did.

Saved his life?

“But- but how--- you-“

Steven – the mirage of Steven, the spirit, your Steven? – breathed in, lips parting, no words coming out as he seemed to struggle to find the right ones. His expression was, once again, so absurdly familiar on the less-than-familiar face that an instinct to reach out and assist him somehow had your free hand twitch.

You winced when the door was thrown open, a new figure stalking in; this time, a perfectly familiar face, exactly as you remembered it, a wordless confirmation of you being entirely awake and lucid, the realization slowly sinking in.

The man holding your hand – Gods, his eyes, his gestures, his voice still as warm as when you had tended to the wounds he had gained by rushing to protect innocents, your hand held as tenderly as when he had once dared to brush his lips over your knuckles in a thank you – turned to his closest friend, allowing you to admire his profile in mute awe.

Beautiful. By gods, your Steven had always been beautiful and now, even with annoyance and light scold twisting his expression, it seemed as if his appearance was reflecting his fierce soul.

Your hand twitched in his when he spoke, trying to hold onto his touch when he began – and swiftly ceased – to retreat his touch. His entirely tangible touch.

He was real. By gods, he was by some miraclereal, alive, despite the agonizingly sharp memory of his empty eyes boring into your soul kindly--- he was right there by your side, alive and well, if not healthier than before, having grown a good foot and half taller and many pounds heavier with muscle.

Even as the stunned how echoed in your mind, you sent a thankful confused prayer from the bottom of your heart, several tears escaping the well of your eyes.

“Buck, come on. She’s just woken up, into complete madness no less-“

“And you’re a dumbass who cannot explain shit to her, ‘cause you get all tongue-tied around her and it seems to matter little if you’re a small punk or a freakin’ giant,” Bucky uttered, sighing as he closed the door and focused his gaze on you, his features softening a fraction. “You prayed. You made a sacrifice Steve refused to elaborate on. The goddess came to collect and to reward. She gutted Cassius, completely massacred the hirelings-“

“BUCKY!”

Steve snapped his head to the other man so fast it brought a memory of four necks being snaped as if by a mere twitch of a hand, deadly-still distorted bodies falling to the ground, a gore image of a heart, gods have mercy, torn out of a body,of blood dripping off of her hand, her snarl and smirk and benevolent smile as she touched you and painted your cheeks with the blood of the very man who had ripped apart your dignity and purpose, and Steven--- Your Steven, motionless, eyes as kind as always but so, so empty-

Bucky continued as if unbothered by the horror-like images he brought to your mind.

“-she healed Steve, made him all brawny and huge and blessed him with strength to lead the rebels to return order to the lands. People already began stacking behind him as they should, so he’s now our strategist and the Captain of the troops. The end. Except, you know, they are awaiting his orders and instead, our dear newly-elected captain is here, ‘cause he’s a completely and utterly smit-”

“Gods, Bucky, please-“ Steven whispered hastily, earning feigned confusion on Bucky’s part, the man turning his hands palms up innocently as if he wasn’t the reason for your head spinning, your heart thundering in your tight ribcage as you tried your damnest to grasp at the meaning of the words that seemed beyond your comprehension.

“What? --Alright, fine, I’m out, I’m out…” Bucky muttered, turning back to the door as if offended, with one last meaningful glance at Steven and then you. “Move your ass though, Rogers, they’re waiting for ya’. … Your Grace.”

The door clicked shut behind him before you could muster up a response, Steven remaining stiff for several frantic beats of your heart, only then nodding as if he felt as stunned as you were.

He had not released your hand for the entirety of the absurd scene.

You were glad for it, beyond grateful; for as you turned back to him in mute awe, suffocating relief having found home in your ribcage as the truth of Bucky’s words began to settle, Steven’s touch grounded you in the madness your reality had become.

He cleared his throat, the sound nearly defeating in the silent room.

“I, uhm, I apologize about Buck. He… was blunt, but not wrong,” Steven sighed, the full extent of his words not reaching your mind, for it was too busy accepting the fundamental fact still.

The Goddess. She had kept her promise: she had protected what you held the dearest. Moreover, she strengthened Steven’s body to protect him further. She… had killed the highest ranking Arwin’s men in the area – because saving your Steven and turning him into a tangible epitome of a warrior had also served another purpose, one she had perhaps had in mind all along.

Your war has only just started, she had said.

She had blessed him with strength of a body – the only one he had lacked until that moment – so he could lead your people into a better future.

She had turned him into the epitome of hope.

“She truly did save you…” you breathed, your gaze instinctively flickering to his ribcage where two of wounds oozing blood had been, hand twitching with the need to see their absence with your own eyes.

Did the pain echo in his body still? Did scars remain where his flesh had been cruelly torn, or had they been healed?

It mattered little, you supposed.

But as Steven slowly nodded in confirmation, a patient smile shyly lifting the corners of his lips, the aches in your body reminded you that whether he carried his scars or not, you knew that you did.

Your relief was pushed away by another suffocating feeling, chasing fresh tears into your eyes. Shame.

It was a delightful truth that the goddess – even a rather twisted way – had kept her promise. She had. It had only cost you everything.

It was such a blasphemy – you scolded yourself, sending another prayer for the mercy shown by the goddess to whom you, now tainted, could no longer serve – forcing yourself to swallow your tears, your free hand curling into fist as your lips twisted in an attempt at a genuine smile.

Steven was alive. You must find joy in that for it was the greatest blessing of all, for that was what your bargain had been for, after all.

What a true delight and blessing that was, oh merciful goddess, how you did appreciate seeing him breathe freely, how you wished to lay hand over his chest to feel the vigorously beating heart, so wonderfully, stubbornly alive-

Gods, why at the same time did it have to hurt so deep within you that you could not seem to reach the source and press to find relief-

“That’s good,” you choked, your gaze evading Steven’s, instead raking over his broad shoulders, his bulging arms, the image, while beautiful, barely comprehensible. Gods, he was so large now, larger than life itself… and you. You. Less than nothing left.Your voice was barely louder than a breath. “But she, uhm… she did not heal me, did she?”

Steven did not have to speak to answer.

You had once pulled shards of ceramics from him abdomen when he had gotten to a brawl – the memory sharp as it was one of rare moments he had allowed you to see that despite his fighting spirit and stubbornness, he did understood and felt pain, much like any other human being. And yet –his expression that night had not been nearly as pained as it was now, his jaw set tight, his eyes slipping shut after a moment as if he could not bear the sight of you when he replied.

The fact alone burned down your spine and left ashes behind, ones you tasted on your tongue.

He could not bear the sight of you. That was just how filthy he saw you now.

“I do not think so, no. I… what you did-“

“It was worth it.”

You spoke the words before thinking of it twice, only to realise the truth in them before you could even think to take them back and reflect on all the kinds of pain your actions had caused you.

It burned and stung, and could rip you apart and by gods, it did – but how could it be anything but worth it?

Seeing Steve now – alive and well and strong, his body reflecting the brilliance of his soul… Oo doubt even those who had been overlooking his importance and potential were willing to follow him now, appreciate him as they should have for years. It had to be worth it.

And waking up, you had thought an angel, a godlike figure, blessed you with their presence; a messenger, a warrior. A symbol of hope. They too must have thought that upon setting their eyes on him: a symbol of hope to those who had long lost their will to fight. And on the other hand, Cassius’s men, gone: the symbol of tyranny and pain toppled over and knock down from its pedestal, shattered to million pieces to give way to celestial light.

Hope.

For the hope alone your sacrifice would have been worth it.

What was your little heart and broken soul in comparison? Your lost purpose in a world where lost souls roamed to find the temple you had once been allowed to serve in?

What was your pain in comparison to the masses?

Insignificant. A grain of salt in a wound of a bleeding land.

After all, you were meant to live a rather secluded life, a life of quiet servitude; ruined for both, men and your temple, your isolation would merely grow. Should the gods be merciful, you may be allowed to continue serving in the outskirts of the land, in the woods; if not to anyone else, then to the very goddess who had chosen not to heal you.

Your calling was never meant to be selfish; your calling only ever was to aid others and to serve deities and their purpose.

You had served a purpose. Even as fresh tears gathered in your eyes as in defiance, you must believe in your heart and soul that there could not have been a greater purpose to serve than this.

The most tender caress to your cheek, gathering the tears which had spilled over, brought you back to the room from the faraway woods and images of loneliness. Steven whispered your name, his eyes glassy as his fingers shifted to cradle your face with gentleness you had barely ever dared to dream of, your very soul trembling and drawn towards his welcoming warmth.

“Oh acushla machree, I—I never knew… I hoped, like a fool, that one day you might--- and now…”

Your breath hitched.

The realization struck sharp in your not yet mended heart, sudden pain exploding as if it was being torn in half.

All tongue-tied, Bucky’s words echoed in your ears; hoped like a fool, Steven’s raspy voice added. Completely, utterly smitten, a haunting voice joined, whispering what Bucky must have wanted to say before your beloved cut him off.

Machree, your achy heart echoed, the word the sharpest sting of all.

Acushla – a vein, as you had found in the wise texts – was what Steven had been calling you for quite some time, your belief being he had found a special respectful name for his healer in the language of his ancestors. Machree, however… machree meant that one of the texts you had consulted and dismissed for it had only tempted you and awoken inappropriate hopes had been right to speak of a sentimental meaning tied to the word acushla, used as a soft yet passionate endearment.

For machree meant my heart.

Acushla machree. The vein of my heart; the reason for my living. My beloved.

Why. Gods, why-

Your lower lip quivered so your whole body wouldn’t, tears burning a path down your cheeks, seeping into Steven’s hand still laid on your cheek.

Your Steven had hoped. He had hoped, thinking himself a fool, a fool for--- you. A part of his gentle heart had belonged to you.

You had suspected as much. You had hoped so too, with all your heart, wishing to hear him say these words for months and months if not years – only to be cursed to hear them now, praying to be able to forget them when they no longer mattered. Not with Cassius’s having ruined you and thus destroyed your chance at love.

The price of your sacrifice even higher than you had believed burned bitter on your tongue, leaving frost-bites behind, your will suddenly struggling to convince your crushed ribcage that it all had been worth it.

You could not bear the pity and regret in Steven’s beautiful blues, casting your gaze down.

“And now it does not matter,” you finished his thought, nodding slowly, the absence of his touch as his hand fell limply to his side like the harshest winds of winter. “I understand.” I wish I didn’t. “I would not expect nor hope for anything else from anyone.” Not even from a soul as pure as yours. “Let alone from the man who will at last be seen as the hero he is. You have much brighter future ahead of you, will have no shortage of-“

“What are you talk--? No!” Steven blurted out, the sudden urgency in his voice making you snap your eyes up, only to read utter confusion and exasperation in his face, both of his hands moving to hold your hand once more.

“I--- What I mean to say is--- I am so sorry for what you endured… and I understand if you cannot forgive me for not being strong enough to prevent it, more so when it was because of me, I-”

“No, that’s---  for you, Steven. Not because of,” you assured him hastily in return, the fractured smile on your face passionate, even if brief. “You are worth it, Steve. I wish… I wish I not only hoped but knew sooner how you felt, for I feel--- I wish I was not tainted the way I am.”

His voice was soft as he whispered your name like it was a prayer in its own right, a prayer and a source of pain all the same, the very same sentiment blooming in your chest.

“You are not—no. You are as precious as ever.”

Oh your sweet, sweet Steven. Fierce and loyal and kind, the fairest of them all, his soothing words charming another heartbroken smile on your trembling lips as he squeezed your hand.

“You do not have to—I know the ways of the world, Steven. I’m worthless n-“

You never got the chance to finish the sentence as his hands, incomprehensibly fast, moved to cradle your face in both of his large palms, the fierce affection in his gaze stealing your breath.

“No. You are no less worthy than a day ago, no less precious or less… loved,” he added, his voice falling into a whisper, his calloused thumb tender as he swept away the tears from the corner of your eye, a shiver rushing through your body along with traitorous hope you stumped with vigour for it hurt to have hope and have them crushed. “My heart is yours, has been for a long time and always will be. And… should you forgive me one day and allow me, I will prove it to you too. With all I am and all I could ever become.”

Gods let him have the world, you sent a silent prayer as you struggled to breathe, every word falling from his lips as tender as his hold on your face and as firm as his grip on your foolish heart. Gods grant me strength to not give into temptation to accept his endless kindness, for my own gain would be his loss.

“I—I do not wish to trap you-“

I wish for nothing more than to be yours-

Steve shook his head again, releasing your face only to reach into the pocket of his pants – a pair a size too small for him, one Bucky might have borrowed him for none of his old clothing could possibly fit him – carefully pulling out a folded parchment, gingerly opening it and laying it on your lap.

Your heart stumbled in your chest as your gaze instinctively fell on the slightly smudged ink, a single word lighting up your mind: breathtaking. For that was exactly what it did to you, seeing yourself – yourself with in a blasphemously goddess-like beauty – drawn in perfectly purposeful, affectionate lines.

It was your portrait. Portrait of which you had no doubt had been drawn by Steven himself, for he had once shyly admitted to having taken liking in art – his ink-stained fingers gently grasping your hand in thank you when you treated him on numerous occasions had only confirmed it.

He had drawn you.

He had drawn you as if you were something the most blessed dreams were made of and he had the drawing on him, even now.

“Stev-“

“You should have thought of that before you stole my heart, acushla machree,” he said, one corner of his lips rising in a tenderly shy smile. “But I show you this to make you understand – not to pressure you, for I will never. Ever. I… I would simply like you to understand who you truly are to me.”

Your thunderous heartbeat filled your temples, your fingertips moving to touch the drawing and stopping mere half an inch away for the fear of smudging it – for the fear of the beauty disappearing upon your touch, blinking away tears as not to stain it with the salty droplets.

Gods almighty.

Every single line on the parchment had been made with nothing but love. Steven had loved you, he truly had. He still did. And his words… unlike other men you had encountered, Steven was a man of his word – he did not say things he did not mean. He would accept you as tainted as you were.

He would love you and have you feel his love.

Despite everything.

For despite everything, the drawing in your hand revealed how he saw you; almost celestially beautiful and good.

A resolve inside you cracked with a deafening noise, relief and delight flooding your veins with overwhelming might, stealing your ability to speak a single word.

Mute for what must have been an eternity, you lifted your gaze at last, eagerly.

Steven’s expression had fallen, even as he had clearly tried to hold it steady: a face of a Captain who would lead his troops to restore order to the land, no matter what. The change confused you – but perhaps it should not have. You were silent for too long and Bucky had been here to tell him his presence was expected.

For all his sweet sentiment and promises, he had other duties.

As you fruitlessly searched for words to say in goodbye, in thank you, in love, he nodded curtly, rising to his feet.

“I understand,” he said, his voice strangely hollow of emotion, even as it remained so achingly kind. “Please, take your rest. Someone should be with you shortly to help you, I will make sure of it.”

Now downright bewildered at the sudden change in demeanour, you wordlessly folded the paper to return it.

His smile turned shaky, his left hand gently pressing the drawing to your palm.

“Keep it, please, unless it insults you. I… I can make myself another.”

Insult you? This gorgeous piece of art flattering you like no other, perhaps only insulting the gods in how the image depicted you in a beauty only designed for them…?

“Why would it—” You shook your head. “Why do you carry it with you?”

Your heart skipped a beat as Steven lowered his head, a faint blush – blissfully familiar, one you had more than once seen paint his features before he was touched by the divine – colouring his cheeks.

“I always felt it kept me safe and sane in midst of all this chaos. A little… a little light of hope,” he said, his smile earning a warm sad edge as he shrugged and sighed. “Rest, acush- rest, priestess.”

Nodding once more, he turned away slowly, his shoulders rising with a generous inhale.

The moment he took the first step towards the door, it felt as if a lightning of realization and determination struck you at once, your own sharp intake of breath too loud and too quick – but then you were on your feet, tangled in the covers and stumbling in your haste, caring little you hit your shin for this was not going to happen under all-seeing eyes of the gods, less so on your watch.

Not today, not ever, would Steven think you were rejecting him.

He spun back to you at the ruckus, eyes wide at your sudden fervour which you could only hope echoed the surge of affection flooding your every vein, every nerve, every last inch of your clumsily moving body. Your lack of balance mattered little to you as you all but crashed into his large frame, trembling arms thrown around his neck, face pressed to the crook of his neck in search of comfort and reassurance as much as gifting it in return.

For a single beat of your heart, he stood stunned; and then his arms moved to embrace you, holding you securely to his chest, achingly gentle and blissfully warm.

Your name was but a whisper on his lips, so tender your eyes welled with fresh tears, your fingers fisting in the fabric of his chemise, a silent sob torn from your throat as you allowed yourself to believe and feel; your pain, your heartbreak, the utter hopelessness he had wiped off so sweetly; his breath in your hair, his fierce heartbeat against your cheek, affection radiating off his very soul and calling upon yours.

There was a lump in your throat, too large for you to speak.

You did not need to.

Your Steven simply held you, lips brushing your hair, arms wrapping tighter around you as if he hoped that if he’d held you close enough, he could shield you from all the harm in the whole wide world.

And by gods, he would if he could, he’d stand unmoveable in face of any force that could hurt you, no matter how mighty; you were beginning to understand as much. He whispered as much too, the rumble of his voice in his ribcage comforting against your front.

“I’ve got you, love. You are safe now, I promise, I swear on my damn life I will protect you with all I have from now on, acushla machree, be a man worthy of-“

Oh what a lovable fool your Steven was-

You shook your head and pushed slightly for him to release you, as herculean as the act was to convince yourself to leave his comforting loving embrace. You were offered a glimpse of the apology and the gravity of his oath written in his features – replaced by awe and warm affection the moment you planted your hands on his face, glassy eyes boring into his, too filled with glimmer of unshed tears of past regrets.

“You have always been worthy, Steven,” you declared, uncompromising even in your whisper, eyes flickering all over his face softening upon your praise. “Of everything.”

And most of all, of love.

Gulping, you could not push the last words past your lips; instead, in a selfish and selfless motivation at once, you pushed higher to your tiptoes and slowly, oh so slowly as you feared rejection still, you pressed your cheek against his, the heat radiating off his skin a touch almost if not just as divine as one of the goddess.

Your heart fluttered as he leaned into the touch, a flicker of bravery leading you to carefully brush your lips over his slightly flushed skin next, earning a reverent whisper of your name.

For that was the emotion you had seen on his face all along: reverence. And love.

He nuzzled against your face softly, breathing you in, nose lightly bumping against yours, his breath your breath, bliss and torment, the distance between your lips too short and too immense to bear. One of his hands moved to cradle the back of your head, the tenderest fingers threading through your hair, your name a prayer sweeter than anything you ever tasted.

With surge of courage and impatience, you stole the sound of your name from his lips with yours, kissing him at last.

It was everything and nothing like you had ever imagined, your body lit alive, touched by the most divine forces of all and consumed by celestial bliss.

A sharp intake of breath, borrowing all air straight from your own lungs, Steven’s lips responded in kind, clumsy, tender and eager, hands reluctantly taking firmer hold of you as to never let you go. Tears rolled down your face, of joy barely diluted by the pain of scars left by your ordeal – because for all that had been taken from you, ripped from you by the hands of violent men, it was not this.

Your kiss, it would always be yours and Steven’s alone, should he truly want.

And he must have. He must have, because a sound was born in the back of his throat, his arms wrapping tighter around you to keep steady and close and keep you forever, affection of might you had never dared to dream of whispered and declared by his lips caressing yours over and over with little care for air, imperfect and beautiful and overwhelming, eyes having long fallen shut to see and feel love as it was meant to be felt – with your heart racing with Steven’s, side by side.

In the back of your mind you thought you heard Bucky swear from the doorway, Steven’s lips all the sweeter as they curled in a smile against yours. You did not care for Bucky seeing; you basked in Steven’s light and love instead.

And many, many long weeks after, when Steve tied his life – that of the people-chosen king – with yours through marriage, and he softly laid you on your marriage bed, you cried like you cried the day you kissed; lit up by his tender touch and love, soul stitched together by gentle patience and reverence and so, so achingly joyful and full of faith.

And upon that, in her all-knowing, all-seeing wild beauty, the goddess you kept serving to despite it all, smiled.

S.R. masterlist  // Complete masterlist 

Thank you for reading. I’ve come to bargain for you to let me know your thoughts 🥲💕

This story was… different. I admit I was nervous about posting it because of that.

I think the themes of blind faith, crisis of faith, faithlessness, sin and punishment and forces way beyond our understanding – and perhaps of us only being here as their pawns – were on my mind ever since I wrote the first instalment (Walking Back into My Own Myth) inspired by the collection of epic poems Kytice by Karel Jaromír Erben. This one is simply… a lot less filled with smut and a lot more drenched in blood. I also realised with horror that I am yet to give – even after this story – some love to pre-serum Steve. And so here we are 💕

I do hope you liked this story. I am indeed going to be grateful if you feel like letting me know if you did 🥰

May May be kind to you🌸

Note: The quote by anonymous at the beginning was actually made up for this story. The Goddess’s name is inspired by Slav pagan mythology.

[pokeballvictim]

underrated psychic-type possibilities: telepathic grooming

for example... trainer with an espeon who starts having unexpectedly hot fantasies about fucking pokemon when she's masturbating, and who never notices her espeon's eyes (or gem) glowing faintly when it happens

eventually she starts having the fantasies on her own and the espeon is just increasing their intensity and making them feel better/more real/more attractive than fucking another human, turning the fantas and eventually she takes the leap, strips naked, gets down on hands and knees, and presents herself

and as her espeon's cock slides inside and she feels its warmth, it starts projecting feelings stronger and she recognizes its touch on her mind, realizes she's been manipulated into this... and realizes she doesn't care enough about it to stop moaning under her pokemon as it mounts and breeds her

Hmm, hmm, not bad, not bad. Instead, however, imagine this. Your espeon walks in on your masturbating one day, right before you cum. you're embarrassed, of course, but judging by the way she cocked her head, she didn't really understand what she saw.

Then, the next time you give her her meal, you suddenly feel your knees get weak as an orgasm erupts from nowhere in your head, and you fall to the ground in surprise. You look up at your espeon, and she seems distinctly smug.

Every time you pet her, scratch under her chin, she rewards you. You know what's happening, but you can't do anything to stop it. She's your partner. She starts varying the sensations; cutting them off halfway, or tripling the intensity. You'll be in the middle of a conversation, and you'll think of her, and your breath will catch as an earthshattering orgasm blows your mind. You lose friends, forget how to masturbate on your own, get addicted to your partner pokemon messing with your mind.

One day out in the wilds, you're sitting in your sleeping bag when you feel it start. Orgasm after orgasm, sending you into a blissful haze of pleasure. When the sensation lapses, you're desperate. You need more. You need it to keep going. When your espeon's kitty cock flops onto your face, you don't hesitate. You know what your mistress wants.

[felassan]

Some snippets (compilation) from the comments section of [this recent video] by Mark Darrah on YouTube titled ’How 2017 Changed BioWare 1000 Ways’.

rest of post under cut due to length.

Mark Darrah: "BioWare seems to be rebuilding now. I guess we'll have to keep watching"

Mark Darrah: "BioWare and EA seem to be fully behind the next Mass Effect"

User: "I hope the next Mass Effect brings the studio back on track, I doubt they will have many chances left if that game fails. Judging by the people that are involved, they are definitely trying." Mark Darrah: "Seems like"

Mark Darrah: "I don’t know what is next for DA"

Mark Darrah: "A super rushed Joplin likely would have been deeply flawed"

User: "I often learn more about what was going on at Bioware from this channel than I did in 10 years working at Bioware 🙃" Mark Darrah: "oof" Aaryn Flynn: "I learned some things too!" Mark Darrah: "@ blind men touching an elephant"

Bryan Johnson: "Very interesting to hear your perspective since I definitely was not a high level person. Crazy how much they kept the Casey return, as a few of us knew about it a bit earlier because we wrote something to scrape the employee staff data as we were getting tired of not hearing about people leaving the company." Mark Darrah: "wow"

User: "The shenanigans you just described, combined with David Gaider's recent posts about his own treatment at this company solves the mystery as to why DA has ended up in the state it's in. Thank you for clarifying." Mark Darrah: "I wouldn’t put it all on 2017"

User: "As someone who adores Dragon Age, it seems EA doesn't understand RPG fantasy games and doesn't understand what they have with Dragon Age and probably never will." Mark Darrah: "Likely"

User: "I can tell you as strictly a fan that I FELT the 'pivot' as you called it, in 2017. Andromeda felt half old BioWare and half something I didn't recognize as the same language. Anthem was a completely different dialect. SOMETHING was obviously changing at BioWare..." Mark Darrah: "That said, Anthem had been in development a WHILE by 2017"

User: "The level of organizational disfunction at such a big company is astounding." Mark Darrah: "Very common"

User: "I truly wish EA cared more for fsntasy, because it definitely seems like sci-fi and sports is what the higher-ups drool over." Mark Darrah: "We'll see what the future has to bring but..."

User: "And in all that time, Star Wars the Old Republic was keeping up Bioware's slack. Now they don't have that option anymore." Mark Darrah: "It was. Though I'm not sure EA saw it that way"

User: "The infuriating part of all this is that nobody even got what they wanted. Especially EA. The behaviour of these execs would at least be explicable if it had led to commercial success, but it didn't. Why are business execs so uniquely bad at doing business? It's their only job." Mark Darrah: "Successful Live services make so much that the risk was seen as worth it"

Mark Darrah: "Montreal didn't work on Anthem, they were moved to a different EA studio"

Mark Darrah: "Quarter based isn’t great planning for gamedev"

User: "It was a big surprise that BioWare didn't crumble immediately like so many before (Westwood, Origin, Bullfrog, Mythic). It's fascinating to learn that it was because BioWare was put under EA Sports management who were in no position to meddle with the development of RPGs." Mark Darrah: "The EA sports thing happened a bit later... I want to say 2013 or something."

User: "I am still hopeful, despite everything that's happened, that we'll still see more Dragon Age at some point" Mark Darrah: "You never know. EA owns a LOT of IPs"

Mark Darrah: "It’s the nature of most corporations to focus on costs longer term than revenue. Which is an issue for things that take many years to do"

Mark Darrah: "Every game that ships is a miracle"

User: "I am an optimistic. I hope that DA will be back and that EA and Bioware ups realise what a gem Dragon age truly is." Mark Darrah: "Hopefully"

Mark Darrah: "There was a story about Andromeda threading the needle between colonialism and a refugee story and telling neither story fully but that never got discussed"

Mark Darrah: "I do think MEA could have repaired its rep if given more post launch time"

User: "This is so sad. I really hope these videos bring some kinda change, whether it be with EA or teach other developers/publishers about what not to do." Mark Darrah: "..."

User: "Veigulard is like a product of this turbulent development process and continuos change of scope without respect to the development team." Mark Darrah: "Veilguard is a story for another day... hopefully"

Mark Darrah: "SWTOR was always a mystery to me too. It seemed like they had a pretty clear "If we sped 1$ we get more than 1$ back" repeatable model but it wasn't valued."

User: "I guess my only question is, did Casey Hudson ever actually fought for the Joplin vision/to keep DA Singleplayer at all? It seems odd to me that EA allowed DA to go back to Singleplayer in early 2021, shortly after Hudson left. I mean, Anthem was his idea and it flopped. The Jason Schreier articles stated devs were calling the live service Morrison "Anthem with dragons", so I wonder if Hudson was actually in support of turning DA into an MMO. Not trying to find someone to blame for everything, but I'll just forever wonder if things would've been different with someone else at the top." Mark Darrah: "I don’t think he was. Simply living in the same environment we all were"

User: "What was your relationship with the higher-ups and your team like for the remainder of your time at Bioware?" Mark Darrah: ""Doing a job" probably describes my last 2-3 years"

User: "I hope there is smooth sailing for ME5 and the story will knock our socks off." Mark Darrah: "I am following Mass Effect for sure"

Mark Darrah: "Origin [Systems] was actually under the BioWare umbrella at one point if you can believe it"

Mark Darrah: "Ray [one of the BioWare co-founders] spent a lot of his capital resisting EA until he left."

User: "If Joplin and the DA team had gotten the manpower from the Montreal team and resources they required do you think Joplin could have avoided EA’s push toward live service? (Sorry for the double comment, issue with my connection for a second there)" Mark Darrah: "... Its hard to say. Those 2 things are honestly pretty tightly coupled"

User: "Did you talk to Casey about the Anthem situation? It seems like he just pushed Anthem without discussing it internally which is so strange to do" Mark Darrah: "There were conversations. Casey can be very convincing"

User: "I think they damaged the relationship with their consumers as well" Mark Darrah: "In 2017? Definitely stopping the MEA dlc didn’t help"

User: "Have you considered writing an unauthorized history of Bioware, Mark?" Mark Darrah: "I’ve thought about a book. Not sure if there is one in there…"

User: "my trust in Nexteffect is very low just like it's for Bioware overall nowadays, but I won't judge before the game is out." Mark Darrah: "Keep following the game. Hopefully it will be great"

Mark Darrah: "EA doesn't sell IP"

User: "It's always so weird to hear the two teams at BW were kinda against each other" Mark Darrah: "Its weird how much the teams saw the differences as opposed to the similarities"

Mark Darrah: "I’m not sure that a large corporation can NOT assimilate an acquisition. Even if it tries"

User: "I have zero expectations for the next Mass Effect game" Mark Darrah: "There is still blood left in that stone"

Mark Darrah: "DA2’s budget is pretty small"

Mark Darrah: "We are starting to see a pivot back but basically the math is: 1. A successful live service makes WAY more than a successful SP game. 2. So much more that even if only 30% of our bets work we are still better off. BUT. 30% of their bets have NOT worked. Its way lower than that"

User: "The year BioWare started being finally digested by EA." Mark Darrah: "Finished I'd say"

User: "Do you feel like the "little to gain, little to lose" attitude from EA happened with The Veilguard as well?" Mark Darrah: "It isn't the same situation I don't think"

User: "How close were we to just getting any Dragon Age release, ever? Do you think the 10 year wait between releases damaged marketability?" Mark Darrah: "Do you mean how close was Joplin to happening? Not very close. It never even entered true pre-production" User: "regarding Anthem’s live service status… were people moved from Austin (The Old Republic) to help with that? Because it would greatly explain the content drought in the game at the time." Mark Darrah: "A ton of Austin people were on Anthem and Anthem Live. Not sure if they were pulled off of SWTOR though"

User: "I don't think EA understand video game development..." Mark Darrah: "They understand very specific kinds of development"

User: "if I were at BioWare, I would have had no trust in EA to keep their word after they agreed to let Dragon Age become single player again in 2021." Mark Darrah: "different people in different chairs but yeah"

Mark Darrah: "Yeah I don’t think anyone was malicious"

User: "do I understand correctly then that actual work on what eventually became The Veilguard started in 2019, after Anthem?" Mark Darrah: "There are very thin threads that trail all the way back to 2015 but most work happened after 2019. REALLY most happened after 2021 when it went back to SP."

User: "It seems like the Dragon Age team and Mass Effect teams have resentment towards each other, but I rarely hear from Hudson discussing this. It’s mostly the Dragon Age team." Mark Darrah: "I think we all have different stances for sure"

User: "I'm sure they don't appreciate you telling the full truth." Mark Darrah: "There’s much more to it then this"

Mark Darrah: "That Anthem pitch was so good it lasted 7 years of Casey being gone"

User: "Execs lying to you numerous times, then lying to the Dragon Age staff about the nature of their relocation, only to have them crunch on Anthem, is horrendous." Mark Darrah: "I don’t think they were lying to me at the time. It just became untrue"

[source]

[shadowgast-recs-weekly]

Hidden Gems 11: A Shadowgast Rec List

This week, we have one of our recurring themes: fics that have under 150 kudos! Check under the cut for nine fics that we think deserve a little more attention, and of course comment and kudos if you like them!

All Witches Burn by Vailee (6102, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn, Major Character Death, Temporary Character Death, Panic Attack, Dissociation

Sometimes desperate people make the worst (or best) decisions. Like sneaking out in the middle of the night to wander the woods and finding Bad News.'

Reccer says: This is just such a fun AU! The set-up is very fun, I love the soft world-building (some questions left open but in the BEST sort of way - Also like how, as a Fantasy AU, it's similar-ish Canon but a step to the left~. . . VERY fun XD) - So glad I refound it recently, it's very fun /u\ (P.S, The author has alot of other really good/fun Shadowgast AUs, this one in particular is just my favorite ;3c XD)

And Not A Wild Shade by Pippin (7312, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn

Essek goes looking for spell components on the border of Fae lands, didn't expect to encounter a mysterious Fae-touched man guarding them. . . - Shadowgast Tam Lin AU!

Reccer says: A really well done AU, just fun from start to finish and so so soft! /u\

Half-Sick of Shadows by Copperhawk (14512, General) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek departs from the Nein soon after the conclusion of the peace talks, saying he needs to tie up some loose ends - However he is a loose end all his own, and not the only one looking to weave this tapestry. . . (Lady of Shalott AU!)

Reccer says: A very fun fic!! Whether you know the poem or not, the fic is very well done and so fun to read - If you DO know it (or read it before reading the fic), it's fun to see the use of the framework of the poem within/meshed with the fic narrative XD The author plays with the ideas *very* well - Cannot overstress how fun and downright delightful I find this fic As a small note, while there's alot of platonic M9 & Essek and the ship-status is Pre-Relationship, there's also a nice amount of pining that's real neat XD Overall, just an amazing Fic

Act of Service by CitizenMocha (5488, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Caleb and Essek do some roleplaying and learn more about each other.

Reccer says: I like the portrayal of nonsexual intimacy and the way Essek is written as having a disability.

The Icarus to Your Certainty by ithilielthechosenone (14091, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

sometimes you consider breaking time and then you go and kiss about it: big wizard energy

Reccer says: Some excellent post T-Dock angst and feels!

I’ll Bow to the Altar of Your Curiousity by Serlenti (10266, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: Rape/Non-con, Dubcon/Consensual Non Consent

Bren Ermendrud awakes, naked, gagged and strapped to an operating table, after he barely survived an implosion leveling the whole of Rexxentrum. Ready to die because of the Residuum in his arms, Bren quickly realizes that the mysterious Shadowhand is searching for something different entirely.

Reccer says: I like the medical themes!

Held in Place: Practical Applications of Immovable Object by C. Widogast et al by Artificial Haunting (6320, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek teaches Caleb some new uses of the Immovable Object spell.

Reccer says: I liked it!

Heart of Joy by Vvenus (68 276 , Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

A WIP modern AU with magic featuring Caleb and Essek as dorm roomates.

Reccer says: A lot of open communication, Essek an overthinker who discovers infatuation with Caleb, it is very sweet, and also explores disabilities. It is a WIP but the author is updating 2 chapters a week !

Then we have two recs for this next fic!

Zweisamkeit by Ajaxis (29,086 (but still being updated), Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

I follows Caleb and Essek as they traverse the ruins of Aeor right after the events of C2.

Reccer 1 says: I’ve been wanting a ‘Caleb and Essek Aeor adventure’ fic for a while now and this absolutely ticks all my boxes. It’s dual pov (which I love) and you can feel the unspoken longing between them in the air. It’s also incredibly well written! Reccer 2 says: I love Caleb and Essek’s dynamic in this!! This fic is full of tense moments, humorous moments, and the typical Shadowgast pining that everyone loves. It expands on and fills in blanks for what Caleb and Essek did in Aeor and is basically canon in my eyes. I wait patiently for every update, and so far, no chapter has disappointed

This is one of our weekly communally-generated shadowgast rec lists. Every week we announce a new theme and allow anyone to submit a fic recommendation. 

And hey, anyone includes you!

Next week, we'll be featuring time travel/time loops! Fun with dunamancy

Any fics coming to mind? Well, then use this form to submit!

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is: @teddywesworl! teddywesworl has 17 fics posted to AO3 in the Stranger Things fandom and all of them are in the Steddie tag!

@dame-zoom-a-lot recommends the following works by teddywesworl:

Dissonance Theory

A Gem Beyond Counting

Schiava

In the Kitchen or the Tulips

Anemone

"Her fic, Anemone, got me into Omegaverse because it was so good and so weird and just perfect. She's introduced me to so many cool tropes, and she always manages to put her own spin on it. And her dialogues are so funny that I accidentally quote them from time to time." -- @dame-zoom-a-lot

Below the cut, @teddywesworl answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

I think Steddie’s appeal to me is rooted in class tension and social power. Within the insular confines of a small town in Indiana in the 80s, these two guys couldn’t be much more different—Steve’s parents have a giant house and buy him a BMW, while Eddie lives in the trailer park with his uncle and tells stories about a father who taught him to steal cars. Steve peaked as the top jock in high school, while Eddie, held back from graduating twice, delivers abrasive monologues from atop cafeteria tables and runs the much-maligned D&D club. But then you peel back those surface layers, and they’re both fundamentally good dudes who will lay everything down for the people they care about. It’s really fun to both read and write about the ways the tension inherent to their circumstances might resolve.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

Honestly, it sort of changes over time? But I’m a softie at heart, so it has to have a happy ending.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

Anything to do with power exchange. :)

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

Sleight of Hand by Smithereen (@flieslikeamoron on tumblr)

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

I have most of an outline of an incubus!Eddie fic sitting in my google docs. No idea if I’ll ever write it!

What is your writing process like?

First, I get possessed by an idea. Then I obsessively rotate the idea in my mind for 12-48 hours, picking apart what’s compelling about it and concocting like… key moments and images and concepts that give the concept its legs. Then I build an outline around those key pieces. Then prose.

Do you have any writing quirks?

Probably.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

When I’ve finished writing. I did Deathsleep sort of on a schedule, but I chafe against anything that makes fandom feel too polished or like a job.

Which fic are you most proud of?

Deathsleep. Please read Deathsleep. It’s the best thing I’ve ever written, and it’s not a close call, and if I get my original fantasy fiction published one day, everyone who’s read Deathsleep will immediately be able to tell what it was a rehearsal for.

How did you get the idea for Anemone?

So I resisted writing omegaverse for a long time because I didn’t think I had anything to add to the genre and furthermore didn’t have anything fun to say about the Gender of it all. But then @jeffgoldblumsmulletinthe90s, @r-o-s-e-f-i-r-e, and @stevehairingtit kept saying interesting things about omegaverse both in fic and in conversation, and I realized that I did have something to contribute: a background in developmental biology. So Anemone actually started as a way to discuss how certain omegaverse conventions (in particular, bitching) might work if they were real. And then I stirred in a healthy portion of my love of extremely weird and fucked up power dynamics.

When writing In the Kitchen or the Tulips, what was something you didn’t expect?

The intergenerational storytelling. I had no idea all the parental figures were going to be as important to everything as they ended up being. It’s sort of obvious in retrospect, but it came out of nowhere during development.

What inspired In the Kitchen or the Tulips?

My love/hate relationship with soulmate AUs. What a weird and complicated fanfic trope, right? As soon as you start thinking about them too hard, they start saying some very strange things about, say, free will. I wanted to sink my teeth into that idea. I wanted to look right at it. I wanted to ask what makes a soulmate bond work or not work, and I did NOT want the formation of the bond to be the climax of the story.

What was your favorite part to write from Schiava?

I basically have no memory of writing the entire Vino series. I was possessed, five minutes passed, and then three fics existed. I really like the bit where Vecna tries to take Eddie back and Steve figures out how to prevent it, though. :)

How do/did you feel writing A Gem Beyond Counting?

Gem is the most self-indulgent fic I’ve ever written, just because it was born from doing one of those fanfic trope tier list memes and then making an outline out of my whole S tier row. It was a blast.

What was the most difficult part of writing Dissonance Theory?

DT took forever to finish. I got stuck on the train station in chapter 4, just couldn’t quite figure out how I wanted to resolve Eddie’s human relationships. I got through it, though, because I really wanted to get to the knife stuff.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

Deathsleep acumen sequence.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I’ve got my head down writing a fantasy novel at the moment, around 30k in the draft as of this writing. If anybody’s into stories about monsters, monster hunters, imperial collapse, and dragonslaying as a metaphor for cultural genocide, I post occasional updates about it on my tumblr and I will be super obnoxious if/when it gets published!

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Thank you to whomstsoever thought of me for the spotlight! Love you, steddies.

Thank you to our author, @teddywesworl, and our nominator, @dame-zoom-a-lot! See more of teddywesworl's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!