#that temple filled me with rage lmao

[animemeg27]

gauntlet of shar and moonrise towers have been the most stressful and rage inducing part of bg3 for me so far lmao

I don't remember the last time I've been so annoyed at a game like it's to the point I think I might just switch to easy mode instead of normal mode on my next play through;;;;;;

[namazunomegami]

Into the Void

Pairing: Geto Suguru x gn!reader

Synopsis: Geto is so succumbed to his ideals that you have no choice but to run. But the hunt for you is more than a simple chase. It's resurrection. It's repentance. Just like in the parable of the lost sheep.

CW: canon compliant, established relationship, predator/prey, injuries, blood, toxic dynamics, heavy religious symbolism, emotional distress, dissociation, tiny bit of hurt/comfort, yandere behavior, Geto is a manipulative ass how surprising

WC: 5.2k whoops

Credits: my dear @notveryrussian for proofreading but tbh I should start calling you my editor from now on lmao. I'm glad you enjoyed my sneak peeks so much 💕

Song rec: since I can't control myself, I picked 3 songs by Nine Inch Nails that gives the perfect vibes to the story. For the exposition, I recommend Heresy, mostly because the lyrics resonates with the reader's thoughts about Geto. For the escape/chase part, I picked Eraser for the creepy vibes and reader's slowly deterioriating sanity. For the closing part, I picked A warm place because it's a comforting yet a bit gloomy track

A/N: Saying that this idea possessed me is an understatement. Initially I only wanted to put effort into the whole chase scene but obviously I started to add lore into the whole thing. And since they grew on me and I simply love their dynamic, a part 2 is on the way yaaay.

Minors shall not interact unless they wanna get punched.

And a usual warning for dark content. I wanted to keep it mild but I couldn't. Maybe I'm a lil bit too skilled when it comes to writing about fear.

It’s all too painful to think that maybe running away with Geto wasn’t the best idea.

Of course you loved him, you loved the twins too and the makeshift family you created, it really healed some of the wounds you received in the past. But you wished it would’ve stayed that way. Living together, somewhere far away, isolated, in peace. Have a fresh start, build a nest for the four of you and fill it up with love.

But he had other plans.

There were a lot of improvements in the initial phase of your plans. Building community, uniting the herd. You enjoyed some reverence from the followers too. Eventually the initial number of breakthroughs began to stagnate, despite all the effort. It became routine, like you were being dragged through the same day for years and years without end. When you were faced with even more setbacks, you started to realize that you basically never left the temple and it soon began to feel like a cage. Golden and holy. It was draining to see people lose their sense of individuality and how he became their only source of validation. It was torment. Living life as an idol of worship tucked into a forgotten corner of a church. Praised like a twisted Gothic Madonna with a blue cloth over your head, but in reality you weep, you’re their Mater Dolorosa, with swords piercing your sorrowful heart.

The most devastating thing about realizing you’re not fit to run a cult, is the fact that you lack the most understated yet important aspect of it: believing in the agenda you want to spread. How could you guide all those helpless, simple-minded sheep while questioning whether your destination is real or not? Maybe that Canaan has nothing to do with milk and honey, instead it’s just a pile of rubble.

You soon got tired of it all. His drive, his goal, all too impossible to achieve. Maybe he knew he could never make it happen, but it consumed him regardless. You’ve lost the most cherished parts of him to his hatred, his deeply repressed rage against any injustices he had to deal with after the infamous Star Plasma incident.

You weren’t sure about your feelings towards Geto anymore. Were you afraid of him? Angry at him? Bitter? Disappointed? Worried? It all turned into mush, a grotesque, black liquid as the thin walls of the temple slowly made you feel like they were closing in on you. You had no idea how much time you had, until your unresolved feelings will taint the whole place.

You always circled back to the worst possible action to protect your soft, aching heart… When you thought that nothing will change for the better, you wanted to run away. You wanted to hide. The ambivalence of your feelings towards him weighed on your heart and conscience, like a thousand stones. You loved him, yet you loathed what has become of him. Despite that you trusted him with the map of your soul, made it through all the highs and lows of your relationship so far, all the deep abysses of pain and suffering.

Maybe you should run, just for the sake of it. To test how it will make you feel. Will it make you feel freed? At ease? Will it lift the weights on your chest? Will this sense of incoming doom vanish?

Maybe you should find Gojo. He wouldn’t condemn you, but he would be disappointed. If you set your judgement and resentment to aside, he’s the only one who can talk with the higher ups to scratch your name off the list of curse users who are on death row.

How much time did you need to forge your plan? Not even a single minute. It was only natural for you to memorize everybody’s routine, how to distinguish the sound of their steps, to pick a timeframe when nobody is lurking around the halls. The first (and probably last) time you were glad those who have hurt you gave you a skill, besides the ability to harness cursed energy of course. They made you stealthy, alert, observant.

And when Geto left you to cater to his followers, you decided to put your plan into action.

Your body is strung tight with the tension of waiting, agitation making you feel as if you were unraveling at the seams - but something deep inside of your mind pleaded for you to stay. Agony and anxiety were plaguing you until you’ve found enough courage to get up and sneak out. Now, you had the chance to show off everything you’ve learned: sliding the doors shut so slowly that they don’t make a noise, walking down the corridors with socked feet, carefully putting the middle parts of your feet on the floor, instead of your heels, easily avoiding those parts that creak.

Sometimes, when he was immersed in his thoughts, he was amused by how faint your steps sounded.

An involuntary instinct warns you. It’s trying to convince you that he can see you through the eyes of bodhisattvas residing in the thangka paintings decorating the walls. You almost give up your quest as you glance at the depiction of Vajrabhairava. In all its anger, with its six faces and twelve limbs. A dreadful beast that defies death itself.

You don’t want to do this to him, do you?

You look away from the painting, focusing on getting your shoes on and climbing out through the window. As you’re squatting on the windowpane, you can see all of Tokyo stretched out beneath you. You’re a little bit annoyed that all temples are built on a mountain. A long way to go, but you can never know when this place will turn into a funeral pyre.

It’s a little bit too easy. There’s no sign of surveillance curses nearby, you only need to slide down on the wet tiles, jump up high, land in the mud and let yourself be swallowed by the darkness of the forest. You specifically picked your least conspicuous clothes to blend into your surroundings perfectly. And the cold and murky night will let you go safely. The leaves will conceal your tracks.

So many things are working in your favor tonight.

You know there’s no need to rush. You can only draw attention to yourself if you are running around, creating noise and disturbing the wildlife. You don’t even use a flashlight, you have to get used to the darkness, the full Moon will guide you with all her dazzling light. And after that, Tokyo will do the same, with its crowded streets and all its places to hide.

There’s a weird kind of tranquility in your heart. How the cold prickles your skin, the moisture in the air, the faint noise of the creatures dwelling under the leaves, up in the trees, singing, chirping, crawling. The scent of wet soil, the gentle caress of the wind…

Now, you feel free.

As you walk deeper and deeper into the woods, you feel lighter, you feel like you could fly away, like you could dance all the way towards your destination. You’re thinking about actually doing that, as if you got possessed by a strange spirit…

But the uneven, slippery ground makes you fall right into the mud. You squirmed a little, trying to get hold of a tree trunk and then…

Silence, dead silence.

Your heart sinks deep in your chest.

You know what it means. When nature falls silent. There’s…

There’s a threat nearby.

A primal instinct tells you to run.

There’s no way, there’s no fucking way that he already noticed you were gone.

Twigs whip at your skin as you’re running mindlessly. Wherever you end up, it will be fine, as long as you can enter the outskirts of the city. The cold night air stings your throat, your heaving breath leaves your mouth in puffy clouds. You feel the urge to cough, deep from your bone-dry lungs.

The ground beneath you turns soft and steep. You lose your poise, stumbling and rolling all the way down until you fall from a high clod of rain-washed soil. Your body collides with a cold, wet, yet incredibly hard and flat surface, fraying the skin on your palm and face. Your back and shoulders will be bruised by tomorrow, painting your body with black and blue spots. The pain ripples through your entire being, paralyzing you for a couple of moments.

As you slowly gathered your battered self from the ground with a grunt, you realize you landed on a road. It’s a good sign, you’re not so far from civilization. But instead of following the road, cutting through the forest is the wiser decision.

Your relief is short-lived, just like a may fly.

A sinister feeling takes hold on you. It makes you freeze, squeezing your insides. Like you’re sitting in the jaw of an eldritch beast. You slowly turn back to the direction of your fall.

The lights are flickering.

You grab on the guardrail for dear life. You try to fill your lungs with shaky breaths, your heart desperately beating against your ribcage. Your trembling knees barely keep you upright, yet nothing can make you move. You have been found, you’re defeated, there’s no point in running away from him. The injuries, the already forming bruises will only deplete your strength.

How could you fight him? You’re aware that if he wanted to, he could break your bones and twist your body at the joints with an arm behind his back.

How could you outrun him? He’s capable of summonning a swarm of curses before you even take a step.

How could you make war with him?

Three of the lamp lights were already out, you stared into the darkness, the boundless abyss right before your eyes. You can’t even force yourself to blink.

And when the lights came back on, he was just standing there. Without breaking a sweat. Your pulse feels non-existent.

What infuriated you even more was that he wasn’t wearing his gojo-kesa. The motherfucker even gave you a head start by changing into something comfortable before he came to fetch you. Or simply he noticed your absence later than you expected.

Whatever, both is bad news for you.

He doesn’t utter a single word, he merely walks towards you. Slowly cornering you. Feasting on the terror on your face. Meanwhile you can’t unravel what could possibly be going on in his mind. The only thing you notice is that those violet sparks in his eyes are so sharp they could cut yours out of their sockets.

Should you give up? Should you beg for forgiveness?

But then, an idea blooms inside your mind.

You don’t hide your fear, you let your body tremble freely, fingers desperately clinging onto the metal, with your shoulders hunched to protect your neck and your wide, frightened eyes stare back at him. Letting him believe that you won’t fight back. That he can take you back to the temple and throw you back into your cage.

And when his foot hits the bisector, you jump. Right into the nothingness behind your back.

You fall on leaves and broken twigs again. You roll and roll with such speed you can’t comprehend the growing distance. Not even having an idea of how far you’re from him. Small rocks, branches, hardened roots of trees, bones all cut, scratch and pierce you. But you endure it, you’ll undergo any torture if it meant you’ll be freed. Your only hope is that the adrenaline will deal with the pain.

Suddenly, you violently crash into a tree, the ridged texture imprints deeply into your stomach. Acid bursts from your throat. Your diaphragm didn’t avoid the hit either, breathing is not unlike Sisyphean task as you try to get your shaking limbs to stand. Your mind is disturbed by the lack of air and your desperate attempts at getting yourself together. You’re wheezing like a dog. You must look pathetic, you think.

It takes almost all of your mental strength to calm down and slowly breathe through your nose, your lungs finally opening. But Geto won’t let you recover, you hear the fallen leaves getting crushed under his feet. You take a few sharp, ragged breaths, like it’s the last drag of a cigarette before the train comes and then, you move.

You hide behind a thick pine tree, palms covering your mouth and nose. The lack of oxygen is just another frustrating hindrance to your successful escape plan. Dizziness fills your head like a thick fog and sucks the strength out of your shins, needing to lean against the trunk to keep yourself standing. You try to conceal your cursed energy with all your might. A tracker who’s untraceable is a useful pawn in the hands of the higher ups, this skill made you a cherished student back in the day. Back when everything was so… no, it’s only the nostalgia making you wistful, it wasn’t any better.

The rustling gets quieter, you wait until the sound eventually dies. An almost muted sigh of relief leaves your lips in a thick cloud, dancing in the cold air.

From the corner of your eye, a floating form cuts through the pale moonlight.

Looking closely at its shape, you realize what kind of curse it is. The beetle looking one that attacks instantly once it senses movement. You can’t believe it, you’re going to -

The curse drags itself into your aura, scanning your form that is fused with the pine. Every muscle is tensed, you’re stiff as a board, you suppress every reflex in your eye and empty chest. You’re just like a statue, a corpse, showing no signs of life. Only an agonizing scream echoes inside your skull. A scream that puts mental breakdowns to shame.

It’s like an eternity until the curse finally disappears from your sight.

You definitely look exhausted, your body is limp and heavy like lead. But you must keep going at all costs, even if you have no idea how many curses are sent after you. You walk around the mountain instead of going down like he’d expect it.

Slowly yet surely, you calm yourself down. You know that you’re still in his grasp, but you still have a chance to outsmart him. You go deeper and deeper, you’re near the heart of the forest now. The moonlight barely crawls through the leaves, it’s easier to navigate according to what you hear rather than to what you see. The surroundings are growing eerie, you ache for light and warmth. And the longing sucks a bit of spirit out of you.

Before you can start questioning yourself, the sound of running water fills your ears.

A narrow, yet fast running stream plowed through the forest. Though you were unsure of staying close to the stream, going through it and getting to the other side sounds like a smart idea. As you take a reluctant step, you realize the water is ice cold. And when you dive into it further, enduring the strong current, it’s not as shallow as you believed. You’re submerged all the way up to your thighs. At its deepest point, the stream hugs your waist. The cold makes your movements slow and rigid, your teeth clang together in a frenzy. The bottom is filled with smooth, flat pebbles, they make it easy to - 

You slip on the rounded, polished stones and fall into the stream. The freezing temperature makes your skin shrink, it prickles you like a thousand needles. Scared, you crawl around the bottom, trying to get a hold of something and emerge back to the surface. A sharp, burning pain wakes in your palm, tears streaming down your cheeks. You try to swallow your scream, but it wants to burst from your lungs, you grunt and whimper until you can bite down on your sweatshirt, letting the material muffle your shout. Your gaze fixates on your hand and even in the darkness of the night, you see blood oozing from the deep cut, from your own torn flesh. The urge to retch is strong.

You palm is plunged back into the cool water, in hope of easing the pain.

He calls out your name right behind you.

You crawl out of the water, running from him, just as before. It doesn't matter how many times you trip, fall, stumble. It doesn’t matter how your fresh wounds end up in the mud, you don’t have it in you care about the pain or the looming threat of an infection. You hear him trying to reason with you. You must come back home, you’re injured, you’re bleeding. He must take care of you.

Why are you running? Where could you go? Who’s going to help you recover?

No, you mustn’t let your determination crumble. But oh… it sounds so easy. Giving in to your hopelessness.

An evergreen bush becomes your shelter to collect yourself and check on your wound, which is aching from all the dirt and is still bleeding. Water is dripping from your hair, your clothes are soaked, makes it easier for the cold night air to bite into you, to shake the whole length of your body. Your fingers are hardly moving and have no strength in them. The adrenaline is starting to wear off. You feel alone, small, and vulnerable. You’re freezing, scarred and aching. All the things you see in the dark twist into creepy, threatening forms. Everything that surrounds you is suddenly dangerous. As a lonely spider crawls within your field of vision, you flinch. The world around you is evil and everything is after your flesh.

And the only person who can save you is the one you’re running away from.

What are you going to do now? Fight, flight, or freeze? Which instinct is going to win this time? Because comprehensible thoughts won’t work on you. Every little layer of a fully-fledged human with a conscience has been stripped from you. You left them scattered everywhere in the woods. You’re nothing more than a primordial shell of a being.

Ceremonial horns wake in the distance, soon followed by howling. They let the dogs out to hunt you down. Poor, little hare. Your own stupidity has woken up the beast.

Who is like unto the beast?

You defeat the paralyzing dread and decide on flight. You dash out from the bushes, but - Oh… your eye. Your soft doe eye. There’s something in it. And your tears have an oddly metallic taste on your tongue.

And power was given him over all kindreds, and tongues, and nations.

You wish you could see yourself from the outside, but you’re probably nowhere near as majestic as you think you are. Right now you feel like you’re the fastest, stealthiest creature who’s ever lived, even if your muscles are almost torn, weak, and tensed. This is the last crumb of your strength, this is your all.

And all that dwell upon the earth shall worship him.

You don’t dare to look back. You know he’s there. He’s so close, he’s orbiting around you like a moon does with its planet. As if all of this is a dance. A hunt is a dance with a coital rhythm. And mother nature is the audience to your deadly waltz.

And he doeth great wonders, so that he maketh fire come down from heaven on the earth in the sight of men.

He takes your hand in his. Gentle and kind. To not scare you any further. You snap like an electric current under his touch, but you break free and zigzag between the trees.

He grabs your waist. Forcefully. It scares you this time. You escape from his embrace before he can swallow you whole. But he might have bit your throat during the process, you feel something trailing down your collarbones. You hear your bones crack.

It was all a mistake. You are a mistake. But mistakes can be forgiven, right? He has forgiven you so many times, you can’t even think of a number.

You slide down on a slope, leaves stick to your clothes, and you drop onto a thick trunk of a fallen oak. Tensive pain ripples in your side. You should stand up and run, but you can’t move. You won’t move. What’s wrong with you? What kind of prey gives the fight up before its last breath? But you think about your frozen limbs, the pain in your palm, your back, your shoulder blades, everywhere. You think about home… you want to go home or be left here to die. But the thought of dying here, alone, makes your heart palpitate rapidly, like there’s not enough air to fill your lungs. Your breathing becomes desperate, panicked even. Your chest hurts, your ribcage is ready to break apart by your racing heartbeat. You press your palms against your head, clawing into your hair. Every little morsel of you is bursting into a tremor. The connection between your mind, your body and the world cease to exist. And that lovely, unlimited stretch of space inside your consciousness is shaken, it’s in utter chaos. Breaking into tiny little pieces, like glass, like porcelain. Tears and plucks like paper and fabric. Shrieks and wails, rejecting the only thing that makes all creatures on this plane of existence agitated over their own mortality.

You’re doomed.

Unconsciously, your limbs curl into the very same position you took when you saw the world for the first time, protecting your belly and face, making you seem small. Geto knows you only do that when you fear what might happen to you, despite being unaware of the kind of terror your brain had subjected you to. That’s why he approaches you slowly, making no sudden movements as he picks you up gently, like one would lift a porcelain figure from the ground. When you open your eyes, he had already settled you into his lap as the manta ray curse lifts the two of you up to mount the skies.

You have no idea if he hunted you down or saved you from your own demise.

What a defiant, ungrateful creature you are, you think. You tried so viciously to run away from your burden, and now you feel safe with him again, you dare clinging to him, you dare seek his warmth. The contradicting thoughts and desires torture you on the way back. There’s only one faint voice inside your head that’s capable of calming you down, able to keep your sanity intact…

You’re the lost sheep, and he’s the shepherd who searched all over the world to find you. And he’ll bring you back to the flock, and he’ll love you more than the rest of them.

Your false god. Your fallacious savior. Will he forgive you if you repent on your knees? Until they get bloody and bruised?

Back at the temple, he refuses to let you take even a step on your own. You weren’t born to run, to soil your soles with the ground that filthy monkeys walk on. You’re meant to be worshipped, to claim the whole world as yours beneath dainty, soft feet.

The warm lamplight and the comfort of your shared room helps you unwind. To shift back into a much more civilized, humanlike state. And as you practically glue yourself to the heater, you notice more dirt, more cuts, more blood marring your flesh than you expected.

When you take off your grimy sweatshirt, shoes, and socks, Geto is towering over you. There’s nothing imposing about him, he looks rather troubled as he sighs.

“What do I do with you?”

You roll your eyes. Oh, the good old rhetorical question. He has no idea if he should treat your wounds first, bathe you or break your leg just like the Gospel says.

“Come, let me take a look at your hand.”

You see your reflection in the mirror, and you’re horrified. Your right eye is bloodshot, a deep cut is splitting through your lower lip. You’re drenched in mud, already dried on your face along with some patches of wine dark blood. Together they seal the scraped skin on your cheek, makes your hair stick together into thick strands, accessorized with pine leaves and other remains from your little hike. You’re blistered and torn, you can barely recognize yourself.

It's pleasant to rinse your hands with warm water at the sink, but the sight makes your stomach twist. That nasty wound is too deep, it has to be sewn shut. A shiver races down on your spine when you see the first aid kit. He soaks a fresh gauze pad with wound solution and guides it towards the gaping cut with a pair of tweezers. The sting is horrible, the burning sensation rivals acid being poured straight into your flesh, it makes you grunt and hiss. He gives you a moment to breathe and collect yourself then he continues, despite your whimpers and twitching, tensed fingers. But the pain pales in comparison to when he swipes a new, clean pad inside your wound, cleaning it of all the filth. A pathetic cry erupts from your throat.

“Stop.” you sob, pulling your hand away to hug it close to your chest. You’re too distressed to realize that the temporary discomfort is necessary. But maybe this whole act is nothing but another one of his silly little games.

He places a finger under your eye, close to your lashes and collects your tears. The sight of you crying is somehow not worth of savoring to him. Before any little drop of your sorrow and regret can roll down your cheek like diamonds, he smears them, as if they could make your misery vanish. Well, they can’t. It frustrates you that you can’t let your feelings manifest because he’s ready to devour them just like his curses.

He doesn’t care that your face is caked in dirt, blood and tears, he lifts your chin up to kiss you. Deeply. You’re not reprimanded for not kissing him back.

You were right, he’s definitely toying with you. He makes it hurt before he soothes the ache. He creates a connection in your mind. Like you’re the dog of Pavlov, slowly conditioned to associate him with anything that makes the human heart fill with delight.

The tiles attract your attention much more than watching how the curved needle dives into your skin, how the thread closes the wound proficiently. Your features soften for a moment. Shoko would be so proud of him... Not for the reason he got so good at it though. He learnt to treat his wounds for the sole purpose of not letting a non-sorcerer doctor ever touch him.

He’s crazy. Vile. Petty. And delusional. It drives you crazy too.

But when your stitched hand is wrapped up in bandages, you seriously think about thanking him for putting up with you. For not being angry at you.

“Maybe this will make you reconsider your actions next time.” he remarks in a flat tone, concealing what’s going on in his mind.

You keep your gratitude to yourself.

But it’s not an easy task when he continues spoiling you, with so much care that it rivals motherly love. How he rinses all the grime out of your hair, how he gives you a moment of peace in a tub filled with plain, warm water, no bubbles or scented oils to irritate your scarred, sensitive skin. He dries you, brushes your hair and fills the whole bedroom with the calming notes of lavender and cedarwood coming from the incense burners. But he’s just so fixated on your injuries… every scratch, every surface level cut is thoroughly sanitized. It’s still humiliating, even when you’re the one sitting comfortably on the bed and he’s kneeling on the floor.

You’re afraid the extra pampering will twist your reasoning and resolve. That’s all part of the mind games he plays. You know he’ll go out on his way to prove that the world outside is cruel, that this is the only place where you’re safe, loved. In his proximity, under his hand.

And somewhere, deep down, you admit that he’s close to convincing you.

It makes you mad, you want to tear him to shreds, you want to weep for him just like Mary did under the cross. There’s still care, there’s still love under all those layers of burning hatred. What remains is twisted though, but it is there.

After you’re patched up, he glances up at you, thumb brushing your lip right next to that nasty cut. His other hand is resting where your thigh and knee meet. It’s a sign, a warning.

“Was it worth it, little lamb?” his tone is soothing and playful. So close to being outright mockery.

You reflect in silence, averting your gaze from him. All those scars and discolored skin, your disturbed mind, and the ache in your bones - you realize that your stupid little plan was futile. Totally unnecessary, it’s no achievement you can be proud of. At least if you’re not as masochistic as to pride yourself on your injuries. But the fact that he can recognize the parallels coats your answer with bile.

“No.”

Because you know that you can be so much more… There’re unlimited possibilities to a repented non-believer. And now you know that being his doubting Thomas has no benefits.

Maybe you did lose your faith in him, like the lamb in that story, to eventually realize how much you need him and vice versa. But you’re not satisfied with being a lost sheep. You just haven’t decided on your role in his Gospel yet. This is your call, you don’t know exactly which part of him calls out to you, but you’re satisfied with either of them. Whether it’s a prophet, a messiah, a beast, or the devil itself. The fallen Morningstar who used to be the favorite.

This can be your true Genesis.

“Go on, break my leg if you want to. There’s meaning in that, at least.” you dare echo his last words to Gojo, clean and low.

And your bones remain whole.

You’re relieved. Though you’re sick of his maneuvers with your mind, you’re aware their purpose is not to hurt you or punish you. These aching limbs of yours go limp as he crawls into bed next to you. The arm you were scared of coils around your waist. Viciously tight, much like a snake. The snake that corrupted Eve in the garden. The one that made her sin, got her cast out of paradise, the one that turned her whole world upside down. And maybe Eve did fall in love with the serpent, the worst creature that God had ever created. But even though he caused the fall of mankind, the serpent freed you from the clutches of a jealous, ungrateful god who denied knowledge from his own creations. Now you have the passion to rebel, to prove your creator wrong, to avenge his mistreatment. Give in to the temptation of your snake, believe his honeyed words, accept the fruit for a second time. Because you still remember the taste, oh so sweet and luscious. And with all the power he wields, you can win back your lost Eden or re-build it on earth, the home you’re both yearning for. It’s a promise between the two of you, silent, because words are not needed, only closure.

Something warm blooms inside your chest. Yes, that’s it! You can finally feel it now…

The very first ounce of belief.

[linktheacehero]

Congrats on 200, Ace!! :) You deserve it! Here's a little request (could be a doodle or drabble, whichever you think fits best): Sheik/OoT Zelda teaching Link something that Impa taught them.

I had originally planned this to be fluff and it turned into angst LMAO

Sheik did not expect to find the Hero of Time so late at night in Lake Hylia. Much less huddled beneath the lone tree near the pedestal. His fairy companion, Navi they remembered, floated over Link's head in a soothing pattern.

The sheikah silently edged closer, kneeling before the hero who's face was buried in his arms. "Link," they whispered gently. The hylian's ears twitched in acknowledgement, but made no effort to look at them.

"Are you alright? What's the matter?"

They held no response besides shaky breaths. Navi flew closer to Sheik, her color saturated than usual, and spoke. "He's been like this for hours. He hasn't stopped shaking."

Hours?!

"Do you know what could have caused this?" They asked.

"His shadow," she responded. Sheik cocked their head. "In the temple, there was this shadow monster that looked exactly like him. It pinned him to the ground, then whispered something into his ear and Link rushed out afterwards."

At the mention of the monster, Link tensed, digging his nails into his arms.

"Can you help him?" Navi pleaded. Sheik gave her a simple nod. Sheik understood now; why their hero was silent, why his body remained still for hours, why not even the sound of a familiar voice could drag him out of the fog.

They had been the same.

With a light touch, they placed their hand over Link's. He made no reaction. "Link," they spoke again, "Can you hear me right now? If you can, give me a sign."

Had Sheik not been focused they would have missed it. Link raised his head the slightest bit, eyes still hidden. So he could hear him, that was good.

"I'm going to hold your hands okay?" Link shifted again. Link's hands were cold to the touch, trembling within Sheik's. With his hands in theirs, Sheik could see their hero's face- and their heart broke.

Blood scattered across his jaw, a clean cut beneath his eye, and an expression filled with the world's sorrows. A fire sparked within Sheik, fueling with the rage and resentment they've held for the man who holds their father's crown. Ganondorf had done this, his own creation had done this.

He will get the justice he deserves.

But that did not matter right now. What was most important, was the broken man before them.

"Link, can you lift your head for me?" He did as he was told, but still did not meet Sheik's eyes. "I need you to look at me," they gently ordered, "please." Link's hands gripped tighter in reluctance. "Link-"

"I'm scared." For the first time since seeing him, Link spoke. His voice was shaky, lips quivering, "Every time I look up I see that thing, and I don't want to see it in you."

"You won't," they reassured. "There are no monsters here Link. It's just you, Navi and me." His fairy rested on his shoulder, nudging him in encouragement. Closing his eyes, he raised his head to meet up with Sheik's. They didn't know what came over them, but Sheik let go one of Link's hands and tenderly cupped his cheek.

"I'm right here. The shadow will not reach you here."

He opened his eyes. Beneath the mask, Sheik smiled.

"Follow my lead okay?" They inhaled slowly, counting the seconds with the hand that once held Links cheek, then exhaled. The hero did as instructed, and as they continued Sheik could feel his companion relax.

"How are you feeling right now?" they asked, scooting to sit next to Link who then rested his head on their shoulder.

"Better." Their hands were still intertwined, neither let go. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"Lady Impa taught me."

[whump-captain]

No. 3 - Hair’s breadth from death

Gun to temple | “Say goodbye.” | Impaled

OC: Felix Lawrence (more here, here, and here)

i genuinely didn’t expect to come back to these ocs but here i am bc the prompt once again fit perfectly to a scene i had in mind for them specifically. to summarize the lore: Felix is a scientist who was lured into captivity by a man called The Figure, who uses him in various experiments studying the eldritch phenomenon of the Stream. the house they’re in is sentient and it has the power to heal any injury sustained by anybody inside it. Nishat is an Egyptian scholar and private eye, employed by the Crown to get to the bottom of the assorted mysteries surrounding the Stream and Alina is her partner who comes from an underground community of Eastern European pagans. 

there’s. a Lot there lmao

---

CN: threats, mentioned long-term captivity, impaling, rescue, body horror, gore, magical healing.

---

It wasn't the river that sent rumbling through the walls of the house. 

It was footsteps. 

Felix stood nailed to the floor, struck still by emotions he had nearly forgotten. Everything seemed foreign, inside and out - the walls that he knew so well for the months he'd spent trapped between them; and the storm of thoughts that spun in his head, desperately blowing away the traces of this abandoned, treacherous feeling. 

Hope. 

The Figure burst into the room in a flurry of rage. Felix was too frozen to even flinch from him as the man demanded:

"Did you do this?" 

"No," Felix rasped out. Everything was muffled by those footsteps, the distant presence of people. It enveloped him completely, mercilessly stoked the hope that he would be a fool to feel. But he felt it still, so fiercely that it wrapped around his throat like a noose. 

The Figure circled, robes swirling around him like storm clouds. The light from the fireplace cast his wild shadows across the room and shrunk it into a cage, darkened the air itself into black. He grabbed a fire iron from the wall and rushed at Felix, shoved him against the wall. He pushed the iron under his chin, strangling Felix's cry with deadly force at his windpipe. 

"Did you mention this house in your letters?" he hissed. The black silhouette filled Felix's vision, extinguished everything else. "Did you give away our location?" 

"No," Felix repeated, voice trembling but strong. "How could I? The house wouldn't let me, it- it shielded us. It would obscure my words every time, it wouldn't allow me to write anything that could lead to it." Despite the shudder that ran through him at the memory, Felix was certain. Though he would never admit to it, he had tried hiding pleas for help in his letters before but each time he was stopped by the very paper he had written on. Ink would spill or disappear, it would grow suddenly hot and burn through the paper wherever he placed cyphers or clues. Any address he'd tried to sneak in would rearrange itself into nonsense; any hint into ambiguity. And if he persisted, his vision would swim and a headache would grip him so suddenly that he would stagger and be forced to put down the pen.

"It was the house," he said. The pressure on his throat eased slightly. "It- decided to stop hiding itself. For whatever reason it might have, it wants to be found. I had no hand in this."

The Figure's ice cold eyes bore into his, the shadowed face indecipherable under the hood. A door slammed somewhere in the distance and Felix felt his heart squeezed by a burning pang of hope. 

"I believe you," said The Figure eventually. He released Felix, leaving him gasping, and listened to the slowly approaching sounds. The fire iron scraped the floor as he stalked towards the window. 

"This house is lost," he uttered to himself, voice filled with something almost like disgust. He turned to Felix again, a black shape on the background of the storm outside. 

"This concludes your role, Professor Lawrence," he said. Felix's heart squeezed tighter. He couldn't bear to indulge this hope any longer but The Figure's words were as clear as they could be. 

"It pains me that your mind has remained so closed," The Figure continued. The fire iron scraped forward again. "You have met many of my expectations. But the Stream is now lost to you." He closed the distance and loomed over Felix, casting a cold, suffocating shadow. 

"Now hear," he said, leaning in close. "If you speak a word of me to anyone, believe me that I will find you. You have been of great help but you have also tried my patience dearly and if you betray me now there will be no distance, no power, and no living person in this world that could keep you from the consequences." His voice dropped to a whisper. It came over Felix's mind like a lapping wave and sent him sinking; back in time, down into memories of agony. "Do you think you know torment? If you force my hand, I will track you down and I will make you long for what you used to call torment. Am I understood?"

Breath left Felix's body and his voice failed him. Pressing his back into the wall, as far as he could from that dreadful whisper, all he could do was nod. 

"Good," said The Figure. "Now you will stay here." 

He pulled back a fraction and then drove the fire iron into Felix's stomach. It pierced through skin and muscle, tearing tissue like thunder splits tree bark, until it ripped its way out of his back in a burst of blood and embedded itself in the wood of the wall. 

The pain undid him, exploded in a ravenous blaze that burned away everything he ever was. He had to scream but the air was acid; he couldn't take a breath. His hands rushed to the wound, clawing fingers slipping on his own blood that slicked the corrugated iron. Eyes wide, mouth agape and trembling with soundless sobs, he gripped the rod impaling him like the last lifeline in a storm. 

The Figure's voice came from impossibly far and Felix's reeling mind never registered his words: "Not a word of me to anyone."

And then: 

"Farewell." 

He turned in a whirl of black robes and disappeared in the depths of the house. Distant footsteps grew closer, but Felix couldn't hear them either. A single, shuddering groan forced its way out of his throat. At his feet, a puddle of crimson grew, rippled by falling drops of both blood and tears. 

The rumble in the walls finally reached a crescendo. The door burst open and a crowd filed in, men and women armed with truncheons and dressed identically in pitch black trench coats. Gasps sounded out at the sight of the scene; somebody whispered: "God above." Felix's head lurched up on a convulsive spasm. 

"Help me," he whispered. 

Through the crowd, a woman pushed to the front, silver-haired and steel-eyed: detective Nishat Al-Hayim. With a frown across her dark, noble features, she swept the room with a single gaze and her hand shot up in a sharp gesture. 

"You, upstairs," she ordered. Three people split away from the group. "You, down." Another three. "Do not separate. Don't touch anything you can't identify. Alina, Cowlton, you're with me. Go."

The small groups raced off into the dark. Left at Nishat's side was a round, powerfully built woman with European features and a lanky young man who snapped to attention when the detective said his name:

"Cowlton." She called him forth with another tip of the hand. "You trained with a doctor, am I right, son?" 

"For a term, yes," he answered quickly. 

"That's enough." She glanced from him to Alina, then to the trembling form of the man pinned to the wall. The biting stench of blood cut into her senses and she had to push down nausea. "What do we do?"

"God." Cowlton's hands hovered. He took in the blood soaking Felix's clothes; the foot and a half of iron buried in his stomach; the ragged, keening breaths he forced in and out. "Don't move him yet. If we remove this, he'll bleed out. We have to get him to a doctor, only then-" 

Felix whimpered, uncurled to turn his wild eyes towards them. "No," he choked out. "Please- take it out. Please." 

Nishat leaned in closer, close enough to hear the man's chattering teeth. "That would kill you," she said, voice cool and even. "Listen to me. We are here to help you. You have to be seen by a doctor and-" 

Felix grabbed blindly at the iron and pulled. A desperate scream came from between clenched teeth, his hands shook and slipped on the blood. 

Alina cried: "Hey!" 

"Stop him!" yelled Nishat. 

Alina seized Felix's hands, wrenched them away from the barely visible wound. He sobbed, voice breaking and hitching, as he repeated over and over: "Please. Please, take it out, please, please." 

Cowlton dashed to Alina's side, only hesitated a second before crouching to examine the injury. Nishat stepped back to give him space but then his face blanched. One stunned, wide-eyed look from him was enough to call her closer and kick her pulse into double-time.

The wound looked harrowing, but not only because of its ripped edges, torn further with every movement; nor because of the blood leaving it in weak, rhythmical spurts of a tortured pulse. Around the embedded iron the mangled flesh shifted and bulged, squirming like an organism of its own. Slick red strands of severed muscle crawled over each other like growing vines and shreds of half-peeled skin spread and contracted in sickening patterns. All of it recoiled away from the iron, around which blood pooled, shed by the ruptured veins faster than the writhing tissue could absorb it. 

"The house," Felix breathed. "It can't- it can't heal me like this. Please. Take it out."

Nishat could only stare, eyes anchored by terror and wonder to the gruesome spectacle of the wound attempting to knit itself closed. None of what she'd been told had prepared her for this. She reached deep into the frozen emptiness in her mind and caught the single spark still glinting. She fanned it, kindled it, and let it grow into a matchstick flame of cold, detached focus. 

She glanced at Alina, searching her friend's face for an explanation but the other woman just shook her head. Neither her folk knowledge nor Nishat's lifetime of learning allowed what they were seeing to be possible. 

So with the impossible they had to contend. 

Nishat exhaled sharply. "Dislodge it from the wall first," she said, looking in turn at her two subordinates. "Let's get him down, get space to work. Cowlton, steady him."

The young man nodded, face ashen but set in determination. He stood back up to meet the pinned man's tearful gaze with his own. 

"You are in good hands, sir," he said with remarkable calm. Felix's frantic eyes locked on him, his gasping breaths faltered as he fought to control them. "Keep looking at me," Cowlton said, gently grabbing his shoulders. "Keep breathing."

Nishat nodded to Alina; the other woman was already in place, ready to apply her strength where it was needed. Nishat retrieved her knife and opened it with a flick of her wrist. The wall was soft wood under her palm and she ignored the gentle vibration she could swear she felt running through it. 

The tip of the fire iron was lodged across the join of two planks. Nishat could barely see it, shadowed by Felix's body and glistening black with his blood. There were mere inches of space between the wall and his back, not enough for Nishat to reach in. Instead, she slid the blade of her knife flat against the wall until a soft clink told her it met the iron. With a precise twist, she angled it as much as she could. Her hand brushed against Felix's body and she felt him shivering. The touch of his blood-soaked clothes brought the metallic stench back to the forefront of her mind. She grimaced. 

Gently but surely, she let the tip of the knife bury itself in the wall, then she tilted and twisted until she felt the wood give way. Splinter after splinter, she chipped away at the planks, slowly widening the crack where the iron was stuck. 

Then, suddenly, the wood creaked and the iron dislodged. Deprived now of the cruel support, Felix crumpled down with a groan, his legs finally allowed to give out. Alina caught him deftly, with one hand on his chest and the other on his back, carefully avoiding the protruding iron. Felix gasped and shuddered in her grasp as the new motion tore his flesh further. Alina held him steady, waiting. Finally, when his breathing evened into long, wheezing keens, she slowly lowered him down to the floor, resting his head on her bent knees. "Easy now," she said. 

Nishat threw a questioning glance at Cowlton and he was ready, too. He had slipped off his trench coat and knelt now in just a waistcoat and rolled up shirtsleeves. With a gesture he directed Nishat to crouch at Felix's legs. 

"I will need you to hold him down," he said. His eyes jumped between the detective and Alina, pointedly avoiding looking at his patient even as he addressed him nervously: "Sir, you are in good hands. There is nothing to worry about. I may not be a certified doctor yet, but-" 

"Cowlton," Nishat cut in and he immediately went silent. Jaw set tight, he used his own knife to cut away the fabric of Felix's clothing, exposing the ghastly wound. He placed one careful hand on Felix's chest and wrapped the other around the fire iron. 

Nishat put her whole body weight on Felix's ankles in the exact same moment that Cowlton pulled. Felix's body jerked into an arch. He howled; an agonized, stuttering, animalistic sound. Alina pinned his arms as he screamed and thrashed with inhuman force, almost knocking Nishat off-balance. Blood pooled out rapidly, the air grew thick with it.

Felix's voice broke into sobs. His chest heaved, every convulsive inhale igniting the agony anew as his lungs begged for air. Inch after horrible inch, the iron's torturous motion tore new shreds out of his body, painted all he saw in burning red and all he felt in ruin. No memory survived the blaze and no thought was left in his mind, nothing other than this hopeless, all-encompassing pain. Half-formed pleas died in his throat before he could cry them: pleas for mercy, for death, for the pain to stop. He could only scream, writhing and choking as this suffering demanded to claim his voice and his mind. 

Then the sharp tip iron emerged from among the gore, like the sting of an insect finally sated with blood. Cowlton threw it away like it burned him and the metal's clang was dampened by carpeting. 

Shaking all over, Felix drew in pained, heaving breaths. His hands drifted to cover the gaping wound but Alina held him firmly - both to stop him hurting himself further and to allow Nishat to closely observe what took place next. 

Like cloth on a loom, the massacred tissue slowly tangled itself together. Deep in the wound’s cavity, the slick strands of fat and muscle reached to each other and melted back into layer after layer of undamaged flesh. They grew out like a blooming red flower until unevenly expanding patches of skin met over it and sealed it without a trace. Before Nishat's very eyes, thin hairs reemerged from the pristine new skin, fitting perfectly into the pattern that covered the rest of Felix's stomach. In only a few heartbeats, the fatal wound faded into nothing and left behind no scar. 

Nishat pierced Cowlton with a gaze but already knew from his expression that he did not have any answers. His bloodied hands hung in the air between them, he didn't dare to lower them down to his lap. Alina's eyes were locked on him too and despite the river's chill, her forehead glistened with sweat. 

She released her grip and let Felix curl in on himself with a long, trembling groan. His eyes were screwed shut, a grimace still twisting his features as he breathed heavily, in and out, very slowly dragging his consciousness back to a world beyond pain. Though the wound was gone, his heart still pounded with the exertion of suffering and a leaden weight had settled in his limbs like smoke after a blaze. His vision swam, still tinted red. 

Only one thing he saw clearly: the young man in front of him, worry on his face and blood on his fingers. Only one feeling emerged from the aching haze: the careful hands steadying from behind as, with tremendous effort, he pushed himself up to sit. Only one sound came to him clear, like a smooth blade parting a veil of fear and tension that had suffocated him for so long: the cool voice of detective Nishat Al-Hayim. 

She asked: "Are you professor Felix Lawrence?" 

His throat was still raw and his breath still stuttering but it was not pain that choked his words before they came. It was the sudden grip of that old, half-forgotten emotion, no clearer than a memory and so excruciating that he couldn't believe he even dared to feel it. His voice wouldn’t obey him.

He nodded. 

Footsteps rushed in again and three people emerged from the darkness of the house.

"Empty," one of the men reported. "There's a boat missing."

Nishat thanked him with a sharp nod. The race of thoughts in her head showed itself as a frown falling across her features, deepening the wrinkles around her eyes. She turned back to Felix and took in his ashen, tear-streaked face; his eyes lit up like pyres with a sickly, desperate hope. 

"I will have questions for you," she said.

[asmoswhoreandmore]

Pt 2 of angst with Mammon

So this is a pt 2 to the shitty angst I wrote earlier lmao

TW: mentions thoughts of suicide, edgy as hell, Mammons a bitch, drinking, derealization kinda happens, hangover, traumtized MC

Again chapter two:

You turned around slowly and seeing Mammon made your stomach flip for a second a time. But you held it in, staring at him now it was like seeing a stranger. 

The beautiful boy who you loved looked so foreign? 

Was that really your boyfriend? The smile he flashed looked sickly sweet.

Then suddenly the whole world felt wrong like you were on a different plane. Mammon spoke to you but his words morphed together.

Was he really speaking or was this another imaginary scenario you made up?Maybe Mammon wasn’t real, but then his hand was around your waist.

 And someone's fingers were waving in your face. 

“ Oh, Mammon, “ you thought, a reminder that this was all really happening.

“What ya don't recognize me or something?” he looked almost mad.

What right did he have to be mad? You felt incensed, the shock spread across your face with a glint of hatred in your eyes. Before you could pretend you felt fine he saw your expression. His grip on your waist loosened, the panicked look in his eyes only you could notice. He paused for a moment, time seemed too slow. The world went dark as if you were the only two people in the room. If no one was there, you might’ve challenged him to a brawl. All you felt was unbridled rage and, a sort of emptiness that made you feel like it was a good day to die. 

Then you smiled, just for a moment, you wanted to be his without all the pain. Tears formed in your eyes as your heart prayed and you felt human hope. He saw the light in your eyes die and be reborn. At that moment he pulled you closer than you ever wanted to be to him again. 

"Hey mammon what’s up my man?' Some demon called out to him causing him to kiss you quickly and leave to whatever they had to ask. He tasted like cherry lipstick, your chest started to ache and you felt a desire to go wash the taste out. A moment that felt so infinite ended so fast, when did people change so easily?

 This was all a bit too much, maybe just for tonight, you can make yourself feel alright.

Passing out at the bar was not what you had in mind when you woke up the next morning in the school lounge. The killer headache was not much to sneeze at either. Vision going blurry as you tried to tell the time of day. Your eyes squinting, it was all too bright to comprehend. The light drifting in the windows felt so intense. After a minute of grumbling to yourself, you seemed to realize the severity of the whole situation either you broke in or school was already in session. 

How did you even get here? Questions swarmed your mind adrenaline and anxiety started to run. You sat up feeling alert, but man your back hurt like hell too. When your eyes finally adjusted to the light, you saw no one. A breath of relief escaped from your throat.

“Thank fuck no one saw” Then it hit you. You broke into the school black-out drunk. “Fuck fuck fuck this can't be happening,” you thought to yourself. You rubbed your temples agitated at the thought of getting caught. What would Diavoblo say? Lucifer would hang your ass to the ceiling, and it did not look that great when you saw it happen to Mammon. 

When you finally tried to stand up, you felt yourself blackout for a split second. You started to stumble out of the school. After you got out of the lounge you quickly said a couple of spells to reverse the damage. You sucked in a long breath and hoped the spells got rid of any traces of your crime.Exhaustion started to hit you immediately after you left the school, the adrenaline leaving your body. 

All you could seem to think was 

“This was gonna be a long walk home.”

The walk home was hard, but having to sneak in filled you with dread. Lucifer would want the full story and well, your full story was full of questionable decisions at best. Your stomach starts to sink, as you creak open the door. Somehow the door was too loud and the house of lamination was too silent. Even the steps you made sounded guilty and had the house aching, and creeping with opportunities to bust your little sneak in.

One last door, five more steps until you were home free. The quickening of your heartbeat seemed to be only speeding up as you approached your dorm. Suddenly you were in front of your door, you took a deep breath puffed out your chest, and slipped inside your room.

 As soon as you closed the door your body crumpled to the floor, not even daring to move. It felt like life had been sucked out of you. At first, a tear slid down your face then, it was deep heavy silent sobs that rolled out of you like a wave. The feeling of wanting to sleep forever was the only comforting feeling you had. Everything else consumed you and all you wanted to be. 

You wanted to light him on fire, you wanted to pull him close, you wanted to push him down from heaven again. You wanted to feel nothing and forget that you ever loved one person so much there was no room for two. And you started to feel a crack form inside of you, as your humanity crumbled beneath you.

Maybe there was a point to being less than human, one thing was for certain you had less to lose.

[lilhawkeye3]

give yourself to me

Jango Fett x fem!Reader

Rating: E |||| Word Count: 3200 |||| Before the Star Wars Prequels |||| AO3 Link

Warnings: lmao well I tried to be feral and this turned out kinda soft. Oral (fem receiving), piv, soft nicknames from Jango, restraints, overstim, no condom, uhhh "we almost died so now we're gonna fuck"

A/N: this idea stemmed from Elle's feral hours so this is for @escapedthesarlacc hehe. Also thanks to @chadillacboseman and @amukmuk for putting up with my need for validation :)

Jango growled in anger as the ramp to Jaster’s Legacy closed behind you both, sealing you in alone with him. You were breathing heavily from your race back to the ship, the bounty and entire base blown to smithereens behind you.

You were injured in your shoulder, shrapnel having caught you when you pushed Jango out of the way of the blast. His agonized shout still rings in your ears while you slump against the wall, staring blankly at his tense form raged into the cockpit, leaving you with the emptiness of your thoughts in the cold hull.

You’d… you’d never seen Jango act like this before, in all your months of taking bounties with him.

His voice pulled you out of your daze as he ducked back into the hull, rich brown eyes boring into yours. “What the karking hell were you thinking?!”

You blinked at him several times before what he said sank in. “I’m sorry?”

A muscle in Jango’s face ticked as he clenched his jaw. “You’re ‘ sorry ?’ You almost died, mesh’la !”

“So did you!” You snapped back, his ire fueling your own. “I– your back was turned, and even your armor can’t save you from tons of falling metal! I couldn’t let you die!” You rose to your feet and stormed forward to get into his personal space. The bastard simply tilted his head down to glare at you more easily.

“Rather me than you!” He growled, finally stepping towards you. You stumbled back towards the cold wall, hissing slightly when your back pressed the metal. Jango stalked your every movement, placing one hand next to your head and leaning down to properly face you. You found yourself unable to turn away from the burning intensity etched into his entire expression.

“I almost lost you,” he murmured in a low voice, reaching up with his free hand to brush his knuckles gently from your temple to your chin before stopping to tilt your face up towards his. “And I’d never…” He trailed off and your breath caught in your throat at the sight of his eyes flickering down to your lips.

You filled the silence that ensued as Jango struggled with his thoughts. “I can’t do this without you, Jango.”

“Ner kar’ta,” he breathed with wide eyes, and then he met you halfway as you surged up to kiss him.

Jango’s large hand cupped your face to him as you both battled for control, feeding all your frustration and hurt and heartache into each other. Your palms pressed flat against his chest plate as you leaned up into his embrace, cherishing his gasp when you playfully nipped at his lips. You whined in confusion as he pulled away to stare at you hungrily.

“I’ve wanted you for so long, baby girl,” Jango said fiercely. “You gonna let me fuck you until you forget your name?”

You forgot how to breathe as his offer filled the space between you. You’d often had dreams of Jango taking you in the aftermath of a successful bounty, or even just in the downtime of one of your hyperspace journeys. Now here he was, offering himself to you in the wake of his emotional confession.

How could you ever say no to the man you loved?

You raised one of your hands to press against his where it still was caressing your face. “Yes, Jango,” you smiled, shifting his hand so you could press a kiss against his palm.

He immediately pressed you back against the wall, his lips finding yours again fiercely. His tongue licked into your mouth, asserting his dominance and control over you. You willingly let him, wanting to lose yourself in him. His hands worked your belt, untucking your armorweave shirt and sliding his hand up your chest to palm your breast. His calloused thumb flicked over your nipple several times before drawing a moan out of you as he pinched it.

“So receptive,” he murmured against your skin as he let his mouth trail down to your neck while his other hand started pulling down your trousers.

“Touch me,” you gasped, arching your chest up into his hand and fumbling at Jango’s own belt and codpiece. It wasn’t fair– you were already so exposed to him and yet he still had a layer of armor and his flight suit keeping you from his skin. You growled in frustration and pushed him away, hurriedly working on taking off your own clothes. “Armor, suit: off now.”

Jango huffed at being ordered around but began to strip off his armor and drop it to the floor. “Yes, ma’am.” It was hard to concentrate on stripping your own clothes off when the first bit of Jango’s golden skin was revealed to you. He quirked his eyebrow at you after looking up to see your gaze on him as he unzipped his flight suit slowly, just to increase your frustration. “See something you like?”

You couldn’t help yourself from biting your lip in interest. “I might,” you teased as you wiggled your way out of your shirt. The few seconds of blindness had you squealing in surprise when you felt large hands slide down your sides. Once you’d freed yourself, you found Jango stripped to his waist and kneeling directly in front of you.

“Back against the wall, baby girl,” he rumbled, thumbs slipping under your waistband and sliding your trousers down your legs and off with your boots. “That’s it. Good girl.”

A whine slipped out of you at the unexpected praise, and you felt yourself grow wet just at the sound of it. But then his tongue ran up your folds and your knees nearly buckled and gave out. Your fingers reached out to thread into his thick hair and hold him closer against you as one of his hands gripped onto your waist and the other dipped between your legs, a pair of fingers teasing at your cunt as his tongue moved to swirl around your clit. You tried to rock your hips into him, seeking more, but his grip on you was firm.

“I want you to touch me,” you panted, your chest rising and falling as if you’d just run a race.

“Hmm?” Jango pulled away to ask, and you nearly came right then when you looked down to see your slick glistening on his face as he gave you a Cheshire grin. “Gotta be more specific than that.”

“I want you to fuck me with your fingers and cum on your tongue,” you blurt out, tugging him back towards you. A breathy laugh escaped you when he paused to nip at your inner thigh, but it blended into a moan as he delved back into your core.

He devoured you like you were his last meal, using his fingers to spread you open while his tongue lapped up into you. He had you pinned exactly where he wanted you. Between the metal wall and Jango’s iron will, you were trapped prey and entirely at his mercy.

You tried to watch him as he worked, but the moment he slipped a finger inside of you, your head tipped back against the wall and you let out a loud cry. It wasn’t enough, you wanted more. You could take more, and you said so.

“I know you can, mesh’la,” Jango murmured and he did follow through, slipping a second finger into your heat. “Show me, then.” His darkened gaze met yours. “Fuck yourself on my fingers.”

Oh, stars.

You whined as you followed his command, beginning to rock down against his hand. His thumb was positioned just so you would brush against it with each downstroke, and he swiped against your stiffened bud each time. He muttered encouragement as you continued to work your way towards your peak, your legs trembling more and more as you worked towards your orgasm.

“That’s it, baby. Cum on my fingers.”

“Yes, yes, Jango ,” you cried out as you came onto his waiting tongue, neck bared and back arched.

He didn’t wait a moment before latching back onto you, sucking on your clit as he curled his fingers within you. It sent a jolt of electricity surging up your spine, prying another cry from your throat. Your first orgasm hadn’t fully subsided, and his renewed attention on your sweet spot sent you tumbling into another wave of pleasure.

Jango rose up on his feet to lavish attention onto your chest as you came down, swirling his tongue around one of your nipples as his hands cupped your ass and lifted your legs around his waist. You gasped in surprise and wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he carried you off to his room.

He already knew his ship by heart. Now was his time to learn a map of you.

Before you knew it, Jango was already laying you back onto his bedsheets, his hands pressed on either side of your head as he began to kiss his way down your exposed body. You fought to keep your eyes on him as he glanced up at your face to watch your expression while he worked his way lower.

“Already blissed out for me, kar’ta? You gonna be able to take my cock?” He asked, rubbing his still-covered crotch against your wet cunt. You let out a quiet groan in frustration, wanting him to do something, anything, to help quench the fire that was still burning within you.

“Don’t tease me,” you whined, reaching towards Jango, but he tsk-ed patronisingly.

“Thought you were my good girl.”

Your eyes widened. “I am, no, I can be good for you!”

Jango chuckled at your desperation and reached down to his utility belt, pulling out a pair of magnetic cuffs. “Gonna prove it to me? Hands above your head.” He pressed a kiss to the inside of each of your wrists before snapping the cuffs shut on you and guiding your arms so you wouldn’t be in an uncomfortable position once the cuffs magnetized to the wall behind your head.

You watched with bated breath as Jango pulled back and kneeled between your spread legs, finally working on taking the rest of his flight suit off. Your mouth fell open in shock as his cock sprung free once his suit had made it to his mid-thigh. He was already leaking precum that left the thick head of his cock slick and shiny, and once he noticed your gaze was locked onto it, he began stroking himself with a feral grin.

“You like what you see, mesh’la?” Jango asked, smearing his precum over his shaft to prep himself for you.

“Just fuck me already,” you hissed. You wanted to rub your thighs together to relieve some of the pressure, but Jango wouldn’t allow it. “Unless you don’t want to anymore?”

Jango snarled at your challenge and practically ripped off the rest of his flight suit before pressing himself over you and down into the bed so he could kiss you. You pulled his bottom lip between your teeth to bite at him, knowing he’d like a bit of fight.

“Fuck me until I forget my name,” you whispered.

“With pleasure.”

You shrieked his name as he thrust into you in one smooth motion, hitting deeper than you even could by yourself, toy or not. Between his size, the way he throbbed within you, and the friction he gave you as his cock brushed against spots that had you shaking.

He slid one hand under your ass, tipping your lower body up towards him to reach even deeper within you. You couldn’t control the way your cunt pulsed around his cock, the way you gushed around him as he groaned your name when you clenched down on him particularly tightly.

“Feels so good,” you moaned, trying to keep your eyes locked onto Jango’s. He watched you with hooded eyes and a furrowed brow, pouring all of his energy into you right here, right now. He’d almost lost you without ever holding you close, feeling your skin under his, hearing you cry his name in pleasure. Making you see stars was the most important thing he could do in this moment.

“You feel perfect around my cock, kar’ta,” he moaned. “You’re perfect.”

His words rang with such sincerity that they brought tears to your eyes. He was yours. He wanted you. “Jango, can I cum? Please, I want to be good for you.”

“Cum for me,” he replied, his voice sounding strained for the first time all night.

Oh . You sobbed openly as you came hard around him, your ears full of white noise as your legs shook around his waist. Jango leaned down to pepper kisses to your sternum until the waves of your orgasm had subsided into aftershocks. Your head lolled to one side as you panted and recovered your breath, but you could feel his hard cock still throbbing within your cunt.

“I’m not done with you yet,” Jango promised and ground his hips into you, grinning with pride as you nodded and moaned.

He lifted your legs up onto his shoulders as he fucked into you, thumb under your bottom lip and fingers under your chin, tilting your head towards his face so you can’t avoid his gaze. His head bent down to nip along your collarbone, leaving a trail of marks to signify his claim on you. His other hand rubbed up and down your left leg like he couldn’t believe you were really here with him.

“Eyes on me, baby girl,” he rumbled. “There you go, good girl.”

“Jango,” you keened, fighting to keep your eyelids from fluttering shut as his cock brushed against something devastating within you. You try to let your head fall back as your cunt clenched around him, but his grip under your chin wouldn’t let you turn away. It had you gushing around him even more, whines falling from your lips as you flushed hotter under his intense focus.

“Gimme another one, mesh’la,” Jango ordered, thumb coming up to pull down your lip and slip into your mouth. You sucked on it without a second thought, letting it muffle your moans as Jango hitched your legs up higher onto his shoulders and thrust into you.

You felt the tell-tale coiling in your abdomen grow tighter as your legs began to tremble and your back arched up towards Jango. He kept reeling you in with each caress of his hand, each stroke of his cock, each praise that spilled free from him and filled the cracks in your soul. He was tearing you apart and putting you back together with pieces you’d been missing without even realizing.

Jango was what you’d been missing all along, but now he was here and he was never letting you go.

“Please, please, Jango, I–” You broke off into a sob as you lifted your hips to meet his, wrists straining against the cuffs keeping them above your head. Jango’s finger left your face and slid down your body to nestle between your legs and rub tight circles onto your clit. Your helpless cries tapered off into silent screams as Jango coaxed you higher and higher towards that tipping point.

“Let me see you, kar’ta,” Jango murmured, never looking away from your face while you quivered beneath him, your warm and wet core fluttering around him uncontrollably as you fell apart. “Come on, be my good girl.”

Your voice cracked when you whimpered in response. “Yours, yours, please...!” You’d already given him all you could, and yet here he was, still managing to wring even more from your blissed form.

“You can do it– cum for me,” Jango urged.

That was all you needed.

You saw white. A strangled shriek tore from your throat and your body tensed up underneath him, allowing you to feel every ridge and vein on Jango’s cock as he continued to fuck you through your high despite the way you clenched around him. The pleasure coursing through you was all too much, and Jango wasn’t showing any sign of stopping his sharp thrusts, and his thumb was still circling your clit, and and and–

The world was hazy as you tried to blink everything back into focus.

“-’ta? Kar’ta, are you alright? Talk to me.” That was Jango’s voice, but why did he sound so worried?

You shut your eyes and turned your head slightly into the warmth of his palm on your right cheek with a content hum. “Felt s’good,” you slurred softly.

“Stars , there you are.” The sheer relief in his voice had a rush of affection coarse through you. “Not sure where you went for a moment.”

“Wha’?” It was a struggle to open your eyes again, but this time you could clearly see Jango’s intense gaze as he studied you. Between the daze still clouding your mind and the gentle way he was handling you, you were almost convinced that this was a dream.

With every passing moment, however, more and more of your situation came flooding back to you. There were dried tear tracks on your face. Your throat was scratchy and parched. Every part of you felt boneless, except for your cunt, which was still throbbing around Jango’s softened cock despite how deliciously sore you felt… and then there was the way your thighs and the bedding under you were completely soaked.

“Did I…?” You tried to sit up to actually see for yourself what you already were beginning to assume had happened.

“You squirted all over my cock, kar’ta.” Jango sounded incredibly smug. His smirk grew even wider as you moaned in response to his words, your hips weakly bucking up into him almost instinctively. “Think I fucked you so hard that you blacked out.”

You whimpered weakly at this information, knowing it was true from the gap in your memory. There was no way you’d be able to be with anyone else after the way Jango had just fucked you into incoherency.

You moved to reach for him, but the cuffs still around your wrists kept you held back. “Jango…”

He mumbled a curse but readily reached up to free you, falling to the bed beside you and pulling you into his arms. “I got you.” You liked the way that your face perfectly slotted into the crevice of his shoulder and still allowed him to bury his nose into your hair.

“Can we stay here for a while?” You asked, voice muffled by his skin. Your arms tightened around his middle as if you could hold him close and never let him go.

“Yeah. We got time,” Jango murmured. You felt a gentle kiss against the crown of your head. “We got time.”

——————————

Tags: @maybege @jango-fettish @janghoefett @catsnkooks @graaaaceeliz @anxiety-riddled-mando @anakinswhore @simping-for-fives @nelba

[crispyjenkins]

I might spam your box with ideas haha. S U F F E R. I’ve never liked the idea that after the Hardeen mission even Cody and Obi-wans men were all mad at him. There’s no one that would understand more than the troopers and Cody in my opinion. They understand having a duty and Following orders, even if you don’t agree with them. So I need me some Codywan + Obi getting so much more closer with his men and them being his support system now + ahsoka not being mad at her grandmaster. Please & thanks

(i have that one fill about the space fam™ figuring out obi-wan isn’t doing too hot after the deception arc, which is all well and good, but yeah the clones would absolutely understand and support obi faking his death for a mission and the fandom needs more of that. so here is fiori enabling me. and rex loving and supporting his general but also being super unimpressed with his tantrum

thank you for all the prompts, ad'ika ( ˘ ³˘) altho now I've had to shuffle my entire prompt list so that it's not you every other fill for the next month lmao)

“And he just goes right back to work?” Anakin snarls with a vague gesture across the bridge, to where General Kenobi is speaking with Cody and Wooley, and Maker, does the General look young. He had been reluctant to waste time on cosmetic corrections, and had only allowed the Jedi healers to give him some of his hair back; for better or for worse, he's letting the beard grow back naturally. 

  If the absurd amount of cooing that had happened at the Temple is anything to go by, many of the Jedi miss Kenobi’s baby-face, that he had supposedly covered with a beard as soon as he'd taken Anakin on as his apprentice. When Kenobi had given his first debrief after the Jedi had fixed his features back into his own, Echo had panicked and called him “cadet” in front of three different battalions, and the 501st is never going to let him forget it.

  Anakin had not laughed.

  “I’m not sure what you mean, sir,” Rex says carefully, turning back to the datapad in his hand to look over the command roster for their coming deployment. “General Kenobi’s injuries from the mission were superficial, he’ll be fully healed before we even make it to the Mid-Rim.”

  Scoffing, Anakin continues to glare at his former master. “You can’t tell me you’re not angry, Rex,” he says, and leans against the console behind him.

  Ahsoka had warned him that his general clearly wasn't over Kenobi’s supposed betrayal, and Rex is Mando enough to admit he’s been avoiding this conversation; he won’t lie to Anakin, no, they’ve been through far too much together for that, but no matter how close they are, their friendship would not save him from Anakin’s wrath.

  So he pretends to be reading the roster for another long moment, wishing he had Kote’s diplomacy. “I am not, sir, just as I was not angry when Kix feigned desertion for the mission on Odos II.” Glancing up, he’s relieved to see Anakin isn’t glaring at him yet, but if Ahsoka hadn’t been able to talk him down, Rex doesn’t stand a chance. “The Supreme Chancellor's life being at stake is no small matter, the High Generals had many factors to consider, including that Count Dooku would be watching you closely in the wake of General Kenobi’s death.”

  “Are you saying I can’t act?”

  “I’m saying that if Count Dooku thought for even a moment you were faking it, the whole mission would have been in jeopardy. Sir.”

  He doesn’t need to know banthashit about the Force to feel it when Anakin goes from simmering to incensed, not with the way Anakin warps the air between them, saturating it with his rage until General Kenobi sends them a concerned frown across the bridge. Anakin doesn’t seem to notice, glare fixed on Rex, and this really isn’t how he would have expected them to fall out. 

  Or that they'd have to fall out at all.

  The tragedy of the thought makes Rex bold, meeting Anakin’s rage with a calm and confidence stolen from far stronger men. “You were not the only one made to believe in the General’s death, you forget there are others who care for him as deeply as you do.” Kote, he doesn’t say, Vos and Ahsoka and the Duchess, Wupi and Choke and Boil. “I perhaps would not include myself in that count, but should you not put aside your anger and be relieved that the General was not actually murdered?” Kote catches his eye and taps at his wrist guard, his concern obvious as he asks Rex in didi if he’s alright, and Rex will gladly take the unintentional out his brother has given him. “Just something to think about, sir. Here is the adjusted command roster, Captain Sage was transferred to the Coruscant Guard following his injury during the campaign on Aslo. Excuse me, sir, Commander Cody seems to have a question for me.” He hands the datapad to Anakin, who is miraculously too stunned not to take it, before Rex moves quickly across the bridge. 

-

  Ahsoka sits gingerly across from Rex in the almost-empty mess, murmuring,  “I take it the talk didn’t go well.”

  He snorts into his cup of caf. “From a certain point of view, it went better than expected.”

  Wincing, Ahsoka rubs her own arms and casts her eyes down to the table. “I tried asking him about it before we left Coruscant, I’ve never seen him so angry, not even at the funeral.”

  Rex is used to being the little brother, of both his batchmates and the CC track, and this is one of the times where he laments that: when he doesn’t quite know how to comfort the way his brothers comforted him. “If I may, sir,” he says, quiet enough that the few vode at the table across the room won’t hear, “are you not angry with General Kenobi?”

  “No?” She chews her bottom lip. “I mean, yes, I mean– I’m happy he’s alive. It hurt, being kept out of the loop, but it’s not as if I was singled out for that, right? And I... I understand why he did it, why it had to be done and why it played out like it did, but it still hurt. But I’m also so relieved that Master Obi-Wan is alive, that I don’t think my hurt matters.”

  “And General Skywalker hasn’t come to that conclusion yet.”

  She shakes her head. “How... How has Cody taken it?”

  “I think he’s more angry that he was forced to miss the funeral than Kenobi faking his death." Rex isn't sure where Kote and Kenobi stand now, they had been heading towards a collision before this Hardeen fiasco, and he doesn't know where they've landed. Brothers? Lovers? Whatever the hell Echo and Fives are? He hadn't been able to ask before the 212th and the 501st split ways. "It was for a mission, wasn't it? We're soldiers, Commander Tano, we're born with 'Mission First' imprinted on our brains."

  Ahsoka giggles at the mental image, and Rex is relieved to see her shoulders relax. "All the padawans expected Knight Vos to react the worst," she says, crossing her arms on the table. "He grew up with Master Obi-Wan, you know? But he just... accepted it, he simply understood and... Letting go is part of being a Jedi. Knowing when you can't change things, and accepting failures, and understanding no matter the circumstances."

  It would certainly not be the first time Anakin has stumbled on the Jedi path. 

  "General Vos was a Shadow, no?" Rex asks, considering his watery caf and wishing he knew how to approach his general about any of this. "He would empathise most, wouldn't he?"

  "I suppose you're right," she says, bouncing her legs. "How have the others been? Echo and Jesse and them?"

  "They're most disturbed by Kenobi’s face, to be honest."

  Choking on a laugh, Ahsoka reaches across the table to steal an unused sucrose packet from Rex's tray. "I did hear something about Echo and cadets," she admits. "Oh no, how did Kix react?"

  Rex smirks at the memory. "He really does like Kenobi’s hair, doesn't he?"

  "He must have been devastated!"

  "I think he tried to get the General to let him shave designs in the undercut."

  "I suddenly know what I'm doing for the next Disaster Lineage prank war."

 Rex winces, remembering the last prank war and how long it had taken Anakin to stop smelling like hot sauce. "Jesse's the best with the razors," he says blandly, mourning his now-empty cup and the broken caf machine in the kitchen, "and will work for extra shower tokens."

-

is this what you wanted, fiori?? 1,400 words about obi-wan without obi-wan in it for more than two seconds???

Mando’a: didi — a Clone-dialect specific form of dadita, a Mandalorian nonverbal communication similar to morse code. i think the clones would have a modified version of dadita that utilised placement of fingers on their arm as well as the actual taps, for quicker communication in close quarters, so in this case, didi is short for gadi dadita, “wrist dadita”. They would use this alongside standard military hand signals!

vode — “brothers, comrades, siblings”, sing. vod, technically gender neutral but used most often in fandom as “brothers”

[tobiosmilktea]

hello! can you write a scenario for atsumu? something like idiots to lovers. like they're best friends or sth like that and they end up accidentally confessing each other gshksfsghgs it's up to you actually, i'd lobe to read anything you write ♡♡ i understand if you won't do it btw but thanks anyways!!

cherry cola — miya atsumu

1.8k words | genre/s: fluff, uni!au | warning/s: — | pairing: atsumu x gn!reader

↪︎ in which you find your best friend, atsumu, passed out on your balcony after a party the night before. now you’re giving him a wake up call with a cherry cola and a confession

a/n: definitely not my best writing, so sorry if this ended up not being what you expected, because this went totally different from what i first had in mind lmao

atsumu’s head was pounding. like a hammer whacking right on his forehead over and over again. he groans, muttering something incomprehensible as his neck and back ached. he wasn’t exactly dreaming, yet he knew very well that he was awake in some form of way. like a limbo? he didn’t know—more like he didn’t bother to find out as he shifted uncomfortably, his head pounding harder and harder the more he stirred in his sleep.

the hell was he sleeping on anyway? concrete?

atsumu didn’t remember your bed being this hard the last time he stayed at your house. wait. why could he hear birds chirping right next to his ear and why was he at your house again?

“atsumu!” a voice shouts at him as he felt a soft throw pillow pelt at his face.

“what the hell?” the setter groans under his breath, yanking him out of his lingering slumber as he pushes himself into a sitting position.

his eyes were open now at least, albeit he struggled trying to keep them open. he peeked through his eyelids to see your figure hovering over him with that same fatigue draining you. not to mention the cool morning breeze suddenly pulling him into his senses that he was in fact outside on your balcony passed out.

you make your way over to him, tugging his arm to get up. “hurry and get your ass out of here before the ra sees you, idiot.”

atsumu’s expression contorts into confusion as he rests himself against the railing, right hand holding his temple as his headache turned into a migraine. “the hell happened last night?”

“what do you mean what happened?” you scoff, placing yourself next to him. “how much could you have drank to not even remember we had a party last night?”

a party? yeah, that does ring a bell. atsumu thought, sighing out the last lingering taste of beer out of his mouth.

it was then the memories from last night dawned on him like a sudden downpour. being the idiots you and atsumu were, you two decided to throw some mindless party just because you two were bored in your literature class one day.

the night was still blurry as his head, all tangled up in jungle vines and foggy from the alcohol. he recalled it starting off with a bang, as atsumu worded it himself an hour before the party started. you two had spent a good amount of money on alcohol and evaded a noise complaint by giving out free liquor bottles to keep their mouths shut. the night progressed like normal before atsumu knocked the fuck out, yet he couldn’t shake off the fact that you sat uncomfortably next to him with a look on your face as if you had just committed a crime.

it was the look you usually had when you and atsumu had done some completely and utterly stupid last night—it was just a matter of what.

“do you remember anything,” you paused, shrugging your shoulders as you handed him a drink in one hand and an ibuprofen in the other. “i dunno, that happened last night during the party? like anything strange?”

a huff left atsumu’s lips, trying the conjure up the energy to even speak. “no?” he answered all confused before looking down at the beverage that was radiating coldness throughout his palm. “what’s this?”

“a cherry cola and pain medicine so you can get out of here already,” you muttered. “and are you sure you don’t remember what happened?”

the setter didn’t respond as he cracked the can open and chugged half of it’s contents down. it seared in his throat slightly as the sugar from the drink had forced energy into his body, downing the medicine along with it. “why the cherry cola?”

“answer my question first.”

“i already told you that i don’t remember, (y/n).” groaned atsumu as he took another swig of cherry cola as if it were alcohol. he then leaned in close to your face, watching as you pull back slightly with your eyes wide like saucers.

strange, atsumu thought, but if only he could hear your raging heart beat within your chest and see the faint pink hues upon your cheeks.

“now answer my question,” your best friend chimed in as he mused at your expression.

pursing your lips, you quickly thought of a lie. “nothing. i’m just bribing you with your favorite drink to hurry up and leave.” you attempted to push him up on his feet again, but it succeeded with no prevail as he threw you smirk.

“why do you want me to leave so you badly, huh?” he leaned in again, provocation lacing his words like ant ridden saccharine. even when he was hung over, atsumu was still as playful and cocky as ever.

he was much closer to you, more than both of you were used to. despite being best friends and being by each other’s sides 24/7, there was still a bubble of personal space between the two of you that has always been respected, and yet, you didn’t fight him off nor push him away and it certainly didn’t seem like atsumu was going to do anything about it either. 

“you don’t remember what i said last night?” your voice emitted much softer than anticipated. perhaps it was from the close proximity between the two of you that you didn’t need to be loud in order to be heard, or maybe it was the fact your faces were just inches away from each other.

“we talked a lot last night, though.”

you shook your head, “no, it was a few minutes before you passed out. we were alone and we were drunk in the bathroom and—”

atsumu’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, racking his brain to remember the scene but all he could recall was the two of you talking on the bathroom floor after he just threw up. he probably just said something snarky to you and hoped it wasn’t a big deal.

“did i say something strange to you or something?” he asked as he was still a bit confused.

you scoff, forcing yourself not to roll your eyes. how could he just magically forget what he said last night and act like it’s not a big deal? if it was you that didn’t remember something you said, you would be panicking right now. “yes,” you deadpan.

an amuse chuckle left the setter’s lips, “then what do you want me to do about it?” atsumu’s conscience mentally slapped him over and over again, yelling, what the hell do you think you’re doing? as the words fell between his lips before he could stop himself. since the moment you two became close there were always unspoken boundaries placed between the two of you and yet he was screwing it all up. the signal in his mind didn’t release itself until the moment he felt his eyes fall upon your chamomile lips. and to atsumu’s peachy ones, did you even dare to think of the impossible, of the serenity that filled you two under your blushing cheeks.

even if he was just playfully and mindlessly flirting with you, it wasn’t like you reacted to it much. before, you would most likely just shrug it off as a joke or roll your eyes at him. and yet, now you’re cheeks tint red and you get all flustered just by the sight of him.

“nothing,” you mutter as you finally pull yourself away from him and up on your toes. “just hurry up and get back to your dorm—”

your wrist was suddenly snatched, forcing you to look back down at atsumu. “are you okay?”

“yeah, don’t worry about it.” you dismissed, but he still refused to let go of you.

atsumu was now up on his feet despite struggling to gain balance for a quick second before following you back inside. “why are you acting like this?” he questioned, genuinely curious considering the fact that nothings lining up for him, but that’s probably because there’s still alcohol in his system.

“i told you already,” you repeated, the anger suddenly rising in the tone of your voice and you yanked the door open. “it’s nothing, just forget about it.”

“forget what, (y/n)!?” he exclaimed all of the sudden, his voice echoing own the corridors as the frustration suddenly building up within him at such an early morning. this wasn’t good for anyone, not for you or atsumu, and not even your neighbors who were probably still sleeping.

“because you told me you had feelings for me last night, idiot!” you quickly shut your mouth up the moment the words left you.

atsumu’s expression hardened as his breath hitched in his throat, hesitating to even answer as the words could barely leave his tongue.

you weren’t supposed to know about that.

the thought was drowning in the back of your heads, only for you to swallow any unnecessary feelings back into the dark depths of your gut as you turned away. atsumu cleared his throat and mirrored your movements, creating a space between the two of you once more as if whatever just happened didn’t occur. perhaps the setter had a problem with keeping things to himself while he’s drunk, but surely you didn’t even have the ability to resist the urge you swore you would never succumb to.

because isn’t falling fun?

atsumu’s eyes flickered back and forth from the ground before him and you who seemed to be too deep within your psyche to notice as you refused to even look at him. he captured his bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled himself together to answer. “i’m sorry,” he apologized, “i didn’t want my feelings to ruin our friendship.”

you shook your head, scratching the nape of your neck as your gaze finally decided to meet with his. “it’s not ruined, atsumu. we’re just being idiots right now.”

“when are we not?” he chuckles softly, trying to lighten up the mood that suddenly turned awkward. “i just hope you didn’t reject me while i was drunk.”

“i would never!” you scoff, offense written all over your face as you felt relief coursing through your body knowing that everything seemed close to normal again. “i mean how could i reject someone that looks absolutely adorable while their drunk?”

a playful look melted upon atsumu’s expression as he smirks, “you think i’m adorable?”

“a hundred percent. it’s just too bad i couldn’t kiss you since you threw up right after you confessed. it was disgusting.”

atsumu rolled his eyes, “don’t lie, you know damn well that was the best confession you have every received.”

and it was. purely from the fact that was from your best friend, miya atsumu, who you often called idiot. but if anything, he was your idiot and you wouldn’t change it for anything.

[happytroopers]

In Another Life // Jedi! Reader x Wolffe

Uhhh, hi again. As per usual inspiration struck as I was watching tik Tok so I wrote this in one go on my bathroom floor lmao 

basically: Reader is a Jedi trying to sort through some unjedi like thoughts about a certain Commander. Very dramatic, definitely needs to hold a damn hand. Jedi.exe stops working at the thought 

warnings: mentions of gun/ GSW’s, blood, unrequited(?), two idiots with the combined emotional maturity of grapefruit

__________

Close your eyes... deep breath... don’t think about what could have been... open your eyes... 

Upon reopening, your tired eyes examined the inky black void of space through the view port. There was a certain beauty in the simplicity of empty space that gave you some semblance of peace after such a hectic battle- the deep black velvet with pin pricks of pure starlight to interrupt the darkness, the idea of far off systems of planets teeming with mundane life as if other planets weren’t collapsing into war ravaged debris piles. 

Once again you closed your eyes again to recenter yourself, another deep breath was lost to the usual dull chatter of the bridge as your lightsaber seemed to weigh down you hip more than usual. 

You looked back to the stars, ignoring your own dim reflection in the transperisteel. This time you let your mind wander back to these unbothered planets, much like the one you were born on before being taken to the temple. You didn’t really remember your family- you often wondered if you had siblings, older or younger, were your parents kind, did you take after your mother or more after your father... what would you be doing if your were still with them? Perhaps you’d be in the workforce instead of a War General, maybe married to a someone who had grown up in the same town as you, would you have children? 

An unwelcome flash of a well known face caused your mind to run with it. Letting your mind manifest a kind of mental holovid showing you a life you didn’t and could never have. 

In this daydream you watched a version of yourself stumble through life, this version softer and more carefree without deadly weapons strapped to you or armor weighing down your light steps. Had this version of you ever even been wounded? Fought any battle? Surely this version of you hadn’t comforted dying soldiers and made tough battle calls, your eyes seemed too bright. Another figure appeared in your mind, even your physical form relaxed, Wolffe, the man you’d come to love despite your determination not to.... 

Even in this daydream where he was sans armor and unscarred, you’d always be able to pick him out of a crowd. He gave ‘softer-you’ a small smile before gingerly kissing their forehead. They/you relaxed into the gesture even with so many people bustling around- clearly you never had to worry about the consequences of your attachments. Normal people didn’t have to, being in love was a natural as the rivers of Naboo.

The image changed, their was a ring on your finger as your hands cupped Wolffe’s face for a sweet kiss. People who almost looked like you- family you supposed- clapped and cheered as Wolffe escorted you down the aisle. A wedding, normal people get married. 

Another image, this time of a large hand rested against a bulbous stomach- your round stomach. Wolffe was smiling proudly before he kissed the top of your head. Normal people have kids. 

You smiled softly at the cookie-cutter life you had come up with in a matter of minutes- an entire life planned out with a man you’d never dare tell your feelings to much less act on them. A true relationship, friends, marriage, houses, kids, jobs- no code or regulations, blaster fire or duels... Normalcy.

"What do you see out there, General?" A sudden voice shocked you out of your reverie. You jumped, startled, not used to people being able to sneak up on you. Suddenly your cheeks were red (a new phenomenon since you had met the commander of the 104th) as your eyes met one amber eye and one cybernetic eye- both trying to hide the amusement at your reaction.

"Wolffe, I thought I told you to call me (Y/N)." You tried to keep your tone even as your forced yourself to turn your gaze back to the view port. Allowing him to call you by your name was as far as your were willing to involve him in your forbidden delusions of romance. 

"Sorry, si- (Y/N), I...didn’t mean to startle you." He apologized, his tone almost questioning. He truly hadn’t meant to, usually he couldn’t even if he wanted to- typically you could feel his force signature from across the cruiser. "Are you alright?"

"Just too tangled up in my thoughts." You mused, already mentally shredding the daydream as if that would also purge the relentless fluttering in your stomach, "Besides, I should be asking you that. I thought you were in the medbay being treated for a blaster wound." 

That was another truth, you were under the impression that Wolffe was injured and probably arguing with whatever poor medic was ordering bedrest. And while the commander’s injury was probably the root source of your silent identity crisis, that was why you were so comfortable creating fantasies in the open space of the bridge- most of the other soldier’s actively avoided any Jedi when they had that vague, aloof face on (for fear of existential riddles and other ‘mystical drivel’ Jedi were known to hand out). Wolffe, however, never seemed to mind approaching you- even if all you had to offer was cheap wit and Jedi proverbs. If you had known he’d won the argument with the medic, you would have gone off to "mediate" in your quarters. 

You allowed yourself to give him a once over, noting the bandages peeking out from under his deck officer’s uniform (you knew how much he hated that uniform, so you figured the medic confiscated his armor until he was cleared for duty). Wolffe shrugged, stiffly rotating his left shoulder as if to show you he was fine, "I’ve had worse."

You couldn’t help the half scoff, half chuckle that escaped you before you steadied your gaze back on the stars. You had seen him with worse- in the middle of battle with shrapnel wounds but still clawing his way to victory, stealthily mowing threw droids with a concussion during a rescue mission, blood dripping out a half cauterized lightsaber wound to his eye after you and Plo Koon forced Asajj off of him and he still managed to push through it to yell orders into his comms unit. Yes, of course, you’d seen him with worse, but that didn’t erase the worry you felt when you were informed that he’d been shot in the middle of that day’s battle. It didn’t erase the pain you felt in the force through your connection with him, nor did it erase the feeling of rage and vengeance that you had to push out of your mind for the rest of the fight. 

Instead of voicing any of those thoughts, you simply hummed in acknowledgment, contenting yourself with being near him. Even unaware of your affection, his mere presence was calming. As usual, the Commander didn’t mind your silence, giving you the same once over your gave him before mirroring your position. He stood comfortably by your side, eyes searching for whatever you were staring at as he informed you, "I was told that General Plo Koon has been cleared for active duty again, effective as soon as we arrive back to Coruscant."

You nodded calmly, you had been told this too. Your time with the 104th as their interim general was coming to a close. Three months hadn’t seemed like that long until the report had put it in perspective for you- and yet three months was all it took for you to break a lifetime of teaching on the dangers of attachments. Probably for the best that you wouldn’t be around Wolffe on the daily, you could rededicate yourself to the Jedi lifestyle (even if now you realized you had never been quite adjusted to it anyway). 

"I’m sure the Wolffe pack will be happy to have him back." Was all you said on the matter. Wolffe nodded before sparing you another glance.

"They will, but they’ll miss you too." He told you. You met his gaze and almost flinched at the amount of sincerity you found there. When he said they, you could only wonder... hope that he also meant he would miss you. The two of you held the stare for longer than you should have allowed with all of the other deck officer’s mulling about- you were sure someone was probably watching and wondering what was going on between the two of you (the answer was nothing, for better or for worse, but the last thing you needed was rumors floating about). As if Wolffe was thinking along the same lines, he cleared his throat before adding on, "They like having you around; they say your not like other Jedi."

‘Other Jedi’ (and you had a few in mind) would have taken offense to that, probably reprimanded the Commander for addressing them so casually followed by a scolding about how it doesn’t matter if the men like or don’t like having them around. 

You just breathed a quiet laugh, thinking to yourself, "So they think so too."

Another silence fell over the pair of you, as you both pretended not to sneak peripheral glances at each other. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t keep those daydreams from filling your head as you stood there. Instead of the viewport, you lowered you gaze to the floor hoping to appear as if your were deep in thought. This kept you from looking at Wolffe’s face, which was probably for the best, but now in our peripheral your eyes landed on his hand. It was relaxed by his side, long fingers idly grazing the seam of his trousers- usually, in his armor, he’d be wearing gloves but in this uniform his copper skin stood out against the gray, dim metal landscape of the bridge. In another life, you’d easily take his hand, see how it felt in yours- was his skin soft or calloused, would your fingers interlock or would your hands press together, would his hands be warm, would he seek out your touch as well? But in this life, you tore your gaze away from his hand- grateful for the long sleeves of your cloak the his your hands as they clenched into fists to ground yourself to this reality. 

Before you could completely shove the idea out of your head, an invitation spilled out of your lips, "I’m going to the mess, if you’d like to join. That is, if you haven’t already eaten?"

Wolffe seemed pleasantly surprised at the offer- one you hadn’t made in a week or so after your effort to avoid him when possible (not that he knew that was the reason), "Lead the way, General."

Despite his words, Wolffe, as he always did, kept easy stride beside you. Whereas any other trooper or any Jedi that was younger than you would fall behind you, and any Jedi that outranked you would walk in front of you- he was always directly beside you. A simple gesture, though it was, seemed like a monument- and it was never something he or you asked or talked about. He just fell instep with you because it felt right for him to be there. It was nice to have someone to walk side by side through life with, even for a short time. Sometimes, you’d find yourself instinctively looking up for him even when he wasn’t around- and being sad when you didn’t find him. 

"Uh, General?" You vaguely heard as you continued to chew on your lip, not even considering someone was calling to you until it was followed up with a slightly more forceful, "(Y/N)!"

You snapped out of your thoughts immediately at the sound of your name, looking instinctively to your side for Wolffe, but he wasn’t there. Your head swiveled in confusion only to find him several paces back, staring after you. Absentmindedly, you wondered why he stopped as you halted yourself waiting for him to catch up. He didn’t move, instead gesturing to the door he stopped in front of, "... The mess? Isn’t that where we were going?"

Instantly, that pesky flush crept back to your cheeks. You were so caught up in your thoughts about Wolffe the you had not only left him behind, but also forgot what you were doing. Shuffling back to him, you tried to get your voice steady, "Right, right, yes, apologies."

Wolffe watched you carefully as you avoided his gaze, carding the doors open. If you didn’t know him, you wouldn’t have heard the concern in his voice when he asked, "Are you sure you’re alright, gen- (Y/N)?" 

You gave him a soft smile and a nod in an attempt to convince him, but he simply raised an eyebrow in return- clearly not swayed by the meager display. Any other day you would have argued with him, assuring him you were ok, but now you didn’t trust your voice not to raise several octaves. 

And besides, you most definitely were not alright. Your time with the 104th was coming to a close, and you were trying to convince you slowly breaking heart that it was a good thing. ____

perhaps a pt 2? 

[boltwrites]

Okay but like what about hcs for iroh 2 with super intense choking of reader and dp two holes? Like i feel like iroh would need to be pushed to an extreme to be this rough with reader yk? Make it super dirty and super long if you can please. Also your mako one mmmmm I loved it lmao. Also your writing is just yesss like fuck. I wish I could write smut as well as you do lol.

kinktober 2020 | this week’s list

A/N: anon i am SO sorry this took so long! i’m really not good at writing scenes where characters are angry during sex or things like that, but i tried my best - i wrote it as a preplanned bdsm scene and i’m not the biggest fan of how it turned out bc bdsm iroh gives me 50 shades flashbacks. ANYWAY i tried!!!

by clicking read more you verify that you are at least 18 years old

iroh is very organized person. it makes sense, since he’s a general, and comes from a pretty high status background. because of this, he takes extra care in the bedroom as well

before you, he wasn’t a very kinky person. he liked a good clandestine round in a closet when he and his partner would get too worked up, because he liked the thrill of it, but he wasn’t a whips and chains kind of guy

you were the one that introduced him to things like choking and toys. you were probably kind of nervous, but iroh was more interested than anything else. he was probably a little embarrassed that he didn’t know about this side of sex yet

once you were sure he was interested and not judging you, you eased him into it, with bondage and some light bdsm themes (like, him setting rules for you to follow)

eventually, he started getting really into it. he was an organized man, so he started to plan out his own scenes, getting more and more elaborate. it was like the dates he would take you on - very well planned, with attention to detail not only in the fact that he would make sure everything was to his standards, but he also just remembered things about you

like how you preferred seafood restaurants, or that that you liked his black suit jacket the best. he remembered those weird random details and made sure to incorporate them 

well, he started doing that in the bedroom too

one day, you walked past iroh’s study, and he yelled so loud that you jumped. you peeked through the door to see iroh absolutely frazzled, running his hand through his hair as he paced, phone in hand. he was tearing whoever was on the other end of the line a new one, and you had never seen him so angry

then, he noticed you at the door, and the look he gave you

oh no. you had to scamper away immediately, not only because you could see he was busy, but because oh spirits why did you think he was hot when he was mad?

later he apologized to you that you had to see him like that, and explained to you what had happened, but he was also watching you. closely, as he explained it. it was a specific look - the kind he had when he was watching for your reaction for a specific reason. you tried to maintain your composure as you listened to him vent, but thinking of that rage filled look he shot at you was sure to make you blush

well. he noticed. he definitely noticed. because the scene idea he ran by you a week later had you choking on your own spit

“i- yes,” you replied immediately to his idea, and he grinned, obviously pleased with himself

you were physically shaking as you got yourself ready for him, and when you walked into the bedroom, he was already half undressed. his arms were crossed over his bare chest as he looked you over, with disdain, a hint of irritation

“what were you doing?” he asked, his voice hard and gruff. you shivered when he addressed you - you knew that he wasn’t actually mad at you, but damn, if he wasn’t a good actor

“nothing, i-” you started, and he moved forward, crowding you against the door

“it didn’t look like nothing. i saw the way you looked at my lieutenant the other day. where were you? going behind my back to suck his dick?” iroh spat, his hand slamming against the door beside your head. the candles in your bedroom flickered, and your knees started to buckle

“no! no of course not-” you tried to reason, but instead of listening to you, he slammed his other hand against your throat. you coughed, and it was a good thing he had such a strong grip, because at this point your legs were jelly and you would be a heap on the floor it he hadn’t kept you upright

“don’t like to me,” he hissed. “you wish he were here right now, don’t you? you wish he were here to fuck you”

“no-” you tried to say, but iroh just tightened his grip and you saw stars on the edges of your vision

just as you thought you might pass out, iroh let up on you, and you stumbled against the wall, catching your breath

he ordered you to the bed, for your “punishment”

you were so wet you could hardly stand it

and iroh knew it. as soon as he got you undressed he looked at you like you were a disgrace for it

“what, are you this wet because you were thinking of him, huh?” iroh’s voice was starting to raise, as he climbed on top of you, pinning you down. you whined under him, shaking your head

“no, no, just for you - “

“i bet if he were here you would want the both of us. slut.” he sneered at you, and you fell to pieces under him - especially when he reached into the bedside table to pull out one of your toys

he didn’t use toys in bed often, but when he did, it was ridiculous

he spread your legs, continuing to humiliate you for flirting with the lieutenant - you had barely spoke three words to the man, in reality, but that didn’t matter. 

“if you’re going to be such a slut, you’ll take it like one” he growled into your ear, sliding the toy into you. he explained to your in great detail how he was going to fuck your ass while the toy stayed inside you, and how he wasn’t going to touch you or let you come

you whimpered at his words, begging him to reconsider, that you hadn’t done anything, but he didn’t listen, he just flipped you over and started to prep your ass, all while the toy was pressed inside of you - not even moving. the feeling of being full was wonderful - even more so when iroh started to move his fingers inside of you, opening you up

and when he slammed into you, you felt so full you thought you could come just from this

but he wasn’t done. iroh yanked at your hair, pulling your head back as he fucked you, growling into your ear that you were his. he fucked you hard, and you felt so stretched you couldn’t believe it

and the things he said to you, how he claimed you - it had your head spinning

and then, just as he was getting close, he choked you again. this time with two hands, harder, and you gasped, seeing stars, as he slammed into you, coming hard inside you as he gasped your name

you weren’t sure if it was the euphoria from the choking or what, but you could have sworn you came just from that, as you collapsed into the bed

you both just laid there for a few minutes, you taking everything in, and iroh regaining his breath, because spirits, you were sure your ass was red just from his thrusts

however, soon enough, he was pulling you close and asking you how you were, easing you out of the scene. he asked you if anything hurt or was sore, if you were alright. you nodded, pulling him closer.

“i’ll run us a bath,” he mumbled, kissing your temple, gently. 

you smiled up at him, soft and fucked out. what a man. 

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 16)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

UPDATES FOR WITCHER OF THE NIGHT WILL BE PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY NOW IN MY TIME (GMT +8)

CHAPTER 15.1

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: A horny and insecure witcher decided to talk what his mind has been keeping; making you see how much of a man he was that was worth to choose and be chosen. 

Warnings: NSFW 18+. (Yep. Again. Love it while it lasts, bb’s. Hehehe.) Some witcher in a rut. Finger sucking. Cream pie. Smut. Size kink. (I meant Geralt’s body build. LMAO *I base this story on the show. Not the game or books.*) an irritated bard? Ahehehehe. Nakedness? Geralt being soft and honest? (*screams*)

A/N: I was drained from the last chapter and I’ve taken a break. I was supposed to not update today due to it. I hope you can lend at least a minute to reblog or give me feedback, ghost readers out there! 💟 There ain’t no moments like this anymore because the plot will take its place on the next chapters! ENJOY WHILE IT LASTS!

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue!

Disclaimer: PNG’s and pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi (GIF credits: littlechinesedoll)

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

GERALT OF RIVIA WAS IN A RUT.

You were sure he was after being fucked into oblivion by the witcher for countless of times already; taking a lot of orgasms in just about eight hours? He was lucky that he was a mutant. However, in your side? It was unfortunate because your stamina was weaker than his.

Your poor punani has been overworked and wrecked again. Lungs seem to be incapacitated, dangerously reaching the critical level for accepting Geralt's wishes; another round of ceaseless bliss in which you certainly didn't defy. Pants and wheezes were muddled against the mattress as you shoved your face on it, vigorously being burrowed from behind.

Here you thought; feeling mighty and confident that you could take and last for how long his enhanced self would.

Technically, you were wrong. Utterly wrong.

Was it round twenty-five already? Thirty? You may never know because every time Geralt finishes, his girth somehow magically becomes stone hard again like he never spilled himself inside you. If only he wasn't sterile, you were probably about to get pregnant with little witchers somehow based on how he always milks you in; like you were his pet, letting you take it good.

The white wolf's libido was overly developed as well. As you were told by the man, himself. He could go on for hours, days and even weeks, nailing you repeatedly until you have no energy to comprehend what was happening, and you were sure that his enhancement with the desires he had was a perk and also a disadvantage for your weak self who had her virginity taken just days ago.

Your sexual experiences are being expanded and learned by Geralt, not knowing before that you had a size kink of being choked in his own weight above yours, baptizing every nook and space in their home like animals in heat and being treated like you were such a fragile little thing before being corrupted; tainting your once chastised soul.

The witcher was a person who had given you a different outlook in life. Bringing you to a wonderland in the midst of being railed repeatedly; consistent with his rigorous, shameless pounding from the back. Brusque. Sharp. Perfect for the angle that hits the perfect spot, polishing your hole that has sent you ripples and waves of glory.

Geralt's moans were withdrawn, holding back those sounds of pleasure from ponderously watching his girth push and slither inside your heat. His mouth tightly shut and thick eyebrows scrunched in rapture. Aureate eyes intensely concentrated on his hard cock slowly drilling back, keeping his bulbous head in before slowly drawling back like he like watching you be filled with his girth; admiring how you were stretched around his hardened cock.

He'd felt your body intensely tremble beneath his.

Your knees were quivering with every plunge. Warm drizzles of your cunt leaking with a mixture of his fluid and yours together; like art combined with a color that creates a new one. The room smelled like sex and sweat with a scent of fresh grass because of how the windows were wide opened.

Nobody would see you both in such a debauched position, right? you've thought that when Geralt has lowered you down against the mattress, his weight crushing and pinning you down, quickly getting to his job; sticking his girth inside of you like he never would get tired of doing so after basically baptizing the hallway through the second floor.

Elbows began to feel sore. A desperate whine began to gurgle from your dry throat. Hand tightly grabbing onto one of his that laid on the curvatures of your hips, dragging you back to his swollen girth with every shove; filling you over and over like how you deserved because you've been a good girl. Every time he did, Geralt never misses the spot that could bring you into another restless, writhing orgasm.

The filthy sound of skin slapping on skin came with icherous slimy caresses of your nectar coating each other's carnal greed. Noise came with his bedpost hitting the wall like a maddened gorilla raging out of its cage, when all of a sudden; you've heard Kolby's strange bark that seem to come from the first floor, alarming you both that his family has already came back. Yet, here you were, splayed below the witcher and still getting driven to his extremes.

Geralt pulled his hand away from the bed post, leaving a print and a crack of his hand against the wood. His fingers slid through your dangling breasts, palms groping your teat as he began to knead onto it like a cat trying to suckle from his mother; claws out as he tweaked your sensitive nipple in one breast to the other. Simultaneously changing hands as he continued to reach you both to the edge of Nirvana.

Then, you've heard laughter and complaining downstairs.

"Geralt," you started with a mewl, your body being rocked from behind, the sheets thoroughly disheveled from your tiring day activities. His hand that fondled your teat trailed up your body; while the other glided down for what throbbing nub that was needed attention for another release.

His palm gently met your mouth when you've began to moan from his fingers touching your clit, rubbing and circling it the right, pleasuring way while he went on with his ceaseless ramming.

"Hnnng," you whimpered, voice muffled from his large, calloused hand that covered your mouth; hushing you from any noise that could echo out of the room.

The way he was manhandling you does it. From the moment he tried shushing you up, your heat began to clench around him. Your body squirming and thrashing under his skin. Weakened from the sudden action as it made you tremble; feeling the coil beginning to snap with just a few more jabs.

More thuds and unfathomable complaints echoed outside the room. With Jaskier finally knowing what caused the commotion that he somehow managed to be in. Geralt didn't seem to be bothered about the fact that their table has been wrecked; though, the bard might say otherwise.

His plowing slackened when you’ve felt him breath heavily from behind, 

"Shhhh. Quiet down, midget." he clasped his palms tighter on your mewling mouth; hearing his breathless grunts above you was making you squirm in his hold. It didn't take you another lewd moan when Geralt's thick index and middle finger skid in between the pillows of your lips, an act of pacifying your noise down which has gotten an elicit of your juices flowing down your thighs, soaking you more than ever. But, you never did deliberate to suck on those fingers like how your mind has told you.

The smutty action was enough for him to briefly glance down at you, engrossed and captivated by a never expected bustles from his naive, greenhorn of a woman. 

Another weakened moan was muffled beneath the palm that clasped your mouth. Your fingers trying to wrench his own away from slightly pinching on your sensitive clit, dragging you to where you wanted.

Neverland. Nirvana. Heaven. Where ever you could experience bliss.

Or basically Geralt's bed because you were currently being brought to the edge of the rainbows.

He was persistent and continued rubbing on your nub, his thick, long fingers thoroughly drenched from your arousal. 

"Ugh---Hmm. fuck." the white haired witcher deeply grunted and moaned, his jutting hips bottoming out as he continued his desperate, urgent drives. Thrusts turning reckless. Panting breaths like dogs in heat; embracing every bit of his urgency to reach the floating clouds.

Your real name has slipped out of his tongue, sounding so lewd which has taken you over the edge. Knees began to shake as the high took over. Muscles clenching and also your cunt tightly choking his girth to spill his seed, urging him to thoroughly coat your insides. Another loud breathless grunt left his ajar lips; the sweat dripping down his temples as it also drenched his chest from all the activities. His heartbeat was running miles after miles, chasing to catch yours.

"G-Geralt, Geralt, Geralt!" you've salaciously cried out with every sloppy thrusts in the midst of having a muscle spasm; choking in the blast of euphoria when he'd took his hand off your mouth, grabbing onto yours which has been holding onto the headboards for dear life. Hence, as the witcher pulled your hand away; he'd done the unexpected.

Geralt of Rivia has sweetly peppered the back of your hands with honeyed kisses to soothe your convulsion; treating you like he wasn't fucking you to oblivion nor corrupting you from behind.

You've heard his breath hitch. The way he'd dropped his large hand on the mattress over your small ones, gripping onto it hard; you knew he came. He'd panted heavily above you, the new position being surrounded by his gigantic warmth. Your juices soaking your inner thighs as his load shot inside you. All warm and cozy; giving you a fuzzy feeling inside your chest that you couldn't explain.

He never pulled out until he was finished. You were so full of him, his seed dripping out of your cunt when his semi-flaccid cock dragged out of your overused pussy, telling him how he’d filled you more than he planned to. Your knees eventually buckled and lost its will to be useful for you; your face down on the pillow, running short of breath as you planted over the tousled sheets.

Geralt laid on the bed beside you, his large body built turned to you with an arm tucked below his head. Basking in all his glory and sweat with amber eyes solely worried for your weary form. You sounded like you were wheezing as he hovered over to pull the blankets over your waist, shielding you over the cold, crisp wind of the afternoon dew. Your whole body coated in the satiny sliver of your sweat combined with his and the witcher couldn't help but take in the view that he longed to be habituated once again before you came along.

Did he...actually break you while being drilled? he silently thought at the back of his tousled, half tied chalky white hair.

"Midget?" He softly muttered, using an elbow to peer down before you. Aureate eyes lingering a little bit longer. His fingers extending to graze along the line of sweat that covered your spine before reconsidering, hands ought to brush your disheveled hair away from your face, taking his time as he glided his fingers down through the side of your face.

He doted on the spent image of your sprawled body in the middle of his bed. Your heart turning more warmer than it ever could when you've felt him watching you over, the blankets glazing atop of your skin as you've closed your eyes, trying to steady back your breathing.

"I'm...fine. Just...spent. Let me...breathe," you breathlessly whispered.

"Hmm."

His faint, vibrating hum slowly calmed the fluttering butterflies flapping their wings inside your stomach. He earnestly cast his eyes over you. The thick pad of his fingers tracing along the hairs of your arm; giving you a shiver, padding down till the tips of yours before strikingly filling in the gaps of your fingers with his. Such a simple action making your heart feel snug with a hint of palpitation from the sudden, unusual gesture from the white wolf.

Well, he was certainly learning.

You've taken a peek from under the flat fuzz of your pillows; seeing amiable, tired, tender eyes. Rough, large palms delicately scraping through your soft ones, entwined amongst the unkempt silk of sheets from the result of your passionate tupping.

With your eyes still shut, a jaded admission was sent to the latter; assuming things from your negative state of mind. This always happens in the movies, right? the small voice in the back of your mind stated. After all the blissful moments, complication and problems tries to hinder over the blithe that wanted you to believe that this was a much of a miracle to happen.

It was subtly telling you that your presence in their world had a time limit because you didn't belong to their world in the first place. Salt came pinching down your heart at the sudden realization of that; getting a gist of feeling by choosing to live in their world forever, there were instances that would get you coming back from your dimension. Every felicitious moment feeling like it was all temporary and a fleeting scene in your mind.

The idea struck like a lightning. You didn't belong to their world; nor do you fit in.

Such a change of heart that you wanted to scurry home since the first day you've arrived; thinking that everything was just a dream or a nightmare that couldn't wake you up. But, in this exact moment; you felt like not wanting to go home.

"Why do I feel like you wouldn't come back after your hunt?" you weakly muttered; brushing off the infectious thought that could bring the felicity down; pulling yourself closer to him. You've tossed the bad shadows trying to lure you in as you've focused on the golden light that Geralt could let you see through. His warm breath fanned your face as you heavily sighed out the worry crippling out of your chest.

"You're overthinking." he deeply rasped, hearing him breath steady; sounding like his declaration had a double meaning. His thumbs brushed over your knuckles as he continued to reassure your troubled self, "---I never leave nor would I plan to. My family is my home,"

Geralt collected his thoughts, breaking through the spell you've always had to cast him in. Only your exquisite scent being the fire to thaw his walls down. It took him seconds before bluntly saying his next words, making you flutter your eyes open to see him softly smiling back at you. His tone warm, comforting and nesh for your sensitive, soft heart soul.

"---you are also my home. I'll always come back to you---always will find you,"

Those words that he stunningly said made your heart skip a beat. The cicatrix glowing beneath the sheets without you knowing, ecstatic of what has come out from his lips as a burst of bliss spread right through your chest.

You've felt the adrenaline rush from his sudden admission and change of aura; abruptly making you nail your elbows on the table, repeatedly blinking back at the witcher when you've felt the balmy cloud of warmth spread around your eyes; close enough for you to cry and you languidly leaned down to his very peaceful face to softly give him a kiss on the lips in which he gladly reciprocated.

No. This wasn't sweet nothings where he tries to win over your heart. His words was a declaration of breaking those walls down for you. It was a key for you to come hopping in, an invitation of seeing the real him; his vulnerable side that nobody ever sees.

Hence, this was the first time you've had someone showing you what it felt to be important, needed and cared for. A person with real intentions. Sensations which you never knew it existed or believed that you would ever get to experience such.

Nevertheless, it took you a trip to another dimension just to have it.

Your mouth left his with a euphonious twang. There was no rush to the kiss or any type of greed. Just a succulent sharing of what you wanted him to feel from your quiet response of what he said. It needed no words of approval or even a shedding of your tears; erasing the worries away if you started bawling your eyes out from his secrets that he whispered. His thick brows furrowed in a questionable expression, intently eyeing your dewy peepers staring back at him. Utterly fond. The witcher feeling as if there was profound affection deep within your eyes as you tried to shield them over with that twinkling gaze of yours.

He knew what he was seeing or feeling from you. But, he chose to ignore as of the moment.

"Jaskier's fond of you," he abruptly admitted, downright apathetic; his gravel tone expressing a mixture of interest and a little bit of doubt, not for you but for himself.

That simple display of what you've visibly felt made your heart soften a lot more than it ever could. Finding it hard to believe that this person slash mutant in front of you also had his own issues, sounding diffident with just conferring about this surprising fact he noticed from his friend who seemed to be catching feelings for you that certainly was quite difficult to believe.

You were biting the tips of your tongue from saying anything further more, pulling back from driving too fast that maybe Geralt was falling behind.

"Jaskier? Your Jaskier? The bard who always tries to ruin my day? you’re hallucinating, Geralt." you wanted to snort from his accusation.

Geralt has given you a dirty look, appearing to look like he has issues with you that he didn't want to expand as he kept his silence and continued to send a grimace. Was he hallucinating? Were he hallucinating when he'd read those words upon your lips hours ago? Was your endearment just a slip of your tongue? A simple caught up in the heat of the moment?

Was he also just hallucinating when you’ve called him ‘love’?

"Am I, really?" the witcher stated flat, sending a displeased hum as he subtly played with the softness of your fingers clutched to his bigger ones.

Your eyes turned wide from his deadpan, "What did I do? That banter sounded sarcastic, kitty!"

The latter slowly blinked, dragging a sigh as his baritone timbre turned stern and also meek no matter how hard he tried to cover it up from the roughness that he wanted it to sound like, you could read between the lines and sure enough, he was self-effacing from his friend who was also fond of you.

"Do...you like the bard?" he hesitatingly trailed off. The question ending with a pause as it sounded completely unforthright. You've given him a tender beam; child like and masking with nothing but innocence, affection and understanding, "Go on. I'm listening. Tell me what's on your mind," you started, seeing his tight lipped mouth shut. Those amber eyes briefly looking away from you,

"---Come on, please? Let me understand and see through the good heart that I've always believed in,"

Geralt gave it a moment. Exactly a minute as you've accepted the tranquil silence with him. Such silence that you have never imagined to be so comforting because back in your apartment, the stillness was eerie and cold; imagining hands trying to take your soul away from surviving a life by working in another country where you had no one but you.

"You're...significant to me." his glowing amber eyes turned heartfelt, shooting warmth through your skin and chest, "---you are a lot to handle. An unorthodox in my dimension. Yet, despite that, you're the havoc I didn't know I needed,"

"You're calling me chaotic. How sweet of you," you deadpanned, snorting from his metaphors that got you successfully rolling your eyes back at him.

"Your existence brought me sheer confusion about you. But, I'd rather have that befuddlement than to not be with you,"

Destiny brought you to him. Those assumptions he'd taken into consideration was now taken into account. Thus, destiny just needed this to not fuck it up. It shouldn't because he much rather not imagine how it would happen nor how he would be able to accept such fate laid before him. 

"Jaskier's...a friend---he's important to me," he continued, feeling your other hand fall onto the side of his face; soft fingers tracing along the scar on his forehead and cheekbones with that glimmer in your eyes that make him want to give you another kiss; readable in your peepers was the acceptance he never knew he needed so badly, "---No matter how annoying he is. He's still my companion. A real...friend. I've seen how comfortable you are with him, saw how compatible you were with the bard,"

You've stopped brushing your fingers along his marks. Your free hand sluggishly propping below your chin as you've peered down. A small grin curling your lips, "When have you been a love guru? Does this version of you come up with a graphic chart that tells how many percentages do I seem to be compatible with Jaskier?"

He kept silent, staring straight into your eyes with a lukewarm expression; not understanding your references.

You've given him a faint raise of your brow, skeptically looking at him with an amused flicker of your peepers, "You've seen us that night. Explains why Jaskier was ranting about the door you've broken,"

Geralt kept his mouth tightly shut, shortly looking away before giving you a pensive response, "I've already fixed it---and you know it was not just about that,"

Pulling your closed fist under your chin, you've tilted your head to the side. Pleased by his tamed reaction as you've leaned closer to his face, adoring Geralt's sublime features that never fails to charm you everyday. His charisma totally knocking your wits out as you could finally see more of his true self.

You started, your words smoothly dancing per word; sounding utmost sincere and in wonder, "People in your world say witchers don't feel emotions," even being disregarded like they weren't humans, you silently added much more to yourself when you paused to talk, "---Well, my witcher is exactly the opposite because you're full of it even though you sound unenthusiastic all the time---comes with the mutations, I guess?"

The soft look in his eyes warmed your soul. Attentive of the stars that seem to float inside those amber pair; looking like he'd caught them for you. He stayed silent, never breaking his gaze away from you nor planning to move away from your body close to his.

"Do you want me to be with the bard?" your question caught him off guard, keenly reading through what your eyes wanted to say. The query sounding like it was just a quip.

"Will that make you happy?"

Geralt warily asked, completely earnest of what he said that made you bite the inner plump of your lips. There was a long amount of silence, contemplating what made him think that way, even considering the idea of never getting in the way when you'll choose another person than him. Was he even real?

Your smile fell a little at the question, swiftly unwrapping your hands entwined with his which ignited a tight frown from the witcher when he miscalculated the sudden gesture. But, those dreadful thoughts ceased when you've poked his muscular chest, the part where his heart loudly beat beneath the pad of your index finger.

"Will that make...YOU happy?" you slowly emphasized and returned the question, intently gazing above him. When he never answered and stayed quiet, it was the right time to say words that couldn't be kept to yourself. You've forgotten to bite your tongue from saying anything further less.

"---But, YOU make me happy, Geralt of Rivia. Isn't that enough reason to choose you?"

Keen golden eyes deeply gazed into yours, as genuine than it has ever been before; sucking you in and having no chance to escape from the resplendent color of his hues. Geralt moved beneath to help himself by using his elbow, his sudden elevation making you tilt your head back to see him deeply staring, mouth turning into a tight straight line as he rasped.

"Even if it takes for your life back in your world to be taken away from you---fuck." he abruptly stopped in the middle of his sentence, briskly taking a glimpse of the door behind you when he could hear stealthy padded footsteps hiking up the stairs. 

Jaskier.

Geralt sharply sat his back on the headboard. His silvery, unkempt half-tied hair moving as he does so, the white sheets pooling just below his torso. He looked bedraggled and utterly sweaty which made it feel so fulfilling to have him in your presence looking like that. A miraculous snack. You could never have this opportunity back in earth.

You bit your lips from keeping yourself from grinning, curiously eyeing him as you mused. He deliberately scanned your exposed back, "What? What's happening?"

The latter took no questions and quickly pulled the covers over your shoulders as you laid on your front, slightly elevated with the help of your arms tucked under. He loudly sighed, sitting back on the wooden board. Recognizable footfall thumping louder and closer before a wind up bard barged in the room without knocking or announcing his presence.

"You two!" Jaskier exclaimed, ceasing midway in the middle of the room; looking lost and piqued. His pretty face morphed into a tight frown to find you and Geralt utterly rumpled under the sheets. You tossed a look over your shoulder to see the bard straight up crashing inside like there has been no lock or whatsoever.

Geralt motioned with his hands, palms on either side to show how taken aback he was from his friend who came trudging in like he owned the place. His face hinting with displeasure. Wordlessly gesturing towards the bard with a 'What the fuck?' face.

You skeptically hushed whispers beside the witcher, timidly pulling the covers over your wild head, looking stunned as you exclaimed, "I thought you locked the room? I told you to lock it!---What if it was Cirilla?!---Don't you know what a lock is, Geralt?!"

Despite of your panicking and embarrassed state, he was entirely the opposite as he sounded lackadaisical, going on by glaring at the bard who has his face scrunched in utmost displeasure, "I didn't expect them to arrive home this early." the witcher rolled his eyes from his galled self and sent a scowl towards the bard.

Jaskier raised his brow in disbelief, "Early? We've been gone for 8 hours, Geralt!"

"Well, I thought you'll be gone for at least a day and not barge in our room after we had a 'moment', Bard. A knock would’ve suffice."

Another set of padded footsteps, this time it sounded like this person was merrily hopping through the hallway. Until a ball of Ashen hair peeked through the opened doorway with a short Hirikka standing in the middle of the threshold.

"I'm here---woah!" Cirilla seemed to be knocked out of her boots when she saw you emerging from under the covers, bashfully covering your chest with the sheets, looking mortified by everyone seeing you in that kind of state. You were glaring at the witcher who tossed your off the side for a while as he dealt with his scandalous and crazy family.

"---I knew it!" the princess of Cintra loudly clapped and jumped on her feet. Her excitement immediately dying down when she noticed that you both weren't actually clothed beneath the white blankets. She firmly crossed her arms, her nose scrunching in disgust, "---Also, gross! Please do lock the doors next time!"

She whistled at the flabbergasted Hirikka who was sniffing the whole room in bewilderment; stout stopping before the bard as he sniffed him loudly enough for Jaskier to wave his face off away from his face. Cirilla whistled another, catching the beast's attention and making Geralt wince due to his heightened hearing, "Kolby, let's go! I'm giving you a nice warm bath!" before she shut the door closed behind them when he'd run off towards the princess.

Geralt and Jasker were giving each other stern glares; seeming to be in a challenge where one shouldn't back down despite of how mean it appeared to be like.

Jaskier was the first to talk, beginning his interrogation, "Who ruined the dining table?"

You swallowed the butterflies wanting to fly out of your throat, lifting a shaky finger to point at the witcher who was still as he sat on his side of the bed, "I’m definitely not the person who has superpowers here---It's him," but, Geralt seemed to answer in the same time with you.

"No one."

Jaskier didn't seem to want and take everyone's bullshit as he crossed his arms in front of you both. Geralt's clothes on one hand and yours in the other that made a blush go straight up your whole face, burning the dignity that was left. You wanted to yell from how irresponsible you were for leaving your clothes all around the house when you promised yourself that it'll be fixed after your activity.

You didn't expect Geralt to take eight hours---or you did?----and actually forgot what was needed to remember.

"Oh, no one, Geralt? I suppose this shirt is also owned by no one, considering how unclad you are right now? Hmm. Would this tunic come from the Hirikka then?" the toubadour raised his hand where Geralt's black under tunic has been balled up.

Jaskier dramatically puffed out a sigh, sounding like it was the end of the world for what has welcomed them when they came back from their weekly visit for Cuthbert. He held forth about your sudden shenanigans around the house like a father delivering a tirade.

"We leave for eight hours and this is what you both welcomed us in," pause. "---A broken bloody table where we dine!" Another pause as he threw Geralt's clothes at his face in which he caught it perfectly, "---your clothes everywhere in the house like snakes who shed their skins anywhere they go!"

Lastly, his foot fidgeted on the wooden floors, tapping in anxiety as he remembered that tiny scratch he had seen on his beloved musical instrument, entirely galled from the wound it received like it was his baby.

"---and also my lute---my beloved lute falling on the floors! You've hurt her!"

"We didn't touch your lute," Geralt's response was tepid, lazily blinking back at the enraged bard who stood in the middle of the room.

Jaskier's raised his hands to his hips, raising a finger and opening his mouth, expression wild and ready to send another harangue before back paddling inside his train of thoughts.

He briefly shut his mouth, tilting his head to the side as he wondered out loud, "Oh, maybe the air pushed it to fall. I remembered how I left the windows opened too. However---!"

Geralt cut his verbal onslaught, his gaze narrowing at Jaskier who also didn't back down at sending a nasty lour at the entertained witcher.

"I'll fix whatever is needed to fix, bard. Stop your whining," you've felt the bed squeak and bounce. Geralt slipped his legs out of the sheets, feet plopping down the floors as he heavily sighed. It needed power; manpower for Jaskier to leave the room and Geralt knew he wouldn't leave until he pushes him out of the threshold.

The witcher stood tall and firm, completely au naturel from head to foot like how he have been when he was a baby, stark naked without being moved by the idea that Jaskier was in the same room as you. His bare ass never shaking him off and so does the bard.

"Leave. Out of my chambers, Jaskier."

Geralt sauntered to where he is. Your eyebrows raising in amusement as you've marveled over the witcher in the nude. His beautiful, rugged bare back on show with that A+ rating of his derriere in which you freely tried to memorize inside your head.

Though, you couldn't help but take a glimpse of Jaskier who seemed unfazed by this whole nakedness he was seeing; like he was familiar of the whole thing and the white wolf's dangly bits hanging and it has peaked your curiosity.

Do they bathe together then?

The bard has seen your amused smile with a skeptical brow raised to what you were witnessing. Thus, he peeked around Geralt to acknowledge your curiosity; pointing at you with a roguish grin, "That face tells that you have been swimming deep inside the vast depths of the sea, wondering why I am not bothered by the witcher's nudity---"

"Jaskier," Geralt sent a tired warning and held his slim shoulders, forcefully turning him around as he pushed him forward, towards the door.

"---It's because I have rubbed chamomile onto his lovely bottom before! It was true! I never lied! It was a part of the rules in becoming the rightful travel companion until you came along and began rubbing it for himself! Though, I doubt you did it to join our adventures!---"

You couldn't help but stifle your tee-hee from his admission. Finding their friendship amazing to the point that he does it for Geralt; receiving nothing but his altruism and adventures that the witcher has shared together with him.

Geralt loudly closed the door behind Jaskier; his mouth running on and on about how such a change of habits it has been when you came in their life. He'd knock a lot of times, calling out for the both of you and trying to want and barge in your moment but your white wolf finally knew what a lock is and slid the wooden block over the hook to lock his chambers.

"He seriously rubs chamomile on your butt?"

The skyclad man turned on his heel, raising a skeptical brow as you tried to focus hard on his face and not his body that stood before you.

"I guess that silence means yes, then. Oof, such bromance! Don't you think I'm the one who's actually becoming a hindrance between your platonic relationship with your bard?"

"Ridiculous." He took several steps closer, making you turn your head from becoming too flustered over his glorious, scarred body that he certainly isn't afraid or diffident about his imperfections anymore after you've treated them like it was a part of him that you will always accept. Geralt sat on your side, reaching over the bedside table to look beneath the drawers.

The latter placed a small, transparent bottle on your hand. A clear yellowish tone of liquid inside as you stared at it, thoroughly intrigued, "What's this? Is it another one of your witcher potions?"

Geralt hummed in negation, lifting his calloused hand to take your chin in between his fingers, turning your head to look at his ardent, shining amber, "Eucalyptus Oil. Took it from Cirilla's chambers. For you---For later. Perhaps, our recent activities had you feeling utterly spent,"

You've blinked, taken aback from his plans for whatever it is he wanted. Though, it didn't take you to put two on two together to know where his plans would take you, "Why are you---Oh. I know. I definitely know what you want." pause. "---you are insatiable, Geralt."

Geralt gently nudged your chin, tilting it up to his advantage as he leaned down to press a soft buss to your lips. Once again, he'd took your breath away by how tender he was handling you. The mere opposite of what people see and expected from because they never had the chance to walk through him; they didn’t have the courage to know who he really was.

His thumb that rested upon your chin were easily replaced with his lips, kissing you on the spot before gliding the dimples of his nose to yours, subtly giving you an Eskimo kiss.

"My overly developed lechery certainly comes from the mutation,"

Geralt's mouth lifted into a small, unusual beam, fluttering his eyes closed as he concentrated on you and that specific comfort he found. Questions came hitting him like stones, breaking the mirthful bubble that he was brought in.

He didn't want you to go home anymore because he'd found home in you.

But, what if fate had move mountains and threw his happiness away again? Leaving him no choice but to watch you go?

Taglist for WOTN: (Strikethrough means I can’t tag you, bb’s! 💖) @alyxkbrl​​ @himarisolace​​ @barkingbullfrog​​ @ayamenimthiriel​​ @hellodevilslittlesister​​ @vania-marie​​ @spookypeachx​ @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us​​ @nympeth​​ @amirahiddleston​​ @gabethelobster​​ @dreaming-about-starfleet​​ @uncoolcloudyhead​​ @melaninstylezz​​ @psychosupernatural​​ @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer​​ @marvelousell​​ @kingniazx​​ @angelias134​​ @tapismyforte​​ @chook007​​ @covid-donotenter​​ @winter-moons​ @cheesecakeisapie​ @silverkitten547​​ @angelofthor​​ @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum​, @stuckupstucky​, @shesthelastjedi​, @a--1--1--3​, @gutfucks​​,

Overall witcher taglist: @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza​

General taglist for Henry: @agniavateira​​, @iloveyouyen​​, @rahdaleigh​​,

[trashy-slashy]

I’m very rusty and this is very trash ok

(What even is pacing lmao)

‘Are you going to kill me?’

Thomas Hewitt x FemaleReader

Stupid unreliable machines. After your car spluttered to a halt in the middle of the arid Texan wasteland, you’d had to wander a good hour to find any sort of civilisation. Sweat drenched your back and your throat burned. The lone building you stumbled upon had turned out to be a butcher’s, which seemed particularly bizarre on the side of a road. The shops occupant explained that there was a slaughterhouse nearby and some of your qualms settled. You acquired a bottle of water and waited as the clerk dialled a local mechanic

“What brings you here then, Missy?” The phone clacked back into its holder, the older woman turning to peer over her glasses at you. Despite the similarity in size, you felt incredibly small under her gaze.

“Visiting family” you lied instinctively, garnering an upwards head tilt from behind the counter. Something didn’t sit right about this place still; you were fairly sure she knew about your unease too. Flies buzzed around the butcher’s shop, your fingers finding purchase on a set of keys in your pocket. The awkward fiddling released some of your nervous energy.

You sat silent under the womans scrutiny for what felt like hours before the telltale sound of an engine pulled up to the shop.

“What do we have here then?” Your eyes widened as a man in a sheriff’s uniform strode through the door, carrying rope and a linen sack in one hand, the gleaming barrel of a shotgun under his other arm. His eyes glinted maliciously as his gaze fell on you.

* * *

Deeming it in your best interest, you complied as the man bound and gagged you, before unceremoniously bundling you into his backseat. Oddly enough, you didn’t feel much; shock you assumed.

“Mama says you want to stay for dinner!” He chuckled, a shiver running through your spine. The car jolted and you jerked with it, head bashing against the inside of car door. The sheriff heard your muffled grunt and giggled. “Sorry ‘bout that, these darn armadillos won’t learn...” Between the pain in your temple and the suffocating bag bound to your head you began to feel a little woozy. “Seeing as you’ve been so good, I’ll let that off you when we stop. I heard my nephew can’t wait to meet you” He sniggered, turning the car sharply. You whimpered as your head collided with car again, the throbbing overwhelming your thoughts, not giving you a second to contemplate what meeting his nephew would entail.

* * *

A short while later, the car pulled to a stop. Your ears perked up as you heard the man clamber from the vehicle.

“TOMMY! I got something for ya!” He shouted, slamming the door behind him. A few baited breaths later, the door beside you opened. “Take her downstairs then boy, come on” The sheriff urged, and not long after you felt yourself being pulled effortlessly from the car. The wind left your body as your stomach impacted what you could only assume was Tommy’s shoulder. Jesus christ, how big was this guy? His shoulder easily supported the span of your waist.

“Oh, hang on, wait just a second” A few moments later the bag was pulled from your head, leaving you face to face with the Sherrif. His name badge gleamed under the burning sun. Hoyt. “You kids have fun now.” His ensuing grin was up there with one of the most disturbing things you’d ever seen. So far.

*

You watched as he shrunk into the distance, soon finding yourself inside a dingy house. You didn’t get to see much of it before passing a sliding metal door, descending down into a dank, disgusting basement. The floor was hidden under a foot of murky water, the stench of rot and mould filling the air. The walls contained the same tools one might use to butcher livestock. You shivered unvoluntarily. There was no signs of animals being kept on the farm, nevermind actually getting one down here.

I’m the livestock.

You didn’t see any way out except for the way you came in. There was no escaping the man underneath you. His legs were easily twice the length of yours and overpowering him; stupid idea. Tommy paused for a moment, his breathing uneven. You sighed dejectedly. Neither your fight or flight instincts kicked in. Accepting your fate, you did the only thing you could think of.

“Tommy?” Your voice cracked from dehydration and the bubbling mixtures of emotions boiling up inside of you. He grunted in response, shuffling towards the middle of the room. Tears welled up in the corner of your eyes. “Just... please, make it quick.”

You were upright. Wrists and ankles still bound, but sat upright. Your captor stood before you, his face shrouded in darkness. You were right about one thing though. He was huge. Easily well over 6 feet tall and heavily built, his torso covered by an apron, that once may have been white, but now tinged with grime and bloodstains. His hands were more than likely bigger than your face. There was no way this man would show mercy. You gulped as he stepped forward, his face exposed under the lamp.

A crude leather mask covered the entirity of his lower face. His hair was untamed and grimey, some parts grazing his shoulder, others sticking wildly in all directions. The skin you could see was mottled, as if he’d been caught in a fire or even acid had melted his flesh. Most people would’ve screamed at the sight of this feral beast of a man. But you saw his eyes: saw the pain and confusion hidden in them and furrowed your brow. Why?

“Are... are you going to kill me?” You asked after sitting there for a few minutes of Tommy being deathly still, his eyes locked on you. He growled angrily, turning to snatch a cleaver from a nearby table, brandishing it at you. You froze, watching his chest heave as he poked you with the tip of the knife, but not breaking skin. His gaze never left your face, his free hand coming up to grip your shoulder firmly.

“What do you want?” You paused, gauging his reaction. Tommy made a low rumbling sound in his throat. You wondered if he was mute. He still looked confused, and if it wasn’t for the fact that you were 99% this man was a serial killer and that he was inevitably going to murder you, you’d say he looked kind of adorable. The cleaver clattered to the floor as he let it go, in favour of gripping both your shoulders. He stooped to glare at you, inches from your face, his fingers squeezing just hard enough to leave bruises.

“You don’t have to kill me” It was a matter of fact statement: worth a try. Tommy released your shoulders, a pained expression on his face. He nodded solemnly, his hand surprisingly light as he touched your neck. He jumped back in terror when you giggled, hand recoiled against his body. How can one man be so menacing yet a huge baby?

“I’m ticklish” You explained, going to gesture toward him. “Look-“ Your hands were still bound. Well that’s not going to work. Tommy seemed to notice and scooted his way around the table. It seemed almost alien how gentle his fingers were as he undone your ties. Wrists freed, you instinctively rubbed the circulation back into them, giving your captor a smile. “Thank you” His head tilted curiously, watching as you outstretched your hand. He made no motion towards you, eyes flicking between your hand and face. “I’m not gonna hurt ya.” How had this happened? Ten minutes ago you thought he was going to murder you in cold-blood, yet now... He looked like an overgrown puppy. You wondered if you were the first stranger to show him kindess. The thought made you sadden a little. “Tommy?” You mimicked his head tilt, gesturing him to come closer, hoping he’d get the idea. Eventually he complied, shuffling forward until your fingers met his belly. The warmth under your hand was comforting and it just felt... right. You couldn’t place it, but something about him was warm and comforting to you. At this point it seemed more likely that you would spook him.

“I’m gonna touch you, okay?” You murmured softly, trailing your fingers up his torso slowly. He froze up under you and whined. “Sorry Tommy I-“ you began to pull away but his hand enveloped yours, pressing it back against his chest. His heart thudded rapidly under your palm.

“Why is it so dang quiet down here?” Hoyt slammed open the gate at the top of the stairs, startling both you and Tommy. He grunted and stepped backward, whilst you almost fell face first off the table, steadying your hands on the wood below you. The sheriff grumbled when he saw you, snarling at Tommy. “Can’t you do something right for once ya dumb idiot? Dinner will be ready soon!” His nephew recoiled under his words and you felt rage boil in your stomach.

“Don’t talk to him like that!” You instinctively clamped your hand over your mouth. Whilst Tommy may not be the evil killer he appeared to be, the Sheriff seemed to be far more sadistic. Though currently he looked a little stunned.

“How in the...” he shook his head, pointing at the butcher. “You ain’t keeping her son, Ma won’t allow it!” Hoyt pulled his shotgun from his shoulder to his hands. “Now finish it and come for dinner, or I will.” He sneered, pointing the barrel at you. You saw it gleam for a second before Tommy stepped between you two, the sheriff sighing dejectedly. “Fine, but you bring her to Ma and explain yourself.” You heard the telltale sound of boots on wood as he left the basement.

“You shouldn’t...” you began, but didn’t know where you were headed. Tommy turned back to you, making short work of the ties around your ankles. “Thank you” He helped you off the table, keeping a firm but gentle grip on your arm as you both climbed the stairs.

Despite the circumstances, it seemed that everything was finally looking up.

[kaediisarchive]

Final thoughts on the 2021 Mortal Kombat movie.

LOTS of spoilers under the cut! Do not look at this post if you don’t want to see spoilers!

And remember, this is all just my opinion. It’s not like an actual in-depth review because I’m not a film student; this is just my perspective on what I saw as a fan of this franchise.

POSITIVE

Sub-Zero and Scorpion were great. Opening fight was great.

“Eddy Tobias” namedrop lmao

I love the snow preceding Sub-Zero’s attack. Very foreboding.

Score is AWESOME. My favorite soundtrack is probably the one that plays when Sub-Zero is attacking them in the city towards the beginning.

Sonya rigging her house with a secret bunker and trap doors is smart and fits her character.

I like that the dragon logo has an integral meaning to the story.

Loved Jax vs Sub-Zero. Not mad about the origin change of Jax’s arms. I like that he had to work through his feelings of inadequacy and failure; people don’t just immediately bounce back after something that traumatic. I also like that his arcana manifests to protect Sonya rather than in the heat of battle. It shows his emotional priorities and what separates him from people like Kano who manifest their arcana in a fit of rage.

Sonya “Throw Hands on Sight” Blade lmfao. They nailed her fighting style too and I am happy.

Kano is the best thing about this movie. No competition.

Kotal reference!

Nightwolf reference!

Shang Tsung’s soul magic being black and wispy and foreshadowing Noob Saibot.

KANO DID THE HEART RIP

CHEKOV’S GNOME I’M SCREAAAAAAMMMMIIIIIINNNNGGGGGG

I love Liu Kang in this. He is 1000000% a Wholesome Boi. I like that he’s younger and unhardened and not the fully realized champion version of his character yet. Let him grow into it so it feels earned later on. I like that he’s the underdog, and I like what they’ve set up for him in the future. Also, the casting for him was perfect and they nailed his fighting style, too.

That little “the FUCK” that the Kano actor improvised(?) in the middle of Liu Kang’s lines made me laugh more than it should have. I don’t know why that moment got to me so much but it did.

I love Kung Lao. And they nailed his fighting style, too! Great to see variation that represents the characters (though there were less shining examples, which I’ll touch on later).

LOW SWEEP! LOW SWEEP! LOW SWEEP!

Egg roll scene is best scene.

Kabal! I love his dry humor. And his voice reminds me of Duke Nukem, which I’m not mad about. It complemented his dialogue well.

Not mad about Kung Lao’s death because it was meaningful. His fatality on Nitara was sick, too.

Liu Kang taking the ribbon from Kung Lao’s hat and wearing it in his honor, giving an origin for his signature headband is FANTASTIC.

THE PIT!

FLYING BICYCLE KICKS!

LIU KANG’S DRAGON FATALITY!

SONYA’S ENERGY RINGS!

Sub-Zero was a GREAT final boss. They really built him up appropriately to make him feel like it.

Scorpion’s fatality! And his skull face!

NEUTRAL

Not sure how I feel about Sub-Zero being wholly evil and there being no involvement from Quan Chi. It’s more straight forward for sure. It makes him an interesting (and badass) character, and I’m really behind this portrayal in that he is one of the most believable characters in the movie, but I’m not sure if I like the implications for later films in how this has simplified the dynamic in the entire Shirai Ryu vs Lin Kuei plotline. Having Quan Chi be the Machiavelli was always one of my favorite MK twists. And how do we eventually end the feud now? If Bi-Han / the Lin Kuei were wholly responsible, why should Hanzo EVER make peace with Kuai Liang down the line? The complexity feels like it’s been stripped down a bit, but I do love this iteration of Sub-Zero. I truly do. That’s why this is in the neutral category and not the negative XD.

Why didn’t Jax tell Cole when he saw the mark? Why wait until his family gets attacked? Maybe he didn’t want to do it in front of his family to keep them out of it, but that ends up endangering them more. Not a gripe, just a curiosity.

Sound editing was a bit too intense at times for my taste. I have tinnitus, so...big boomy bass with very mild voices is a chore for my ears to switch between. My ears were ringing within the first twelve minutes.

Torn between “fuck you Reiko” and “Reiko deserved better”. He deserved just a little bit better, but Skarlet says “get fucked” anyway.

I don’t like the “shaky cam” used in the fight scenes. Not my cup of tea. Very hard to visually process at times.

Whatever cosmic force is picking the champions for Earthrealm is doing a shitty job at it.

Why did they change the location of the Sky Temple to a desert? Again, not a gripe, a curiosity.

“We will not see another full moon before the tournament begins” THEN WHERE IS THE TOURNAMENT BUDDY???

Not sure how I feel about the “arcana” concept. It’s an okay plot device but kinda hammy.

Kitana’s fan! But why? Why is it there? I could understand the Kotal and Nightwolf references because Sonya has been researching, but why is Kitana’s fan randomly in an Earthrealm temple? Purely cheap fanservice.

Nitara was really cool. Shame she had to die, but her death was cool and there have to be some characters that get killed off. Wish she had more screentime though; feels like another instance of fanservice just having her show up basically as a namedrop and a quick kill.

The phrase “Are you okay?” was said WAY too much in this film. So much that I actually notices how often it was said, and I usually don’t pick up on these things.

Pretty sure a camera operator fell at one point in a Sonya scene because the camera jerked around violently all of the sudden then stabilized. Whoops.

How did Sub-Zero know to take Cole’s family to the gym? WHY did he take them there?

NEGATIVE

Opening scene was awesome, but it’s emotional impact felt stunted. I feel like the order of events should have been twisted a bit. Hanzo find his wife and son should have been the big emotional climax of the scene, but it felt like a passing moment and gave him no time to mourn and no time for the impact to truly set in with me. It was an “oh no they died” moment instead of an “ OH MY GOD THEY DIED THIS IS SO FUCKED FUCK YOU SUB-ZERO” moment. I dare say that the Legacy web series did it better in spite of their lower budget and overall quality; the series of events had better pacing and gave more emotional impact because of it. I said what I fucking said don’t @ me.

Wish we got more Scorpion. I love Sanada, I love him as Scorpion, but they didn’t give us the time we needed with his character to truly get a grasp of him.

Cole Young is like white bread in a parade of decorative cakes.

Raiden, a normally passionate and protective character whose fatal flaw is that he involves himself too much in events because he cares about the people in his realm and ends up fucking things up because of it, now seems to not care in the slightest. He feels completely uninvolved save for an occasional pop in to give a nod of disapproval. I don’t like this unemotional take on one of the most emotional characters in Mortal Kombat.

Small complaint from my perspective as a martial artist but uh...”Throw your uppercut!” was a bullshit line in a bullshit scene. If you’re locked up with someone like that and the guy has his arms around your neck, you physically cannot uppercut. You cannot fit your arms between his arms because they are cinched tightly around your shoulders/neck. YOUR HEAD is between your fist + bicep and HIS HEAD. In that situation, the guy has also left his body completely unguarded, so the most logical thing to do since you CANNOT reach his head is to go for BODY BLOWS. Beat him until he lets go to protect himself, catch his floating rib with double strikes, or punch the dude in his fucking liver as hard as you can to DROP HIM. Cole is supposed to be an experienced fighter, yet he makes one of the most rookie mistakes a fighter could ever make. Normally I wouldn’t care to point out mistakes in fight choreography or whatever because it’s MK and I expect ridiculousness, but this is the WRONG kind of ridiculous. It’s just NONSENSE.

I have SO MANY issues with Mileena. I’ll make this as short as I can. I don’t like the design of her mouth. I don’t like her weird stacked voice. She shows NO personality, not in her acting or even her fighting style, just an evil minion that got angry because she almost got her ass kicked. The turned one of the principle characters of the entire franchise and a fan favorite into a GRUNT. There is NO mention of Kitana outside of literal “fan”-service. Not even a reference to one of the most important plotlines in all of Mortal Kombat. And then they KILL HER OFF!!! When they do inevitably bring in Kitana WHAT THE FUCK ARE THEY GOING TO DO SINCE THEY KILLED OFF MILEENA???? I’m heated and biased and they did my girl dirty.

Speaking of doing characters dirty, poor Reptile. They turned him into an actual animal. What a waste.

Why are they so mean to Sonya if she doesn’t have a mark? She wouldn’t be as much of a “liability” if they would take the time to prepare her and teach her how to defend against fighters that have unlocked their arcana. Mind-numbingly stupid logic.

This movie relies A LOT on prerequisite knowledge to work. It’s like they want fans to fill in the blanks for them. But not everyone watching is already a fan; this isn’t an obscure release, this is a blockbuster movie released worldwide. These gaps in lore and prior knowledge don’t make sense for such a broad audience.

Cole Young literally could have just been Johnny Cage.

Where was Raiden when his temple was being assaulted?

Cole’s arcana is LITERAL PLOT ARMOR IM FUCKING DONE

No but for real that’s the most boring decision they just ripped off Jax’s MK11 heater effect and Baraka’s blades (I know they’re tonfa and they aren’t attached and I DON’T CARE). Also, now he’s suddenly good at fighting again? After being dog shit this entire movie??? And tanks Goro?????

If Raiden is an Elder God in this continuity, why is he allowed to help Earthrealm AT ALL? It seems like favoritism and bends the rules that the Elder Gods are supposedly bound by way too much. They really just shouldn’t have made him an Elder God; I honestly think they just said it to introduce the concept without a fuck given towards the actual lore of the Elder Gods.

WHY DID RAIDEN TELEPORT KANO TO SONYA’S HOUSE AFTER HE BETRAYED THEM I HAD TO REWATCH THAT SEVERAL TIMES TO MAKE SURE I JUST SAW WHAT I SAW  WHAT THE ACTUAL NONSENSICAL FUCK

Cole REALLY should not have been involved in that last fight. Especially not after Scorpion shows up. It should have been Scorpion vs Sub-Zero ONLY for the final fight. Cole tag-teaming Sub-Zero with Scorpion cheapens Scorpion’s revenge.

Camera work in the final fight was not good, especially in the first portion. At one point Cole gets thrown into a fence, but it cuts to an awkward inverse angle that makes him look like he’s bouncing off of a trampoline. This continues to happen and ruins several shots for me.

Honestly Scorpion should have just possessed Cole. Permanently. No switching back and forth. No more Cole, only Scorpion.

PREDICTIONS

Lots of dead characters come back as revenants and / or with upgrades.

Kano comes back with cyber eye.

Mileena comes back with full teeth.

Liu Kang becomes MK champion, wins tournament, and kills Shang Tsung. As it should be.

Cole Young helps Liu Kang become champion somehow idk maybe he sacrifices himself or something just please don’t make Cole the champion I will start a riot.

Next movie will start IMMEDIATELY at the tournament since there was supposedly less than a month until the tournament starts in this movie.

New characters coming in will be Kitana, Shao Kahn, Jade, Quan Chi, Kuai Liang, Noob Saibot, Ermac, and Johnny Cage.

OVERALL

This movie was good, bloody fun! It’s not an A++ Oscar-winner, but if you expected that going into it, you played yourself. It was Mortal Kombat; it was stupid, it was gory, and I had a blast watching it. Kano and Liu Kang were the best parts of the movie for me, with Scorpion and Sub-Zero tied for third. Also I popped a lot for the cheap nostalgia hits. I’m overall satisfied with what we got in spite of my complaints, and I only complain so in-depth about the things I love lmao so trust me when I say I’m not actually mad, just nitpicky. I’ve watched it twice now, and I would watch it again. It’s like a 6.8/10 for me.

[hallospaceboyy]

How about witch!Reader defending Lilith when Zelda is refusing to give her refuge? I'd love to see Lilith's reaction to someone standing up for her (she deserves love and support. PERIOD.) Love your work! xx

I Have Faith in You

AN: This is just a short fluffy/angsty drabble really, but do hope you like it. I'll be honest, I struggled to recall the entire scene as I've only seen it once, I still haven't rewatched part 3 since watching it when it came out lmao.

You watch the exchange between the two women, shifting uncomfortably, and you feel anger bubble within you at Zelda's harsh words. Lilith looks wounded, and her eyes flit between yourself and the redhead, eyes wide with shock at the betrayal, the iciness of the woman she had heard praying to her not so long ago.

“Zelda, her life is in danger. Why shouldn’t she stay?”

Zelda turns to you and glares, taken aback by your question. “She's done nothing to help us since claiming the throne. We have only grown weaker. Why should we help her? She took what was hers and left us to fend for ourselves.” Her tone is harsh, gritting her teeth as she addresses you.

“I'm sure she did all she could. Can you really just send her way to die?” You’re shouting now, and Zelda flinches at the volume. When you meet Lilith's blue eyes she is watching you with something akin to awe, blinking heavily to keep her tears at bay.

“She is no deity of ours.” Zelda snaps, looking to the brunette before her with a palpable rage.

“Well, she is the deity that I choose to put my faith in. If she leaves, I go with her.” Your mouth is set in a thin line when you meet Zelda's eyes, and you stand tall, determined not to recoil at her anger, her eyes dark and stormy, her fists clenched at her sides.

“Fine. She stays. But if he comes for her, and anyone is harmed, on your head be it.” Zelda approaches you, face dangerously close to yours, and there's not even a flicker of warmth as she regards you. “I'll deal with you later. Your insolence astounds me.” She spins and storms from the room, and you exhale a shaky breath, eyes fluttering closed. Your heart beats erratically in your chest, and you feel as if it may explode from your ribcage at any moment.

“You stood up for me.” Lilith breathes, and when you finally look to her from the space Zelda has just vacated, there are tears rolling down her cheeks.

“I couldn’t let her send you out into Lucifer's clutches. It's cruel, heinous.” You suddenly feel so tired, all the fight leaving your body, your shoulders slumping gracelessly, and you sigh, closing your eyes wearily.

“I am eternally grateful.” You feel warm hands on your cheeks then, and when your eyes flutter open Lilith is smiling, a soft, fond smile. You smile weakly in return, bringing a hand up to cover hers. “It cannot have been an easy decision, going against your High Priestess for me.”

“No, it wasn’t. I admire Zelda very much, but I can’t possibly agree with every decision she makes. Especially not when she is putting a life at risk.”

Lilith pulls away and removes the scarf from her head, and her long brunette tresses cascade over her shoulders, down her back. You can’t help admiring the beauty of her. It floors you, has your breath hitching in your throat.

“You and Zelda are intimate?” She blurts out, blue eyes fixed on yours as she shoves the scarf into her coat pocket. You nod, and Lilith looks disappointed, her gaze falling to the ground.

“She doesn’t love me. Not as I love her. Perhaps even despises me now.”

Tears fill your eyes, and your bottom lip trembles, and you find yourself clutching at Lilith's coat at her waist to keep yourself upright. She wraps strong arms around you, holds you steady.

“You deserve someone who loves you unconditionally, even when you challenge them. It takes a strong witch to stand up to someone they love and admire so intensely.”

You let your forehead rest at her shoulder, and her scent calms you. She smells of smoke and brimstone, an almost acrid scent that should have you recoiling but it doesn’t. It soothes you, and you close your eyes, leaning into her.

“Thank you.” She murmurs, and she presses a soft kiss to your temple, your forehead.

“I have faith in you, Lilith.” You whisper, and her arms tighten around you, and she releases a warm, shuddering breath against your hair. The moment is tender, intimate and you relish in it, haven’t felt softness such as this in so long. Neither of you are aware of Zelda watching the entire exchange from the dimly lit doorway of the parlour, jaw clenched and eyes squinted.

[justkurotingz]

lucky to have him (spencer reid x reader)

this was my first request from one of my favorite people 🥺🥺 i absolutely love this request and hope i did it justice for your sake @ciarawriitesmarvel​ <333 it gets fluffy in the end, i promise 😭😭😭 

“I was wondering if you would write a little something where Spencer and the reader have both been captured by an unsub and both won't let the unsub hurt the other, so just protectiveness all round!”

so i got the unsub idea from AO3 LMAO although i forgot which fic it was so if anyone knows PLEASE tell me so i can credit them <333 the reader is a person of color :))

warning: little graphic descriptions of torture and some swearing

word count: 1.8K

you woke up with a dizzying groan, taking in the room you were in. it was dark with no windows and had a faint smell of mildew. almost like a basement. sitting up slowly, you blinked, glancing at the iron bars the separated your room from the other one, that was practically identical to yours.

the events of yesterday came rushing back to you in a flood. the unsub, bryan white, serpent hills, spence.. you gasped as you stood up, making your way over to the bars. “spence?” you called at the unmoving body lying on the ground. “spence.” you groaned, letting out a breath as his body twitched. “y/n...” he whispered, rolling over to face you.

“where are we?” “i think it’s bryan’s basement.” you whispered back, and he crawled over to you, checking your face for any injuries. “are you ok?” his eyes were cloudy with concern and you gently squeezed his hand through the bars. “i’m ok, are you?” he nodded and the two of you got to your feet, stretching out and observing every corner of the room.

“y/n and spencer! my two favorite people. i must admit, you two did a wonderful job going undercover. as you already know, interracial couples disgust me, i’m so glad you two are undercover feds. i won’t have to kill you after all, just inconvenience your day. which is fortunate because i really like you y/n. sadly you’re just a bit too dirty for a pure white male like me.” he chuckled.

the rage that filled your body subsided the second spence squeezed your hand. “it’s not worth getting mad. we can’t let him know we’re together, he’d kill us y/n. hotch must realize something’s wrong. they’ll come for us. we just have to hold on.” you nodded, holding onto him with all the strength you had left.

“bryan.” “hey y/n.” he smirked, walking towards your cell, unlocking the door and stepping in. in his hand was a old chess timer, blood stained around the buttons and your stomach dropped. the knife in his hand glinted underneath the bulb light he turned on.

“i’m sorry.” he said genuinely, then crouched next to you. “we’re going to play a little game. it’s simple, there’s only two rules. number one, the game has 5 rounds. the time you have to endure my torture each round goes up as you pass each round. i’ll be going back and forth between the two of you so you have time to heal.” he smirked, glancing at spence. “two, if you last longer than you have to in a round, the extra time will be shaved off the next one. we’ll start easy, the first round is 30 seconds.” he set up the clock and positioned it so you could press the button to stop your clock with ease.

“what are you going to do to her?” spence’s voice was calm, but you could hear the panicked undertones. “nothing much. yet.” your scream filled spence’s ears as he dug the knife into your arms. 

“stop! stop it! let me take it! DON’T HURT HER!” spence screamed, thrashing along the bars as you sobbed, blood pooling underneath your arm. the pain was torturous, but the sting of the knife returning to old wounds hurt more.

10....5......0... his clock stopped and he smiled in pleasure. “y/n come on. stay strong. you can do this, i’m so so proud of you.” spence encouraged you, and you knew he was crying. “you son of a bitch.” spence spat, eyes dark in anger.

“stop. please stop.” you pressed the button, panting hard. “it hurts.” you cried and spence reached out to squeeze your hand. “come on y/n. we’ll get through this, i’m so so proud of you.” “me too, you lasted a whole minute and ten. that’s a new high record.” bryan smirked at you and you moaned weakly, clutching your injured hand.

“onto pretty boy here...” “don’t hurt him. please don’t hurt him.” you begged, holding onto to bryan with the strength you had left. “do you have another idea?” he smirked down at you and you nodded. “please, use my extra time to skip round one for spence. just skip to round two.” you begged and he raised an eyebrow.

“that isn’t part of the rules sweetheart.” he teased and spence banged on the bars. “DO NOT LISTEN TO HER! I’LL DO MY ROUND, PLEASE DON’T HURT HER!” bryan looked at spence and back at you. “this is a very interesting position to be in right now. unfortunately, neither of you are in a position to beg, so i’d suggest you shut up. y/n, i’ll take you up on your suggestion... however round two for you is going to be a minute and a half instead of a minute. well, a minute and 20 seconds, using the remaining ten seconds of your time.”

“BRYAN PLEASE LET HER HAVE HER TIME! ILL GO THROUGH ROUND ONE!” “no can do spencie-boy.” bryan teased and spence sunk to the ground, reaching out to hold your hand. “oh y/n. please don’t try and save me. please don’t put yourself through this.” he begged and you gently traced a heart on his hand so bryan wouldn’t notice.

“spence i’d gladly take this for you. you’re my best friend.” bryan paused, looking between you and spence before deciding there was nothing more between you two. “onto round 2 y/n. i must say, you’re one of the most selfless people i know.” “y/n, you don’t have to do this.” spence begged and you shushed him. “i’m ready.”

you screamed as he started on your legs, humming as he carved. you thrashed, sobbing in and out of consciousness as your arm started to bleed as well. spence turned away, surely crying because he couldn’t watch. “spence. spence.” you begged, screaming as another round of pain ensured. you watched the clock tick by, seconds seeming like centuries.

but this time, you couldn’t endure any more, and as soon as time ran out on his clock, you pressed yours. “disappointing, but not surprised.” bryan withdrew the knife, cleaning it off on your body. “can’t save him anymore.” he leered at you, crossing over to spence’s cell as you lay there, breathing faintly.

you didn’t even realize when spence’s shouts of pain started but you weakly reached out to hold his hand. “fight it. don’t give in to the pain spence, don’t let him win.” you whispered, praying to god your team was going to rush in and save the day.

you couldn’t see spence’s clock, so bryan read aloud for you. “he’s hanging in there.” he said, slightly impressed. when spence finally gave in to the pain, he was at 1:45. “45 seconds overtime, that’ll come in handy for round three. both of you are so good at handling pain.” he hummed, cleaning off the knife and crossing back into your cell.

“please. please.” spence begged, his eyes closed and his hair matted with sweat and blood. “don’t hurt her. she can’t take anymore. I SAID DON’T HURT HER!” spence yelled, making bryan stop. “don’t tell me what to do.” his voice was low, deadly and you turned to spence, tears streaming past your ear. “i can take it. i can take it. i can- AH!” you screamed and spence shut his eyes tightly. “stop. please stop.” he repeated, and bryan paused. “actually...” he trailed off, scooping you up effortlessly and crossing over to spence’s cell, blood trailing behind himon the cement floor. “i want you to look in her eyes as she screams.” spence’s blood chilled, but he forced himself to look at you, squeezing your hand and brushing away your tears as you sobbed. “you’re so brave. you’re so brave y/n, you’re so brave.... stop, bryan STOP!” 

“she’s unconscious!” bryan’s upper lip curled in disgust and he threw the knife down in rage. “that little-” “do me. do me instead, please just don’t hurt her anymore. give her time to heal, if she dies right now it’ll just be me. what’s the fun in that? i’m willing to take her place. just please don’t hurt her.” spence’s voice cracked as he took in your pale, unmoving body, the blood and the sweat, your closed eyes, your labored breaths.

bryan’s eyes flashed. “you two really aren’t best friends are you? i should’ve known.” he spat at your feet and spence found the strength to get up. “you racist son of a bitch. she’s my entire world.” before bryan could answer, the door flew open with a bang. “FBI! bryan white, you’re under arrest....” hotch trailed off, taking in the scene. jj stifled a gasp as she rushed to your side, and morgan grabbed bryan, slamming him into the wall. “you bastard.” he hauled him off upstairs. emily and rossi ran to spence, supporting him up the stairs, and hotch lifted you up, following them as jj brought up the rear.

hours later, you woke up safe and comfortable in a hospital bed. “spence?” you murmured and the people around you smiled. “he’s in the other room. hotch, dave, and jj are with him.” emily squeezed your hand and you glanced at morgan comforting a sobbing garcia. “penelope. i’m ok.” you opened your arms, painfully aware of the stinging. “i was so worried.” she cried into your gown and you smiled, stroking her hair.

“what happened?” “you were in bad shape kid.” you focused on morgan and smiled weakly. “the doctors got you all patched up. pretty boy too.” “i just want to see spence.” emily laughed, patting your hand and getting up to call for your boyfriend. a few minutes later, he walked in, rushing to hug you. “you’re ok.” he whispered, kissing your temple. “you’re ok.” you brushed his hair back, wrapping your arms around your neck as he kissed you. “we’re ok angel. we’re going to get through this.” you nodded wordlessly, your forehead leaning against his. 

“i’m sorry.” he pulled back, eyebrows furrowed. “y/n you have nothing to apologize for.” “if i was not... you know....” you trailed off and spence’s face softened as he kissed his way up your arms. “please don’t ever apologize for having beautiful roots and such glowing skin. i love that you’re of color and that you teach me about cultures different from my own y/n. bryan is a racist bastard, we’re going to put this chapter behind in our lives and move on, ok? i’m right here, i’m not going anywhere.”

you fell asleep like that, a mess of tangled and throbbing limbs, his hands in your hair, stolen kisses and shared laughs keeping you up late. as you fell asleep, the thought that you were lucky to have spence struck you. and as you woke up in his arms, studying his sleeping face, you couldn’t agree more.

[elefics]

torment / chapter 5

A/N: I’ve barely proofread this, sorry if it’s a little wack (also the ending is a bit rushed, I ran out of motivation lmao). Thank you for the love on this fic!!! I appreciate it sm :’))

word count: 2.8k

The café was practically empty. Streetlights shone in from the sidewalk outside. There was one bald man guy behind the counter, who took orders and cooked all at the same time. When the cook called me sweetheart with a leering grin, Michael’s hand snaked around my waist protectively. I liked the feeling.

A few yawning men stumbled in occasionally for coffee, but other than them, we were alone in our booth by the window. The light inside was warm, casting Michael’s features in gold. I couldn’t take my gaze away for a second.

Michael ordered the French toast. I went with pancakes. We sipped coffee in contented silence for a while, before he finally spoke.

“I know you feel weird around me. Why didn’t you say anything to them?” Michael asked, tilting his head slightly. I thought of Cordelia and the way she crumpled to the ground earlier.  

“To cover for you. Take some heat off.” I replied instinctively.

“Cover what? What do you think is going on?” His eyes darkened.

I shrugged. “I know something’s going on. I know there’s more to you. I just haven’t figured it out yet.” I waited for him to explain; I was tired of guessing.

He hesitated, tearing at the corner of his napkin and biting the corner of his lip.

“I need you to tell me, Michael. If I know what’s happening, I can protect you.” I said, meaning every word of it.

He smiled softly, grateful. “There’s just too much to explain,” He sighed. “I don’t know how to.”

“Michael Langdon, prince of debonair, doesn’t have the right words?” I teased.

He rolled his eyes. I spotted a tiny tremble in his fingers as they interlocked with mine across the table.

“How about we start with questions. How goddamn old are you?” I asked, smiling. I was getting sick of my own voice asking the same question, over and over.

“It’s complicated. I don’t age like...you.” Spotting my confused look, he continued. “I don’t age in human years. I guess I’m something like twenty, but I feel…ancient.” He sighed with the weight of a thousand years on his breath.

Maybe it was the nerves, but I burst out laughing. Michael’s brow furrowed, and I saw his walls going up right in front of me.

“No, no, Michael I’m sorry. Human years?” I asked.

“This is stupid. I can’t.” His jaw clenched as he stared out the window. I watched a nerve in his temple jump as he avoided looking at me.

I said, leaning my head closer to force him to look at me. “Hey, I have all night. I’m here.”

“I think it’ll be easier if I show you. Can I?” He asked, taking my hand in his warm ones.

I nodded slowly, my pulse racing. His skin seared against mine, but I refused to pull away. Michael closed his eyes and exhaled slowly through his nose. In seconds, I sunk through the ground into darkness.

Through the murky blackness, I saw a small child, covered in blood.

I heard a deep voice whisper, snake-like, behind his ear: kill, kill, kill. I saw dead animals across the child’s bedroom floor, and how he used their insides like finger-paint. I felt his ears burning, then pure rage. I felt the sticky warmth of the priest’s blood on his hands.

I felt the stares of other kids his age prickling the back of his neck, the feeling of being watched like a tiger in a cage. I felt his bones crack and stretch, aging a decade overnight. I felt the ache in his chest when his grandmother feared him. I felt his fathers abandon him, his birth mother ignore him. I felt the terror, the longing for guidance. I felt the darkness creeping in when he was lost, when he felt he had nowhere else to turn. I felt a void.

Then, I felt the searing heat of the dark room, and heard the circling crows outside, as the hooded people came. I felt sleep in his eyes as he stumbled down the stairs. I felt how their admiration made his heart soar. I felt how he finally, almost, maybe…belonged.

When Michael let go of my hand, I snapped back into reality. My breaths came panicked and hard, and I felt tears sliding down my nose. “What was that?” I asked shakily.

“I’m not normal. Not human. My father – he’s bigger than all of that.” Michael’s expression was blank, assessing my every movement.

“Michael, who is your father?” I asked, staring at the table.

“You won’t like it.” He whispered, staring at his cutlery. He didn’t look up.

“What is he?” I asked again, tears beginning to blur my vision.

“Satan.”

Dread filled my insides. Before I could cry or scream or recoil, I summoned that blue light inside me again, filling myself with calm. I tried to keep a level head, for Michael’s sake. I could see his bottom lip trembling and his eyes darting across my face frantically. He needed me right now.

“Are you afraid?” He asked quietly.

“No.” I replied slowly. It was a lie, but I didn’t want it to be.

“I know you are. This is stupid. I shouldn’t have told you that. I really shouldn’t-” Michael was spiralling.

“Miriam,” I said softly, pieces falling into place in my memory. “She’s who you lived with, after your family left?” I asked.

He paused, then smiled and nodded. “She’s the best.”

Talking about Miriam seemed to put him at ease. I was suddenly very aware that he likely had tenfold the power I had and could snap my spine clean in half, if he felt so inclined. Maybe it was a good idea to keep our conversations light. But I couldn’t help myself – I was standing on the edge of the cliff, and I wanted to jump. I had to know what Michael was and break him down to pieces, make sense of every part.  

“And she’s a…Satanist?” I asked, trying to keep my tone level and respectful.

“They just have a bad reputation. It’s about freedom, and choice. It’s about not setting limits and constraints on yourself. Everything is within your reach.” He murmured, lining my fingertips up with his.

An image problem. That’s what the issue was, according to Michael. I knew a little about religion – enough to know what this boy was and what he was designed to bring about. I swallowed fear with every gulp of oxygen.

“I need you to say it, Michael. I need to hear it.” I whispered, staring at the ground.

“I’m the Antichrist.” He said flatly. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. I guess to him, it was. He’d lived with that label, that target, on his back.

I remembered how uneasy Cordelia was around Michael, how she looked at him like he was a freak, an anomaly. If only she knew what I knew. If only she knew I was here now. Deep inside myself, wound tightly between my ribs, I felt like I was committing treason, some crime against humanity. Maybe I was, and just didn’t know it yet. My Supreme – it wasn’t Michael, at least it didn’t feel like it yet – didn’t trust this boy in front of me. But being here, talking and listening, learning about each other, I knew it couldn’t be all true. I’d felt his anguish, viscerally. I’d felt how lost he was. I knew him.

“What does that mean for you?” I asked.

“I don’t know yet. I’m supposed to bring about the end times, but I haven’t gotten my instruction manual in the mail yet.” He said bitterly.

“Is that what you want?” I asked.

His eyes met mine and I saw a flicker of panic in them. Nobody had ever asked him that before, I thought. In that moment, I saw a boy who was so deeply lost, he didn’t even know himself. I saw a boy who wanted to be good, desperately. I saw a boy with a future and destiny imposed on him, but one which he was never really sold on.

“I – I don’t know.” He replied softly. My brain buzzed with questions but was swiftly interrupted.

“Order up,” The bald cook smiled, sliding our plates in front of us. “Beautiful couple, by the way. Enjoy.”

“We’re not-” Michael and I spoke at the same time, then smiled.

Michael didn’t hesitate to dig in – all this talk of fate and apocalypse certainly hadn’t ruined his appetite.

“What about you? What shit did your parents put in your head about your future?” He changed the subject thickly through a mouthful of syrup.

“They thought I’d be a doctor or a lawyer when I was younger,” I laughed. I remembered my toy stethoscopes and the shelves of books I’d often escape into growing up. “Guess that went out the window a few years back.”

“You’re not a disappointment.” He said suddenly, eyes serious. My stomach flipped.

“Never said I was.” I smiled teasingly, but my insides warmed at his reassurance. I had a feeling it was something we both needed to hear, as much as each other.

“Where are they now?” Michael asked.

“My Dad left a long time ago. I barely know him. Mom – Mom doesn’t really talk to me anymore.” I faltered.

Michael nodded, his knee brushing mine under the table.

“Can you see into my dreams?” I asked suddenly, remembering I’d never asked. There were so many other, more important things we should have been talking about, but I had no idea where to start. It was like staring into the sun. All I could do was squint.

Michael smirked, “And change them.”

My mouth fell open. “What else?” I asked.

“I can do lots of things,” He smiled like a proud child. “There’s a lot I haven’t figured out yet, but I can feel it growing, inside me. Like a current.”

“Must be quite a feeling.” I said quietly, scraping my fork across my plate. Silence spread across the table like fog. It was a weird thing to say, and I knew it immediately. It made me look jealous and insecure. Maybe I was. But he didn’t need to hear that.

“You’re a force of nature. I like being around you.” He said simply. I didn’t know how to reply other than to smile.

Michael shifted in his seat. “What are you thinking about?”

“Can’t you hear it anyway?” I asked, rolling my eyes.

“Only when I really want to. It’s like radio static, I have to tune into it to hear clearly.”

“What else do you hear?” I asked softly.

“My father, sometimes. When he talks, it’s like I have no choice but to listen. It fills up my whole skull until I feel like it’ll burst.” He explained.

“Does he talk to you…often?” I asked nervously.

“Not really. There isn’t exactly a bring your son to work day in Hell. We don’t play baseball on Saturdays,” He said wryly, before his expression changed to something more serious. “We’re not that close.” Michael confessed.

I could tell this hurt him. After allowing me into his memories, Michael felt so much more familiar to me. I understood him, at least more than I did yesterday.

“Have you met him? Like in person?” I asked. I thought of my own father and how I’d forgotten if his eyes were brown like mine, or a deep hazel, like Mom’s.

Michael smiled, the way you would at a small child asking you to play with them. “He’s not human, Lyla. He doesn’t have a body. If I did meet him in person, I’d just feel bad for the vessel.”

That sent a prickle of cold anxiety up my spine. Vessel. Hearing him talk about people, flesh and blood human beings, as merely a means to get from point A to point B, was unsettling.

“What are you? Human? Or a vessel, too?” I pressed.

Michael smirked. His hand under the table brushed higher up my knee. I felt goose bumps spring up along the hem of my skirt. “If I was a vessel, could I do that?” His other hand reached for mine, bringing it up to his warm lips to kiss my knuckles softly. “Or this?”

“Yes, you probably could.” I sighed.

“Smart girl. Too smart for me, maybe. Only trouble comes from that.” He murmured. It seemed like a reflection to himself, like field notes on an animal he was studying in the wild.  

I wriggled in my seat, uncomfortably hot under his stare.

“You’re scared. I can hear your blood rushing.” He observed, leaning back against his booth seat. His arms hung loosely – one along the back of the seat and one by his side. God, he was pretty. But the more I looked, the more I noticed: the way his skin sunk back under his eyes, faint greyish circles of fatigue. A tiny freckle on his chin. The sharp curve of his cheekbones. Before long, I was staring back, meeting his gaze without batting an eye. We sat there for a long time in silence, drinking each other in. We weren’t even touching and somehow it was one of the most intimate things I’d ever experienced. I felt like he knew me, inside out and backwards. I felt like I was starting to know him the same way.

“Hey, lovebirds. We close in twenty. Finish your coffee before it gets cold and get out of here.” The bald man called from the kitchen, breaking the spell between us.

Michael blinked a few times, like he was seeing sunlight for the first time in days. I idly wondered what he looked like first thing in the morning, right after he woke up. He smirked like he knew.

Producing a slim black wallet from his pocket, Michael threw a fistful of bills on the table. It was way more than the cost of what we’d ordered, but before I could say anything, let alone try to pay for myself, his hand was around mine as he pulled me into the night.

We walked in silence for four blocks. I counted our steps and tried to keep my heartbeat under control. It was embarrassing that he could hear it sometimes, and that when I tried to read him, all I got was flustered.

“Thank you for paying.” I squeezed his hand after a while.

Michael frowned and shrugged, like he’d forgotten already. He pulled me closer against him, wrapping his arm around my waist. He laughed softly.

“What’s funny?” I asked.

“Nothing.” He shook his head, grinning at the pavement.

“What is it?” I whined, hoping it wasn’t me he found so comical. Like he’d finally realised I wasn’t worth it, an ‘aha’ moment, after which he’d shortly disappear into thin air like a daydream.

Michael stopped abruptly, grabbed my hands and tugged me into an alley. In one fluid movement he had me pinned against a brick wall, his body hot against my skin.

“Lyla, Lyla, Lyla.” He whispered my name like he liked how it felt on his tongue. “What am I going to do with you?” He murmured, his face so close to mine I ached to kiss him.

I stared up at him, only one thought stuck in my mind: I could stay like this forever.

“You know what I am. Why aren’t you running for the hills?” He asked tenderly.

“I don’t buy it. I don’t think you’re as bad as you say you are, as everyone thinks you are.” I said defiantly, jutting my chin up at him.

Michael smiled. “Maybe you’re not as smart as I thought, then.” He hooked his forefinger under my chin, holding my face still with his thumb.

“If you were me, what would you do?” I asked, looking directly into his icy eyes.

“I would go somewhere very, very far away, and never speak to me again.” He whispered.

“Is that what you want me to do?” I asked. His eyes grazed down my neck, then back up to my lips.

“Not at all.” He said. Then he pressed against me, kissing me hard. I thought it was impossible to get any closer, but he proved me wrong every few moments, pushing my back against the cold brick behind me. His lips were soft against mine but his tongue had total control; I was completely dizzy in his arms. His hands trailed to my waist, fingertips tracing and tugging at the stitching of my skirt. My head reclined in pleasure and he took the opportunity to pepper my neck with sloppy kisses and bites. In the shadows of the alley, I wanted all of him, and I knew in my heart he felt the same.

I knew things just got complicated. I knew they were only doomed to get worse. We were different, Michael and I, on molecular levels. I knew this was wrong and that his lips against my neck were some kind of betrayal. But in this moment, I couldn’t care about anything else if I’d tried.

 taglist (i can’t remember who asked to be on here so if you want to be added or removed let me know!): @theneverendinghunger @outpostmichael @leatherduncan @langdons-butterfly-deactivated2​ @angelicmichael @drasangel